SMOKE IN MOONLIGHT is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
© 2014 Heather R. Blair
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
COVER DESIGN by the author, with special thanks to the artist, dreadpiratefluffy for the background image, other images courtesy iStock.
Version 1.3
Dedicated to all the English teachers; good, bad or otherwise, all of you taught me something, especially Sue Serrano. Thanks for fanning the light.
SMOKE IN MOONLIGHT
By
HEATHER
R
BLAIR
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Legend of the Faoladh
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Cast of Characters and List of Irish Gaelic words/phrases
The Legend
of the Faoladh
Ireland has ever been a land shrouded in mist and legend. None more enduring than that of the faoladh, or werewolf.
In a time known as the Dark Ages for most of Europe, Ireland was experiencing an age of light. Scholars flocked to her shores to partake of knowledge at her great colleges. The just rule of the brehons ruled the land and for the most part Eire was at peace.
The Church in Rome was just gaining a hold in the land and while many welcomed the news of the new god, Jesu, most of the people remained pagan at heart. While the Church worked to stamp out these ancient beliefs, it also tolerated them.
But only just.
In the year 589,
it came to pass a priest named Natilus was traveling at Candlemas, a time when celebrations were held to honor ancient gods of the Tuatha de Danaan, such as Brigid, goddess of hearth and fire, and Lugh, god of the sun. The people gathered to play games that tested strength and skill, to dance and sing, eat and drink—often to great excess.
No family was more boisterous than the Mac Giolla Phadraig, and it was into their gathering this priest came. Natilus was recently returned from the holy city of Rome, and the overt hedonism appalled him. Even more so when one of the family, a young man, stumbled into Natilus, spilling his cup of ale on the priest’s robes and knocking the older man to the ground. Despite a good-natured~ if somewhat drunken apology~ the priest was enraged.
In his anger, Natilus pronounced a curse,
‘It is beasts you behave as and beasts you worship and so beasts you shall become!’
He decreed that for seven years in his prime, the eldest son would become faoladh for each rise of the moon, and such would be the fate of every first born male until the line of the Mac Giolla Phadraig died out.
The Mac Giolla Phadraig cared naught for this ‘curse’ believing it to be only impotent words born of the injured pride of an old man. Protected and loved by Lugh the Long Hand himself, the Mac Giolla Phadraig feared none.
Until it did indeed come to pass as Natilus had decreed. Terrified but unbowed, the family appealed to Lugh to negate the curse…
But it is said that the old gods were fading in Eire, their powers dim and that no help came to the Mac Giolla Phadraig.
The family's misery seemed destined to last forever, their horrible fate sealed irrevocably.
And yet…
the tale is old and time is long and men’s memory weak.
Who is to say how the story really ended…
Chapter 1
Aine, goddess of the Tuatha de Danaan stood trailing her hand languidly through the pool of moonlight she'd poured into the basin.
The luminescent mist clung to her fingers as she raised them to her lips and blew, scattering moonbeams throughout Ti'rna No'g, the starry city of the gods. She laughed in feigned delight, trying to distract the occasional passer-by from what she was really doing at the scrying pool.
The ghost of Nuada gave her an amused smile as he passed between the translucent stone columns, the former king raising his glistening silver arm in greeting.
She smiled back sweetly, muttering under her breath, "Move along, you old relic."
Aine whirled back to the basin, the short dark tendrils of her hair flying about her pale cheeks. Blue eyes as bright as cobalt stared into the swirling light. Her light. As goddess of the moon, Aine had to use her essence to scry here. It was worth it, as she would see more clearly in Ti'rna No'g than anywhere else. Unfortunately, if any of the other gods got a glimpse of what she was scrying... especially Lugh.
Aine shuddered at the thought of that confrontation, not entirely in fear. Her mind wandered at the prospect of Lugh's punishments when the light began to clear, like icy glass defrosting in winter. She leaned over the basin eagerly. A woman with red-gold hair and a bemused expression looked up at her. Ah, the key was approaching. She swirled the moonlight and again saw what she expected. Fierce and deadly, the wolf surged through the woods, glancing over one darkly powerful shoulder with the gray eyes of a man.
"Hello there, sweetheart," Aine murmured, running a finger over the image. The one that got away. Every girl had one, didn't they? And she was far from through with punishing him for it. It was a pity, really, when he was so close, so very close to giving in...
Oh, but she had a bigger agenda to attend to. She sighed. Nothing surprising here. Aillen would be pleased. Of course, her brother didn't know the whole story, now did he?
She emptied the basin with one swoop of her hand, chuckling.
With a satisfied smirk, Aine turned to leave the pool and instead slammed into a very solid bare chest. She looked up and swallowed.
Lugh was glaring down at her, his expression murderous. The sun-god and current king of the Tuatha de Danaan, Lugh blazed against the background of the ethereal misty city. His long white-blond hair grazing powerful bronzed shoulders, the trio of braids by his left ear brushing against a hard jaw bristling with dark golden hairs.
She forced a smile and raised her hand to that jaw. "Fancy meeting you here, love."
Lugh seized her hand in his big one, but not before Aine caught the glint of amusement in his summer-blue eyes. The fact that she amused Lugh had saved her hide on more than one occasion. That and her... other considerable talents. She could only hope they would again.
If he found out what she was up to...
Lugh squeezed until she let out a small gasp. "I saw ye watching Ronan again. I've told you to let him be, love. He's suffered enough at your hand..."
He let go of said hand, but Aine, ignoring the throbbing pain, placed it on his chest, in the tangle of crisp blonde hair.
"Little ol' me, a threat to such a big strong warrior?" She leaned forward and flicked her tongue boldly over one of Lugh's nipples, viciously pleased when it hardened instantly. "You must be joking, your Majesty."
He growled something too low for her to hear, before yanking her to him. She'd hardened other parts of that magnificent body as well, Aine noticed, her lips curving as she wound her legs around him.
"One day I'll get tired of you, Aine." He breathed the warning into the shell of her ear, the bristles of his jaw prickling her neck. Aine shivered but ground her hips wantonly into him.
"But not today." She said, staring up at him, her eyes bright with lust. A lust she knew very
well he shared.
"Nae, not today." He agreed reluctantly. With a curse, Lugh carried her out of the courtyard and across a shining dais. When he threw her down in his bedchamber and drove himself between her thighs, Aine cried out in satisfaction.
Everything was going her way. At long last.
Minneapolis
Rushing around the mess of her townhouse bedroom, Solace Ryan tripped over a pile of sweaters and barked her shin on an open dresser drawer.
"God damnit!"
She rubbed her shin with one hand and scooped the offending sweaters up with the other, dumping them on the bed with a look of disgust. She flopped onto the violet and cream striped duvet, still rubbing her burning leg and tried to calm down. It wasn't easy.
This trip to Ireland was something she had been dreaming of since she was a child, something she had been planning in earnest for the past year. Everyone said she was crazy to take an extended leave of absence now. Now that her career as a producer for a local television station was really taking soaring.
“For Gods sakes, Lace,” her sister had warned, “Feelin' Minnesota just won a damn Emmy! You can’t leave now, do you want to go back to writing copy for Donovan?”
Feelin' Minnesota was her baby, but her three-year-old prodigy had just gone national and Lacey had been happy to hand the reins over to someone else. Very happy indeed. And despite her sister’s chronic negativity, sliding all the way back to Donovan was unlikely.
Donovan had been her first boss at KQUE and a bigger prick did not exist anywhere. At least, personality-wise.
Literally, she was betting on teeny-weeny, though thank God she'd never be able to say for sure.
Working her way through the ranks had definitely sucked some times. And no, Lacey didn’t want to ever want to jump through those hurdles again, but she hardly thought that was a real danger. She was still being retained as a consult for Feelin' Minnesota and other offers kept trickling in. Lacey was just going to put them all on hold for six months. Or more.
Because in some way she, with all her gift for words, was incapable of explaining to her sister, Lacey knew this was the time. Her time.
It had to be. Otherwise, she’d be looking at 40, instead of thirty and she still wouldn’t have gone for her dream. Her real dream, the one she’d cloaked in practicality for her practical sister Kate. Kate would have never accepted writing as a viable career choice. Journalism and production with a side of business, however, had gone over just fine. Lacey had chosen to go with the flow.
But she hadn't given up her dream.
The dream was rooted in Ireland. It always had been. She wanted to write about the land she'd always yearned to see. And she was going to do it now.
Kate thought she was mad.
"Jeez, we're barely even qualify as Irish, Lacey."
Katie, Lacey thought ruefully, was fully English in her roots and all-American in her appearance. Despite the hard life she'd had raising Lacey on her own since she was 17, or maybe because of it, Kate didn’t have a whiff of sentiment about her.
Lacey knew her sister loved her fiercely. Otherwise, it would be much easier to ignore her advice. But even her best friend, Heather, who was busy touring the Mediterranean, had cheerfully informed her she was nuts.
“Completely psycho, girlfriend!” had been her exact words. “But if you've got an itch to go chase some leprechauns, make sure you pick me up some Waterford.”
That was so Heather, but despite the flippancy she had heard the unspoken concern.
With a sigh, Lacey got to her feet and surveyed her wreck of a bedroom. Well, she was going to ignore her sister and her best friend and most of her colleagues and she was going to do this. But, damnit, she had to pack first. Groaning, she waded into the fray.
St. Paul was teeming, even at 5 in the morning. Mist hovered over the Mississippi and drifted through the maze of the airport terminals and a behemoth parking garage. Airplanes whistled and boomed overhead.
Lacey looked over at her sister’s clenched jaw and was thankful she wasn’t driving. She knew Katie had only agreed to the favor to get another chance to bully her out of going. That wasn't surprising. Kate took her role as big sister and head of the family quite seriously. What was surprising, however, that Katie hadn’t said a word the whole drive.
Lacey braced for a last-minute assault.
It didn’t come. They pulled up curbside and got out. Katie handed over Lacey’s purple carry-on and just stood, staring at her, chewing her lip. The lip-chewing was Lacey’s first clue something was up. Katie didn’t have nervous habits. Not any. For a woman who still regularly bit her nails to the quick, that lack in her sister had always been a keen source of irritation. Seeing it in Katie like this now, though, made Lacey feel guiltier than mere words could ever have.
“C’mon, Kate,” she said. “lighten up! It’s just a little trip, just a little indulgence. It’s hardly going to ruin my life, okay?”
Kate frowned and turned to watch the hustle as passengers and taxis and porters jockeyed for position along the terminal. Her silence in all the noise and hubbub ratcheted Lacey’s nerves up another notch. She was a hair’s breadth from snapping at her sister, when Katie turned back to her and said something so softly she didn’t catch it.
“What?” Lacey said, her voice loud even amidst all the racket.
Katie glared at her and stepped closer.
“I had a dream,” she said, though clenched teeth, studiously talking to the ground. Her pale blonde hair fell over her face, hiding her eyes.
Lacey looked at her blankly. Of all the things she might expect to hear, that definitely wouldn’t have made the top fifty.
Her sister hadn’t admitted to dreaming since the third grade, when she’d had a screaming nightmare after watching “The Incredible Hulk.” It was then that Katie had decided not to watch anything that wasn’t strictly factual. For a ludicrous moment she wondered if Katie had been hitting Nick at Nite or something and ran across an old rerun of the big green guy.
“Ummm, oka-ay. Kate, I know it’s odd for you, but for most of us, dreaming is pretty normal human behavior.” Lacey said, feeling relieved. Katie's strange demeanor had really been freaking her out.
“Cut it out, Lace! I’m not joking.”
A second glance at her sister’s pale face with its bright spots of indignation had Lacey’s relief ebbing away. Katie folded her arms and shivered, continuing to look down at the ground as she spoke haltingly.
“You were running...through the woods somewhere, and it was so dark, even though the moon was out. You were crying, really crying like something terrible had happened. There was a lot of mist…or maybe smoke...God, Lace! There was blood on your face. Blood on your clothes, too. You were wearing that green sweater I got you--you know the only thing I ever got you that you actually like?” She looked up a second and meet Lacey’s eyes unsmilingly.
“Lace, it was horrible. Something was snarling and I reached out for you, but you just vanished. Vanished into all that smoke and I couldn’t help you. I don’t think anyone could.”
Goosebumps raced up Lacey’s arms as she stared at Katie. It still crossed her mind, even knowing her sister and how little imagination she had, that this could be Katie’s last chance talk. Lacey shook her head of the thought, knowing even Katie’s brand of manipulation didn’t stretch quite this far.
It seemed she just had really worried herself sick over Lacey’s trip. Enough to be having nightmares about her. Despite herself, Lacey found herself touched by the concern.
“Oh, c'mon now, Kate. You’re the last person I’d know to believe in prophetic dreams. You won’t even read your damn horoscope, not even for fun.” Lacey puts heaps of frustration into her tone and managed to get a shaky half-laugh from her sister. She stepped forward and gave Kate a big hug, squeezing her too hard on purpose and getting a ‘Geroff me!’ in response.
“You’re sure you’ve just got to do this, are you, Lace?” Katie sounded resigned. Her
color was coming back and she looked a little sheepish.
“Of course, I’ll have to find new ways to vex your plans for my future. It’s in the sistering handbook.” She rolled her eyes.
Katie sighed. “You better be safe, Lacey. Don’t do anything stupider than usual, okay?”
Lacey laughed and picked up her carry-on. “I promise, no walks through moonlit woods. Besides, for your information, I didn’t even pack that sweater. So, your first foray into the prophetic is officially a bust.”
Katie laughed and shook her head before climbing back in her white Volvo. Lacey smiled brightly and waved as she watched her sister drive off.
Her smile faded as she turned toward the check-in counter. It was okay to fib a little to make someone feel better, she told herself, if it didn’t hurt anyone.
How could it hurt anyone that her favorite cashmere sweater, the emerald-green one Katie had given her two Christmases ago, was the first thing she had put into her carry-on?
Ireland, County Limerick
His woods were dark. Free of moonlight and free of beasts, for now. He loved the inky blackness, it settled around him like a velvet cloak, allowing him to hide his true nature for a time.
Others would scoff at this, those that loved him well would deny his true nature was naught but noble, his affliction one of mere circumstance, not choice.
His lip curled in the darkness. How little they understood. Choice may not have been a factor in his fate, but it no longer mattered. Fate was winning out.
And he wanted it to.
He lifted his face as the moon, finally rising in its last night of fullness, began to silver the glassy lake. He had often thought of her as his nemesis over the years, an enemy to be conquered and defeated.
Smoke in Moonlight (CELTIC ELEMENTALS) Page 1
