When they were finished, Fergus pushed to his feet, offering Tom a hand. He took it readily. Suddenly the two men were standing a breath away. The tour guide reached around Tom to wrap a belt with a decorative sporran and cinched it. The younger man’s breath caught when those same strong and nimble hands lifted to his cheeks.
Gazing into his eyes, Fergus murmured, accent thick as the heat between them, “Ye dinna ken what ye do to me when ye look at me that way, do ye?”
“Show me.” Tom rested his hands on Fergus’s narrow hips, parting his lips in invitation and closing his eyes.
One, two, three breaths and nothing happened
Yet, the heat of Fergus’s ragged breaths fanned his face.
Tom opened his eyes. “Am I misreading this?” He knew damned well by the poke against his hip he did not.
Fergus pressed into him. “Ye ken yer not. I want to kiss ye something fierce, but Aoife will have both our heads fer holding up the tour.”
A peal of rich, musical laughter turned both their heads. Aoife stood on the threshold; eyes filled with mischief. She licked her lips, drawing Tom’s gaze to her mouth. “If the tables were turned and I had that fine man in my arms, I’d not care if you were waiting or not, Fergus. Leave me out of it, you coward.”
Aoife bounded into the room threading her arm through Tom’s, tugging him away from her husband. The sudden shock of the hard and firm body to the soft and pliant one pressed against his side was titillating. Again, he pictured himself on her, melting into Aoife.
“My Fergus was smitten with you from the first moment he laid eyes on you, but he’s a shy one.”
Heart pounding, Tom swallowed and braved to ask, “What about you?”
She made some Irish sound of disgust as they entered the hallway, Fergus close behind. “You look at my man like he’s some Highland clan chieftain with a castle and riches, but you look at me like a scullery maid you want to tup and be done with.”
“I—I wouldn’t dream…I wouldn’t assume.” He had dreamed. He had a clear picture in his mind of how he’d like to make love to her, but he wasn’t the love ‘em and leave ‘em type. He’d never even had a one-night stand. It was fantasy. He’d never in a million years believe she’d even be interested.
Aoife lowered her voice. “You dirty boy, you sent me the image so clear I could scarcely tell it was your fantasy, not my own.”
“Huh?” Heat flooded his face and his ears blazed. There was no way she could know what he was thinking. Was he as obvious as a teenager, not yet able to hide how much he liked and wanted her?
“I saw my big thighs snug around your thin hips, my calves urging you on while you have your way with me,” she whispered in a low, seductive purr.
Fergus coughed behind them.
Shit. That was exactly what he’d pictured. She was guessing. She had to be. His gaze flicked briefly to Fergus. Amusement replaced heat in the Scot’s eyes. They had to be messing with him. “I—I…Sorry. What?”
Aoife snorted and glanced over her shoulder. “Tell him, Fergus.”
“Aoife can see every image that pops in yer head, and I—” Fergus tapped his ear. “—I can hear yer thoughts as plain as if they came out yer mouth. Don’t tell me Ariel didn’t warn ye of our gifts?”
“Hush about it now. The others will hear. And mind how you speak. The Americans won’t understand you,” Aoife warned. She then released Tom’s arm, taking her warmth and lemongrass scent with her.
Unwilling to let her go and desperate to apologize for making her feel like meat, Tom took two bounding steps before a hand clamped onto his arm, yanking him back.
A look of harsh warning filled Fergus’s erstwhile serene face. “Didn’t Ariel warn ye? Never chase anyone or anything through a door, lad. Ye never ken what’s on the other side.”
Tom furrowed his brow, confused, and opened his mouth to speak, but the tour guide rushed him out the door before he had a chance to ask what the heck the man meant.
Outside, the group had already boarded a bus that, like Fergus and Aoife, had seemed to manifest soundlessly out of the mist. The driver, an androgynous beauty, regarded him with silvery-gray eyes. He had a hard time not staring at their pale as moonlight skin. The driver tipped their old-fashioned hat as they greeted Tom.
After days of the feeling of being watched, Tom boarded the bus with a queasy nervousness. Aoife gestured to a seat in the far back, sliding in next to him. Her enticing scent filled his nostrils again, and wild hair tickled his face.
It wasn’t until the doors were sealed, the engine purring, and the driver had long since pulled out of the village and into the thick mist that Tom realized he’d left his sack with his clothes, passport, and just about everything he’d possibly need to get back home at Fergus and Aoife’s house.
Fergus and Aoife switched off between standing in the center aisle of the bus, entertaining the tour group and sitting beside Tom, having quieter private conversation and exploring under kilts. He tried his best to match their skill without being obvious to the other passengers. The fear of getting caught only turned Tom on more.
Aoife held his arm while the others got off the bus, including Fergus. His heart pounded with the anticipation of what would happen next.
She whispered in his ear, “We will consummate our love in the rose garden and then I will join us as three.” Grinning, she abandoned the bus before he could reply.
Tom gripped the seat ahead of him in a herculean effort not to chase after her. The thought of what she meant left him too aroused to be in decent company.
Fergus waited for him in the parking lot, dark gaze on Aoife and the group disappearing over a hill into a forest. In the distance, fog from the coast rolled over the mountains like cream clouding coffee. Tom walked in companionable silence with Fergus, not quite catching up with the group, but not so far as to miss Aoife’s voice throughout the mid-morning jaunt through the forest.
While his partner brought the group next to a rushing creek to show them where a show filmed a particular scene, Fergus leaned in, whispering, “This place holds more secrets than all of the whole wide world. I bet yer people carried a few with them when they parted.”
“I don’t know much about my family. I was adopted.”
“That test ye spoke of. Is that all ye ken of yer family, Tom?”
The writer nodded, more interested in Aoife’s spirited recounting of a scene gone wrong than Fergus’s pity. All his life, everyone had asked about his parents, but Tom couldn’t care less. They had abandoned him and that was all he needed to know. “My biological family, yes. Ariel asked me to take the test. He’s all about ancestors and connection to where your people are from.” Tom shrugged. “Ireland is beautiful, but I feel no more affiliation to this place than any other.”
“Maybe if ye went to where yer people were truly from, ye’d feel at home.”
Tom cocked his head. “Truly from?”
“Aye,” Fergus grinned wide enough to reveal dimples and his face softened a bit. “They may be Scots-Irish, but it is no where they originated. No test a man can make can tell you that. Ye think Ireland is pretty, but ye ken it isn’t home. Same as ye ken what’s betwixt ye and yer man is different than what’s betwixt ye and me.” He nodded his head in Aoife’s direction. “Lust is no substitute for love.”
“Can’t one be part of the other or at least lead to it?” Tom could easily see himself falling in love with the stoic Scot and his Irish wife. He could see himself using Ireland as a place of inspiration. It didn’t feel like home, but a writer could get used to the cool, rainy weather.
The tour guide’s eyes had that same faraway sadness as they took on when he looked at Tom naked. “Ye don’t want to love Aoife or me, or any of our lot.” Fergus glanced at the group, at his wife. His tone took a warning edge. “We want the kind of commitment a man of yer generation canna make. Have some fun with us but make no promises to her or anyone else while yer in Ireland, ye hear?”
“Loud
and clear.” Disappointment settled in his gut, hard and cold. No matter what Tom said, Fergus would think of him as a young, fickle queer.
His gaze turned to Aoife, who beckoned Fergus forward. The Scot joined his wife atop a rock and cleared his throat. Tom moved closer to get a better listen, and frankly, a good view of the gorgeous couple.
“The film they’re making in the west end of the forest is a retelling of the Ballad of Tam Lin.” Fergus retained a Scottish accent, but his speech sounded more modern since he reverted to some old way of speaking in their rowhome. He cast his deep blue gaze around the “Anyone here know of it?”
The tourists all glanced about, but no one spoke up. Tom vaguely knew of it, and waffled his hand in the air, but he wanted to hear Fergus’s version of it. Heat flooded his cheeks when Fergus gestured to Tom, indicating he should speak.
Tom scratched the back of his head, trying to remember. “It’s a tale from the middle ages about a young woman who has to literally hold on to her love to keep him.”
Fergus grinned. “Aye, that be the one, but there’s a wee bit more to it than that. The story of Tam Lin is about a human knight so handsome and so courageous, the queen of the fairies decided to take him as a lover. She made him a fae knight, so that he could be with her for eternity.”
“It turns out, eternity is a long time for a human heart,” Aoife said, continuing the story. As if they’d told it together this way for a very long time. “And, Tam Lin was no longer happy with the queen.”
“He wished to be human again, to have sons and daughters, watch them grow and grow old and die. He roamed the forest of Carterhaugh, which still exists in Scotland today.”
“But the production company decided to film here in lovely Ireland instead,” Aoife added with a grin.
Tom took his gaze off the couple long enough to glance to his left and right. All of the tourists had stopped recording with their phones, or at least forgot to keep them aimed at the couple, and simply were listening, wrapped even with the details of what the movie people were doing. He hadn’t seen a group so enthralled by a speaker before, and he worked for a university where some very brilliant minds lectured on fascinating subjects. Something felt off about their undivided attention. Usually someone drifted off, checked their phone, or at least shifted their weight. Nobody moved.
Aoife continued, “Most of the girls were warned of roaming the wood, for a fae or spirit knight patrolled the forest and he asked the price of their possessions or their maidenhead. A young woman by the name of Janet paid no heed to the legend and sought to pick the wild roses growing in the wood. When she plucked a single rose from the vine, Tam Lin appeared.”
Fergus readjusted his posture, puffing his chest and looking down at Aoife with cold eyes. “Lady, pull thou no more. Why pullest thou the rose, Janet, And why breakest thou the wand? Or why comest thou to Carterhaugh Withoutten my command?”
Tom wasn’t sure, but he believed Fergus was quoting the Ballad of Tam Lin.
Aoife tilted her chin upward. “Janet was a fearsome girl and a privileged lady, unused to being spoken to so she replied, “Carterhaugh, it is my own, My daddy gave it me, I'll come and go by Carterhaugh, And ask no leave of thee.”
The tour guide looked away from his wife and addressed the audience. “Tam Lin had been in the clutches of the fae queen so long, the human girl intrigued him. He fell in love with her.”
“Janet was a bold lass and took Tam Lin as a lover. She returned home and found herself pregnant. Her father demanded to know who fathered the child, but Janet didn’t lie to save her own skin. She was proud Tam Lin was her lover and named him as the father, and rather elegantly, too.” She winked. “She decided she didn’t want the baby and returned to the forest to find an herb, or some other stories say she plucked more roses.”
“Tam Lin appeared and begged her not to abort the child. He was sure the fairy queen was going to offer him up as a sacrifice to the devil.”
“If you’re wondering what the fae have to do with the devil,” Aoife added, “not a thing. But, Christians at the time thought anything that wasn’t of their God was of the devil. Since they had to pay tithes to the church, it would make sense to them that the fairies had to pay a tithe to the devil.”
Fergus puts an arm around his wife. “Tam Lin instructed Janet that he and the fae would be riding through the woods that night and that she must pull him off his horse and not let go no matter what. He warned her the fae would turn him into all manner of creatures and harmful-looking things, but she would come to no harm because it’s all an illusion. He told her once he turns into a lump of coal to throw him into a well, and he’ll become a man and hers forever.”
Tom snorted. He couldn’t help himself.
Fergus lifted a brow. “Do ye know the tale different, Thomas?”
Every tourist in the group turned toward him, unfriendly looks on their faces.
Tom shook his head. “It sounds like Tam Lin made a habit of promising himself to people forever, and he knew he had a little out with Janet since humans didn’t live forever.”
“Aye, Tam Lin and his bride are long dead,” Fergus agreed.
A woman from the tour spoke up. “Tam Lin was with his love until he died and that’s as good as forever to mere mortals.”
“To be sure!” Aoife laughed. “Ask anyone who’s been married over twenty years.”
Older couples in the group laughed along with the tour guide, Fergus excluded; his mouth twitched.
When the laughs subsided, Aoife continued, “Our Janet was a young woman in love and with child. She went through the trial victorious, holding on to her man through every transformation: bear, snake, hot iron, and so on. When he turned to a burning coal, she threw it in the well and there a naked man appeared. The queen of the fae let them free. They’re filming the scene where the fae will be marching through the wilderness to pay the tithe. So, we must ask you all to hand over your electronic devices and cell phones.”
Fergus got out a bag, some masking tape and a marker. Surprisingly, everyone handed over their devices, marking their names on a strip of tape. Tom waited until everyone else went, not wanting to admit what he’d done in front of everyone else.
“I left my stuff at your place.”
“Aye, I expected some sort of mishap like that to happen that’d force ye back to our home.” Scowling, Fergus glanced over his shoulder at Aoife. “This hasn’t happened in a long time. She must fancy you something fierce.”
“It was my fault. I’m responsible for keeping track of my belongings. Hey—why are we wearing kilts? I didn’t think they were in fashion in Scotland during—”
Fergus waved his hand interrupting Tom. “Forget the film. It’s all a farce to explain what’s to happen next. Yer kin lived so long in the lands of other gods and spirits and the like, ye forgot the gods of these isles, but they haven’t forgotten yer line.”
“Huh?”
The big scot leaned close and spoke in a clandestine tone, “What do ye think happened to Tam Lin and Janet’s bairn? She had babies and those babies had babies. Each generation hunted, some killed, some got away. The last of them seen in these parts, an Ulster woman heavy withchild got away on a ship to the Americas where fae have no power.”
He just stared at the other man, unable to comprehend. He wanted to believe Fergus was mentally ill, but the man didn’t act manic or unstable. There was an air of regret in his mannerisms and tone, like he was breaking news he was reluctant to give.
“I didn’t see it at first because it’s been an age since I last saw him, but yer the spit of Tam Lin.”
Tom’s eyebrows shot up, remembering the look on Fergus’s face. The pictures on the walls with Fergus and Aoife from thirty and forty years ago looking the same as they did now had to be photoshopped. And yet, he stammered, “Th-that’s a ballad. A myth written almost five hundred years ago. Stop yanking my chain.”
Ignoring Tom, Fergus nodded his head in the direction they came
. “If ye run as fast as yer able in that direction ye’ll reach a village about five kilometers from here before the veil parts. Say yer a lost tourist and ask someone to put ye in touch with the American consulate. The villagers will help ye because they’ll all know what’s about to take place. Most of their houses have been marked against the fae and the Wild Hunt will pass them by.”
A giggle bubbled up, then another, and another until Tom was full-out belly laughing. He was drawing attention and sounded a little manic, but he didn’t care. His cheeks grew hot and wet, tears falling unbidden. This little prank was too much. “This is that famous Irish humor,” he managed between giggles. “You’re messing with me!”
“I’m capable of a joke now and then, but what I told ye was the honest truth whether ye believe me or not. Don’t say I didn’t warn ye.”
The gravity in Fergus’s reply sobered Tom. The Scot glanced over his shoulder at Aoife and the group. “Too late to run. Ye made a spectacle of yerself and she’s got her eye on you now.”
The redheaded tour guide made her way over, threading her arm through Tom’s. “Were you having a laugh, my love?” She smiled but there was a sharp edge to it that unsettled him.
Fergus made a sound of disgust that was distinctly Scottish, walking past them. “Best we get moving. Don’t want to be late.”
An icy frisson of fear snaked up Tom’s spine. Maybe, just maybe, Fergus had told the truth and Tom had missed his chance to escape something truly awful.
Aoife snuggled close to him, her soft body warming him. Lemongrass and forest scent filling his nostrils clearing his fear the way the sun cleared away a morning fog. “Forget whatever he said. He doesn’t like when I spoil his schemes.”
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Tam Lin: A Modern, Queer Retelling (Faerie Tales) Page 3
