He held his breath, waiting for a white light or devil-like demon to appear. At this point, he wasn’t at all sure which it would be.
When neither appeared, his focus turned to Feeorin, beautifully, radiant, the same as ever, standing before him.
Without hesitation, he grabbed her and kissed her with all the passion he could muster from his brittle body. Her lips tasted like the sunrise on a spring morning. Energy surged through him, causing him to shudder with erotic delight. He moved his mouth over hers, drinking in the divine, spiritual nourishment she offered, sensing the renewal in his weakened muscles and his aching bones. A peace settled deep within his soul as his heart gathered all that was good and pleasant from his earthly life.
With a sigh, Roan leaned back, realizing only then that the music stopped and that he held Feeorin in a tight embrace. All around them, the eyes of her people gazed with curiosity upon them.
Roan swallowed, forcing a smile on his face, unsure what would happen next. Were they a peaceful lot, or would he wind up on a spit, tumbling like a pig ready for the roast.
“We aren’t cannibals, Roan. Please, pull together your thoughts. You may offend one of them,” Feeorin whispered near his ear.
Roan swallowed as he eased his arms from her.
“Look at you, Roan McNamara, as handsome as the day I pulled you from the pond.”
He glanced at Feeorin and followed her gaze to his chest. Only then did it occur to him the newfound strength that beat in his heart. Roan held out his hands, turning them from back to front, amazed that his fingers were no longer gnarled and misshapen. They were lean and strong as in his midlife. He balled his hands into a fist testing to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him. He took in the well-shaped form of his arms, his biceps, filled with a sinewy strength.
Roan gave out a surprised gasp as energy pulsed like fire through his veins and he lifted his face to the sky, breathing deep the delicious taste of youth. No longer were his muscles frail and weak, his legs crooked and unsteady. He stole a glance at Feeorin’s rapturous body beneath her sheer gown and life, sweet and pulsating, stirred in his groin. Was this a fantastic dream, or was he dead? If he was either, he prayed never to awaken. Delighted, yet confused, Roan’s gaze searched Feeorin’s face and tried to articulate one of the many questions that swirled in his brain.
Feeorin smiled, held out her hand, and Roan accepted it with a soft chuckle.
She led him to a stout man, his headdress made of white and grey owl plumes. In his hand, he held a scepter as tall as him. He was dressed in fine garments of fur and woven fabric that changed colors when brushed by a breeze. Roan kept his gaze on Feeorin, prepared to follow the protocol of approaching what he felt certain was the faery king. Was this her father then, the man who once considered marrying Feeorin off to another faery king? Would Roan measure even close to that kind excellence in comparison? Likely not in a million years.
His throat went suddenly bone dry.
The portly man stepped forward, raising his scepter toward the sky.
“We’ve heard of the stories you’ve told and your loyalty to the faery kingdom.” He spoke aloud, addressing the crowd that had closed in, circling behind Roan and Feeorin. His voice boomed with a rich, familiar tone that deeply touched Roan’s soul, as though he knew the sound, as though he’d finally come home. “‘Tis by agreement of this clan, Roan McNamara, that you have proven yourself to be a friend of our people. This unselfish gesture we find noble even for a human. Not without notice is your devotion to our beloved Feeorin, whose word of your good character we do not take lightly.”
Roan gave Feeorin a side look and smiled.
“So it is by this council that you are officially invited to live in Tirnan ‘Oge with us for the rest of your days. It must be of your own free will and with a pure heart stated thus.”
Roan stared at the royal leader, dressed in nature’s finery. Gold and bronze leaves glittered about his head. Was he hearing him right? Was he to live as an immortal with Feeorin?
The king cleared his throat, his gaze darting to Feeorin. “You are welcome here to our home for as long as you desire. Yet with this gift, magic makes yet one other demand.”
Stupefied by the change in his body, Roan nodded. “I can think of no other place I would rather live out my days.” He reached out and took Feeorin’s hand. “And there’s no one I would rather spend those days with than Feeorin.”
The king scanned him from head to toe and did the same to Feeorin before he spoke again. “Very well, there is one condition by which your transformation will be complete.”
Roan’s gaze snapped up to the rotund man. “Am I to become a faery, then?”
The king glanced from Feeorin to Roan. “You yourself will not possess the faery magic, but your children will.”
“My children? I can still have children?” The thought was unbelievable. Why, in human years he was an old man!
“For a man who has written about faeries and magic all his life, it appears you’re having a great deal of difficulty believing in fae magic, Mr. McNamara. Perhaps we were mistaken about you?”
“No, no.” Roan’s grasp tightened on Feeorin’s hand and he pulled her close. “I’ve loved Feeorin all of my life and now if you are truly giving me the chance to be with her forever, then I’ll do whatever is necessary to make it so.”
Hushed sighs emitted from somewhere in the crowd.
With a nod and an expression revealing his satisfaction, the king stepped forward and raised his scepter to the heavens. “If this day, ye choose to wed—”
A thousand images of his future with Feeroin danced happily through in Roan’s head.
“Then blessings of plenty be to your bed.”
Roan could not believe his good fortune. A life immortal with Feeorin? “With a full heart, I choose to stay and thank you, one and all for the privilege and the honor.”
The king smiled, clapped his hands twice, and summoned the jubilant music to resume. The thick, heady scent of honeysuckle, unnoticed by Roan before now, permeated the air, a contrast to the crisp autumn breeze that merrily tickled his nose.
“Is that it? Are we married then?” Roan leaned close whispering to Feeorin as they were swept into the faery’s dance. He watched her from the corner of his eye, his beautiful Feeorin. Perhaps it was his youthful ego, but she seemed even more radiant to him at this moment than she ever had. When at last the dance brought them facing one another once more, he grabbed her hands and held her firm against him. “You are mine, forever?” He had to be sure this wasn’t a dream.
“Our home is now here in Tirnan ‘Oge.”
Roan held her, studying the face that he’d spent an entire lifetime fantasizing of.
“Do not look at me so, Roan, or we’ll be needing to leave the celebration before we embarrass the elders.”
Roan gave her a wicked smile. “That would be a pity. Perhaps we should sneak away for a few moments.”
“Remember that time is changed from fae to earthly realms, my love.” She smiled.
Feeorin took his hand and in a blink of his eye, they stood alone beneath the great oak where they first met and first loved. The moon above glistened like stardust across the black surface of the pond. For a moment, Roan stared out over the water, grappling with images of his earthly life, caught between what was magic and what was real. He thought of his parents, his grandparents, William and Meg, Will Jr. and Penny. He thought of his agent and his old dog. Would they remember him? Would the stories he’d spent a lifetime collecting and documenting ensure the heritage of the faery kingdom, the place where he now lived.
Feeorin touched his shoulder.
“Will you miss it very much?” she spoke softly, slipping her arm through his and leaning her head on his shoulder.
“Aye, parts I suppose. It was a good life.” Roan turned to his new bride. “A great deal of that good life I owe to you.”
“Well then, Roan McNamara, perhaps you should focus first
hand this gratitude you’re feeling?”
“Focus?” The warmth of Feeorin’s hand pressed against the front of his pants and he grew firm at her touch.
He held her gaze as the thought of slipping the gown from her body materialized before him. It dropped in a blue swirl at her feet. “I didn’t think I possessed magic.” He stared at her beautiful body.
“But the magic that exists between us, that is all together different.” She sighed, lifting her chin to the sky, even as Roan merely thought of caressing her breasts.
“We sense each other’s thoughts as real as if performed physically.”
Roan gasped as his shirt fell from his arms and his pants dropped to his feet. He looked up and met Feeorin’s grin.
“They say that a man who kisses a Sighoge faery can go mad for the need of having her.” She took a step toward him and eased her hand down the hard plane of his chest.
Passion swelled inside him. “Then let me be mad to have you, my love, again and again until we can no longer move.”
Feeorin smiled and drew him down to the cool, mist-covered grass. In the distance, a barn owl hooted, its song echoing across the silent fields.
Roan did as he promised, loving her until the pink fingers of dawn stretched thin on the horizon. Yet he wasn’t tired, nor was his need satisfied…just yet.
Feeorin stirred from her short nap, and turned to Roan lying beside her on the grass.
“Have you satisfied this madness yet?”
She traced a finger down the middle of his chest and lower until she wrapped her delicate hand around him. He came to life and she chuckled, swinging her leg over his thighs and righting herself above him.
“What’s mine is yours,” Roan whispered. Taking her face in his hands, he drew her to him, kissing her softly.
“And what’s yours is mine.” She grinned gently.
A sudden rush of wind, followed by a flock of birds swept high into the dawn-filled sky with Feeorin’s shuddering sigh.
Chapter Nine
Meghan Neill preferred to sit high above everyone else. She liked the wind in her face, the solitude of being alone with her head in the clouds. Up here, she could hear the melody clearer. The playground was too crowded. She couldn’t hear the music with all the screaming and yelling. It hadn’t taken her very long to discover the top of the monkey bars was where she liked best to be.
“Meghan, it’s almost time for recess to be over.” The playground teacher glanced briefly at her before she returned to trying to stop two boys from fighting.
Meghan smiled down at the pretty teacher. She was new and sometimes the students took advantage of her because of it. This time however, it wasn’t either boy that had started the fight.
It was the little people.
Meghan had seen the whole thing. No one else had seen the wood sprites that darted from beneath the piles of leaves at the edge of the asphalt playground. The little people, she knew from observation, loved to create trouble and scurry back to their hiding place to watch with glee. She’d watched them work their ornery deeds on the unknowing children in the past.
“It wasn’t Timmy’s fault that his shoe laces are tied together, Miss Pingston,” Meghan offered as she watched the young woman struggle with the two unruly boys. The teacher grabbed their arms, holding each boy either side of her.
“We’ll let Principal Jones decide that. Now Meghan, please come down and proceed to line up at the door. You have that duty as door captain this week, remember?”
Meghan hadn’t forgotten. She was very responsible, even for a six-year old, as both of her parents often reminded her. They also taught her how important it was to be truthful. Only this time she wasn’t sure if she should be truthful and tell Miss Pingston exactly what she’d seen.
She’d never told anyone what she saw from time to time. Not even her mommy and daddy. She didn’t want to sound silly, or for them to think she wasn’t telling the truth.
She scrambled from her perch and carefully sidestepped the pile of leaves. Meghan wondered if anyone else saw them—the little people. None of her classmates ever spoke of seeing them, though one or two mentioned having “secret friends”. However, they got laughed at and some of the kids made fun of them. Meghan thought it was sad, but she didn’t want to be made fun of either. Maybe she could find a way to ask her daddy if he believed there were faeries like the ones he told her about at bedtime.
***
“Tell me that one story again, daddy. The one about the man who loved the faery princess.”
The wide-eyed innocence of William Neill’s daughter, her large blue eyes the color of the summer sky, got her whatever she wanted, as usual. He was, to coin a phrase, wrapped around her capable six-year-old finger.
Meghan sat on his lap, freshly bathed, in her jammies, holding tight to her stuffed toy lamb; it’s once button eyes, now crosstiched with black embroidery thread, had been repaired by her mother, Penny.
Will’s fingers flipped through the pages of the book she’d brought to him. The one she preferred him to use when reading her a bedtime story. The brown leather cover was now faded and worn from years of use. He held it in reverence, remembering when as a young child, he sat at the feet of the man who wrote the stories.
The author of the book was now a legend in Ireland, and so too the tales documented in his many books. Not only was he the first man to ever openly admit without doubt that he’d met a Sighoge faery, but then proceeded to spend the rest of his life recording every story he could from the old stories and legends. Some claimed he was crazy, others found him a charming old eccentric. However, Will knew him as a wise man, a good man, quiet and determined. He was the man who had raised him as his own son. Will had never forgotten the lessons, the stories, or his few years of life with Roan McNamara. And he made good on his promise, telling the stories now to his daughter, the miracle that had arrived unexpectedly in their lives less than six years before.
Will glanced down, pressing a gentle kiss on her silky brown hair. She smelled fresh from her bath, both of innocence and lavender, her favorite shampoo. From the day they plucked her from the cradle, her skin held the faintest scent of honeysuckle, undetectable if you weren’t already familiar with the flowers that grew in the spring near the farm pond.
Will knew he was a blessed man and not a night went by when he didn’t give thanks for this miracle seated on his lap or the circumstances that had brought her across the sea to them.
***
The overseas crackled unmercifully. It was rare for Will to receive phone calls from Ireland. He’d heard a couple of times from Brian, his step-father, who’d gone to visit the church graveyard where his Ma was buried, but after his passing, there was no one. Roan preferred writing to phone calls, saying he couldn’t think straight without a pen in his hand.
That didn’t surprise Will. This call did.
“I don’t think I heard you correctly, who did you say this was?” The man’s name was again lost in the unruly static of the phone line. Will placed aside the book he’d been reading. Penny was at a school board meeting and he and the dog were having a quiet evening at home reading.
“My name is Virgil Nevins. Is this William Neill, Jr.?”
“Yes, this is him.” He had a strange twist in his gut that the call had to do with Roan.
“I represent Mr. McNamara as his legal counsel, Mr. Neill. I wonder if perhaps he has recently contacted you?”
Will thought back to the last letter he’d received from Roan. Written in his crooked penmanship, Will was barely able to discern the words. As always, he mentioned Will’s parents with fond thoughts of his dad. And, as always, he spoke with extreme fondness of the fae woman named Feeorin. He had mentioned, too, that he and Lucy, his old Lab, were getting ready to take their nightly walk and he’d be in touch. He stated nothing out of the ordinary. “I got something from him a few weeks back, nothing unusual. Why?”
“Mr. McNamara came to me a few months ago. He asked me t
o draw up papers assessing his properties. He had experienced a slight stroke and felt he should get things in order. Were you aware of his health?”
Will blinked in surprise. He knew Roan was getting older, but he’d not mentioned a stroke. “No, I’m afraid I wasn’t aware of his stroke, Mr. Nevins.”
The phone crackled and Will pressed the receiver close to his ear.
“He mentioned that he might be thinking of a trip, and he wasn’t sure when he’d be back. Did he happen to mention his plans for a trip, Mr. Neill?”
The image of Roan standing at the pond at sunset, his fishing rod in hand came to his mind. He couldn’t imagine Roan leaving to go anywhere but that single spot. “No, I’m afraid he didn’t mention anything to me. But perhaps it was for his research? A short trip, maybe?”
“I can’t say for sure, Mr. Neill, but I’ve had a call from the authorities that some personal artifacts of Mr McNamara’s were found on the bank of the pond on his farm.”
Will straightened in his chair. “What type of things?”
“There was a pair of boots, a lantern and a dog, his it’s presumed, deceased of natural causes it seems.”
A gasp clung in Will’s throat. “A yellow lab?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m told.”
“Poor Lucy. Yes, that was Roan’s dog. Was there anything else?”
“No, I’m afraid not. I’ve been trying to reach Mr. McNamara, but if he is still in the area, he’s not answering my calls.”
“Do you think he’s been hurt? He always went for walks. Maybe he slipped and …fell, into the pond?” His stomach churned at the thought, even as a strange niggling tickled his neck. “Did they check the pond?”
“Yes, Mr. Neill, there were no signs of him. The good thing, I suppose, is that authorities do not believe foul play is involved. It just seems Mr. McNamara has wandered off.”
“But they are looking for him?” Will rubbed his forehead, trying to battle the questions in his mind. Deep down, he wanted to believe that Roan had finally ended up with Feeorin, but his practical side worried that perhaps Roan had gotten lost on one of his walks and became disoriented. Will’s gaze snapped up to the photo of him and Roan the last afternoon they’d gone fishing. Penny had taken the shot of the two of them sporting cheesy grins as they held up one miniscule fish that they’d finally set free back into the pond. They ate a supper of bread, cheese, and apples that night and polished off a bottle of wine. It had been one of the best days of Will’s life.
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