Warrior Tithe: Faerie Tales

by T. J. Deschamps

  As they passed over a great distance of Highland terrain, the sun trod across the sky, sinking toward the western horizon until the day dimmed a dull gray. Aoife slowed until she galloped at a fast pace for a mortal horse, but not preternaturally fast. As the dull gray above deepened to the pitch black of a starless night, Fagan could scarcely see where they were headed. With nothing to look at and nothing to do but ride, his eyelids grew heavy.

  Aoife slowed some more, climbing a particularly steep mountain. On their descent, he could feel a difference in the air, something fey. The water horse slowed to a halt, releasing Fagan from his binding.

  He took this as a cue to dismount, so he did and then turned his back to the kelpie while she took human form.

  “You needn’t worry about my modesty. I have none.” Aoife laughed behind him.

  A rush of blood flooded his face and, less conveniently, elsewhere. “Well, I do.” He cleared his throat, further embarrassed by her responding laughter. He wasn’t a prude. He feared he’d offend the kelpie with his yearning.

  “I’ve clothed myself. Please look at me.”

  He turned as she asked.

  A blue orb glowed in her hand, illuminating Aoife head to toe in its fey light. She had clothed herself in a tunic made of a material that appeared more the weavings of magic than a moss-green tunic and boots. The color suited her fair skin and wild auburn curls. A faint smile touched her pink lips.

  Fagan fought to not touch his own, remembering the kiss she’d given him. Instead, he shifted his focus to her eyes. “Why have we stopped?”

  “You’re fatigued.” She gestured to a grouping of trees that would make for a nice shelter from the wind despite their lack of leaves to protect from other elements. “We should break for a few hours there so you can rest properly.” Before he could protest her assumptions, she added, “I don’t want to present a weary lad to the queen. You must appear filled with vigor and stamina.”

  Fagan grunted. He didn’t want to admit his exhaustion when all he had done was ride. However, he'd spent half a day's walk carrying her to the creek, and that was hours after he’d woken to check the traps, hoping he’d have a meal for the two of them. He’d been feeding her for the three days of her incapacitation. Caring for someone when he had so little to give had indeed exhausted him.

  He took the hand she offered. It was warm and soft. He liked the size and weight of her hand in his. He fancied Aoife too much for a stranger, especially one as dangerous as a water horse. He couldn’t help it. She’d done nothing but treat him as her equal, feeding him and allowing him to ride her.

  On one hand, Fagan was grateful she’d taken such good care of him. On the other, he hoped he wasn’t being fattened for the slaughter.

  Aoife glanced in his direction as they passed under two trees bent toward each other. The branches above and the roots below his feet so intertwined, there was no telling which belonged to which tree. It had the feel of walking through a gate, and he briefly wondered if the kelpie had taken him through the Veil to the Otherworld, a faerie land, but nothing but more trees awaited on the other side. Mid-winter, the leaves on the ground had long rotted so there would be none to gather for bedding.

  Fagan leaned against a tree. Unprotected by her magic, he could feel the chill air again, but the weather seemed milder here than the mountainside where he was born and raised. It felt more like early autumn than mid-winter. He’d spent many an early morn hunting with his da in this type of weather. Their woolen tunics had served as their only cover, so the slight chill didn’t bother him. Still, it would be nice to sleep close to Aoife.

  Instead of settling beside him, Aoife slipped past him and kept walking.

  “Where are ye headed?” he asked her back, sounding sleepier than he cared to admit.

  Aoife twirled and flashed him a smile, mischief dancing in her features in the fey light she held in her hand.

  His stomach fluttered in response.

  “Don’t worry, lad. I’ll keep ye safe from harm.”

  Fagan chafed at the thought of a wee lass such as herself protecting him. He opened his mouth to make a remark but thought better of it, reminding himself she was a kelpie, dangerous as any murderous fae, not a lass, and he best remembered it before he offended her and lost her favor.

  He returned her smile instead. “I simply wondered where you might be headed in case I might be of service to ye.”

  “No. I am perfectly capable of what I must do.”

  Fagan nodded, figuring she must be about some private business. He fought heavy eyelids to watch Aoife disappear into the night. Left in total darkness, he soon succumbed to sleep.

  The soft crackling of a fire and the aroma of cooked fish woke him some time later. Aoife smiled warmly, offering him a rock too warm for his fingers to grasp. He sucked in his breath.

  “Oh, I forget ye humans are sensitive to such things. Delicate creatures as ye are.”

  “Delicate, are we?” The remark rankled Fagan more than he cared to admit. After all he’d endured, he didn’t feel delicate at all. “I could wear iron for the rest of my days and not suffer in the least. I eat all the salt I like. I could cut my hand with an iron blade and it would heal.”

  “Fair point.” Aoife laughed, setting the stone on the ground. She tore a piece of the fileted flesh with nimble fingers, blew on it, and then instead of eating it, offered Fagan to take the bite. With her wild curls and sweet face, she looked so pretty in the firelight.

  He could have taken the morsel, but he ate from her hand, his lips brushing her finger tips. Her eyes flashed with something he recognized. Something he’d thought he’d never see in another’s gaze again.

  “I must tell ye something,” Aoife said, eyes on the fish as she broke off another piece of its tender flesh. “I have searched for a thin place in the Veil that will take us almost directly to the queen’s castle. My directions are from another’s memory and memories aren’t always accurate.”

  Fagan quirked an eyebrow. “So, yer saying we’re lost?”

  She shook her head slowly, taking the bite of fish for herself. Fagan watched the flesh pass her lips and the column of her throat work. “No. I know where we are, but I don’t know how to get to where we need to be. At least, if I stayed the course I had taken.”

  “I see. Where exactly might we be?”

  “A land in the Otherworld, but not the part we seek.” Her smooth brow wrinkled. “It may take some time until we reach the queen’s castle, but I know the way.”

  “For what reason does this trouble ye?”

  “As I am of the folk of the sea and not Sidhe…” She paused to glance over her shoulder and sighed. “It is dangerous to traverse these lands without the queen’s permission, but a surer path than if we stayed in your mortal realm.”

  Unease tightened his gut. Fagan did not want to be an unwelcome intruder in a faerie land. Getting shot by a laird for trespassing or poaching was a far sight better than being eaten or enthralled by a monster. “We should go back then and find the proper gate.”

  “Don't fret, lad. It is safe…enough. Ye’ll have plenty to eat here and enough time for me to give ye some combat training.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “What could a kelpie possibly ken regarding the ways of mortal combat? I dinnae possess the magic to make my opponent adhere to my body, and I’d drown along with him.”

  Aoife gave Fagan a look that his mother gave when he made an incredibly obtuse remark—warring outrage, pity, and condescension. “Ye shall rescind those words on the morrow.” She smiled sweetly. “As for now, no more talk. It is time to finish yer supper and get some more rest.”

  9

  Aoife

  Aoife positioned herself, feet apart, slightly bent. The stick she’d made into a blunt sword was at the ready, and she positioned her other arm to block. A stance meant to attack and defend.

  Shirtless in his braies, Fagan held his practice sword in one hand, taking the same stance. His gaze narrowed. Aft
er the insult the first night, he’d made no more jokes about what a kelpie knew of fighting.

  He lunged. Deadly and fast.

  A quick study, Fagan had taken to her daily swordplay lessons. Aoife, herself, had always hated them. However, she’d been a young girl when she started, her strikes with the wooden sword ineffectual.

  And the longer they tarried about the faerie countryside, training and eating their fill of game and foods that grew in abundance here, the stronger and brawnier he grew.

  Aoife had taken a huge risk bringing a human into a faerie that was not ruled by her father. If they’d stayed in the mortal realm, she would have never had the time to fatten him up, so to speak, for the queen. Roi, a human, would not dare enter the Otherworld without an army.

  She hoped.

  She and Fagan broke their bread each morning, practiced swordplay, archery whilst mounted upon her back for a few hours, broke for luncheon, and then she’d ride about the countryside. Eventually, they’d reach Mab’s castle, but Aoife wanted to present the queen with a lad with some skill before they arrived, all the more to impress her majesty.

  Fagan thrust and she parried, escaping his every attempt. He did not grow impatient, nor did anger rise. The lad knew he was new to this and accepted she was better. Unlike Roi, who had cursed Aoife’s speed and agility, Fagan studied her and tried to mimic her movements when she countered his attack.

  Less than. That was what the sorcerer king had assumed. Whether it be because she was human or fae or both, but Roi had shown what he’d truly thought of her when they’d fought. If he’d behaved as Fagan had, with respect and even a little awe of her skill, she may have thrown the fight. But she would not spend a lifetime with a man who saw her as competition.

  Roi had fought to conquer.

  Fagan fought to convince.

  With a few adept moves and a well-placed foot, Aoife tripped Fagan onto his back, knocking the blade from his hand. Once he caught his breath, he laughed at his error. The joy on his face when he looked up at her made her belly clench.

  Aoife straddled him, placing the wooden blade to his throat. She arched an eyebrow. “Do ye yield?”

  He stared up at her, his face unreadable. From his head, she snatched an image of her atop him with a rush of feelings superimposed onto her own. The pure, sweet longing, the doubt that she’d return his deep sentiment, and his hope to one day win her all came at once. It was his private thoughts and hopes. For once, she didn’t want to see. She wanted to hear it from him.

  “Aye. I yield to ye, Aoife of the sea. My life and my heart is forfeit to ye.”

  She tossed her blade to the side, bending to press her lips to his. He returned her kiss. She smoothed her hands over his chest and arms. Tingles spread across her skin as his large hands gripped her waist and ever so slowly slid up her sides until he reached just below the undersides of her breasts. There he paused and then slid his hands down to her hips, squeezing. She swept her tongue inside his mouth and undulated against him. A low moan reverberated in his throat.

  Her chest ached with the knowledge that once they reached the castle, her sweet Fagan, who had cared for Aoife when she was weak and would follow her anywhere, would belong to the queen.

  Her throat constricted. Tears threatened to fall. Aoife broke off the kiss and rose. “I’ve done all that I could. Yer ready to meet the queen.”

  Unmoving from where he lay, Fagan’s thick, black eyebrows drew together. “Now?”

  “No. Ye daft lad! We still have much to traverse.” She smiled at the disappointment in his tone, implying he’d rather be here with her than with the queen of the faeries. “I’m sure her guard will want to train ye up in their ways.” She offered her hand.

  He took it, standing in a fluid motion. He looked down at her, his face giving none of his emotions away. His tone was neutral when he asked, “Why have ye instructed me thusly?”

  “I fancy knocking ye on yer arse.” She jutted her chin up at him. Fagan’s breath fanned her face.

  His shapely lips spread in a delectable grin. Smiles from Fagan had been rare at first but came more easily the longer they kept company. Fagan’s voice deepened to that of a much older, worldly man when he said, “I dinnae fancy fighting ye, but I do so enjoy yer consolation when I lose. I look forward to losing and often.”

  She looked away. “Do not love me, Fagan, for I am a kelpie, not a human maiden seeking to settle down and bear ye a litter of bairns. If ye pursue this course with me, yer heart will surely break,” she said, knowing it was her heart that would be broken when she would ultimately betray him.

  “D’ye not hold a single tender feeling for me, or has this all been a farce, a fae trick?”

  The heartbreak in his voice and stricken look on his erstwhile happy face in the periphery of her visions was too much. She hadn’t thought she could come to care for someone, much less a mortal man, so quickly and so soon. “I cannot love ye and more than that, ye cannot love me. If ye are to serve the queen, I cannot present ye already smitten and sworn to me.”

  Storms brewed in those deep, blue eyes of his. His lip curled with disgust. “I’d serve as a knight, not the queen’s whore.”

  “Why do ye think she’d curry ye the favor of making ye one of the Sidhe over any other man? Ye must lay with the queen or ye shall have to return to yer cabin.” A traitorous tear escaped.

  Fagan stomped away. She followed, but at a distance to give him privacy. He sat on a rock overlooking rolling hills. This part of Sidhe faerie looked much like Fagan’s homeland, but it was not.

  Instead of flies and bees, pixies the size of fingertips danced and twirled in the air, flitting from flower to flower. Dryads held as still as trees; their whispers akin to the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. There were other solitary fae about, but they hid in the shadows, unsure. They would smell that Aoife was no common fae. As long as she and Fagan did none of them harm, the folk of this valley would not report them to Mab, but they would not keep a secret if questioned by those allied to the queen.

  Fagan stayed still as stone for hours. Finally, he spoke, “Would the queen expect me to love only her?”

  “Nay. That is not the way of the fae…but it is the way of humans. Ye would not be able to love me and…serve her. Yer a loyal man, Fagan. Ye’d expect as much from me. Perhaps it is best that we do not nurture what has sprouted between us.”

  “I am a loyal man.” He snorted as if insulted. “Nevertheless, my sex is not where my loyalties lie, and I highly doubt that is where your heart and loyalties lie either.”

  She laughed, but at herself, not him. Aoife had enjoyed intercourse with Roi, but she did not feel any obligation to him for it. “No.”

  He cupped her chin. “Would it wound ye if I promised my heart to ye, but to her my…service?”

  Aoife would do anything to keep the sweet lad in her life, and she’d never been possessive. “No. Would it wound ye if I found comfort in the times ye’d spend in her company?”

  He swallowed hard. “As long as yer honest with me, nay. I would not mind ye seeking comfort.”

  “Then the matter is settled?”

  “Aye. I shall make whatever sacrifice is required to remain close to ye.”

  Fagan snaked his arms around Aoife, gently pulling her into an embrace. She cupped the back of his head drawing his head to hers, kissing him. A niggling voice told her to tell him about the other man who had staked a claim on her and that she was running from her father as well as her betrothed. But the way Fagan kissed her as his hands roamed her body filled Aoife’s head with other thoughts.

  She tugged at his tunic, pulling the threadbare material over his head. She splayed her hands over his chest. They’d eaten well in the faerie and the lad had packed on brawn. He wasn’t overly large like some human males. He had the body of a swordsman and archer. His shoulders were broad and every muscle well defined. Unlike fae men, he had dark, silky hair on his chest that narrowed into a line that led to his braies. Sh
e loosened the material, unfastening the belt that kept them up. It all fell to the ground, freeing his erection.

  Oh, he was proportionate for a man of his stature. As she fit her hand around his girth, his moan made her clench deep and low.

  “Fair is fair, Aoife,” he whispered, hands gripping her tunic.

  “Are ye certain? The sight of my nude body offends ye.”

  He laughed. “Aye. I am certain.”

  For being a bashful peasant until now, Fagan made quick work of removing Aoife’s clothes. She made him remove his boots. He asked her to keep hers on.

  They fell to the grass, bodies entwined.

  10

  Roi

  When Roi’s party caught up to the hounds, the two beasts awaited him, sniffing about a copse of trees. Roi commanded his men to split up and sweep the area as he dismounted and handed his reins to his squire. He could sense the thinness in the Veil between this realm and the Otherworld as he approached the hounds.

  “So, she seeks Queen Mab’s protection,” he murmured to himself, stroking his chin. That would account for taking up with a mortal. Mab was known to favor human men. The queen’s current favorite consort, Tamlin, had been mortal long ago. Aoife had collected herself something to bargain.

  Roi couldn’t simply catch his betrothed and bring her home; she’d always have running to Mab as a secondary plan. No. He needed to ruin any chance of her escaping, lest he lose all respect from his men. No female would ever shame him like that. A plan began to formulate in his mind.

  He smiled to himself as he ordered the hounds to delay and deter, but not retrieve the kelpie, with the condition they could still devour her human companion if they wished. He smiled because it was a matter of who got to Queen Mab first.