It's Magic [Anthology]

Amanda McIntyre/CS Chatterly

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. IT'S MAGIC ANTHOLOGY Copyright (c) 2005 Tirnanogue by Amanda McIntyre Copyright (c) 2005 Something Faery Special by CS Chatterly ISBN: 1-59836-037-X Cover art and design (c) 2005 by Josephine Piraneo All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Printed and bound in the United States of America. For information, you can find us on the web at www.VenusPress.com

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Tirnanogue

By Amanda McIntyre

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Dedication:

"Tell me a story…" The magic of faery and folklore burns eternal in the hearts and spirit of those who appreciate the fine art of storytelling. This story is dedicated to those who continue to weave their tales from generation to generation.

~the author

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Chapter One Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among the long dappled grass And pluck till times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun. ~W.B. Yeats Wales 1945 "Tis a bucket of blarney, Roan, those stories ‘bout faeries an’ such. You'd have ta’ have the brain the size of a pea to believe such rubbish." Roan glanced over at his childhood friend. Now both in their early teens, the myths, and stories of their youth were beginning to wane in the dawn of adulthood. Certainly he’d not given much thought to the size of his Granda’s brain. "But don't you wonder if some of it's got a bit of truth?" He pressed childhood companion, William for some semblance that all that he'd learned as a child was naught but for the amusement of the elders—worse simply the raving of an entire community of ‘pea-brained’ idiots. His friend tossed a flat stone across the mirrored plane of the secluded farm pond, his eyes squinting in concentration as he counted the number of times it skipped happily across the surface. "That makes it three skips out of three times. I still hold the record." He turned to Roan with a great and satisfied smile that disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "Listen, there are no faeries, Roan. No little woodland sprites," his voice cracked as he raised it in a falsetto mockery. "There's nothing out there, but grass and trees. Only what you can see." He turned, slapping his friend on the shoulder. "It’s 5

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time, my friend, to give up your childhood fantasies." He paused a moment and then smiled wickedly. "Well, the ones that have pointy ears and little pink wings." Roan held his gaze to where the stone had disappeared beneath the cool, dark surface of the water. Something inside of him wanted to scream that his friend was wrong, while another part of him suffered with the fact that it might be true. The struggle was valiant inside Roan. How could years of legends, tales told to him by his greatgrandparents passed on from generation to generation be totally obliterated at the simple declaration of skeptical, William McKneelly. "Perhaps 'tis a question that should be left for another day then?" Roan turned with a grin to his friend, who sat perched now on a hollow log as he replaced the shoes on his bare feet. William glanced up with little concern and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe that Roan still held hope of the stories to be true. "You'd have to show me proof, Roan McNamara. Solid proof." Proof? The legends of the old country were not born of proof; they were born of the heart and soul of years of magic and unexplained occurrences, woven gently as silk into the fine crafted stories of present day. Surely, William knew this? "What sort of proof would you expect? You know as well as I, that faeries are dangerous. One false step and you could be swept into a gallitrap." Roan haphazardly tossed a stick into the lake, wishing in the next second that he'd not challenged his friend. William was not the type to back down easily. In fact, the more dangerous the challenge, the greater he encouraged it. It was an attribute that Roan sometime envied. "Let’s see. I s’pose there are a few ways you could go about this." He crossed his leg over his knee and stared into the endless blue afternoon sky. A smile crept over his face. "You could take something from one of the faeries. You know a piece of clothing or a working tool." "Yeah, like I could walk up to a faery ring and take something as easy as you please." Roan gave a short laugh, secretly hoping his friend would see the absurdity of the idea and perhaps drop the entire thing. "Or—" Roan's lips were suddenly as parched as his throat. How long had it been since morning breakfast? Surely the sun and swimming had caused the problem. He licked his lips and cleared his throat searching for any leftover moisture. 6

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"Aren't you a wee bit interested in the--or?" Roan's palms began to sweat. A cool, clamminess crawled up his forearms. His inquisitive nature was forever getting the best of him. "Or…what?" "That's m’boy. Forever the curious type—it’s what I like about you, Roan." William stood up and walked up beside Roan, giving him a Cheshire-like grin. "Or what?" He spoke with greater confidence. Roan's agitation rose with anticipation of the hair-brained challenge that was sure to emit from William's mouth. "You find a young faery spirit—what do they call those, again?" William's face scrunched up in thought, but the slight telltale sign of a smile remained on his face. "Sighoge" Roan mumbled under his breath hoping his friend wouldn’t snag the word too quickly. "Ah yes, that's it!" William pointed a stubby finger toward Roan's nose. "Find one of those and kiss her." "Are you daft? Do you think they just litter themselves about for all to see? Haven't you listened to any of the stories?" Roan frowned at his friend and turned to climb the knoll back to the road. A hand clamped down on his shoulder. "You're afraid." "Am not." Roan did not turn for fear that William would see the counter truth in his eyes. "Then—do as I ask. If faeries, or more specifically Sighoge, do not exist, then there is no harm done. I will, once and for all time, allow you to free yourself from these ridiculous thoughts of your childhood. I’m doing you a favor, really." "And what if they do, then you'll believe me—or rather you'll believe that they do exist?" Roan turned to face William, all the courage of his twelve years on earth welling inside him. His desire to prove to William, and to himself–for the sake of the elders of the village—it was his patriotic duty to the solidarity of Welsh folklore. "Sure." William shrugged. "If you can handle what legend says about kissing a Sighoge." Yet another challenge loomed over young Roan's head at the reminder of the myth. His gaze caught the steely challenge of his friend. "They say that a man who kisses a young faery spirit is lost forever, that the madness of love will fall upon him." 7

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William slapped Roan's shoulder twice and grinned. "Ah, I wouldn't worry too much. Chances are that you aren't likely to spot a young faery spirit around here for a very long time. Da’s geese have surely scared them off by now." Roan stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared at his feet as they walked the rest of the way back to town in silence. Again they’d sneaked out of the last class of school and needed to get back before the end bell signaled. Today William decided to tell the teacher they’d fallen asleep at the last recess and the bell had awakened them. Unsure what was dancing in William’s head, Roan knew that the vision of a beautiful, young faery dancing in his would haunt him the rest of his life—or at least until he could prove William wrong. "My father's watch!" Roan made a sudden stop in the middle of the dirt road they walked. "I left it at the lake. Go on ahead, I'll catch up." He tore off in the opposite direction, hoping that when he got there, he would find the priceless heirloom given to him on his eleventh birthday. Thinking of what his mother would surely do if he lost it spurned his feet to move faster over the uneven terrain. He never saw the flat stone that caught the tip of his toe and sent him careening down the grassy hillside toward the large oak tree and the steep ravine below. Hurled over and over, his body met the ground but a few times before coming to a complete and sudden halt. Roan lay there, head spinning and eyes closed, regaining his scrambled senses. Unsure of his injuries, he opened his eyes. Peering over him, studying his face closely was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Her eyes, dark and shimmering, held a depth unlike any he'd ever seen. Her skin, pale blue as a Celtic Moon, fairly glowed with an ethereal radiance. And her mouth— Roan's gaze drew in the shape of her mouth, lips that held the dew of a misty morning and pink as a perfect rose. It was a stirring sight for his pre-adolescent dreams. She tipped her head as if she knew what he was thinking, but she said nothing. Roan swallowed hard, not wishing to make any sudden moves, lest he frighten her. He was frightened enough for the both of them. Just the same, he was not ready to go mad just yet. "Please—" Roan found his voice. "Whatever you do, don't kiss me. I beg of you."

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A wisp of sadness crossed over her pale silvery blue face as she leaned back and smiled. To Roan, the effect was every bit as beautiful as a precious and perfect spring morning. Perhaps he'd spoken in haste. She held up his father's watch, her tiny silver eyebrows arching above her luminous, almond-shaped eyes. "You can't have that; it was a gift from my Da." Panic broke out in Roan's mind of the fate that might await him in the next few minutes. "I saved your life, human. Would it not be a generous thing to repay the kindness?" Her smile held Roan captive. He closed his eyes. "I rolled down the hill and stopped, that's all. You didn't save me." Roan started to sit up, realizing with a start, that there was no ground beneath him. He was floating in midair! The young faery held his backside perched in her hand as though he weighed no more than a canary. Far below them was a deep ravine that plummeted a good ten feet to the rocky shore below. "Please put me on the grass." Her expression, first surprised, then with guarded consideration, gave away that she was in deep thought of her choices. "Please?" Of course, he was begging. His voice sounded puny and weak, even to him. Whipped by a faery. How would he live that down? That is, assuming he lived at all. "What shall be my reward?" She grinned, knowing she had him by the seat of his pants—literally. His choices were slim, he knew. If he kissed her, chances were, he would go mad—as if he perhaps wasn’t already well on his way. However, if he gave her the watch, chances were, he would most certainly experience the madness of his mother. There were days when a boy should stay in bed of a morning. It was one of those days. Maybe he could snatch the watch and outrun her? "Not likely." Her sweet voice calmly countered the very thoughts in his head and he hadn't said a word. 9

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Suddenly an old saying came to mind and he blurted out the words before he could think them. "What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine." Shocked, the faery lifted him out of harms way and set him on the grass. "What did you say?" Summoning what little courage he had left and hoping he wouldn’t soil his pants, he repeated the words not knowing what to expect. "What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine." Her brow crinkled as if in a quandary. "But, I have your watch already. I have nothing else to give." Roan assembled his thoughts quickly. "Tis true and you have my life in your hands. Take not that from me and I will give you the watch." The faery stared at him and for all that is holy, Roan fought not to grab her slender shoulders and kiss her. Instead he kept his thoughts to other things, like curling his lips protectively into his mouth. "What are you doing?" She peered closer, her opalescent eyes blinking in innocent wonder at the contortion of his young, inexperienced mouth. Roan inched back, keeping his lips clamped tight between his teeth. "Nnommpfg," he mumbled a response averting his eyes from her inquisitive gaze. "Ye have no wish to thank me for saving yer life?" He shook his head no. "Perhaps just a quick kiss?" Roan's chest broke out in a sweat. He closed his eyes, his lips now had no feeling. Even if she did inflict her brain-sapping kiss, at least he would not feel it. The air between them was heavy with a honeysuckle fragrance—stronger than the sweet flowers in his grandmother's garden. Her breath, near his face, was the scent of freshly fallen snow, clear and crisp to the nostril. It was not at all the worst way a boy could choose to go mad. Roan tightened his eyelids waiting for what the fates would bring him. One moment went by, and another. He cracked open one eyelid and saw only the tree’s limbs and the pond beyond its branches. With his heart fiercely pounding, he opened both eyes, cautiously searching from the left and to the right for the faery, wondering if she was but a figment of a bump to his head. 10

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A movement from the corner of his eye grabbed his attention and his gaze darted to the edge of the forest. He saw her then, this faery, with her iridescent gown of pale blue sparkling in a single shaft of sunlight, molded to her exquisite form. Her hair, dark as her eyes, trailed in great waves down her back. The image seared into Roan's soul as readily as a red-hot branding iron on flesh. She smiled, held up his father's watch, and disappeared through the trees.

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Chapter Two

Twelve years later~ Roan opened his mouth, allowing Clarissa to pop another grape into his mouth. The tiny gesture amused her, as well as her friend, and so he complied, though he thought it rather childish. "Do you remember how we would skip school and come down here to swim?" William commented casually as he leaned back on the blanket, gladly obliging the young woman who shifted his head to her lap. Meghan, he thought William had mentioned, was her name. Smiling, he took her hand and kissed it slowly. "Aye, I remember." Roan nodded as his gaze scanned the pond. Not much had changed since the days of his youth. Not out here at McKneely's farm anyway. Much though had changed inside Roan. Twelve years and the intrusions of life can prove to tarnish innocence. Roan had learned over time that solitude was his best friend. It was the one who stayed long after all others had fled. His picnic date for the afternoon, a recent college co-ed and a friend of William's latest conquest, glanced up at him, batting her eyes demurely. Hadn't that gone out with hoopskirts? "What do you plan to do now, Roan?" The young woman asked as she tried to shift her body to accommodate him, as her friend had done with William. The ravages of war had left Roan without family, and with no desire to have one. Life could be too cruel, giving one minute and taking the next. It was no great secret to anyone that knew him that his spiritual vessel once filled with hope, had long since cracked, and its contents run dry. Roan gazed down at the voluptuous woman gazing up at him. Surely all he would need to do is hold out his hand and she would follow him to a secluded spot, giving him an afternoon of, no doubt, splendid carnal passion. True as it was, that Roan had often thought of such things, but his mind always strayed to the image of a face he'd seen long 12

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ago. A woman he could not escape from, one he could never have. As though reading his thoughts William spoke. "So, Roan old man, do you still believe in faeries?" William peeked open an eye and grinned. Roan gave his friend a short, bitter laugh in response. "You don't want me to answer that." His date's hand slid slowly over his inner thigh as she leaned close to him. Her breath still reeked of green olives and pimento from the cute sandwiches the women had brought for lunch. "They're so posh," the female pair squealed in delight. Roan shifted, crossing his legs in hope that she would get the picture in a version that he wouldn’t have to explain in primary school detail that he wasn't interested. "You're not a faery, are you?" she whispered seductively as her hand brushed over the crotch of his jeans. "Why not let Roan's little friend come out and play." "Good lord, Billy. Where’d you find this one?" Roan stood abruptly and frowned at the females who stared back at him in shock. His friend, William averted his gaze elsewhere, as he pretended not to be involved. Roan shook his head in disbelief. His friend hadn't changed considerably over the years. Charming his way into the beds of a variety of women, he neither held accountability for his actions, nor seemed to care whether he did or not. "I'm going for a walk." Roan grumbled the edict out and turned away. "I'll come, too—" His date scrambled up, her feet catching in the blanket causing her to crash atop the other two, already in the throes of laughter. "Best leave the hobbit alone, girls. He's in a foul mood. Still hasn't been able to find his damn watch." Their laughter snaked up Roan's spine. "Besides, ladies, there is enough of me to go around." Another round of female squeals followed. Roan stopped in his tracks, pondering whether to throw William into the deepest part of the lake like the stones he was always fond of competing with. Fine, he could believe what he wanted. Roan knew what he saw that day long ago—or at least, what he thought he saw. 13

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Creating enough distance between him and the tittering group, Roan followed the edge of the bank around to the far curve of the pond. The warmth of the summer sun did remind him of how easy life used to be. At the age of twelve, what worries have you got? He spotted the old oak standing in the alcove of rocky shore and above his head the overgrown grass of the knoll above hung over the edge of the jagged drop. For a moment he stood there, simply staring at the bank high above him. He wasn't even sure why exactly, only that for some elusive reason, it gave him peace. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he turned to face the water. Yet, another constant in his life, the pond was yet unspoiled by the progress of the city moving into the picturesque villages creating strip malls and tourist attractions. This place had withstood the ravages of time and all he wanted to do was be a part of it. Shirking off his t-shirt, jeans and shoes, he stood there a grown man in his boxer briefs beneath the old tree, his hands on his hips staring out over the placid water. Dipping one toe in the edge, he cringed with a smile. Even the temperature had stayed the same over time. Sloshing cautiously into its dark coolness, the water lapped over his body welcoming him back into its liquid arms. He pressed on until he felt sure it was deep enough and then sprung toward the water headfirst, engulfed in blackness. Blessed relief—he was alone. It was here that his mind was free from the realities of this world. Apart from the chaos, he could remember the good times of his childhood, his mother’s laughter, and fishing with his Da. Then came the Depression, claiming his mother first. Soon after, he'd been sent to his Uncle's farm to help out when his aunt took ill. In what seemed a chain of disastrous events, his Da took ill. Years of working the mines had taken their toll on his lungs and it was not long after his diagnosis that he was buried on a hill not far from the tiny church where Roan's mother was buried. Roan pushed his face through the surface taking in a giant gulp of clean air—so crisp it was that it burned his nostrils, as did frigid air on a winter's day. Treading water, he squinted through the droplets in his eyes to see the blazing sun above his head. The stark change of temperature made no sense. He searched the bank, and saw no one. It was as though he'd come out of the water into a different world. He could not even hear the laughter of his friends from around the bend. 14

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Surely something had him spooked. Not too surprising given he was with William. The guy could be damn scary sometimes, taking risks and defying death itself on occasion. It had forever been a part of his personality, but as Roan watched him grow, the challenges became greater—the risks more deadly. It had served over the years to create a wide chasm between them and an even greater hole in Roan’s lonely heart. He pushed toward shore and caught what he thought was a glimpse of a silver glint near the knoll above the pond. As he emerged from the pond, the breeze, now warm, buffeted his body alerting him to the sensual pleasure of swimming near naked in a pond. He relished this moment when he was comfortable with himself and his surroundings. Anymore he was restless, unsatisfied with most of what the world had to offer—including the women that William tried to set him up with. Roan lay out his jeans and stretched his body out on the ground. Drawing his hands lazily behind his head, he closed his eyes hoping the picnicking group would keep their distance. Whether he dozed, or perhaps it was a result of the wine he’d had with lunch, his mind wandered to a woman’s face. Not of human form, but more of a fantasy. His heart thrummed against his chest as she drew near, holding his gaze in hers, drawing him into her spirit. She wore a shimmering, translucent gown of pale blue that floated around her like an apparition, not concealing her perfect form beneath. Mesmerized by her beauty, Roan found his limbs rigid—all of them. Her skin shone with radiance unmatched by any moonbeam, as did the gleam in her eyes. From the look in her gaze, she knew full well her affect on him. Roan found his voice. "It’s you. You look exactly the same as when I was twelve." "The look in your eye is not that of a young boy. Tis you that has changed, human." Her appreciative gaze scanned him from head to toe and she gave him a pleased smile. "For the better, I see." Oh yes, she was exactly as he remembered her that day. It was true though that he looked upon her with a man’s eyes, wanting desperately to touch her, to hold her close, and to feel secure in everything that had been engrained in him. For years since their meeting, he’d lived on the brink between reality with its lackluster offerings and the musings of what he thought he’d seen one summer afternoon. 15

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"Last we met, I had fear of going mad should you choose to kiss me." Courage and desire—potentially lethal he knew in this circumstance--pushed him on. "Kiss me now, my sweet apparition. If I must walk this earth forever alone, let it be with madness of love for you." He stood and held out his arms. She tipped her head, studying him again as she had that fateful afternoon so long ago before walking into his embrace. The butter-soft of her cheek brushed against the flesh where his heart was about to burst with happiness. If he were to die right now, it would all be worth these few moments of pure contentment. Until now, he hadn’t known what the void in his life was, or why he could not believe in much of anything. "They said you weren’t real. People think that you’re kind are just stories made up over the years." He nestled his face in the scent of her hair, its softness against his skin like dew on a rose. Roan breathed in the familiar honeysuckle fragrance that had made him oblivious to any other scent of a woman. "Believed in only by those who have…pea-brains?" She glanced up at him and as she did, her lips swept ever so lightly over his chest. A sharp current of ecstasy sped through his veins and he shuddered visibly in its wake. She’d barely touched him with her mouth…what would happen if she did so with concentrated effort? No wonder the legends spoke of a man’s madness. "You were listening?" Roan supposed a faery’s magic had few boundaries. "Only when it concerns you." Roan closed his eyes in the throes of her simple, yet sweet confirmation. “‘Tis not wise to tarry long. We’ve not much time." Her voice played like the melody of a song, soothing his world-weary soul. Carefully, her small delicate hands slid over his chest, leaving a path of fire in their wake as she slowly caressed her way around his neck. She raised one hand and the gown she wore slid effortlessly down her lithe body, pooling around her ankles. His body immediately reacted to the softness of her curves against him. Perfect in body, her skin shone like that of the moon on the water at midnight. "I shan’t touch my lips to yours, but you are able to touch me freely." She cupped his face in her hands and gazed upon him with such love that his body ached in yearning. 16

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There was no question of his desire as he gazed upon her sudden and unexpected sacrifice to him—a human. "What would happen to you—if—we—" The very words stuck in his throat, for indeed, he thought himself going mad. "I would no longer be welcome in Tirnanogue, my home. I would become mortal as you are, human." "And why would you do that for me? I’m only human. What have I got to offer you?" Roan licked his lips, fierce desire to kiss her senseless beginning to play havoc with his brain. "What is mine is yours, and what is yours is mine. Do you remember the words?" She smiled. Roan could only smile in return. "Of course. But, we were talking about a watch then." She pulled from the air, his Da’s old watch and held it up. The time had stopped exactly as it was that fateful afternoon of their first meeting. "Are you sure ‘tis all we were saying, and was that only a sunrise ago?" "Many sunrises, I’m afraid." He smiled wearily, a touch of sadness in his voice. She drew close, tempting him with her delicious body. Roan wished for nothing more than to lay her on the grass and make passionate, sweet love to her. “‘Tis true, it’s what I wish for the same." She snuggled close, her breasts, like twin moons pressing unashamed to his chest. "Am I dreaming?" Roan pulled back and held her at arms length, unsure of his sanity. Tentatively, he reached out, slipping his hands beneath her hair, lifting it from her shoulders, allowing it to cascade through his fingers. Shimmering specks of starlight fluttered in its wake giving realization that she was pure magic, body and soul. Closing her eyes, she smiled. "If ye are in that state, I pray you shall not awaken soon." "If I make love to you, you will die." Roan closed his eyes against the pain in hers. “‘Tis my choice, human. Mine to make." She held her shoulders straight as a soldier and every bit as brave. Roan swallowed. "But for me to give you that fate would be the death of me. Who you are is the very reason I can stand to live in this world. I know you are real and 17

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that I—" He stopped, aware that he was about to declare to this magical apparition something he’d never felt, never said, in fact, to another being his entire life. "I love you…somewhere inside me, I always have. First in stories, then when you saved me—" He frowned at the expression on her face. "Why did you save me?" "Because you have second sight." "It wasn’t just for my watch, then?" He tried to make light of the fact that inasmuch as he wanted her and she—him, in all probability they could never be joined together. She took his chin in her hand, gazing directly into his eyes. "I have watched ye grow from a wee child, into the fine man ye have become. ‘Tis my heart that you snared long ago, Roan McNamara." Her startling revelation did little to aid his ability to abstain from his current desires. "I can see by the look in yer eye that you find that hard to imagine." She turned away from him and crossed her arms indignantly. Roan waited a moment longer, noting in an abstract way that she had no fluttery, white wings, and no pert tail—indeed, she was formed as perfect from the back as she was from the front. That did not make things any easier either. "How do I know that this is real? And that I’m not lying on my back down there asleep under that oak tree?" Roan glanced down and discovered somewhere he’d misplaced his boxer briefs. He frowned trying to remember taking them off. "Take a look, human. You folks forever need to prove things to yourselves and one another." She shook her head. Roan stepped cautiously to her shoulder, glanced her way, and peered carefully over the ravine. Sure enough, there was his t-shirt, and the rest of his clothing, including the briefs. "How—?" "There ought to be some perks to having magic." She smiled. "Then I’m not dreaming? You are real?" She took his hands in hers and held his gaze. A fiery warmth—liquid and soothing seeped lazily thorough his veins. "Think human, of what it would be like." 18

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Languid already from whatever magical spell she had placed on him, Roan fought hard to think past the pure pleasure radiating from his body. "You mean, if we were to make love?" "Yes human, can you not feel the sensations already happening? Our hearts yearn to be joined as one. That is what you feel." "I-I can’t—the guilt would be too great for me to live with." Sensations like no other he’d ever experienced before, pulsed through his blood, drawing him deeper to a place where reality ceased to exist. Her presence surrounded him, consuming him body and spirit. "Neither of us shall change in any way, human, we've only to allow our desires to have control." Fire licked at his calves, spreading warmth over the muscle in his hips, caressing him with the sensuality of a skillful lover. He grew hard, her magic coaxing his rigid length with soft even strokes. Roan gazed in amazed wonder at their hands. It was the only physical connection they had, and yet he knew whose gentle lips covered his sensitive velvet tip, whose gentle fingers wrapped around him. "H-how can this be?" Roan's head snapped toward the sky, his body arching with need toward the mystic seduction of his body. A groan escaped from his lips as he drew in a short breath to the pleasure pouring over him like liquid heat. "Do not let go of my grasp, human." "Call me, Roan," he gritted through his teeth in an attempt to understand how to make this wondrous pleasure last. In his spirit, the sensation of her delicate fingers wafted over his naked torso, fluttering over his taut nipples, sliding with sensuous purpose over his buttocks. Fingers interlocked, a swirling pale blue mist surrounded them, the scent of honeysuckle drew heavy in his lungs as sultry and sensual as after an afternoon rainstorm. She gazed at him, her blue eyes capturing his, drowning him in pure erotic pleasure. Vivid images played in his brain as he held her gaze. He could feel the sweet softness of her rosy tipped breasts pressed against his flesh. He sensed the weight of her hips cradled in his hands as he lifted her around his waist. Their bodies suited perfectly. He slid into her, sheathing himself in her warmth. It was as if nothing in the earthly realm mattered before this moment. His soul purpose was in the sensuous hitch of Feeorin's next breath. 19

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"Aye Roan, yer heart is strong; your passion for me is great. I can feel you inside, your desire filling me. You've only to think of your desire and take me as your own, my sweet love." Soft pants of her cool breath pulsed against their entwined hands. She drew them to her lips, tightening her grasp as her gaze fought to stay to his. "Stay with me, Roan." Her eyes were wild as a mare in heat, as gentle as a secret waterfall, full of a love with a magnitude that Roan's human mind could barely conceive. But his flesh, his body…was another matter, and it responded to her with all the fierce passion of a wanton lover who'd been given free access to his most cherished fantasy. Yet he experienced it all in the depth of her eyes and the warmth of their hands connected together. He heard her soft intake of air as her head lolled back, her lips parted. "Aye, Roan." Slick with the sweat of their passion, Roan fought to keep hold of Feeorin's hands. Faery orgasms were decidedly new to Roan. Making love in the spirit realm was an even more unusual experience. "What shall I call you, spirit of my heart?" Roan’s breathing quickened in conjunction to the urgency coursing like wildfire through his body. His fingers tightened over hers as his body grew tense with the need to release. He closed his eyes to the spine-tingling pleasure that gripped his very soul. "I am Feeorin." Her body jerked and Roan held tight to her hands, afraid to let go, yet at the same time, afraid to take this wondrous bliss to completion. "What’s mine is yours—" The last word from her lips came on the rush of the wind, cold as ice, and heady with honeysuckle. A soft moan escaped her lips, her eyes closed in ecstasy. "And what’s yours is mine." Roan grabbed her in a full embrace, unable to keep himself from the torment of wanting to taste her lips. He captured her mouth fulfilling the years of intense longing, of loneliness that until now, he'd not understood. He drank in her sweetness, quenching his parched soul, refilling the hope—tarnished over time-inside of him. And with a mental cry of joy that pierced his mind with a blinding light, he poured himself into her, all that he had to offer, his dreams, his love, his belief.

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He moved his mouth over hers, feasting like a mad man on her lips. She tasted of everything that was good, pure, and right—childhood innocence, honesty, and simplicity—everything that had dried to a prune-like mass in his soul. Just as his mind was about to explode, Roan ended the kiss. He could barely breathe; much less utter one word of the many swirling inside his brain. Instead, he held her close for what seemed an eternity, but what was in reality, a moment. She stepped away from him, her gaze averted from his, and slowly gathered her gown in her arms. “‘Twas not a wise choice ye made in kissing me, Roan McNamara. ‘Tis nothing I can do in my power to reverse what has been done." Roan clamped his hands on the top of his head and grinned. Damn, it felt good to finally prove William, the unbelieving bastard—wrong. He hadn’t felt like this in…hell, he’d never felt like this. "That was fantastic." "It would seem that ye have no concern about the future state of your mental health?" Roan laughed, a laugh that had lay dormant for years, like a festering stone in his gut. "To have this few moments of joy with you, I would risk having no brain at all." "Be careful, Roan McNamara, what you wish for. You’ve just joined your spirit with a Sighoge." She waved her hand and once again the gown formed to the gentle curves of her body. "Was it…the same for you? I mean, I’ve never—" "Ye shouldn’t fib, ‘tis not right." She arched her silver brow. "Never like that—and you’re sure you’re okay?" He took her hands in his, already sensing that the love they shared was strong. "I am fine. ‘Twas quite pleasurable." She glanced at the ground and smiled. There was no doubt he wanted her again, but the danger of taking her under his conditions were a danger to her very existence. He would have to be appeased at their spiritual joining—for now. "That was more than pleasurable. It was—" Roan paced, searching the ground for the words to describe his joy. He stretched his arms over his head, reaching for the sunlight through the trees. "I can’t believe how much energy I have; I can't believe how long I've waited for this—when will I see you again?" He turned to Feeorin and instead found William staring at him. The puzzled look on William's face spoke volumes. 21

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"It's only been a few moments since you left our picnic. I decided to come see if you'd gotten lost out here. The girls are waiting and frankly I can't see why you would pass up an opportunity like Clarissa." "I took a swim." Roan hoped the girls wouldn’t be following too soon. "A swim?" William glanced placidly around the area. "So, why are you up here—and your clothes, are down there?" He tossed Roan’s clothes to him. "Thought I might find my watch." He caught his jeans and the rest fell to the ground. William scanned Roan from head to toe. "You went searching for your watch in your all-together? Besides, that was over ten years ago. Now, you want to tell me what’s going on?" "You won’t believe me." Roan focused on getting his clothes on. Certain he didn’t want William or his friends to make a mockery of him. "Try me." Roan shrugged. "I kissed her." He slid one leg into his jeans and then the other. What did it matter anyway if William believed or not? Roan knew what he'd experienced. His body still tingled from the breathtaking climax. "Kissed who, and pardon me for noticing, but since when does a simple kiss require disrobing to your birthday suit?" He gave Roan a wicked grin. Roan stood straight, lifting his gaze to William in frustration as he zipped his pants. "Her. And you know what’s more? I don’t care. It’s the most—oh God—" Roan tapped his fingers to his chest, motioning to his heart for emphasis. "It’s the most I’ve felt—in years." He grinned as he tugged his shirt over his head. A residual energy coursed through Roan, making him want to expend it somewhere. Instead he rambled on to his silent friend. "It was the most incredible experience. Well worth the risk, I have to tell you—it’s unbelievable. You can’t fathom how–empowered I feel!" "I'm pretty sure Clarissa would be happy to help you with your excess energy problem." Roan threw his friend a disgusted look. "It wasn’t like that. It was— indescribable." William glanced around nonchalant. "That’s terrific, Superman, but who is this fabulous woman and when do I get to meet her?" He plucked a long piece of grass from the ground and slipped it between his lips chewing idly as he waited for an answer. 22

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Surely William could see Feeorin; she was standing in plain view, right behind— Roan turned on his heel and only his Da’s watch lay on the grassy knoll. "She was here." William's gaze narrowed. "You don't mean that faery malarkey of yours? He shrugged, glancing with a worried look at Roan. "Listen, if you say so, buddy." There was a pause. "You sure that maybe you just didn’t fall asleep or something? Not that I’m saying there wasn’t someone here." William kept his gaze on Roan. "I have to admit, you do appear quite exuberant." Roan fell to his knees in the grass. He’d lost her again. Plucking the watch from the cool grass, he held it in his palm hoping that by some miracle she might return. His heart burned with her spirit inside of him, almost more than he could bear was the thought that he might never see her again. "Don’t worry, old boy. There’s plenty more like her out there." Roan lifted his tortured gaze to William, knowing he could not fathom what he was talking about. William lived in a world of carnal appeasement. Matters of the heart were not a part of his vocabulary. "There is only one Feeorin" He rubbed his finger over the intricate cover of the watch, noting that the time had stopped. What sort of magic would tempt a man through the years—allowing him to taste the purest of pleasure and then leave him to live in a world where nothing of any sort compared? Indeed, there was the distinct possibility he would go mad.

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Chapter Three

Roan had approached the time in a man’s life when he would—had he chosen another path—be in throes of raising a teenage son or daughter, looking at his retirement in a few years. He would caution them, as his parents had—not to be tainted by the world. That despite the cynicism, there was still enough room for magic and legends. He knew this much to be true by his brief, but potent firsthand encounters. Roan carefully placed a pitcher of milk and a small crumb cake on the freshly swept flagstone path at his back door. It had become a nightly ritual and by way of passersby, word spread quickly that Roan McNamara was a "little off in the head." Years after William had discovered him naked at the pond; he asked Roan if he still believed. "Roan, it’s been almost ten years, don’t you think it’s time to move on out of the realm of this fantasy you have going? There’s a whole world of beautiful women and opportunities out there buddy, and one of them is dying to be Mrs. McNamara." He pulled out a worn leather black book from his back pocket. "Look, I have a friend—" Roan held up his hand. "It won’t matter, Billy." Even after all he’d shared with him over the years—even the part of meeting Feeorin when he was twelve—after all that, William still would not admit Roan had seen, and in fact, kissed a Sighoge faerie. "What won’t matter? Roan, really man, people are starting to talk. It’s bad enough that you barely show yourself in public, living up here like some love-struck hermit, baking crumb cakes for God's sake!" He waved at the sweet morsel cooling on the table. "You can’t go on living like this. It’s just not healthy." "And I suppose I should be leading a healthier lifestyle, more like yours maybe?" Roan did not hide the fact that his friend’s remark scathed him. He tossed a kitchen towel he’d been wiping his hands with on the countertop in frustration. "You’re the one who dared me, remember? God knows I don’t fault you for that; on the contrary, I should thank you. Because of you—I met Feeorin." 24

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"Jesus Roan, will you listen to yourself? Pining for something that was, in all probability, a figment of your imagination? Have you thought of maybe getting some help? Maybe talk to a doctor?" William clamped his hands over his eyes rubbing them as though trying to wake from a bad dream. He stared at Roan. "Okay, maybe you did experience something unexplainable, but whatever it was, a normal person would have moved on long ago." William pinched off an ample chunk of the cooling cake. "Besides, what’s wrong with the way I live? At least I’m out there living it, not holed up—leaving cake and milk at my back door, all because of a little nookie with some woman." Roan tamped his anger with the fact that William was oblivious to the faery world. He couldn’t very well argue with ignorance. "I’ll forget you said that and for your information, it wasn’t nookie." Roan picked up his coffee mug, blowing softly across its surface. He sensed that his experience was never going to be understood by outsiders, even his best friend. But his mission was greater than proving his own experience to the world. It was keeping alive the stories of the faery folk, all of them, so that the generations to come would have the option to believe. William shook his head and gazed down at the mug between his hands. A heavy sigh emitted from his lips. "Okay, let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that there is a faery kingdom, or village, or—wherever the hell they live." "A palace, I suspect." Roan interjected quietly, his gaze flicking briefly to his friend. Skepticism was plainly etched on William’s face. "I don't suppose she took you to there, did she?" Roan stared at his friend. "Yeah, okay. So, did she put some kind of hex or spell on you or something? Did she--?" His eyes widened with horror. "Did she do anything to you? I mean like, physically alter anything?" "Sever any vital parts?" Roan asked in mild amusement at William’s mindset. It was his turn to shake his head in disbelief. "I’m perfectly intact, thank you for your concern. If it was a spell, it was not hers, but by my own choosing. And if by choosing never to give myself to another after her is the world’s definition of "mad," then I surely am. I happily admit to that." 25

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His friend frowned openly. "But to never marry—never even want to date another woman. Isn’t this a little extreme to live like this?" William walked to the counter next to Roan, setting his cup in the sink. He rested his hands on the counter as he stared out the window. A few moments ticked by as Roan stared at cake crumb on the floor. There was no logic to explain magic and hence no way to help William understand. "I just worry that you’re letting life pass you by, you know? We’ve been friends a long time." William looked at Roan, studying his face as though he might find the answers to his questions. The problem was that the answers were found deeper than William could see. Roan shrugged. "I’m sorry. I guess it’s like I can never love anyone as much as I do Feeorin." The wistful tone in his voice made Roan wonder about his own sanity for a moment. He had an inkling of what William must think. His friend continued to stare at him. "Okay, okay." He nodded his head as if accepting Roan’s choices. "I’d come here to invite you to Monte Carlo for a little ‘R and R.’ A little racing, a few parties, gorgeous women—and I mean, gorgeous, Roan. What do you say? It’d be like old times." Roan had no need to think long on the offer. "Not this time, Billy, but you go ahead and have a great time. Tell me all about it when you get back." "Hey, I intend to have the time of my life, you know me." William gave Roan’s shoulder a friendly slap. His hand rested there. "What?" He could see the questions in William’s eyes. His friend shrugged and gave him a weak smile. "I guess maybe I’m a little envious of you." Roan spat out a portion of his coffee, not hiding his complete and utter surprise. "Of me?" William’s gaze narrowed as though searching for something out of his reach. "Something happened all right. And whatever it was—changed you." He’d never seen his friend so intense before. It was a little disarming. Roan cleared his throat. "Did I tell you I’m writing a book documenting all the stories we learned as we grew up? Maybe, you know, I can preserve the legends, the stories about—" 26

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"Faery folk?" William tossed in, only this time, he had a genuine smile on his face. Roan shrugged. "Yeah. It would be for future generations. Somebody has to make sure they get told, right?" William nodded. "Well, you have a mission—and I have an appointment." He glanced at his watch. "I have a lot to do before I leave. I'm supposed to meet with my lawyer about settling the sale of the farm. I don’t use it much anymore, too much time on the road. Still, I’m going to kind of miss the old place, especially the pond. A lot of good memories there, right?" It was one of the first things they’d ever agreed on. Roan nodded. He reached out for some unknown reason and gave William a great bear hug. William pulled away in haste, visibly embarrassed by the overt gesture. "You take care. I’ll see you in a couple of months. By then, you ought to have a pretty good start on that book, right? Maybe if I read it, you can convince me of the existence of your faery friend." He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder at Roan. It was then that Roan felt a shiver run down his spine. He shook off the unpleasant feeling and raised his mug to his childhood friend. "May the wind be at your back." "And to yours as well." He remarked with a tip of his fingers in salute fashion. "Be well, my friend," Roan whispered as William waved from his car. *** Not more than three weeks later, Roan sat in public for the first time in many months--the occasion—the funeral mass of William McKneely. He ignored, as best as he could, the blatant stares of those around him. The little stone church was packed with those who’d known William, many female, sobbing and comforting one another in their grief. Roan sat at the back, his clothes common, and his beard shaggy and unkempt. He’d been heavy into writing his book when news of William’s unfortunate accident came to him by way of a telegram. Meghan, one of the girl's from the picnic—now a grown woman--had sent it to him. She was seated toward the front pew, her head bent, dabbing a hankie to her eyes. 27

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Burial was to take place in the tiny cemetery on the rise near the church—the same one where he and William as young boys, had slipped ants into the holy water fonts as a joke. The cost of penance was time spent in on their knees in front of the statute of the Blessed Virgin asking for forgiveness for desecrating the Holy Water. Of course, that was nothing compared to the punishment from their parents. Roan’s backside was sore for a week from the lash of a willow branch. Roan didn’t want to stand in the crowd watching as they lowered William into the ground. That was too much to bear right now. He would come back later when everyone was gone and give William a piece of his mind. "Mr. McNamara?" Startled at hearing his name, Roan turned from his descent down the side steps of the church. The sun was brilliant overhead, the air clean and crisp, premiering another early fall. "You are Mr. McNamara. The pretty woman over there--" The stout man pointed toward Meghan, who quickly looked away. "She told me that you were the man I am looking for." He pulled off his round spectacles, rubbing the lenses between a cloth handkerchief before perching them back on his nose, blinking to adjust his sight as he stuck out his hand. Roan nearly forgot his manners. "Sorry, yes, I’m Roan McNamara, and you are?" "Sylis Windham, Mr. McNamara. Mr. McKneely’s lawyer." Roan nodded, slipping his hand from the man’s. He paused a moment politely wondering if there was another reason the man wished to detain him. As though sensing Roan’s uncertainty, Windham proceeded. "The deceased—uh, William." He cleared his throat as he pulled open his jacket. "Wanted me to give this to you in the event of—" He held a white envelope out to Roan. "Mr. McKneely came to me before his trip, poor fellow. Now there was a man who lived a very full life. Too bad about the accident, but thankfully he didn’t leave any close family behind to suffer his passing." Roan closed his eyes to the sting of the man’s shallow vision and his words. "True, he left behind only his true friends, Mr. Windham. Thank you." He tapped the air with the envelope and left Windham to deal with his blunder. *** 28

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After dinner, Roan took a walk to the small church cemetery and sat on the grass beside the fresh mound of dirt sprinkled liberally with flower petals. The red sun hovered on the horizon, dipping behind the rolling green hills of farmland. The tall pine and oak surrounding the old pond stood like dark sentinels against the purple and orange streaked sky. Roan gave a quiet sigh, gently tore the seal, opened the pages and read; "My dear friend," Roan glanced up taking a deep breath to lessen the heartache that rushed his soul. He blinked as he read on. "Well old boy, if you’re reading this, I dare say it’s while sitting next to my grave. Fresh no doubt, since I would guess that you would come to pay your respects after everyone else has gone. Either that or you’ve come to lecture me one last time about my reckless lifestyle. Hopefully, some of those women will be kind enough from time to time to check the flowers, in remembrance of the good times. But on to the real crux of this epistle—call it my dying wish if you wish to use the morbid phrase. After our discussion this morning—I decided that since I could not talk you out of this hermit-like existence of yours for the sake of—well, let’s just say, for what you believe to be true. Then how can I, in good conscience, sell off the farm to complete strangers who would no doubt divide the land into neat little bundles and turn it into apartment housing and strip malls? "No, I may be self-absorbed in many things, but not in this. So, my childhood comrade, I leave you the farm and all its wooded property, including the pond. I know that over the years you have thought me to be a shallow and quite often cruel friend, and for that I can only hope for your forgiveness. And should you be reading this whilst sitting next to my cold grave, what a horrid friend you would be not to find it in your heart to forgive. "All kidding aside, I know that to leave you the acreage is to leave it in the hands of one who will truly appreciate its beauty and its history. (Even if that includes a mythical palace with a gorgeous Sighoge faery somewhere on its premises.) "Of course, you have the option of refusing my offer, but then you have to deal with Windham again. I’m guessing though that you won’t. Think of me now and again and may your future be all that you wish for it to be. "Your friend, Billy." 29

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Roan stared at the paper in his hand for a long time, as his tears streamed steadily down his face. At some point—he wasn’t sure just when—William believed. *** Roan adjusted his desk lamp, pulling it closer to the book. His eyes were tired from reading the faded, yellow writings of the crude diaries he'd found in the basement archives of the library. He plucked off his reading glasses and rubbed the pad of his thumb across his weary eyes. The storm earlier in the evening has passed through leaving a fresh cool breeze sifting gently through his open study window. After selling his parents farm to a Catholic orphanage, Roan settled into his new home and concentrated on his writing. In his books he tried to document as many of the old stories and legends that he could recall from his childhood. When he'd written all he could from his own memory, he'd venture out to sit with the old men in the park. With rapt attention, he would listen to their stories as they played dominos or chess. Part of him perhaps, sought to hear if anyone else had ever seen or heard of Feeorin, but her name was never included in their stories. His notebooks were filled with the treasure of their storytelling and he would quickly run home to make sure they were preserved forever on paper. In a bold attempt to spread the stories to new generations, he chose to take the chance of sending his first finished works to an agent. So enamored was he by Roan's storytelling abilities and the reality he brought to them, that he immediately set to finding a publisher. Now the man would not leave Roan a moment of peace for talking about a huge book tour—something that Roan had no desire or intent of doing. To avoid his agent's calls, he simply chose to go down to the pond and sit on its bank watching the sun set each night. Still, there were times when the silence of his solitude yawned like a gapping monster threatening to swallow him whole. Roan stared at the full moon peeking through the gnarled branches of the ancient oak outside the window. His mind wandered to when he and William sat in its branches contemplating their futures. The antique mantle clock chimed the eleventh hour and the hair on Roan's neck bristled. Before the ringing of the clock left his ears, a knock sounded on his back door. Startled, he stood in haste and knocked over the chair as he leapt to attention. A flash 30

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image of Feeorin's beautiful face popped into his mind. Roan’s heart beat loud in his ears. If she'd come to offer herself to him, this time he would not be able to refuse. The knock sounded again, louder and more urgent. He moved with cautious anticipation and felt his way through the darkness of the kitchen. Roan flipped on the small wall lamp in the back mudroom, filling the tiny space with a dull, yellowish hue. He placed his hand on the doorknob, hesitating at the powerful sense that the past had finally caught up with him. "Mr. McNamara, I know you're home. I saw your light. Please, I need to talk to you." The woman's voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t connect a face to it. Roan opened the door and in the dim illumination of the back door light, the woman's face came into view. "Meghan?" Roan blinked wondering if he was imagining her standing at his door. "What are you doing—how did you find—?' Words escaped Roan's thought process as his gaze took her in from head to toe. "I don't know what else to do—where to go." "Meghan, what are you talking about?" Roan stepped forward, hesitant to put his hand on her shoulder, unfamiliar with human contact. "William told me that he'd given you the farm…He told me a lot about you—" Her voice broke with emotion and she turned away, swiping at her cheeks with the palm of her hand. "Meghan, its late, come in. I saw you at the funeral, I'm sorry I wasn't up to talking to anyone just then." Roan ushered her into the mudroom. "Let me take your cloak." He reached for her coat, uncertain of what he was going to talk about. Without William, they didn't really have much in common. "I didn't know where else to go, Roan. William always spoke with such fondness about you." Roan waited as she unzipped the lightweight woolen cape she wore. Carefully he lifted it from her shoulders, her back turned from him. "Uh, Meghan, I'm surprised. I don't generally have guests at this hour—at all, for that matter," he muttered. "May I offer you a cup of tea?" She turned to face him. 31

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His eyes grew wide, locked on the enormous girth of her stomach. "It's William's. I found out just after the funeral. I wasn't sure if I could raise a child, but every time I started to do something about it, I just couldn't. It's part of William. You understand that, don't you, Roan?" Roan stared openly at her pregnant belly, his mind recalling the pained expression on her face the day of the funeral. Likely morning sickness, though she probably didn't know. "Please, come sit down. Tell me what I can do." Roan ushered her to the study, making sure she was comfortable before stirring the embers of the dying fire. He coaxed a small flame in its ashes, enough to ward off the chill of the evening. The horrifying thought she might be in labor occurred in a flash and Roan turned on his heel toward her. "You aren't about to…you know—now, I mean?" "Not for another two months. The women in my family carry high." She smiled. "It's only one baby so they tell me. I just look like I'm carrying two." She patted her belly as she settled further into the old wingback chair. Letting a sigh of relief escape his lips, Roan smiled. "I'll get us that tea." As he stood over the stove, preparing two cups, he thought of how quickly life can merge from one aspect to another. Changes were funny, in that they could be unwelcome, or in some cases, like a lifesaver. He sat across from Meghan, and tried not to ask too many questions, though his mind swirled with them. She explained how she and William went to Morocco together and where she'd been when his car went plummeting over the wall on a fast curve. Deeply saddened by the retelling, Roan was grateful to hear that at least William had settled down with Meghan and that they'd had plans to marry. They'd been out the day before to pick out their engagement ring. "Look Roan. I've no place to go. My family is religiously strict and they've made it clear that they cannot afford to help me with my baby. They also quickly reminded me that if I was old enough to get myself into such a mess, that I could bloody well get myself out of it." Roan frowned at the thought of a parent turning away their child, not to mention their grandchild. His heart broke for her. "I heard William speak of an Aunt and Uncle once long ago, perhaps they are still alive?" 32

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Meghan shook her head. "I don't know, he never mentioned anyone else to me, but William and I weren't married, and that still doesn't go over well with some people." Roan nodded, remembering that William on occasion spoke of his parent’s narrow-minded views and that's why he spent so much time traveling. "It's not like we were just sleeping together. We really did love each other. But I can remember that from the start, his parents didn't approve of our relationship. I don't think I was good enough for their son." Roan understood what being an outcast was like. "You're welcome to stay here for as long as you like." Meghan dropped her face in her hands as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Sobs racked her body ripe with child. Unsure of how he was to accomplish this great promise just made, Roan dropped to his knees in front of her, searching for what to do with his hands. He finally placed them on the chair arms. "Look Meghan, I'm not much of a conversationalist. Most of the town thinks I'm crazy because of my writing." "Your stories about faeries, right?" she sniffled with a wry smile. "Yeah." He hoped she wouldn’t bolt for the door. The fact that she carried William's child was more than enough incentive to help her in whatever way she would allow him to. “William told me of your fascination with the old stories and legends. It was after that day at the pond. Do you remember when you disappeared?" Roan smiled. Had one moment, of any day, gone by when he hadn't thought of that day? "Yes, of course. I behaved rather badly toward your friend, as I recall." Meghan held her protruding stomach. "So did Clarissa, as I recall." "You know, my grandmother used to tell me stories when I was little. Maybe you can use some of them for your books?" That was all it took for their relationship to be forged. From that point, Meghan required no more from him than the roof over her head and a midwife when her time was due. Through many an evening they would spend together in front of the fire, her listening as he read her the legends he'd collected over the years. Their relationship was amiable, a convenience, Roan realized, for two lonely souls on a journey that had no real answers. They required little else than companionship, yet when her time came a few weeks later, Roan was at a complete loss 33

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as to what to do. Thankfully, she'd placed the midwife's number by the phone and so he was able to call her, and after that, he started a fresh crumb cake in hope that the faery folk would bestow favor on the new babe and its mother. As Roan set out a warm crumb cake at his back door, he glanced up at the purple hues of the spring twilight evening. The sound of new life coming from the second floor bedroom startled a flock of birds in the tree above and his gaze was drawn to the black silhouette of the grove near the pond. In an instant of regret, he wondered what it might have been like, had he taken Feeorin as his own. Would they now have had children? He heaved a weary sigh, accepting fate as it was, and turned to take a cup of tea to the new mother and to welcome his friend’s child into this world. "His name is William Roan, after the two men in this world I have loved the most." Meghan smiled up at him as the young babe slept in her arms. Roan was moved to tears, not for her generosity, though it humbled and gladdened him immeasurably, but for his own loss. For a life without the one person he loved more than life itself— Feeorin. "It's a lovely name." Roan accepted the child into his arms and cradling him close to his chest, walked to the window where the old oak still stood, once was the imaginary fortress of two adventurous young boys. "Your father used to climb this tree, William. He was not afraid to live life to its fullest. Perhaps one day you will learn to climb it also and find your dreams." *** And so, the boy grew, surrounded by the love of an eccentric man with his head forever in the myths of his writings, and the gentle love of his mother. Of course, the townsfolk speculated that at last Roan had come to his senses and with his partner and her child, his life had returned to a normal state of affairs. What they didn't realize was that while he and Meghan loved each other, it was in a way that never included physical love. Their relationship was bonded of friendship and purpose. Roan would spend hours telling Meghan the stories of his youth, about his first encounter with the Sighoge faery that changed his life forever. She never seduced him, nor had desire to. Both were content in leading separate lives except when it came to caring for young William. 34

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One evening as the autumn winds whistled past the windows of twilight, Meghan glanced at Roan, a touch of sadness in her eyes. They spoke not a word, but he knew that she would soon be leaving. A woman like Meghan would not be able to remain celibate forever. She would seek the love and companionship that most every human craved. Not just for William’s sake, but for herself as well. Before the onset of winter, she told him she'd rented a flat in the city and had arranged for William to be cared for by a kind old woman who lived there also. "I love you, Roan McNamara and whatever your reasons for keeping the old legends and stories alive, I promise my son will hear them over and over—all of them." She hugged him tight and for a moment, Roan wanted to blurt out that she and William should stay, but in his heart he knew to do so would be a selfish request. He could never give her what she needed. "You'll let me know where you've settled then?" He placed her bags in the trunk of the cab. Roan held little William in his arms one last time, his tiny head resting comfortably on Roan's shoulder. Meghan held her arms out to take the toddler. "As soon as I get to London and get settled." Her smile was genuine. Roan never once questioned his love for her, though it was not the soul-binding emotion he held for Feeorin. He watched Meghan from the front gate as she buckled William into the car seat in the back of the taxi. With a brief wave, Roan raised his hand in farewell, wondering if their paths would ever cross again. Whether she knew it or not, these past few months rekindled the desire in Roan to make certain that the stories of old were published, preserved in writing in all of their authentic wonder and magic. Roan's gaze followed the purple and pink streaks across the autumn sky. He'd already decided his first volume would be dedicated to the memory of his friends and to his godson, William Roan. Odd though it might seem to others, to Roan, William had reached out beyond the grave through his young son and connected to him once again. The seeds were now planted deep in Roan that it was his duty to be sure that William’s lineage believed.

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Chapter Four

Ten years later~ "Happy birthday to me." Roan mumbled as he lit the single candle on the crumb cake. He sat back and stared at it a moment, and with a smile for all his blessings, leaned forward, blowing it out in a soft whoosh of his breath. He plucked the candle from the center, carefully smoothing over the crumbly topping and picked up the cake in one hand and a pitcher of milk in the other. It was only fitting that he should share this, his fiftieth birthday, with his wee friends. They'd been kind to him over the years, though he'd never really seen them. And even with his move to the farm bequeathed to him by William, their generosity was not interrupted. He'd often find gifts at his back step of flowers and occasionally fish from the pond. Placing the cake on the flagstone, he stood and glanced around the farm. Twilight, particularly in autumn, had always been one of his favorite times. A crisp breeze lifted a tuff of his thinning hair, causing a chill to chase down his arms. He would need his flannel shirt for his evening walk. Roan had received a letter late last week from Meghan. She spoke of young William and how well he was doing at the Academy. She also spoke of her new marriage. Dearest Roan, I hope this finds you well. I am happy to announce that I am now, or at least will be so by the time this reaches you, Mrs. Brian Silverstein. I hope you will be happy for us. William truly enjoys his schooling and he often uses the old stories in his writing essays. I daresay he has used the book you sent him for his birthday more than once. The edges are dog-eared and ragged. How are things with you? Happy Birthday, by the way a bit early I guess, but better than late. I want to send you something special so do 36

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you mind waiting until after I return from my honeymoon? We chose to elope; a fullscale wedding seems absurd for someone my age, doesn't it? At any rate, I will be in touch. Take care, oh, and if you speak to your godson, tell him to get to Sunday mass." Much love, Meghan He was pleased for her. She deserved a good man to care for her and be a proper father to William. Still, he made a mental note to add in his next letter, a suggestion that William get to Mass, even though he rarely made it himself. The only time he made it to church it was as far as the cemetery when he went to visit his parents, or William. Otherwise, he kept to his writings on the farm. No one bothered him there. Though after his first book was published, he’d come to achieve a rather "legendary" status himself—one of the few men, it was told, who’d actually had physical contact with a faery, and a Sighoge faery to boot. There were the occasional drivers-by, slowing to a crawl just to get a glimpse of the man they called "crazy about faeries." But, for the most part, he was left to his solitude—sort of the town oddity—like a giant ball of string that everyone boasted as having in their town, but no one really ever came to see. His book, on the other hand, gained immediate attention, especially by theologians and scholars and in addition, brought forth a steady stream of phone calls from his agent trying to book him on an international book tour. Roan glanced over and saw the red light on his answering machine blinking, knowing instinctively that it was likely his tenacious agent. He grabbed his tattered flannel shirt off its hook by the back door and plucked his fishing pole from the porch corner. The floor showed the marred indentations in the wood, where it had stood since he was a young lad, indentation marks of its housing for the past -some years. He headed, as always, to the pond, letting Meghan's letter flutter to the floor. The land, in all its richness, was his solidarity—that, and his personal mission to preserve the stories that were inherent to the land. He often wondered what would have happened to him had he not had the outlet of his writing to satiate his desire, for he held the image of Feeorin burning brightly in his soul. In all the twenty-some years since last they met, his love for her neither faded, nor grew to an unmanageable level. When he teetered on madness for her, he would work feverishly on his stories. He'd write well into the night, sometimes for days, collapsing in exhaustion, head cradled in his arms on 37

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the kitchen table. It was as though the seed once planted; lay dormant, waiting for a metamorphosis that never came. Hovering over the horizon, like a great red fireball, the setting sun cast the silhouette of the tall evergreens surrounding the pond. His spirit was more alive here than anywhere else and he knew it must have something to do with where Tirnanogue existed. Roan had never found the magical opening to the faery kingdom, but it was not for lack of trying. After awhile, it was enough for him to sit on the bank where he could sense its powerful magic. He wondered what Feeorin’s life was like. Had she married? Did she look different? According to legend, Tirnanogue was the land of perpetual youth. Roan raked a hand though his long hair, now tinged with signs of gray. Though he’d left it to his shoulders by preference, the mirror revealed the telltale signs that in the earthly realm, he was indeed aging. He was restless tonight—more so than times before and he wondered if there was a slight chance that it was a foretelling in his spirit—charged by Feeorin—that he might see her. The hope had been there in times past, but nothing like tonight. Roan found his favorite spot beneath the ancient oak and he waded a few feet into the pond, soaking the hem of his jeans. He cast out his line, flipping it once just as his Da had shown him, claiming that the small gesture was a secret to catching fish. As with the ravages of time, the old oak tree limbs now hung precariously like gnarled fingers over the deepest part of the pond. With his next cast, Roan’s line tangled in one of the trees twisted fingers, causing Roan’s pole to fly from his hand landing with a gentle ker-plop in the water. With a sigh of resignation, he climbed the overgrown path to the knoll above and inched his way on his belly onto the thick branch holding his line prisoner. Not thinking about it except for now, Roan was grateful that keeping up the farm and his long walks had kept him physically fit despite his years. "Note to self—bring a saw and cut this offending branch down." Roan huffed. His arms and legs wrapped around the branch, he inched his way toward the end, seeing the hook was barely snagged on a thin off-shoot branch…just a flick of his hand would set it...free— A deafening crack from behind alerted Roan that he would not have need of the saw after all. His body lurched forward as the great branch broke free and fell straight 38

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into the pond. The motion tossed him like a rag doll over the edge of the branch, allowing him to plunge into the icy blackness first, the massive tree limb following close behind. Only one thought flashed through his mind as the water rushed around his body—Feeorin A sharp nudge against his cheek awakened him and Roan realized that he was still under water. Groggy, unsure how long he’d been submerged, he opened his eye to find a thin branch bobbing precariously near his face. In a desperate attempt to survive, he pushed off with his free foot, hoping to rocket himself to the surface not far above, but a deliberate yank on his pant leg offered him a sickening reality—the shoe on his other foot was wedged in a fork of the branch. For a moment, Roan stopped his struggle, saving his breath as he focused his energy on trying to figure out which way to move his foot in order to free himself. Out of the corner of his eye, a hazy white apparition drew near. He glanced toward the movement, his eyes stinging from the murkiness of the water. Unable to determine the shape of the watery ghost, the thought crossed his mind that perhaps he was already dead and this might be an angel come to retrieve his soul. But he was not ready to meet his maker today. Roan tore off his flannel shirt, its weight creating more of an obstruction to his ability to escape. He plunged forward through the swirling murkiness searching to untie his shoe and a hand appeared, covering his forearm. Startled, he flung back in the water and came face to face with Feeorin. Her dark hair floated luxuriously around her and when Roan’s gaze connected to hers, she smiled, and he was certain he was about to die. She moved toward him, her hand smoothing over his torso. Roan was not aware of the need for air. His gaze held her image locked in his focus. If he was to die then he wanted her face to be the last thing he remembered. Feeorin placed her lips on his, gentle in her quest for response. Strength fused into his body and Roan tugged her into his embrace, kissing her like the dying man he thought he was. In the next moment, he stood on the bank, stooped over with his hands on his knees, coughing up pond water “‘Tis the second time I’ve saved yer hide, Roan McNamara. And you’re not the spry lad you once were." 39

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His chest hurt from trying to take in too much oxygen, too fast. "Am I dead?" he said the words aloud, figuring if he heard them that would be a good sign. "Nary not long, I imagine, had I not come to your aid." The voice swimming in his thoughts was of his dear, sweet Feeorin, but it could not be. Roan lifted his head, brushing the sodden strands of hair from his face. "Who plays this trickery?" He sputtered through gasping breaths. "I pray I am not dead—but if I am, I pray that I am in my sweet Feeorin's company." "Then ye have not forgotten me as my kinsmen said you would." A cool hand touched the damp hairs of his chest and with a single deep gasp, lifegiving air surged into his lungs. He reached out and grabbed her hand holding it tight until he could clear his senses. Sure as the stars at night, Feeorin stood in front of him, her concerned pale blue gaze resting on his face. "I’ve waited so long to see you again." Roan could not contain the emotion in his voice. He drew her into his arms, holding her tight, wanting to feel her heart against his. The scent of her hair, her familiar curves etched in his memory like it was only moments ago. His lips found her shoulder, leaving a soft caress of his appreciation and adoration there. "I have missed you. It’s as if a part of me is missing. The best part of me." He took her face, warm and alive in his hands, and drank in her beauty. "You have not changed at all. It must be true then, what they say about Tirnanogue." She grinned. "There yet is a way we could be together, Roan McNamara. You know it as well as me. You’ve only to love me as you would my human counterpart and I shall be free to live as a mortal for the rest of our days." Capturing her warm mouth, Roan wanted only to satisfy his carnal hunger. His hands, unable to find an opening to her gown hesitated briefly as he pulled his gaze back to hers. "Love me, Roan." Fierce with desire he kissed her, fully reveling in the taste of her mouth with its memories of simple summer days and a peace of mind such that Roan had not known for many years. There was no doubt he wanted her and this time desire was much greater, nudging out the sense of magic old as time itself. And heaven knew that Roan was more than ready to yield to his greatest fantasy, as well as give Feeorin her deepest desire. 40

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Dangerous thoughts crept into his brain even as he felt himself growing thick and hard. Roan turned her in his arms, pressing her back to his chest, burying his face in her hair as his hands found her full round breasts. His fingers fanned over the silky fabric of her translucent gown, finding her soft, pliant nubs, teasing them until she grasped the sodden denim fabric covering his thighs. She laid her head against his shoulder with a sigh. "This is what I want, Roan. To be with you like this for the rest of our days. Whatever obstacles, or joys that may hold." She rubbed her bottom against the swollen bulge in his jeans, encouraging him with the knowledge that even the faery world was aware of the ancient magic old as time itself. Cradling her firm breasts beneath the sheer gown she wore, he satisfied himself with kisses trailing over her shoulder, slipping the straps off her slender shoulders until it fell with a rush around her feet. Her skin pressed against his was cool to the touch, heating his flesh like a flash-fire. There was no doubt that she could be his–right now—for the taking. She’d offered herself freely. Roan kissed the warmth of her neck, his hands gliding over her body, knowing from his dreams, her every curve. He slid his palm gently over the soft patch of curls nestled between her thighs, responding to her sighs as naturally as if he'd always been her lover. In joyous wonder, he explored every part of her, pleased when she responded with sounds of pleasure. Roan's erection strained against his jeans and he focused intent on her pleasuring her instead of his burning need. He did not want to frighten her, but wanted her to show him what she wanted and how to best appease her. With light, teasing strokes, he brushed his fingertip the length of her dewy folds, slowing his pace as she ground against his crotch. "More," she murmured, turning her face to his neck. Roan captured her mouth upturned to his, mating with her sweet tongue as his fingers coaxed, drawing her passion to a swift peak. To know that it was him that gave her such pleasure made his heart beat with insane joy. Her hand covered his, pressing harder with each stroke, as she held his face with her other hand, offering him kisses that made his head spin. Never again, would he have to walk the earth in torment, a lonely soul. Never again, would he lay awake at night, sensing her soft skin brushing against his. In a matter 41

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of moments, she would be at his side upon waking each morning and with him each night where they would share their passion until they were too old to move. "Is this what it is like, Roan?" she sighed. "Is this the rapture you humans seek?" The tightness in Roan’s loins summoned to him that all of his wandering could now come to an end. He’d found his soul mate. "It is Feeorin, and I have found it only when I am with you." "It's happening again, like before, only the touch of your hand, your fingers —oh, Roan—" Feeorin rocked against his hand, grabbing his thighs in a brutal grip that had him wince at his own need. Her climax came with a shuttered sigh, sending a flourish of birds to flight en masse from one tree to the next. The consuming desire to bury himself inside her brought a flash fire to Roan’s brain, and in that same instant he had a vision of himself in a church sitting in front of a casket staring at Feeorin's lifeless body. "I can’t do this." Roan straightened and turned her into his arms in order to snap himself from his erotic delusion. "God help me, I can’t." He sat down with a thud on the cool grass and dropped his face into his hands. “‘Tis true then, ye cannot love me," she whispered. Roan shook his head and lifted his gaze to the beautiful face that he wanted to see each day more than life itself. "Don't you see? It's because I love you that I cannot bring myself to make you human, Feeorin." "Then come with me to Tirnanogue and live forever as we are now. We can plead our case before the king and seeing how deeply you care for me; he will surely allow us to stay. We will never have to be apart again." Her hand touched his shoulder and the surge of love transferred through his fingertips caused his body to shudder. Roan stared again at the ground. Desire for what he wanted, what would be perhaps the easiest answer for his carnal desires, warred with the promise he’d made to himself—to keep alive the myths and legends of her people. "If I go with you, who will be left to carry on the stories? They will surely die amidst the chaos of this world" He stood taking her face in his hands hoping to convince her, as well as himself. "If these stories aren't kept alive, then Tirnanogue may cease to exist. I cannot stop now, there are many stories left to put in writing and they need to be published so people all 42

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over the world will know and believe in your world. But there is yet much to be done. I must make sure the stories are told." His enthusiasm did in part help to affirm his own belief that what he chose was right, however the expression on Feeorin's face proved that she was not in agreement. "Are you truly the only one who believes? Are you the only one who can tell the stories? Are there not others? Why must you deny yourself a little happiness—why must you deny me a little happiness?" Feeorin stood adjusting her gown over her frail shoulders. "You neither want me in your world, nor do ye wish to enter mine." Roan shook his head. "No, my sweet love, more than my life, I wish I could make things simple. But know this…you are my life. The reason I awaken each day. It is for you only, that I live as I do. One day, we will be together; somehow, I promise you that. Until I know that your stories will be kept alive through the next generations of humans, I must stay here, and you in Tirnanogue." He brushed his palm against the delicate softness of her cheek. "Do you understand how very much I love you?" Feeorin pressed her cheek to his palm, closing her eyes and sighed. "Aye, and ‘tis your loyalty to my world that I love so much about you." She opened her eyes, her gaze settling deep inside Roan. "I have remained yours these many years and I hope to always be yours, Roan McNamara. It is true though that a faery king has spoken to my father about me and it would be good to bring the two kingdoms together with our joining." A single tear slid from the corner of her eye. Roan had never questioned whether a faery possessed something of a human trait such as crying. His heart was torn with wanting to resolve her pain, yet at the same time, perhaps it would be better for her to be bound to another—one of her own kind. "You must do as your heart tells you to do." Roan let his hand drop to his side. "You will not let me do what my heart tells me to do, Roan. I want to be with you. I choose to be mortal, but only by you, can that be made possible." The temptation to ease the anguish on her face with but a few moments of exquisite bliss clattered in his brain until Roan held his hands to his ears and looked to the sky pleading for intervention from some higher being. "I cannot." His voice echoed in the stillness of the purple twilight. Roan dropped his hands and looked around him. He stood in the clearing—alone. 43

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Chapter Five

Ten years later~ Roan’s frail hand shook as he poured the rich milk into the pitcher. The liquid spilled over the top of the chipped edges, worn over time. Frustrated, he grabbed a towel sopping up the results of his accident, his mind replaying when his hands were once strong and firm—able to tie a fish fly with a quick flick of his wrist. Time had brought its own reward in that he’d seen many of his stories published and a resurgence in the telling of the old stories with the onset of the technological wonder of computers. Though he’d never felt the need to invest in one himself, it gave him some semblance of satisfaction when his publisher announced that since his books were now to be available worldwide, that the interest in the old stories was already spreading like wildfire across the Internet. Pride in the traditions and legends of the old country were at last being read by new generations. Roan picked up the pitcher and the fresh crumb cake and shuffled carefully on wobbly legs to the back door. "Watch out now, girl," he said as he sidestepped the aging black Labrador, his friend since given to him long ago by a neighboring farmer who’d taken pity on his self-imposed solitude. The dog looked up with a single sleepy eye and slowly stood, knowing well the nightly routine. Her master always walked at twilight. The old door creaked as Roan opened it to the cool autumn night. The season he once loved with its chilly temperatures now seemed to slice through his bones, making him susceptible to frequent coughing spells. He covered his mouth with his sleeve to escape breathing too much of the night air into his lungs for fear of another sleepless night. He’d had too many as of late and there’d been a time or two when he was so weary, he wished only to close his eyes and sleep forever. 44

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His dreams, however, kept his heart alive. When he dozed in and out of reality, he could almost see Feeorin in all her beauty—her arms outstretched to him—calling to him. With eyes weak from the onset of cataracts, Roan surveyed the distant hillside toward where the pond still lay, surrounded by an overgrowth of trees. He wondered if she was still there. He’d known, as sometimes people do, that his days were growing shorter on this earth and he wanted one last wish before he died—to see Feeorin, his beloved, once more. Roan clumsily shifted his well-worn brown corduroy coat over his frail arms and unhooked the old lantern, its paint peeling with age from the back door coat rack. Dutifully, his faithful friend followed silently at his feet as he trudged over the field in the deepening shadows. Using a walking stick to navigate his steps, Roan stepped carefully down the steep embankment filled with cattails and weeds that towered above his head at times. Using the stick, Roan swept aside the overgrowth of reeds encumbering his path, driven by hope that this time he would find her and he could tell he that his work was complete. For whatever that might mean now, it was with great satisfaction that he wanted her to know that he’d devoted his entire life to keeping her alive in his writings. In the clearing stood the old oak, its bark stripped and scarred by passing deer and age, yet its spine was as sturdy as the first day he’d seen Feeorin. Weary from his walk, Roan settled under the shelter of the great tree’s exposed base—its roots as large as some of its older branches now, providing a bit of windbreak from the cold. He placed the lantern next to him and leaned back against the cool bark emitting a contented sigh. It was here that he felt closest to her. Here, where if he closed his eyes, he could transport his memory back in time to that fateful day when he first kissed Feeorin, sealing his fate and his soul to her for the rest of his earthly days. Startled by a rustling in the tree overhead, Roan peered through the darkness, his aging eyes unable to discern as they once had. He picked up the lantern and held it in front of him, its light quaking from his quivering arm. He followed the old path to the top of the hill, to the slope where he’d first met the Sighoge faery that changed the fate of his life. A rush of wind through the leaves to his right brought Roan about, frightened that he might encounter a wild boar, or 45

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rabid dog. He clutched his walking stick ready to battle if he must whatever being lay in wait for his old worn-out body. A faint sound, much like music in the distance tickled Roan’s ear and he lifted his face as if the gesture would aid his failing ears to hear better. Perhaps he was growing crazy as the townsfolk often called him. His heart pounded a dull cadence against his chest as Roan moved toward the sound coming from the edge of the forest. Covered in thick bramble bushes, the entry into the forest lay beyond, leaving his only choice but to turn and leave, or go straight through the dense leaf-covered thorns. The music grew louder, and Roan was certain that this was what it was like to go mad. His heart slapped against his chest with such ferocity that he cared not that the thorns of the barberry bushes sliced his thin flesh. The music pulled him forward, a melody of joyous mirth and to that end he pressed on hoping against hope that somewhere beyond may wait his beloved Feeorin. In a small clearing ahead, Roan saw a dull flickering glow—like that of a waning campfire. With cautious anticipation, he parted the tree limbs in front of him and there before his ancient eyes was a ring of faeries dancing in great abandon despite their human intruder. What was once the rustle of the leaves to his ears was now the sound of music so sweet that he touched his face in wonder of the tears streaming down his cheeks. Caught up in the music and frivolity, Roan watched in amazement, forgetting for a moment all about Feeorin “‘Tis time, if ye wish, Roan McNamara to make me your own. What’s mine is yours, and what’s yours is mine." She stood at his side, as beautiful as he remembered, her hands held his wrinkled face. Roan smiled, knowing it was difficult to get more than a grimace from a face that had suffered a probable stroke. "Can you not see me as I am, my dear Feeorin? I have neither the young body, nor the stamina to love you as I would like." Roan wearily tapped a crooked finger to his chest. "But here…here, I have loved you every day." "It is not too late, my love. Magic has its powers and love is the greatest of all power when put to the test." She stroked his cheek, her luminous gaze almost compelling him to believe that what she said was enough. Roan shook his head no. "Even if I could, I am dying now. 46

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My work is complete; the younger generations are now beginning to tell the stories again. If there was any way to make you mine, I would gladly, but to leave you alone on earth without your magic would break my heart. It is my only wish that I have one more chance to touch your lips." Roan fingers shook as he cautiously touched his hand to her face, his gaze settling on her mouth as a single finger outlined her smooth, moist lips. Feeorin smiled and took his hands in her own. "Come with me now, Roan McNamara. For if it is your wish to have me, you’ve only to kiss me this last time." The lantern left behind, Feeorin tugged Roan out of his hiding and toward the ring of merrymakers. The music now deafened him and yet the frolicking faeries seemed oblivious of his presence. Stronger the music excelled in his head, and his heart beat in rhythm with its tormented pace trying valiantly to hold up under the strain. Entranced by her beauty, he followed Feeorin, captivated by the look on her face and the music that threatened to absorb him. At the ring’s edge, she stopped and let go of his hands. "Shall ye kiss me again then, Roan McNamara? Or shall I have to save your sorry hide again?" Without explanation, Feeorin stepped into the ring, turning to keep her gaze firmly locked to his. Between them, the faeries continued their revealing and dance, apparently unaware of anything unusual in their midst. Her mesmerizing gaze bid Roan to dare kiss her again. Deciding that he now had nothing to stay in the earth realm for, he pushed forward, breaking the ring to kiss Feeorin one last time. With what he was sure was his last breath, Roan stepped aside of the faeries, into the circle, and grabbed Feeorin, kissing her soundly on the mouth. Her taste was like the sun rising in his soul and as he helped himself to the mystical nourishment she offered, images of all the good and pleasant moments on earth passed through his mind, leaving him content and satisfied. When at last he opened his eyes, Roan realized the music had stopped and he and Feeorin stood in a passionate embrace in the center of the ring. Like magic, he realized his heartbeat was as strong as it had in his youth. Roan looked at his hands and arms, realizing that they too, had been transformed back to the strength of muscle and sinew of his prime. In amazement, he looked down at his body realizing that he is the same physically as the day he’d first kissed Feeorin. 47

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Delighted, yet confused, Roan’s gaze searched Feeorin's for the answers to the questions swirling in his brain. “‘Tis by agreement of this faery village that you have proved yourself a friend of our people and so if it is your wish, you may remain forever as you are right now with us." Feeorin's smile following her simple offer fairly blinded him with its radiance. She took his hand, as a portly man dressed in shimmering purple finery stepped forward. "We have heard of the stories you’ve told and your loyalty to the faery kingdom. We invite you to stay with us for as long as it’s your heart’s desire with only one condition." Still stupefied by the change in his body, Roan nodded in hope that if he was dreaming that he might never awaken. "Of course, but what is the condition?" His gaze rested on Feeorin, though he continued to listen to the man who’d stepped inside the ring. "It is by faery law that you must marry one of our own to make the transformation complete." Roan’s gaze snapped to the rotund man. "I would become a faery?" he asked in surprise, his mind settling on the worldly connotation of the word. The short king glanced at Feeorin before bouncing back to Roan. "You yourself will not possess the faery magic, but there is the great chance your children will." "My children? I can still have children?" Roan asked in joyous disbelief. "For a man who has written about faeries and magic all of his human life it appears that you are having a margin of difficulty in believing, Mr. McNamara. Perhaps we were mistaken about you?" "No—wait." Roan grasped Feeorin's hands in his own gazing on her with a lifetime of love stored in his heart. "I do wish to marry Feeorin, if she will have me. I have loved her all of my life." A hushed sigh emitted from someplace in the crowd. With a pleased nod, the king stepped forward taking their joined hands in his. "If this day, ye choose to wed, blessings plenty be to your bed." A thousand images of his future with Feeorin danced merrily in Roan's head. "With a full heart, I choose to stay and thank you one and all for the privilege and the honor." 48

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The king smiled and clapped his hands twice, summoning the jubilant music to start again. The scent of honeysuckle, unnoticed by Roan before now, permeated the air and a crisp autumn breeze merrily tickled his nose. "Are we married, then?" Roan dipped his face close to Feeorin's ear as together they are swept into the faerys' dance. She smiled, twirling once beneath his strong arm. "Our home is now Tirnanogue." "Forever?" Roan stopped her by the shoulders gazing into the face of his nightly fantasy. "Aye, ‘tis true, my husband." She took his hand and in the next moment they were alone beneath the shadows of the ancient gnarled oak, the moon glistening like stardust on the pond below. For a moment Roan stared at the water, unsure if this was real. He thought of William, of his parents, and he thought of Meghan and little William Jr. Would anyone remember him? Would the stories he'd documented insure the heritage of the faery kingdom? Feeorin touched his shoulder. "Will you miss your earthly realm very much?" "Parts of it, yes. It was a good life." Roan turned to his new bride, a smile widening on his face as she raised her hand. His body warmed knowing what would follow. The gown slipped from her body, swirling like water at her ankles. Her silhouette spotlighted by a single brilliant moonbeam. “‘Tis time Roan McNamara that you show me what madness loving me from afar has created in ye all these years." "What’s mine is yours." Roan took Feeorin into his embrace, pulling her gently onto the soft grass. There would be no turning away this time, no need to part ever again. "And what’s yours is mine." A sharp breeze filled with the heady scent of honeysuckle swirled above, rustling the oak leaves overhead. And in the stillness of the night, hushed sighs floated over the water.

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Epilogue

"Tell me the story again Grandpa. The one about the man who loved the faery princess." The wide-eyed innocence of Martin McCray’s granddaughter as always got her exactly what she wanted. His fingers flipped through the pages of the old book passed down through the generations of his family, originating in Wales. The stories had been read to him as a young boy and now he read them to his grandchildren. He’d known very little about his grandfather other than he was killed in a tragic car accident in Monaco, but he remembered his Grandmother Meghan often spoke of his best friend, whose name was Roan McNamara. The collection of stories, numbering in the hundreds, was later sent to her by the man’s publisher with a note that she keep the stories alive. Legend was that the man drowned in his own farm pond—perhaps an accident, or as it was rumored, due to insanity. It was well known the man lived alone creating fantasies on paper of faery kingdoms and other ancient Welsh myths. Whatever the truth was, authorities never found his body, only his faithful dog sound asleep by a burned out lantern. Martin flipped to the first page, adjusting his bifocal lenses. "Once upon a time there was a boy who lived in the most beautiful country in the world." "And he married a faery princess." Little Meghan chirped with a gleeful look in her eye. "We’ll get to that, Meggie. Be patient." He tugged at her dark braid, barely the length of his hand. "One day as he and his friend William were skipping stones—" "William was Great-Grandma’s friend, wasn’t he? Did they love each other do you think?" Meghan leaned her tiny head against his chest, content to be snuggled on his lap, hearing the old story again. Martin found the little girl’s questions at times oddly mature for her age. He smiled down at the top of her head. "Yes, they were good friends, punkin. I like to think they loved each other. Now, are you going to let me finish?" 50

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She glanced up at him with a teasing grin on her face. "Did you know that Grandma once told me that I might be a faery because I’m such an imp?" Her little body jumped with emphasis on her last word. He smiled at his granddaughter and noted the unearthly sparkle in her luminous blue eyes. "Perhaps you are." He tweaked her nose producing a fit of giggles. "Go on, Grandpa, tell me what happens." "Well, the story says that to kiss a Sighoge faery can cause a man to go mad with love for the faery. The story says that the faery never grew old because she lived in a magical place called Tirnanogue, which means—" "She never got old like you." Martin cast a glance to his impish granddaughter. "It means in Wales, the land of perpetual youth. The faery told the young man in later years that he had the gift of second-sight and that’s why he was so special." "Is that when he kissed her?" The little girl's expression scrunched in distaste. "Not quite, punkin." "I think it was mean, that people called him crazy, don’t you Grandpa?" Martin shrugged. "Perhaps they just didn’t understand that he never married because he could only love a faery whose name was--" "Feeorin." The little girl chimed in. The old man smiled as he touched her button nose. "That’s right, Feeorin." "Just like my middle name." Her smile lit up her face like a bright Harvest moon. "Just like that," Martin replied. He gazed upon her cherub face wondering when she would be old enough to understand how she came to be in the McCray family. His daughter and her husband had tried for many years to have children of their own, but when the promise of that appeared bleak, they'd placed themselves on a list for adoption, their first choice being a child from their ancestral country, Wales. After many prayers, Meghan Feeorin arrived by flight not more than two weeks after they’d been approved. She’d been placed one night in early fall, on the doorstep of one of the oldest Catholic orphanages, a farm and acreage bequeathed long ago for this purpose. The old McNamara farm, they were to discover later. She was wrapped in a soft blanket made of angora wool and attached to her bunting was a stopwatch and a note which read, "What's mine is yours and what's yours is mine. Do not forget." 51

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A quiet baby, she grew to become a bright toddler. Her mother claimed the faeries had sent her as a blessing to their home, a grateful response to the many years of hearing and telling of the legends of magic and faeries. "Go on, Grandpa. Tell me again what she looked like? Tell me about her beautiful blue gown and how the stars fell from her hair." Martin frowned, his aging mind trying to remember that part of the story. "Tell me again that she was so beautiful that the man couldn’t help but fall in love with her." "Yes." Martin recalled that portion of the tale. "And she was very much in love with the man, because he loved her so much that he spent his entire life writing down the stories of the faery folk. He believed that to tell the stories is what helped keep the faery kingdoms alive." "Like this man?" She lifted the book from his lap and peered at its worn leather cover. "You think he might have known the crazy man, Grandpa?" The old man glanced down at the faded pages, remembering when he'd received the book from his mother's eccentric friend. "I know this man believed in the stories he was told as a young boy." He smiled as he looked upon the authors’ name embossed in gold lettering—Roan McNamara. Meghan seemed involved in her own contemplation as she reached in the pocket of her pink corduroy overalls. She pulled out the old stopwatch and glanced up at her Grandpa. "Do you believe in faeries, Grandpa?" Martin McCray gave the little girl a great hug and kissed the top of her head. "I sure do. Now, you want to finish this story, or shall we go see if your grandmother has that crumb cake ready?" "I love crumb cakes and so do the faery folk." "And how do you know that, young lady?" He teased, knowing how indignant she could become on the topic. "Because that's what the stories say, Grandpa." Her tiny brow arched above her glittering gaze. She hopped from his lap, dancing in a little jig before she reached for his hand. "I’ll get the milk this time, Grandpa." As she turned to scamper ahead of him, he swore he saw a silvery sparkle fall from her hair. 52

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The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart's core. ~WB Yeats

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Author Bio

Sensual romance is the earmark of Amanda McIntyre's, aka Pamela Johnson's, books. Her inspiration comes from the ordinary person under extraordinary circumstances. "The human spirit is a wonderful palette, rich in passionate, colorful characters, heroes and heroines that we can fall in love with. And isn't that what writing romance is all about?" Visit her website at, www.amandamcintyre.net

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Something Faery Special By CS Chatterly

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Dedication:

To my husband, Lee, and all those who believe in magic. Thank you! Candace Sams (aka C.S. Chatterly)

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Chapter One

Falon held up the tire iron, gripping it until she could feel the cold metal grind into the palm of her left hand. “Look, just get the hell outta here. I don’t want any trouble.” The three men she faced were a sad surprise to her vacation. One of them, the largest, grinned and came closer. Paddy Flynn wanted what he wanted and wasn’t going to give in. “Sure’n she doesn’t want any trouble, lads, but she still doesn’t want to hand over her pocketbook, either. Now, to my way of thinkin’, that doesn’t seem like a friendly gesture, does it?” Falon glared at the brown-haired giant of a man who’d just spoken to his two friends. Of all the places to get robbed. She could have stayed in New York instead of coming all the way to Ireland for that particular experience. Still, her purse contained every bit of her money, her I.D. and passport. She wasn’t giving it up for anything. If they wanted a fight, she was ready. Though some small voice in the back of her mind kept advising that getting hurt wasn’t worth it, she hadn’t saved for months to come on this vacation to have it spoiled. That part of her brain housing her considerable temper overruled the more prudent region. “If you leave now, I won’t go to the police,” she angrily declared and backed against the small car she’d only just rented. Paddy laughed as his comrades egged him on. “Now, be reasonable,” he coaxed. “Just give us your pocketbook and we’ll be on our way. ‘Tis your sad luck you broke down where ya did. You’ll be callin’ no one for help.” On a hillside overlooking the encounter, Rory Finnigan stopped his motorcycle. From where he sat, he was too far away to hear the exchange but the scene was evident. Some woman had the bad luck to be confronted by three of the worst bullies in the county. The large tire iron in her hand and the men’s slow approach toward her played out like a television drama. He could turn around, go the other way and forget the incident entirely, but staying out of trouble just wasn’t his way. Besides, he’d been 57

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looking for the least bit of an excuse to beat the hell out of Paddy Flynn and his brothers. If they wouldn’t readily back down, today would give him his chance. Grinning, he revved the engine of his custom-made American motorcycle and hit the gas. “Hang on, woman. I’m on the way,” he muttered. Falon was shaking so hard she was almost paralyzed with fear. Still, she gripped her only weapon with both hands and brandished it higher. One of the two men behind the larger one was suggesting something that caused more concern than the loss of her money. “Go on, Paddy,” one of the younger men insisted. “Take her damned money and shag the bitch! It ain’t like she’s gonna’ be here long enough to do nothin’ about it. She’s American from the sound of her.” Paddy laughed even harder and glanced back over his shoulder at his brother. Then, he fixed his gaze on the woman again. “Now, that would be my brother, Luke. I suggest you give me the pocketbook, lass. Else you’ll have to fight off my little brother, and we’ll still have your cash.” “If I give you the money, you’ll go?” she shakily asked. Paddy shrugged. “Oh, I’m not makin’ promises. But the quicker I get Luke outta here, the safer you’ll be.” The third brother finally chimed in. “That’s the truth. Luke has got a taste for takin’ women the hard way. Don’t you, boy’o?” Falon saw the men’s expressions, and instinct told her they weren’t going to let her just walk out of this situation. She could identify them easily and even heard them call each other by name. She took the bull by its horns and swung the tire iron. It struck the outstretched hand of the biggest thug. Paddy howled in pain, withdrawing his broken hand and its dangling fingers as he did so. “Now you’ve done it,” Luke growled out, and proceeded to unzip his pants. “You’ll think this is the longest day of your life by the time I’m done, you stupid bitch!” Falon’s mouth went dry, but she wasn’t going down without a fight. Deciding there would at least be enough evidence left behind to convict them, she was bent on drawing as much blood as she could. It was far, far too late to get back in the car and simply close the doors and lock them. She should have done that when she first saw their 58

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old truck rumble over the nearest hillside. Instead, she’d fallen for their faked smiles and offers to assist. For that, all of them were going to have at least a few broken bones before she was done. “Shaggin’ hell! What the fart does ‘e want?” Paddy exclaimed as he gazed down the road toward the approaching biker. “Let’s get outta here, Paddy,” the third brother warned. “I don’t want nothin’ to do with ‘im. This is ‘is territory.” Falon gazed in the direction the three brothers did and saw only more trouble. Coming down the road at breakneck speed was a very large man on an incredibly shiny, black motorcycle. God, not another one. The man approaching had long black hair, which was flowing behind him like a flag on a pirate ship. Even from that distance, she could see he was larger than any of the three robbers who’d come upon her, a good sixty miles away from the nearest town. If this was “his territory”, as one of the robbing brothers had put it, she’d just jumped from the flames and straight into hell. She could only stand there silently praying while the huge giant pulled his bike up behind her broken-down rental. The slow, lazy grin he presented made Falon’s heart fall. All four of them would take turns with her. But she wasn’t putting her tire iron down. She simply licked her dry lips and confronted him the way she had the others. “If you want a piece of me, I swear to God I’ll put this right up beside your head, just like I will with these other sons-of-bitches,” she yelled out. After turning off his bike, Rory stopped, tilted his head and gazed at her through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. The woman not only had spirit, but it was to a fault. She was about to not only get herself robbed, but probably raped if he knew Paddy and his brothers. If women failed to do what they asked on the first demand, the brothers tended to get rough. No one as yet had the nerve to file charges with the local police because they feared what the rest of the Flynn family would do. But there were other forms of justice in this world. He slowly took off his glasses and looped them through a leather epaulet on his left shoulder. He watched the woman’s face blanch with surprise as the three men backed away, their faces masked with fear, as he approached. But the woman still kept her grip on her weapon. Rory stared the brothers down. “Afternoon,” he glibly greeted. “I believe the last time I saw you three was just outside Corrigan. You were raiding old Mrs. Kearn’s chicken coup and had her and her husband shut up in the house, frightened half out of their wits.” He paused and strode deliberately toward them. “As I 59

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recall, I told you then what I’d do if I ever caught you botherin’ folks in these parts again.” Paddy held up one hand. “Now, look here...” he began, but stopped quickly when Rory picked up his pace and strode quickly toward them. Rory wasn’t about to let he conversation continue further. Once he was past the woman, and in a position where he knew his own face couldn’t be seen, he lowered his head and gazed directly at Paddy, then his two brothers. Falon was in a state of confusion. Shaking harder than at any other time in her life, the mountainous man’s words barely hit her consciousness. She saw the pure look of horror come over the three robbers’ faces. They seemed transfixed by whatever expression the biker was now bestowing on them, but the biker’s back was to her so she couldn’t see what frightened them so much. Rory took a deep breath before speaking. “You’ll leave this county and never come back,” he commanded. “If we meet once more, it’ll be for the very last time. I won’t warn you again. You take your evil ways and be gone. We want none of it here.” Falon heard the biker address her three attackers in Gaelic. She had no idea what the words meant, but the effect on the brothers was astounding. They actually cowered, then ran back to their beat up truck, parked down the road. She saw the way they stumbled while trying to look back at the bigger man. It was as if they were terrified to stay, but didn’t want to take their eyes off their nemesis either. Only after they’d got in their truck and were headed in the opposite direction did Falon turn her gaze to the larger threat now slowly walking toward her. She lifted the tire iron again, knowing it would do absolutely no good with this new danger. “J-just stay back. I don’t want to use this, but I sure as hell will.” Rory stopped and smiled at her. With her brown hair blowing in the wind and those aqua-colored, anger-tainted eyes staring him down, he got the sudden impression that this woman would have made a formidable warrior. In the old, old days, many like her had faced down enemies on this very same land. Indeed, women made some of the fiercest warriors and leaders his country had ever seen. But her accent was decidedly not that of his countrymen. “What part of America?” he softly asked. From the baffled look on her face, he could see she was confused by his recognition of her native country. Rory leaned on the hood of her car to allay her fear. He decided conversation was the best course. “I was wonderin’ what part of America you’re from?” 60

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“New York,” she blurted. “Why?” “I’ve no intention of hurtin’ you,” he drawled out. “You can put that bloody piece of iron down.” She gripped her only weapon harder. “When frost forms at the outermost regions of hell!” He tried to suppress his mirth. There was nothing to laugh at really. The woman had just been threatened by three men who’d have willingly raped and beaten her. His only reason for smiling was that she had no idea who she was really dealing with. No matter, she was going to fight to the last. He could admire that. That, and the mesmerizing sight she made in her green sweater, blue jeans and boots. Slender, tall and exceedingly feminine, even the piece of iron she wielded seemed graceful in her hands. “Look, I’m Rory Finnigan.” He held out his hand. “What’s your name?” “Why?” “Just bein’ friendly. I told you. I’m not going to do anything.” “Like I’m supposed to believe that.” She took one hand off her tire iron, and pointed down the road where the robber brothers had fled. “You’re in cahoots with them, aren’t you? What are you guys? Some kind of gang-bangers?” He slowly shook his head and dropped the hand he’d offered in friendship. “I’m in no gang. And this isn’t the kind of response I’d have expected from an American. Especially one who was just rescued.” She lowered her weapon only slightly. “Thanks. Now go.” “Usually, your countrymen are generous and kindly.” He shrugged and put his sunglasses back on. “Guess I was wrong. I’ll be lettin’ you get on your way, and I’ll be on my own.” He turned and sauntered back to his motorcycle. He’d only walked a couple of steps before he heard her take deep breath and blurt, “Wait!” Rory immediately turned around and walked toward her. He was pleased to see that this time she let him get quite close and didn’t so much as raise the damned tire iron. “Was there somethin’ else you’d be wantin’?” Falon inhaled sharply. When he took off his sunglasses, he was close enough for her to view the blackest eyes she’d ever seen on any human being. She swallowed hard and took a supreme chance. “I-I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I thought you were with those other men. You all seemed to know each other.” 61

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He nodded. “I know em’ all right. They’re about the worst lot that ever came out of creation’s farting black hole. If you’ll excuse the expression.” Mentally shaking herself to keep from staring at the man’s face, a face that was so handsome and captivating that she could barely speak, Falon held out her hand. “Falon Fitzpatrick,” she softly introduced. The man gently gripped her palm and she felt an unusual electric-like shock go up her arm. “Rory Finnigan,” he offered by way of introduction. “I-I’m here on a vacation,” Falon offered. “My rental broke down and I was standing on the side of the road when those...those men...came over the hill.” “They won’t trouble you again. I’ve put the fear of death into them,” Rory declared. Falon coyly dropped her head for a moment. “Thanks for your help again. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along. Really,” she insisted, “I didn’t mean to sound so ungrateful.” “No harm done. You were scared and rightly so.” He paused. “Now...as to your problem, why not call your rental company and have them come pick you up? If you’re concerned, I’ll wait with you until they get here.” She grimaced in response. “See, that’s just it. I, uh, I tried to call and my cell phone isn’t reaching anything. The international plan I bought before I left New York isn’t...international, I mean. I don’t suppose I could borrow your phone?” “Certainly. If I had one, but I don’t. Never use the things.” She sighed in frustration, ran one hand through her hair and tossed the tire iron back into the passenger side of her car. However menacing he looked, she was pretty sure Rory Finnigan wasn’t going to hurt her. She was five-feet-nine. He was at least six-feetsix. This close, he could have overpowered her at any second. There was no sense in using a tire iron on a man who was roughly the size of a heavyweight boxer. “Any suggestions?” He let out a long, slow breath. “One. But I’m not sure you’ll like it.” “Why?” she asked and gazed up at him in trepidation. “I could get you to a phone. By now, wherever you rented your car will have likely closed shop. The small towns around this part of the countryside don’t keep city hours, even for tourists. But if you want to trust me, I’ll get you to a very good inn for the 62

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night. The owners are friends of mine. They’ll see that your car gets back to wherever you want it, and even have a replacement delivered if you’d like.” “That would be great,” she said in a large exhaled breath. Then, she glanced at his bike. “I...I suppose the only way is to ride with you?” Rory knew from the sound of her voice that the idea of going somewhere with a perfect stranger scared her. “There’s no other way unless you want to wait for me to ride there, then someone would have to come all the way back for you...so on and so forth,” he explained. “All that drivin’ about could take some time. By coming with me now, you could lock up your rental, take a small overnight case and whatever else you’d like and throw it over your shoulder. I can promise you, I’ll be busy drivin’ and won’t bite. My friends will have you a replacement rental at the inn tomorrow along with the rest of your luggage. All you’d have to do is give them your car key and trust us. We’ll set everything to rights. There isn’t a one of us who’d like to see a visitor to our shores thinkin’ badly of us. Especially not because of a bunch of pin-headed bastards like Paddy and his brothers.” She finally smiled and nodded. “I’m in no position to turn down the offer, Mr. Finnigan. Thanks so much. And my country has its share of pinheads, by the way.” That smile. It made Rory’s insides melt and his cock harden. Beautiful when she was angry, Falon Fitzpatrick was outrageously stunning when she wasn’t. Fifteen minutes later, Falon had all of her luggage locked in the trunk of her rental car. She had a weekend tote thrown over her shoulder along with her purse, and she mounted that customized black motorcycle behind a very uncustomary man. She wrapped her arms around Rory’s waist and felt the strong, hard muscle beneath the black leather of his jacket. The heat from his jean-clad thighs radiated upward and warmed her, just as the afternoon turned to evening. “Great bike,” she complimented. He glanced over his shoulder. “I like things that are American built. They seem a bit tougher.” She ignored the obvious compliment as he gazed down at her for a long moment. “Um, shouldn’t we have helmets?” “It’s the law. But, as I don’t have any, we’ll just have to make do.” His chivalrous rescue not withstanding, Falon would bet every last dime she had that this man didn’t give a flaming fig about certain aspects of the law. Still, she got on 63

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the damned bike with him and handed over her safety. As he revved up the powerful engine, she grinned wickedly and tightened her embrace around his waist. It seemed he leaned a little back and she thought she heard him chuckle. As far as she was now concerned, the holiday wasn’t turning out so bad after all. Rory drove north and had the very devil of a time keeping his mind on the road. With every minute that passed, the woman behind him was gripping his body a little tighter and unknowingly fueling his libido at the same time. Maybe he could get her to stay at the inn more than just the night it would take for the rental agency to send out a new car and deliver the rest of her luggage. And maybe, just maybe, he could convince this enticing American tourist to spend a little time in his world. A few brief days, then he’d encourage her to be on her way. She’d be no worse off for having dallied with him, and he’d be all the warmer for having spent some time in a new lover’s embrace. For thousands of years, Faeries like him had encountered humans and satisfied sexual urges in just these coincidental ways. Used to be, the human would wander into a glen on horseback. Now, they occasionally wandered across his path while he was riding a motorcycle. The details of the actual encounter and the century were certainly different, but not the lovemaking that followed. That was as old as time itself. Rory glanced back and saw her smiling up at him in a way that was all too seductive. She might not have meant her expression to appear that way, but he knew the signs all the same. Falon, darlin’, get ready for the vacation of your life. He sped up and hoped the cool wind would temporarily diminish the heat already rising between his thighs.

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Chapter Two

It was almost dusk when Rory drove up to the inn. He could already hear the revelry beginning inside and his Faerie’s heart gravitated to it. Faeries loved nothing better than to sing, dance and make merry all night long. He hoped his new American friend would be accommodating to her hosts’ peculiarities in this respect. He turned off the engine and waited for her to get off the bike first. “This is the Wailin’ Spirit Inn. My friends, Peg and Connel O’Sullivan are the owners. You’ll like it here.” Falon could hear the rowdiness inside, but it didn’t put her off. In fact, nothing could have. The little inn, with its white picket fence and thousands of colorful blooming garden flowers, was enchanting. The scene looked like one of those cottage paintings famous artists were so fond of portraying in oil. “How beautiful. Why didn’t the guy at the rental place tell me about this inn? This is exactly the kind of out-of-the-way place I’d asked about booking.” “I’m, uh, sure your car rental agent wouldn’t know about it. It’s a local secret,” he explained with a wink. Falon hitched up the tote and the strap on her purse. When Rory would have opened the front gate for her, she tentatively put a hand on his arm to stop him. He turned to find that lovely smile on her face again. The way her full lips perfectly bowed almost took his breath away. “Could I ask what you told those men to make them leave me alone? You said something to them in Gaelic.” He laughed. “I just told them I’d beat the crap out of them if they stayed one more moment,” he lied. What he’d really told them was much, much worse. That and his illuminated eyes had made them run like demons were on their heels. She accepted that explanation. “Gaelic is a beautiful language. I wish I could learn it.” 65

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Here was an opening he’d been looking for. “If you’d care to stay at the inn for more than a night, I’ll try teaching you a few words at a time. And, I’ll even throw in my services as a tour guide.” “Is that what you do for a living?” “Aye, when I’ve the time.” Especially if the tourist was a beautiful young woman he’d come across in some bar or was stranded as Falon was. “And if you’re wantin’ references, Peg and Connel will provide them. As well as anyone inside I should imagine. I grew up around here. People know me well.” Falon felt her sense of anticipation rise. This was getting better by the minute. Not only had he rescued her, and not only was he unbelievably handsome, he was available and offering his services. “Would, uh...Mrs. Finnigan mind if you served as my guide?” she slyly asked. “Would I be taking you away from other responsibilities?” “There is no Mrs. Finnigan. Well...sure’n there must be hundreds throughout the country, but none of them would be my Mrs. Finnigan,” he joked. “As to other responsibilities, you could say I’m on a holiday of my own and free as lark. I’d be glad to share my time and knowledge of the countryside with you.” She nodded, boldly looped her arm through his and walked through the garden gate with him. Rory arched one eyebrow at the audacious physical gesture, but couldn’t get the silly smirk off his face for anything. Moment by moment, everything was falling into place in a grand way. By this time tomorrow, he’d not only be her tour guide, but her vacation lover. If he was careful and played his cards right, that is. The instant Falon walked into the inn, she was entranced. A couple of dozen men and women sat around the room on various stools, near tables and at the bar. Big picture windows gave a view right out onto the front garden and all of the patrons greeted Rory in a huge way. Some called out his name, others walked forward to clap him on the back in a good-natured fashion, and a servant girl grabbed him by the front of his jacket and placed a solid kiss on his full lips. Falon got the impression Rory was not only well liked, but expected. As he led her through the crowds, greeting people in a personable and open way, Falon found herself somehow attracted to him even more. She’d never walked into a room with a man and seen such a welcome response. Rory felt the magic in the room. All of his kind were present as he navigated her to another area beyond the pub and the registration counter. He nodded to an elderly, 66

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white-haired man behind it. “This is Connel O’Sullivan,” he introduced, then turned to the inn owner. “This is Falon Fitzpatrick. She’s a visiting American whose car broke down about an hour away on the old Kirk road. Sadly, when I met her, Paddy Flynn and his brothers were givin’ her a hard time.” “You don’t say?” Connel asked and shook his head in anger. “Why, those brigands ought to be beaten to within an inch of their lives, they should. Tell me you did it this time, Rory.” “No. Afraid not. They fled as they usually do. Not a whit of courage in their cowardly hides.” “These men do this often?” Falon asked them. Connel snorted. “Often enough as to warrant the law searching for them. But no one wants to file the charges as there are more at home just as foul and fierce as that older brother, Paddy. If you lock one up, the rest find you and have their revenge. Some day, however, Rory will put a stop to that. Why, once he...” Rory shook his head. “Uh, that’s enough, Connel. I’m sure Ms. Fitzpatrick doesn’t want to hear about Paddy and his family. She came all the way from America for a vacation. We should see she gets a better experience than what she’s had so far. If you’ll give her a room for the night, then arrange for her rental car to be picked up, that would be grand of you. The rest of her luggage is locked in the boot. She’ll give you the keys to get it.” “Absolutely,” Connel gaily agreed. “Now, let’s just get you a room and get you settled.” “That’s Miss Falon Fitzpatrick,” Falon supplied, when the innkeeper wrote her name in an old-fashioned book register. She wanted Rory to know she was unattached, and didn’t miss the way Connel winked when she emphasized her single status. “If you’ll let me have your bag, Miss Fitzpatrick, I’ll show you to your room,” Connel told her. “Of course, you’ll be joinin’ us downstairs in the pub. My wife, Peg, has a grand stew on tonight. And I’ll wager a pint of stout won’t go amiss, either. I’ll be puttin’ you in room thirteen. And don’t think of it at all as unlucky. Sure’n it’s the finest room in the inn.” “I’ll be in the pub if you feel like meetin’ me,” Rory offered, then nodded at both of them and left to join his friends for a cold pint. 67

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Falon was momentarily taken aback. Her savior hadn’t even stayed long enough for her to thank him again, but she reasoned he understood she’d be coming right back down anyhow. She shrugged and followed the affable innkeeper up to her room. As she followed Connel up the narrow oak staircase, Falon was overjoyed with her luck. The place was lovely. Every single detail was in perfect order, from the flowerfilled vases to the doilies beneath them on the hallway tables. And her room was sweetly decorated with pastel colors and more flowers from the garden. She thanked her host, then pumped her fist in excitement as soon as he closed the door behind him. Running to a large picture window, she threw it open and looked out onto the back garden with its plethora of flowers. They were so brightly colored that they almost glowed in the evening light. This was exactly the place she’d wanted when talking to the tour guide back home. They’d showed her pictures of lovely inns across the country, but this one was perfect. She ran a comb through her hair, re-applied some make up, then decided to join the merry-makers downstairs. *** Rory was sitting at the bar while Peg poured him her usual crockery mug full of Faery Bog Wine. He could already feel the cool drink running down his throat and couldn’t wait to introduce it to Falon. Peg squeezed his cheek. “So, you found yourself a lovely girl, Connel tells me.” “That she is,” he laughed and readily agreed. Peg shook her head in disgust. “It’s a good thing you came along when you did or she’d have been a crime statistic.” Rory waved a hand in dismissal, refusing to hear one more thing about the Flynn brothers. He’d already explained what happened concerning the American at least six times. All he wanted now was his Bog Wine and a good bowl of Peg’s stew. “Let’s forget how I met her and figure out how to keep her here for a while,” Rory told his hostess. “I’ve told her I’m a sort of tour guide.” “That always worked before, so it should now,” Peg agreed. “I don’t know. I sense something different about this woman, Peg. She’s got courage, to be sure. But, with a name like Fitzpatrick, she’s got old blood in her. From this country. She might not be so easily fooled into following me around like a spring lamb wantin’ a tit to suck.” 68

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Peg waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “She’ll follow you like all the other women. You’ll charm her socks off, if she’s wearin’ ‘em. If she’s not, you’ll charm off somethin’ else. You always do.” Rory pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at her bawdy remark. Still, there was something in Falon’s make up that was different. That he bedded women often wasn’t an issue. In fact, his propensity for doing so was the subject of open bets for many of his comrades. As he glanced backward and saw some of them lift their glasses in a toast, he knew they’d already placed their wagers as to when he’d get the lovely newcomer into his bower. That was the sport of the Fey. One of only a few left to them nowadays. But the sport was never to harm or cause grief. That wasn’t their way. In fact, most of the betting had to do with how well he’d service his human lover. He must give her as good a time as he got before she left, unharmed and unfettered. As a passing, serving girl bawdily reached around his waist, gently squeezed his cock, and gave a thumbs-up signal to the rest of the room, the others let out a rowdy cheer. He couldn’t help but laugh. All right, he had a hard-on that could drive spikes through a railroad tie. Falon was a beautiful woman, and they all knew him to be a very virile man. As their leader, it fell to him to bring in the human women and serve as the consort. He was the only one of a few left who had no woman of his own, therefore, he could play the game without remorse. He’d done it all last summer when women tourists needed a place to stay. He’d amiably lured them to the inn, then done his stuff. He was more than ready to begin the season with Miss Falon Fitzpatrick. Still, there was something about the way she’d handled herself with those brutish men that captured his attention. He slowly sipped more Bog Wine, then caught sight of his current quarry as she wound her way through the tables of partying but disguised Fey. He slowly turned and let his gaze wander over her slender frame and ample breasts. He could almost taste the sweetness of her skin as he kissed it. She’d be sweeter still, when in his bower. “Hi,” she greeted, then sat next to him. “The room to your liking?” he smilingly asked, and waved a hand just behind her back at the odd comments he was afraid she might hear from his fellow Faeries. Many were openly wishing them good luck and making similar, uncalled for remarks. If they didn’t shut up, she’d get suspicious and make his game all the more difficult to play. 69

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Falon simply smiled at the others in the room who were lifting their glasses in her direction and put all her attention on the man-of-the-moment in her life. “The room is beautiful, and I’d like some of whatever you’re having...if you don’t mind.” He half-smiled and took his chance to introduce her to a Faery beverage. “Uh, Peg, will you bring Miss Fitzpatrick a mug of wine?” “Not stout?” Falon asked. “Not tonight,” he told her as he took the mug Peg readily offered. “This is Peg O’Sullivan.” “I met your husband earlier,” Falon said as she took the larger, redheaded woman’s hand and shook it heartily. “Oh, you’re a bonny lass,” Peg complimented and stared. “A right bonny lass.” “You, uh, have to forgive Peg,” Rory explained. “She’s nothing if not quick with the truth.” “Thank you,” Falon graciously took the compliment and lifted her glass to the older woman. “Your inn is wonderful. In fact, I think I’ll make it my residence for the remainder of my vacation. If you’re not booked up, that is.” Rory saw Peg’s eyes open in surprise. Things were going suspiciously right. Almost too easily, in fact. He drew Falon’s attention to his by clinking his mug to hers. “There’s always room at the Wailin’ Spirit Inn.” Falon shot him what she hoped was her most seductive smile and leaned toward him. She made very sure her breasts grazed his shoulder. “I’m absolutely starving. What’s on the menu?” Rory heard Peg hoot and walk away to fill someone else’s mug. At this rate, all he’d have to do was lead her out the back door and service her. Things were going a bit too fast, and he was used to being the one to do the seducing. Falon was clearly over her fear of him and looking him over as if he was on the night’s dessert tray. “Peg will bring us some Irish stew. If that’s what you’d like?” She scooted her chair closer to him. “I’ll eat whatever you’re eating.” The look in her eyes could only be described as hot. Rory felt his body responding handily at the way she purposely leaned toward him and pressed her breasts against the arm closest to her.

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Feeling decidedly wicked and bold, Falon lifted a finger and slowly ran it from his lower lip to his chin before taking it away from his face. “What could I possibly do to thank you for rescuing me today?” “Th-that was a gentlemanly act. Any man in his right mind would have stopped and helped,” he responded, then swallowed down some more of his wine. He was vaguely aware of his comrades laughing behind his back. They sensed his discomfort at not being the one to initiate the intimacy between them. Soon, however, he totally forgot their presence and gazed deeply into Falon’s eyes. Something about her held him transfixed. “Why don’t we get that stew and take it out onto the back porch? It’s quieter out there and we can talk.” “Sounds like a wonderful idea,” she softly agreed, placing one hand on his knee and caressing it. “Peg, would you bring us two bowls of tonight’s special...out back?” When the older woman nodded and hid her glee behind a bar cloth she held to her lips, Rory knew he had to get Falon out of the pub. Everything they said was being overheard, though the din would have made Falon believe otherwise. Plus, he wanted to get to the bottom of the American’s sudden desire to come on to him. What had happened since he left her at the registration desk to make her act so...seductive? Falon let him lead her to the back of the cottage, holding her drink with one hand and caressing his leather-clad back in a careless fashion with the other. Two whole weeks. She had fourteen days to see the real earthy side of Ireland she’d wished for, without all the tourist trappings hindering her. And the bonus was incredible. This massive hunk of Irishman was going to be her guide. By his own admission, he was as “free as a lark”. She decided to define that as free in every possible way. No more Miss Predictable, as her co-workers nicknamed her. She was coming home with a suitcase full of souvenirs and stories...stories about some long hot nights with an Irishman who was more like a god than a man.

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Chapter Three

Rory eyed her with growing fascination. As they ate their meal and drank their Bog Wine, the frightened but courageous young beauty by the roadside was completely replaced by a lovely woman who was doing everything she could to turn up the heat. Well, if that’s what she wanted, far be it from him to be so ungallant as to cast the offer aside. Why, it’d be positively antisocial and a create dent in foreign relations for him to do other than acknowledge Falon’s overt, sexual signals. Right now, her eyes had a come-hither look that rivaled any seductive stare in the Faery kingdom. His blood heated with passion. Indeed, she was as bonny a creature as he’d ever laid eyes on. Her high cheekbones and turned-up nose reminded him of glen Brownies, but that was where the resemblance ended. While her face was sweet and had a wholesome look about it, the rest of her body was made for pure loving. He could just imagine squeezing her rounded breasts against either side of his face as he kissed his way up her lean, strong body. To try and get his engorged cock to lie back down and behave, he pushed his bowl away and reached for the pitcher to refill his glass. Normal conversation was the ticket. No more fiery glances and gazes for the moment. “So...what would you be wantin’ to see?” he asked, keeping his attention on his mug. She looked him over in what she hoped was an overt insinuation as to what sight she’d most like to view, but he wasn’t watching. “First, why don’t we discuss your fee?” The way she said it forced him to gaze into her sparkling aqua eyes again. “Um, there’s no fee. Consider my services a way of trying to make up for what some of my countrymen did. Frankly, I’d enjoy the company.” She leaned forward and took one of his broad hands in both hers. “Surely, there’s something I can offer you?” He half-choked on his wine, cleared his throat and slowly smiled at her. “You know, if you keep lookin’ at me like you are and usin’ that sultry tone of voice, I might just be gettin’ some very wicked ideas.” 72

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She suddenly let go of his hand. “Might? Good grief, I was hoping you’d have got the message an hour ago. What does a woman have to do?” He burst out laughing. “You must think I’m incredibly dense, but a man has to be sure. After all, we’re still strangers.” “After what happened today, I’d say we could move past that, don’t you?” He scooted his chair closer. “You’re right. So, what would this offer entail?” She was quick with an answer. “Got a place to stay for the night?” He gazed straight into her eyes. “I have a permanent room in the inn. Connel and Peg are like my own parents.” “Would it shock you too very much if I asked you to share mine?” “Now, I know you’ve got Irish blood in you,” he teased. “Of course I do, but what has that got to do with sharing my bed for the night?” “Most Irish women get straight to the point. That’s what I like about ‘em.” “So?” she softly asked. “I make it a rule never to disappoint a client.” He reached out and stroked her cheek with one index finger. “And if you’ll let me plan the itinerary, I can show as good a time tomorrow as I’ll show you tonight.” It wasn’t hard for Falon to agree with that. Those black eyes were enchanting in their depth and quality. At that moment, she’d have followed him anywhere he’d go. Glancing at her wristwatch was incredibly difficult as she had to tear her gaze away from his. “Uh, meet me in my room in at twelve. I’ve always wanted to tell a man to meet me at the stroke of midnight.” With rising anticipation, he watched her saunter away. He couldn’t wait to get out of the restrictive clothing Faeries so disliked and into her bed. The ease with which this was happening had him bewitched. But who was he to question Falon’s good judgment? For however long the American tourist chose to stay, he’d be a willing partner to her lusts. And if some might choose to think her a loose woman, he could readily reply that she wasn’t having a fling all alone. But then, Faeries never made such estimations concerning the humans with whom they played. It was all a game, they were all adults and knew the score. No one was ever hurt and the interlude was usually deemed a success by all involved. With the single thought of making wild love to Falon on his mind, he eased himself out of his chair and headed toward his room and a long relaxing shower. *** 73

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She’d never done anything so impetuous in her entire life. Around the insurance office where she was a secretary, Falon was known as dependable, reliable, steady and totally boring. She was about to toss all those adjectives out the window in favor of a new, more enlightened persona. As she thought about the man who’d meet her, she could barely control her body’s response. Having pleasured herself in a relaxing bath, she was only more ready. She closed her eyes and imagined her big Irish rescuer without any clothing on. Surely all that strength was due to a lot of hard physical work. If there was anything that turned her on, it was the sight of a well-honed male body. She loosened the tie to her blue silk robe and let her hand slide to her left breast. It would feel fantastic to have him play with her nipples and suck them while she ran her hands through all that long black hair. Fashion sense aside, that long pelt of his was definitely just her style. Tweaking her left nipple caused a gush of moisture to pool between her bare thighs. He’d know she was ready and hoped to get right to business. It had been months since she’d had a man and that occasion had ended with the guy falling straight to sleep after pleasuring himself and not her. For some reason, she had the notion that Rory wouldn’t be so selfish. A selfish man wouldn’t have stopped to rescue a total stranger, placing himself in harm’s way to do so. And a man unworthy of a woman’s attention wouldn’t have received the boisterous, friendly greetings he had upon entering the Inn’s pub. She hadn’t come to Ireland looking for a vacation quickie or a romantic fling, but what the hell? Women and men did it all the time. She was tired of always being so stuck in a rut. When this perfect opportunity presented itself, she was glad to have grabbed at it with both hands. She’d seen the look in Rory’s eyes. Men had never been repulsed by her looks, but she’d gotten tired of looking for just one who’d see to her needs before his own. Or see to her needs at all for that matter. When the hands of her bedside alarm clock reached exactly midnight, there was a soft knock on her door. Falon took a deep breath, then made herself walk slowly toward it. Rory couldn’t help taking a long slow look over her figure. In that robe, that almost exactly matched the unusual color of her eyes, she was a stunning vision. He moved into the room and softly closed the door behind him. Walking toward Falon, he could see the playful, mischievous look in her eyes, yet she still backed away. A breeze 74

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from the open window wafted through the room causing the gauzy curtains to billow and her hair to lift from around her breasts. Falon loved the black, unbuttoned silk shirt he wore. For some reason, it went well with his jeans and bare feet. She surmised he hadn’t worn shoes so as not to disturb the other residents of the inn, but who cared what he wore on his feet? The ensemble worked for her. She glanced toward an ice bucket where some champagne was chilling. “My vacation. I thought we’d splurge.” He stopped sauntering toward her and moved to the chilling champagne instead. Whatever she wanted, she would have. These days, it took a lot of imagination to entice a woman into a Faery bower. If giving her the grand tour of the countryside and imbibing expensive champagne was what it took, he’d be glad to acquiesce. After popping the cork and filling two glasses, he handed her one. “Here’s to our American cousins and allies across the sea. May they ever have the same luck as we.” She smiled and sipped her drink when he did. Then, she looped one strand of hair behind her ear and moved to the open window. She stared at the lovely garden as she turned her back to him. “Y-you must think I’m incredibly bold...asking you to my room like this.” He shrugged and walked up behind her, catching the smell of something citrus on her skin and hair as he did. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes. He absolutely adored the smell of fresh lemons. And that was the base for the scent she wore. His cock was already straining at his zipper, but he’d take his time. The joining would be all the sweeter for having done so. “I think a man and a woman should respond when nature calls.” He drained his glass and put it on a nearby table. “You know I want you. You’re a very beautiful woman.” She heard his soft voice from directly behind her and felt his breath on the back of her neck, even through the thickness of her hair. She turned. “I don’t want you to think I’m doing this just because you rescued me.” “Nor would I want you for that reason.” He took her glass and sat it next to his, then turned her toward him. “Just relax and let it happen.”

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Falon swallowed hard as his hands came up to frame her cheeks. She stood absolutely still as he lowered his head and began to kiss the corner of her mouth and her jaw. He moved his hands into her hair as he did so. “Your hair is as soft as a spring mist.” He breathed in her scent again. “And you smell fresh. Like a warm day in an orchard.” She ran her hands up the inside of his shirt and heard him suck in air. “You’re strong. Stronger than I’d even imagined.” She slid her hands over his back then up his chest, exposing the expansive muscle there. “You work out hard, don’t you?” He grinned and gazed down at her. “I like to stay in shape.” She took a deep breath. “Th-There’s a gym around the corner from my apartment. I-I used to go there and watch the men lift weights.” “For what reason?” “I just liked watching them. They were...virile.” “You’re a woman with hot appetites. Isn’t that so?” “Not so that anyone would notice. Back home, everyone thinks I’m quite boring. I always do what’s expected. I’m always on time for work. I never call in sick. I always get my assignments done on time and everyone depends on me. Quite predictable, actually.” “Are there no men in your world with eyes? Do none of them see what I’m seeing right now?” He whispered. “There are no men in my world like you.” Rory ran his lips across hers in a barely grazing touch. Her response was to caress his back, then pull him forward. The strength of her grasp was quite astonishing. And the passion in her kiss was nothing short of dynamic. The kiss deepened and he felt a moan escape from far back in his throat. Her answering sound of excitement thrilled him. He let her push his shirt off his torso even as the hot, wet and torrid kiss continued. Then, he backed toward the bed, using his senses to tell him when it was near. Before he could actually pull her down with him, however, she pushed him hard. He fell back and saw a fire in her gaze that was spectacular. She unbelted her robe and let it fall to the floor. “Shannon’s Mercy!” he uttered, then quickly sat back up and began to run his hands over her soft, soft body. Her skin was like the finest porcelain, but kissed lightly by the sun’s rays. Her waist was small and tapered, but her breasts were full, firm and oh-so76

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squeezable. He momentarily buried his head between their thickness, then began to assault her nipples with his tongue. Falon thrust her hands into the straight strands of blue-black hair that fell to the middle of his back. As she watched him kiss and caress her body, it seemed his hair and skin began to glow. It had to be a trick of the half-light created by the lamp and its opaque shade. Her clit began to actually throb and tingle for want of him. Unable to stop what he was doing, he laved her body with kisses and circular caressing motions until she cried out from desire. Rory knew she’d come without him if he didn’t seize the moment soon. He could sense her ardor was that strong and lustful. It was as if she needed this experience and wanted him to give his all. He could almost feel how her body would close around him and could wait no longer. He scooted back onto the bed, pulling her with him. Falon had no problem straddling his thighs and helping him off with his jeans. Once she was pulling them down his well-defined and muscular thighs, she could see he wore some kind of leather thong and its presence excited her more than she could have thought possible. Rory kicked his jeans off and let her fingers wander, experimentally, over the thong. “Do you like that, darlin’?” “Yeah. I really do,” she readily responded and lowered her head to tongue the insides of his legs until he opened them wider. Rory had never known such passion or wild lust. Even the Nymphs of the Faery world weren’t known to be so generous in their loving. He stroked Falon’s shoulders with one hand while lifting her hair with the other, so he could see exactly what she was doing. “If you want it off, you have to bite through the leather on either side of the pouch,” he instructed. Falon lifted her eyes off the enormous bulge between his legs and stared at him for a long moment. In that look, he saw the feral gleam of some wild thing, not a woman. Falon was like a woman possessed. In that instant, he knew she’d either been sorely lacking for male companionship, or she had never had any at all. In her gaze, he saw a covetous ache and need that surpassed any expression he’d ever seen on a woman’s face. And Rory had seen many, many women look at him with lust in their eyes. Falon, however, was uncontrollable and magnificent in her desire. 77

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While still staring at him, she took the left side of the thong within her teeth. She pulled hard until the thin strap broke and his engorged penis sprang from the pouch that was now loose and lying to one side of his body. “Damn!” he muttered, and lay there waiting for what would come next. With a will and a determination that surprised even her, Falon took his penis in her hands and began to stroke upward. Then, she took him in her mouth. Rory gripped the bedspread with his hands, but the rest of his body froze. Every single sensation he had was centered right in his groin. And when Falon began to push his thighs further apart so she could lick his testicles, he couldn’t even speak. He wanted to moan out his appreciation and instruct her as he did with the Faery women with whom he caroused, but he simply couldn’t utter one single sound. Not a syllable or even a grunt. Not content with just tasting him, Falon ran her palms over every square inch of perfect muscular body she could get to. He was honed in such a way that those body builders she used to watch would look pitiful by comparison. “I want you inside me,” she muttered. “Deep inside.” Finally able to croak out his wish, Rory said, “Do it. Damn it all, take me.” Falon moved slowly up his body let her hair drag over his rock-hard abdomen and all the rippled muscle there. Then, she took his penis in one hand, stroked her clit with it several times and slid down the longest length of man she’d ever had. He had to be eight or nine inches when fully engorged. And she took every bit of him in, one slow inch at a time. Rory was finally able to lift his hands and his head. He gripped her shoulders and slid his palms down to her luscious breasts and began to tweak the nipples. Her resounding moan told him she liked what he was doing. But it was with extreme difficulty that he played with her body at all. She was wrapped so tight and hot around his cock that coherent thought almost left him. When she began to buck against him like a wild mare, he was pulled up and down with her. It took every bit of physical strength he had not to shape shift right there so he could use his greater Faery power to make love. Her cries echoed off the walls when her orgasm hit her deep and hard. Rory felt his seed pooling within her as he, too, felt an almost bone-splitting orgasm take him out of reality and into a world of all sensation. He thrust up over and over until she fell 78

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against him and lay there panting. He held onto her tightly, and only let her go when she pushed away and sat up again. Falon gazed down at him, using her fingers to untangle his long hair and gently pull it away from his sweat-soaked face. “Thank you,” she murmured. There was a reverence in her voice that shouldn’t have been there. Rory felt something tug in the vicinity of his heart, sat up and hugged her hard. “You take my breath away, darlin’. You truly do.” Her only response was to hold onto him tightly. As he held on and rocked her, Rory began to regret coming over the hill that day. Not that he’d wanted anything to happen to Falon or any other stranded woman, but it might have been better for them both if someone else had been her Lancelot. She wasn’t the same as other women. Something about her called to him in a way he couldn’t understand. Soon, she’d be gone and wouldn’t even remember this episode or any other they shared. His magical influence would fade when there was some distance between them. Why it bothered him was a mystery. He tried to shake off the feeling, but it just wouldn’t go. Falon leaned back and ran her fingers down his cheeks. “You’re quite a man.” Stop looking at me that way. I’m not the man for you. He laid down and pulled her on top of him, caressing her body until her soft breathing told him she slept.

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Chapter Four

Falon woke up alone, but somehow wasn’t surprised. It was well into the morning. She didn’t expect Rory to stick around, waiting for her to get over her jet lag. As she wrapped her robe around her body, there was a firm knock on the door. “Come in,” she called. “Hello, dearie,” Peg sang out as she shouldered the door open and walked into the room carrying a breakfast tray. “You might remember me from last night? I’m Peg O’Sullivan, Connel’s wife,” Peg introduced herself again. “Of course, I remember.” Falon gazed down at the try of fruit and porridge the woman was placing on a table. “What’s all this?” “Rory ordered you up some breakfast. He was concerned you might not be feeling all that well after yesterday’s goings on.” She clicked her tongue. “Those Flynn brothers are a snotty lot-full, I must say. It’s a cryin’ shame you had to see that part of our culture.” Falon simply shrugged. “I’m afraid you’d see worse if you were to come to New York. There are bad people everywhere. I’m just glad Rory came along when he did.” “And that’s a fact,” Peg nodded her head in confirmation and placed her hands on her hips. “But it’s all put to rights now. Rory has gone and had a long, long talk with ‘em. He wanted to make extra sure they left the area and cause no further harm.” Falon felt her eyes widen automatically in surprise. “Pardon me for asking, but...is that his job? I mean, why doesn’t he just let me make a complaint to the police?” “What? And spoil your vacation with all that inquest business and paperwork?” She waved her hand in blunt dismissal of that idea. “Nonsense. Why, Rory will take good and care of everything. He’s a right wonderful man. If I had a son, I’d want him to be just the same.” She went about tidying the room. “Now, you go on and eat up. Rory said I was to make sure you ate every single bite. He should be back around midday. I think he has a special treat planned for your afternoon tour. In the meantime, you can rest and 80

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have a nice walk around the garden. There’s a beautiful view at the top of the hill, at the back of the property.” “Uh, I was hoping I could find a way to get the rest of my luggage and take care of my car rental...” “Oh, not to worry. Rory has that all arranged. My Connel is bringing your luggage here even now, and should be back by the time you’ve had a nice long bath. There was one wee bit of a glitch though.” Trying to gather the flow of information and assimilate the rapidity with which Rory was assuming control of everything, Falon shook her head to clear it. “Glitch?” she asked. “Well, you see...Rory found the number to call your car rental company in your glove compartment. Unfortunately, this is the height of the tourist season and all they could do was come tow the car. They didn’t have a replacement.” She waved a dust cloth as she walked around the room sorting things and cleaning. “Not to worry, though. Rory has that nice bike of his. He’ll take you wherever you want to go. I think he even means to find a spare helmet or two since you mentioned to him something about wearing one.” Falon simply shook her head. “Well, uh, I guess...I guess I’ll just eat and take a shower then.” “Good for you, dearie. And when Connel gets here, I’ll do your unpackin’. You needn’t even lift a single finger. Gracious, we do so want you to have a grand time.” All Falon could do was grin and eat her wonderful breakfast of porridge and toast. On occasion, she’d had the luxury of staying in some very fine American hotels that wouldn’t have gone to this kind of trouble. It was almost as if the people at Wailing Spirit Inn were doing every single thing they could to make her want to stay put. She was more than convinced she should, and couldn’t wait to see Rory again. That thought kept her grinning all morning and through the amiable gossip Mrs. O’Sullivan readily dispensed. Later, she was walking through the enchanting garden when Rory walked toward her wearing his sunglasses, leather jacket, blue jeans and biker boots. Falon waited expectantly, not knowing whether the previous night’s encounter should be acknowledged or to let it go as a one-night stand. The choice was his. The last thing she wanted, after their sexual romp and the strong way she came on to him, was to appear as desperate and needy. “Hi,” she amiably greeted. 81

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He stopped several feet in front of her, not just to get a good look at her slender figure in jeans and a light blue sweater, but to take in the almost half-enthused way in which she greeted him. He expected more gusto after what they’d shared. “Are you feeling all right? I was worried everything that happened yesterday might have caught up with you.” “No. I’m fine.” She paused and grinned. “Actually, I’m a lot better than just fine. Mr. O’Sullivan delivered my luggage, Peg unpacked it and fixed me breakfast and a light lunch. You arranged to have my rental towed and everything seems just super.” “But?” he questioned, sensing she wanted to add more. “I...I sort of get the feeling everyone is trying a little too hard to get me to stay. I mean, I have no intentions of leaving, but people needn’t put themselves out on my behalf. After all, I’ll be gone in a couple of weeks.” He moved closer and gazed down into her unusual-colored eyes. “That might be so. But it’s our way to be hospitable. And, to be honest, Peg and Connel don’t often get that many visitors. The inn is a bit off the beaten path, as they say.” She nodded. “Well, I can’t fault the service. Yours either,” she blithely added. For some reason, the way she so flippantly addressed their lovemaking didn’t sit well with him. “You say that as if I came with the room and board.” Falon shook her hair out of her eyes when a soft breeze blew it forward. “I didn’t mean it that way. In fact, I was the one who came on to you. And I don’t regret it. It’s just that, I wanted you to understand it’s just a holiday fling. No strings attached.” That should have been his line. That the basic reason for their sex was being so bluntly addressed by her bothered him, but he didn’t know why. He let his gaze wander over her perfect features. “So, that’s it, then?” “Not at all. That is, if you want to continue I sure won’t complain. Let’s just not make it too personal.” Confused, he tilted his head and asked, “How in the world could it not be personal?” “It’s just sex. We wouldn’t be getting personal if we don’t get into each other’s histories too much. I don’t need to know anything more than I do about you. And you don’t need to know anything more about me. Our private lives are our own. Understand?”

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He frowned and put his hands on his hips. “Are you married? I didn’t see a ring on your finger, but are you trying to keep someone from finding out what we did together? Is that it?” “No. I’m not married. I’m not cheating on anyone,” she angrily replied. “But as we won’t ever see each other again after I leave, then I don’t see what good it will do to get to know each other for anything but the sex we share and the places you might like to show me in regards to being a guide. Let’s just keep it impersonal.” Rory mentally shook himself. The woman was confounding. On the one hand, she was open to the most lustful, intimate sex. On the other, she didn’t even want to know about the man sharing it. Most women wanted to question him to death about every single detail, and he’d had to lie about most of his life because of their interrogations. More and more, Falon Fitzpatrick was an enigma he wanted to investigate. Her insistence that her life was to be kept private, fueled his need to know even more. Unless he wanted to chase her off before his game was finished, he’d have to give in. “All right. Have it your way,” he grudgingly relented. “Good,” she blurted, then walked forward, grabbed him by the front of his jacket and pulled him down to her height. Rory didn’t even have time to vocalize his shock when she kissed him slowly and sensually. All he could do was respond and pull her toward him, rotating his hips against her body in a passionate gesture. When she finally ended it and stepped back, he’d never felt more out of control in his entire life. The sensation was a new one and not to his liking. “Did you have some plans for this afternoon?” Falon softly asked. “Peg said you did.” Strangely angered by her stoic control and the loss of his, Rory could only respond with a curt few words. “Yes. My bike is out front.” “Let me get my purse, I’ll be with you in a couple of minutes. I’d like to see anything that isn’t normal,” she instructed, then walked away. Rory was left standing there wondering what the hell had happened between last night and now. The contrary woman was blowing hot and cold and, to his Faery’s senses, the switch in attitude was almost maddening. Falon walked away holding her breath. She didn’t want to care about him. Any man that had ever got too close had only done so for a good piece of ass and a ready 83

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squeeze of her tits. They didn’t want to settle down. And she wasn’t looking for someone who was at any rate. Boring as it was, her life was just fine. All she wanted was to make it fuller and more enriching, with a tinge of excitement. Getting involved wasn’t on the menu. The superior sex was, so long as Rory understood he didn’t own her. As she’d told him, she wanted no strings attached to any encounter they might share. *** Rory was standing by the bike when she bounced out of the inn and down the walkway. She was smiling as if she hadn’t a care in the world. He, on the other hand, felt like a piece of meat being used for a tourist’s pleasure. That angered him until he remembered how many women he’d slept with in the past, for the sake of a Faery game. It was all about getting them into his bower, then letting them go on their way. Using his magic to make sure they remembered nothing was simple. It had always been so easy, with no one hurt in the process. Now, however, he was beginning to regret the game playing. He found he somehow didn’t want Falon to forget one single thing about him. He didn’t want her to leave in a few weeks, only remembering some nebulous tour guide and some lustful nights in a bed. Eventually, even those memories would fade and all Falon would recall was her trips to the sites he’d take her. His face would become one of hundreds she’d see in Ireland...nothing to be remembered or mourned. He tossed his misgivings aside and readied himself to play the professional tour guide most people would expect. “Ready?” She nodded, and perceived that he was none-to-pleased over her ultimatum. The sweet smile he usually displayed was gone. His response to her was a bit too abrupt and he didn’t really even want to look in her direction. During the ride to wherever he was taking her, he said nothing. He’d handed her a helmet to wear, but made sure their hands didn’t touch when she took it. When she wrapped her arms around his body, he grew a bit stiff. As they drove, her guilt over having treated him so bluntly began to wane. Ahead, there was a large circle of stones. Excitement welled in her as she recalled the stories she’d been told as a child. When Rory pulled the bike over, she didn’t wait for him but jumped from the back, tossed the helmet off and ran up the hill toward the waiting megaliths.

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Surprised by her response, Rory made sure the bike was secure and quickly followed. To his amazement, she laughingly ran around the stones, touching each one reverently. “I know I shouldn’t put my hands on them. Even though they’re stone, if every tourist fondled the surfaces, there wouldn’t be much left after a few hundred years.” “The stones will be here forever,” he countered. “They’re on private land. No one is allowed here.” She stopped and stared at him for a long moment. “Do we have permission to be here?” “The owner won’t mind.” “That’s not what I asked...” “I’m the owner,” he roughly finished. “And I say you can touch them all you want.” She slowly walked toward him and gazed deeply into his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “You didn’t want to know anything personal, remember?” When she remained silent, he boldly continued despite her professed desire to remain ignorant of his life. “I’m what you might call an undeveloper for lack of a better term. I buy up parcels of land and make sure no one builds on them. There are too few places left in this part of the world where men don’t encroach.” There was a wild, intense look in his gaze that captivated her. She placed her hands on his chest. “Why? What’s in it for you?” “Do I have to have a motive?” “No. It’s just that there aren’t that many altruistic people left in the world. And it would take a great deal of money to accomplish such a feat.” “But you don’t want to know about that, do you? I’m just some man to play with until you get back to your New York apartment. Isn’t that it?” The anger in his voice was well deserved and she knew it. Still, there was a defense. “And you wouldn’t be above using a female tourist as a plaything, would you?” He looked away so she wouldn’t see any telltale guilt in his expression. Trying to bring some semblance of civility and friendliness back into their shortlived relationship, Falon took his hands in hers. “Tell me about the circle. Please?” “Why would you care to know?” he shot back. 85

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She smiled at the childish way he rebuked her. He must have been a very precocious little boy, but the juvenile part of his life was none of her business as she’d so readily stated. She didn’t want to know more than she already did. “Please,” she asked again and smiled. He sighed and relented. “It’s over three-thousand years old. No one knows how it got here,” he lied. His people had constructed it centuries ago to honor the ancients of this land. She pulled him toward one of the upright megaliths that was well over eight feet high and three feet across. Falon put the palm of her hand against the rough stone and found it was very warm from the sun. “It’s sort of magic, isn’t it? Can’t you feel it?” she asked as she lifted his hand and forced his palm against the stone, next to hers. “I heard stories about them when I was a little girl. My grandfather used to tell me the Faeries danced in places like this.” That was an opening into her life he hadn’t imagined she’d let slip. Especially after her small lecture on the subject before leaving the inn. “How far back does your Irish ancestry go?” “My grandfather and grandmother both came from County Cork. My grandmother died a few years back. My grandfather three months ago. I miss him,” she sadly finished. He saw the immense sorrow in her gaze, just before she quickly turned back to the stone and continued examining it. “Why didn’t he ever return home?” Rory gently quizzed. “Money. Then, his health wouldn’t let him. I’m sort of making this trip for the both of us.” Again, he was completely mystified. Here she was, opening up part of her personal life to him after having stated she wouldn’t. Rory didn’t want her to stop. There was something about the conversation that made him want to continue. “You were very close to him. I can see that.” She put one cheek against the stone and closed her eyes. “He raised me. My mother took off when I was five. I don’t know where she is and don’t care. I don’t know who my father is and don’t give a damn about him, either. Only Grandpa Sean mattered.” He was beginning to see why she might not want to talk too much about herself. The shaking in her voice told him she was very near to crying. 86

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She opened her eyes and promptly turned away. “See? This is what happens when ships passing in the night talk too much. You don’t want to know about my family, and it won’t matter a week after I’m gone. So, why bother?” From behind her, he gripped her shoulders and turned her around. “I do care. We all have to or the world will become colder every time we pass a stranger and don’t share something of ourselves. Not wanting to get involved makes it easier to hurt others. Maybe it makes it harder to be hurt, too. Isn’t that true?” She nodded and leaned into him. Falon swallowed a very large lump in her throat, and tried not to cry. But she couldn’t help it. “Your Grandpa Sean was the only family you had, wasn’t he?” She turned her face into his chest, but didn’t respond. He already knew the answer or he wouldn’t have asked. “There now, lass. If he had you, he could be counted a lucky man.” “He w-wanted to come home so m-much,” she wept. “He told me to come to the stone circles and see the real Ireland. I wasn’t ever sure what that meant.” She looked up. “I think I’m beginning to.” Rory’s heart cracked. The tears in her lovely eyes sunk him. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her very softly, for a long time.

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Chapter Five

“Would you like to join me in the pub tonight?” Rory offered. She shook her head. “I-I think I’d like to just grab something and take it to my room, if you don’t mind.” With those words, his good mood lapsed, but her next request had him soaring just as quickly. She put one hand on his chest, handing him back his helmet at the same time. “Would you join me in my room tonight? I’d love to wake up next to you.” After tossing the helmet aside, he cupped her cheeks and bestowed what he hoped was his warmest, brightest smile on her. “Sure’n, I was hopin’ you’d ask.” She nodded and turned to walk away. Then, she stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. “I’m sorry I was so cold about us earlier today. It’s just that...I’ll be leaving. Understand?” “I do.” He watched her walk away and something deep inside didn’t want to acknowledge her common sense. After roaming the wildflower-covered hillsides, viewing the ruins of an ancient castle and even more stone circles, he’d seen a side to Falon that was altogether too enchanting. Her bright smile made the sun dim by comparison. She seemed to push back her sadness concerning the death of her only family member and celebrated where she was and the magic associated with all the places they’d shared. Forgetting her vow not to speak of her personal life, she began to open up and tell stories her grandfather had shared about a country he never got to see again. That alone was enough to break the heart of any good Irishman. And Rory was much closer to the land than any human ever could be. He understood the pain that unknown old man must have felt. Falon, as his granddaughter, was trying to capture the memories for her dead loved one while making new ones for herself. And when she’d turned her head toward the sky while doing so, he’d lost a little part of his heart each and every time. 88

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Confused and troubled by his feelings, Rory headed for the kitchen and the gardens beyond. He needed to be outside, not in the cottage. He was delayed to his destination, however, when Peg stopped him in the kitchen. She was stirring a large pot of potato soup. “Here now, where’s that smile of yours?” Peg asked as she laid a hand on his arm to stop him from going outside. “Weren’t you even goin’ to stop and offer so much as a hello?” He gazed down at her in her human appearance and thought how very appropriate her disguise was. As always, she was the one to whom they all went when bothered. The matronly countenance she took on seemed congruent with the friendly ear she always lent. “It’s Falon.” Peg waved her hand at a chair by the kitchen table, inviting him to take it while she sat on the opposite side. “You seem to be gettin’ along in a grand fashion. What’s the problem?” “I don’t like playing the game with her.” He saw Peg’s eyebrows shoot up and knew there’d be a lecture to follow. “Rory, darlin’, we’re Faeries. It’s what the single young men of your kind do. You’re supposed to see if you can get a willing mortal woman within your bower, in a specified time. Having done that, she’ll go on her way none-the-wiser. You’ve done this a hundred times before, and in so many centuries that I can’t keep track. What’s different about this time?” “She’s followin’ a dream. She isn’t just lookin’ to get laid the way all the others were.” “I sensed she was,” Peg quickly countered. “No. She wants to have a good time, to be sure. But I feel like this isn’t something she normally does. She’s lonely. Her grandfather was a countryman. He died recently and she’s here to visit his homeland because he could never come back.” He leaned forward. “He taught her the old ways. She knows all the old stories about us and shared them with me. He told her all about how the Faeries danced in the stone circles, and how he always respected the Fey, even when in America. She said he’d always leave a small gift of whiskey on his back doorstep, just in case any of us had followed him to the States and wanted to wish him well there. That shows a steadfast heart in light of so much disbelief. 89

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I feel like I’m takin’ advantage of the situation and a believin’ old man’s only kin. It doesn’t seem right to me.” “There are lots of people who come to Eire searchin’ for their roots. They come and visit the crystal factories. They buy the wool sweaters and kiss the Blarney Stone, then go home. I still don’t understand the difference with Falon.” “I can’t explain it with words. There are none. I just sense a difference in her,” he insisted, then scooted his chair away from the table and headed for the back door. “Where are you goin’?” Rory shrugged. “To my bower. I need to think.” After he left, Peg began to smile and dance around the kitchen while preparing the evening meal. “I don’t think it’s the girl who’s different, my lad. I think ‘tis you,” she muttered. *** Falon ran a brush through her hair once again, then put it down. She walked to the window and loved the way the thousands of bright flowers were illuminated in the coming twilight. As before, it looked as if they were almost glowing in the semidarkness. But something far, far back in the garden caught her attention. A light flickered there. Curious as to its source, Falon belted her robe more tightly and didn’t even waste time putting on slippers. She bolted out the bedroom door and down a back stairwell. Wonderful smells of baking told her she was approaching the kitchen. But when she entered the room, no one was tending the bubbling pots and the pie in the oven. She could vaguely hear the rowdiness from the attached pub, but the sound of all the partying faded as she exited the kitchen and walked down a small stone pathway toward the light. From the ground, she couldn’t see it. But she let her instinct draw her deeper into the garden where she thought the small beacon might be. As she slowly walked, Falon didn’t remember the flowers or trees being so dense. She’d wandered what she believed to be the entire expanse of the garden before and didn’t recognize where she now was. There wasn’t any fear. The path she was on was clearly laid out. She could certainly follow it back to the kitchen, but it went on farther than she’d have imagined. Guessing she might have walked a full mile, she finally stopped. Even from her window, she couldn’t have seen any lantern so far away. Still, she felt compelled to walk forward. A sudden fervency filled her. 90

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She took several more steps, then a rustling sound stopped her. Again, she wasn’t afraid, but some deep instinct bid her to take great care, and to be silent as she could. Deep in the passionate embrace of his Faery guise, Rory heard the movement and sensed the woman approaching. He knew who it was and wondered subconsciously if he’d lit the enchanted candle to draw her forward. He’d never done such a dangerous thing when a human was about, so he only could explain his carelessness with the simple need to contemplate his feelings. For that, he needed to seek the respite of his bower. He froze and didn’t do anything to alter his appearance. Let her come. Let her see me as I am. Where the cobblestone path suddenly ended, Falon parted the waist-high ferns before her. The air literally left her lungs. She silently sank to her knees and watched. There was no fear in her. For a brief instant, she felt absolutely nothing but shock. Then, the beauty and wonder of the scene froze her to the spot. She couldn’t have moved, even if her life depended on it. He pretended that she wasn’t there. Technically, Falon wasn’t actually within his bower, but just on the outside of it. He could turn, hold out his hand and lure her to him. In the morning, she’d remember nothing. In fact, she’d experience the need to leave and go elsewhere as the magical encounter and the game would be at an end. After that, he’d never see her again. For that reason, he ignored her presence. He wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet. Falon knew she was crying, but couldn’t even raise her fingers to wipe the tears away. Before her was the most enchanting, beautiful sight she’d ever seen in her entire life. Rory was completely naked. Even with the physical change in him, there was no mistaking his magnificent, muscular body and captivating face. But the change between man and what he now was had her transfixed. The long black hair that was normally just below his shoulders now trailed in a long straight line, down his back. It was infused with some sparkling substance as was every inch of his skin. His body appeared almost silver and perfectly matched the silvery black wings that sprouted from his back. They were like the wings of a butterfly. He was kneeling before a white candle and fireflies flitted throughout the lovely little glen. She watched him stand and the bottom half of his wings trailed behind him like some kind of regal robe. The jet-black curls between his thighs were also sparkling and seemed to gently caress the massive cock jutting from his body. Even his testicles seemed larger and appeared to glow as much as the rest of his skin. 91

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When a warm breeze lifted his thick hair, she could see that his ears were greatly elongated at the top. The tips came to a sharp point, and seemed to move and twitch the way a cat’s ears might. Some instinct told her he could hear any movement she’d make. Indeed, she had no reason to think otherwise, but something told her he knew she was there and watching. Grandpa was right. They exist. The only person in her life who’d ever really loved her hadn’t been making up stories after all. Part of her wanted to weep for her grandfather and his not being able to ever come home again. Part of her wanted to weep for herself because Rory’s world might just be disappearing and he was trying to save it by buying up property so no one would pave it over or build on it someday. Rory strolled about the glen. His pretense at looking over this blossom or that branch was wearing thin. He wanted Falon with him, in his real persona. But if he beckoned her forward, she’d come and then leave tomorrow. The urge to be someplace else would be firmly implanted within her heart. With sudden inspiration, he thought of a way he could have her and keep her from leaving against her will. Falon held her breath, found the strength to stand and backed away. He was walking straight toward her. As she’d correctly surmised, he’d known she was there. Still, she wasn’t afraid so much as embarrassed at having been caught spying and befuddled as to what one said to a real live Faery. If she could fight off three men with a tire iron, however, she could find the courage to stand her ground and confront this magical, beautiful being. Something told her Rory wouldn’t hurt her. He hadn’t so far. Falon backed away only to give him room. His wings trailed behind him at least six feet. The last thing she wanted, after spying on him, was to follow up by stepping on his appendages. “H-hi,” she stupidly muttered. “J-just out for some fresh air.” Finally getting a good look at his eyes, they seemed to glow like fine black crystal. Even in the coming darkness, she could perceive every inch of his boldly sculpted form. “Don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered. She shook her head. “I’m not. Not really. Just pretty damned startled.” She saw a slow smile spread over his handsome face, then couldn’t help but grin back. “Damn! There really is magic in the world, isn’t there?” “More than you know.” He glanced back toward his bower, willing the candle to go out with a thought. “I don’t know why I did that. Light the candle, I mean. I should have known you could see the light from your room. It’s higher up than all the others.” 92

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“M-maybe you wanted me to find you?” She phrased the explanation as a question. “Maybe. I don’t know. I came here to think. It’s peaceful. Only the sounds of the forest invade my bower.” She slowly walked toward him, scanning his body as she did so. “You’re so beautiful! I don’t think I could have ever imagined anything so awesome. But you’d have never told me, would you? I’d have left Ireland never knowing.” Tell the truth or lie. His conscience when it came to her was very easily pricked. Truth won out. He turned slightly away and swallowed hard. “You won’t like what I’m going to say, but I have to tell you.” Falon moved even closer. She lifted a hand to touch his shoulder where a lovely Celtic knot was tattooed, glowing silver in the coming darkness. It hadn’t been there in his human form. “Just tell me everything.” As she said the words, it seemed she could see another smaller tattoo forming on one of his cheeks. She guessed their appearance might have something to do with the setting sun, but held her thousand questions concerning his form, allowing him to speak first. Rory decided to spill his guts. There was no point in hiding what she’d want to know, even if she’d forget him and what she’d seen soon enough. “I’m eight-hundred years old. Faeries age extremely slow. We love to play with humans though we mean no harm in doin’ so. You...you were the latest game.” “Game? What are you talking about?” He momentarily closed his eyes, not wanting to anger her. “Unattached Faery men love to lure women into their bower. Mine is just there,” he pointed to his right, from the glen where she’d seen him. “Once there, I’d have made love to you in my Faery form. You’d have been enchanted to believe the entire event was a dream, then wake up wanting to leave and explore the rest of the countryside the next morning. Eventually, you wouldn’t even remember me or the inn at all. The experience here would blend and meld into others you’d have while traveling throughout our country. The inn, me, its residents would all be jumbled together with some other bed-and-breakfast or hotel you’d stayed in. I’d become one of a half-dozen tour guides you’d have met. There would be no memory of us making love. No memory of that kind of experience at all, unless it was just as a one-night stand with a stranger. That’s the way our magic works. It always has.” “I was just...a game to you?” 93

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He quickly turned to face her and strode to cover the distance between them. “It was. But not any more. I can’t do it. I can’t take you into my bower.” He looked away, staring into the woods. “I-I don’t know why.” “You mean, I’ll remember this now?” Rory slowly turned his face toward her again. “Yes. The enchantment won’t be complete unless I take you into my bower and make love to you there. So long as I don’t...” She heard his words trail away. Confused, she stumbled toward a downed log and sat on it. Rory could see her expression change from wonder, to sadness. Then, a fleeting glimpse of anger passed over her features. “Please, don’t hate us. We don’t mean to be manipulative. It’s just in our nature to toy with humans with whom we come into contact. We can’t help it.” As he knelt before her, Falon wanted to hold him close and smack him, all at the same time. “By us I take it everyone at the inn knew about this? Even Peg and Connel?” “They’re all Faeries. We travel in Troops. Those I’m with have been together for many, many centuries as you reckon it. To us, a few hundred years is just a small speck of time.” “I trusted you today. I told you things I wouldn’t have told another living soul,” she whispered. “I think that’s why I can’t play the game with you. You opened your heart when it’s clear you aren’t used to doing so.” “Wh-what happens now?” That mixed-up expression in her lovely gaze caught his heart and held on. “I-I could leave your memories intact. I’d promise not to lure you into my bower if you could accept me as I am. It would be a magical memory you could take into the future. No one would believe you if you ever spoke of it, so I know it would be just between us.” He watched as she considered that option. “It’d be a gift from my world to yours. I could do this in remembrance of your grandfather’s loyalty to our ways, and for teaching his granddaughter the old legends. The others wouldn’t dare question me. I’m their leader and they’d agree. You needn’t fear any of us or any Faery magic,” he insisted. Fearing more than magic, Falon knew she was about to lose her heart to a myth. There would never be a man who could come close to capturing her interest after this. 94

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How could she refuse this sexy man and walk away? How could any woman? She lifted one hand and slowly brought it toward him. “C-could I touch you?” She saw him smile and it seemed a million tiny lights filtered through his hair as he did so. He closed his eyes as her warm, soft palm rested against the ancient markings on his cheek. “I could never enchant you into making love to me. I swear I couldn’t. I’d want you to come to me of your own free will. Just as it has been so far.” “Just as it’ll be tonight,” she quietly promised and leaned toward him.

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Chapter Six

Falon brushed her lips lightly across his. She felt a tingling sensation, withdrew a few inches then barreled ahead. Not wanting to touch his wings without permission or knowing what would happen if she did, she carefully looped her arms around his neck and let the kiss deepen. His tongue and hers sparred in a sensual war that made her clit drip. No matter what he looked like, Rory Finnigan was still all male. He unbelted her robe, let it pool around her waist then pulled her up from her seat on the old log. “I can’t lay back unless I spread my wings. But there are other ways Faeries can make love.” “I-is it different from when you were in human form? Does it feel any different?” “Well now, I’ll let you be the judge of that, pretty Falon.” When he looked her over, Falon saw his strangely glowing eyes positively spark. He swiftly took her hand and turned away. She let him lead her wherever he wanted. It seemed as they walked that the night air grew warm and heavy with flower scent from the garden. Falon was reminded of that Shakespearian story about enchanted folk making love on a Midsummer Night. Perhaps others had known the pleasure she was about to now enjoy. When they entered a clearing a little smaller than his bower, Rory turned to her and held up her hands so she could see her palms and her arms. “Wherever you’ve touch me, you’ll have Faery glamour on you. It’ll make you experience sensations more fully, but you won’t be harmed. It’ll disappear with the morning’s light.” She gazed at those parts of her body where the shimmering silver dust was now prominent. “It’s beautiful.” “So are you, my darlin’. So are you.” He pulled her to him, spread his wings and let them cover both their heads as they kissed. Falon’s skin felt heated and her nipples ached to be toyed with when they came in contact with his chest. She could feel his erection jutting into her abdomen and the soft 96

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pubic hair as he undulated his hips against her lower body. The kisses he planted along her jaw line and throat were soft and sweet. She alternately gripped his hips and ran her fingers over his backside. Rory carefully pushed her away and turned his back to her. “Touch my wings. Run your fingers down the veins. Faeries love that. It makes us crazy,” he half-panted. She delightedly did as he asked and saw his entire body sparkle even brighter. He thrust his hips forward and backward when she found a sensitive spot between his wings, at their base. “You really get off on that, don’t you?” He dropped his head back and ran his hands through his hair. At the same time, he spread his wings further to each side, leaving her with full access to his back and butt. “If you keep that up, I’m goin’ to shoot all over the plants instead of inside you where I want to be.” She quickly skirted the outstretched wing on his left, and knelt before him. “Don’t do that. I don’t want to waste a single drop.” Rory watched her take him fully in her mouth. He let out a long, low moan he was sure his comrades would hear all the way back to the inn. She teased every part of his penis and took time to caress and carefully tongue his balls. He lifted one leg and put that foot on a rock so she could have better access to his genitals. “That’s it, lass. Take it all into your mouth. You can’t believe how shaggin’ good that feels.” When he saw her left hand snake down her body, between her thighs, Rory knew she’d experience an orgasm on her own if he didn’t act quickly. He grabbed the upper part of her arms and gently hauled her up against his body. Then, he turned her away so that her back was against his chest. “When I lift you up, relax and let me do everything. You just enjoy.” Having no idea what he intended, Falon simply did as he instructed. When he lifted her up, his hands were under the back part of both her thighs. Her butt was high up against his chest, but he began to slowly lower her. She felt him enter her from behind as she was virtually impaled on his cock, facing away. The intensity of his entrance and the angle was perfect. Rory kept going as nothing on Earth or in his realm could stop him now. As she tossed her hair back toward him and cried out in ecstasy, his right cheek was next to her left one. He thrust upward, over and over. Her hair flew back and he cried out between delighted gasps, “Someday, I’m going to take you again like this, but in front of a mirror. 97

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I want you to see what it is I’m doin’, lass. I want you to see the way we are together and how you look when you’re covered with Faery dust as you are right now.” Falon gripped her knees and remained tightly folded against him so their contact wouldn’t be broken. All she could do was utter incoherent groans of supreme satisfaction as he thrust into her from behind, over and over. The bouncing of her breasts against her knees was exquisite. She could feel her nipples against her own flesh, and the rubbing sensation was fantastic. One or two more thrusts, and she was encompassed by an orgasm that was immediately followed by another. Rory felt himself lose control entirely. His seed spilled forth, both into her and down the front of his own thighs. He clenched his jaw and thrust faster and faster until he was sure she was spent and he had no more left to give. Falon’s eyes were closed and her head was back against his shoulder when she felt him lower them to the ground. His heavy breathing matched her own. She lay back against him spent and replete. How could she ever want another man after this? There would be no comparison. Every experience would come far, far short of satisfying her. Without opening her eyes, she turned into his embrace and found he held her tightly against his body. “Look at yourself,” he invited. “You’re covered in glamour,” he breathed. “My glamour!” The way he said those last words was almost possessive. Falon finally opened her eyes and saw her skin as he did. It was completely gilded in a layer of star-like shiny powder that glistened in the rising moon’s light. Rory saw the way her full breasts rose up and down as she struggled to catch her breath. Some other man would someday play with her full tits. Some other man’s baby would nurse at them and some other man would slide between her beautiful thighs and cry out in the night. The thought of it made him furious. “I can’t stand the idea of another man makin’ love to you. I don’t even want to think about it,” he angrily ground out between clenched teeth. “I-I don’t think I would let anyone ever have that chance,” she whispered back. “Not now. But what can we do about it? I have to go back to my world, Rory. And you have to live in yours.” “I know. But I don’t have to shaggin’ well like it!” he gruffly responded, and held her all the tighter. 98

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She took a deep breath and pushed herself away from him. Before he could even stand, she ran back to where her robe was still lying and quickly pulled it back on. She heard Rory approach, but was sure the sound he made was on purpose. He could probably roam about the world in his current form with no man or woman the wiser unless he meant to be seen or heard. “I’m leaving tomorrow. This has gone too far,” she sobbed. “I know you didn’t mean it to and neither did I. But we don’t belong together. My God, we don’t even know each other.” Rory grabbed her shoulders from behind and pulled her against his chest. “Don’t say that, lass. You have the rest of your vacation. We have time to be together.” Without turning she blurted, “Why? What good would the sex be when you and I both know we’re getting too close?” Rory lifted her hair and let the long loose curls wind around his fingers before saying, “Maybe I was supposed to find you out there on the road. Maybe all this was supposed to happen. Faeries don’t believe in coincidence. There’s always a reason for whatever circumstance we find.” “I’m scared,” she softly uttered. “Truth be told, so am I. But don’t leave yet. You’re no coward. You faced down three brawny men in the road all by yourself. You can handle one relatively harmless garden Faery.” She had to smile, then slowly turned when he let her hair go. “I don’t think anyone could remotely describe you as ‘relatively harmless’. You’re the most sensual, romantic, mysterious man I’ve ever known. Not to mention the fact that you’re built like a damned mountain with equipment that could service a harem. My head tells me to get the hell out of here while I can. But my heart and my body don’t want to budge. Tell me what I should do, Rory? What’s your best advice?” He put his forehead against hers. “I say you stay. Live life to its fullest for the time you’ve got left in Ireland. Live it with me. I’ll show you the part of this country your grandfather meant you to know. I’ll show you magic and wondrous things that’ll make you soar with happiness. We won’t think about tomorrow. We’ll grab onto the enchantment of now, and we’ll live with no regrets for having thrown caution to the winds for just a short wee time.” 99

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“All right then. To hell with running away.” She lifted her hands to his chest and stood on her toes. “Make love to me until I can’t stand. Show me everything in your world, and I’ll leave here and not look back when it comes time.” Rory kissed her hard and felt her hands tangle within his hair. It was as if she was holding on to him for dear life. He felt they were both on a precipice from which they could topple at any moment. But it would be a sweet fall if they dropped. He should have known and recognized the immediate attraction when he first took her hand. There was that strange initial tingle he’d never experienced before. But it was too late to let her simply leave. They’d started the journey together and must now finish it, to whatever end. *** The days that followed were the sweetest in his existence. During the mornings and afternoons, Rory took Falon to the most legendary places he could, explaining each site’s history. They visited sites in county Tyrone such as the portal stone at Altdrumman, the portal tomb at Athenree, The Beaghmore stone circles and rows, the stone circles at Castlemervyn and a wedge tomb at Dunnamore. During the night, he made love to her in the garden, forsaking the company of his own kind and their bawdy insistence that he put an end to the game and make love to Falon in his bower. To be fair to her, he knew it would be kinder to follow Faery tradition. If he kept her in his bower for the night, she’d wake up in the morning and have no remembrance of their growing attraction. But it selfishly wasn’t in him to wipe away the memories of their time together. He wanted her to remember. On the night before she was to leave, he met her in the garden, as was their habit. He found her weeping uncontrollably. He sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. “You and I both knew this time would come.” She simply nodded, not able to voice her sorrow. “What would you have me do?” he softly asked. Falon leaned into his chest and felt his arms strongly embrace her. When she could finally speak, she forced herself to smile and gaze up at him. “I wouldn’t have missed knowing you for the world.” “Then let me love you one last time.” He couldn’t see the sadness in her gaze and not do something to stop it. He stood before her and shifted into Faery form. 100

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By now, the shimmering transformation was familiar to her. Falon watched as a light surrounded his huge form and saw the shimmering-skinned, be-winged giant of a man emerge. There was a strange look in his eyes. She tilted her head when he lifted his hand and sprinkled a colored Faery dust over her nude body that she hadn’t ever seen before. He waited until the dust took effect. “Forgive me. I’m brakin’ my oath to you, I know. At the risk of sounding like a conceited oaf, I won’t see you live life hurtin’ for me and tryin’ to compare every man you’ve met to a myth. We both know we can’t have each other. Lettin’ you go on rememberin’ isn’t fair to you. It’s not fair to whomever you meet. You’ll eventually want to marry, and the children you’ll someday want will need two parents who’re devoted to one another. You deserve that.” Rory took her hand. She shook her head in a bemused fashion and followed him toward his bower. Once there, the sadness she felt fled. “The energy surrounding my bower is drawn from the four elements of wind, fire, earth and water. Tomorrow mornin’, when the first light dissipates the Faery dust you’re wearin’, you’ll remember me as only a man with whom you had a light fling. Nothin’ more.” Falon tried to fight the encompassing feeling of false lightheartedness she was experiencing. Her head was beginning to tell her he didn’t really matter in her life. Her heart pounded out a different message altogether. Rory knelt on the soft Irish moss within his bower, turned his head toward his lone magic candle and willed it to light. Its gleam lit the shadows and created a glistening world in which they could lie. Folding his wings back so he could lie on one side, he pulled her down beside him and gently began to stroke her already wet clit. Then, he kissed his way up, from the arch of her small feet to the insides of her slender thighs. Her aqua-colored gaze no longer held an expression of sadness, but was now tinged with lustful longing. He passionately laved her clit until her hips were rotating and undulating against the soft moss beneath her slender but luscious hips. Then, he moved over her body, stared down into her eyes and entered her as slowly as he could. He wanted every second to count. Long after she was gone and with another man, he’d remember. When she bore another man’s children and grew old watching them come of age, he’d still be as he was right now. Finally, she’d die and be buried in some place where he’d never be able to visit. 101

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He heard her cry out his name and saw her stare back at him when a multiple climax claimed her body. He felt her tighten and release around his cock as the ripples of satisfying ecstasy engulfed her, then him as well. He was still gazing at her when his release came hard and long. He felt his wings shudder spasmodically and knew, like all of his kind, that ejaculation would cause small strands of color to appear in the veins of his wings. Falon was in heaven. She kept bucking against him as tendrils of pleasure shot through her and deep into her vagina. The light show in his black, gauze-like wings echoed the progression of her orgasm. The streaks of light coincidentally began to diminish as her own body finally relaxed. She felt his hot seed deep within her body and wanted to hold it there, to remember. “It’s no use fighting the magic of my bower,” he softly told her and pulled her upward and toward him. “It’s been woven for centuries to cause the humans we lie with to forget. Just let it happen, girl. Don’t trouble yourself any longer. It’s better this way.” She couldn’t make a single sound, but he knew exactly what she was thinking. Fear set in as her memory had already begun to dim. She mistily recalled trying to take pictures of him at the historic sites they visited. But he’d sadly proclaimed that his image wouldn’t appear on film. He had told her that Faeries couldn’t be photographed and her pictures would only show shadows and blurs where he might have stood. Her mind frantically tried to grab onto some small thing that would bring their time together back into focus. Again, she attempted to speak, but he placed his fingertips over her lips. “In these last days together, I didn’t say all I might have. Our time was so short that it seemed more important for me to know you. As you drift into a safe, restful sleep, I’ll tell you a little about my life. Though you won’t remember my words, I want them said.” Falon began to tremble, but he held her closer and stroked her face with his fingertips. He planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, then said all the things he ironically realized she’d never recall. “I wish you could have met my parents and the rest of my family. It’s very large indeed,” he murmured and cuddled her close. “My kin live within their own Troops these days, but I know they would have loved seeing these amazingly lovely eyes of yours. They’d have also fancied your bright smile and the way you’ve held on to the stories of us as told by your grandfather. In the years to come, maybe you could 102

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teach those legends to your own children. They’ll be forever blessed for having heard them. Children should have Faery stories in their lives.” He nuzzled his cheek against hers. “Promise me you’ll pass what you learned to your babies. Will you do that, Falon? Will you carry on what your grandfather started?” She nodded, but still couldn’t utter a sound. Every instinct urged her to grab onto him and hold tight, but her body wouldn’t respond the way she wished. Her limbs seemed sluggish and uncontrollable. Rory saw the tears of panic and frustration form in her eyes and watched as they spilled out the corners, into her hairline. He dried the trails they made with the pads of his thumbs and tried not to show his own sadness at never seeing her after tomorrow. “I-I wish you could have seen Peg, Connel and the others as they really are. They only appeared older to you so you’d perceive them as simple, non-threatening innkeepers. To humankind, we can appear as any age we like. I was in a mood to show you the real me. They...are a bit more shy, I guess.” He sadly smiled. “You see, once we reach our thirtyfifth year, we age much more slowly than humans. We actually live in a reality of eternal youth...the land of Tír na nÓg as some say.” He lifted a thick portion of her hair and watched it fall around her shoulder in soft tendrils. “We’ve lived in this country and many others since time began. Always with humankind, yet always apart. And that’s why you must go now, beautiful, beautiful Falon. You must journey back to the world of man and live as you were meant to.” She managed to grip his shoulders with her hands, then shook her head as if doing so could stop the remaining memories from fleeing in the reality of his words. But there was nothing she could do. Sleep began to overtake her. She heard music that seemed to get louder. Rory glanced away briefly as the revelry of his people began. “That’ll be the rest of my Troop celebratin’ the end to our game.” He paused, kissed her softly and stroked her hair back. “Just know that it wasn’t a game for me, darlin’. It quit bein’ that after our very first night together. And, in the centuries to come, I’ll not take another woman to my bower for any sport. I meant no harm, but it’s certain I’ve hurt you. Though you won’t remember the pain is in your heart right this moment. I’ll remember the look of it in your eyes forever, and won’t not see it inflicted on another. Not by my hand.” She fought to keep her eyes open. 103

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“There, now...just sleep. Leave this world of Faery dust and spirits. Go to your own where you belong.” One soft sob was all she could utter, then her eyes closed and she fell into the blackness of a dreamless abyss. Rory held her a long time. When the sun was almost up, he shape-shifted into human form and took her back to her room. Once there, he tucked her into bed and placed one last kiss on her full lips. “When you awaken, we’ll just have been passin’ lovers. No more, no less. You’ll have your life back, and I’ll keep a part of you in m’ heart forever.” Rory backed out of the room, gazing longingly at the lovely young woman he’d come to care for. When he turned in the doorway and saw Peg and Connel watching him with looks of compassion on their faces, he swiftly strode passed them. He needed none of their pity. That was an emotion he could summon in abundance.

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Chapter Seven

Rory stood behind the rental car that Connel arranged to be delivered. The last of Falon’s luggage was in the boot. It was late afternoon and she was leaving. All he could do was pretend their relationship had been a temporary, sordid fling. Falon was oblivious to his sour mood and he found her gaiety annoying. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t remember the way they used to be together. Still, he was irrationally pissed off because of it. “Thanks for everything,” she gleefully called out and waved at the two elderly innkeepers standing by the garden gate. When she turned to find Rory opening the door for her, Falon was almost at a loss for words. How did one go about tipping a vacation lover? She looped her hair behind one ear while digging into her purse for a large bill. “Um, here. Take this.” She handed him the one-hundred dollar bill. “Peg and Connel said you wouldn’t take any money for your guide services, but just think of this as a gift. For other services rendered,” she smiled at him and winked slyly. Angered beyond control, Rory glared at her and clenched his hands into tight fists. “Keep your damned American money! I don’t want it.” A bit shocked by his attitude, Falon stared at him for a moment. Then she shrugged, put the bill back in her purse and got in the car. Rory was forced to stand there and watch her drive away, believing he was little more than a gigolo. To her, he was a boy toy she’d bedded and left behind. “Why are you so angry, lad? You played the game the way you always have,” Connel said as he walked toward Rory. “No. He didn’t just bed the woman as he should have,” Peg countered. “He spent more time with her than any of the others. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Rory was sweet on pretty Falon.” Connel snorted. “Unheard of. Why Rory knows what he’s doin’ and always has. He can shag any woman he wants and walk away with his heart intact.” 105

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Being spoken about as if he wasn’t there made him angrier still. Rory stormed away, anxious to be by himself. The garden was crowded with those of his kind, readying themselves for a full moon party and splitting up the winnings of the bets made as to how long it had taken him to finally get Falon to his bower and screw her. The seedy nature of his deed seemed more so when the woman involved had just offered him what, to her, was probably a large sum of money for his “services” as she’d put it. He had casks and casks full of fine jewels. Like Leprechauns, Faeries had them hidden everywhere and that was the source for funding his land purchases. All he had to do, like any of the Fey world, was place the jewels in the sunlight and they would revert to whatever currency he needed. The magic surrounding their appearance in this world would keep anyone receiving such funds from questioning their origins. With his powers, he could even construct identification to make him appear as anyone of any age he wished. That some slim whip of a girl had actually offered him money for his sexual favors was maddening. But then, the girl involved was Falon Fitzpatrick. She was different and had been from the very beginning. Rory kept telling himself this was the way it was supposed to be, and that it was his own fault that Falon was leaving with only bits and pieces of her memory, but his logical, internal explanation wasn’t working very well. He was beginning to wish, with all his heart, he’d taken a different route that day the Flynn brothers had been up to mischief. If he had, however, Falon might have ended up raped or worse. He abruptly stopped walking and considered that option was unspeakable. Hearing the rowdiness of his compatriots and the music rising as the sun went down, Rory decided to take a long ride into the night. He needed a quiet place to think. Even his bower wouldn’t know any privacy during such a celebration. Grabbing his leather jacket from a coat rack near the front door, he made his way to his motorcycle. The peace and serenity of the old stone circle called to him. It was the same place he’d first taken Falon. For some reason, the circle seemed the appropriate place to be. Three days later, he was in no better mood. He visited the stone circle every day. It was on the fourth night of such a visit that Connel found him. Rory sensed the other Faery’s presence long before he could actually see him. It wasn’t a surprise when his 106

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long-time friend appeared in his true Faery form—young as he really was, with long white hair streaming behind him and a toned, virile body to match. His crystal clear wings were almost invisible against the coming night sky. Connel looked the lonely figure over and noted his dour expression. “What ails you, Rory? Peg and the rest of us are worried sick about you. You’ve hardly eaten a thing and you’re not sleeping in your bower.” “You’ll have to find someone else to play the game from now on. I need to put my attention on buying more land as it becomes available. I hear the McAleese farm is comin’ up for sale soon. We could use the woods to join up with other Troops.” Connel sighed. “I didn’t come here to discuss the local farmers and the sale of their land. I want to know what’s wrong with you.” “Nothin’. I just think it’d be more sportin’ if one of the others took my place at the game. There are plenty of tourists to lure into the bower. Let someone else do it for a change. I’m sure there are free lads and lasses who’d love the chance at doin’ a human.” “It’s Falon, isn’t it?” Rory turned to his friend and looked him straight in the eyes. “She’s gone and that’s an end to it.” “For her, maybe. But not for you I’m bettin’.” “Let it alone, Connel...” “No, I won’t. You’ve been walkin’ around like the Banshee was knockin’ at your door. It’s puttin’ the rest of the Troop off. You’re our leader, after all. We depend upon you to keep us safe,” Connel insisted. “I’ve never failed in that responsibility. That’s the very reason why I should be payin’ a great deal more attention to the acquisition of land where we can live without bein’ watched.” Connel lifted a hand in supplication. “Will you come home tonight?” “Aye, I’ll be there. But someone else can go about sportin’ with the tourists. I’ve had my fill.” Connel let out a slow breath. “A good lay with a woman, human or Faery, would get you out of this funk.” “Leave me alone, Connel.” “All I’m sayin’ is...” 107

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Rory rounded on him. “I know what you’re bloody well sayin’! Just leave me alone and go about whatever diversion you wish. I’m done with lyin’ around with strange women. It’s high time I took myself a life mate. If a Troop comes along with a willing, available woman, I’ll announce my intentions to settle down.” Connel felt his eyes go wide with surprise. “Are you actually tellin’ me that Rory Finnigan, one of the wildest of all the Faeries in Ireland, is lookin’ to take himself off the market?” “Spread whatever rumor makes your damned heart dance, I’m tired of bein’ alone. That havin’ been said, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Is that clear?” he angrily finished, and stalked off. Connel ran his hands through his hair. “Don’t have to bite my shaggin’ head off, lad.” *** One year later~ Falon typed out her final report for the day and blew out a huge sigh of relief. She got up from her desk, stretched and wondered what to do with her weekend. All her single co-workers were meeting at a bar tonight, but she never joined them as she once did. The stupidity of that scene was only surpassed by hers in ever joining in that fracas. The men she’d met all seemed fine at first. Then, something would happen to make her want to ditch the guy as quickly as possible. Some of the men she’d met were obviously married, looking to cash in on a weekend rendezvous while the wife wasn’t looking. Some were overpoweringly possessive, and some weren’t masculine enough for her taste. Some only talked about work, while others only talked about sex. The more she moved around in the single scene, the more she hated it. Her world had been progressively less tolerable ever since she got back from Ireland. Something very important was missing in her life and she was at a complete loss as to what it was. She decided she’d go home, cuddle up with a bottle of Irish whiskey and look over her photos of her trip. Once there, she sipped her drink and ate a delivered pizza. At the same time, she gazed over the pictures and saw that some of then were blurred in places. It was as if half the photo had moved while she was taking the shot. Finally, she grabbed the pictures up, put them back in their shoebox and went to bed early. The next morning, she got up and went to the cemetery with a handful of flowers purchased from the corner florist. 108

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As she sat and stared at her grandfather’s headstone, tears filled her eyes. She swiped at them with one hand and began her pitiful litany to the only person who’d ever really loved her. “Grandpa Sean, what’s wrong with me? I feel like part of me is lost somewhere and I can’t find it. I wish you were here so you could tell me what to do.” She sat for some time longer, then decided that her Saturday would be spent alone in her apartment again. She hailed a cab outside the cemetery gate and had the driver drop her off at the corner drugstore so she could get aspirin for her aching head. It seemed that, along with missing part of her life, headaches were accompanying her actively these days. As she walked out of the drugstore and stood at the corner, ready to cross the street, a motorcyclist pulled up to the red light right. The man was looking the other direction, but he was wearing a long leather coat and had very long dark hair. For some stupidly inane reason, Falon left the safety of her curb and tapped the waiting biker on his shoulder. “Excuse me...” The stranger turned his head in her direction, smiling. Falon backed up when she saw missing and blackened teeth, and the paunch of his rounded stomach. “S-sorry. I-I thought you were someone I knew.” The man kept grinning and looked her slowly over. “Never had the pleasure. But I can remedy that pretty damn quick!” he drawled. Falon shook her head hastily and walked away. She could hear the man laughing as she picked up her pace, continuing her retreat from the embarrassing situation. When she got to the end of the block, she gazed back over her shoulder and saw the heavy-set motorcyclist riding off. That’s a good damned way to get myself killed. She shook her head in self-condemnation, and decided to walk around a nearby block just to make sure she wasn’t followed. On a street parallel to where her apartment building was located, Falon had sufficiently calmed down that she could take in the ambience of the shop windows and their displays. A gift shop employee was just placing some Irish dinnerware in a window and Falon simply had to stop and watch. She recognized the shamrock patterns on the beautiful white china and small memories of her time in Ireland seemed to pop into her head. As every previous time when she thought of Ireland, some part of her heart seemed missing. That was when the shop employee began to put out some small, ethereal Faeries to make the china display more whimsical. 109

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Falon put her hands on the shop window and stared, transfixed by the sight of those little figurines. “They aren’t right,” she whispered to herself. “They aren’t tiny like that. Not really.” As soon as she uttered the words, she realized how idiotic they sounded, but the memory of those Faeries in the window wouldn’t leave. All that evening and into the night, she kept thinking of them until she dangerously went out at four o’clock in the morning to take another look at the display. She was standing there when a warm breeze blew down the street. It seemed she imagined a low voice calling her name, but it was tinged with a beguiling Irish brogue that made her heart ache. That was when she realized that one of the Faeries in the window would have looked more ridiculously appropriate if it was on a motorcycle. Its long black hair should have been blowing behind it like a banner. “I have to go back,” she whispered. “I have to go back.” That one thought haunted her all the way back to her apartment and into the next three weeks as she made travel plans. *** Rory stood in the garden while the rest of his Troop sang and danced within the confines of the pub. His life was one long monotonous day after another. He’d seen several lovely Faery women with whom he might have mated, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak the words asking for the union. His heart was elsewhere. Sadly, he let the one woman who’d captured his soul walk out of his life. He kept telling himself that there was no way he could have fallen in love with a human woman after only a couple of weeks, but in love was exactly where he was. And once a Faery knew that emotion, nothing short of death would change his or her mind. Peg, Connel, and members of the rest of the Troop had tried to convince him otherwise, but he wasn’t daft enough to dispel what his heart felt. Logically, as he’d told himself a thousand times this past year, pursuing any desire for a human was pure folly. The times it had happened in the distant past were marked by misfortune for one party or the other. But what could he do about what was now pure fact? All he could think about was Falon’s unusual-colored eyes, the way she laughed and how she had no one to love her. He drew himself up sharply at that last thought. Surely by now she’d found some man to make her happy. Falon was an exquisite woman. She could have any man she 110

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fancied, and wouldn’t even remember her time in Ireland at all. The magic of his bower had seen to that. He ran a hand across his face and tried to put some mental distance between him and what had happened all those months ago. The images, however, just wouldn’t fade. He could still smell Falon’s citrus scent. He could still feel the softness of her skin against his and the way she’d been so gentle with her loving. Even now, his body responded with the memory of her sweet hands on his back and shoulders. “Shaggin’ bloody damn!” He softly swore, knowing he’d have another night of masturbating ahead of him just to allay his body’s response to a simple memory. And as the years went by, Falon would grow older while he would remain just as he was, aging very little. One day, she would leave this world altogether, but he’d still be behind to remember. There had never been a woman like her in his life, and there never would be again. Of that, he was quite certain. Pitying himself and cursing the stupid game he’d played in luring Falon to the pub at all, Rory retreated to the privacy of his bower where he could jerk himself off and pretend the woman of his dreams was still in his arms. *** Falon gazed at the map the rental company had given her, but there was nothing on it about any Wailing Spirit Inn. When she’d asked about it in the nearby village, no one had ever heard of the place. She drove the same road she had before, but couldn’t seem to get her bearings. After five hours of trying, she almost gave up and turned the car around. That was when she drove over a tiny hill that somehow seemed familiar. She stopped the car, got out and looked at the surrounding countryside. “This is where the Flynn brothers found me. I remember it,” she muttered, then got back in and drove further. She came to a lonely dirt road that was rutted and had long since seen better days, but some instinct told her to take the turnoff. When she got to the end, however, there was only a thatch of grass, rock and an old picket fence surrounding the stone foundations of what might have once been a building. Without any doubt, she knew that was what remained of the old inn. She got out of the car, put her hand over her heart as her grandfather had taught her as a child, and walked boldly forward.

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Chapter Eight

“Here me Folk of the Wood. Here me and heed my call. I ask you to come forward and bid this mortal welcome. In peace I come...I honor your world.” For a long moment, Falon stood there. She began to feel foolish at having recited some old bit of tripe as her grandfather taught her, but she had to try. With every moment that passed, she was remembering more and more. After standing there a full half hour, she tried a different tactic. “Rory! Rory, if you can hear me, please show yourself. I know I can’t see your world unless one of you brings me into it. I’m outside. Please, let me in,” she begged. The sun was going down, and she had no place left to go. If nothing happened tonight, Falon vowed she’d stay right there, sleep in the car if necessary and try until hope was gone. From deep within his bower, Rory heard that familiar voice. The revelry inside the old inn stopped as the others, too, heard the cry. “Falon!” Not even bothering to change into human form, Rory ran toward the front of the cottage. The others of his Troop were as naked as he and stood, transfixed by the woman calling to them. As he pushed his way through his people and toward the front door, he could see her standing just outside the gate. Like a small pebble being thrown into a very still pond, Falon could see the inn beginning to appear. The untended grass and weeds began to change into the lovely garden she’d once seen. The lights of the inn came on just as the front door flew open. Rory stood there staring. She swallowed hard and remembered the tradition she’d been taught. “May I come into your world...again?” He ran forward, just as she swung the gate open. Falon was caught up in his embrace and wrapped her arms around his strong tan neck to keep from tearing his striking wings. 112

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“You came back! By all the shamrocks on this island, you came back,” Rory repeated over and over again while holding her against his body. Falon held on tightly. “Be real. Please be real and not my imagination playing tricks. I couldn’t take it if I’d gone crazy and made you up.” He finally lowered her to the ground. “You’re not crazy. But it would have taken a miracle for you to remember me and this place.” He nuzzled his cheek to hers and finally kissed her very hard. Falon was aware of others approaching, but didn’t care. All she needed and wanted was right there in her arms. Naked, wings and all. “How did she find her memory and her way back here?” Peg asked as she fluttered her red wings behind her and stood at her mate’s side. “I don’t know,” Connel replied in wonder. Rory broke the hot kiss and stared down into her eyes. “You won’t be leavin’ this time, will you?” Falon slowly shook her head. “I want to be with you. Whatever I have to do.” “You’d have to love me, lass.” “I should think that was obvious. I came thousands of miles to find you again, and I’m not letting you go,” she firmly promised. Rory felt his entire world come alive again. “Sure ‘n I love you, Falon Fitzpatrick. I knew there was somethin’ special about you from that first day. I think, somewhere way back, you must have had a little Fey in your soul or you couldn’t have made this journey.” “It’s right that she’s here,” Connel spoke up. “She must have been meant to find her way again. I can count on one hand the times a human has done such a thing.” Falon finally acknowledged the rest of the ethereal Faeries standing in front of her. She barely recognized Peg and Connel, and stood a little in awe of the nude, regal group. Wings of all colors fluttered in the wind. The rare beauty of their bodies and faces had her captivated and rooted to the spot. But she wasn’t afraid. “I-it’s permitted for me to stay?” she breathlessly asked. “Only if you become one of us,” Rory told her while stroking her hair with one hand and her cheek with the other. “Any humans staying among us too long have met with very bad ends. But that won’t happen to you, Falon. You won’t be human much longer.” He grabbed her hands and pulled her forward. “I’ll make damned sure of that!” 113

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Without hesitation, Falon laughingly followed him to his bower. When he turned and kissed her hard again, she was speechless with joy and excitement. “When I heard your voice callin’, I thought I’d lost my mind from wantin’ you so badly,” he gasped out. She pressed her face to his chest and began to plant kisses against his firm, sparkling skin. “The light will be down soon. There’ll be a full moon. Tell me now to stop, Falon, or you’ll be with me forever. Be sure, lass. Be very, very sure. Once my magic is invoked, it can’t be halted,” he solemnly told her. All she could do was nod. Something in her expression must have convinced him because he quickly pressed kisses into her shoulder and neck before moving a slight distance away again. “You must do exactly as I say, without question. Do you understand?” She quickly leaned forward and kissed him in response. “This is a very dangerous thing I’m doin’. The magic to change a human is within us all, but I haven’t ever had any personal experience to draw upon. No one in the Troop has ever done such a thing.” He cupped her cheeks with his hands. “I’m told it can be frightening.” “I trust you.” “Sweet girl! I can see you do, but I wanted you to know there’s some risk. If your heart isn’t very sure about what you’re about to undergo, you won’t last the night. You’ll die before the sun comes up and that death will be excruciating.” “If you’re trying to scare me...it’s working. But I can’t leave you again, Rory. I can’t. When my memories of you started coming back, I felt like shit for leaving. You should never have taken me to your bower without asking if I’d stay in the first place.” “I couldn’t. Our laws are very clear. The only way to be one with us is to find your own way back here. And, by Merlin’s balls, you did!” She gripped his hands very tightly. “So...let’s do it. Let’s just get it over with.” As certain as she seemed, he was that afraid. Even one last regret or one small niggling doubt could cause her death. By morning, she’d be one of the Fey or lying at his feet as a mass of lifeless flesh. He summoned every bit of magic that was his to command. “Take your clothes off, darlin’. Then take my hands again.” 114

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She nodded and began to do as he asked. “You won’t take my memory away as before? Tell me that won’t happen, Rory.” He shook his head in denial. “The bower’s magic in that respect has been broken. You’ve beaten it.” As he watched her undress, it took every bit of physical control he had not to take her beneath him and thrust in her. His cock was jutting from his body like a pump handle, but he had to tamp down the urge to love her. For the moment, his energy was necessary to change her. That was where his focus must lie. When Falon was finished, he could see an overwhelming desire in her eyes and knew that he couldn’t live another night without her. He held her at arm’s distance when she would have caressed him. “Once the change has begun, I’ll take you. I promise, lass. Right now, you must close your eyes and keep them tightly shut until I tell you to open them.” She took a deep, cleansing breath and did as he asked. Rory approached her from behind. He slid his hands around her narrow waist and couldn’t help nudging her tight little backside with his erection. Concentrating hard, he dredged the words to change her from his distant memory. “From earth I summon the power of growth.” Falon felt herself being pulled to her knees, but Rory went to the ground with her. “From air, I summon the power of flight,” he continued. The warm wind turned suddenly chilly and Falon leaned back against Rory to absorb some of his heat. Still, she kept her eyes closed as he’d commanded. “From water, I summon longevity.” Falon heard thunder in the distance and she could smell rain in the air though none fell where they were. “From fire, I summon the powers of past and present magic,” Rory commanded and saw a flame shoot up from the wick of his eternal candle. Its light would dispel the darkness as it had the night he’d first brought Falon into his bower. He brought his wings forward and around her. As he did so, Rory ducked his head until his right cheek lay next to her left one. “From the elements I summon the magic to change this human into a being of light and power. In doing so, I make her mine and take her as my mate.” The last part of the incantation wasn’t necessary, but he wanted them joined even as Falon’s transformation took place. 115

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Falon felt heavier than she ever had in her entire life. She was pulled to the ground as thunder reverberated around them, the wind picked up and she could sense some source of light through her closed eyelids. Her skin began to burn and her back felt as if someone was ripping the bones apart and reforming them. When she screamed in agony, Rory knew his magic was in full effect. He could do no more but hold her tightly and wait. As very old tradition dictated, he stroked her body to ease the pain of the transformation. He had only tradition to go by and no experience at all. As soon as his hands began to caress her, Falon felt the pain fall away. She huddled against the ground until the last of it faded. Then, she felt the intoxicating sensation of Rory’s body next to hers. Parts of her still ached, especially her back. It seemed, however, that the more he touched her, the more the torment abated. Keeping her eyes shut, she pushed her hips backward, against his enormous shaft. “I-I have to take you, darlin’. It’s been too long,” he admitted. She simply nodded and pressed one hand between her thighs to guide him into her. Rory pressed forward and found himself tightly encased in her hot, wet vagina. He cried out long and hard. The silken sheath was also transforming along with the rest of her sweet body. He could already see a faint glow on her skin. The sparkling Faery glamour that would come would coat his penis and his body, even as his own dust covered hers. They would be mixed, blended and joined. He grabbed her hips to hold her writhing form still. Like a stallion in a field, he covered her and his wings spread out over the both of them as the elements’ powers played out. The Earth held them bound to the ground, the coming rain would soak their skin and hasten the appearance of their unearthly glow. The rising wind would summon new wings from deep within her bones and the light of the candle would endow her with the same magic all Faeries could claim. She would be eternally young and beautiful...if she were true in her love and could survive the night. Falon dug her hands into the soft earth beneath her. She thrust backward and took him more fully into her body. The pain was still there, but so was a growing perception of power. By covering her clit with his fingers, Rory could feel the wet curls between her thighs. With his other hand, he grasped one of her breasts and gently squeezed. 116

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Falon threw her head back and cried out as an orgasm took her. She felt the pumping action of Rory’s cock and knew he was ready to spill. In a few moments, his own shouts of climax tore through the air and partially rose above the sound of the howling wind. As soon as her lover was done and withdrew, the awful pain returned. Falon slid fully all the way to the ground and screamed. “Take me again. Please, Rory. It hurts when you’re not in me.” Rory concentrated, summoning the power of his race. Within a few moments, he was able to jerk himself to erection again and slide back into Falon’s welcoming body. He made slow circular motions, undulating and pushing forward as he lay on her. His wings still spread over them, sheltering Falon from most of the winds and coming rain. He put his hands around her body, sat up and pulled her onto his lap. She was impaled there, with her back against his chest. She dropped her head back against one shoulder and pulled at her own nipples to try and quell the fierce change in her body as Rory watched. “Does that make it better, love?” She nodded, then ran her left hand down between her thighs where they were joined. He was raw with need. Rory could smell the musk of her and it drove him crazy with desire. Thrusting up and down like a piston, he kept at her until she squealed in delight again. Then the rain began to pour over them. As it did, the flame of his candle simply went higher, magically ignoring the water falling. The wind blew harder and the earth seemed to hold them steadier. Now the agony was such that even Rory’s caresses and lovemaking made no difference. Falon writhed on the ground and bucked upward as her bones in her back seemed to break and mend again. Rory held her as she convulsed over and over. There were no words to sooth her and no touch could drive away that kind of torture. It was much worse than he’d been told, or the memories of those who’d seen a human change into one of their own kind had dimmed with the passage of time. He tried to keep most of the rain off her by sheltering her with his body and his large expanse of wings. But they were both soaked in minutes and the cold wind did nothing to comfort Falon’s distress. Finally, she slipped into unconsciousness as he lifted her into his embrace. 117

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Rory could only hold her as the elements finally ran their course. The stars came back out as the clouds passed. The flame of his candle flickered back to a normal height, the wind abated and there was welcoming warmth back in the air. He was finally able to lift Falon up from the proximity of the clutching earth, against his chest. He held her there until almost dawn. There was no more change than the glow of her sparkling skin. If that was the only effect, her love hadn’t been enough. The change had to be complete or she wouldn’t survive the first rays of sunlight. Rory pushed back his wet hair and hovered over her as they lay in a soft growth of ferns. “Come on, girl. You can do this. If you can face down three men all by yourself, you can make this change. I know you love me. I know it,” he urged. From someplace far away, Falon heard his loving coaxes and responded. She placed in her mind a mental image of herself as a Faery. As she did so, her eyes opened. Rory stood back. He knew his mouth was agape, but he simply couldn’t control his utter amazement and happiness. As he watched, Falon lay back in the ferns and slowly rolled to her stomach. Once there, the most gorgeous set of aqua-colored wings began to unfold from her back. They were tinged with a silver glow and the veins sparkled with a green light. Her hair lengthened and her glowing skin finished its incandescent transformation. When she glanced back over her shoulder and smiled, he knew forever was just a breath away. “Is it over?” she softly asked. He carefully pulled her to her feet. “It is. You’re one with us now.” She leaned against him, trying to find her balance and feeling very exhausted. “This is really something very special.” She paused and smiled up at him. “No...something Faery special. I’ll be with you forever. And I’ll never regret it. I love you, Rory.” “I love you, Falon.” He stared at the wings over her shoulders. As the sun came up and moved higher in the sky, Rory held his new mate next to him and let her sleep off the effects of such a dramatic change. He couldn’t wait for the night to come again so they could roam the countryside together as Faeries were meant to. And they’d make love until, with passing time, the cries of their Faery babies sounded from the depths of his bower. As he cuddled her closer, she kissed his chest in her sleep and the edges of her full lips curled up ever so slightly. He could almost swear she knew what he was thinking, even in her dreams. 118

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“Now, that’s what I’ve been waitin’ to see again. That smile of yours, sweet Falon. It’s the only thing that matters in all the world.” He kissed her hair. “It’s real magic.” *** Brandan O’Hearn nodded in happiness as a warm wind swept through the Faery garden. “Our leader has taken his life mate. Lonely he’s been, but that’s all in the past now.” He turned to the other Faeries standing nearby. “As Rory has no need of the game, and all of the single members of the Troop have shared their bowers with humans as is their right, I’ll be claimin’ the position of the one and only game player from here on. Instead of bettin’ on Rory, you’ll all be bettin’ on me, and my skill at seducin’ a human woman. I’ll be Rory’s long-term replacement,” he loudly boasted “The damned you will,” Shamus Fagan angrily announced as he stepped forward, while jamming a thumb against his own chest. “Rory will decide who takes his place and that man will be me.” Brandan quickly shape shifted into human form so as not to injure his wings in a fight, lifted his hands up, and motioned the other Faery man forward. “If you’re challengin’ me, you won’t go far to find a fight, lad.” Connel stepped between the two men as Brandan’s challenger also changed to human form. There was a minor skirmish brewing over who’d take up the game, to no end. Brandan would have Rory’s blessing to carry on with the ancient sport of the Fey, but the matter would be settled another time. “Not today,” Connel advised. “We should ready ourselves for tonight’s welcome of the new queen to our Troop. The two of you will behave until the celebration is over and Rory’s had his say. Understood?” Brandan nodded, quickly shifted back into his more comfortable Faery form and stalked away without a backward glance at his challenger. If Shamus Fagan thought he’d take over the game, he was sadly mistaken. It had been some time since he’d bedded a human woman and he desperately wanted a taste of that experience again. He grinned, let his wings furl out behind him and ran through the garden to the hillside beyond where no human eye would see him. There, in a small secluded glen, he knelt before an old Sheila-Na-Gig and began to masturbate. “Let me be the one chosen to play the game,” he quietly begged of the old goddess. “Let me know the soft feel of human flesh again, and I’ll never ask for another thing.” 119

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As he stroked himself all morning long and into the afternoon, Brandan deliberately kept himself from releasing by occasionally squeezing his balls tightly and pinching the delicate skin just between them. In such a way, he could maximize his pleasure until late evening. By giving this long offering to the ancient goddess, he hoped to become Rory’s sole successor in the game. A new busload of tourists, mostly women, had just been seen in the nearby village and he aimed to service every single one of them this summer. Big tits, little ones, big or small asses, it didn’t matter to him. A woman was a woman. They were all soft and ready to please when on holiday. Finally allowing himself the luxury of release, he scooted on his knees toward the Sheila-Na-Gig and squirted his seed into the gaping hole between her thighs. “If that’s not a good enough offering, my old girl, you just tell me what is,” he croaked out as he stroked himself dry. Finally spent, he lay on his side so he could stretch his wings out and let sleep take him. From a wooded copse nearby, Sharon The Brown chewed on her lower lip. She slowly redressed, having pleasured herself while watching Brandan. The big Faery was so preoccupied with jerking himself off that he either hadn’t sensed her presence or hadn’t cared. She was, after all, only a brown. Having no other surname except that which described her plain, drab wings, she felt her last hope dwindle. Once Brandan had the taste of a human woman again, her dreams of attracting him as a mate were next to nothing. How could she compete with a tantalizing taste of the forbidden? Especially when she was as homely as dirt where Faeries were concerned, and when her longed-for lover could have a different woman every week as long as tourist season lasted. She sighed heavily, turned away from the sight of her dream lover and strode slowly through the woods. While idly considering her love life, or lack of one, she heard the sound of a horse being ridden much too fast. She ducked into the nearby ferns, lowered herself to the ground and waited for the rider to pass. No one was supposed to be trespassing on Rory’s newly purchased land, but that didn’t keep humans from doing exactly what they pleased. As the sound of the horse’s hoof beats grew nearer, Sharon could see a tall man approaching. He was mounted on a huge stallion. But something was horrifically wrong. The rider was wearing the usual riding pants and tall black boots of any equestrian, but his white, long-sleeved shirt was covered with a spreading blotch of red. From her perspective, that red could only be blood. 120

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When the stallion got to within twenty feet of the spot where she hid, it slowed and stopped. The rider attempted to grasp his mount’s mane, but slumped to one side of the saddle and finally fell to the ground. Stupefied into stillness, Sharon could only watch. She saw the stallion turn and snuffle at his rider’s face as though it was reluctant to leave him. Like some kind of terrible play being acted out before her very eyes, she saw the rider lift one gloved, trembling hand to his horse’s muzzle and heard him croak out, “Go, Shadow...go.” She watched the outstretched hand fall to the ground, the horse neighed softly in response, but refused to budge an inch. Sharon sensed it wasn’t willing to leave its master, and she knew the downed rider was now quite unconscious. She realized she should leave and forget what had transpired, but some instinct kept her attention riveted to the scene. Creeping forward ever so slowly, she knelt beside the man and brushed back a strand of long brown hair that had escaped from his ponytail. His exposed chest was still rising and falling with each breath, but it exhibited a wound she had never seen before. Still, she recognized it. Anyone with eyes in their skull would know that wound. There simply wasn’t any kind of hole made by another source. “You’ve been shot,” she whispered and felt the horse nuzzle her right shoulder as if it was asking for help on its master’s behalf. Sharon gazed up into the big bay’s eyes and patted its soft nose. “He’s here somewhere. I told you, I didn’t miss,” came a gruff voice from further down the small trail. “No one will ever find ‘im after we’ve buried ‘im in these woods.” Sharon glanced toward the sound of the voice and heard several men approaching. She quickly looked back down at the big body of the man lying unconscious in the dirt, then up at the horse. She should leave and not get involved. These events were humans’ horrible doings and she wanted nothing more than to get back to the inn and her friends. Humans were always hurting each other in some way, though this particular incident was more heinously done than most. It was quite obvious that someone was literally hunting the horseman down. But her Faery laws forbid her from interfering in such a situation. Better to leave and let these sad events take their course. She quickly skittered toward the ferns again, but stopped just as she could have dove for cover. Sharon glanced over her shoulder once more and chewed on her lip in indecision. “Oh, dammit! I can’t just leave him there!” 121

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She ran back to the man, grabbed onto the front of his shirt and half-hauled him into a sitting position. Using her knee to support his upper torso, she slid behind him and got her hands up under his armpits and began to drag. Amazingly, the horse followed. Sharon pulled with all her might and managed to haul the big man into a ditchlike rut, just beside the ferns where she’d originally hid. Working quickly, she covered him with leaves and branches, used one leafy fern frond to hide the horse’s trail in the dust, then grabbed the animal’s dangling bridle and led it deeper into the woods. To cover her trail, she made very sure they kept to ground that was more rock than dirt. Once hidden again, she placed a hand over the stallion’s muzzle, willing it into silence. The horse seemed more than eager to comply. It stood absolutely still, not even twitching and ear. Sharon silently considered that if this ruse worked, it was only because she was a Faery, with the minimum amount of powers to hide herself and her own footprints from human eyes. If her rushed efforts to hide the injured man didn’t work...well, she’d tried her level best. She knelt behind a tree with the ends of the reigns still in her hand and closed her eyes. Sharon could only hope the hunters passed by and didn’t see the man. If they found him, they’d certainly come looking for his would-be rescuer as well. Again, she heard voices but couldn’t discern the softly spoken words from where she was. As a plain brown Faery, she simply didn’t have the powers to extend her hearing that far. After a while, she could certainly hear large branches being tossed about and she managed to glean one long, overly zealous curse as one of the pursuers registered frustration. Soon, the voices faded. Still, Sharon stayed where she was. It was well into the afternoon before she finally left her safe spot with the large stallion following. She carefully made her way back to the spot where she’d left the injured man and uncovered his face. Her efforts to conceal him had worked. He was still lying, undisturbed. His body was still under all the leaves, small twigs and branches. Now what? As twilight began to fall, Sharon knew she simply couldn’t leave the bleeding man lying in the dirt. It wasn’t in her to even let a small forest creature go without assistance, but the others in her Troop would be furious over her ill-conceived actions. 122

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She should have gone for help, but something about the imminent danger of the situation made her stay. She now felt responsibility for the life she’d saved. She sat beside the unconscious human, twisting her fingers together. His size would keep her from taking him much further than she already had, and his wound prohibited such actions anyhow. When she didn’t show up for the celebration tonight, others would come looking for her. “I’m knee deep in shit now,” she muttered as she continued to stoke the muzzle of the horse. “If I’m going to be in trouble, may as well go all the way. I’ll do my best until the others come for me.” She silently reasoned that her medicinal supplies could be safely gathered while not leaving the man unattended for too much longer. After all, her bower wasn’t that far away and she’d already let the stranger bleed quite enough. Besides, what if those brutes intent on killing him returned? If she were honest with herself, however, her real reason for not leaving the man and going for help had more to do with not wanting to face the rest of her Troop. Goddess only knew what Rory would say to her, much less Peg or Connel. With her decision made, Sharon left the horse with its master and swiftly made her way back to her little bower. Once there, she retrieved some clean cloth and a bladder of cool water from the tree trunk she called home. Then, common sense began to sink in. The shot man was now on Faery land though, hopefully, he and no other human would ever know that. Logic stated that helping him became her business as well as that of the entire Troop. If the police were called because of this incident, she and her friends could be in a world of trouble...especially if this situation hadn’t been properly handled. She was doing the right thing. She was trying to keep some man from dying while on private property. Property that just happened to belong to her leader and all the Faery race. By helping him, the police should be mollified that everything had been done to save the stranger’s life, and no further investigation should be warranted where Rory or her friends were concerned. If Rory saw it otherwise, she’d just have to take the consequences. If the human was left to die unattended, however, police would be crawling all over the valley seeking the man’s killer. In that case, none of her people would be safe from scrutiny. Every stranger in every glen, dale, and copse of trees would come under severe observation. That would make life very hard for all the magical beings living in the vicinity. 123

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Sharon pushed away any further doubts, and quickly went about finding the herbs necessary to stop the bleeding. The human’s life, perhaps the lives of her entire Troop, was in her hands now. As she hurried back to him, she felt a keen sense of possessiveness that probably wasn’t prudent. But someone needed her, even if he was only human. Besides, this was something she could do without being pretty. She dragged up her sleeves and her nerve and got busy.

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Author Bio

C.S. Chatterly, also known as, Candace Sams is an award-winning author of paranormal romance, non-fiction and erotica.

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The Inheritance By CS Chatterly / Amanda McItyre

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Dedication:

In the spirit of the season, we combined our voices to create a fun, thoughtprovoking faery tale. Special thanks to all who believe and keep the spirit of storytelling alive. Meant for your enjoyment, we present~

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~*~

Tiara skipped the stone across the water just as her father had taught her. The scowl on her face made her head hurt; yet it did so often as of late anyway. Every time she was forced to spend time with her mangy stepbrother, Gerard. Tiara shuddered. Good lord, even his name was ghastly. How could she be expected to actually be civil to such a crude child? Hooligan was an even better term, perhaps too kind for the adolescent behavior of one, who by years was older than she. She slumped to the ground in despair. Once this was a magical spot where she would visit with her father. Sometimes to skip stones across the river, other times they ate picnic lunches of apples, bread, and cheese and she would laugh at the funny stories of his youth until her sides ached. Oh, how she wished he was here now. Her new stepfather was as wicked as a witch's thought and his son was not terribly far behind him in character. Tiara lifted her full skirts and pushed off her velvet and leather slippers. They were the last of the possessions she'd been allowed to keep when her tyrannical stepfather sold off most all of her family's household items claiming he needed the money. Though she did not realize it then, she now understood why her mother bade her silence when he asked about the inheritance Tiara's father had left to her. She feigned no knowledge of any such gift and though he eyed her skeptically, he'd let the subject rest. She stepped into the chilly stream, the frosty water made her toes numb like her cheeks on a winter's afternoon. Tiara scanned the riverbank on the other side, her thoughts warming once again to her precious father. Across the water, was the magical kingdom he often spoke to her of. He would weave colorful words into dazzling tales, spinning and turning the stories and lacing them like fine tatting until Tiara believed the faery kingdom was a real and existing place. "There I will be one day, my child. Not a place made of flesh and blood, but out of spirit and heart." 128

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She knew he spoke in flowery terms, yet he was speaking to her of heaven. Telling her, in his own way, what she would come to understand one day, that soon he would leave Tiara and her mother. Tiara held her skirts bunched beneath her arms and glanced once more at the bank whence she had come. She would miss her mother terribly. Her gaze swerved back to the grassy knoll ahead and the desire to be there stoked her courage, pushing her forward. Tiara knew the place was only an imaginary story, one told by her father to soften the blow of his impending death. But her sorrow was so great, her grief so heavy, that she fervently wanted to believe she would find him if she could only manage to get to the other side without drowning. Deeper and deeper the icy water rose. Past her calves, then encircling her knees. The current grew strong as she reached the midway point of the stream, sucking and pulling at her slight frame. In a moment of brief terror she imagined true hands grasping at her legs, trying to prevent her continuance. She mustered both courage and strength and raised her foot, stepping forward, preparing to fall into a deep hole and be swallowed by the river. Her pantaloons clung, wet to her skin, and her body chilled until her teeth began to chatter out of control. Again, she eyed the riverbank, though closer now, it truly appeared no different in any way than when she'd surveyed it from the opposite bank. "P-Papa?" she whispered. A panic rose within her. What if she never made it to the other side? What if the river tugged her under, dragging her frozen, lifeless body miles away? Her legs were dead weight as she willed them to navigate the heavy undertow threatening stronger and stronger as she moved toward the river's edge. Her skirts, no longer a concern, floated near her armpits, billowing about her like a giant, pink water lily. Tiara no longer felt sensation from her neck down and tears flowed freely down her cheeks, chapping them along with the frigid water. She stumbled at the next step, where the ground unexpectedly leveled beneath the water. Instinctively, she looked down and could see through the translucent aquamarine surface. Indeed the ground itself seemed to be chilled, in varied levels. She pulled in her skirts, holding the sodden material close to her body, as she strained to see the steps. As she ascended the natural levels, she sensed the water lowering around her. 129

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*** Molly Anderson turned the sound up on the television. There was nothing in the local television guides about this particular program being scheduled, but the fantasy element had immediately caught her attention as she surfed the channels. In fact, the story line had grabbed her so much that she’d put her huge bowl of Halloween candy on her stoop, just so she wouldn’t be disturbed by all the trick-or-treaters. Of course, that guaranteed the little rascals coming to her front door would grab as much candy as they could and run, but she simply couldn’t take her eyes off the screen. She loved faery stories and Tiara’s looked like it was going to get pretty fascinating. A commercial came on which had something to do with hemorrhoid cream. Thankfully, that wasn’t something she needed so she took the time to run to the kitchen, pour herself a diet soda and slide a bag of popcorn into the microwave. As she was about to check that her back door was locked and make sure there were no pranksters in her garden, she spied the extra bag of miniature candy bars lying on her kitchen table. They weren’t on her diet and she was trying to take off eight pounds. “What the hell?” She grabbed up the bag, tapped her foot on the floor and anxiously waited for her popcorn to be done. Glancing in the front room where her television was blaring away, she heard an announcer come on who was dutifully touting the accolades of two-ply bathroom tissue. “Must be a corporate conspiracy,” she muttered. First hemorrhoid cream, then toilet tissue. Thankfully, the microwave buzzed and she carefully removed the popcorn bag from the machine while grasping her soda glass and the bag of chocolate candy bars in the other hand. She settled herself back in front of the television, glad Marvin wasn’t there. She was having as much fun alone as she would have if she’d accepted his invitation to the office Halloween party. And after finding out the little creep had been porking one of the newer paralegals in the office file room after hours, she didn’t give a flaming rat’s behind whether she ever saw his smug face again. In fact, after breaking up with him, she actually felt a sense of great relief. They’d only been dating a few weeks, but she could tell that the relationship, if she could call it that, was going nowhere. Marvin SmytheWellington was a turd, she wasn’t. It was that simple. 130

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Another commercial came on and Molly made rolling motions with one hand, “Yeah, yeah, get off the air,” she softly complained. She picked up her glass and ripped open the bag of candy bars just as the commercial was ending. She really wanted to see what was going to happen to Tiara. *** "You ungrateful wench. Get back here this instant or I swear by my father's hand you will regret the day you were born." Tiara's back stiffened at the sound of his voice, as strong as any leather strap she suffered in past weeks for crimes much less than this. In haste, she crawled on hands and knees through the tall grass of the riverbank, tucking herself behind a mass of overgrown tangled raspberry bushes. "If your thought is to cause trouble with my father, then so you have, but it will be your skin, not mine. Ever since I came to this godforsaken place you have been a pain in my ass." His voice threatened over the rushing current. Tiara held her breath; fearful he would wade into the river and attempt to find her. "The sun is nearly gone now my little witch, and soon the night beasts will roam the woods looking for a tasty morsel such as you to appease their starving appetite. By morning surely there will be nothing left of you that anyone will care to remember. I will tell them all that you ran off once again and this time, try as I might, I could not find you." Tiara shivered from her cold wet clothes, trying valiantly not to let Gerard's words strike fear into her heart. She was, after all, a daughter of the king—or the former king, as it were. "I shall find the place where my father hid my inheritance and then shall see to it that you and your father are cast far away from this kingdom, far away from my mother and me. No longer will we be prey to your selfish brutality." Her teeth chattered between intermittent whispers. Tiara peered through the branches and caught a glimpse of Gerard's departing form. True to his nature, he even took her slippers. Likely he would fabricate some fantastic lie of bravery on his part, telling them all that it was too late to try to find her. With the danger of Gerard behind her, Tiara peeled back the sodden strands of hair from her eyes and surveyed her hiding place. To the naked eye, it appeared no different than 131

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the bank on the other side of the river, yet in her gut, she sensed there was something different about this place. A glance to the sky confirmed Gerard's warning that soon it would be dark and her life in greater danger from wild beasts. She would have to move in haste if she were to find a safe shelter for the night. She went to work tearing at the hem of her dress until she had two long strips of fabric, wrapping each around her feet to form crude coverings for her feet. Once more she checked the opposite bank to be sure Gerard was gone before she stood and looked around her. She stood in a small clearing on the edge of a deep wooded area. Once or twice she'd sensed that she was being watched, but she shook off the notion blaming it on a vivid imagination. For that, she blamed her father's wondrous tales of gallantry, of faery princes, and noble deeds. She prayed now that there was an ounce of truth to them. *** “Of all the…Who does that Gerard think he is? Get off her case, you jerk!” Molly muttered. Immersed in the story, she hadn’t yet let it sink in that she was still watching a television program. For some very strange reason, the colors on her TV seemed more vibrant, more realistic than the device should have been portraying. That and the actors’ absolute conviction was riveting. It seemed as if she was watching a real-life scenario playing out and she felt a lot of empathy for the girl named Tiara. Indeed, there were a lot of women who came to the attorneys’ office where Molly worked as a paralegal. Many were seeking a way out of a marriage or relationship of some other kind where the other partner was absolutely abusive. This story, outside of the fantasy elements she so loved, struck a raw nerve. “Why can’t people act less like animals and more like human beings?” she groused. But then she had second thoughts about uttering such a remark. To her knowledge, animals never acted as badly as some of the idiots that she’d seen crawl through the attorneys’ doors, looking to escape sentences for crimes they had committed. And that was yet another reason for her spending quite a lot of her time alone. As a group, she heartily disliked people’s behavior. Her species’ actions as a race usually left a lot to be desired. But then, when you dealt with the dregs of the Earth daily at a thriving attorneys’ office, you saw things most people didn’t. She perversely mused that she made a damned good living off other people’s suffering. So, she was one of those dregs that shouldn’t be complaining at all. 132

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She sighed in frustration when a feminine napkin commercial came on. “What the hell is with these sponsors tonight?” she blurted out and rudely shot the middle finger of her left hand at the TV screen. It seemed that every very personal item a human being could conceive of using was being sold on the air. She dug back into her bag of miniature candy bars when an irritating yipping next door broke into her thoughts. “Not again,” she complained and got up to take care of one of the pet peeves in her life. Leaving her stash of goodies on the sofa, Molly left the commercial behind and bolted for her back door. She quickly unlocked it and stepped out onto her patio where several pumpkins glowed in the night. “Mrs. Applewad? Are you awake?” she shouted. When there was no reply, Molly yelled louder. “Mrs. Applewad, Brunhilde is barking again. Could you please bring her inside?” Molly wrapped her arms around her body to ward off the cool fall chill as she waited for the back porch lights to come on next door. An elderly, robed figure appeared, complete with curlers atop her head. “Is that you, Molly?” “Yeah. Sorry to wake you, but Brunhilde is outside and she started barking again. I wouldn’t mind, but I’m trying to watch a very important TV program.” Mrs. Applewad called out to her tan, Chihuahua-mix pooch, and Brunhilde came running. As soon as the little dog was in her arms, the older woman said, “My goodness, poochy-woochykins is Mama’s baby scaredy-waredy?” She turned to face Molly and walked closer to the white picket fence that separated their properties. “Brunhilde is frightened half to death. Did you do something to her?” Molly blew out a long breath, and glanced back toward the inside of her small house. She couldn’t help wonder about the program she was sure was about to start back up. “No, Mrs. Applewad, I didn’t do or say anything to your dog. She just started barking like a little maniac…all of a sudden.” At that moment, both women jumped when Brunhilde looked toward the dense woods behind the cottages and began a ferocious barking that was unusual, even for the little dog.

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Mrs. Applewad leaned over the fence and beckoned Molly forward with a crooked finger. “There’s someone out there,” she whispered. “Brunhilde never barks like that unless there’s someone near my property who doesn’t belong there.” By the full moonlight overhead and the ambient light from her neighbor’s back porch, Molly could indeed see the intense gaze the little dog fixed on the woods behind their two cottages. “Okay. I’ll just go take a look.” Mrs. Applewad quickly stuck out one hand and put it on Molly’s arm. “Don’t, dear. You don’t know who might be out there. Let’s just call the police.” Again, Molly dared a glance back toward her own back door. If she called the cops, she’d miss her program. It’d take the police twenty minutes to get there, if they weren’t busy on this Halloween night. And then she’d have to wait another half an hour while they searched her woods. “No, I’ll just get a flashlight and take a look. It won’t take me long,” Molly advised and ignored the older woman’s protests as she grabbed up a handy flashlight that was always kept near the back door. Once she turned on the light, she slowly crept through the lovely fall flowers of her garden, toward the back gate. “It’s probably just kids fooling around,” she called out for the other woman’s benefit. She directed the beam of her flashlight into the woods and couldn’t see anything, but could hear rustling. She almost had an infantile accident in her expensive, department store underwear when a large black cat meandered out from under some bushes. Taking a deep breath in relief and slowly letting in out, Molly glanced back over her shoulder. “It’s just Mr. Potterfield’s cat,” she called out. Then she picked up the fifteen-pound chunk of fur and admonished, “Go home Dinky. Your daddy will be worried about you.” The cat purred furiously and batted at a strand of her long hair. Molly put the megalithic creature back on the ground and shooed it out of her garden, hopefully toward the house two doors down from Mrs. Applewad’s. She quickly made her way back to her own back door. Mrs. Applewad was cuddling her pooch and muttering something about that “mean Dinky scaring her baby”. Molly only glanced once more toward the back of her garden. She had a sudden sense that she hadn’t checked there well enough. But Dinky didn’t like strangers. Since she, Mrs. Applewad and Brunhilde didn’t fall into that category, the big cat liked to roam 134

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in their gardens from time to time. Still, she had the creepy sensation that there was something out there. Perhaps someone was watching her from the back of her own property. She shivered and blew the sensation off. It was Halloween. Her nerves were rattled from being overworked, and she wanted to get back to her program and find out what happened to Tiara. *** Tiara shook off the sensation she was being watched and pushed from the ground, pulling her wet skirts from around her legs. She tested the comfort of her handmade footwear and proceeded with caution toward an opening in the woods. "Halt, what brings you to this glen? Humans are not permitted on this sacred ground." Tiara's feet stilled and her heart leapt in her throat. Per chance had she stepped into a greater danger than it would be to face the demon Gerard? Searching for her voice, she swallowed the lump of fear blocking her throat. "I am Tiara of Doonesbury Castle. I've come to find my inheritance." Silence followed, causing Tiara's teeth to begin to chatter, this time from fear. Do not be afraid. Be of good courage, she reminded herself. "What makes you think that your inheritance is here, maiden?" That was an easy enough answer and she replied with confidence. "My father, the King, told me this is where I would find it and when the time was ready I would know when to come." "And you are ready, then? You look barely over the age of ten." "I am small, but I am of age. Why do you ask me so many questions?" "A thousand pardons, my lady, but it is my duty." From the dim twilight, a man of good height appeared dressed in a fine purple cloak and leather breeches that encased his muscular legs. His dark hair hung straight past his shoulders in a manner that looked both rakish and regal. Tiara curtseyed low as if she was meeting royalty. "There is no need, my Lady, 'tis I that should be bowing to you." Tiara's brow wrinkled with her frown. "I know not what you speak of, kind sir." "Come m'lady and I will show you the inheritance you seek. That which is rightfully yours, as your father, the King, spoke to you of." 135

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He turned, disappearing into the woods and Tiara followed, glancing over her shoulder as the light faded to a deeper pitch. Faint music tickled her ear from somewhere beyond. She could not see the handsome stranger in front of her but knew his presence by the crackling brush beneath his heavy footsteps. "Where are you—" "Shh, m'lady. You are entering the Circle of Gold." Tiara bumped into his solid back, dazed at first, she then peered around his arm. Before her in an open glen sat one of the most beautiful men she'd ever seen. His face was young but radiated a sense of maturity, his smile bright and friendly, accentuated his chiseled jaw. When at last he looked up, his gaze bore into hers. "Are you my Queen?" Tiara blinked, unsure if her mind was playing tricks. She heard his gentle baritone voice clearly, yet he never opened his mouth. Me? Why would you believe that I am your Queen? Your coming was foretold. Tiara glanced up at her handsome escort and he nodded. "You knew?" "I had suspected as much." He grinned. "But what of my inheritance?" "What does your heart seek, my Queen?" His voice again touched her mind, her spirit, the very core of her being. At that moment, Tiara's world was reduced to five small words. "I wish I could see my father again. I wish I could hear him tell the stories he told me and to share his laughter, believe in the tales he told me." She looked upon the handsome man who then stepped from his throne and walked toward her. As he approached, he held out his hand. "You shall have all this and more, if you shall agree to be my Queen." Tiara's heart fluttered with joy. What magic existed that could bring her father back? "He is with us now, part of our council. Look for yourself." The blonde man ushered his hand to the edge of the glen and there stood her father, with two men either side of him. All were dressed in pure white garments that hung to their feet. "You may go to him." Tiara broke into a run and held her arms wide, slamming into her father with a rush of relief and happiness. Tears flowed from her eyes as she turned her face up to check if this was but her imagination. 136

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"You are my daughter indeed, and this kingdom is your inheritance. It has been from the day you were conceived. You see, I was lost with no memory of who I was, but your mother found me and nursed me back to health. I lived well with her for many years, but I knew my home was not of the human realm." At that moment Tiara didn't care if he was faery or human, only that he was warm and alive and holding her safe and secure. "And this young prince, from our sister colony has been waiting for many years for you to be of proper age to marry. Shall you make him suffer any longer, my daughter?" *** “Say yes,” Molly urged. “If that prince is built like the rest of the men in this show, you could do a helluva lot worse.” What she wouldn’t give to have a man in her bed just like those on her TV screen. Even the bad guy looked good. She was so intent on watching the program and gawking at the different men’s physical attributes that the jangling of her phone almost caused her to fall off the sofa. Luckily, another commercial came on having to do with underarm deodorant. “What the hell is with these sponsors?” she gasped and got up begrudgingly to answer the phone. Molly was just about to pick up the receiver, but decided to let it ring instead. She didn’t want or need the disturbance right now. It’d been a rough week at work and she really just wanted to finish watching her program. Using the time the commercial provided, she wisely decided to get rid of the temptation of the rest of her chocolate. She picked up the bag of miniature candy bars, opened her front door, and dumped them into her candy bowl on her front porch. Some kids there thanked her for the added treats and ran off into the night with their ghostly, vampiric and witchy costumes billowing out behind them. She took a moment to smile at their antics. It was fun to remember Halloween nights as a kid and believing in the magic this time of year could bring. But most of the magic was, unfortunately, dimmed by time. All that innocence she’d felt as a child was long gone once she’d met the kind of people who sometimes ended up in an attorney’s office. But dealing with them was her job, and other people’s misery paid really well. All she could do was help those who’d let her, and try to get over those who wouldn’t. 137

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She sighed in frustration as whoever was calling wouldn’t give up. Relenting because of the ringing noise, Molly angrily sauntered to the telephone and put the receiver to her ear. “Hello?” “Hi Molls, it’s me.” She rolled her eyes and stuck a finger in her throat in a gagging motion before responding, “Hello, Marvin.” “I uh, was wondering if I could come over later,” he tentatively asked. “I don’t think so, Marv,” she sarcastically advised. “I’m busy.” “I thought you were home alone tonight.” If he chose to think busy meant there was someone with her, then let him. She wasn’t spilling her guts to a guy who now made her sick just hearing his voice. “I thought you were at the office party.” “I was,” he replied, then hesitated before answering further. “I dumped Tiffy, and thought maybe you and I could go over to Quickie Queen for one of those homemade hamburgers they make.” “Isn’t Tiffy the redhead who wears those platform boots to work? The same one who likes to wear low-cut blouses and bend over in front of Mr. Danforth and the other attorneys?” There was complete silence for a good thirty seconds. Molly was about to put the receiver down when Marvin finally spoke up. “Look, I know you’re sore about some of the women I hang with. But I can’t help it that they practically throw themselves on top of me. They’re always trying to get in my pants.” Molly grinned. “Tiffy left the party with someone else, didn’t she?” “I told you, I dumped her,” came his angry reply. “Who was it? Jack from accounting or that new paralegal…What was his name?” “Stan,” he abruptly blurted. Molly stifled a laugh. “So she left with Stan, eh?” “Look, do you want to get a burger or not? I won’t ask again.” “Told you, Marv. I’m busy. See ya. Wouldn’t want to be ya.” She hung up and immediately realized she’d just sunk to his level, but that crack about women always wanting to get in his pants and throwing themselves at him got her really ticked. If she’d 138

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known what a self-absorbed idiot he was in the first place, she’d have never dated him. But she hadn’t been working at that branch of her company’s law offices very long when she’d gotten involved. Seeing her as his newest target, Marvin had moved right in and she’d been glad for the company. But the newness wore off quick when she’d caught wind of his escapades. And that was when she understood the reason for keeping her business life and her personal one separate. “Home girl isn’t getting mixed up with any office lotharios from here on,” she firmly muttered to herself, then went back to her TV program. She sighed in relief when a used car salesman blared out something about his “ridiculously, low, low offers”. Marvin hadn’t caused her to miss part of Tiara’s story after all. She did a little happy dance, then went to the kitchen for another diet soda and glanced out the patio door. She noticed that the faces of her three jack-o-lanterns were sadly dark. To keep them from ending up smashed against her car or her neighbors’ cars or houses, she’d put them on the back porch where she could have fun watching their eerie flickering grins, but the local trick-or-treaters couldn’t get their hands on them. Last year, she’d had to scrub her car for hours just to get the pumpkin mush off, and she wasn’t going through that again. She grabbed up three candles and a box of matches and quickly headed outside, where her trio of grinning fall vegetation took their place of pride right next to her little whiskey-barrel fountain. She happily lit up the faces again and stepped back to admire her carving handiwork. There was almost nothing better in the world than watching a carved pumpkin burning in the autumn breeze. And a little of that childhood magic she so loved about the season came back again. As she could still hear that annoying salesman butchering the English language while trying to push his used vehicles down someone’s unsuspecting throat, she figured she had a little more time to stand out on her porch and admire the night. It would have been nice to have a real man to share the evening with, but she knew she was much better off if all she could get was Marvin and his ilk. Still, it might have been nice to cuddle up to a big brawny man like one of those in Tiara’s story. She licked her dry lips as she thought about all the bronze muscle rippling and how she wished she could be like the lovely heroine. What would it be like to live a life where fantasies actually came true? Of course, they didn’t. And men weren’t like what the actors on TV were portraying, but she could still wish. 139

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She gathered her long sweater-jacket around her body and stepped back inside to watch more of her program now that the car salesman’s pathetic begging was over. *** Tiara offered a shy glance toward the young virile prince, thinking she could do worse. Her mind raced to her half-brother, Gerard. "If it is still his wish to have me, then with an open heart, I pledge my oath to a lifetime of pleasing him." The expression on the young prince's face waxed euphoric. "Splendid, splendid." The king ushered the two to join hands and stand facing the jubilant crowd. "From this day forth, let your marriage bless the kingdoms brought together by this union. May you know the fruits of your joining and may they be blessed with children, hordes of children—" A cheer of jubilation went up from the crowd. "Father," Tiara whispered as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. "We are barely betrothed." The young prince glanced at her with a wry grin. "Parents in both earthly and faery realms differ little on this point, m'lady." His gentle voice spoke to her very soul and she smiled back in response. "What now?" she asked, turning to her father and the counsel. The Prince winced, shaking his head as if to say, "Don't ask." "Procreate!" An even greater cheer went up from the crowd. "Tis time to leave, m'lady," the Prince replied with a crook of his brow. He leaned in and brushed her cheek with his lips. Another jubilant cheer emerged from the throng of onlookers. Tiara smiled shyly at the crowd as her new husband guided her to a great winged horse standing at the edge of the glen. The handsome escort who'd met her at the river stood at the great animal's side. "Your horse, my lord." The prince bowed. "Thank you Rupert." Tiara sensed a strong bond between the two men. "Be well, my brother." Rupert smiled congenially. "Blessed be to both you and your new bride. 'Tis tradition I believe, for your brother to kiss the new bride—" 140

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The prince lifted Tiara to the horse before Rupert could reach for her. "Rupert, you've heard the human expression, 'someday my prince will come?'" The Prince wrapped his strong arms around Tiara and squeezed her tight. He grinned as he grasped the horse's long, feathery mane and kissed the side of his new bride's neck. "Well, today I am that prince, and if all goes as I plan, Tiara will no longer have need to ponder that wish, if you catch my meaning. Further, if I have it my way, as future King's often do, my beloved will not tire this night of having it her way. Fear not, brother, your quest for a maiden will begin when you give up your roguish ways and are ready to settle with one maiden." The horse took flight in a flourish of stardust and heavy scent of honeysuckle and Rupert had to admit, though he wished them well, that perhaps his brother was right. The time had come to begin the quest for his own happiness. "You can feel the magic in the air, can't you?" Tiara's father slapped him on the back. Rupert could feel something all right; there was a restlessness in his soul. A belief that there was something yet unfinished about this night. He gazed up at the full harvest moon and sensed eagerness in his heart and parts but a few inches below that as well. "I'm going for a walk." He left the crowd to its merrymaking and slipped quietly into the darkness. But that is another story. *** The TV screen went blank. Molly quickly got up, grabbed the remote control and tried pushing several buttons to get the picture back. There was a momentary flash on the screen, then a completely new program came on…a detective show that was already halfway over. “Damn,” she angrily muttered, then searched her local listings again to see if she could find the name of the faery show she’d been watching, or any mention of it at all. She tossed the remote control on the sofa when it was clear she couldn’t get the program back. Her DVD recorder was on the fritz, and the week had been so busy that she hadn’t had time to get a replacement. Otherwise, she’d at least have had the program recorded. But then, she didn’t even know what channel to set the device to since there was nothing in any local channel or paper listing about it in the first place. 141

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It seemed, at any rate, that Tiara’s story was over. She was left with this expectant sensation that wasn’t going away anytime soon. That being the case, she remembered Marvin’s suggestion about going to Quickie Queen for a homemade hamburger. She’d already blown her diet to hell and back, so what was one more binge? An urge for spicy fries and a cheeseburger hit her where she lived. Molly grabbed up her keys, wrapped a muffler around her throat and walked out her front door. The kids had long since quit trick-or-treating. That left her feeling a little sad. Halloween was virtually over, for all intents and purposes, until next year. As she’d suspected it would be, her bowl of Halloween treats was completely gone. She’d have her burger, fries and chocolate shake, then go to bed. Later in the week, there’d be the required, painful workout sessions in the gym for her transgressions. It was a good twenty minutes later when she was in the late-night drive through of Quickie Queen, waiting for her order to be packed up. She gazed out her windshield, up at the full harvest moon, and still felt as if something in the night was missing. It was that faery program she’d been watching. The show had left her wondering about the Prince and Tiara, and if they’d have a happy life. Then there was the Prince’s brother, Rupert. It seemed he’d looked a little sad, and that was what made her angriest about losing the channel connection. She was sure Rupert had a story, too, but whoever had miss-fed or redirected the TV signal into her viewing area hadn’t let that part of the program continue. Or maybe she was right in the first place and there simply was no more story to be told. Still, she felt a sense of loss over not being able to have taped the entire thing and play it back sometime later in the week. When the kid in the Quickie Queen window handed her the sack of hot food and she paid him, Molly shook her head in frustration. Why was she so down-in-the-dumps over a television show? But something told her she wasn’t ever going to find the program on any channel as a rerun. It’d been some kind of technical fluke that had allowed her to see what she had at all. “Get a grip,” she chastised. “It was only a stupid TV show.” She drove home, parked and bundled her sack of food next to her as she went inside for the night. Rather than eat alone in her little kitchen, she decided to go out on the back porch where her jack-o-lanterns were still flashing away, the candles illuminating their eerie faces in the dark fall night. 142

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It was cool outside, but Molly loved it. She opened her sack of food, spread out the contents on her bistro table and decided to eat with nothing more than the light of the beautiful full moon and her glowing pumpkins. It was her last little tribute to Halloween before she went back to work Monday and the office grind. She mischievously grinned while munching a mouthful of fries. There were always silly paper crowns in the bottom of the Quickie Queen sacks. She usually found someone’s kid to give them to, but this time she pulled out the long paper strip and notched the ends together in the crown shape it was meant to be. She set the paper circle on her head, scooted her chair back and faced her pumpkin audience. “And what do you bring as tribute this fine fall evening?” She asked them. “Your Queen would be most entertained on this Halloween Eve by your wit and charming repartee.” Rupert stood at the garden gate and watched the beauty speaking to the pumpkins. He had been walking away from the sounds of merriment created by his brother’s wellwishers. All he had wanted was a little time alone to consider his single status and why, as yet, he had not met the woman of his dreams as his sibling had. Now, in front of him, sat a dazzling beauty, a Queen in her own right. The crown on her head told him thus. “But where am I?” he quietly whispered. “Mayhap I have crossed over into another kingdom. But I cannot fathom this circumstance as I was but only a few paces into the woods I once knew well.” He gazed around him in wonder. He definitely was not in his own home forest any longer. While there were certainly oak trees and some of the same kinds of plants, the growth was not nearly as thick as it should have been. And there were no rows of neat little cottages such as the one where his beauty now sat, amusingly addressing her pumpkin court. “By the very life of me, I have rarely seen such a comely lady.” For whatever reason, to whatever end, he was there for a purpose. His faery mind would not dwell on the magic of it much longer. He simply had to get closer to the lovely woman before him. Even by the light of the moon, stars and pumpkin lanterns, he could see her sparkling blue eyes and longed to run his hands through the long brown tresses floating gently in the evening breeze. He strode purposely forward and hoped for the best. Molly was using her straw to blow bubbles into her shake when a very large man came walking up her garden path. He stood well over six feet tall and had long dark hair. 143

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Even in the ambient light she could see the determination in his dark gaze. He was walking straight toward her in all his sparkling faery realm regalia, complete with tall leather boots. Quite a lot of his massive chest was showing through the deep vee in his leather-looking shirt. “Crud! It’s Rupert,” she muttered, then stood and automatically moved toward the top of her porch steps. Rupert swallowed down the lump in his throat. He had never been in the company of such loveliness and he was momentarily awed. Finally remembering his etiquette in the presence of this stunning queen, he bowed very low. He gracefully stood back up and briefly considered the crown she wore. He still could not place its country of origin, but it mattered not. He was in instant lust with this lady and his heart would not let him care what region or what realm she claimed as her own. “M’lady, I am Rupert. I am second heir to the kingdom of the faery realm, and am most sincerely and utterly at your service.” He hoped his addressing her first would not be a breech of some etiquette in her land, but he felt compelled to announce himself before this lovely vision fled with fright. Clearly, she was startled by his unexpected presence. He mentally chided the guard who would allow their liege lady to go so unattended that any man might approach at will. Molly searched her brain for an answer as to why a man on her TV was in her garden. Then it hit her with all the force of a brick. Halloween night was traditionally supposed to be a time when the veils between realities were very thin. If there really was such a thing as magic, then it had manifested right in her garden and she couldn’t have been more pleased with the result. Her gaze slid over the very virile man standing before her and all the muscle of his exposed chest At first startled, she somehow knew this giant of a brawny man wasn’t going to hurt her. There’d been something supernatural in the woods earlier that night. Now she knew what it was. Somehow, her reality and his had blended. The TV show had been anything but a program. Realizing this, it was very likely Rupert would never be able to get back to where he belonged. But she could certainly make up for that loss, if he’d let her. She held out her hand and was charmed by the way he took it, kissed the back and lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. He kept her hand in his grasp and his palm was both warm and strong. “I am most willing to offer my services in whatever way pleases you, your Highness.” 144

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She saw his gaze shift to the paper crown on her head and figured she’d let him in on that bit of nonsense tomorrow. Tonight, there was magic in the air and she wasn’t missing a single moment of it. Then, she smiled as she recalled the words Rupert’s princely brother had said regarding Tiara. “Would you be willing to uh, give it to me my way?” she softly asked and wagged her eyebrows suggestively. He moved closer. “With extra mayonnaise.” For a moment, the comment took him aback. He didn’t know what that phrase meant, but the words seemed to have come into his head on the instant. Molly grinned. She held out her other hand and he readily took it. She led him inside her cottage and somehow knew her life would never be the same again. If she’d chanced a glance back at her pumpkins and not had her entire attention on the man in her company, Molly would have seen the three jack-o-lanterns winking at one another. Of course, she might have attributed that to the flickering candlelight. But there was no way of explaining their broader grins as she walked inside her cottage with the new man in her life. Happy Halloween! Be Blessed!

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