“We need a child, Ciara. Fathered by the magical wolf of the MacKays and blessed with the talents of an immortal mother. Such a child could help ensure the old religions would never be forgotten and the magic would never die.” With this statement, Brid faced Ciara and waited for her reaction.
They couldn’t be serious. Ciara opened her mouth then closed it again. No. Surely, they had something else in mind. Her mothers couldn’t possibly be suggesting what she thought they had just said. She looked to Cerridwen and then turned back to Brid. Taken aback at what she thought Brid proposed, she repeated the words to ensure she understood what Brid had in mind. “Fathered by the wolf? Born of an immortal mother? Are you actually asking me to join with that mortal from the Highlands and bear the man a child?”
“Is he not pleasing to the eye, Ciara? Any man able to hold such fury must be capable of great passion as well.” With a wave of her hand, Cerridwen floated the cauldron to where they stood so they could gaze once more down upon his image.
Faolan MacKay electrified the waters. He was dark and dangerous, a delightful temptation to watch. The man towered over most in his clan, the breadth of his shoulders balancing his mountainous height. Ciara’s palms itched to touch the cut of his muscles straining against the leather of his tunic. Her gaze traveled lower, appraising his fine narrow hips and his powerful, well-muscled legs. Cerridwen was right. Faolan pleased the eye and Ciara would bet her finest torque he pleased in bed as well.
Before Ciara pulled herself away from Faolan’s mesmerizing image, Brid hastened to continue. “Faolan has truly grown into the meaning of his name: the loner, the ever watchful wolf. He has sworn never to love or sire children of his own due to what he has perceived as the unfair suffering of his parents and siblings. He blames love and magic for all the problems in his family’s lives when these energies are actually the only salvation for what seeks to destroy his world.” Brid edged closer to Ciara as she spoke and leaned over the cauldron’s edge. “We are asking ye to assume the role of his betrothed. You can temporarily replace the woman selected to be his wife. Seduce him, Ciara, consummate the vows, and bear him a fine gifted son. Once this task is complete, we will return the mortal woman to his side and ye will be free of your obligation.”
Ciara couldn’t believe what they were asking of her. She was a warrior. A Fury. She wasn’t a wife and mother! So flustered by their plan, she reverted to her comfortable T-shirt and jeans. Glancing down at her curves straining against the thinly stretched cotton, she scrubbed her face with her hands. In an instant, the airy violet gossamer veils returned to swirl about her body. “The MacKay has sworn never to love and yet you say he’s betrothed? Why can’t we just let human nature take its course? Let him lie with the woman, get her with child and then you can train the boy in his dreams.” Ciara huffed an escaped curl out of her eyes. She waited for them to see the perfect reasoning of her easy solution. She couldn’t understand why they’d interrupted her from scouring evil from the world when it was obvious this duty was not her calling.
Without a word, Cerridwen passed her hand over the cauldron and dispelled the image of the striking Scot. Her summons to the cauldron replaced Faolan MacKay’s handsome scowl with the vision of a slight, wispy maid wandering through the dimly lit hall of a dreary stonewalled keep. “This is Chieftain MacKay’s betrothed. Her name is Dierdra Sinclair. Look closely, Ciara. Do ye notice anything different about this frail young lass?”
With growing uneasiness at the focusing vision, Ciara leaned closer and studied the image of the girl floating before her. As the picture cleared, she understood. Her heart sank the longer she watched the girl until she finally raised her head to meet Cerridwen’s gaze. “She is one of the touched. A pure innocent. What kind of man would agree to marry such a woman? Is he a brute predisposed to raping children?”
Brid raised her hands. She interceded with a firm shake of her head. “No. Ye must not think ill of Laird MacKay. He felt wedding the Sinclair lass the perfect solution for both their problems. She is the wife he can ignore, and he is the husband who will never harm her. His advisors arranged the match for the benefit of the clan. The Sinclair’s bride price and their adjoining lands were far too great an enticement for the MacKay advisors to resist. Faolan agreed to the match to silence the avaricious men so they would leave off with their insistence that he must wed. He has yet to meet the sweet Dierdra but his spies assured him of her innocent state. Their first meeting is set for tomorrow eve at their betrothal feast. We know if we do not intercede, he will never consummate the vows and there will never be a child. And remember, the child we need born of this union must not only hold the MacKay magic but also the powers of an immortal mother. The responsibilities of this child will be great and the bloodline he begins must be strong. His strength and knowledge must be immense to pass down to future generations.”
Ciara’s irritation waned a bit at Brid’s assurances of Faolan’s reaction to Dierdra. Once more, she leaned over the cauldron and watched the vacant-eyed maiden bend to stroke a mewling cat. Ciara reached down and dipped her fingers across the water to bless the child with her touch. “And if he never consummates the vows, this innocent could possibly fall from his protection. There are many more men who would gladly spoil her without a thought of shattering her soul.”
Ciara plunged her hand deeper into the water and erased the image from view. “Tell me this, my honored mothers. If I bear the man’s child, what happens then? Once I’ve done this thing you’ve requested of me, then what will happen to this unlikely pair…not to mention what will happen to the child? I’m not worried about falling in love. This weakness called love is a human problem. And I’m not concerned about The MacKay since you tell me he’s hardened his heart. I am worried about who will care for my child once I have gone from their midst. I will not leave my own innocent abandoned and unprotected in Danu’s dangerous world.”
Brid nodded in agreement with Ciara’s words as Cerridwen returned the prophetic cauldron to its platform in the corner. “We know ye would never be in danger of falling in love with the man. Ye have reminded us quite frequently of your immunity to the mortal’s weakness of love. And we also know ye would never abandon a child, especially a son of your own.
“Ye will stay with the MacKays until the child is seven years of age and nearly ready to be fostered and trained. Then we will return Dierdra back to her husband’s side where she will be safe from the evils of the world. We will protect her with a glamour identical to your likeness. We will hide her delicate fae-like form. No one will doubt the lass is truly his wife since she will look just like you and will have obviously borne him a son. The union will be safe from any of the accusations of non-consummation that might have otherwise occurred. Faolan will be a bit confused at first when we return the lass to his side. However, since he has sworn never to love, he will leave the lass to herself and his sense of honor will force him to protect her. All will be in place and we will have our gifted child to ensure the safety of future generations.”
Ciara paced across the balcony, warring with indecision over what she should do as she stared out across the glistening mists. She watched the dance and swirl of the silver-gray fog upon the waters as she listened to the sea below. A little over eight mortal years spent wed to the mortal MacKay. Not to mention having to seduce the man. No more judgments, no more executions, just perform the role of dutiful wife to a temperamental laird and bear the man a son.
A delicious flush surged through her body as she remembered his image in the cauldron. She hardly considered the seduction of Faolan MacKay an unpleasant possibility. From the looks of the man, she had to admit she looked forward to exploring hismerits.
It wouldn’t be the first time she’d seduced a mortal. She’d occasionally treated them to erotic dreams. The joinings had been amusing enough ways to pass a lonely night but they’d left her with an even greater wariness of the complex beings. The men had become obsessed with her immortal passions. They’d become addicted to her visits to the passages of their minds as though she were a drug. She’d finally stopped indulging in this form of amusement. She’d feared some of them would surely go mad.
Eight or so years and bear the man a child. Then return the innocent Dierdra to her untouchable husband’s side. The child would be safe. By seven years of age, Ciara could have him well versed in the basics of the mystics. He’d also be old enough to be fostered out to train in the more human realities of fifteenth-century Scotland.
Dierdra would be safe from any accusations of not having consummated the union. Faolan could return to his detached scowl and this could possibly set the world’s salvation in motion. With a little more guidance down through the generations, they could change the course of the world.
Her palms still rested upon the soothing marble. The call of the earth pulled at her very essence. She would do this. She would follow the wishes of her mothers. She would accept this task with honor.
She sealed her fate with a decisive nod and turned to face the awaiting goddesses. “I will do this thing you ask of me. I will bring this child into the world. All I ask is that you allow me to visit Dierdra in a dream to ease her into what will occur.”
Cerridwen and Brid smiled as they nodded in unison. Brid stepped forward and took Ciara’s hands between her own. “We are proud of ye, Ciara. Ye have made the right choice. Ye have our blessings to perform this task as ye will. By accepting this charge, ye not only help Danu’s world in its survival but ye protect the very legends of the Auld Ways themselves. When ye are ready to set these energies in motion, call out to us across the realms. Then we shall open the portals wide to allow Alec to carry Dierdra to the Land Beyond the Mists.”
ChapterTwo
“Damn, the woman is out of control,” Faolan muttered as he stomped through the arch. The servants had scrubbed the great hall of the MacKay keep within an inch of its life. Under the command of Mistress Sorcha, no corner or crevice was safe from scrutiny.
As overseer of the care and upkeep of the castle, Mistress Sorcha ruled with a firm and unrelenting hand. Heaven help the servant foolish enough to ignore any instruction given. If unlucky or daft enough to be caught slacking, they’d best be giving their soul to their maker, for Mistress Sorcha would surely have their arse.
Faolan groaned, giving a look at the floors, wondering if it was safe to step any farther.God’s beard. ’Twas a sorry day when a man feared walking in his own keep.
The lads had swept the great stones free of the soiled rushes and scoured them with lye and boiling water. Wrinkling his nose, Faolan cringed; the bite of the lye nearly burnt his eyes from the sockets. His keep would never smell the same. What the hell was the woman thinking? The slabs shone in the glow of the burning torches as though the stones had just been set.
“This is such a waste of time and manpower,” Faolan grumbled as he stomped his way toward the kitchens. He shook his head as he watched a serving lad scurry by with two buckets of steaming water to the other side of the room.
The servants scalded and rubbed down the tables and benches until not a drop of grease stained the boards. They had cleaned and greased the irons upon the hearths; the tools and huge swinging arms holding the black pots glistened in the flickering light. The hearths had been shoveled clear of excess ash and debris. Fresh split wood stood stacked at the ready. The maids had drawn down the tartans and banners from the rafters and beaten the dust from them before they’d been re-hung.
The surrounding hills had supplied overflowing baskets of heather. The fragrance wafted throughout the keep. Faolan rubbed the back of his hand across his nose. His stomach clenched at the scent of the sweet perfume; he preferred the acrid sting of the burning lye. The scent of the heather reminded him of his parents’ funeral. The fragrance brought back the darkness of that day and the stabbing loneliness still echoing through their empty chambers.
Ivy, the symbol of eternal fidelity, wound its way into every nook and crevice. Braided boughs of the emerald leaves formed an archway at the head of the hall. Fidelity. Faolan snorted. What a mockery. There would be no question of faithfulness in this union.
