The feast of Bealtaine Seven years earlier, 1168
Aileen Ó Duinne brushed her long brown hair, plaiting it with the blue ribbons her da had given her. She wore her best overdress, a cheerful matching gown the colour of the sky with a cream-colouredléinebeneath it. It made her feel more grown up than her years of sixteen. It was the feast of Bealtaine this night, an ancient ritual celebrating life and one necessary to preserving their good fortune. She smiled dreamily, her thoughts drifting upon the possibilities of finding love.
A hand jerked at her braid and she yelped. Her older brother Cillian grinned. With deep brown hair and laughing green eyes, Cillian was both her favourite brother and the bane of her life. ‘Planning to find a man this eve, are you?’
‘Of course not,’ she lied, her face flaming. ‘They hardly notice me anyway.’
Her brother shook his head knowingly. ‘They notice you more than you think, Aileen.’
‘You must be thinking of another sister.’
‘You are my only sister,’ he argued. ‘And if they cannot see you for what you are, I’ll be thrashing them soundly.’
His compliment tugged a smile from her. ‘I washed my face in the dew three times this morn,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t think it’s working yet.’ It was said that beauty would come to those who bathed in the dew on the morning of Bealtaine. She still held out hope that perhaps the effects might happen later that evening.
Bealtaine was a night when many a maiden might find love in the arms of a handsome suitor. Last Midsummer’s Eve, she’d received her first kiss. It had not lived up to her expectations, being a tangle of wet tongue and lips. She shuddered at the memory, but didn’t blame the boy for it. He hadn’t had much experience either.
‘I know where your thoughts lie, Aileen Ó Duinne. You’re wanting Connor MacEgan to handfast with you.’ Cillian started making kissing faces, and Aileen swatted at him.
‘Stop your teasing,’ she warned. ‘Weren’t you supposed to be gathering the wood for the Bel fires?’ She knew her father and their other brother Bradan were busy assembling the cattle. After they drove the herd between the Bel fires, their good fortune would be assured.
‘That was hours ago,’ Cillian answered. A knowing smile creased his face. ‘And I’ll be finding a faircailínto pick out the splinters for me.’
‘You’ll need luck for that.’
‘As will you,’ he answered. ‘I’ve sad news to impart.’ He let out a mocking sob, as though his heart were breaking. ‘Connor has been chosen to play the part of Belenus. You won’t be having him as your lover after all. Lianna will be Danu.’
It wasn’t hard to imagine Connor as the sun god. But Aileen’s good spirits wilted a little. It meant that Connor would become Lianna’s consort this night. They would consecrate the Sacred Marriage and become lovers.
She shivered, just thinking of it. Why couldn’t she have been chosen? Even as the thought flew into her mind, she cast it aside. Her plain face and untamed mass of brown curls made her nothing but a sparrow beside Lianna’s swan beauty. More than once, a young man had looked past Aileen, his attentions fully upon Lianna.
‘Chin up, sister,’ Cillian said. ‘I could hold Connor down for you, and you could steal a kiss. I don’t think he’d struggle too much.’
She rested her fists on her hips. ‘If you so much as breathe a word to him, I’ll—’
He laughed and ducked outside. Aileen wanted to groan. Cillian knew that she secretly dreamed of Connor. But if he valued his life, he’d not tell a soul.
She raised herbrat, wrapping the woollen shawl across her shoulders. At the threshold, a soft wind blew across the hills, soothing her wounded feelings. Tonight she wanted to shed her youth, to join hands and promise herself to one of the tribesmen.
On this night lovers slipped away together, celebrating the fires in their own way. Anything could happen, particularly magic. And it would take a bit of magic to get Connor MacEgan to notice her.
Aileen’s mouth went dry at the thought of him. Though only a year older than herself, he had trained most of his life to be a warrior. He moved with stealth and power, a man on the brink of becoming a legend.
His hair was the colour of burnished gold, and he was so tall, she had to lean back to look at him. His grey eyes could stare into any woman’s eyes and make her feel beautiful. In the fields she had seen him ride, his powerful thighs gripping the horse with consummate control. A flutter rose within her skin, just remembering him.
Was it so wrong to wish that she could lie in Connor’s arms this evening, learning the ways between a man and a woman?
But then, such thoughts were foolish. She had best put them aside and hope to find someone else who would look upon her as a suitable bride.
‘Aileen! Come and help me,’ her mother called. ‘I must prepare the baskets for the feast.’
Aileen wrapped loaves of bread inside linen, breaking off a piece to set upon the threshold for the faeries. They had been careful not to use any steel knives when preparing the bread, for steel was deadly to the faery folk. Tonight the veil between her world and the world of the Folk would lift. The offering would ensure luck.
‘Are you ready?’ her mother asked. Aileen nodded, picking up her basket once more. Outside, a small mountain of wood rested atop each of the two hills in readiness for the bonfires. All of their hearth fires had been extinguished the previous day, for the new fires would be lit from the Bel fires.
The evening light had begun to wane, the sun descending into an ocean of scarlet and purple hues. Soon, they would light the sacred wood.
Her father and brothers stood with their cattle among the rest of the tribe, waiting to drive them between the fires. Aileen followed her mother into the crowd. As they passed the huts, she saw flowering hawthorn branches laid across some of the homes. Her heart clenched, for no sweetheart had brought flowers for her.
