‘No,’ she breathed. The sheets became his skin, smooth against hers. Falling deeper by the second, she buried her head in them, seeking Finn’s perfect body; his smell, which was of the sea.
‘My Queen…my Queen…please…’ Rav moaned against Faye’s shoulder, and she closed her eyes as the ripples of the orgasm continued to radiate through her. She didn’t want to remember where she was. Though she would choose Rav every sober and conscious moment in her waking hours, her unconscious wanted Finn.
But Finn is dangerous. And you have been banned from ever visiting Murias again, she told herself, her head clearing a little.
‘Come for me, Beast,’ she murmured. ‘Fill me up.’
Rav growled, gripping her bottom and pulling her down onto his rock-hard shaft, making noises in his throat, rutting, desperate for her, for release. ‘My Queen…ahhh…Faye…’ He grunted as his cock pulsed inside her. She felt him climax and kissed him, holding him, knowing that he was real. That she could rely on him.
‘Good Beast,’ she purred as he held her tight against him.
‘Thank you, my Queen,’ he breathed, holding her, kissing her forehead and reaching up to stroke her hair away from her face.
Yet, when she closed her eyes, she saw Finn Beatha’s face one last time. ‘You are mine,’ he said. ‘You are mine,sidhe-leth. Our bond is too deep to be denied.’
2
Excerpt from Grainne Morgan’s diary
Bealtaine, 1 May 1588
The fae were suitably appeased this night. We danced a long reel at the tide-line, and Ethel played the flute, a merry tune, having lit the bonfire and got it going well before dark. The villagers enjoy Bealtaine, and there was much jumping over the fire in pairs to ensure happy marriages, and a good number of single women as a blessing for love or fertility. I found myself dragged into the trees by Hamish Grant; he has had his eye on having the witch for months. I was not about to disappoint him, though his wife was nearby and looked displeased when we returned somewhat dishevelled to the revelry. She should be grateful that I have blessed that pole of her husband’swith the holy fecundity of Old Hornie and Queenie’s ripe pink pussy. Ha ha.
I made sure to take the tea when I got home. I have one daughter and that is all I need to ensure the future of the Morgan family. The village frowns on the fact that no one knows who her father is, but it is of no importance. All that I needed was a seed from a healthy fellow, and I have done the rest. Such is the way of the Morgan women.
‘I know it’s not the same as the one you lost. But…I dunno. It’s something to remember your mum by.’
Rav pushed the small black velvet box carefully across the luxurious damask tablecloth to where Faye Morgan sat opposite him. Golden autumn sun streamed through the tall windows in the hotel where they had come for afternoon tea, making the silverware sparkle and the gold at the edge of Faye’s plate catch her eye.
‘What is it?’ She frowned curiously at him, putting down the delicate bone china cup half full of Assam tea. Next to her, a three-tiered cake stand held delicate confections in a variety of luxurious flavours: violet cream, chocolate tuille, mini lemon meringue cheesecakes. Along one wall, a collection of gold-edged vintage mirrors reflected the room. It made her slightly uncomfortable catching her own eye as she talked to Rav who had his back to them.
‘Just a little something. For you.’ Rav smiled over the rim of his teacup at her, his dark brown eyes warm with amusement.‘Go on, open it.’ He was dressed smartly: a well-made white shirt with gold cufflinks and a fitted navy suit. Rav rarely wore suits, preferring casual, comfortable clothes – sportswear, mostly. Faye liked it; she liked it when he walked around the house shirtless in his low-slung joggers so that she could admire his flat, hard stomach, his dark skin, the black hair on his wide chest. But, as soon as Faye had seen him dressed up, she had wanted to undress him and possess that delicious hunk of muscle and ride him until she soaked him all over again.
‘You don’t need to buy me presents. You’ve already been so generous.’ They had still only known each other less than a year, so she didn’tthinkthis was a proposal, but it struck her suddenly that it could be. They were at the fanciest hotel in London, which Rav had suggested they come to, seemingly, on the spur of the moment as they were meandering around the nearby exclusive shops. When she was getting dressed in the morning, she’d gone to put on her old jeans and a comfortable T-shirt, but he’d suggested she wear the full-skirted floral dress she’d brought down to London with her from Abercolme.
How would she feel if there was an engagement ring inside?Faye opened the little box, her heart hammering.
Inside the box there was a gold ring, but it wasn’t a diamond solitaire. Faye felt immediately relieved and then immediately guilty for it. But it was way too soon. Not that she didn’t adore Rav – she did. But this early in their relationship, it would have been awkward for him to propose. There was still so much they had to learn about each other.
She took out the ring. It was a gold pentagram set in a circle, similar to the silver one she used to wear that belonged to her mother, Modron Morgan, though she was always Moddie to Faye and everyone else. But Faye had lost the ring rescuing him from the world of fae.
‘Oh, Rav. It’s so beautiful,’ Faye breathed and slipped it onto the ring finger of her right hand where she’d worn Moddie’s for the eight years after her death. The indentation of Moddie’s ring was still there. The new band was thicker than the old one, and slightly smaller, so it pinched a little. ‘Thank you.’
Emotion choked her throat; she didn’t know what else to say. She still missed her mother terribly; to lose Moddie when Faye was eighteen, when she still needed her so much, had been awfully hard. And though she was older now, Faye still felt the emptiness in her life where Moddie should be: someone to tell her stories about her childhood, to know Faye’s oldest hurts and be there to comfort them.
‘I know how much you miss her. So I had it made for you. I hope it’s okay that it’s gold and not silver.’ He frowned. ‘I don’t want it to be wrong. I mean, I don’t know if silver’s supposed to be special for, you know, witchy stuff…’ He trailed off anxiously.
Faye felt the tears well up and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She didn’t want to cry, especially in such a grand place. She missed Moddie, but she had her best friend Annie, and now she had Rav.
She was a witch, from a family of witches, as long as anyone could remember. Perhaps that was the reason why she had made so few friends, and though she’d had a few one-night stands, she’d had no boyfriends before Rav. She was forever an outsider, a woman of power who had, herself, always been afraid of it.
But the main reason was that she didn’t trust anyone with her heart. Her father had left her and Moddie when she was a baby, and Moddie had died. She’d lost Grandmother before Moddie, at whose knee she’d spent so many hours listening to her tales of faeries and the old Scottish legends: of winter hag goddesses up in the snow-covered mountains and of selkie women who married human men but returned to the cold, clearocean as seals. She was afraid of love, of loving someone who would leave her yet again.
And, after the faerie king Finn Beatha, she was afraid of being with the wrong man – someone who would take what he wanted without any care for her.
She thought she could trust Rav. Her head knew it, but her heart was taking its time to let him in.
Faye got up, walked around the table and gave him a hug and a kiss. ‘I love this. It’s so kind of you, Rav. And, no, it’s really no problem that it’s gold.’ She laughed a little, forcing herself to be jolly, banishing the sadness as she was so used to doing: away in a little box, to be ignored or looked at later when she was alone. ‘Believe me, I don’t have a problem with being given expensive jewellery. Moddie couldn’t ever afford anything other than silver, that’s all.’ She pressed her forehead against his and closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Thank you.’
