“I knew your family, seasons ago. Specifically, your mother’s father. Do you remember him at all?”
Her grandfather? She’d never met the man. He’d died long before she had been born. She ran her fingers through her hair, aware of how straggly it looked. Swinging her head back and forth, she watched the clumped strands swish by, fascinated with their heft.
“Clíodhna! Pay attention. Your grandfather wasn’t human.”
She halted and stared at Adhna. “What?”
“He had been a Lord of the Fae Court, under my Queen Áine. He traveled to the human lands, fell in love with your grandmother, and then returned to Faerie.”
She stood again, pacing back and forth, shaking out her hands. “No, that can’t be right. He lived with my grandmother for many winters. My father remembered him when he courted Mother. He used to take him hunting.”
“That was the man who married your grandmother after he left. Not your true grandfather.”
She stomped her feet, reveling in the solid thumps they made. “That makes no sense. Who was this Fae? Wait. That means I’m part Fae?”
A grin broke Adhna’s serious demeanor. “Yes. That’s the point I’m trying to get to, Clíodhna. You have Fae blood. It courses through your veins, stronger than any of your family. This is why you have magic. This is why you can call the storms from the sky. This is why you called a maelstrom with your rage and passion today, and why I could show you how to dissipate it.”
Clíodhna glanced down at her knife hilt. “But why can I touch iron?”
“Your human blood protects you from cold iron.”
She sat, suddenly weighted down by the knowledge.
“And that is why I’ve chosen to teach you. That is why I would like you to be part of the Bealtaine ritual. Are you still willing? If so, it is time.”
She looked over her shoulder to see the barest sliver of the sun still showing over the distant hills. Mists had risen to obscure the light, but a faint orange glow still pushed through the dusky fog. With a deep breath and a wistful notion of wishing Odhrán sat next to her, she bit her lip.
“I would love to take part in your ritual.”
Adhna put his hand out, and she placed hers on it. He drew her up and into his arms. He kissed her once, gently on the lips, and then they touched foreheads, gazing into each other’s eyes.
Where her earlier tryst with Odhrán had been frantic and eager, Adhna went slowly, gently, with more care than she might have believed. She’d had several lovers, but none as deliberate, considerate, and attentive as the Fae.
Again, they circled the stones three times. Again, he chanted in that slippery, ancient language. Again, he drew her to the center. This time, however, he drew her down beside him and bid her not to move.
“Let me attend to you. You are the goddess tonight, the beloved of all men. You are the fertile ground within which seeds will grow. You are the earth, full of life and fecund magic.”
His hands touched every inch of her skin with feather softness. The energy coursed through her muscles. She sat up, wanting to touch him back, but he eased her back down.
Clíodhna squirmed, his touch both tickling and arousing her. She ached to pull him down on top of her, to satisfy her desire in delicious release, but still, he delayed.
He bent to her cleft, and tasted her dampness, making her writhe even more.
When she cried out in passionate bliss, he mounted her, his strength entering her with steady force. She met his rhythm with her hips, her crescendo rising again. Together, they cried out as the darkness of Bealtaine evening enveloped them. The burst of fertile satisfaction and joy honored the gods.
* * *
This time, Adhna let her sleep as long as her body demanded. Despite his infusion of energy before the ritual, magic could only do so much. The physical body required time to heal and recover.
When she woke in her own bed, she realized he must have carried her all the way down the hill, tucked her in, and somehow, fed Aileran. The child slept peacefully in his cot. While she’d been slowly weaning him these last two moons, her breasts had grown full to bursting. If she had slept so long, they should be horribly painful. Adhna’s magic must have helped with that. Her cheek ached, and she had to cast her memory back to recall that Abbot Pátraic had slapped her.
Her eyes crusted with old sleep. Clíodhna rubbed them and her face, disgusted with her hair. She needed a proper wash after such an intense day. Ritual or not, she had no wish to repeat those violent swings of emotion.
Adhna didn’t appear to be in the roundhouse, but Etromma napped on her bed. With a glance outside, Clíodhna judged the day to be half over. Had she slept through the night and half of the next day? Perhaps so. Her body must have craved the rest.
Her muscles ached, but not as much as they should. Adhna’s magic must account for the difference. She stretched her legs and arms before standing, and then reached for the ceiling, stretching her back. When her spine cracked, she pulled back in, startled by the sound.
To think she’d imagined her life boring. The last few days had been much too full of excitement. Clíodhna needed some time to recover. Thankful that her children seemed to take her activities in stride and care for themselves, except the baby, she crawled back under the warm blanket and curled up. She luxuriated in the unusual act of rest without sleep. She almost imagined she could fly.
Bees buzzed outside to the rhythm of
