Faery Song Anthology

Tirnan Oge

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

Ireland ~1947

“Are you daft, Roan McNamara? All these stories of faeries an’ such. You’d have ta have a brain the size of a pea to believe such rubbish.”

Roan glanced over at William. Now both in their early teens, the myths, and stories of their youth were beginning to wane in the dawn of adulthood, peppered by the realities of war.

“My Granda used ta tell me these stories. Ya have ta wonder if some of it’s truth now, don’t ya?” He pressed his companion for some evidence that all that he’d learned as a child was not just the rambling of old men.
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.” William slapped Roan on the shoulder. “It’s time, my friend, to give up your childhood fantasies.” He paused a moment and then smiled wickedly. “Well, at least the ones that have pointy ears and little pink wings.”

Roan focused on the ripples where the stone had disappeared beneath the water’s surface. Something inside of him wanted to scream that his friend was wrong, while another part suffered with the fact that it might be true. But Roan stubbornly held fast to his beliefs. How could years of legends, tales told to him by his grandparents passed on from their grandparents, be totally obliterated at the simple declaration of skeptical William Neill.

“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 tugged on his worn mucking boots over his bare feet.

William glanced up with his usual cynical expression and shook his head as if he couldn’t believe that Roan still held hope of the stories being true. “You’d have to show me proof, Roan McNamara. Solid proof.”

Proof? “The legends of the old stories weren’t created from proof. My Granda says that they are born of the heart and soul of our country, of years of magic and things that cannot be explained. He said they are like a giant fabric woven together by the passing down from generation to generation. Has your own Granda never told you these things, William?” Roan was frustrated that his friend wouldn’t share his beliefs, as if he were blind to the very idea all together. There was no possibility in William’s life; it was all about the here and now.

“What sort of proof would you expect?” Roan scoffed. “You know as well as I do 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 about his friend that both frightened him and caused him envy.
“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 there is another option.”

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.

“Aren’t you a wee bit interested in your other option?”

Roan’s palms began to sweat. A cool, clamminess crawled up his forearms. His inquisitive nature was forever getting the best of him. “What other option, then?”

“That’s m’boy. Forever the curious type—it’s what I like about you, Roan.” William grinned as he walked up beside him.

“Or what?” he repeated with a sternness in his voice. Roan’s agitation rose with anticipation of the 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 headed back up the bank without a response.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder.

“You’re afraid.”

“Am not.” Roan didn’t turn around for fear that William would see the truth in his eyes.

“Then do as I ask. If faeries, or more specifically Sighoge, do not exist, then there’s no harm done. I will once and for all allow you to free yourself from these ridiculous thoughts of your childhood. I’m doing you a favor, really.”

“And what if they do exist, then you’ll believe me? Or at least you’ll stop bloody teasing me all the time?” Roan spun toward William, seething with the anger of his bruised pride.

“Sure.” William shrugged. “If you can handle what legend says about kissing a Sighoge.”

Yet another challenge loomed over Roan’s head at the reminder of the myth. His gaze caught the steely glare 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.”

William patted Roan’s shoulder twice and grinned. “Ah, I wouldn’t worry too much. Chances are you aren’t likely to spot a young faery spirit around here for a very long time. My 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. They’d sneaked out of the last class of school for the second time this week and had to get back before the final bell. 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 Da’s watch!” Roan made a sudden stop in the middle of the dirt road. “I left it at the lake. Go on, I’ll be there soon as I can.”

“You’ll be late, Roan,” William called after him.

“I can’t leave it,” he replied his feet propelling him back toward the spot on the bank where they’d been.

The priceless heirloom was given to him by his Ma on his eleventh birthday. She’d taken ill and was unable to work and so gave him the watch from the few things left after they’d buried his Da. Four months later, they buried his Ma.

So engrossed in his thoughts, he missed the flat stone jutting up at the edge of the road. Down the grassy hillside, hurled over and over, he careened toward the large oak tree and the steep ravine below. His body bounced once and then once more, before coming to a sudden stop. Roan lay flat on his back, his head spinning, eyes closed, and nauseous, trying to regain his scrambled senses. After a moment, he opened his eyes.

Peering at him, studying his face closely, was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her eyes, dark blue 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 wasn’t ready to go mad just yet.

“Please—” Roan found his voice. “Whatever you do, don’t kiss me. I beg of you.”
A wisp of sadness crossed over her pale silvery blue face before 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.





Lady of The Herd


He watched her in secret from the branch of an oak tree, confident she didn’t know the magpie above her was anything but a bird. He’d been studying her for two months. She was the one. Gráinne. She’d returned to Ireland. At long last, she’d come home.

There wasn’t much time left. He’d been afraid to approach her too soon. He wanted to observe her, to make sure. But he couldn’t delay any longer. In a week, the passageway between worlds would be thin. By sunrise of Samhain morning, he would fulfill his Queen’s order and bring Gráinne home.

He’d waited a long time for this. A part of him he’d tried to bury ached for Gráinne. He needed her back as much as his Queen did.
And he was tired after so much time in the mortal realm. He was ready to go home.

A tiny thread of doubt nagged at him. The wings of the magpie shifted, the feathers shivering. What if he were wrong? Again. His past mistakes still haunted him. What if he made the same mistake with this woman? Could he stand to watch the madness overtake yet another innocent?

No. No, he was right this time. She was Gráinne. He could feel it. He’d known her as soon as she’d entered the woods. He’d taken his time, learned what he could about her. He was sure.

But hadn’t he been sure the other times?

The magpie lifted its wings and resettled on the branch. Five hundred years. It seemed like forever. A long time to doubt. A long time to remember.

He stared at the woman beneath his tree. She was beautiful, hauntingly so. He could barely tolerate her absence from the park now. A longing he hadn’t felt since Gráinne hit him every time he was near this woman. He’d always wanted Gráinne in a way that scared him, even now. Wanted her like no other woman he’d ever known. And the desire had only increased with time. He felt it now, sharply, as he looked down on her. How could he doubt she was the one?

If she wasn’t, he risked the woman’s sanity.

But if she was, and he didn’t bring her home, he risked the Lady of the Herd’s immortal soul. There would be no returning after this lifetime. She’d die a mortal death and be lost to the world of Faery forever. He didn’t dare risk that. His own feelings aside, Gráinne was too important to the Fae, to the balance, to risk loosing her.

And he wanted to be allowed home again. If he didn’t fulfill his Queen’s geis, he’d be stuck in the mortal realm too. Only he wouldn’t die like Gráinne. He’d continue to exist, fading to a shadow, for eternity.

The magpie shuddered, its feathers ruffled and resettled.

The woman sat on a log and ran a hand through her short, spiky black hair. The magpie’s head tilted. She didn’t look the same. But then he hadn’t expected her to. She didn’t have to. He would want her no matter what she looked like. Love her no matter her form.

Though her current form was more than pleasing.

The magpie flapped its wings and dropped to a lower branch. He would be certain as soon as he looked into her eyes. She was Gráinne. He was sure of it.

But if he was wrong?

*****

Grace Newman sat quietly on a log, her hand resting on the tripod of her telescope. The woods were quiet and nearly empty but for a few birds, squirrels, and the deer she studied. At times like this, she could hardly believe she was in the middle of a city. Dublin was a noisy mass of traffic and people just beyond the walls of the Phoenix Park. But in the middle of the woods at the edge of the American Ambassador’s residence on a weekday afternoon, she could have been in the middle of the country.

She breathed in the crisp October air. It felt more like the week before Christmas rather than Halloween. The mammal research team spent the entire day from dawn to dusk in the park and that much time outside really let the cold in. At least today it wasn’t raining and the wind had died back. Her many layers of clothing kept her comfortable for the moment, but in the deepening shadows of the trees, the damp chill was creeping back.

Most of the fallow deer herd, along with most of the research team, was out on the grassy meadow beyond the woods enjoying the weak evening sun. A few does and bucks were still wandering through the trees, though, so she had the dubious honor of keeping an eye on them just in case one of the bucks got lucky and convinced a doe to mate.

She sat in an area where she could watch the territories of two males and keep an eye on three others hovering around the territories. All of them were sitting under trees, napping in the lazy hours of the afternoon. The rut had reached its peak, each day from now on the number of matings would go down, but still the research team couldn’t let any of the males out of their sight, just in case. There were actually two matings going on out in the main herd at the moment. None of the deer near her, however, looked like they were getting up to much. But she watched, and waited, and soaked up the earthy feel of the woods.

She loved the quiet and peace. She could let her mind wander, enjoy the sounds of the birds and the gentle movements of the deer through the fallen leaves. Most of the team preferred to work with someone, but she didn’t mind being alone. She had the two-way radio if anything interesting happened.

She’d been in Ireland for less than six months and had started the fieldwork for her Ph.D. in animal behavior two months earlier. By the end of October, the rut would be over and she’d be stuck indoors, transcribing all the Dictaphone tapes of data she’d collected. She wasn’t looking forward to that, but she was looking forward to being warm in the middle of the day.

She’d miss the woods though. And the deer. She’d have to come out and visit them again in November, when she couldn’t take the transcribing any longer.

Pulling her radio from the side pocket of her combat trousers, she pressed a button and said, “How’re the matings going?”

The team leader, Hilda, answered, “We may have a third. White 560 is showing interest in green 234. She hasn’t stood for him yet, but she’s looking dodgy. How’re things up there?”

“Quiet. The boys are napping. I’m jealous.”

Another voice came out of the radio. Mary said, “Don’t fall asleep. You never know with white 289.”
She laughed. “Tell me about it. Besides, it’s too cold to sleep.” She put the radio back into the side pocket of her combats and blew on her fingertips to warm them. As the sun got lower, the cold got sharper. She let her breath out, testing for fog. Nothing. Not too cold yet.

She smiled. She loved these woods. Cold or not. She watched a sleeping buck and felt at peace. It was the first time she could ever remember feeling so settled, so comfortable. She tilted her face up to catch the weak sun filtering through the leaves and closed her eyes to see shades of red dancing behind her lids, happy with her life.

“It’s about time you got here, Gráinne,” a deep, accented voice said.

Her eyes snapped open and she nearly fell off the log when she saw the tall man leaning against a tree not more than three meters away. She hadn’t even heard him approach. She could move quietly through the woods but not that quietly!

“Jesus,” she said, holding a hand to heart. “You scared the shit out of me.”

She stood and pulled her tripod around in front of her, a block and a weapon if she needed it. It might be the middle of the day but strange things still went on in the park. She pushed a hand through her short hair and squared off with the stranger. He hadn’t moved, his slight smile the only indication he’d heard her.

She narrowed her gaze and studied him. “Do I know you?” He looked vaguely familiar. He was tall and slim but with broad shoulders and muscled forearms crossed over a very impressive chest. He wore a green tunic with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of brown trousers and boots that came to his knees. The outfit made him appear as if he’d stepped out of a fantasy novel.

His dark brown hair was long, well past his shoulders, and looked like thick silk. His face was all sharp angles and intensity. He was so handsome he didn’t seem real. As she studied his face, she knew she’d have remembered him if they had met before. How could she not? But still, there was something very familiar…

Then she gazed into his eyes. And for a heartbeat she forgot to breathe. The deep, rolling shades of green and gold reminded her of Irish fields dappled with sunshine. Within the green, specks of purple seemed to dance, giving his eyes a surreal twinkle. His gaze teased her in, tempted her to stay. As she stared, helpless, she thought, I could loose myself in those eyes and never return. A moment, which felt like hours, passed and it crossed her mind that maybe she had lost herself. She watched, fascinated, as his eyes darkened, a storm rolling over the hills. Then his gaze raked over her from head to toe.

She raised a brow even as her stomach flipped. She was wearing green combat trousers, Wellington rubber boots, a turtleneck shirt, a flannel shirt, a sweater and a bulky coat that kept the water out and the warmth in. The way she was dressed, it was hard to tell she was female nonetheless that she had a figure. And yet he stared at her as if he could see past the layers of clothing to her naked skin beneath. She stomped down an intense desire to squirm under his scrutiny by straightening her shoulders and gripping the tripod tighter.

His lips ticked up, widening his grin. “I’m Diarmaid.”

He paused, waiting as if he expected her to know the name. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “Who’s this Gráinne person you’re looking for?”

He frowned, his gaze flicking to a space just to her right. Then he pushed away from the tree and stalked toward her. He passed within a few feet of one of the sleeping bucks. The male didn’t so much as lift its head.

That was not normal.

She took an involuntary step back as he moved closer, but the log she’d been sitting on blocked her escape. She dropped her hand to the radio in her pocket. She wasn’t so sure she liked the expression in his eyes. And anyone who could walk past a mostly wild animal without the animal noticing was someone to be watched. If she had to call for help, she wanted the radio in hand.

He lifted her tripod out of his way and stepped close. Too close. Her breath caught. Every survival instinct she had screamed to put space between her and this stranger. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to move back or she’d call the park rangers, but the words stuck in her throat. This close, his scent washed over her. Something earthy and faint.

And familiar.

His green gaze held hers, the flecks of dancing purple mesmerizing. She couldn’t look away. He seemed to be searching for something in her face, her eyes. When he didn’t find it, his frown deepened.

“It is you. I know it’s you. I’ve been waiting for so long. I can’t be wrong this time.”

She felt a touch on her cheek, but he hadn’t raised his hand. She sucked in a breath. The faint touch sent a shock of heat through her. “This time?” she asked, but her voice sounded breathy and strained. The skin under her layers of clothes started to tingle.

“You don’t look the same. The hair is different. You were fairer when you left. Your face is fuller too. And your figure…”

A brush of fingertips caressed the skin of her waist. She gasped and glanced down. His hands were at his sides, but she could still feel his touch on her skin.

“Your figure is curvier.”

The heat in his voice burned over her. What the hell was going on? Who was this man? Had she just separated from reality without noticing?

“But your eyes,” he murmured, “the mix of green and blue. Those are the same.”

She felt that brush of fingers across her cheek again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered. She was nearly panting, her skin burning. Suddenly her clothing was too hot and confining. She could feel the touch of warm palms now, low on her abdomen. Then the brush of fingers just beneath her breasts. The sensation made her suck in a breath.

This was impossible. This couldn’t be real. He wasn’t moving. His hands were at his sides. How could she feel his touch? She’d been spending way too much time alone in the woods. She needed to get out of here, away from him. Fast. But her body wouldn’t obey her command to leave. She remained frozen. And the invisible hands cupped her breasts. She gasped and heat flashed in his eyes.

“She said you probably wouldn’t remember right away.” His voice was deep, so quiet it was another caress. “I’d hoped… I didn’t realize…”

Her brow creased as she tried to make sense of what he was saying. But concentrating was almost impossible with the feel of invisible hands on her breasts, teasing her nipples, fogging her mind. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve been sent to find you. To bring you home.”

“Home? Texas? Why, is something wrong with my parents?” She hadn’t spoken to them since she’d started her fieldwork. She’d never been as close to them as her younger brother was, so it wasn’t unusual for her to go several months without speaking to them. But concern for their well-being cleared some of the fog.

“Not that home.”

The man’s voice lashed out sharp and unexpectedly brutal. She frowned. The strange reaction gave her a moment’s reprieve from the tease of the invisible touch. “Then…?” She managed to shift sideways, edging toward escape. “Listen, mister…”

“Diarmaid.”

“Diarmaid. I think you’ve got the wrong woman. My home is in Texas.” She pointed to her mouth and raised her brows. “Obvious American accent and all. So maybe you need to just leave.”

“I’m sorry I snapped.”

The apology stopped her in the middle of her next sideways step. Such sincerity in the tone of a stranger. “Don’t worry about it,” she said with a shrug. “You just have the wrong person.”

“No. I don’t. I’m sure now.”

“My name’s not Gráinne, so you must have the wrong person.”

“You’re name was Gráinne at one point.”

“Uhm, no. It’s always been Grace.”

Diarmaid smiled, quick and wicked, and Grace felt the smile all the way down her spine.

“Gráinne is the Irish for Grace,” he said.

And suddenly, he was crowding her again, blocking off the escape she’d been edging toward without her ever realizing. “Really?” she said because she needed to say something, anything to distract her body. She couldn’t explain this reaction, had never felt such intense and instant lust for someone before. And she didn’t like it. He made her feel out of control and off balance, like she’d had too many whiskeys. Her inhibitions waned under the influence of his scent and she felt like stepping closer rather than farther away.

Not good self-preservation instincts, Grace! She gripped the radio tighter, reminding herself that help was just the push of a button away.

“You didn’t know the Irish version of your name?” he asked, his smile turning sultry.

“Guess I forgot.” Of course she knew. Everyone on the research team had pointed it out to her during her first week in the field. But that didn’t make her this Gráinne woman he was looking for, damn it.

Unfortunately.

Whoa, where had that come from? Not unfortunately. Fortunately. She didn’t even know him. But the thought of him going away made her feel like she’d be losing something valuable. Which was ridiculous. How could you lose something you never had?

She shook her head to clear the strange sense of loss. “Listen, the Grace/Gráinne thing is a bit of a coincidence, but we’ve never met before so I doubt you’re looking for me. I suggest you go ask one of the rangers. They might know where this woman is.”

Diarmaid smiled again, and Grace had to swallow to keep from leaning closer to him.

“They wouldn’t be able to help. You’re the only one who can.”

“Help with what?”

“Curious now. You were always curious.”

“How would you know?” The brush of invisible fingers skimmed over her waist again. Grace shivered at the heated contact.
“I know more about you than you do, Gráinne.”

“Grace. I’m Grace.”

“Now. But not always.”

She started to pant as those unseen fingers slipped around her waist to her stomach, drawing small, seductive circles. “What… What do you mean?” Thinking had grown difficult again and breathing normally became impossible.

“We’ve known each other before, you and I. You’ll remember me soon.”

She shook her head, but not in denial, only to clear away the haze filling her thoughts. She couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. The unseen touch intensified then, moving lower across her stomach, around her back to cradle her bottom. She shivered and took an involuntary step closer to him. Oh god, that felt good. Heat flooded her skin, making her nerves tingle and her belly tighten with a need she hadn’t felt in a long time. A part of her tried to break away, to remember, something… But then the hand on her bottom squeezed and her brain simply stopped working. What were they talking about?

His face was near hers now, his breath warm on her cheek, his scent enveloping her.

“I’d forgotten how much I want you,” he murmured. “After so long… I didn’t remember the intensity of it. You never let me get too close before.”

She shouldn’t be letting him get this close now. She wasn’t sure why anymore, but some instinct still tried to break through her lust-induced haze with common sense. And what did he mean about getting close before? This was the first time they’d met.

As she watched, helpless to do or say anything to prevent it, Diarmaid leaned closer, bringing his mouth a breath away from hers. She could almost feel the soft heat of his lips brushing against hers, and her nerves tingled. All her attention focused on that single spot on her body. She closed her eyes, anticipating the touch of his mouth when he finally closed that last micrometer of space between them.
“Grace! You still up there?”

The harsh sound of her radio jolted her back to her senses. Her eyes popped open and she found herself alone in the woods with only the deer for company. Blinking, she spun in a circle taking in the area. But there was no sign of Diarmaid. There was no sign of any other people. Even the deer remained undisturbed. When Hilda’s voice rose from the radio again, the buck closest to Grace’s position raised his head and flicked his ears.

Her hand shaking, she picked her radio out of the leaves at her feet. She didn’t remember dropping it, but since she’d obviously been hallucinating that wasn’t a surprise. Pressing the button to transmit, she said, “Still here. Sorry. Stepped away from the radio for a minute.” That was a polite radio way to say she’d had to duck into some bushes to relieve herself. It was the only explanation she could reasonably give for her absence. “How are the matings going?” She glanced at her watch. Nearly twenty minutes had passed while she’d been imaging the strange man who called her Gráinne.

“Two matings finished, three new ones being recorded. And the bulk of the herd is on their way up to you.”

Even as Hilda reported, the bucks Grace had been watching started to rise. The small group of does moved toward the arriving herd and she knew soon all hell would break loose. Already, the bucks were groaning and snorting in an attempt to attract the does, and at the edge of the woods, Grace heard the clash of antlers as two males fought.

No more time to worry about her tenuous sanity. She had work to do, data to record, and that strange sensation of having just confronted her destiny to ignore.