Epilogue
The secret of Happiness is Freedom, and the secret of Freedom, Courage.
—THUCYDIDES
Their family and dearest friends joined Eirik and Ciara for the mating ceremony performed by Anya-Gra in the ancient chamber of the Faol. Both spoke their vows with such certainty and love that many an eye grew wet with moisture.
Afterward, they laid hands together on both the Clach Gealach Gra and the Faolchú Chridhe. Chrechte magic swirled in the air around them and each witness of the mating came forward one by one to lay hands on the stone of their people.
The warriors still wounded from battle with the MacLeod Chrechte were first and each was healed so that not even scars remained from wounds so grievous humans would have died. Sabrine, Eirik’s sister, followed with her son.
Then came Mairi. The air around her glowed with green light, but she did not shift into wolf.
Ciara grinned as she looked at her friend. “You can feel her spirit in you, can you not?”
Mairi just nodded, tears streaking down her face.
“You’ll shift with the first full moon after you give birth. Your bairn will be an eagle shifter,” Ciara promised in a voice that was more than her own.
A loud thump revealed Lais’s reaction to the news. The healer who fought like a warrior had fainted.
Ciara motioned for her mother to come forth.
“But I am not Chrechte,” Abigail said.
“The bairn inside you is,” Niall said from beside her.
Abigail nodded and placed her hands on the Faolchú Chridhe. Ciara covered her adopted mother’s hands with her own and drew forth on the connection between the babe in Abigail’s womb and the Faolchú Chridhe. Healing light surrounded them and suddenly Abigail cried out.
“What is it?” Talorc demanded.
“I can hear.” Abigail began to cry and her sister threw her arms around her, babbling words of love and joy.
Then Ciara spoke, again her voice not quite her own. “The lairds must each lay hands on the Faolchú Chridhe.”
Each did, green light bathing them for several seconds, before the men stepped back one by one.
“You are worthy protectors of your people,” Ciara intoned. “On the next full moon, you will gain the form of the conriocht.”
And then she turned to her dragon. “The burden is no longer yours alone to bear.”
“Soon, the Paindeal will be found and the Chrechte will be one people again,” Mairi said, her eyes glowing with blue light.
“But first there is a war to be fought for the hearts of Chrechte turned by the twisted teachings of the Fearghall,” Ciara intoned. “The Cahir must rise again and Chrechte of the MacLeod defeat his own.”
Love and unity would win, but the war would be long and not every battle without loss.
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
bairn—baby
beguines—self-running nunnery without vows to the church, not supported by the official church as related to Rome (historically accurate term in the British Isles)
ben—hill
Ben Bristecrann—broken tree hill (a sacred spot to Ciara’s family)
brae—hillside or slope
Cahir—warriors who fight the Fearghall
celi di—Scottish Highland priest practicing Catholicism with no official ties to the church in Rome (historically accurate term in relation to Scotland and Ireland)
Chrechte—shifters who share their souls with wolves, birds or cats of prey
Clach Gealach Gra—(moon’s heart stone) the bird shifters’ sacred stone
conriocht—werewolf (protector of the Faol, shifts into giant half-wolf/half-man type creature)
Éan—bird shifters (ravens, eagles and hawks)
Faol—wolf shifters
faolán—little wolf (Gaelic term of endearment)
Faolchú Chridhe—(wolf’s heart) the wolf shifters’ sacred stone
Fearghall—secret society of wolves intent on wiping out/subjugating other races of the Chrechte
femwolf—female wolf shifter
keeper of the stone—a Chrechte who has a special link to the sacred stone and can utilize its full potential for healing, gifting and bringing forth the protectors of the races (conriocht, dragon and griffin)
kelle—warrior priestess (mentioned in Celtic mythology)
Kyle Kirksonas—River of the Healing Church
loch—lake
mate—a Chrechte’s chosen partner (if it is a mixed mating—Chrechte of different races, or a human mate—children can only result if the bond is a true/sacred one)
mate-link—the special mental bond between true/sacred mates
mindspeak—communicating via a mental link
mo gra—my love
Paindeal—cat shifters (large cats of prey)
Paindeal Neart—(panther’s strength) the panther shifters’ sacred stone
sacred bond (true bond)—a mating bond that lasts unto death and will not physically allow the Chrechte involved to have intercourse with anyone but the Chrechte’s mate
usquebagh—“water of life” (Scotch whiskey)
Read on for a preview of the next book in
Lucy Monroe’s Children of the Moon series
Warrior’s Moon
Coming soon from Berkley Sensation!
“Mummy, they’re giants!”
It wasn’t her son’s excited shout that sent a shard of pain spiking through Shona’s head, but the sight of soldiers wearing the Sinclair colors approaching at speed—on horses every bit as oversized as they were.
The headache had arrived with the large brown wolf that had paced them for the better part of the morning. Only the pounding in her skull hadn’t left when the beast did.
Terrified the animal would attack, she’d ridden tense in her saddle with a dagger at the ready. However, the wolf had maintained its distance, finally running off just before the noon sun cast its shadow.
Her mind and senses already stretched to the point of exhaustion with what had come before this journey, the appearance of the wolf had pushed Shona that much nearer collapse.
But she would not give up. Her children’s lives and those of two loyal friends depended on Shona maintaining both sanity and composure.
So she had taken her little daughter, Marjory, back from her companion, Audrey, and ridden on.
Shona had hoped her luck would hold, as it had miraculously for nearly two sennight’s of their mad dash north, but it was not to be.
They’d reached Sinclair land late the night before, managing somehow to both evade anyone her stepson may have sent after them and avoid the inhabitants of the clan territories she and her small band had passed through.
Until now.
She had no trouble understanding how her five-year-old son, Eadan, had mistaken the approaching soldiers for giants. These Highlanders would easily stand a head taller, and half again as wide, as any knight who had sworn allegiance to her dead husband.
Considering what was behind her, Shona could wish that these men were of the clan she’d come north to seek refuge with, but she knew she had no friends or family among the Sinclairs. They weren’t likely to take kindly to what they would perceive as an Englishwoman trespassing on their land. Perhaps the laird would approve safe passage through, if only to get rid of her and her companions. She could but hope.
She had to make her way to Balmoral Isle.
It was the only chance they had at safety, her one hope to preserve her son’s life and her own virtue. Or what was left of it.
At Balmoral, she had family, at least, though the relation was somewhat distant. She had no doubt her arrival would come as something of a shock. She could only hope it was not a wholly unwelcome one.
“They’re not giants, sweeting, merely warriors of the clan that makes these lands their home.” Shona tried to infuse her tone with confidence while her own mind screamed with warnings and worries.
“Really?” Eadan asked, his eyes, the same indigo blue as his father’s, filled with awe.
“These are Highland warriors?” Audrey asked, before Shona had the chance to affirm her assertion to her son. “They’re huge.”
“’Tis the way of the Highlands, I suppose.” And among some of the clans that bordered the Highlands as well, like the one in which she’d grown up.
Audrey gave her twin brother a sideways look. “Perhaps you’ve got more growing to do, but I don’t think you’ll reach their stature, even so.”
Thomas looked chagrined. “You don’t know that.”
Shona couldn’t imagine why they were speculating at all. Thomas was English, just like his sister; children of a lesser baron whose holding bordered her dead husband’s on the west and was only a few miles from land claimed by Scotland’s king.
Shona’s sleeping daughter stirred in her arms and she looked down to see pretty green eyes so like her own blinking up at her. “Mama, is there giants?”
At three, Marjory was as different from her older brother as night from day. Petite and quiet-spoken, she adored the older brother who was and had always been big for his age and confident to the point of brashness.
So like his father it made Shona’s heart ache, though she’d never let her children see it.
“They’re the laird’s guard come to greet us,” Shona claimed, her voice maintaining a shocking steadiness despite the blatant lie she’d just told.
One look from her two adult companions assured her they weren’t fooled by her words. But neither of her children were frightened and that was what mattered.
She just had to believe that the Sinclair was a better man than some who had been in her life. His reputation as a fierce but fair leader even as far south as England had led to her decision to travel on his lands instead of taking a more circuitous route to her final destination.
They rode for another ten minutes before meeting the Sinclair warriors.
Shona halted her horse and the rest of her party followed suit.
“Who are you and what are you doing on our land?” Though the soldier’s words were abrupt and his demeanor nothing less than ferocious, Shona felt no fear. Something about the man speaking made her think he would not hurt them. Perhaps it was the flash of concern in his eyes when he looked at her children.
The big warrior would have been devastatingly handsome but for the garish scar on his cheek, but Shona felt no draw to him. She had only ever wanted one man in her life, and, despite having been married to another, that had not changed. Nor did she believe it ever would. But she did not lament her lack of interest in the opposite sex. Men could not be trusted and she was better off keeping what was left of her heart for her children and her children alone.
“I am Shona, Lady Heronshire, seeking safe passage through your laird’s lands to visit my family on Balmoral Isle.” The words were formal, and she spoke them in flawless Gaelic, her native tongue.
“Did you get that scar in a fight?” Eadan asked.
Audrey gasped, but Shona just sighed. Her son had no cork for the things that came out of his mouth.
The warrior’s attention moved to Eadan and he studied him closely for several seconds before something that could have been surprise and then speculation flared in his gray gaze. “I did. Do you ride as protector of your mother?”
Shona didn’t understand the man’s reaction to her son, unless it was to the fact that such a small child spoke Gaelic so well. She’d spoken to both her children in her native tongue since their births and they both communicated equally well in Gaelic and English. Just as she did.
Her son, mayhap, even better than she did.
Eadan puffed up his little boy chest and did his best to frown like the warriors in front of them. “I do.”
“You sound like a Scot, lad, but you dress like a Sassenach.”
“What’s a sassy patch?” Marjory whispered from her perch in Shona’s lap.
“An Englishman,” the big warrior answered, with a barely there smile for her daughter’s interesting pronunciation of the word, proving he’d heard the quietly uttered question.
“Oh.” Pop. Marjory’s thumb went into her mouth. It was a habit Shona and Audrey had worked hard to break her of, but the little girl still sucked her thumb when she was overly tired or nervous. After two weeks of grueling travel and coming upon men who looked more like giants than soldiers, the tot was no doubt both. Shona sighed again.
This brought the big man’s attention back to her. “I am Niall, second-in-command to the Sinclair laird. My men and I will accompany you to the keep.”
“Thank you.” What Shona really wanted to say was, Thank you, but no.
She’d rather head directly for the island. She was tired of traveling and she wasn’t going to feel safe until she’d gotten the Balmoral laird’s promise of protection for her and her small band.
However, to refuse the hospitality of the other laird would not only be considered rude, but she’d no doubt they would end up traveling to the keep no matter what she might say on the matter.
She’d learned long ago that some things were beyond her control.
The keep was a fortress far superior to that of the MacLeod holding where she’d grown up, and even more formidable than that of her deceased husband’s. The high wall surrounding the laird’s home and guard towers was stone, though the buildings within were crafted mostly from wood.
The keep itself was on top of a motte, the manmade hill only accessible by a narrow path she just knew Niall was going to tell her they could not take their horses on. Even from this distance the keep looked big enough to easily accommodate fifty or more in the great hall. The imposing nature of the holding made her wish her family was of the Sinclair clan. She could do naught but hope the Balmorals lived equally as secure.
The bailey was busy with warriors and clanspeople alike, many of whom seemed interested in the new arrivals. And slightly suspicious, if the frowns she and her companions received were anything to go by. But the overt hostility she might have expected toward those garbed as the English was surprisingly absent.
Niall stopped his horse and the warriors with him did as well. Shona guided her tired mare to a halt, so fatigued she was not absolutely sure she would make it off the horse without sending both herself and Marjory tumbling.
“Should we dismount then?” Audrey asked, her tone showing no more enthusiasm for the prospect than Shona felt.
Shona opened her mouth to answer, only to lose any hope she had of speaking as her gaze fell upon a warrior standing near the open area in front of the blacksmith’s. The man, who was easily as tall and as broad as Niall, wore the MacLeod colors with no shirt beneath the plaid to give him any hint of civility.
His back to them, his lack of interest in the English strangers was more than obvious.
But she could not claim the same apathy. Not when every inch of his arrogant stance was as familiar to her as the mane on her mare’s head.
His black hair was longer than it had been six years ago, the blue tattoos covering his left shoulder and arm a new addition, his muscles bulging more, but she had absolutely no doubt about the identity of the MacLeod soldier standing so confidently among the Sinclairs.
Caelis.
Even the sound of his name in her own thinking made her heart beat faster and her hands tighten into fists.
Betrayer, screamed that voice in her mind that had never gone fully silent though she’d been forced to marry another man. Mine, cried the heart that had learned never to trust again at this man’s feet.
She’d given him her love and her innocence.
He had repaid those gifts with repudiation.
She’d thought never to see him again, been certain that even her return to Scotland would not cause their paths to cross.
After all, she hadn’t gone home to her former clan and she’d been careful to avoid their lands during the journey northward. She’d no desire to come into contact with her former laird and even less this man. How cruel of fate to dictate differently. To ensure that this man be in this place the one day out of time she would ever spend in the Sinclair keep.
The head of Shona’s mare jerked against her tightened hold on the reins and she knew gratitude that they were no longer moving. Marjory slept on, oblivious to the cataclysm happening inside her mother.
As if Caelis could feel the weight of Shona’s regard, he turned. Slowly and with no evidence of curiosity, his gaze slid over her, his expression dismissive as he took in her English clothing.
She could tell the moment he recognized her though, the very second he realized she was not just an Englishwoman, but a woman from his past.
He went rigid, his eyes widening with a shock so complete it would have been amusing if she were not so devastated at his appearance in her already turbulent life.
He moved as if to take a step and stumbled.
How odd. He was a surefooted man. Perhaps one of the other warriors had tripped him. Men played games with each other like that.
Even as the nonsensical thoughts floated through her mind, fear screamed through her body. He couldn’t see Eadan. Her son could never know the man who had denied his very existence and rejected the woman he had professed to love.
They had to leave. Now. The laird of the Sinclairs would simply have to do without the pleasure of making their acquaintance.
That thought alone gave her the strength to break her gaze from Caelis as she jerked her head around, wildly searching for Eadan.
He was already on the ground, his hand held in Niall’s giant paw, a smaller man standing nearby, talking to them both with an engaging smile.
Shona wanted to scream at them to put her son back on his horse and get out of their way. But no words left her lips because as frantic as her feelings were, she knew her desire to escape was hopeless.
The boy was out of Caelis’s line of sight, but that gave Shona little comfort. The warrior was bound to see her child soon, and when he did? He would know the truth, no matter how much he might like to deny it.
“Shona…”
She looked down and saw that both Audrey and Thomas were there, standing beside Shona’s mare. Audrey’s hands were upraised to take Marjory so Shona could dismount.
When had they gotten off their horses?
“Are you all right?” Thomas asked, clearly worried. He and Audrey wore matching expressions of concern. “We’ve said your name three times.”
“I…no…” she answered with honesty before she thought to control her tongue.
“What is it?” Suddenly Niall was there. “Lady Heronshire, do you need help dismounting?” He reached up as well. “Give me the babe.”
Dropping the horse’s reins, Shona wrapped her arms around her daughter in an instinctive move of protection.
“Do not touch her.” The snarl came from behind Niall, and then Caelis was there, shoving the other warrior away from Shona’s horse.
Niall spun on the other man, knocking him back and shouting. “The hell!”
“She’s mine,” Caelis growled, his voice so animallike the words were barely discernable.
“Calm yourself,” Niall snapped, sounding less angry for some reason, though he didn’t back away. “The Englishwoman—”
“She is not English.”
“Do ye see how she is dressed? She is a lady, Caelis. Stop and think.”
But Caelis appeared beyond reason, his aggression not lessening one iota. And Shona did not understand it. In no scenario that she might ever have imagined about this moment would she have considered him laying claim to her…or was it her daughter?
None of this made any sense.
Marjory chose that moment to awaken, squirming to sit up. “Mama! Want down.”
Caelis jerked as if pierced by an arrow, his gaze landing on the little girl in Shona’s arms. Some great emotion twisted his features, and then his blue eyes, so like their son’s, locked with hers, the accusation in them unmistakable.
She stared back, defiant, furious like she had not been since the night he told her it was over.
All the fear she’d felt over the past months, the anger she’d experienced at the perfidy of men since his betrayal, followed by others, bolstered her fury so that—if it were possible—she would have burned him to ash with her gaze.
His head snapped back, surprise again showing on his handsome features, this time mixed with confusion. Though what he had to be confused about she didn’t know. Did he think that just because he didn’t want her that no other man would ever want to wed her?
Arrogant blackguard.
“Mummy?” Eadan’s worried voice rose from where he stood beside Niall.
She needed to tell her son all was well, but she could not look away from Caelis’s face as he got his first look at the son they had made.
The child he had told her would never happen.
Dear Reader,
I so hope you’ve enjoyed the excerpt from my next full-length Children of the Moon novel, Warrior’s Moon. One of my more emotional and sexier stories, I’m really hoping readers connect as strongly to the characters as I did.
Following is an excerpt from the novella, Ecstasy Under the Moon, which will be released in a summer 2013 anthology with Lora Leigh, Alyssa Day and Meljean Brook. It will open up the world of the Éan living in the forest for my readers and introduce you to two very special characters: Bryant and Una. Una is one of the very rare eagle shifters, haunted by an experience with the Fearghall that has left her nervous of touch, particularly by large men who shift into wolves. Bryant immediately recognizes Una’s scent as that of his mate, but convincing the reticent woman to come within five feet of him, much less accept him as a mate? Not a job for the faint of heart or conviction. Luckily for both of these special Chrechte, Bryant is neither.
Let me know what you think of both excerpts!
Hugs and happy reading,
Lucy
http://lucymonroe.com/contactmail.htm
The Forests of the Éan, Highlands of Scotland
1144 AD, Reign of Dabíd mac Maíl Choluim, King of Scots and the Reign of Prince Eirik Taran Gra Gealach, Ruler of the Éan
Una stood in shock, terror coursing through her like fire in her veins, burning away reason, destroying the façade of peace she had worked so hard to foster for the past five years.
Her eagle screamed to be released. She wanted to take to the skies and fly as far as her wings could carry her until the sun sank over the waters and the moon rose and set again in the sky.
The high priestess, Anya Gra, smiled on the assembled Éan like she had not just made a pronouncement that could well spell their doom.
Faol were coming here? To the forest of the Éan? To their homeland kept secret for generations? Kept secret for very good reason.
Reason Una had learned to appreciate to the very marrow of her bones five years before.
“No,” she whispered into air laden with smoke from the feast’s cooking fires. “This cannot be.”
Other noises of dissent sounded around her, but her mind could not take them in. It was too busy replaying images she’d tried to bury under years of proper and obedient behavior. Years of not taking chances and staying far away from the human clans that had once intrigued her so.
She’d even avoided Lais, one of the few other eagle shifters among her people. Because he’d come from the outside. From the clan of the Donegal, the clan that spawned devils who called themselves men.
She’d not spoken to him once in the three years he’d lived among their people.
The grumbling around Una grew to such a level, even her own tormented thoughts could not keep it out.
For the first time in her memory, the Éan of their tribe looked on their high priestess with disfavor. Many outright glared at the woman whose face might be lined with age, but maintained a translucent beauty that proclaimed her both princess and spiritual leader.
Others were yelling their displeasure toward the prince of the people, but their monarch let no emotion show on his handsome, though young, features. He merely looked on, his expression stoic, his thoughts hidden behind his amber gaze.
The dissension grew more heated. This was unheard of. In any other circumstance, Una would have been appalled by the behavior of her fellow Chrechte, but not this day.
She hoped beyond hope that the anger and dissent would sway their leaders toward reason.
“Enough!” The prince’s bellow was loud and commanding despite the fact he was only a few summers older than Una.
Silence fell like the blacksmith’s anvil.
Emotion showed now, his amber eyes glowing like the sacred stone during a ceremony. “We have had the Faol among us on many occasions these past three years.”
Those wolves had only come to visit. Una, and many like her—justifiably frightened by the race that had done so much to eradicate their own—had stayed away from the visitors. She’d avoided all contact and had not stolen so much as a peek at any of them.
Not like when she was younger and let her curiosity rule her common sense.
But Anya Gra said these ones, these emissaries from the Sinclair, Balmoral and Donegal clans, would live among the Éan for the foreseeable future.
Live. Among. Them. With no end in sight.
Una’s breath grew shorter as panic clawed at her insides with the sharpness of her eagle’s talons.
“It is time the Chrechte brethren are reunited.” Prince Eirik’s tone brooked no argument. “It has been foretold this is the only chance for our people to survive as a race. Do you suddenly doubt the visions of your high priestess?”
Many shook their head, but not Una. Because for the first time in her life, she did doubt the wisdom of the woman who had led their people spiritually since before Una was born.
“Emissaries are coming to live among us, to learn our ways and teach us the way of the Faol.” This time it was another of the royal family who spoke, the head healer. “We will all benefit.”
“We know the way of the Faol,” one brave soul shouted out. “They kill, maim and destroy the Éan. That is the way of the Faol.”
“Not these wolves. The Balmoral, the Sinclair, and the Donegal lairds are as committed to keeping our people safe as I am.” The prince’s tone rang with sincerity.
The man believed his own words. That was clear.
But Una couldn’t bring herself to do so. No wolf would ever care for the Éan as a true brother. It was not in their violent, often sadistic and deceitful natures.
“It is only a few among the Faol today who would harm our people. Far more would see us joined with the clans for our safety and all our advantage.”
Join with the clans? Who had conceived of that horrific notion? First they were talking about having wolves come to live among them and now their leaders were mentioning leaving the forest so the Éan could join the clans?
Una’s eagle fought for control, the desperate need to get away growing with each of her rapid heartbeats.
“In the future, we will have no choice,” Anya Gra said, as if reading Una’s mind. “But for this moment in time, we must only make these few trustworthy wolves welcome among us.”
Only? There was no only about it. This thing the royal family asked, it was monumental. Beyond terrifying.
It was impossible.
“You ask too much.” The sound of Una’s father’s voice brought a mixture of emotions, as it always did.
Guilt. Grief. Relief. Safety.
Stooped from the grievous wound he had received at the hands of the Faol when rescuing Una from their clutches, he nevertheless made an imposing figure as he pushed his way toward the prince and priestess.
The leather patch covering the eye he’d lost in the same battle gave her father a sinister air she knew to be false. He was the best of men.
And forever marred by wounds that would never allow him to take to the skies again…because of her.
“You ask us to make welcome those who did this,” he gestured toward himself in a way he would never usually do.
He ignored his disfigurements and expected others to do the same.
“Nay.” The prince’s arrogant stance was far beyond his years, but entirely fitting his station as the leader of their people. “I demand you make welcome wolves who would die to protect you from anything like that happening again.”
“Die, for the likes of me?” her father scoffed. “That would be a fine day, indeed, would it not? When a wolf would die to protect a bird.”
“Do you doubt my desire to protect you and all of my people?” the prince demanded, a flicker of vulnerability quickly gone from his amber eyes.
“Nay. My prince, you love us as your father did before you. But this? This risk you would take with all our safety, it is foolishness.”
Suddenly Anya Gra was standing right in front of Una’s father, her expression livid, no desire for conciliation in evidence at all. “Fionn, son of Micael, You dare call me foolish?”
Oh, the woman was beyond angry. Even more furious than Una’s father had a wont to get.
“Nay, Priestess. Your wisdom has guided our people for many long years.”
“Then, it is my visions you doubt,” the celi di accused with no less fury in her tone.
Una’s father shook his head vigorously. “Your visions have always been right and true.”
“Then you, and all those who stand before me today,” she said, including everyone at the feast with her sharp raven’s stare. “All of my people will give these wolves a chance to prove that not every Faol would murder us in our sleep.”
“And if you are wrong? If they turn on us?” her father dared to question.
Una’s respect for her parent grew. It took great strength to stand up to Anya Gra, spiritual leader and one of the oldest among them.
“Then I will cast my fire and destroy their clans without mercy,” the prince promised in a tone no one, even her stalwart father, could deny.
Her father nodded, though he looked no happier at the assurance. “Aye, that’s the right of it then.”
Prince Eirik let his gaze encompass the whole of their community, his expression one of unequivocal certainty. “I will always protect my people to the best of my ability. Welcoming these honorable men is part of that.”
Una noted how he continued to push forth the message that these wolves were good men, trustworthy and honorable.
He was her prince and she should believe him.
But she couldn’t.