Abhainn's Kiss Read online

  Mícheál eyed the sky with suspicion. “If you say so,” he muttered.

  Abhainn huddled, shivering, near the bow of the little boat, which lay beached well out of reach of high tide. Even so, at the slap of a big wave hitting the shoreline, she squeezed her eyes shut, hiccupped and edged her bare feet still farther inland. She clutched her cloak about her. The magical wool normally kept her warm as a tea cozy on the coldest of nights, but now, closer to the sea than she had ever dared step before, she felt as if nothing would never warm her again.

  How am I to journey all the way to Avalon when I cannot bring myself to go near the ocean? Her hand closed over the small pouch that held the Asrai crystal, keeper of her people’s memories. She hiccupped. I must.

  “My boat’s in pieces,” Mícheál gritted out. “And this one’s not much better. Now what? I don’t suppose you have a magic wand or a spell to fix it?”

  Nuala ignored him with a visible effort. “We will call for aid from the Selchies,” Nuala decided.

  Mícheál ran a hand over his hair. “They left hours ago to carry a message to…your leader. Whatever her name is.”

  Nuala stretched up on her toes and whacked him soundly on the back of the head. Despite her terror, Abhainn stuffed her fist into her mouth to keep from giggling at Mícheál’s annoyed expression.

  “Try to show a shred of respect, fool. Think you the Lady would have left this island completely unguarded? The Selchies have aye better things to do protecting this island than listen to you blether on. Who do you think will guide you back through the mists?” She turned to Abhainn, her features softening in something very like pity.

  “Come, child. Told you I have the ways of the Selchies. I am old and have no tears left to shed; at least, none strong enough for them to hear. It is yours we need.”

  “Tears?” Mícheál queried, eyes narrowing.

  Nuala’s work-worn, leathery hands enveloped Abhainn’s cold ones and pulled her to her feet. Shards of fear rattled clear down to her bones as the older woman led her, step by unsteady step, toward the water. Hiccup.

  A warm, solid arm slid across her upper chest, effectively barring her way. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Abhainn gripped his arm and pulled free. “No, Mícheál! I must shed seven tears into the water. Then the Selchies will come for us.”

  Mícheál turned on Nuala. “And you’re going to let her risk her life for a few tears?”

  Nuala drilled him with a scornful look. “Do you have them ready to shed?”

  Mícheál’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw tight. His arm fell away.

  Nuala sniffed. “I thought not. Come, child.”

  The world tilted and Abhainn found herself swept up in Mícheál’s arms. His voice rumbled in his chest, next to her ear. “The next big wave will knock the both of you down. Stand aside, woman.” He waded into the surf up to his knees. She felt Nuala’s hand still clinging to one of her feet, just in case.

  Against the side of her face, Mícheál’s heart thudded. She closed her eyes and listened.

  Oh yes, Mícheál, there are tears unshed in this heart. Enough to raise this ocean. You won’t miss a few.

  Abhainn silently drew seven tears from his soul. When they trembled on the edges of her lashes, she turned her face to the sea and released them into the water.

  In moments, three gray-brown seals popped their heads out of the water. They dove under the surface, and when they came up again, three tall, brown-skinned Selchie males rose from the sea and stepped smoothly to shore. To the casual eye they now looked like any other human-like Fae, save for the smallish ears and the liquid-black eyes of their sealish form.

  “Whoa,” murmured Mícheál’s, wonderstruck.

  As he carried her back up the beach to the boat, Abhainn felt his fingers moving experimentally on the soft woolen cloak she wore. After he set her on her feet, his hands lingered on it, testing a corner of it and bringing it closer for examination.

  “This is the same stuff that was sent to my factory…” he began, then paused, searching her eyes. “Did you send it to me?”

  “No. The Selchies come with each moon to take away our spinning work. I have never known where it goes. The Lady is wise. She must have known that one day we would have need of you.” Abhainn looked into his eyes and saw another piece of his grown-up armor chipped away. She slid one hand over his. “It seems you have been part of this from the beginning.” she whispered.

  Nuala, who had been negotiating with the Selchies, turned to them and beckoned. “Come,” she called. “They will take you through the mists on one condition. That you,” she jabbed a finger at Mícheál, “swear on pain of death to say nothing about what you see.” The Selchies, tall, silent and imposing, looked down their long noses at the human in their midst.

  “Whatever. Let’s get this show on the road.” He lifted Abhainn into the curragh and shoved the broken mast clear. She huddled on the hard wooden seat. Panic squeezed her heart as the Selchies brushed him aside, lifted the craft and began carrying it toward the water. She saw Nuala pull on Mícheál’s arm to get his attention. Over the pounding surf and her own fear, she strained to hear what her mother was clearly admonishing Mícheál to do.

  Nuala thrust a bulging sack and a long bundle into his hands.

  “I need not tell you,” she said, her voice low and urgent, “to keep her away from running water. Don’t look at me like that, boy. Abhainn knows nothing of the world outside this protected island. She is used to having her freedom, like all Fae peoples. Keeping her safe is going to be more difficult than you think.”

  With an uneasy glance at the retreating boat, in which Abhainn looked even smaller than she was, Michael took the sack from Nuala and opened his own rucksack to stuff it inside. She thrust a much folded piece of parchment at him.

  “This is a map that shows you where the Holy Isle will appear out of the mists at the next full moon. I have not been in your world for many years, but I assume the island of Holyhead is still there?”

  Michael opened the map and examined it briefly, nodding. “Once we make landfall, all we have to do is get to Dun Laoghaire and catch a ferry.”

  Nuala scowled. “I put no faith in the contraptions of men. If it comes down to it, summon the Selchies again.”

  He refolded the map and stuffed it in his shirt. “Mmm, yes, I’m sure they’ll enjoy that,” he said sarcastically.

  “The sack contains bread and water.”

  “Thanks. I haven’t eaten since…”

  “It’s not for you, fool!” Nuala snapped.

  “Of course it isn’t,” he agreed dryly, holding his palms up in a hands-off attitude.

  “The water is from the spring at the base of the circle’s head stone. Should she become ill, use this to cure her. The medicines of your world will do nothing for her. The bread is made with fennel seed.”

  Michael sniffed and coughed. “It smells like mothballs.”

  She helped him finished fastening his pack closed. “It will repel all manner of nasty little dark Fae. Use it wisely and don’t get it wet.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  She ignored his sarcasm and shoved the long bundle into his hands. “Do your best not to hurt anyone with this.”

  Michael unwrapped a corner of it. Dull, rusted metal gleamed dimly under the overcast skies. “A sword?”

  “Don’t thank me. It’s probably almost as useless as you are. But it may come in handy if you manage to muck things up, which you probably will.” Nuala sniffed and turned away to say goodbye to her daughter.

  Michael caught the unmistakable sheen in her eyes before she turned away.

  He touched her arm, stopping her briefly. “She’ll be safe with me. I promise.”

  Nuala drilled him with a stare. “You know nothing of what awaits you, human. Try to pay attention now.” She began ticking off on her fingers. “We do not know how long the strength you gave her through your kiss will hold. You should kiss her before sunr
ise each day, until you reach Avalon.”

  He grinned. “Not a problem, ma’am.”

  “When you get to Avalon, keep your clumsy human feet out of the Sacred Circle. If you get swept away in the Faery dance, you will be of no use at all. Not to mention that if you lose yourself in the dance yet somehow manage to escape, centuries of your time will have gone by before you return home. Everything you know will have passed out of memory.”

  “Not a problem there, either. I can’t dance worth a damn.”

  For once she had no retort for him. Only tear-filled eyes. She pulled his ear closer, her voice low so Abhainn wouldn’t hear. “You must reach Avalon before the next full moon, when the gathering is to take place. If Abhainn…if she does not live to see the full moon, take the crystal she wears to the Lady. Perhaps the Old Ones will be appeased and agree to continue their efforts to heal the human world.” She released him and Michael thought he heard her add, “Though I doubt it.”

  The eerie wails and screeches began moments after their curragh emerged on the other side of the mists. Starlight glinted off the glossy heads of the Selchies, who towed the boat so hard the ropes they held in their mouths groaned with the strain.

  From her position secure under Mícheál’s left arm, Abhainn felt him lean back and look up. “I could have sworn it was barely noon when we left the island,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the thumps of the hull on the choppy water. “Look at the horizon…it’s almost dawn.”

  “Time is different on your side,” she answered, trailing off as the unearthly noises pierced the wind.

  “What the hell…”

  The lead Selchie turned its head and squealed at them between teeth clenched around the rope.

  “What did it say?” said Mícheál as his hands strayed to the wrapped sword. He edged it out of her line of sight, but slight movements of his shoulder told her he was attempting to unwrap it without her noticing.

  “Hic. Tempestaries! Hic.” She tried to control the hiccups that always accompanied any stab of fear, but despite clamping her hands over her mouth, the annoying spasms worsened.

  “What are those?”

  “You will find out soon enough,” barked a new voice, right behind them.

  Abhainn squeaked and Mícheál sprang up, ripped the rusted sword from its wrapping and whirled, his momentum almost carrying him over the side. The rusty voice turned out to be the lead Selchie, who clamped a web-fingered hand onto Mícheál’s arm, simultaneously protecting himself from the blade and keeping Mícheál from falling out of the boat.

  “Sit down, human,” it growled. “Before you hurt yourself.”

  Abhainn clutched his arm. “Listen to him, Mícheál!” She felt tension vibrating through his body. “This is no game like we played when we were small! The dragons are real this time!”

  Before her last words were out of her mouth, the waters around them heaved, then tossed up a half dozen green-black, bat-winged creatures with long claws and even longer teeth. In the next instant, dozens of Selchie-seals, orcas, dolphins and other finned and scaled creatures formed a shining-wet wall of defense around and over-leaping the curragh.

  Abhainn found herself squashed in the bottom of the boat, her back pressed down by Mícheál’s chest, one of his arms clamped tight around her and the other jerking savagely as he stabbed out with the sword, fending off something shrieking and smelly. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw the lead Selchie’s feet on either side of them, shielding them both.

  Water poured in from all sides. She sputtered and coughed as the curragh, incredibly, picked up even more speed, bobbing wildly as the Selchies pulling it dodged and rolled.

  Thump!

  The curragh’s forward motion stopped so abruptly, she and Mícheál flew forward and out over the bow, helped along by the lead Selchie, who had handfuls of their clothing. His grip prevented them from grinding their faces into the stony beach when they landed.

  “Go!” he roared, shoving them. “Get above the tide-line! You’ll be safe there!”

  Mícheál picked her up under his arm like a child’s toy and took off at a dead run up the beach, no questions asked. Abhainn, her breath bumping in and out in time to Mícheál’s stride, risked a glance backward.

  She shut her eyes against the sight of red-stained water and the upended curragh sinking into the sea, with a huge bite out of the hull right where she and Mícheál had been crouching.

  As quickly as the attack had erupted, all fell to silence, leaving her and Mícheál alone in the grey light of dawn.

  He sat down hard on the sand, staring at the rusty and now bloody sword in his hand.

  “I swore to myself I’d never do anything like that again,” he said quietly. “In my world or any other.”

  He drew a deep breath and looked up at her, eyes dark. “Are you all right?”

  She went to her knees beside him, pushing a handful of errant hair out of her eyes. She opened her mouth to assure him she was well, but only a watery gurgle came out.

  As one, their gazes turned to the brightening horizon. A sliver of sun peeked above the rim of the world.

  “Uh oh.” Mícheál dropped the sword, pulled her into his lap and kissed her hard.

  She forgot to close her eyes. And so, she observed, had he. He kept one eye on her and the other on the rising sun.

  Her heart beat faster and faster, and she wondered if it was because of the change trying to take place within her, or because of the heat of his body pressed against hers. His faced blurred and she hiccupped a mouthful of water. Her insides weakened and sloshed with every breath. She tore her mouth away and gasped his name.

  He swore, cradled her head in his hands and kissed her again. Deeper this time. Angling his head to open her mouth and delve deep with his tongue, as if he could somehow use it to pull her back from the brink. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on tight, toes digging into the gravelly beach that would not hold her if she dissolved.

  There!

  His strength flowed into her, filling her being and setting everything to rights. She drank him in, kept on, even after she was sure the danger was past. Something wild took hold of her, set a fire low in her belly that she’d never felt before.

  She squirmed against the feeling, and Mícheál’s deep groan of response reverberated in her delicate ears. Suddenly he took her by both arms and set her away. A protest sprang to her swollen lips, but it changed to a slow, awakening delight as she watched his face.

  He seemed to be having trouble opening his eyes.

  As surely as she felt his strength and calm settling into her bones, she sensed more than a little of her Fae magic seeping into his being.

  And he didn’t quite know what to do with it yet.

  Chapter Six

  By the time they reached his rental car, still parked on a side street near Kilmore Quay, Michael had a firm hold on Abhainn’s hand to keep her from wandering off for the hundredth time. Every other step, it seemed, she was darting off to look at some new wonder that in her world she had never encountered.

  His first stop had been a tourist shop, and she now sported a pair of child-sized jeans and a garish green sweatshirt with EIRE emblazoned across the front, sleeves rolled up several times over so her hands would be free. She’d turned her nose up at shoes entirely. He was beginning to wish he’d bought a child leash along with the clothing.

  Though he had hidden her bright hair and pointed ears under a Carolina Panthers baseball cap from his rucksack, there wasn’t much to be done to disguise her sun-on-green-water eyes, which sparkled with relentless curiosity and smiled at everyone they passed on the village streets.

  Wherever she cast her brilliant eyes, a spell seemed to fall. By the time they had reached the end of the single street with its rainbow row of neat buildings, the local shopkeepers had them well-supplied with food. A few extra scones here, a bag of apples there. In their wake trailed a hoard of entranced children who would not be shooed until Abhainn
had kissed each one on the forehead.

  He marveled at her ability to completely put aside the gravity of her quest and simply enjoy the moment.

  Finally, at the car, he let go of her hand, placed his hands on her shoulders and held her still. “Do you think you can manage to stay in once place for thirty seconds?”

  Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Of course I can! Oh, look…” She touched the front of his shirt. “You’ve got Spriggan spit on you.”

  He looked down at a new brown stain that he was pretty sure hadn’t been there before. It didn’t smell too pretty, either. Any other day, he would have assumed he’d dropped food on himself.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement near the car’s front tire. But when he turned his head to follow the movement, it was gone. He shook his head. Ever since dawn, when he’d kissed her a second time, he had been plagued by these edge-of-peripheral-vision flickers.

  Muttering to himself, he opened the passenger door, threw his rucksack in the back seat and got in, scooting across to the driver’s side. “Get in,” he called as he started the engine.

  Abhainn jumped backward, eyes wide, hiccupping. He leaned over so he could catch her eyes. “It’s all right! It’s called a car. It will take us where we need to go a lot faster than the Selchies can swim. Believe me.”

  Her face brightened. Pulling her cap down more securely over her ears, she stepped forward and placed a hand on the door frame.

  Instantly she cried out and jumped backward again, holding her hand as if it had been burned.

  Simultaneously, the engine died.

  Ignoring the engine for now, Michael scrambled out of the car. “What’s wrong?”

  Whimpering a little, she showed him her hand. A large red blister scored her palm.

  “It is made of iron!” she cried. “Faeries cannot abide it!”

  “You mean you’re allergic to metal?” Oh, great. Now what?

  “Not all metal,” she said, “Not copper or bronze. But iron…” she shuddered. “Still have you the flagon of water Nuala gave you?”