Ain't Myth-Behaving E-Book

Katie MacAlister

• Herausgeber: Black Cat Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

A modern woman and a god from ancient legend? Surely an epic love mismatch…or maybe it’s the “myth match” of the century? The irrepressible Katie MacAlister brings us heroes who are more than mere mortals in two sparkling new novellas of the Otherworld.
STAG PARTY
Dane Hearne—also known as the Irish fertility god Cernunnos—must choose a bride quickly. His long-time goddess has run off with a salsa dancer, and Dane must be married by Beltane, just a week away, or become a mortal—and die. When he meets American travel writer Megan St. Clair, he knows he’s found his soul mate. But while Dane is a sexy Irish hunk with his fair share of blarney, can he convince Megan to marry him in just one week?
NORSE TRULY
Alrik Sigurdsson is cursed to sail his Viking ship along the same stretch of Scandinavian coastline forever. So when lovely American Brynna Lund skids her car off the road into the ocean, he and his men are happy for the diversion of rescuing her. Then Alrik discovers that Brynna is the only woman who can break the curse. Is it any wonder that he’s determined to keep her…forever?

Leseprobe

AIN’T MYTH-BEHAVING

A Paranormal Anthology

Katie MacAlister

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events  or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2007, 2021 by Katie MacAlister

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Ain't Myth-Behaving

STAG PARTY

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Epilogue

NORSE TRULY

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Epilogue

NOTE TO READERS

ABOUT KATIE

OTHER BOOKS BY KATIE MACALISTER

Once again I owe tusen tack to my friend Tobias Barlind for his Swedish translations and endless help. I’d also like to thank my late boy dog Zinga, who steadfastly snored beside me the entire time I was romping around my own versions of Ireland and Sweden.

Contents

Stag Party

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Epilogue

––––––––

Norse Truly

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Epilogue

Note to Readers

About Katie

Other Books by Katie

STAG PARTY

One

“My lord, do you not think...”

“Eh? What’s that? Speak up, Stewart, you’re positively mumbling.”

Stewart the steward (we have many a good laugh over that) looked pointedly at the stone statue in front of me. “My lord—”

I held up my free hand. “Please, not you, too. It’s bad enough having ‘Most gracious lord this’ and ‘Oh worshipful lord that’ coming from the druids, but you’ve known me for...phew,  how many years now? Three hundred? Four?”

“Five hundred and twelve,” the little man answered, wincing as I scratched my belly and sighed with relief. “I’ve always called you my lord. If not that, what do you wish me to call you?”

“Didn’t we go through this last year? It’s Hearne. Dane Hearne. Know it, use it, love it.”

“Aye, my...Mr. Hearne. But...eh...is that not a bit sacrilegious?”

“Not in the least. It’s the name I was born with. Well...in a manner of speaking. People didn’t much go in for surnames back then, but that’s what it would have been if they had. Nowadays, people hardly ever use my proper name. I almost forgot what it was myself until a few months ago, when I ran across an interesting online article about me.”

“No, not your name. Er...that.” He nodded to the statue in front of us.

I looked with dissatisfaction at it. “Sacrilegious because the artist depicted Taranis as standing astride the world in a position of power when we know him to be a cowardly little wimp, you mean?”

Stewart closed his eyes a moment. “No, my lo—sir. I meant the fact that you’re urinating on it. Taranis is, after all, your overlord, head of all the Irish gods.”

“On the contrary, I find it remarkably stress-relieving. It expresses my true inner feelings about that bastard.” I punctuated the word I had written on the statue with an exclamation point before zipping up. I stretched and glanced around the yard. “So, what’s been happening while I’ve been gone? Buildings look good. I see you’ve had the verge mown. The druids seem to be multiplying, though. Did you speak to them, as I asked? And why the blazes did Taranis wait until now to have me summoned?”

Stewart was a short man. Proud, and of noble birth—if on the wrong side of the blanket—but lacking in the general region of height. He trotted alongside me as I strolled around the grounds, eyeing the large square tower that made up one of two habitable parts of the castle. The tower looked as solid as ever. There was a hint of moss growing on the north side, but other than that, it looked good. Remarkable, really, considering it was barely older than Stewart.

“Er...I have no idea. I was told there was a delay. As for the druids, I tried, Mr. Hearne.”

“Dane. Surely after all those long centuries of employment, you can call me Dane?”

His little round face looked vaguely shocked. “I couldn’t do that, sir. It wouldn’t be fitting. You are, after all, Cernunnos.”

“Stewart, Stewart, still living in the twelfth century.” I shook my head as I strode past the carriage house where the druids were housed, counting no fewer than three new faces in the group that was dancing around a willow tree.

“I was born in the thirteenth century, sir—”

“Doesn’t matter.” I waved a hand at the splotches of yellow that cascaded over the crumbled stones that made up the ruined part of the castle. “Those yellow blobs there, those flowers. Just look at them!”

“Daffodils, sir.”

We marched past the flower-splattered mossy ruins, following the narrow trail down to the rocky beach that dropped abruptly into the sea. “Whatever they are, they’re positively bursting with life force! It’s spring, man, the time of birth and rejuvenation and life! The time to celebrate being alive, not fussing around with archaic ideas and outmoded methods of speech. Live in the here and now, that’s my motto, and it’s never let me down. Where’s Fidencia?”

“Er...she’s not here, sir.” Stewart skidded down the last of the path, and kept from falling by clutching the root of an uprooted tree that had washed ashore a few years ago.

I hopped over the tree and walked to the water’s edge, breathing deeply of the fresh salt air. My position might be tied to shady woodland areas, but it was the sea I loved best. The relentless roar of the waves, the sharp tang of salty air, the piercing cry of gulls and terns as they etched great arcs into the sky—ah, yes, it was the sea that I returned to each time I was born, and it was the loss of the sea I mourned each winter when I died.

The sea air brushed away a few of the mental cobwebs that always remained after rebirth, and I turned from the view of my beloved sea to glance at Stewart. He was looking distinctly uncomfortable, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. “What’s the matter with you?” I asked, feeling a momentary spike of concern. Stewart had been with me so many centuries, I couldn’t imagine how I would cope without him. Had someone wooed him away from my employment while I was gone?

“It’s Lady Fidencia.”

“What about her? Don’t tell me that she’s broken that thing we started a couple of years ago. What was it?”

“A credit limit?”

“Don’t tell me she blasted through that credit limit and bankrupted me again? I distinctly remember you telling me she couldn’t do that anymore.”

“No, sir, she has not exceeded the limit you put on her credit card—at least I don’t believe she has; I haven’t seen the statements for this month yet. It’s something of a different nature that I believe will interest you.”

I turned back to the sea, allowing its ebb and flow to soak into my soul. “I sincerely doubt that. Fidencia is so caught up in herself, she never has time for anyone else, let alone her lord and master. What’s she done now? Started another artists’ colony? Gone to those monks in Nepal to learn meditation again? Decided to breed more pygmy goats?”

“Alas, she hasn’t, sir. She’s...er...”

“Spit it out, man,” I told him, not taking my eyes from the breathtaking expanse before me. It amused me to try to find the point on the horizon where the steel gray of the sea merged into the gray of the sky.

“She’s gone to South America, married another god who is now a Brazilian salsa dancer, and is going to be expecting a Happy Event sometime in the near future,” he said in a rush.

My blood seemed to turn to fire in my veins. I turned slowly to look at the steward. He had backed away a few steps as if he was about to bolt. “She what?”

He jerked at the bellow, the birds above us scattering with harsh cries of protest. I was on him in two steps, the blood pounding so loudly in my ears that it blocked the sound of the sea. The pressure in my head built until it burst forth, another roar of anger sounding against the crash of the waves. “She married someone? She can’t marry someone, she’s supposed to marry me in a week! She’s gone and impregnated herself with some other man’s child? She can’t do that! I forbid her to be pregnant! I forbid her to be married!”

“You’re...strangling me...sir...” Stewart’s raspy voice pierced the roar in my ears. My eyes focused on his face, turning red as I held him by his neck two feet off the ground.

“Blast! My apologies, Stewart.” I set him down carefully, straightening his tie and jacket, and watching him closely to make sure he wasn’t going to swoon. “You all right?”

“Yes, sir,” he squeaked, tugging at his tie. He eyed my forehead with a look of great caution. “You seem to be manifesting. Shall I fetch the swords?”

I waved away the offer. “No, no, there’s no need for me to work off anger through fencing anymore. There was a new yoga instructor in my department. I spent the entire time I was dead working on anger management skills. Just let me get control again, and then you can tell me what the hell Fidencia is up to now.”

Stewart looked away as I turned back to the sea, driving all thoughts from my mind but the calming rhythm of the waves. A few minutes later I was myself again, and tapped him on the shoulder before starting back toward the tower. “I think this is going to require a drink.”

“Several, I would imagine.”

“Take it from the beginning,” I said as we walked into my study at the top of the tower. I poured brandy into a couple of glasses, sliding one toward him before moving to the window overlooking the rocky beach. The uneven stone surface that made up the entire tower was cool to the touch—it always was, no matter how hot the day. I gripped the stone windowsill, my eyes on the gray sea below.

“It was just after you left for the Underworld that she called from Rio de Janeiro. She said that she had fallen in love with Dionysus.”

“Dionysus?” The named seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“Better known as Bacchus, sir. Lord of wine and celebration. Evidently Dionysus joined a twelve-step program, has gone on the wagon, and became a salsa dancer at a hotel, which is where Lady Fidencia met him. She called soon after you died to say that she was in love, was going to marry him and go to Rio to live la vida loca.”

I cast a frown over my shoulder at him. “She’s living what?”

He made a little gesture that had his brandy splashing in his glass. “La vida loca. I looked it up on the Internet. Evidently it’s from a popular song. It means living the crazy life.”

“Life here wasn’t crazy enough for her?” I asked, indignant at the thought that she felt the life I offered was lacking in any way. “She doesn’t think being surrounded by neo-druids for half the year and hyperactive fitness instructors and televangelists for the other half isn’t crazy? She’d have to be insane not to find that crazy!”

Stewart shrugged and sipped his brandy.

“This isn’t good.” I jerked the chair out from behind my desk and slumped into it. “Beltane is a week away. You know what that means—Taranis will be chomping at the bit to get a replacement for me in here. Well, I’m not going to let that happen. Get Fidencia on the phone. Maybe this is some sort of ploy to get her credit limit raised.”

Stewart rose to do as I requested, but the look on his face had me worried.

He moved to the desk in the alcove that used to be a fireplace, but which was now his office space. The tower walls were several feet thick, made of local stone quarried a few miles from the castle. I looked around my study, wishing I’d had the good sense in the thirteenth century to panel the walls with wood instead of taking the advice of the local castle builder. Although the tower was the only original part of the castle to remain standing, it always had a slightly damp feel, as if the stones leeched the constant spray of water that beset the outer walls.

“Someone is going to fetch her,” Stewart said, his hand over the mouth of the telephone.

I grunted and turned on the laptop on my desk, sullenly prodding a couple of buttons until the current week’s schedule was displayed. “This is just what I need the second I’m reborn—a faithless consort, possible dispossession, and oh, joy of joys, what’s this? Tourists? We never open the castle until June. Why does it say that we’re booked for ten days starting tomorrow?”

“Sim, sim, Senhora Fidencia, por favor.” Stewart covered the mouthpiece again. “I was going to tell you about that. We had an offer I didn’t think you would want to refuse from one of those American travel websites. They’re running an international contest for their top travel writers, and they needed several historical sites to serve as subject matter. You should be flattered they chose Bannon Castle—they skipped several others in the county. They’ll only be here for ten days, and the money is quite good. You said before you went underground that the roof needed repair, and you didn’t know where you were going to find the money for it—I thought this was a blessing in disguise.”

I frowned and waved away his idea of a blessing. “But they will be here before Beltane! You know how disturbing I find tourists—always getting underfoot, asking questions, wanting their pictures taken with me, coveting my manly body, that sort of thing. That’s why Fidencia and I go away during the summer—so we won’t be bothered by them. How many rooms are they taking?”

“Just two. There’s a writer who has been assigned the castle and surrounding area, a cameraman to film her, and a sound engineer. The last two are a couple, so I thought we could put them in the carriage house, and let the writer have the Tudor Room for the atmosphere. Sim? Ah. Obrigato.”

“And just how are we going to explain about the druids?” I asked, exiting the schedule program with a sour expression. I disliked having my well-laid plans put awry, and now I was facing endless upheaval. “The celebration is coming up, and you know how they get—everything’s a sacrifice or a ceremony, most of them conducted with no clothing on, and many involving sexual congress. Debauchery and pagan ceremonies is hardly how I want Bannon Castle depicted to the world.”

“I’ll talk to Elfwine and tell her to keep a low profile—good morning, Lady Fidencia. I have his lordship waiting to speak to you.” Stewart paused for a moment, a faint blush brightening his cheeks.

Silently, I picked up the phone on my desk and leaned back in the chair, unable to keep the smile from forming as Stewart was forced to listen to Fidencia’s recital of intimate woes stemming from her pregnancy.

I let her go on for a bit, but took pity on him when she got to the part about bathroom difficulties. “What sort of game are you playing now?” I asked, interrupting her. “You picked a hell of a bad time to do it—I need you back here immediately. Beltane is just a week away. We have to be married by then, as you well know.”

“Noony, darling!” Fidencia positively cooed into the phone. “What a delight it is to hear your forceful, one might almost say grating, voice again. How was the Underworld? Still filled with usurers and adulterers?”

I scowled at the photo on my desk, that of a long-limbed, dark-haired, sultry goddess poised seductively on a white fur rug. Noony. I hated that absurd nickname, which was no doubt why she used it. “There haven’t been usurers since the investment advisers fed them to the sharks. And as for adulterers—those who live in glass houses, my dear.”

Her laughter tinkled in a way that, for the three years I had been unaccountably smitten with her, delighted me, but now just made my teeth itch. My jaw tightened in response, causing my teeth to grind.

“Darling Noony! One can’t adulterate someone who isn’t one’s legal spouse. You died. Therefore, I was a widow and free to remarry as I liked.”

“It’s a symbolic death, as you very well know. Or you would know if you’d ever gone into the Underworld with me, as you were meant to do.”

“Once was enough,” she answered quickly, the shudder evident in her voice. “I’ve moved on since then. While you were moldering away in the Underworld, I was falling madly, wonderfully, totally, and completely in love with Dion. He asked me to marry him the very first night we met—at a samba contest, which naturally we won—and I just knew that he could offer me everything you couldn’t. It was kismet, darling, kismet.”

I ground my teeth some more, just for the hell of it. “You have no right to marry someone else. You agreed to the rules of the job, even if you’ve disregarded most of them. But you can’t just brush aside the fact that in a week’s time, we are to be married. I’m willing to overlook this indiscretion, just as I’ve overlooked all the other ones, but I won’t have you jeopardizing my job simply because you’ve had it off with some Latin boy toy.”

“He’s actually Greek, dear heart, but I wouldn’t expect you to know that. Dion gave up his licentious past, and has devoted himself heart and soul to salsa. And me, naturally. I can assure you that Dion is anything but a boy,” she purred. “And as for your job—I am sorry, darling, but I’ve decided to quit. I’ve found my true métier in life—to be a wife and mother—and nothing you can say or do will change my mind.”

“You can’t do this to me!” I yelled, ignoring the pressure in my forehead. “You know that Taranis has been breathing down my back for the last two hundred years! The instant he knows you’ve married someone else, he’ll take everything away from me and hand it to one of his minions!”

“I’m truly sorry, darling, but my mind is quite made up. There is nothing in the laws that say I have to be your wife—you’ll simply have to find someone else to marry you at Beltane.”

A few more layers of tooth enamel were ground off. “You can’t seriously expect me to find, court, and marry a woman in a week?”

“There once was a time, many centuries in the past, when you had something approaching charm,” she said thoughtfully. “I suggest you dust that off and use it. Otherwise...it’s been nice knowing you.”

The call continued in that vein for another agonizing fifteen minutes. I tried every argument I could to make her see reason, but she always was an unreasonable woman.

“Hellfire!” I swore, slamming down the phone. I then took great pleasure in jamming her photo into the trash, followed by a great many invectives.

“I take it the call did not proceed in a satisfactory manner?”

“No.” I stormed around the room for a moment, cursing Fidencia, cursing women in general, cursing the situation I found myself in. “After eleven hundred years, she suddenly decides I don’t offer her enough scope. Scope! What the hell does that mean, anyway?”

“I believe, sir, it means she feels her life is going nowhere, that marriage with you is stifling—”

One glare was enough to leave him mumbling an apology.

“As if anyone could stifle her! She’s the most unreasonable woman in existence, and I rue the day I ever saved her wretched neck by pulling her out of the sea before she drowned. The little witch has me by the balls good and proper. Well, I’ll just show her who is lacking in scope! There is no way in this world or the next I will give up my job to one of Taranis’s lackeys. Stewart! Round up every marriageable female you know. I’m going wife shopping!”

Two

“And this is Aoife, Lord Cernunnos,” Elfwine said the following day as a shy-looking girl with a broad, freckled face stepped forward and peeked at me over the top of her thick-rimmed glasses.

I frowned.

“Just barely eighteen,” Stewart whispered. “If that.”

I frowned more.

“Aoife is one of our newer ovate initiates. She comes from County Clare and will be going to university next month. Her interests are herbalism, art, and nature in its purest form. She is, naturally, a virgin. Aoife, dear, take off your robe so his lordship may see your physical being better.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I said quickly, holding up a hand to stop the virgin from stripping. “Quite charming, but as I mentioned, I’m looking for a woman with a bit more...experience than this young lady offers.”

“Experience?”

Elfwine’s formidable brows pulled together in a puzzled frown.

She was an elder in the order of druids that had shown up at my doorstep six centuries ago, claiming they existed solely to worship the lord of the forest: namely, me. Elfwine was a leader in the group that set up home in what had once been the castle’s inner ward. Although silver now streaked her black hair, she retained the forceful personality for which she was known. A few minutes with Elfwine always left me feeling like a bit of moss directly in the way of a rolling boulder—she had a way of sweeping everyone up before her, putting them inexorably on the path she desired. It was an uncomfortable feeling, one I avoided as much as possible by leaving Stewart to deal with her.

“How can a virgin be experienced?” she asked, fixing me with a gimlet eye. I had to steel myself not to take a step back.

“I never said my wife had to be a virgin, did I, Stewart?” I asked, desperately trying to foist her attention onto him.

Her steel-gray eyes gave Stewart a look that would have made the hair on a lesser man’s head stand on end, and I congratulated myself on my cunning ability to distract her. True, it wasn’t very sporting to offer Stewart up as a sacrifice, but I had much on my plate and little time to spend dodging Elfwine’s all-knowing gaze.

“No, you didn’t, sir, although you didn’t say she couldn’t be one, either,” Stewart answered, and damn him, her attention returned to me.

“You are Cernunnos, lord of the hunt, lord of the dead, lord of the forest,” Elfwine said slowly, each word striking me with the blow of a sledgehammer. “Nothing but a pure woman will do for your consort. You must have a virgin. As your devoted worshippers, as keepers of the wood of Cernunnos, it falls to us to provide for you, and provide we will. We currently have three virgins for you to look over. There were five—but an unfortunate brewing incident that led to unusually strong mead caused two girls to be stricken from the rolls.”

I took a step to the side, hoping to distract her long enough to make my escape.

“The three who are left are very nice girls, brought up to properly worship you. They know their place, are well seeped in druid lore, and all of them are willing to cast aside their worldly concerns to devote themselves wholly to you as your wife.”

Escape wasn’t going to happen. I straightened my shoulders and looked down my nose at her, arranging my expression into an intolerably lofty sneer. Elfwine had refused in the past to be intimidated by such pitiful tactics, but I had few weapons against her, and was forced to rely on what was at hand. “I haven’t had a virgin in the past, so I don’t see why I need one now.”

“You haven’t had one...” Her eyes showed astonishment for a moment as she chewed that bit of information over.

Stewart blew out a breath that sounded suspiciously as if he’d said, “Fidencia will have your balls for that.”

“Furthermore,” I said, raising my hand to stop her from speaking, “I find it nerve-racking to be around virgins. They’re either skittish and giggly, or lust-filled vixens who have an itch they want me to scratch simply because I’m Irish, lord of the woods, or just male, depending on their particular itch. I’m looking for a woman who will spend the rest of eternity with me, a woman of intellect as well as beauty. I do not need an untried teenager who has more knowledge of the latest boy band than what it means to be my goddess.”

I swear Elfwine seemed to grow. The air around her fairly vibrated as she took a deep breath. Stewart took three steps backward. I seriously considered running for the tower, but remembered in time who I was.

“You are Cernunnos!”

“Yes, but—”

“You are a god!”

“Just a minor one, really—”

“You are lord of the forest! Of the dead! Of fertility!”

“The last is purely an honorary title, to be perfectly frank—”

Her words chipped away at me like tiny sledgehammers. “You must have a virgin!”

Desperate times called for desperate measures. “Was that the phone?” I tipped my head toward the castle, pursing my lips. “I believe it is. We’ll have to continue this conversation another time, Elfwine. Or better yet, you talk it over with Stewart. That’s no doubt a very important call that I must take. Good morrow and all that.”

The look on Stewart’s face as I raced off to the tower would have wrung the heart of the sternest misanthrope, but I simply didn’t have the time to waste on the awkward, inept virgins Elfwine wished to thrust on me.

“You can run, my lord, but you cannot escape your fate.” Elfwine’s bellow followed me even as I ran around the stone tower, intent on gaining sanctuary. “You must have a virgin!”

“Over my dead body,” I muttered. Distracted by the thought of being stampeded by a herd of thundering virgins, as I rounded the corner to the front of the tower, I collided with something warm, soft, and extremely sweet smelling. An obstacle at my feet sent me falling forward onto the something, which gave a surprised squawk as we hit the ground.

Blue eyes gazed up at me in dazed astonishment, a blue like nothing I’d ever seen before—pure, glittering blue, almost cerulean, shining with a brightness that reminded me of a sapphire I’d once given Fidencia. I stared into the eyes, my brain grinding to a halt as I watched with fascination as the astonishment faded into quick-lived amusement, followed almost immediately by vague annoyance.

“You’re crushing me,” the owner of the eyes said in a charming American accent.

My lips stretched into a grin. An inane one, but for some reason I couldn’t stop staring into those lovely eyes. The body beneath me was soft and curved in enticing places...enough so that a primitive part of my brain sat up and took notice.

“Um...can you get off me now? Seriously, you’re crushing me. There’s a rock the size of Montana beneath my left shoulder, and it’s really starting to hurt.”

The face that went along with the eyes was equally entrancing. Eyebrows the color of dark amber honey arched upward, framed by a widow’s peak of dark blondish-brown hair that was the exact color of a satinwood bureau in my sitting room. Lightly freckled cheeks that were as silky as a mare’s bottom swept downward to a gently pointed chin, above which resided two rosy lips.

“Hello? Don’t they speak English here? HELLO? Get off me, you great lummox!”

The lips pursed for a moment; then the world shifted suddenly and I was on my back, staring up into a sky that was pale in comparison to the woman’s eyes.

“Christ on a handcar, I think one of my ribs is broken! What is wrong with you? I’m going to have bruises all over my back now. You know, a more litigious person than myself would consider a lawsuit for pain and suffering.”

Stewart’s face hove into view. “My lord, are you all right?”

“My lord?” the voice asked hesitantly. “You’re a lord? An Irish peer?”

The woman’s voice finally sank through to my brain. I sat up abruptly, smacking my head against Stewart’s. He staggered backward rubbing his head, but I leaped adroitly to my feet and endeavored to make up for the temporary lapse in my thought processes. “My apologies, dear lady. Are you injured? Should we call for a doctor? I didn’t see you standing there when I came around the corner, and unfortunately something tripped me before I could stop.”

“I think you gave me a concussion,” Stewart moaned from where he had collapsed against the tower wall.

“I’m fine now, thank you. Did you hit your head when we fell? You looked a bit stunned for a minute or two.” The woman’s brow wrinkled in concern as she examined my head for signs of injury.

“It was nothing, just a little bump on the head.” I mustered up another smile for her, one that I hoped displayed an urbane nonchalance tinged with a healthy appreciation for her beauty, grace, and overall wonderfulness.

Stewart’s voice drifted over to us. “I’m seeing double.”

“I’m Megan St. Clair,” she said, offering me her hand.

I took it in both of mine, feeling an inordinate rush of pleasure in its possession before a slight tug reminded me she would probably want it back. “And I am Dane Hearne.”

“I’m sick to my stomach,” came a faint voice.

She sent a startled glance over to where Stewart was sliding down the wall to the ground. “Is that man all right?”

“Stewart? Absolutely. He’s just winded—he’ll be fine in a moment or two.”

She tugged slightly on her hand. I tightened my fingers around it, not willing to give it up yet.

“You’re American?” She’d pronounced her name in the American fashion, Saint Clair. A memory clicked into place. “Ah...you must be the Yank travel writer who’s come to stay at the castle for a bit. Welcome to Castle Bannon.”

Another tug, this time a bit stronger, almost had me losing my grip. “Thank you. Yes, that’s me. You’re the owner of the castle? Is it Lord Dane Hearne?”

“No, no, that’s just one of Stewart’s little ways. It’s Dane, just Dane.”

“I see. Can I have my hand back, please, Dane?”

A slight tense note in her voice warned me that insisting on retaining it might lead to trouble. With reluctance, I relaxed my grip on her until her fingers slid from mine.

“I’m very excited to be here,” Megan continued, turning in a little circle to take in the grounds. “It’s my first time abroad, my first time in Ireland, and my first Irish castle. I’m a bit of a virgin, you might say,” she ended with a light laugh that was as golden as a late summer afternoon. It warmed me to my toes, spilling around and in me, lighting up all sorts of dark little corners of my soul. I felt almost drunk by her laughter, so heady was it.

“Indeed. I hope the deflowering wasn’t painful,” I said, reeling a bit from the smile she turned on me.

“Not at all, although the flight from the West Coast—I live in northern California—was a bit long. Could we...are our rooms ready?”

“We?” I asked, confused.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you haven’t met Pam and Derek. They will be filming my segments for GoWorld.”

Two people whom I hadn’t noticed standing behind her stepped forward. A young woman with short-cropped black hair, glasses, and a serious mien held out her hand with a murmured “Pam Russell. I’m the photographer.”

I shook her hand, as well as that of the slight, bearded man who was loaded down with bulky bags. He nodded, and said, “Derek Thompson. Sound.”

“Of course you all must be tired out by the journey. I think you two will find your room in the carriage house comfortable,” I said, waving to the building behind them. “Stewart will show you the room. Stewart!”

“Coming, sir.” Stewart stumbled over, still rubbing his head. He gave me a glare that was astonishing in its ferocity, but murmured all the correct things as he escorted the two travel people to their room.

“Your room,” I said, smiling at Megan as I gestured toward the tower, “is in the oldest standing structure of the castle.”

Her eyes widened as she gazed at me, some intangible spark igniting in the air around us. She blinked a couple of times, blushed, and looked away. “I’m sure it will be wonderful.”

“I have every intention of ensuring it will be,” I promised her, hoisting up her luggage and carrying it toward the door.

Her blush deepened, as if she knew I was speaking of something other than the accommodations.

Three

“Ah, there you are. Good man. We have work to do,” I said a little while later as Stewart entered my study.

“I’m just here to get some painkillers for this massive headache you’ve given me,” he answered as he went to his desk. “I’m not staying. I have things to do elsewhere.”

“Forget them,” I said as I strode across the room. I’d been pacing for the last five minutes, trying to make plans but being disturbed by the memories of Megan’s eyes...and lips, and hair, and the deliciously round curve of her ass as displayed in a pair of tan linen trousers. The sight of it moving in a wonderfully feminine way as she climbed the stairs ahead of me had kept me speechless in rapt appreciation until we’d reached the room assigned to her.

It had taken all my strength not to drop down on one knee and propose to her right then and there, but hindsight had taught me much through the centuries. No longer would I be swayed by the sight of a beautiful woman into immediate lust and an offer of marriage. Well...at least not the offer of marriage.

“This time,” I told Stewart, “things are going to be done differently.”

“They are?” he asked, picking up the bottle of headache tablets.

“Yes. I offered for Fidencia the moment she was done vomiting up river water, and just look where that got me. This time, I will be circumspect. I will investigate before I propose. I will make sure the woman is the right one for me, one I can spend eternity with. I will take things slowly.” I glanced at my watch. “As slowly as possible, given that I need to be married in six days. Three days for courtship, I think, three more for a general getting-to-know-you period that will include a determination of sexual compatibility, and then the last day for adjustment to her new role as my goddess. Yes, that should be plenty of time. I’d best get started on the courting right away.”

Stewart stared at me with his mouth hanging slightly open. “Courting? Marriage? What woman? You don’t mean the American?”

“Of course I mean Megan! Didn’t you see her? She’s prime goddess material! Those startling eyes, magnificent breasts, and her ass is a work of art. Add to that she’s literate—she’s a writer, after all—and has a sense of humor, and is obviously ready to fall into my arms.”

“She is?”

“She said she liked my accent, and she blushed when she said it. Oh, yes, she’s ripe for the plucking.”

“I...you...she...”

Stewart shook his head, winced, and poured out several pain tablets.

“That takes care of the basic pronoun situation, yes.” I said, striding past him as I put my thoughts in order. “The first thing is to check into her past. A private investigator, do you think? That’s so impersonal. I think I should do the investigating. I’ll simply work a few investigative questions into our conversations, and that will be that. Not only will it allow me to make sure Megan is the right woman, it will prove I’m interested in her. Women love it when you ask them about themselves.”

Stewart moaned and washed down his pills with a hefty splash of whiskey.

“You’re not going to get drunk now, are you?” I asked with a frown.

He eyed the whiskey bottle with a look I recognized.

“I need your wits as sharp as a battleax,” I said quickly, whisking away the bottle before he could take another swig from it. “You can get pissed another time. Right now your job is to keep the druids hidden from Megan and the film crew until I have a chance to explain how things are to her. And vice versa—no need to get Elfwine in a fury because there’s a woman present I want over her tree huggers. While you’re at it, you can put in a good word or two about me to Megan. Although it’s clear she’s already smitten with my manly Irish self, it won’t hurt for her to see that my staff adores me.”

Stewart stared at me with bleary, disbelieving eyes.

“Get to it, man! We don’t have much time to pull this off! Need I remind you that if I do not marry at Beltane, I will lose this position?”

“Yes, I know. That would be a terrible tragedy.” Stewart remained sitting, his expression showing anything but the stark horror such a hideous contingency should generate.

I leaned over his desk, saying very softly, “The real tragedy will be the manner in which Taranis’s replacement will wreak revenge on the staff left behind. You remember the man who was Neit, god of war, about two hundred years ago? Do you know what happened to his servants when Taranis replaced him?”

Stewart shook his head mutely, his eyes widening in apprehension.

“Let’s just say the things they did with a spoon and two egg cups guaranteed there would be no vengeful descendants pursuing them.”

“Erp,” he said, his legs tightening.

“I see you understand the truly hideous nature of the situation now,” I said before heading briskly for the door. “Off you go, then. I’ve offered to show Megan around the grounds so she can do some preliminary work on a feature about the castle. We should be back in time for supper.”

“But...Elfwine isn’t going to listen to me—” Stewart started to say, leaping up from his chair.

I closed the door on his protestations and quickly trotted down the spiral stone staircase that ran down the center of the tower. The upper floor had been given over to my private rooms, but the two lower floors held four guest rooms, while the ground floor held the living areas. I made a mental note to point out to Megan the cunning way I’d worked the castle’s original torture devices into the kitchen decor.

“Settled in? Comfortable? Finding the ambience impossible to resist?” I asked a minute later as she answered the knock on her door.

“Yes, very much so, and we’ll see,” she answered with a laugh as she left the room. “I appreciate your giving me the grand tour, Dane. I’m sure you have much more important things to do than drag a tourist around the grounds.”

“You wound me, dearling,” I said, putting a hand over my heart. “I can think of nothing I’d enjoy more.”

She paused on the top of the stairs leading to the ground floor, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “Darling?”

I smiled. Women like my smile. I’ve been told by several lasses that I have a particularly effective smile, that there is something about green eyes and black hair, not to mention dimples, that melts their knees. Or some such nonsense—all I know is that they seem to be particularly susceptible to a full-frontal smile. I put a little extra wattage into my smile and waited for Megan to swoon.

An annoyed look flickered in her eyes. “Are you all right? Are you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard this morning?”