The Hunter's Moon (25 page)

“Look away!” Granny said quickly. “Stop thinking about it! Time and space go awry near the fey folk.”

Even as they obeyed her the din of war receded, and the ghosts of the past dispelled like mist. But the castle did not return to ruins. Rather, it stood now as it had in its heyday.

Fully restored, finely pointed and mortared, the walls rose up to challenge the sky. Present also were the wings and buttresses that had long since fallen into the lough. Tasseled banners fluttered above the turrets. The citadel was ablaze with light. Chandeliers could be seen through vaulted arches, flickering with the lights of a thousand candles. From the tall lancet windows music issued forth.

The group quickened their pace. They knew what this meant. Fairy revels were taking place within.

As soon as they reached the oaken door of the castle, it swung open before them. Riotous sounds rushed out to greet them. They stepped over the threshold and into a fairy tale.

In the blink of an eye, each was arrayed in shining garments. Katie was resplendent in froths of yellow muslin, with her shoulders bared and her hair caught up in golden combs. Granny was a stately matron in silver-gray silk with a long white train hemmed with diamonds. Gwen twirled with delight in a rose-colored gown embroidered all over with wild red roses. Rubies dripped from her ears and throat. Findabhair’s beauty was accented once again in her favorite black, a sheen of ebony stippled with pearls.

The men were handsome in bright linen tunics with cloaks tossed dashingly over one shoulder. Dara was in scarlet, like the famous Pimpernel, with a dark mantle fringed with gold. Mattie wore various hues of forest-green and his cloak was clasped with a brooch of emeralds. On his head was a jaunty plumed hat.

The hall itself was dressed for fun and frolic. Tables groaned under the weight of a fabulous feast, sweetmeats and savories and mouthwatering confections. Marble fountains dispensed spiced wines, warm reds and cool whites. Champagne bubbled like mountain springs. The air reverberated with tumultuous tunes, as the assembly capered on deft feet without stopping for breath.

“Council of War?” Gwen said, laughing.

“The fairy way.” Findabhair grinned. “Party first, work later.”

“Proper order,” Katie declared, looking around with satisfaction. “A taste of what I’m fighting for.”

There was no more time for talk. The fairy folk came running to draw them into the festivities, and their company was scattered throughout the hall.

“It’s yourself, no less!” came a shout behind Gwen.

Recognizing the voice, she whirled around to face the leprechaun. Her jaw dropped as she took in his outfit.

Fancifully dressed in a green suit with tails and a vest of gold brocade, he wore a magnificent top hat crowned with shamrocks. His feet were shod with black patent shoes clasped with silver buckles.

“Why waste a perfectly good stereotype,” he said, in response to her look. “I hear you’ve been havin’ a grand oul time in me absence. Fair play to ye! How about a dance?”

Before she could resist, he clutched her around the waist and dragged her onto the floor.

“Ouch!” she said, as he trod on her toes.

“Asha, don’t I have two left feet?”

She looked down, and sure enough he did! She was wondering frantically how she could escape, when Midir cut in.

Dressed in a dark-blue tunic with a silver cloak, he twirled her away.

“Have I saved a damsel in distress?”

“My champion,” she said, laughing. “You’re always rescuing me.”

“It is my pleasure.”

She was still with Midir by the time Dara caught up with her to claim a dance. The red-haired
Tánaiste
yielded his partner, but not without reluctance.

“I think he fancies you,” Dara said, as they waltzed away.

“As a matter of fact,” Gwen replied airily, “he does.”

A furrow of jealousy creased Dara’s brow.

Gwen started to laugh.

“Men are so ridiculous. Always forgetting the important question. Who do I like?”

Dara laughed too, and drew her closer.

“Don’t you mean who do you
love
?”

“Maybe.”

Yes, she had definitely become a flirt.

“Let’s get stuck into the feast,” Dara suggested, looking over at the banquet table.

Gwen let go of his hand.

“Don’t you remember what I told you?” she said, wincing. “How I failed that test?”

“You and God-knows-how-many others. According to Granny, who failed it too, you’d have to
hate
food to pass it.”

“That wouldn’t be me,” Gwen said ruefully. Then she brightened as the truth struck home. “And you know what? I like being me. To hell with diets. Where’s that chocolate mousse?”

It was sometime later that Midir discovered Katie, and the two redheads spun onto the floor with wild abandon.

“This is the life!” cried Katie, as the hall whirled around her.

“It could be yours, if you wish.”

“Go ’way with you. You’re sweeping me off my feet.”

Mattie wouldn’t dance at first, despite the entreaties of the beautiful fairy women. He stood at the edges of the throng, gazing in quiet bliss like one enchanted.

The fairies murmured among themselves.

“Will our guest not dance?”

“He will, he will. She’s on her way.”

“Has the King sent for her?”

“Of course. You’ll see.”

Though Mattie overheard them, he didn’t understand their words until he saw her. She moved through the crowd as gracefully as a swan. Clad in a gown of red satin with diamonds in her hair, she looked beautiful and vivacious.

“Miriam! What on earth—”

He ran to embrace her but stopped, overcome with awe, even as he had been when he first courted her. Removing his plumed hat with a flourish, he bowed before her.

“Matt, is this a dream? Or are we really in Fairyland?”

“I think the answer is yes to both, my love. Shall we dance?”

Granny, too, was drawn onto the floor, for in Faerie no limbs are old or weary. Fond cries met her on all sides—“Grania, you have returned to us!”—as the fairies greeted a former queen.

It was the same for Findabhair, their present queen. Wherever she walked they gathered around her, kissing her hand, and murmuring their gratitude. For they knew the choice she had made on their behalf. She was touched by their affection, but her eyes kept searching the hall. Though she was accustomed to fairy protocols and knew Finvarra would be late, she couldn’t enjoy herself until he arrived.

Wandering away from the crowd, she stood alone in an alcove overlooking Lough Swilly. The moon was mirrored in the water, rippling on the waves. It was like a pale-gold creature, precious and fragile, asleep below the surface. In the distance, dark mountains kept watch like sentinels.

“I wish this would stop,” she sighed.

His absence was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, an ache she couldn’t soothe. Food tasted bland, music sounded dull, and colors looked gray. Life without him was a shadow. She had never felt this way before. The depth of her emotions was disturbing. Things were out of control and there was nothing she could do about it.

“It is no easier for me, Beloved,” he murmured behind her.

Finvarra’s arms encircled her as he lay his head on her shoulder.

Findabhair turned to embrace him.

The King’s sloe-black eyes brooded upon her.

“Since time began I have loved freely, never losing myself utterly in any one woman. You have disrupted my life as greatly as I have yours.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” she said, though of course it did.

He saw this and his humor lightened.

“It was your name that first drew me to you, my sweet Findabhair. So like to mine and no others bear it. I should have been warned instead of drawn. It is doom to meet one’s equal.”

Findabhair laughed. The King grasped her tighter to show how meaningless were his words.

“I missed you,” she said.

“Only three days,
a stór
, and did I not come to you each night?”

“That was really you? I thought it was only my dreams.”

“Dreams are never ‘only,’” he chided. “But come, my Queen. It is not love but war that we must look to this night.”

They stepped out from the alcove, one human, one immortal, both clothed in night’s black and arrayed with stars. As they walked arm-in-arm toward the assembly, the music and dancing ceased and trumpets blared out.

“Make way for Their Majesties! Make way for the King and Queen of Faerie!”

rom their various corners of the hall, the others came to meet the King. Finvarra greeted them warmly, especially the newcomers whom Gwen presented.

“Dearest Caitlín,” he said to Katie, kissing her hand. “The finest woman that ever went in the walls of a farm.” She colored with pleasure, for he used a Burren expression to honor her. “Have we mended your walls well? Have we kept guard over your herds?”

“Your people have always been good to me, Sire.”

“And you have always been a good neighbor to us.”

He caught a stray tress of her red hair and tucked it back into place.

“You put me in mind of my
Tánaiste
. Perhaps one day, my sweet, you will tire of mortal toil and join him in Faerie.”

Katie’s eyebrows shot up like two birds leaving the branch.

“Something to think about when the going gets rough,” the King whispered in her ear.

“Hail, Maitiú,” he said, turning to Mattie who was holding his wife’s hand. “Your family are known to me from past generations. Your great-grandfather once stood before me, even as you do now. Did he keep the piece of gold he won from me in the wager over a hare and a tortoise?”

Mattie’s eyes widened.

“So that old tale was true! My granny always maintained he had drink taken that night, but no one could explain the beautiful coin. It was passed down to me. I have always cherished it.”

The King of Faerie smiled.

“You have kept faith with us, despite modern disbelief. A brave stance for a man of business.”

Mattie squared his shoulders.

“Some old beliefs hold up progress, but there’s no point in throwing out the baby with the bathwater. Why go blindly into the future with nothing at our back?”

“Spoken like a champion!” Finvarra declared.

“And good evening to you,
mo chara
,” he said to Miriam, who curtsied before him. “Have you enjoyed my feast?”

“Very much, sir, thank you,” she said. Then her smile wavered. “But I think I know why you invited me.”

There was sorrow in his eyes as he acknowledged her intuition.

“It was not an easy thing you did when you gave your husband leave to answer our call. We are most grateful. I will do whatever is in my power to ensure this is not a final parting.”

Miriam stiffened suddenly and turned to her husband.

“The baby’s crying. I must go. You are in good company, my dearest. I can only hope and pray that they will bring you back to me.”

Mattie kissed his wife even as she faded away, returning to her bed where she woke at the sound of a child’s cry.

“Now, friends,” the King announced, “it is time we held our Council. A room has been prepared.”

They followed him up a winding staircase into a great chamber at the top of the castle. It was a stern and spartan hall hung with weapons from every age. Tapestries depicted ancient battles. The fireplace burned whole logs. Vaulted windows looked out over the ramparts to the misty mountains. In the center of the room, flanked by high-backed chairs, was a table as round as the moon.

“Like King Arthur’s!” Gwen cried, delighted.

“As with his court,” said Finvarra, “we are a company of equals.”

When all were seated, a solemn air fell over them. Granny, as Wise Woman, rose to address the gathering.

“This is a Council of War. We are agreed that we will defy Crom Cruac. What remains to be decided is how and when. We’ll begin with the how of it. Finvarra?”

“There are two gates to Faerie,” the King told them, “which mark the borders of our territory in time, though not in space. The White Gates of Morning are the entrance to Faerie. The Black Gates of Night are the exit. It is in the chasm beyond the Gates of Night that Crom Cruac lies. On the night of the sacrifice, the hostage passes through the gates. Once they go beyond we know naught what befalls them.”