OAK*
Celtic Legends
PG Forte
Fantasy Romance
MMF
$2.99
Buy it HERE
BLURB:
When legends spring to life, can they heal these broken hearts?
Twice each year, Aine Murphy ventures into the woods to hold ceremonies to honor the Oak King and the Holly King, never dreaming these Lords of the Forest could be anything more than myth. When the legends spring to life in front of her, how can she help but fall for the sexy demi-gods she's loved all her life?
From midwinter to midsummer, Fionn O'Dair rules the Greenworld as the Oak King--a role he feels is beyond his abilities, and one that dooms him to a loveless future, forever craving the one man he can never allow himself to have. How can he resist what Aine offers--the sweet devotion that soothes his aching soul, and the slim chance to live a "normal" life as her husband, if only for half a year? Holly King
Kieran Mac Cuilenn never desired a human lover--until now. Seeing Fionn and Aine together fills him with longing for the love he threw away and awakens feelings he thought he'd buried with the last Oak King. Is there enough magic in the solstice to correct the mistakes he made years ago? Or is he doomed to be forever left out in the cold?
*Previously published as The Oak King.
EXCERPT:
June 1894
At the time of the summer solstice
The woods were shadowed, tranquil and green as Aine Murphy made her way into the forest. This early in the day the sun had yet to burn off the morning mist, but although the day promised to be fine, an unidentifiable melancholy seemed to hang in the soft, still air. It was just a trace, but enough of one that Aine took note of it and thought it strange. Why should the forest feel so gloomy today? What grief dared mar so perfect a morning?
When she reached her destination, a secluded grove where a stately young oak and wizened holly stood a short distance from one another, she paused and glanced around, feeling the hair rise on the back of her neck. The sense of sorrow, of loss—of despair, almost—was even stronger here. She did not consider herself a fanciful woman, but there was an unusual sentience in the woods today. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she was being watched.
She shook her head, waiting for the odd notion to dissolve. It was naught but foolishness. She was well aware that there was no one to see her. Indeed, that was another of the reasons why she’d chosen this particular place for her ceremonies; it was as far from her neighbors’ prying eyes as she could get. She brushed her concerns aside and set about getting ready for the morning’s ritual, taking comfort in the familiar routine—the same one she’d followed for several years now, ever since her husband’s death had freed her to worship as she saw fit.
She began by setting up her altar, reverently laying out the tools she would be using. Then she walked the circle, calling on the directions and raising power as she went, carefully placing eight stones around the perimeter to denote the quarter and cross-quarter days. When she’d returned to the start point, she stopped and removed her cloak. Cool air caressed her bare skin, raising goose bumps on her arms and legs and pebbling her nipples. A hush seemed to fall over the forest. The feeling of being watched grew stronger.
Her heart was beating uncomfortably fast as she entered the circle and knelt upon the soft green moss. She’d come here today to sing songs of praise; to greet the newly crowned Holly King and pay homage to the fallen Oak—a ceremony that had always brought her joy in the past—but the atmosphere this morning had unsettled her. No longer in the mood to tarry, she rushed through her opening prayers and started right in on a hymn in honor of the Oak King. She was midway through the second stanza when her ordinary day caved in upon her. A naked stranger materialized from out of the fog, nearly scaring the life out of her in the process. Aine gasped in surprise. “Gods save me.”
The stranger said nothing. He stared back at her, looking almost as surprised as she. For one shocked instant Aine was convinced she’d somehow conjured the very Spirit of the Forest. Then reason reasserted itself. This was no insubstantial sprite—his heavy muscles and gleaming flesh attested to that. However godlike he appeared, he was likely no more than a no-account rover, a drifter who’d stumbled drunk onto her property the night before and judged this sheltered grove to be a perfect place to catch a night’s sleep.
“Who-who are you?” she demanded shakily, still staring at him. “Whence did you come?”
His chestnut hair was shaggy and overlong, streaked gold as though by the sun and in desperate need of a trim. It hung in his face, very nearly obscuring his beautiful hazel eyes. Even partially veiled, those eyes were remarkable, a warm amber color overall, like honey and cinnamon swirled together, but with bright flecks of summer green shimmering in their liquid depths. His strong brown body was broad and tall. Perhaps not quite a match for the oak tree that spread its branches above their heads, but still he was an impressive sight to behold. He quite captivated her attention. Although, given that they were both skyclad at the time, their mutual surprise was not so astonishing. She, at least, had a cloak with which to cover her nakedness.
“Answer me,” she demanded as she scrabbled for her cloak and hastily wrapped it around her. She was pleased that her voice no longer shook, though her heart was still pounding at far too swift a pace. She should be running away, but she feared her legs wouldn’t carry her.
“There’s no need to fear me, lass,” the stranger said, smiling in a way she suspected was meant to be reassuring. “I mean you no harm.”
Aine’s mouth tightened. “Sure, and wouldn’t you like me to think so?”
The stranger blinked and appeared confused. “I would, indeed. Why else would I have said it?”
Aine choked back a laugh. Her hands were shaking as she began to gather her tools together, spilling everything repeatedly, her motions too jerky and uncoordinated for anything else. “Why indeed.”
“Here, now.” The stranger took a step closer. “Let me help you with that.”
“No!” Aine raised her hand in a futile effort to stop him. “Stay back. Do not come any closer.”
“As you wish.”
His easy acquiescence emboldened her. She stopped what she was doing to level a glare at him. “What I wish is that you’d see fit to answer my questions. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
FIONN DIDN’T ANSWER right away. If truth be told, he was having trouble finding his voice. It wasn’t just that Aine’s beauty stole his breath; he was also dazed and disoriented, momentarily depleted of power. Who knew it took so much effort to work magic? Well, Kieran, probably. But, then again, Fionn suspected there were many things the Holly King knew but had not bothered to share with him.
Bitterness rose inside him at the thought, at the memory of Kieran’s cold disregard. Although most of the hurt Fionn once had felt had long since turned to anger, the old resentment smoldered still. If there was one thing he would not be wasting time on—neither now nor ever again, if he were lucky—it was Kieran.
Now that he had finally broken free, Fionn intended to live as a human, at least until the winter solstice. Perhaps he wouldn’t go back at all. Maybe, if he were truly lucky, he would discover that the winds could not find him on this side of the veil. Or maybe, in his absence, his Lord and Lady would choose someone else to take his place, someone better suited to the task than he.
