«I thank you,» she called, in case the capless merrow was nearby, then hurried up the hill.

There, standing next to the ancient oak tree under which they had pledged themselves, was Conlan, whole, and looking so handsome that she stopped where she was, taking in the very sight of such a fine man.

«Conlan!» she cried.

«At last!» He leaped across the space between them and gathered her into his arms. «You are my very own Muirin, my daughter of the sea,» he cried. «The most magnificent woman who has ever lived, more beautiful than any other woman above or below the waves. Say you will be mine for all time.»

«Yes,» she said. «Yes and yes and yes.»

«Then I will tell you my news. When I was an oak tree, my father, the woodcutter, came to visit me. He told me the secret he has kept hidden all these many years. He was not my father. Instead, I was his foster-son. My father is a king in the north, the very king who agreed to marry his only son to your father’s only daughter. It was meant to be, this between us. You need not have faced all that you faced to be mine, my dearest love.»

«Ah, but I did, Conlan, for by facing all that I faced, I learned much about myself, and that I would risk anything to be with you. It was meant to be, this between us, my dearest love.»

Muirin raised her mouth to be claimed by his.

They were married that very evening, by moonlight, under the spreading limbs of the ancient oak tree. Her father beamed at her when she took her vows, and told her later, with a wide smile, that her stepmother had disappeared at the very moment that Muirin had released the souls.

Muirin and Conlan danced until dawn, and every year, on the anniversary of the day they were wed, they came to the ancient oak and danced under its limbs, remembering the days of their youth and all that had happened.

Jenna Maclaine

The Warrior

One

Castle Tara

Connemara, Ireland — 1260


They had come to kill him. At his invitation they had come, hundreds of them, across seas and continents, until they filled the courtyard of his great castle. They had come to vanquish the arrogant bastard who dared to claim sovereignty over the vampire nation. His summons had appealed to their pride, their vanity, their curiosity: an open challenge that whoever could defeat him in single combat would unite the world’s vampires under the authority of one High King.

The warrior braced his hands on the cold grey stone of the parapet wall and listened with satisfaction to the murmuring voices below. When they had embarked on this journey they had been certain that the challenger would be easily dispatched, but now that confidence was beginning to waver, for Castle Tara was unlike anything they had seen before. It was a palace straight out of Faerie, built for beauty and not defence. There was nothing like it this side of the Veil. Indeed, the whole structure often slipped in and out of Faerie in order to keep itself hidden from human eyes.

The vampires below truly had no understanding of what they were walking into. One complained bitterly of the cramped quarters that surely awaited them, for no castle could comfortably house this many people. The warrior smiled. Even now the stewards were showing his guests to their chambers and he had no doubt that they would all find their quarters more than satisfactory. The castle was almost a living thing, expanding and contracting, changing as she saw fit. He watched the vampires below gaze covetously at what was his, each of them imagining what it would be like to live in such a place, each of them imagining they would be the one to defeat him. It was truly a pity they would all go home disappointed.

The warrior tensed at the sound of wings beating against the cool night air. A moment later a black raven swooped down, landing on the wall to his right. And a moment after that the bird seamlessly transformed itself into a beautiful young woman. He nearly growled in frustration at the sight of her. and at the reaction his body always had to her presence. How he wished he could look at her and feel nothing, but after a millennium he’d finally given up on that ever happening. For some reason she stirred his blood as no woman ever had, or ever would.

She smiled seductively and lounged on her precarious perch, propped up on one elbow with her long, lean body stretched out before him. Her hair looked as black as sin under the night sky but he knew that by candlelight it shone with the subtle, iridescent purple and green of a raven’s wing. Her face was angular and strong, her lips full and sensual. Even though he tried not to, he couldn’t help imagining those lips doing things to his body, wicked things that he didn’t even have a name for. Her gown (if you could call such a thing a gown) clung to her curves like shadows, the black fabric so sheer that he could see her white skin beneath it. She wore the damned thing just because she knew it drove him mad.

«I told you they would come,» she said smugly, nodding to the throng below. «And you said they would not.»

He snorted derisively. «I have no doubt that a goddess’ whispered commands in their ears as they slept had something to do with it.»

«I can be very persuasive,» she purred.

He scowled at her smiling face. «I know that all too well,» he said harshly. «You were quite convincing when you struck the deal that damned me for eternity. Tell me, Morrígan, did you feel the slightest bit of guilt when you had me killed?»

Two

She swiftly sat up from her reclining position, her black eyes boring into him with an intensity that made him take a step back. «Do not pretend that I was some she-wolf taking down an innocent lamb, Cullen. I gave you everything you asked of me and before this week is out I will make you a king!»

«And I will keep my end of the bargain,» he assured her. «I will lead your vampires, Morrígan. But I will never forgive you.»

«I do not require your forgiveness, nor do I seek it.» She slid off the parapet wall and stalked towards him. «By the gods, for such a big, strong man you certainly have become adept at whining like a wee girl.» Trailing her long, glossy black fingernails across the rise of his chest, she looked into his dark eyes. «One would think that 1,000 years would have cooled your temper, Cullen.»

He grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from his body. «Then one would be mistaken, for I will always hate you, Morrígan.»

The words stung, and she looked away. At least they were the truth. She would rather have that than the pretty lies he’d told her when he was human. He had turned the head of a goddess with his beautiful body and his honeyed words. He had made her love him and she would never forgive herself for that weakness. Well, she certainly wouldn’t allow him see that weakness now.

She let all emotion drain from her face before she once again raised her eyes to his. Even her skin seemed to pale further, until she was every inch the cold, heartless goddess of legend. And he flinched. A look something akin to guilt crossed his face before he pulled his gaze from hers.

Satisfied, she took a step away from him. «I believe I will retire to my chambers,» she informed him coldly.

He released her wrist and gave her a low, mocking bow. «It is your castle,» he conceded.

Morrígan arched one black brow at him. «Yes, it is.»

Three

From her window in the north tower Morrígan watched Cullen pace. She imagined she could hear him cursing her name. Turning away, she walked to her bed, the bed she and Cullen had lain in countless times over the centuries. She ran her fingers across the lush fur blankets and the sheets made of Faerie silk. Perhaps he would come to her tonight, despite his anger. Whatever his feelings might be, Morrígan knew he craved her body and her blood. And she had long ago convinced herself that that was enough.

By Danu, she thought, how did something that had started out so well go so horribly wrong?

Morrígan knew that most of the blame rested on her. She was wilful and arrogant and jealous — aye, all that and more. But she was also able to see the past in a way he could not. A thousand years was a trifling thing to her, but Cullen was young yet. The years passed more slowly for him. He had had centuries to proudly recall his accomplishments and forget his failures, to dwell on his virtues and bury his faults. She could hardly blame him for that — it was what humans did — but she remembered his mortal life very clearly, as if it had happened a month ago instead of a millennium. Perhaps she had tricked him but, truthfully, all she had done was set the bait. Cullen had sprung the trap himself.

But she did not expect him to remember it that way, for was it not easier to cast her as the villain than to be forced to admit to himself that greed and pride had been the downfall of the great Cúchulainn?

Four

The castle of King Conchobar of Ulster


In the twilight of the Old Religion

It was dark and the castle was quiet, or at least as quiet as castles ever were. Morrígan strode through the halls of Conchobar’s stronghold with little regard to stealth. She was the Great Phantom Queen, the shadows themselves bent to her will, and she would not be seen by human eyes unless she wished it so.

When she found his door, she paused. He was the key to all her future plans and she must get this right. She had been waiting so long for him. Smoothing the crimson fabric of her cloak, she scoffed at her nerves. Anxiety was such a human emotion. If she couldn’t accomplish this simple task then she deserved to be devoured by the Demon Horde. Human males were so malleable, after all. One could lead them anywhere by their phallus or their sword arm. And Morrígan intended to use whatever means necessary to get what she wanted. Silently, she pushed open the door and slipped inside.