Chapter Nineteen

Ronan

“We thank ‘em for their gifts.”

Mary stands beside me, naked as the day she was born. In the past, I’d have shoved her to the ground and fucked her hard and fast, coming deep inside her fertile womb. Now, Savie’s ruined me for all other women. I’ve had mouths on my cock before, but I’ve never felt anything like the heat and wetness of hers. One glance down at her ruby-red lips wrapped around me, and I came so hard that I saw stars and had to steady myself to keep from blacking out and falling down. The worst part about my self-betrayal?

I want more.

I want so fecking much more, I can’t even speak of it. Even to Caris. She’ll only start spouting her drivel about Savie being the one…and she’s not the one. Not even close.

Baaaa.

The bleat of a sheep snaps me out of my revelry, and I chastise myself with a severe shake of my head. Woolston McOvine looks up at me with her liquid brown eyes, almost as if she’s telling me to hurry it up. She lives in the shed with Mateo, and her only job on the farm is to give of her wool each Yule. I’ve performed this sacrificial ritual the night of the solstice festival every year since I came of age at thirteen. I lost my virginity that first night to a woman twenty years my senior. I can still remember the pride that puffed my da’s chest at my success in demanding her submission.

It’s a ritual that only involves two people. The Bard and his woman. Every year since my twenty-first, that woman has been Mary. Sadly, this eve, I see someone else’s face every single time I close my eyes. A wave of sadness flows over me, and I struggle to retain my focus. The ritual’s important to me, even if the woman no longer is.

I raise the sharp knife high in the air and bless it, the familiar words flowing over me. Bringing it down, I shear a swath of wool to offer as a gift to the pagan gods we worship, in hopes that we’ll have a bountiful year full of robust crops, health, and happiness for our people.

Mary moves forward and presents her naked body to the altar. “We thank ‘em for their gifts,” she whispers.

I drag the knife across her full breast, careful not to leave a mark. Once I reach her thick head of auburn hair, I twirl a tress around my finger and snip it off with my blade. Presenting it to the gods along with the wool, both Mary and I bless Wintervale and all of her creatures great and small using the ancient Gaelic language.

Once the ritual has ended, I wrap my fur mack around Mary’s slender shoulders. She doesn’t start shivering in spite of the low temperatures until it’s all over. When we’re in the midst of our worship, it seems as if all worldly sensations remain at bay, almost as if they understand the importance of retaining the integrity of the sacrifice.

“Why are yer covering me, Ronan?”

Ach, I’m not in the mood for female drama right now. How am I supposed to explain that I no longer want what she’s offering? That she’ll never be my wife in spite of her continued machinations. That I pine for another that I can never have.

I miss yer already, Savie, and yer not even gone yet.

I lose the empathy I feel within the blustering grit that I offer instead. “’Tis time for yer to go home, Mary. The ritual is over. We’ve offered our gratitude to the Gods and now the rest is up to ‘em.”

“But my woman’s core aches for yer. When yer look at me, Ronan, my flange tingles. Every year for the past nine, we’ve sealed our ritual with another more personal one of our own. Don’t yer want me anymore? What ‘av I done to displease yer?”

I imagine her standing in the middle of the pub, making fun of Savie and being rude and aggressive toward her. Then I imagine her flagging Declan down in the street with a magazine in order to hurt Savie again, and it sickens me. She sickens me. I’m going to have to find a new partner to perform this ceremony with me prior to the next Yule.

Unbidden, Savie’s beautiful face comes to mind. I imagine her lush curves bare to my eyes as well as Mother Nature’s as she offers herself in gratitude to the Gods. I offer a lock of her lustrous hair as well as sheep’s wool, holding the offerings high in the air. After we sing the blessing in perfect unison, I cover her body with my own and claim her as mine by connecting our bodies in a ritual as old as time itself.

And all is right with the world.

My disappointed member twitches underneath the folds of my robe. The moment escapes my sanity again and I glance up in time to see Mary staring at me, waiting for a response. And I have none outside of what I’ve already offered.

“Yer done naught wrong, Mary. I’m just not in the frame of mind to perform anythin’ further tonight. I’m exhausted after my musical performance this eve.”

She thrusts her lower lip out, and I want to not notice as it quivers with emotion. Those amber eyes pool with unshed tears. It should tug at my heartstrings, and yet…it doesn’t. I just want the moody and deceitful woman out of my sight. Prior to Savie, women always tugged and pulled at me, striving to take things that I wasn’t willing to give. Savie’s the first woman who’s offered herself completely with no questions asked while wanting nothing in return. Much like the gratitude gifts I just offered in ritual, Mary’s pussy only comes with a price. And I’m fresh out of the currency to pay it.

“But—”

“Enough,” I snap with a wave of my hand. Immediately, I regret my harsh tone, but she’s making it impossible to deal with her manipulations. “I trust yer can find yer own way home? Yer did drive here, didn’t yer?”

A single tear escapes her eyelid and blazes a trail down her cheek. In a fit of emotion, she turns, drops the coat, and presents me her rounded arse, no doubt hoping I’ll get chubbed up. It’s a futile attempt to get me to cave in and flatten her. I’m not taking the bait. Irritated and frustrated, I turn and walk away, Woolston trailing behind me, her hooves crunching on the ground below us.

“Yer did well, me wee lassie, so yer did,” I croon to the sheep as I lock her inside the warm shed where Mateo stands munching on a flake of hay.

I sheath the sharp blade in a leather holster at my waist. Quietly, I slip inside the cottage, careful not to wake Savie. The last thing I need is more questions that I can’t answer fired at me by an overemotional woman. All I want is a cup of herbal scaldy and then a warm bed. Savie will be gone tomorrow, and I’ll be left here alone to contemplate a future without her. Maybe the sun won’t rise in the morn, cloaking my world in darkness.

After I have a cup of chamomile in my hand, I break down and allow myself the opportunity to look in on her. The performance tonight was well received, and the applause of my people lingered long after the last note floated away into the Irish mist.

I crack the door to my bedroom open and peek inside. A ray of moonlight carries from the window and illuminates her delicate features. Her hands are tucked up underneath her chin and her long, raven hair streams out across the pillow. I want to awaken her by twining my fingers into the thick locks and lead her lips to mine for another claiming.

Chasing away the yearning that floods my body, I walk toward the bed, every muscle tense. Once I reach the edge, I extend my hand and touch the silken strands laying against the white of the pillow case. I inhale, wanting to imprint her scent on my soul just as I remember the way she feels against me, skin to skin.

I’m going to miss yer, Savie. There will nay be another like yer.

A part of me longs for the simplicity of my life before I realized I might want something I’d never known was possible. Long ignored recesses in my body will ache for this woman for many Solstices after she leaves Wintervale.

Is the magic between us simply my body overcome with a lust I’ve never felt before, or is it really something deeper? More profound? The words of the Cailleach Beare float back across my brain.

Love and happiness shall abound for the Order, and bring forward a soul mate for the Bard, our leader, this Yule.

This Yule. Today.

With the rough edges wrapped around that obvious lie, I’m starting to question my own beliefs. This will be the very first time a prediction by the seer doesn’t come to pass as she portends. It’s hard not to wallow in self-pity when I realize the only anomaly regards me. But who else should take the weight of broken promises and emotional pain on their broad shoulders if not the Bard of Wintervale himself?

I jump when Savie turns her face toward me, and I fear her eyes will flutter open, spearing me in place. A soft snore escapes her lips, and I grin. If she were awake, she would get all huffy and insist she doesn’t snore. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to provide one of those obscene electronic devices complete with video to prove her wrong. I will never possess one of those soul-sucking cellular phones.

The streaming moonlight draws my attention, and I glance out the window. My ma would love Savie and her musical talents. I inherited my own from her side of the family. Before she passed, we used to sit on the front porch of the inn and play a lively tune or two to the delight of my da and patrons of the inn. I still can’t believe that illness claimed them both together, but my folks didn’t believe in traditional medical care. Caris and I know taking them to the hospital could have saved them, but they wouldn’t allow it. Now, we both have to live with that knowledge and the feelings of frustration that helplessness births.

A fleeting disappointment over what might have been pinches my heart into a twisted mass of regret. Seems I can’t do anything right in my life where people are concerned. I wonder if I should even be the leader of Wintervale. If I even possess the strength to continue. I study Savie’s smooth skin, wondering how I can keep track of her to know she’s healthy without possession of any electronics. I already think of her as mine to protect.

I last another few moments and then escape to the confines of the loft. With any luck, she’ll be gone before I even get up in the morning, and I’ll be able to skip the trite goodbyes. Declan is coming for her in his car, and she’s going to stay at the inn so she can get a head start as soon as the bus is finished. I wonder how much money she had to pay him to work on a Sunday when he said nothing could entice him to work on the Yule. Probably used her considerable charm to work her magic on the man.

Once in the attic, almost unconsciously, I doff my ceremonial robe and slide in to the spare bed naked, only to spend the next several minutes staring at the ceiling. I wonder if the mystic quality of the past few days is even real or just some figment of my overactive imagination brought on by one of my favorite times of year. If when I wake up in the morn, the only person with any recollection of these days will be me, a glossy mirage painted by the mist that lies between the gap of fantasy and reality.

I rub my temples where a headache is starting to form. I have to stop ruminating over Savie and her leaving. It’s done. It’s my current reality. No amount of worrying over it or wishing it were different is going to help ease the pain. Her life is in the US and my life is in a small grove in Ireland. We shared a poignant moment in time, no more, no less. I’ll give it the respect it deserves, but I don’t have the powers to make it into more.

With the thought of Savie’s lush body wrapped around my own, I drift into a fitful sleep, my mind adrift on hopes that will never be realized.