Page 58 of The Scald Crow

“But?” I motioned with my eyes toward his rigid member.

“I have become accustomed to this state of distress.” He twined his fingers with mine and grinned.

His meaning was not lost on me. My imaginary soirees into the land of lust involved him as well. His comment confirmed it.

We left the tumbled walls behind, following the mud track down the mountain slope.

A black billy goat lifted his bearded head, holding me in his fiery gaze. I looked away from those chocolate eyes. The landscape blurred into a canvas of emerald shades and blue skies.

“What were you doing up there?” At each rocky outcrop, he sent me an anxious glance.

“I was looking for Ériu.” We continued down the narrow path.

“Who?” He lifted an eyebrow and locked his fingers around mine.

“My mother. The Princess of the Dead. Her portrait is above the fireplace.” I chewed the inside of my mouth, realizing how insane my words sounded.

“What?” He tipped his head, his eyes widening.

“I see her everywhere, Colm. She’s trying to tell me something.” Her image showed itself—a golden-haired girl on the cusp of womanhood with rosebud lips and lily-white skin. She belonged to another world, a faraway place of verdant forests and sapphire skies.

“What is she trying to tell you?” His lilting voice chased away the shadows. He made me question everything.

“I don’t know.” My voice rose. “I don’t even know how long I’ve been here.”

“Shh…it’s okay. It’s okay.” He clasped my elbow, halting our descent, and rested his hands on my shoulders. “Tell me everything.”

“She wanted to marry Dermot Sweet, but he wouldn’t let her,” I remembered her conversation with the ghostly visage.

“Who? Who wouldn’t let her?” A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his eyes darkened.

“Finvarra, the King of the Faeries.” I glanced into the sky. Black-feathered ravens rode the wind, cresting sideways, jagged feathers floating upon every current. I knew them.

“Finvarra. He’s one of the Tuatha Dé.” He waited for my response. He seemed curious and fascinated. “The Tuatha Dé Danaan, the People of Danu.”

“Danu?” I paused to catch my breath.

“The mother of all gods.” He grinned. “Pagan gods.”

“Finvarra was with Ériuthe day she was to marry Dermot Sweet. They were together. I saw everything. Oh God, he’s my father—the King of the Faeries is my father, and Ériu is my mother.” My knees buckled, and I swooned. Only his grip saved me from falling.

The air shimmered, glinting in the sunlight. White clouds skiffed across the sky.

“Then who was Dermot Sweet?” His brows creased.

“Ériu wanted to marry him.” I cringed, reliving the memory. “How did you find me?”

“You left a trail of breadcrumbs, Calla.” He chuckled. “No, I’m kidding. Your dog led the way. What’s his name? He’s very friendly.”

“I don’t have a dog.” The heat left my face, and a wave of dizziness threatened.

“The red collie sitting in the driveway when I arrived? He led me up the hill.” He scanned the courtyard, searching for the mysterious dog.

“It was Seamus.” I swallowed hard, accepting the little man had many faces. “He’s one of them. I’m sure of it.” Any doubt I might have had vanished, along with the King of the Faeries himself. I wavered in Colm’s arms and swallowed hard. The world between worlds existed, but what of the underworld? Ériu stated plainly, her tone demanding respect.“Remember who I am.”

“Who is Seamus?” Colm’s eyes filled with shadows.

I could see that even he who believed in pagan gods was unprepared for a shapeshifting immortal.

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