blessed wood together. The chosen men made several trips up the hill, delivering stack after stack until she’d created a towering Lughnasa bonfire.
Lossio’s wrinkled hands trembled as they struck sparks from flint, lighting the firebrand aflame. The crowd grew silent as Lossio handed the torch over to her. She raised the firebrand high and walked full circle around the tower of wood, which reached to the sky. She lit the Lughnasa fire. Brude’s shouts of glee rang through the air as it ignited. The sparks flared into a rising flame. Hungrily devouring the nine sacred woods, the amber blaze roared.
As the harpist’s vibrating notes danced to the height of the raving mountain of fire, Lossio stirred the hearts of all gathered there as he sang ancient paeans to brave heroes of bygone days. The smoke rose and vanished in the vast, ebony sky. Tanwen opened her mouth and rang out a melodic song.
“Boudica,
championed by the goddess,
Andraste’s image adorned your hilt.
Your white blade drank Roman blood.
The Celts were strong.
The gods were happy.
Boudica,
championed by the goddess,
hear the carnyxs blow.
Hear the drums beat.
Up the slope you led us,
but Rome struck with venom.
Boudica,
championed by the goddess.
We took death, like our queen,
fell on Roman blades,
robbing Rome of
prisoners and slaves.
Boudica,
championed by the goddess,
sure as dragons
slay eagles,
the day shall come
when Rome leaves these shores,
and Celts stand evermore.”
Tanwen brushed a wayward tear from her eye. Druidess Sulwen wrote that song. She had also told Tanwen about the Lughnassa festivals of old, when a chosen one, the god king, was sacrificed so the deities would protect the tribe. Boudica gave her life to the gods when the final battle was lost. When Tanwen came to Caledonia, she felt like a sacrifice, here to wed a man she’d never met, who didn’t know her or love her. But now she felt blessed. She could not imagine having another man for her husband. If only Brude felt the same way about her.
As Tanwen stood next to Brude, she burned for him. She laced her fingers with his and led him in a circle around the roaring blaze. Fire pulsated through her blood. The harpists and pipers played as the drummer kept a fast beat on the bodhran.
Tanwen and Brude whirled together, singing, “Lughnasa, sun and earth, Lleu and Macha, life to death, the wheel turns, Lughnasa, Lughnasa.”
Tanwen leapt high, bouncing up and down on her feet and laughing. As soon as the dance ended, Brude pushed a cup of heather mead into her hands. As she drank it down, mellow warmth flowed through her.
* * * * *
Brude couldn’t tear his eyes from her, nor could he rub out the memory of her long shapely legs entwined with his. The way she looked in the firelight, covered in warrior paint—she was the perfect wife for a Pict warrior, save for her powers. She could read his mind, affect his dreams.
Brude rubbed his forehead as he thought, who would marry a druidess?
He would. Though known for his cunning and his ability to overcome obstacles, Brude couldn't fathom a way out of this. He’d never been so trapped in all his life. He stood with aplomb, as the son of a chief must, but his mind turned in chaos, disturbed and exuberant with thoughts of Tanwen.
His gaze slid from the smooth skin and full lips of her oval face down to her up-tilted breasts and her slim waist, which flared into rounded hips. This was an eve for pairing and coupling around the bonfire. He didn’t want to marry a druidess, yet she enthralled him like no other woman ever had. His hands slipped up her warm arms, and he dug his fingers into the soft flesh, massaging her shapely shoulders. One whiff of the sweet yet earthy scent of her hair had him lightheaded and giddy.
He whispered, “Will you share my bed tonight?
“Yes, my husband-to-be.”
His lips captured hers in a fiery kiss, melting away all his concerns. He swayed, dancing
Lossio’s wrinkled hands trembled as they struck sparks from flint, lighting the firebrand aflame. The crowd grew silent as Lossio handed the torch over to her. She raised the firebrand high and walked full circle around the tower of wood, which reached to the sky. She lit the Lughnasa fire. Brude’s shouts of glee rang through the air as it ignited. The sparks flared into a rising flame. Hungrily devouring the nine sacred woods, the amber blaze roared.
As the harpist’s vibrating notes danced to the height of the raving mountain of fire, Lossio stirred the hearts of all gathered there as he sang ancient paeans to brave heroes of bygone days. The smoke rose and vanished in the vast, ebony sky. Tanwen opened her mouth and rang out a melodic song.
“Boudica,
championed by the goddess,
Andraste’s image adorned your hilt.
Your white blade drank Roman blood.
The Celts were strong.
The gods were happy.
Boudica,
championed by the goddess,
hear the carnyxs blow.
Hear the drums beat.
Up the slope you led us,
but Rome struck with venom.
Boudica,
championed by the goddess.
We took death, like our queen,
fell on Roman blades,
robbing Rome of
prisoners and slaves.
Boudica,
championed by the goddess,
sure as dragons
slay eagles,
the day shall come
when Rome leaves these shores,
and Celts stand evermore.”
Tanwen brushed a wayward tear from her eye. Druidess Sulwen wrote that song. She had also told Tanwen about the Lughnassa festivals of old, when a chosen one, the god king, was sacrificed so the deities would protect the tribe. Boudica gave her life to the gods when the final battle was lost. When Tanwen came to Caledonia, she felt like a sacrifice, here to wed a man she’d never met, who didn’t know her or love her. But now she felt blessed. She could not imagine having another man for her husband. If only Brude felt the same way about her.
As Tanwen stood next to Brude, she burned for him. She laced her fingers with his and led him in a circle around the roaring blaze. Fire pulsated through her blood. The harpists and pipers played as the drummer kept a fast beat on the bodhran.
Tanwen and Brude whirled together, singing, “Lughnasa, sun and earth, Lleu and Macha, life to death, the wheel turns, Lughnasa, Lughnasa.”
Tanwen leapt high, bouncing up and down on her feet and laughing. As soon as the dance ended, Brude pushed a cup of heather mead into her hands. As she drank it down, mellow warmth flowed through her.
* * * * *
Brude couldn’t tear his eyes from her, nor could he rub out the memory of her long shapely legs entwined with his. The way she looked in the firelight, covered in warrior paint—she was the perfect wife for a Pict warrior, save for her powers. She could read his mind, affect his dreams.
Brude rubbed his forehead as he thought, who would marry a druidess?
He would. Though known for his cunning and his ability to overcome obstacles, Brude couldn't fathom a way out of this. He’d never been so trapped in all his life. He stood with aplomb, as the son of a chief must, but his mind turned in chaos, disturbed and exuberant with thoughts of Tanwen.
His gaze slid from the smooth skin and full lips of her oval face down to her up-tilted breasts and her slim waist, which flared into rounded hips. This was an eve for pairing and coupling around the bonfire. He didn’t want to marry a druidess, yet she enthralled him like no other woman ever had. His hands slipped up her warm arms, and he dug his fingers into the soft flesh, massaging her shapely shoulders. One whiff of the sweet yet earthy scent of her hair had him lightheaded and giddy.
He whispered, “Will you share my bed tonight?
“Yes, my husband-to-be.”
His lips captured hers in a fiery kiss, melting away all his concerns. He swayed, dancing
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