Unholy Blue (41 page)

The rest of the clan and their guests were packed elbow to elbow and two rows deep around the perimeter of the large room, leaving an open space in the center. The crowd shifted to accommodate the newest arrivals. As Bann paused in the doorway, he spotted Gideon in the front row with a grinning Cor, who still held Bann's knife. Nearby, Hugh waited with Rory and James, who wielded a professional and very expensive-looking camera. He snapped a picture of Gideon and Cor before swiveling for a shot of Bann.

Flames danced in the fireplace, blessing the gathering with the aroma of burning pine, complementing the faint whiff of lavender and cloves from scented candles scattered about. In front of the fireplace, Orwren
O'Siobhan presided, dressed in her white robe with the hood thrown back. A wreath of delicate vines encircled her head.

On the druidess's right hand, Jenny, elf-maiden slender in a fitted gown of pale yellow, held a drinking horn from a large bull in her hands. Next to Jenny, Isobel, in a royal blue dress, stood with her sister-by-law, both beaming and teary-eyed.

But all Bann could really see was Shay, waiting for him.

She wore a long sleeveless dress that accentuated her graceful body. Its color was the exact shade as her hair, which she wore free and flowing around her shoulders at his request. Unlike Bann's, her feet were maiden-bare, as was the custom. He knew from the rehearsal last night that she bore a knife in an ankle sheath under her gown. Her face, radiant with life and love, glowed like the gold in Bann's torc when their eyes met.

At a quiet word from Orwren, Shay walked slowly toward Bann, just as he stepped toward her. They met in the center of the circle, the center of their families, albeit in Bann's case, a small one.

Clasping her hands in his, he stared at her in wonder. “Ye're too beautiful for words,
mo chara
.”

“You're not too shabby yourself,
mo shíorghrá
.” She squeezed his hands. “You ready for this?”

“
Faugh a ballagh
.”

Laughing, they walked back to the druidess and bowed their heads briefly before letting go and turning, Shay to Jenny and Bann to Cor. As Shay took the drinking horn from her sister-by-law, Bann held out his
hand for his knife. He noted with pride that Cor offered it hilt first.

“Thank you.” On impulse, he leaned over and pressed his forehead against his son's. A low murmur swept the circle when Cor stood on tiptoe to meet him, one hand holding his father's arm for balance. “I love you, son.”

“I love you, too, Dad,” Cor whispered.

He heard a few sniffles, and not just from the women, as he returned to Shay. They faced each other. Then, at another signal from the druidess, Bann raised the knife and pointed it upward. Shay lifted the horn in a silent salute, then lowered it to waist-height and held it before her with both hands. In a measured gesture, Bann lowered the blade and dipped it into the horn, guiding it as deep as it could go. He held it there for a moment, then pulled it out.

Wine the color of blood dripped from the weapon. Taking a wide cloth ribbon, as white as the druidess's robe, from Orwren, he wiped the blade clean, spreading the wine and whatever flecks of his blood were left over as much of the cloth as he could. Weapon clean, he thrust it into his empty sheath and handed the cloth to Orwren.

She waved it back and forth a few times, allowing the air to dry it. Then, she spoke. “We are gathered as the people of Danu,” she said, looking around the circle, “to witness the handfasting of this man and this woman.” She motioned to Bann and Shay. “Please take each other by the right hand.” She wrapped the cloth around and around Bann and Shay's joined hands, and then continued. “Repeat after me: ‘You cannot possess
me, for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am a free person. I pledge to you that it will be your eyes into which I smile every morning. I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care. I shall be a shield for your back, and you for mine. I shall not slander you, nor you me. I shall honor you above all others, and when we quarrel, we shall do so in private and tell no strangers our grievances. This is my wedding vow to you. This is the marriage of equals.'”

“These promises,” Orwren intoned when Bann and Shay finished speaking, “you make by the sun and the moon, by fire and water, by day and night, by land and sea and sky. With these vows you swear, by the Goddess, to be full partners, each to the other. If one drops the load, the other will pick it up. You will both work to keep the oath you pledge today in the knowledge that you have the support of your many loved ones.”

With that, Bann and Shay turned around and raised their joined hands over their heads, showing them to the audience, then back to Orwren.

She reached over to unwind the ribbon. “We now unbind you two in token that you will remain together of your own free will.” Finished, she handed it to Shay. “To wrap about the swaddling clothes of your first-born child.”

“Cor?” Shay gestured to the boy, who hesitated. A gentle nudge from Gideon got his feet moving. The boy joined them, his cheeks pink from both the attention and the symbolism. He stood his ground, however, when Shay knotted the ends of the handfasting ribbon together and slipped the loose noose around Cor's neck.
It hung past his waist. After a kiss from Shay, he stepped back to his place.

Orwren lifted her hands in blessing, taking in not only Shay and Bann, but the entire Doyle clan and their guests. “May the Goddess, from whom we sprang, sanctify this union.” She lowered her arms. “Now embrace the blessed couple.”

Cheers deafened Bann as the clan surged forward, all eager to be the first to congratulate the bride and groom. James circled around, his camera clicking and flashing. After ten minutes of steady handshaking, back pounding, and not a few kisses bestowed upon Shay by all of the younger Knights—and most of the older Knights—he turned when fingers plucked his elbow.

“I'd like a chance to greet my son-by-law,” said a voice behind him.

“Isobel.” Bann took both her hands in his and squeezed them gently.

“What? No hug?” She smiled. “I wasn't
that
daunting earlier, was I?”

Well, yes. A bit
. “Why, no, not at all,” he said, hugging her.

“Liar.” She laughed, then turned to embrace her daughter. “You couldn't look more stunning.”

“Thanks, Mom. Probably be the last time you see me this dressed up.” Shay peered past her mother toward the dining room. “I'm starving. Do you think the buffet is ready? I was so busy getting ready, I never ate lunch.”

“Take your husband,” Isobel pushed the two of them toward the dining room, “and go get a plate. Shoo, before all the lobster rolls are gone.”

“Husband.” That has a right fine ring to it
, Bann thought.

Drinks and food and music filled his head for the next several hours, as well as the warmth of Shay's hand in his or her arm around his waist. At one point, he looked for Cor. Before he could ask, Shay spoke.

“He and Neill are in the upstairs den watching a movie and keeping Sam company. Since Cor is spending the night here, I told them they could camp out up there.” She chuckled. “I don't know what he was more excited about—our wedding, or doing a boys-only sleepover.”

“A grand idea.” He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. “Say, would you like to come sleep over with me? Right now? We could slip out the door and no one would be the wiser.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Gideon pulling James and Rory to one side and speaking in a low tone. As the cousins disappeared, the Black Hand nodded once at Bann.

“I don't have any shoes on.” Shay stuck out her foot and wiggled it. “How am I supposed to get to the truck without—Oh!” She squeaked in delight when Bann scooped her up. Laughing, she twined her arms around his neck. “Giddyup!”

The Tuatha Dé Danaan closest to them cheered, which brought the others running. As the crowd spilled out the door and filled the porch, clapping and shouting, Bann marched past with Shay in his arms. He walked carefully down the snowy steps and over to his truck, which was waiting for them, the motor running and the doors flung open. Nearby, Rory and James were grinning.

“Mind your head, darlin',” Bann said as he set her down in the passenger side. As he sprinted around the vehicle, acutely aware of just how drafty a kilt actually was, especially on a cold winter night, a boyish voice shouted for him. He looked back.

Cor was standing on the top step of the porch, jumping up and down as he waved with both arms. “'Bye, Dad! ‘Bye, Shay!” The crowd burst into laughter when he added, “
Codladh sumh
!”

S
QUINTING EVEN THOUGH THE
dawn light was still weak, Bann rolled over onto his back. With a yawn, he stretched. Every muscle and tendon, hell, even his bones, felt limp and soft after a night of record-breaking sex—record-breaking in both terms of creative positions and number of times. He looked over at the warmth next to him. Shay lay curled on her side, deeply asleep. Her lips, still swollen from kissing, were slightly parted.
I don't know who wore whom out first
. Even his manhood seemed happy to just sleep in.
Well, I cannot blame the bugger. He had quite the workout
.

That was because Shay had casually announced last night, as they were halfway home, that they no longer needed to use condoms. Bann had practically taken the last corner into their new neighborhood at ten miles over the speed limit, tires skidding sideways.

With a faint smile, he brushed the back of his fingers along Shay's blanketed form, then glanced around the room, reveling in the sense of home. Tipping his head back, he looked up at the massive headboard. He reached out and traced the Claddagh, admiring the workmanship anew—his hands itched to pick up his own tools
and try something like that. He pointedly ignored the crown over the two clasped hands.
I'll sail that sea later
.

Catching a glimpse of his maimed finger, he brought it closer, examining it in the dim light. Except for missing the fingernail and the skin still pink with healing, and for being a bit shorter, it didn't look much different from the rest of his digits. He chuckled silently at Rory's comment last night about Bann o' the Nine Fingers, and Shay's subsequent eye-roll.

Deciding that surprising his wife with coffee in bed would be a fine way to begin the rest of their lives together, he slid out from under the covers and pulled on a pair of sweatpants and T-shirt, then tiptoed out of the room and eased the door closed behind him.

He made his way down the stairs and through the house, enjoying anew the look and smell of their new home. Once in the kitchen, he started the coffee. While he waited for it to brew, he stood on one foot, then the other, tugging on his athletic shoes, and wondering if Shay would hold him to his word to begin running with her each morning. Trying to come up with excuses why this morning wasn't the best morning to begin a fitness regime, he glanced out the kitchen window.

Movement on the far side of the wall caught his eye. A shadow in the shadows of the trees. “Why, ye filthy Bog-born,” he muttered under his breath. “Dinna get the message last time, eh?”

“Talking to yourself again?” Shay appeared behind him, already dressed in her workout clothes, hair pulled back in a ponytail. Crowding close, she leaned around him and peered out the window. “Talk about suicidal. Don't they know I haven't had my coffee yet?”

“It appears we've an inquisitive
Amandán
. Most likely an entire pack is nearby, as well.” He selected a bronze knife from a rack next to the door leading to the garage, examined the blade's edge, then chose another with a grunt of satisfaction. “Well, I best go satisfy its curiosity.” He pecked Shay on the cheek. “Keep the coffee warm for me, darlin'.”

“Funny man.” She grabbed a knife, then snagged their jackets from the coat hooks next to the weapons rack and tossed one to Bann. Pulling on her own fleece, she led the way out the French door before Bann could stop her. “And I can't believe you forgot our wedding vows already.” She paused on the deck and zipped up her jacket. “‘I pledge to you my living and my dying, each equally in your care. I shall be a shield for your back, and you for mine.' Remember?”

“Aye, I remember, shield maiden o' mine.”

“Damn straight I am. And don't think this takes the place of our morning workout.” She wagged her knife at him. “Four miles before breakfast, big guy.” She grinned in anticipation of the hunt, her nose wrinkling slightly.

Bann laughed. Side by side, they started across the lawn. Halfway to the gate, he raised his weapon in challenge. “Well, come along, ye manky beast,” he called in Gaelic. “I've a wee point to share with ye.”

To Wes,
Mo chara
and
mo shíorghrá

This time around, I raise a goblet of gratitude to three very special people. First, Vikki Ciaffone, editor. I am a better writer and person for her friendship, her humor, and her personal courage, which is an example to so many people. Next, Kelly Hager, who balances being my friend as well as my publicist with hilarity and patience and sheer brilliance (and Lisa Frank binders), and who never fails to tell me when I'm being a bit of a Luddite. She died gallantly, did she not? And finally, Sam Hager (Kelly's furry “son”) who was the inspiration for my own plucky Sam. Yes, Sam, we almost entitled this book “Sam Lord.”

And thank you to the rest of Clan Editorial: Shira Lipkin and Laura Owenby, for catching my numerous mistakes and plot holes, and Rich “Steely-Eyed Missile Man” Storrs, whose phone calls always make me goofy-happy. Also, a rousing
gle mhaith
to Errick Nunnally for another breath-taking cover.