Page 49

Ronan

The autumn air of Avalon was crisp and cool, the apple trees bursting with ripe, red fruit. Issylte was returning to Le Centre, a basket on her arm, when she saw the silvery blond head of the enormous warrior at the top of the hill.

Her heart skipped a beat, the frantic wings of a white dove fluttering in her chest. She dropped her collection of herbs, raced up the hill and shouted, “Ronan!” as he dismounted from his black horse.

With a squeal of glee, she threw herself into his arms, clasping him behind his thick, muscular neck.

Tears sprang into her eyes, relieved at his return.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispered into his pointed ear, burying her face into his broad chest, inhaling the familiar scents of pine, leather, and horses.

With a deep chuckle, he wrapped his corded arms around her, lifted her off the ground and swirled her around in a circle of joy.

He gently placed her back down on the thick grass and planted a kiss upon her lips that conveyed how much he had missed her, too.

“Let’s go find Viviane, so I can deliver these supplies she requested,” he suggested, his rugged face lit up in a handsome grin. “After, we can pick some of these beautiful apples to bring to the horses. Sound good?”

She nodded brightly, and they headed into Le Centre to find Viviane.

Once he’d greeted the Lady of the Lake and some of the priestesses who had come to say hello, Ronan and Issylte harvested two baskets of the ripe, red fruit to bring to his stables. The white dove in Issylte’s heart soared with joy.

Marron was delighted to see her, especially when Issylte offered the pregnant mare two delicious apples, which she crunched with relish. Maeva and Noz devoured their fruit, as did the other horses who came to greet Ronan and his familiar guest, delighted with their special treat.

Once all the horses had welcomed him back and had eaten at least one apple, Ronan led Issylte into his gray stone cottage to warm her from the chilly autumn wind.

A long rectangular living area extended from the front entry, with a simple kitchen to the left and a fireplace in front of a wooden settee.

At the far end of the cottage, Issylte glimpsed a bedroom and a hall leading to a second bedroom behind the living area.

Ronan sat her upon the fruitwood settee as he lit a fire against the chill.

Soon, flames were crackling and the scent of woodsmoke from a thick oak log welcomed her with cheerful warmth.

The enormous Elf went into his small kitchen to pour two goblets of hard cider.

He returned to the living area where Issylte sat before the fireplace.

He offered her a chalice as he sat down beside her before the comforting hearth.

The spicy scent of cinnamon, the fruity aroma of apples and the effervescent bubbles of the cider delighted her nose.

Ronan stirred his goblet with the cinnamon stick, took a hearty gulp, and smacked his lips with a grin. Placing a long arm behind her on the back of the settee, he turned to face her, his deep green eyes glowing in the firelight.

“I traveled to the seven islands here in the Avalonian realm,” he began, “then sailed to the mainland of Bretagne, to the region called Armorique. It has a coastline of pink granite that is especially beautiful.” He sipped his cider and flashed her a dazzling smile which took her breath away.

She buried her face in the goblet, delighting in the rich apple flavor sweetened with spice.

And the distinctly male scent of leather, horses, and pine that beckoned her forest fairy soul.

“I brought these back for you.” He grinned, withdrawing from the bag at his feet several exquisite pink and white seashells.

Issylte gasped in delight. “Oh, Ronan, they are beautiful! Thank you so much. I love them!” She cradled the treasure in her palms, the pearlescent shells and pink swirls glistening in the firelight. She hummed with delight. He grinned, content that his gift had pleased her.

“I’ll place them on my table near the fountain.

Next to my giant scallop shell,” she murmured, her voice hushed with exuberance.

“The one we found the day you took me to the fishing village at Rochefort.” She gazed at him, feeling a flush heat her face.

“I always think of you… every time I see it.” She took another swallow of cider and averted her eager eyes.

Ronan smiled again, took her hand, and kissed it. After a moment, he told Issylte more of his voyage to the mainland of Bretagne.

“I sold all of the weapons and armor I had forged in my shop to King Hoel of Armorique. They were so impressed with the quality,” Ronan added, placing his cup of cider on the table before them, “that King Hoel and his son Kaherdin have placed an additional order. Which I will deliver in the spring, after Marron has birthed her foal.”

Issylte’s heart dropped. Ronan would be leaving again.

But at least he would be here in Avalon for several months.

As if reading her thoughts, he promised with a grin, “We’ll have plenty of time together before I leave again.

” He rose, stretched his long arms above his head, taking their two goblets into the kitchen to refill their cups.

He sat back down beside her, placed his arm back along the settee, and asked with a smile, “And you, my princess? What news do you have to share with me?”

The horrific vision in the waters of le Lac de Diane shuddered through her. Issylte took a large swallow of cider, the fruity spice and warmth of alcohol giving her courage to speak.

“One afternoon, when I was with Viviane, I had a sighting on the lake.” She shivered, the yellow reptilian eyes of the dark lord slithering up her spine. Ronan cradled her hand in his, his deep green eyes protective and fierce.

“When I was fourteen, living in my father’s castle, my stepmother abruptly dismissed my nurse Gigi one day when I was out riding.

When I returned, the queen informed me that she had sent Gigi home to her sister because I no longer needed a nursemaid.

The queen herself would oversee my instruction.

” Issylte glanced down at her lap, trying to quell the shaking of her legs by rubbing her hands along the sides of her thighs.

“But in the sighting on the lake, I saw that the queen had ordered Gigi killed.” Issylte gazed desperately into Ronan’s intense eyes. His strong grip anchored her as she floundered in the waves of grief and terror.

“Just like in the Hazelwood Forest when the queen’s royal guards killed Tatie, Bran, and Dee, they took Gigi into the woods.

They dragged her off her horse…pinned her arms behind her back…

and slit her throat.” Issylte pulled her hand from Ronan’s steady grip, covered her face, and sobbed.

He stroked her back, his strong touch and soothing presence calming her like a frightened horse.

Her sobs subsided; she raised her face to his.

Her voice filled with grief, Issylte choked, “The queen killed Gigi, the nurse who was like my mother.” She swallowed a sob and spat, “She killed Maiwenn, my Tatie that I loved like a grandmother. She killed Bran, and Dee. She even tried to kill me—twice!” Issylte turned sideways to face him, her heart aflame with anguish.

“Ronan,” she gasped, clutching his forearm, “I’m afraid she’ll kill my father next.

” Issylte scooted closer to him. “I must do something. I’m a gifted healer—a guérisseuse.

My father is very ill…The queen sent for a healer to treat him.

But I had a vision of him, too. He was standing with the queen beside my bedridden father, who was covered with blood sucking leeches. ” She shuddered uncontrollably.

“They’re weakening him. Killing him. The healer had dreadful yellow eyes. With slits like a snake. Evil slithering all over my sick father. By the Goddess, Ronan, I must do something. I must help him. Before the queen kills him, too!”

Inconsolable, she wept as Ronan pulled her against his chest, stroking her back and kissing her hair. When her anguished sobs finally lessened to whimpers, he lifted her chin and fixed her with intense green eyes.

“Issylte, you cannot go back to your father’s castle.

The queen knows that you live; she hunts you even now.

If you were to return to Ireland, you would deliver yourself directly into her hands.

She’d accomplish what she has tried to do twice before.

Kill you! You absolutely cannot go back.

You must remain here in Avalon. Where you are safe. ”

Ronan stood and began to pace in front of the fireplace. He turned back to meet Issylte’s eyes, his rugged face distraught with pain.

“Eight years ago,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, “my wife Yanna and I lived on an island to the east of here, with our infant son, Lo?c.” Issylte raised her eyebrows, surprised to learn that he had been married. She listened quietly as he struggled to continue. Ronan’s voice hitched with emotion.

“I had a blacksmith shop there, on l’ ?Ie Verte—the Green Island—as I do here. I learned the trade from my father.” He began pacing again, staring at his boots as he stomped before the hearth. A wild stallion caged in a stall.

“We lived in a stone cottage, in a village like Briac. We had horses, a garden, a new baby…We were very happy,” he choked, shaking his long blond hair down his shoulders like a golden mane.

He peered at Issylte on the settee, his handsome face ravaged by grief. “Our island was attacked by two ships—marauders who knew the value of the weapons made by the Elves of Avalon. All of our warriors banded together to confront the assault.”

Bitter with rage, Ronan’s wounds were still raw as his tormented eyes tore into Issylte’s.