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  These human men—Kieran, Rory, and Duncan—loved the women destiny granted them. Loved them with heart and soul. Loved them so much they would sacrifice their lives to protect Becca, Delaney, and Moira. He understood now, as Gwyn slipped her hand into his and squeezed.

  Rory looked disgruntled, his distrust radiating from him. “Damn. If I never saw this place again it’d be too soon.”

  “Where are we?” Kieran looked wary but curious.

  Becca slipped under his arm and smiled up at him. “Welcome to Tir Nan Óg, love.”

  Kieran’s brow furrowed. “So this is where he kept you prisoner?” He glowered at Abhean.

  “I didn’t bring her here, MacDermot. Take that up with the king.”

  Delaney circled her arms around Rory’s waist and peeked around him. “It’s actually beautiful here.” When Rory started to protest, she quickly added, “But I’m so very happy you found your way home to me.”

  Gwyn cleared her throat, catching Abhean’s attention. “Uhm…” Her eyes were as round as saucers as she pointed to the men facing them. Kieran and Rory appeared to be what they were in their souls—hardened Irish warriors, complete with swords. Beside them, a kilted Duncan clutched his battle sword, the point grounded in front of him.

  Becca, looking twenty-five instead of sixty. She stood beside her Irish clann chief, feet braced, ready for a fight. A mantle in the clann plaid draped across her shoulder was secured by the MacDermot Knot. The fabled opal pin fashioned by Onagh, Queen of the Connault faerie, repaid a blood oath between the fae and Clann MacDermot.

  Delaney, dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, looked like she should be pushing reading glasses up on her nose as she leaned around Rory’s broad frame.

  Moira stood beside her highland warrior, her lush figure draped in a long dress made of the Ross plaid. Even here, she was pregnant. Abhean puzzled over that fact as her blonde hair lifted and danced on an unseen breeze—a breeze that also touched Becca, ruffling her hair as well.

  “I…I don’t understand, Ay..ayveen.” Gwyn stumbled over his name. “That’s…She’s Moira O’Connor and he’s…That’s her husband, D-Duncan Ross.”

  “This is Tir Nan Óg,” Abhean explained. “The Land of the Ever Young.” He waved his hand in a gesture that encompassed the other three couples. “Here, you appear as you are. What you see when you look at them is the essence of their souls.”

  The playful wind kicked up, and silver leaves in the surrounding trees pealed like crystal bells as Manannán mac Lir entered the circle of stones. The three human men drew their weapons and took up defensive positions.

  The king just laughed, and the sound cleared the mists so the sun splashed down. “I mean none of you harm. Your presence is merely a formality, and yee’ll be returned to your current lives when we’re done.”

  Manannán motioned for the others to step closer. “Each of you made a decision. Becca, you chose to remain human to stay with Kieran.”

  Gwyn gulped. “I think I missed something in the translation. You aren’t…er…weren’t human?”

  Becca laughed. “I was placed in the mortal realm by my parents, Finnegan and Onagh, the king and queen of the Connault faeries. I chose to remain human so I could be with Kieran.”

  “Bloody hell, woman. Don’t be sayin’ the in-laws names. We don’t want a visit.”

  Laughing again, Becca went up on her toes to kiss her husband. “Relax, love. I have it on good authority that they’re currently creating chaos in Dublin.”

  “Becca and Kieran were fated to be together, Gwyn,” Abhean explained.

  As Manannán next pointed to Moira and Duncan, Abhean stiffened despite the lighthearted mood introduced by Becca. The king’s somber voice dampened the atmosphere as he spoke. “Moira, I have little comfort for you. Your mother, Maeve, did as she thought best. She gave up her immortality, and ultimately her life, to see your heart safe. Because I loved her as a child of my heart, I punished the man who was to be the other half of yours.”

  He glanced at Abhean before continuing. “My son showed me the error of my ways and though the two of you were tested, your love withstood the fires of time.”

  Duncan wrapped Moira in his arms, glaring at the fae over the top of her head. “I walked through the fires of hell for this lass, and I’d do it again to keep her and our child safe.”

  Manannán nodded, the barest hint of a smile touching his sensuous mouth. Abhean stiffened when Gwyn licked her lips in response. The king might be his father, but had long been known as a seducer. He tightened his grip on her and tugged her closer to his side.

  “Aye, Duncan Ross,” the king continued. “I would show you your islands in the stream of life, to reveal the promise of your lives to come, but there is no need. You are together, now and forever.”

  Moira’s face glowed, and one of Duncan’s large hands closed over both of hers where they rested on her rounded tummy. Abhean’s aggressive stance wilted slightly as he once again focused on the king.

  Rory batted away Delaney’s grasp and stepped forward. Manannán held up a hand, effectively silencing the big cop. “You were ensnared in our feud, Riordan MacDermot, yet even so, you managed to find your own way. I will offer no apology, for you were the fool who first made a bargain with the Harper.”

  Staring daggers at Abhean, Rory didn’t answer. It was Delaney who spoke up. “But he made that bargain to save me.”

  “And the asshole set you up to die, Delaney. I can’t—I won’t forget that.”

  Abhean bristled and would have challenged the other man had Gwyn not squeezed his hand. He glanced at her and saw fear in her expression. Then he recognized the fear was for him.

  Manannán glowered at both men. “You are not here to forget, Riordan, nor to forgive.”

  “Then why are we here?” Rory jutted his chin stubbornly.

  “To bear witness.”

  Abhean glared at the king. “Get on with this…” He waved his hands in the air in circular motions. “Whatever this is. Why are you here?”

  “My son pledged his heart and soul today. Where else would I be?”

  Abhean couldn’t breathe as his heart clutched. The man standing there was no longer a faerie king but a father, with a father’s hopes and dreams for his son.

  “F-father.” He stammered over the word. He expected it to taste like dust and ashes on his tongue. It didn’t.

  Manannán pinned Abhean with his gaze. “Abhean, Harper of the Tuatha de Danaan, do you love Gwyneth enough to give up your immortality?”

  Without hesitation, Abhean answered, “Yes.”

  The king turned to Gwyn. “And you, Gwyneth Riley? Do you love my son enough to give up your mortality?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “Then say the words, cailín,” Manannán commanded. In a softer voice, one filled with tenderness, he whispered the words in her ear so she could repeat them.

  Her voice sang clear and true in the vaulted space as she returned the words to bind her heart and soul to Abhean. When she finished, she collapsed into his arms, laughing and crying. He gathered her close and fastened his mouth over hers in a soul-stealing kiss.

  “Grá agam duit,” Abhean murmured. “I love you.”

  Epilogue

  And they all lived happily ever after…

  Life…

  After life…

  After life.

  A word about the author...

  With a rampant imagination aided and abetted by a Muse who runs with scissors, Silver James loves to share the stories created in that vast cosmic void pretending to be her mind. Over the course of her lifetime, she’s been a military officer’s wife, a mother, a state appellate court marshal, an airport rescue firefighter, and a forensic fire photographer, crime analyst, technical crime scene investigator, and writer of magic and mystery.

  Retired from the “real world” now, she lives in Oklahoma and spends her days at the computer with her two Newfoundland dogs, the cat who rules them all, and myr
iad characters all clamoring for attention.

  To find out more about Silver, visit her at: www.silverjames.com

  Thank you for purchasing

  this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.