A Wee Bit O' Blarney Read online

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  Amber Quill Press

  www.amberquill.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Chevon Gael

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Also By Chevon Gael

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  Chevon Gael

  Amber Quill's Rewards Program

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  A WEE BIT O’ BLARNEY

  By

  CHEVON GAEL

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  ISBN 978-1-60272-179-1

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  www.amberquill.com

  Also By Chevon Gael

  Dangerous To Love

  Deal With The Devil

  Highland Fling

  In A Class By Herself

  The Last Rising Of Lazarus

  Moonlight Serenade

  Scarlet Fever

  Weathering Storm

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER 1

  Tir na nOg ... a long time past...

  "Seamus ... Seamus? Seamus O'Failan of the Cluricaun, come out where I can see you!"

  The bell-like voice of Darianna, Princess of the Fae, floated through the air. To any mere mortal it would seem like the merest wisp of breeze stirring the baby branches of the ancient willow tree overlooking the musical stream, so named because of the singing stones laying at the bottom. As Darianna sang the name of her forbidden beloved, the notes hovered over the trickling water, then fell, one by one, into the stream. The singing stones captured the dulcet tones and mimicked the name which fell from her lips.

  Darianna panicked, shrugged her pale shoulders and flitted over the telling waters. She put a slender finger to her plump, rosy lips. “Ssh, now! You'll be telling the whole valley where we're meeting.” The waters at once ceased their chime. Now the only sound was the trickle of water and the gentle brush of gossamer wings against the summer air as Darianna returned to the riverbank. She touched down ever so slightly so as not to disturb the tall blades of grass.

  All at once, a motion behind her disturbed the air. Before she could move, a sturdy hand pinched her wings together. She was caught, helpless and at the mercy of her captor. Had Fergus found her out?

  A kiss on her warm cheek confirmed it not to be so.

  "Seamus! Saints above, you scared the bejesus out of me.” But her annoyance quickly turned to relief. “Oh, my love. Where hast ye been?"

  The cluricaun stepped out from behind her, freeing her wings. “Waiting for you, my love.” He smiled—not exactly smiled, as cluricauns, like their once-removed leprechaun cousins, grinned. Sometimes wildly, other times, wickedly; but mostly it was a wily grin as the cluricauns were keepers of secrets of the little people and guardians of the Fae. And Seamus now kept the greatest secret of all.

  Darianna wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back. “Sure, but I thought ‘twas my mother, who had found us out and sent Fergus to cut off your prog."

  Seamus laughed, his close, red cap slipped down over his forehead and the white feather proclaiming his trade danced a jaunty jig. “I've better plans for my prog than for it to become another trophy on the belt of Fergus O'Roarke."

  The Fairy Princess tittered and her rosy cheeks bloomed into scarlet. “And what might that be?"

  "You know very well, my Rian."

  "I know, but I like to hear you speak the words. You're so not like the others, with their bog-smoke pipes and reeking breath. How is it that your back isn't hunched, nor your hands"—she drew one to her lips and kissed it—"rough from the hammer? There is no stench of tanned leather, stale pints of ale and especially"—she wriggled her nose—"horse manure.” And just to be sure, she rested her head against his blue, flax-spun shirt and sniffed.

  Her lover held her close in his arms and Rian gave herself up to his embrace. “Not that I mind, Seamus, for I would not let that ugly gnome of a henchman near me, no matter what he promised my mother.” She shivered at the thought of the stinking Fergus touching her. She would rather give herself up to the wrath of the outer world and be eaten by foul beasts than become the price-bride of a leprechaun.

  "Fear not, little one. Do I not guard the magic shilling deep in my pocket?” It was this magic shilling and not a pot of gold which every leprechaun miserly coveted and none moreso than Fergus O'Roarke, so much so that he schemed to rob Seamus and present it to Una, Queen of the Sidhe and Ruler of all the Fae, in hopes she would reward him with the hand of her daughter.

  "Aye,” she patted his trousers. “Next to your other treasure."

  The cluricaun could only sigh at her enthusiasm. “Think you not else but copulation? We must be sly, Rian. If we are found out there will be much sorrow on both our parts. The queen will surely banish me, or worse, and Fergus will make his claim on you."

  Rian lifted her head from his chest. “I shall not have him,” she declared in protest. “I'm told his leprechaun prog is the size of my tiny finger.” She wiggled the digit in emphasis. “Not like yours,” she purred until Seamus's black eyes sparkled with mirth and pride.

  Seamus was of the cluricaun, the rich and handsome relations of the leprechaun. Taller and gifted in the way that made the Fae ladies swoon and blush. So much so that Seamus found the less modest of the Fae lasses swooping down upon him and lifting their veils to reveal their round bums and ripe dew-pots to him. Being gay of spirit, generous, and without the leprechaun trickery, he would thank them kindly for their offer by removing his hat to reveal a full head of thick, black hair, and bowing as they flew off.

  Yet he was as talented and fancy a shoemaker as any of his kin, as he'd proven when he presented Rian with a pair of pointed slippers that were now her pride and joy. Slippers of the finest, softest, spun silk, with soles of lambskin, and pale, pink ribbons. As soon as they touched her fairy feet she went up on her toes and danced until the angels wept with the beauty of it. Her flowing, golden hair swirled around her as she leapt high into the air only to land ever so lightly on the head of a dandelion. Limber and graceful were her limbs. Her emerald eyes flashed with delight. She became admired of all the Fae, and unwittingly the object of Fergus's desire.

  But it was to Seamus she gave her most prized possession, her bride-bed flower. And gave. And gave. So much so that she had become careless and aroused the suspicions of her mother, who made it clear that no daughter of hers would marry a lowly cluricaun, for they were few in number now and disobedient of her rule. It was Fergus who approached the queen and pledged to watch over daughter. And so it was that the jealous Fergus schemed to curry Queen Una's favor and forever cast Seamus O'Failan from the land of Tir na nOg.

  Now the lovers met in secret and shared their passion from dusk ‘til dawn. Seamus took his fairy love into the meadows and cradled her against the tall grass. He lifted her modest veils and suckled the blushing tips of her pale, white breasts. He pressed his face against her nest of golden curls and breathed in the scent of her dew-pot. His tongue lapped at her ripeness and he gloried in her joyful squeals of delight.

  In return, Rian put her greedy mouth to work at pleasing her lover, knowing what sweet pleasure awaited her. Stiff and hard, he responded to h
er delicate ministrations. Smooth like the surface of polished pearls were her fairy teeth. Sweet and warm like the summer sap of honeysuckle was her breath. How welcoming she was as she spread her long, slender limbs for him in the tall grasses under the willow tree. He slid between her slick folds and easily nestled himself into her tender softness.

  There they tangled amidst the misty solitude of the meadow. So furiously did they copulate that the flowers drew their petals closed at the shameful couple. The Samhain moon climbed into the indigo sky and blushed at their passion. The lusty cluricaun boldly thrusting his prog staff into the dew-pot of the Fae princess until he spewed a river of seed, which over flowed the banks of her channel and spilled onto the grass that cradled them. And it was in this way that the Fae Queen, Una, the mother of Princess Darianna, and her shriveled servant did discover the lovers.

  So surprised were they all that several things happened at once. The frightened princess took to the air and let her dew lay wet upon the grass until the sun could rise and make it disappear into the air. Startled at being discovered and at the sudden flight of his Rian, Seamus did let the leprechaun overcome him and take the magic shilling from his trouser pocket.

  The queen was more strict and purveyed her fury upon him.

  "He who doth sully my princess daughter, Seamus O'Failan of the Cluricaun, I shall cast ye forever out of Tir na nOg!” And she pointed her powerful finger at him.

  But then, a curious thing happened. Fergus spoke up and cried, “Nay, my lady queen. For then shall Rian follow and find him and never return to Tir na nOg and you will be heartbroken."

  The queen thought about what her servant said and made a decree. “Then here is your fate, O'Failan.” She picked up a large stone. “Herein shall your soul reside, never to be freed. It is your punishment for soiling my maiden daughter.” And with that, she reached inside Seamus and plucked out his soul. Instantly, his once handsome body became limp. He fell into the river of singing stones and loudly was the water's lament.

  The grinning leprechaun took out a cob pipe and lit it. His mood was quite agreeable so he sought to ask, “And what is my reward, my lady queen?"

  The queen turned on him. Her mood was not so agreeable. “You shall take the stone into the other world, to the village of Blarney, and there you will watch over it lest my daughter returns to claim her lover, for only with her kiss can Seamus O'Failan be set free."

  The leprechaun was clearly dismayed by this edict. “But why are you punishing me? Did I not bring you to discover their deceit?"

  Queen Una glowered at him. “Yes, and now my daughter has departed from the Fae kingdom. And you have stolen the shilling from your brethren and proved yourself a thief. Begone from my sight.” And with one sweep of her arm did she send Fergus and the stone to Blarney in the other world.

  Then, she stood alone beneath the willow tree by the river of singing stones and wept until dawn. In the morning a black raven did drop into her lap a pair of pink satin slippers, the toes worn from dancing, and the Queen knew that her daughter lived among the Fae no more. So great was her grief that her tears fell into the river and soon the river could not hold so much unhappiness. The tears spilled over and became the rain which fell from the sky into the other world.

  The angels, seeing Queen Una so unhappy and being deprived of the beautiful Darianna, searched in vain for her, but found only a tiny patch of gossamer wings. And so they made a plant from the color of her eyes and cast it upon the ground of the other world below Tir na nOg, across the land until it reached the border of the seas. But this was not enough to comfort the queen. So they gathered a vapor of Darianna's last breath and tried to brighten the sky through the queen's tears. A gentle slash of color appeared across the sky. Still it was not enough.

  The queen returned to reign among the Fae for many ages. The river of singing stones flowed no more in Tir na nOg. The water instead fled to the other world to become the river which flows into the village of Blarney. Many ages later a castle was built on the very spot where Fergus was dispatched with the stone and the imprisoned soul of the cluricaun.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  CHAPTER 2

  County Cork, Ireland ... some time later...

  "Excuse me, buddy, but that's the biggest crock of shit I've ever heard.” Rhiannan MacNamara crossed her legs and was careful not to lean too far back on her stool. She locked her doubtful gaze with that of the barkeep behind the counter. The wizened proprietor's face finally split into a wide grin and the regulars seated around the bar laughed.

  "You tell that tale to all the tourists, mac?"

  "It's not ‘mac,’ it's ‘Mick,’ or ‘Mickey’ if you like. And, yes, most peoples gets a version of it. Another pint of black?” The bartender, Mickey Flannagan of Flannagan's Pub, hit the draft lever a couple of lines to clear the line.

  Rhiannan offered up her empty glass. “Sure, whatever. Easy on the foam this time, Mickey. Say, why is everything black in this country? The beer—"

  "Stout!” came a chorus of shouts around her.

  "Yeah, the stout is black, the bread is black, the meat is black."

  "Oi! Where's your red-headed friend?"

  Rhiannan turned to one of the local Romeos who'd been stalking her and Kat all night. It didn't matter that he was short, stocky, and had a pug face with a mouth like a longshoreman. It was okay by Rhiannan because he'd plunked down his cash for the last two rounds.

  "She's out having a smoke,” which Rhiannan knew really pissed off Kat considering they'd dragged their tired assess off an endless economy red-eye from Boston, found that their luxury transportation was some piece of shit Euro sardine can with a stick shift that neither she nor Kat could drive, and that their spacious accommodations were a non-smoking closet in a bed-and-breakfast which served nothing but black food in the morning. Now the only pub in town turned out to be some smoke-free meat market with a stereotype Irish barkeep who told rude fairy stories. Rhainnan shook her head.

  "I can't believe the BCDC chose this place for my farewell performance,” she muttered.

  The black-haired pug in turtleneck and tweed eyed her. “You're that dance bird from America, then."

  "Could be. Blarney is about to be inundated with Irish-American dancers. But don't worry.” She leaned over to reassure Mr. Pick-Up Artist. “The odds are good you'll get lucky with somebody.” Rhiannan accepted her stout with a tired, “thanks,” and grimaced at the shamrock figure etched into the foam. Cute! She put the glass to her lips when a hard slap on her shoulder caused her to lose her grip. Creamy foam and dark liquid splashed over her fingers and dripped onto the bar.

  "Kat! Look what you made me do."

  "Sorry.” Kat turned around and yelled, “Somebody call Kelly. There's beer on the bar!” In addition to horny leprechaun stories, apparently some lush named Kelly would suck up spilled beer if you tossed him a couple of euros.

  The locals laughed and Mickey rushed to clean up the mess. Moments later, Rhiannan had another pint, courtesy of the owner.

  "I came in on the tale-end of your rant about the BCDC. C'mon, Rhian. The Boston Celtic Dance Company is picking up the tab for an all-expenses paid trip to this wonderful green isle. Let's overachieve and not disappoint them by blowing their budget."

  Rhian raised her glass. “I'll settle for a half-decent sprung floor. I don't need to fracture what's left of my knees by dancing on stone."

  Kat tossed her shoulder-length mane of red curls, which Rhian knew was driving the testosterone of Paddy-what's-his-name a little crazy. “I think it's thrilling. A live performance, taped for PBS and starring ... ta-da ... you!"

  "And you, too, Kat. Now, what are you drinking?"

  "Um, soda water with lime. You know my hips. Too much stout will make me stout and any more bread and potatoes and I'll be the sugar plump fairy. You're so lucky, Rhian. You can eat anything and not gain an ounce. I put on any more weight and my pas-de-deux partner will need a block and tackle to lift me. Speaki
ng of ballet, have you decided to teach when you retire?"

  Rhian had asked herself the same question over the last few months. At thirty-two, and already coming off the injury list with a fracture, she couldn't see herself maintaining her position with the Celtic side of the dance company. A torn Achilles tendon had almost ended her ballet career as a principal dancer. Between her orthopedic surgeon, her massage therapist, and physiotherapist, the prognosis was grim. She was one injury away from an administrative job.

  "Depends on how this performance goes. I'd like to take my bow and exit gracefully, not be carried off the stage."

  "So, you're the one who's to dance at Blarney Castle, then."

  Rhiannan eyed Mickey, who passed a pint glass of soda water to Kat. “Now that's one story you can tell the locals and the tourists. I know it's not as interesting as the little man with the big dick and the horny fairy princess, but you can tell your patrons that the famous Rhiannan MacNamara is here to dance on behalf of the BCDC and raise money for the castle restoration project. But until then, my faithful understudy and I"—she slipped her arm around Kat's shoulder—"are going to see the sites and do cheesy tourist trap things. Right, Kathleen Callaghan?"

  Kat touched her glass to Rhian's. “Right. And the first thing we're going to do tomorrow is visit the famous Blarney Castle, climb up a thousand stone steps, hang upside down and kiss a rock. Hey, all that climbing will be good exercise for my ass. Maybe I will have some of that black, creamy stuff."

  "I have an exercise for your ass."

  The women ignored Paddy's remark.

  Rhian perused their surroundings, deciding that Flannigan's of Blarney Village had earned its brochure boast as Ireland's fourth oldest pub. The heavy timbers crossing the ceiling, the burnt gray stone of the central fireplace and the scarred wooden floors were a step back in time when men were men and...

  "I like to give you some creamy stuff."

  Well, men were still men, and Kat was welcome to him. Rhian turned at the slurred rumble behind her and rolled her eyes. Ah ... beer! Helping ugly little men have sex for a millennium. Her friend was blushing and basking at pick-up lines older than Flannigan's. And if women were still women, she'd be going back to Mary McCarthy's B & B alone.