Cate Tiernan - Origins

“That I don’t know, but I shall find out. I must cherish this gift from the Goddess.”

Kyra shook her head. “But he cannot be a gift from the Goddess, Rose. Not a Leapvaughn boy.”

“Would you stop saying that? I’ll not allow you to be so small-minded!”

“But to get involved with someone from another clan...”

“I know.” The reality of it stabbed at me. Diarmuid and I would have to face more than our share of foes. But as I walked along, my mother’s words came back to me. She always said that the other clans would one day see the good in the Wodebaynes.

Perhaps I had been chosen to help the world see our goodness.

It lifted my spirits to know that Diarmuid already saw the goodness within me. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

Kyra walked alongside me, observing. “You look more in love now than before you knew he was not one of us. But then, you’ve always been stubborn, Rose MacEwan.”

“Aye,” I said, thinking of Diarmuid’s eyes, his suggestive words, his strong jaw. “I think the Goddess has a plan,” I told Kyra. “And I won’t let anyone meddle with Her gift to me. I will not be daunted.”

“It worries me, Rose. I know you think you can fight your own battles, but sometimes I fear for you, my child.” My mother scrubbed the potatoes furiously, upset by what had happened in the market at Kirkloch.

Of course, I hadn’t given her all the details of the story. I’d said that Diarmuid was a traveling peddler, probably a Wodebayne from the north. And although I hadn’t mentioned that some in the crowd seemed eager to join in on the Wodebayne bashing, I think she got the complete picture. Whether through her inner sight or simply her experience, Ma had spent her lifetime enduring prejudice from others.

“But it’s over, Ma,” I reassured her. “’Twas over soon after it began, and we got two fine potatoes out of it.”

She turned away, her face in shadow so that I could not see more than the hollows of her eyes. “I’ll thank the Goddess for my supper, not some brash vendor with hatred in his heart.” Her voice was strained, and I thought I saw a spot on her cheek—a dark tear. Was she crying?

“What is it, Ma?”

She shook her head. Her chopping was done. “This hatred of the Wodebaynes has to end, Rose. I had hoped it would subside during your youth, but instead it seems to be rising like a river during the spring rains.”

I wanted to tell her that the prejudice against us didn’t bear down on me so heavily now, not since I’d met Diarmuid. He was a window of light, my escape from the dark hatred that seemed to be closing in around the Wodebaynes. I wanted to go to her and touch her shoulder and ease her pain.

But I couldn’t. I knew that talk of a boy, especially a boy from another clan, would rattle Ma all the more. And I feared that if I touched her, if I rested my head on her shoulder or squeezed her arm, she would know the truth.

That the Goddess had interceded, bringing her daughter true love.

I went to her and scooped the potatoes onto my apron, then dropped them into the cauldron over the fire. Already the savory smells of tomato and herbs and beans rose from the kettle.

“The moon is full already,” I said, eager to change the subject. “You can see it in the day sky, hanging large as you please.” I stirred the stew, talking over my shoulder. “I’d like to go off and draw it down, Ma.” Again, a lie, but what could I do?

“’Tis the seed moon,” she said. “We’ll have a fine Esbat tonight.”

I stepped away from the fire and took off my apron. “I’ve gathered what we need for tonight’s spell. John Radburn was helpful.”

She nodded. “You can go. But don’t be long. We’ve a few chores to do before the circle.”

I moved slowly, trying to ignore the coursing sound in my ears that urged me to make haste and run off to meet Diarmuid. I hung my apron on the rail outside, measuring my steps while I was in view of our cottage.

One, two, three. four steps closer to him.

The waiting was excruciating.

At last I reached the brush at the end of the path. Without looking back, I scooped up my skirts and leaped ahead, startling a small rabbit from the heather at the side of the trail. It darted off into the brush, and I laughed. “I’ll not hurt you, little one,” I called, racing ahead.

By the time I neared our meeting place, my neck and hands were damp with sweat. I slowed my pace to a brisk walk, mopping my neck with a rough cloth from my pocket. It reminded me that the rose stone was still there, and I paused to take it in my hand and hold it up to the glowing day moon.

“I thank thee, Goddess, for the use of thy power.”

When I lowered my hands, the stone winked at me, ever cheerful and appealing. I lifted the top of my dress and dropped the stone down into the hollow between my breasts. Its warm glow worked its magick there, emanating from the middle of my body like a ray of sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Rose?”

It was him. He appeared directly before me, slipping from the trees as though he had materialized out of thin air.

I laughed heartily. “My love! How is it that you seem to appear out of nowhere?”

My boy chuckled happily, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I did a see-me-not spell, Rose. You are familiar with these?”

I nodded. It is a simple spell one does when wanting to mask oneself from another’s eyes. I had never seen it done quite so convincingly. “Diarmuid,” I said, loving the sound of his name.

“So, you’ve discovered me.” He moved closer, chuckling and reaching out to me. I gave him my hand and was startled by a beautiful spark of magick. He led me down the path, toward my special altar. “I suppose you’ve also learned that I’m a not-to-be-trusted Leapvaughn.”

“A Leapvaughn, aye, though I find you trustworthy.” I lifted my chin to study his face. “You may be full of tricks, swinging from trees and juggling vegetables in the marketplace. But I find you to be honest.”

“I believe you are wise beyond your years, Rose.”

Under the cover of trees he pulled me into his arms, my body pressing against his. I had never known a man or boy in this way, feeling his legs and chest and hands upon me, enveloping me, inciting tiny wildfires beneath my skin.

Who could have imagined the power of love?

I had felt drawn to the Goddess on many occasions, but never had I felt this incredible desire to press into another person, to combine our two bodies in the simplest of unions.

He lowered his head, his soft lips meeting mine. I sucked in my breath and fell deep into his kiss, a sweet, languorous kiss. Then another, and another, and soon we were touching each other and performing a dance of kisses, soft, then severe, light, then dark and torturous. I wrapped my arms around his neck, gave myself over to him, and we tumbled onto a bed of moss, still kissing.

I don’t know how long we danced that way—a chorus of moans and breathless sighs. When we fell apart and lay side by side, staring up at the Goddess’s sky, our words seemed to shimmer like leaves in the summer breeze. I learned that he lived in Lillipool, a Leapvaughn village several miles down the road. His father was a sheepherder, a job that Diarmuid hated. He preferred trade, which his father occasionally let him handle. He had been in Kirkloch trading sheep at auction the very day we met. He learned that my father had died when I was young, that I lived with my mother, who was the high priestess of our coven.

“I don’t care that you’re a Wodebayne,” he said. “I wouldn’t care if you were Ruanwande or Burnhyde or the daughter of a bestial dragon. I love you, Rose. As you are.”