The Mammoth Book of Irish Romance

Sandra Newgent The Houndmaster

Hollylough, County Meath, Ireland — 1422

Branna Mordah understood little of weddings, but knew she wanted one like Mama’s.

Her mother knelt before the altar in the little stone chapel. Tiarna, the only name Branna had ever called the man on his knees beside Mama, recited the priest’s words in a deep, comforting voice. «I, Gavin, take thee, Aideen, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, till death do us part, if the holy church will ordain it: And thereto I plight thee my troth.»

Branna turned her attention from the priest’s droning words to the beautiful window above the altar. Decorated with pieces of coloured glass, the moonlight streamed through the window, spilling green, gold and red on to the stone floor. A familiar object formed the centre of the design. The image resembled a tree, yet it was unlike any she had seen in the forest.

The priest’s movements recaptured Branna’s attention. He held an item in his wrinkled hand, but it was hidden beneath a white cloth embroidered with a tall cup.

The priest lifted the cloth.

Branna gasped. «’Tis wondrous, Mama.»

The brilliant gold cup bore green stones and mysterious etchings, giving Branna reason to look again at the window.

«The wee one should be abed. She has no business here.» Shaking his head, the priest filled the chalice with deep, red wine.

«I am not wee. I am five.» Branna held up the correct number of fingers as proof.

«She is my one child.» Mama’s voice held a slight pleading tone. «Hush now, Branna. ’Tis time to drink from the chalice.»

«The little one stays, Father.» Tiarna’s voice was calm and the old man held his tongue.

With a wave of Tiarna’s hand the priest continued with his final prayer and blessing. He placed the cup in Mama’s two hands. She turned, faced Tiarna and took a sip, her blue eyes meeting his above the gilded rim.

«’Tis my heart’s desire.»

Mama looked beautiful. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders in gentle waves, haloed by the circlet of white flowers Branna had tied all by herself. Her mother passed the chalice to Tiarna and he sipped from the cup.

The blessed quiet was pierced by a chorus of high-pitched howls. Branna grabbed her mother’s skirt when three white hounds crashed through the double doors and galloped down the isle towards the priest.

Mama bent down and whispered, her voice calm, «Hide, my sweet, under the bord’s sacred cloth.» Mama pushed her towards the table, and then stepped off the dais. Branna saw Mama take the chalice and Tiarna’s proffered hand. He raised Mama’s hand to his lips, kissing her fingers. Then they turned, standing shoulder to shoulder to confront the terrible dogs.

Branna faced the altar, but her feet would not obey Mama’s command. She could only stare at the table covered by crossed white cloths embroidered with the same tree as in the windows. Tears stung her eyes. She wanted Mama.

Tiarna scooped her up, kissed the top of her head and pushed her under the table. «Do not come out till the dogs leave, Little Raven.»

Branna crouched under the heavy table. From a gap between the cloths, she saw the frenzy of the battle. The priest chanted words Branna did not understand. He stood before Mama and Tiarna, drawing a cross in the air. For a moment, the dogs hushed. Then, the hound with the reddest eyes leaped upon the old man, ripping at his throat. Branna had seen Tiarna’s hounds tear apart a hind in the same manner. The dogs turned next to Tiarna and Mama.

Mama stepped forwards and raised the chalice. Wine sloshed over the lip and down her arm. She stood ready to strike down the lead dog. Tiarna swept her behind him.

Terrified, Branna squeezed her eyes shut, determined to make the bad dogs disappear. The screams died quickly and all was quiet again. Branna felt hot, tinny air upon her face. She slowly opened her eyes straight into the blazing red orbs of a dog. The hound panted in her face, its breath heavy with the scent of the battle, his white fur flecked with blood and wine.

He growled low in his throat, and Branna crawled further under the table. With a last threatening snarl, the dog captured the chalice in his jaws, and led the other Hounds of Hell out of the chapel and into the night.

Branna ventured from beneath the table. Tiarna and the priest were sprawled in the aisle, not moving. Branna crawled to her mother who lay still at the base of the dais. The white flower crown had broken, its blossoms scattered about her mother’s body. Branna touched her beautiful mother’s face, which was torn and bloodied. Mama’s lifeless eyes were locked on Tiarna.

Branna screamed, the sound echoing in the empty chapel.

Branna swallowed the scream that threatened to escape her lips. She rode past a snagging tree, its bare branches sticking out like fingers twisted by age. The nearly full moonlight shimmered off its bark, turning it silver. A light breeze shook its limbs, as if warning her away. She shivered and wrapped her heavy, fur-trimmed cloak closer. She squeezed Molly’s ribs urging her on. The terrifying images of the past still left her quaking, but it would not dissuade her from her task. She must find the emerald chalice.

Branna’s memory of the man her mother had loved was small. She did not know his full name, only had called him «Tiarna», the Gaelic name for lord. Two things she knew for certain — he had made her mother sing and he’d saved her from certain death. No matter what Aunt Meeda whispered amongst her friends, Branna knew Tiarna had been good.

Her life after that night had changed. She’d been whisked away and taken to her uncle’s modest house to live, but had never felt welcomed by his family. Her raven-dark hair and blue eyes, different from their red and hazel, had not helped.

Molly picked her way over an ill-repaired, stone packhorse bridge, its rough surface interspersed with timber planks. She stopped the mare on the other side and looked across the rocky field towards the imposing Norman castle upon the hill.

Castle Hollylough.

Aunt Meeda had warned her to never travel to this land, as it was evil, but Branna could no longer abide her wishes. She would face down evil if necessary. She had to find the magic chalice and bring her mother back.

Dismounting, Branna removed the small spade from her leather pack. She led her horse across the field, carefully stepping over a low hedge, moving closer to the standing stones. Outside the ring, she dropped Molly’s reins to let her graze on the last of summer’s sweet grass.

Branna entered the circle, striding to the large dolmen in the centre. This is where Grandmama had said the chalice might be buried, inside the portal tomb. Branna couldn’t have attempted this without Grandmama’s assistance.

Her mother’s mother had been Branna’s only friend and confidante after Mama died. She had oftentimes been the shield between her and Aunt Meeda, who’d never been warm to her. Branna not only wanted to find the chalice for herself, but for Grandmama, who was becoming frailer every day.

Branna stepped beneath the huge angled capstone, supported by other upended boulders. Looking around the perimeter, she estimated the centre of the tomb and pushed her spade into the earth, marking the spot.

Sweeping the hood of her cloak from her head, Branna tied a loose knot in her hair. She knelt and easily scraped away the upper layer of hardened topsoil, hitting solid rock with the next thrust of her shovel.

On her hands and knees, Branna grabbed the rock nearest the surface and wiggled it to and fro, moving it enough for her to grab. Sweat beaded her forehead as she threw the rock aside and began working the next one.

A soft snort and whinny sounded from the field. «Patience, Molly. The ground is harder than I expected. I’ve only made a small hole.»

She cleared away more dirt with the spade before hitting additional rocks. Branna attacked those with as much strength as possible, not caring if she tore fingernails or suffered cuts and scrapes. The dirt and pain would pale if she could see her mother again.

Molly whinnied again, this time louder and of a different timbre. Branna straightened and looked over her shoulder. Molly stood still, her ears pricked forwards. Branna scanned the field. Had a shadow moved near the thicket of trees in the distance? The hair rose on her neck and arms. She squinted, forcing her eyes to pierce the darkness. Her heart pounded in silence for several minutes, but nothing stirred.

Branna hummed the tune her mother used to sing when she was scared. Her intuition told her to leave, but she wasn’t about to relinquish her quest. The song’s words spilled from her lips in time with her work. Scrape using the spade, wiggle the rock, wrest it out of the ground and throw it aside. It could have been minutes or hours she worked making small, but determined progress.

«I see you dig your own grave.»

Branna whirled. She lost her balance and sprawled at the feet of a large, white stallion. Through strands of her tousled hair, she stared at the imposing man upon the great steed.

Wrapped in a dark cloak, the moonlight creating shadows across his face, he wielded a great broadsword. He vaulted from his mount and brought the point of his sword to her throat.

Her heart thumped wildly. Just as sure as Aunt Meeda had warned, she looked straight into the face of evil.

Devlin gripped the weapon tightly, his anger building. «Who dares to dig a hole on my property?»

He couldn’t keep the venom from his voice. «State your business.»

The intruder brushed aside long, wavy hair exposing a delicate face. Devlin realized his thief was a woman. He instantly withdrew his sword, but didn’t yet sheath it.

When his horse Ailbay had scented someone unfamiliar, Devlin expected to find sheep thieves or wolves, but a woman singing and digging in the dirt? Never.

She stood, brushing soil from her skirts. «’Tis my concern and not yours.»

Devlin lifted his brows at the edge of impatience in her tone. Her feathers were ruffled, were they? The moonlight offered a taste of her light eyes and high cheekbones. Her voice, strong, confident and with a hint of tantalizing sweetness, poured over him like thick Irish cream. Her other features would wait for better light.

He rubbed a hand over his face, irritated at her intrusion. He was already on edge. «I’m Devlin, Lord MacKenna, Master of Hollylough. Every rock holds my interest.»

«Then your land holds an object of mine.»

Devlin sensed movement in the shadows behind her. His hounds had spread out in the darkness. Waiting. Watching.

«What here would be of interest to a common grave robber?»

Her quick intake of breath told him he’d hit a sensitive mark.

«Nay. ’Tis nothing common I seek.»

A high-pitched howl split the quiet. The dogs grew bolder, circling closer. The woman heard it and bolted towards him, coming dangerously close to the blade of his sword.

Devlin sheathed it with a snap. «Witless goose, do you wish to die by my sword?»

She stepped back. «Nay. I’ve no wish to die by sword or by dogs.»

«The hounds are restless. You’ll be safe with me.» He offered her his arm.

«Nay. I’m not leaving till I find what I seek.»

He felt his ire rise at the battle of wills. If she told him nay once more, Devlin would be tempted to leave her.

He glanced towards the trees, then to the sky. His response was curt. «You’ll be fortunate to escape with your life. Come, the moonlight has disappeared and a storm threatens.»

She pointed to a horse in the distance and worried her bottom lip. «I’ll follow on Molly. I’ll not leave her to the dogs.»

Her horse stomped nervously outside the stone circle. Devlin understood her uneasiness. He had yet to take his vows, not for another night. He wasn’t sure he could control them should they attack.

«Nay. She is too distant. I’ll grab her reins as we pass. Get on Ailbay.»

The woman approached his white steed with caution. Giving her no more space to disagree, Devlin reached down and grasped her about the waist. He easily lifted her to the neck of his horse, her legs positioned to the side. Then he settled back into the saddle and brought her back against him. He crossed his arms around her waist to keep her seated safely and grabbed the reins.

Devlin spurred Ailbay forward, his horse easily taking the extra burden over the stone wall, and galloped towards the protection of Hollylough.

Devlin leaned over to grab Molly’s reins.

The woman blocked his arm. «Nay.»

She put her fingers to her mouth and whistled loudly. Molly raised her head and fell in step behind Ailbay. Devlin nodded his head, impressed.

«My lady, your horse is well trained, as if she’d follow you to the ends of the earth.»

«Aye, she would.»

With each stretch of Ailbay’s stride, his arms clasped the woman’s ribcage, her warmth infusing his upper body. She felt trim, but muscular, not so delicate that she’d break at the slightest stumble.

Her rose scent reached his nostrils and dared him further. He’d been a long time without a woman to warm his bed and blood. This comely one aroused his interest as well as his manhood.

Devlin knew he was restless. He had grown to manhood knowing this day would come. His family’s bloodline was cursed. Written long ago, all the children were destined to become Hellhounds. He was the Chosen One; the one selected to master the hounds that guarded their supernatural treasures. This rite would occur on the day of his twenty-fifth year, on the morrow. He’d become one of them.

His attention strayed to the woman who relaxed against him, snuggling deeper into his chest as she adjusted to Ailbay’s motion. With her buttocks nestled between his thighs, he realized she fitted well enough in his arms, better than most. She might prove to be the distraction he needed this night.

Once past the gatehouse and inside the curtain walls, he slowed Ailbay and angled him towards the stables in the lower bailey. He reined in and slid off the horse, handing both horses to his waiting groom. Devlin ruffled the boy’s hair.

«Finn, I know ’tis late and your mother wishes you to be abed. The horses have worked hard tonight. Give them extra oats and curry them well. I shall make sure tomorrow you have a lighter load.»

Devlin reached to assist the woman down.

She put her hands on his shoulders and winced, pulling her hands away as her feet touched the ground. Devlin snatched one hand and saw her roughened, bleeding fingers.

He gently touched her abraded palm. Before his groom left the yard he called, «Finn, bring me the healing salve.» He waited for the lad to hand him the paste, then took her arm and led her towards his keep.

Branna pulled back. Lord MacKenna, with his fierce, dark eyes regarded her critically. She prayed he couldn’t know how badly her hands shook. «I. I should return home, my lord.»

Branna didn’t wish to be with him a moment longer than necessary. She had no idea why she couldn’t breathe.

He shook his head. «Not this night.» The stony stillness of his expression gentled when he gave her a half-smile. It changed his face, softened it, adding a touch of vulnerability.

«I will escort you home on the morrow. For now you are under my protection.»

They entered the great square keep from a steep set of stone stairs and a thick wooden door. They climbed more stairs at the corner, spiralling upwards past several floors to the top, where he opened another heavy door and they entered the upper solar. «This is my private chamber. In here you will be safe.»

Safe from whom? Him?

He strode to a sideboard against the far wall. While he searched for something, Branna looked about the room, soft light from several candelabras illuminating the darkest corners.

The primary item of furniture dominating the room was a great bed with a heavy wooden frame overlaid with quilts, a thick fur coverlet and pillows. The bed was curtained; its linen draperies pulled back and tied to the bedposts with leather straps. An arched fireplace took over one wall, soot blackening the protective hood of stone. Several chests and a hanging tapestry graced the opposite side of the room.

«Remove your cloak.»

Branna complied, even though the room was damp. She laid it over a nearby slatted chair.

Devlin came back to her with the pot of salve and a cloth. He dipped his fingers into the paste and took her right hand.

With surprising gentleness, he rubbed the waxy paste into the palm of her hand, covering the cuts and abrasions.

«Your name?»

«’Tis Lady Branna Mordah.»

«Pray tell me, my lady, what was of such significance tonight that you would risk your life?»

She glanced at his face. His eyes met hers, as dark and shiny as wet slate.

«I seek an heirloom of my mother’s which was stolen when she died.»

«And you think ’tis buried here? You are surely mistaken.»

The salve had been well worked into her skin, but he continued to massage her hand, sending delicious tingles up her arm and down to her toes, making her even more nervous.

«Your one hand will need a dressing. ’Tis the most damaged.»

«What is this ointment? It has the scent of flowers.»

«’Tis calendula salve, made from the leaves of marigolds and lavender. ’Tis used upon the horses.»

Did his horses receive such wonderful rub-downs? She wanted to be covered with the fragrant salve. Branna shook her head before those thoughts went further.

As he wrapped her right hand with a cloth, Branna shifted her eyes to the decorative windows. Moonlight spilled through, glinting off the pieces of coloured glass, highlighting the central tree design. Branna gasped and pulled her hand away.

«Your windows. I’ve seen that design.»

«Nay, ’tis impossible. It was created for Hollylough Castle years ago. My home is so named for the holly trees in the thicket by the lough’s edge. There are no windows like it.»

Her heart thumped wildly. But Branna had seen them long ago. She gripped Devlin’s arm. «Do you have a chapel with those same windows?»

«Aye, of course.»

«Take me there.»

«Tomorrow. The windows are most beautiful with the coming sun.»

«No. Now.» Branna touched his arm, feeling his steely muscles beneath the tunic sleeve. «Please, I mean you no trouble, but I must see the chapel tonight.» Branna hated the desperation in her tone, but couldn’t be refused.

He searched her eyes and smoothed a lock of hair from her face. He carefully took her hand. «I’ll take you.»

In the outer ward, the wind gusted, blowing dirt and straw about. Branna was sorry to have left behind her cloak. Devlin led her to a stone building adjacent to the great hall. He opened the double wooden doors and stepped aside.

Branna walked towards the altar. «The first time I walked down this aisle, I touched all the wooden benches along the way.»

Branna knew Devlin listened behind her.

«We were to be a family. Mama looked beautiful in a yellow wedding gown with her dark hair free about her shoulders. She wore a crown of white flowers I made for her.»

Branna had reached the front of the chapel and looked up at the window, her mind far back in time. «I remember the stained glass with the tree at its centre, the curled branches and red berries. So beautiful. So perfect.»

Branna shuddered as she ran her hands over the altar. «Until the dogs came. Tiarna helped hide me under this bord and I was safe.»

Branna turned to Devlin. Tears ran down her cheeks. «The dogs killed them. Tore at them and stole my mother’s emerald chalice; took her life.» She tightened her jaw. «I want them back.»

Devlin drew Branna to him. He wrapped her in his arms, drawing comfort as well as giving it. He breathed into her hair, «God’s blood. That was your mother.»

She raised her head and looked at him askance. «My mother was here that night, in your chapel, as was I. You must know what happened?»

«I know very little. Only that the hounds killed my father by accident that night. I was twelve and squiring at a neighbouring estate. I was summoned home for the funeral, but only told the dogs were driven crazy and had wrongly attacked him.»

«Tiarna was your father? Why did you not find me?»

«I knew nothing of you. By the time I arrived home, it was days later. You were long gone and my household was ruled by my uncle. I could not legally return and take over as master until I had reached my majority.»

«’Twas the chalice the dogs were after.» Branna buried her face into his chest.

Devlin didn’t know what to believe. There was more to his father’s death than he’d been told. His uncle had only said that he was to take on the leadership role after his father had died.

«You were looking for the emerald chalice at the tomb.»

Branna nodded against his shoulder.

Devlin frowned. «How can this chalice bring your mother back? She’s been dead nearly fifteen years.»

She stepped out of his arms and her blue eyes brightened. «The chalice is magic. It can bring my mother back from the dead. ’Tis my heart’s desire.»

Devlin had never heard of such a cup. «How did your family come by this magic chalice?»

«My ancestor Liam once saved a gnome from the jaws of a serpent. The gnome was very grateful and, since gnomes are known for excellent metalwork, as a reward, the chalice was given to Liam, with the instruction that drinking from it would bring forth his heart’s desire.»

Why had he never been told of their parents’ marriage or the chalice? He’d have to ask his uncle for an explanation to determine the truth of her words.

«Your mother died long ago. Why have you waited until now to get her back?»

«You can drink from the chalice only once in a lifetime.» She dropped her head. «I waited till I knew my heart’s desire.»

He slipped a finger beneath her chin. «What convinced you?»

«My uncle’s family is to marry me off, as I am past my prime, but no one has offered. Everyone is afraid.»

«Afraid of what?»

«Of me. My aunt has spread lies about me, saying I was the evil one who called the dogs, killing my own mother. She is jealous and hateful. I could not endure the shame.»

He held her a few more moments, rubbing her back, worried by her chilled skin.

«We must leave. The storm worsens.» In truth, he needed to leave this place of painful memories.

Fear came into her eyes, darkening them to a deepwater blue. «Will the dogs be waiting for us?»

Devlin kissed the tear stains on her cheeks. «I’ll protect you, my lady.»

The wind howled and rain lashed Branna’s face as Devlin took her hand and they stepped outside the chapel. Even with his promise, Branna’s eyes darted around the bailey, waiting for the dogs to attack. Every sound heightened her fear, pulling at her memories.

In the safety of Lord MacKenna’s chamber, a blazing fire snapped in the fireplace, beating back the chilled dampness and her panic. Branna was surprised his servants were still up at this late hour. She stood by the warmth of the fireplace and rubbed her wet arms.

«You should remove your wet clothing.» Lord MacKenna held out to her an armful of fabrics. «You ought to find something warmer in here.»

Branna took the proffered garments. «Thank you. I am chilled.»

«There is a wardrobe behind that tapestry.» Devlin pointed to a thick wool carpet hanging from the wooden rafters dyed vibrant colours.

Hidden behind the tapestry, Branna slipped out of her damp, low riding boots. She unclipped her brooch and slipped out of her loose-sleeved surcoat, wet almost through. She touched the deep blue wool of her long-sleeved gown and discovered it was almost as wet and radiated an unpleasant odour. It too had to go. She sat on the wooden bench and peeled off her hose.

Finally, Branna stood only in her long linen chemise, exposed to the draughts. Branna rummaged through the garments and chose one of Lord Connal’s linen shirts. The neckband and the wristbands were embroidered in colour and design to match the windows of the castle. She slipped it over her head and smoothed the material down, admiring its quality. She breathed in Devlin’s scent of wood smoke, sweat and horses, which clung to his shirt. She liked the earthy, very masculine aroma.

Taking a deep breath, Branna stepped out from behind the tapestry. She instantly felt Lord MacKenna’s eyes on her, but snapped her head around when she heard the door to the chamber close.

«My steward has brought an evening repast. Come and eat. You must be famished.»

Lord MacKenna was seated at a small table beside the bed. Branna approached the table set with trays of food, two bread trenchers and a pair of glass goblets.

One tray was piled high with cheese, almonds, figs, dates and raisins. The other tray held a selection of meats and fish: venison, chicken and haddock. Her mouth watered.

«Aye, ’tis been many hours since I’ve eaten.»

Devlin indicated the empty chair and from a flagon poured a pale yellow liquid into the two glasses.

«Sit.»

Branna nodded and gratefully took the seat. She sampled a few of the selections and gulped a swallow of the sweetened wine. It burned going down and she coughed. It wasn’t watered as she’d expected.

Once she caught her breath, she asked, «Your mother, what was she like?»

Devlin studied her a moment. She met his eyes without apology. «She was like sunshine lighting all the corners of the castle. We’d take long summer walks in the sweet fields and sometimes pick berries in the wood. Then she was gone.»

He shrugged his shoulders and she felt him take an emotional step back.

«I remember my father was bereft. Shortly after her death I was sent away, earlier than the other children had been. I was never certain if my father loved me or if I was too much a reminder of her. That is why I was surprised to learn of his new marriage.»

«Your mother sounds very much like my mother.» Branna swallowed hard over the sudden lump of sadness in her throat. «Since I was so young, my grandmama has told me stories of my mother and her childhood. I’d like to find the chalice before she passes on to the heavens.»

«I too have an uncle who took me in and gave me reason to go on,» Devlin said softly. «I doubt you remember anything of your father?»

«Nay. He died when I was only two years. My mother told me he was a good provider, but I don’t believe she was content.»

«My father, do you have memories of him?» Devlin’s tone was tentative, the question carefully asked. It touched a place in her heart.

Branna smiled and gripped his hand that lay on the table. She wanted to pull him into her arms, as he’d done for her, and soothe him.

«Many times he spoke to us of his son with great love and pride. He welcomed the day you would return. He wished for us to meet and have in this castle a great family.» A mixture of tenderness and longing hit Branna. «He was a good man. He used to call me ‘Little Raven’ for my dark hair.» She whispered, «He saved my life that night.»

Devlin abruptly pulled his hand away. He cleared his throat and rose. «Please excuse me while I change into dry clothing.»

She watched him stalk towards the wardrobe, not sure if he was upset at her or his father. or both.

Within the wardrobe, Devlin sank to the bench feeling the weight of his heritage. Bitter agony rose to his throat. He didn’t want to be Houndmaster. He liked being a knight and living at Hollylough, especially now that he knew his father had loved him. Yet this curse was part of him, who he was. He had no other choice.

Devlin removed his damp clothes and dressed in a fresh tunic and hose. His uncle Hugh, the current Houndmaster, believed it to be a great honour and had prepared him well over the years. Devlin’s true wish was to live out his years in relative peace at Hollylough.

Devlin came from behind the tapestry. In the far corner, Branna stood at the stone sill of an arched window. She reached to touch the crimson rabbit atop a board game drawn with a cross.

Devlin’s grip on her wrist stopped her.

«I. ah. I only wished to brush off the dirt. ’Tis evident no one has played in many years.»

«This was my father’s game. We played after evening meals. I’ve not played since his death.»

Branna caressed his hand still fastened upon her wrist.

«Forgive me, my lord. I meant no disrespect to Tiarna. I loved him as if he were my own father. Would you be willing to play in his memory?»

Devlin felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He hadn’t been able to play the game for nearly fifteen years, yet this slip of a woman offered him a reason to put it to rights.

Her fingers continued to caress up his arm, her touch sending ripples of sensation through his body. «I’ll teach you what I know of the game.»

Emotions warred through Devlin, his battle instincts stirring. He would not grow close to her. His destiny lay with the Hellhounds. Only he had not expected such comfort on his last night as a mortal man.

Lady Branna had given him a wondrous gift — the truth about his father. Devlin had spent too many years blaming himself for driving his father away. His uncle always at his side, insisting Devlin’s father could not bear to look upon the son who reminded him of the beloved wife who died bringing Devlin into the world. He would deal with his uncle soon.

He released her wrist and picked up the board. «Be cautious of what you ask, my lady. We shall play. But understand there is a cost for winning and losing. Let us sit by the fire.»

He set the board on the carpet and grabbed two pillows from the bed, tossing them next to the game. He waited until she’d taken position on the other pillow.

«Since you’re so taken with the hare, ’tis yours to play. I’ll play the fifteen hounds. Place your hare in the middle of the board. I’ll place my hounds along one side of the board, like so.» Devlin arranged his pieces in a line.

«The point of the game is for you to capture as many of my hounds as possible before they can surround the hare so it is trapped and cannot move. The hounds and hare can move to any empty space, including a diagonal move. The hare can jump over the hounds, capturing them. The hounds cannot jump. Are you ready?»

«Yes,» Branna said. «Before we start, I wish to make a wager.»

Devlin raised his brows. «A wager? I am intrigued. What should we wager?»

«If I am victorious, you will help find the chalice.»

«You think I know under which rock it lies?» Devlin watched her toy with a wooden hound.

«You are master of Hollylough, every rock is of concern to you.» Branna laughed and then turned serious. «My aunt insists your family is evil.»

«Mayhap your aunt is right.»

«I do not believe you are evil nor was your father. I do believe there is much more to you than you say.»

An explosion of hunger and need fired inside him. She might be in more danger than she realized. «Is this your heart’s desire?»

«Aye.»

She hesitated and then asked, «What is your heart’s desire?»

Devlin felt himself pulled to reveal more than was wise. This little minx could easily set upon his heart with her quick mind and innocent words.

Devlin kept his face neutral and his words vague. «I imagine ’tis the same as yours, to right the wrong cast upon us.» Then he asked, «If you fail to win, what have you to lose?»

«I have not much to give.»

The beat of forbidden desire, strong, thick and unrelenting hammered within. She had more than she knew.

«If I win, I shall require a melody from your sweet lips.»

«A song?»

«Aye, a song of your choosing. You have a melodious voice and I wish to hear it. Do you accept?»

«Aye, I’ll accept those terms as a wager.»

Devlin remembered the soft caress of her hand and the taste of her tears. «It’s traditional to hallmark such a wager with a clasping of hands.»

Branna stretched her arm out to him. Devlin took her small hand in his, and squeezed lightly. When she would have pulled back, he held fast.

A primal force inside him demanded more. Giving in to the need, he pulled her to him, until she leaned into his arms, bracing her other hand on his chest.

Anticipation thickened the air in his lungs. He whispered, «I’m not a traditional man. I wish to mark our wager with a kiss.»

Devlin released her hand and cupped his palm around the nape of her neck, drawing her face to his. Slowly, lazily, never breaking eye contact, he lowered his mouth and captured her lips. He wasn’t prepared for the sweet taste of her, silky and warm. Instead of pulling away like he’d planned, he wanted more and teased her mouth with his tongue, gaining entrance.

The soft sound of her sigh whispered through him with her need and hunger. Starving, he stroked deeper into her open mouth.

Her touch on his chest burned into him and he had to steel himself not to ravish her, no matter how badly he wanted her. That would not accomplish his goal.

Sanity returned slowly and Devlin reluctantly released her lips. He eased her limp body off his and took a deep breath.

«Now I’m ready to play.»

Branna stared at him with aroused, heavy-lidded eyes. «Play?»

Devlin chuckled, pleased she was as affected by the kiss as he. «Yes, muirnin. We were about to play a game of Hounds and Hare.»

They played the game until the fire burned low, casting shadows and radiant warmth throughout the room. Each move Devlin made with his hounds was sufficiently countered by a deft move by Branna’s hare. She expertly played the game, capturing more than enough of his hounds.

«I believe, my lord, I have captured numerous hounds so they can no longer trap my hare. Hence I win.»

Devlin was pleased with her prowess. «So it would seem. On the morrow, before I return you home, we will search for your chalice.»

Branna yawned, her eyelids drooping. «I do not wish to appear rude, but ’tis sleep I now need.»

«I wasn’t expecting guests this night. I have no other chambers readied. Please slumber comfortably in my bed and I shall take up residence by the fire.»

She sat on the enormous bed, the sight of her there pleasing him. «Thank you for your kindness. My aunt was wrong. You are not the evil incarnate.»

Devlin knew otherwise. «Sweet dreams, muirnin.»

Branna blew out the candle by the bedside and untied the bed curtains, allowing them to drape around the bed, cocooning her in privacy. Not wanting to soil Devlin’s shirt, she slipped out of its comfort and folded it neatly, then placed it at the foot of the bed. She slipped between the coolness of the sheets in only her chemise. Although Lord MacKenna had shown her every courtesy, she couldn’t be too careful with her modesty.

Branna brushed a finger over her lips. Except for that kiss. His kiss had been neither courteous nor modest, but had fired in her wonderful sensations she’d never before experienced. Enough so that she wanted more.

Devlin awoke to red embers glowing in the fire, and silence. Only it was not silence that had woken him. He listened intently, his hand on his sword. Soft whimpers came from his bed. Branna.

He rose naked from the floor and padded to her side, throwing the bedclothes about his shoulders. She thrashed beneath the fur covering. He felt her forehead, worried she may have caught cold in the rain. Her skin was damp, yet not feverish. A gasp escaped her lips.

Branna bolted upright and screamed, the sound chilling in the predawn dark. Devlin dropped the scrunched coverlet in his hand and grabbed her shoulders.

«Wake up, muirnin. ’Tis a bad dream. You’re safe.»

«The dogs!»

She thrashed, trying to get out of the bed, her eyes wide and hair wild about her face. Devlin shook her but couldn’t wake her from the clawing tentacles of the nightmare.

In desperation, he pulled her to his chest and held her tight.

«Shush, Little Raven.» He stroked her hair and crooned into her ear, drawing out the night terrors. «The dogs are gone. They can’t hurt you here.»

She relaxed, some of the tension leaving her body. He sat on the bed and pulled her closer, on to his lap.

«They’re coming for me. I must hide.»

Devlin couldn’t speak. Her warm breath on his bare chest sent shivers through him. He realized the bedclothes had fallen from his shoulders. Her chemise had been pulled low, exposing one pert breast.

«I can’t die like my mother.»

Devlin found his voice, a ragged whisper. «I won’t let you die.»

He ached to kiss her but he shouldn’t get involved. She was too dangerous, too innocent. He had no future to give her. Tomorrow he would rule the Hellhounds. A pit of hopelessness opened in his stomach. He had to send her away.

Devlin eased back.

«Don’t leave. Hold me. I need you. Don’t you want me?»

Devlin almost choked hearing those words. He’d felt protective of her since they’d first met. Yet his feelings for her were more complex. He admired her strength. She brought light to his darkest hollows.

«Aye, I want you.»

«Love me. I need this. I need you.»

Devlin saw her clear blue eyes, free of the nightmare. Hope flared within him. «You understand what you’re asking? I will not seduce you.»

«I know. You are a good, caring man. Even if it’s just this night, I want you.»

«You are certain?»

She breathed, «Aye.»

Devlin crushed his mouth to hers, their tongues entwining as Branna opened to him. He’d never tasted anything sweeter than the honey of her mouth. Devlin hungrily deepened the kiss and followed her down as he laid her back on the bed.

Branna plunged her hands in his hair, stroking through the dark, silky mass, keeping him close. She almost groaned when his mouth left hers, but moaned with pleasure as he planted wet kisses along her neck and shoulder, suckling gently at the hollow of her neck.

His lips moved downwards across her shoulder and collarbone to the top of her breast that had popped out of her chemise. She angled her body towards him, begging him, the tingling anticipation almost unbearable.

His tongue moved lower, clamping around her nipple, his tongue striking and swirling the taut peak. Sexual excitement curled in her stomach, pooling moisture between her legs. Slipping her arms around his magnificent back, Branna stroked his hard muscles, from neck to buttocks.

Branna’s chemise had ridden high and was bunched around her thighs. Devlin slipped his hands beneath the folds, caressing her bare thighs. Her belly fluttered as his palms slid up her soft skin and over her ribs. He closed his eyes and savoured the exquisite feel of her.

He raised her up and pulled the chemise over her head, exposing all of her. He planted light kisses to her cheek, tracing its curve.

«I won’t hurt you. Do you trust me?»

Branna reached up and smoothed his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. «I trust you.»

Devlin awoke, his body curved around Branna, her head resting on his shoulder. He held her close, revelling in the feel of her. He felt warm and more content than he could ever remember.

Although his body was tight with need, Devlin slipped out from beneath Branna without waking her. He walked naked in the frigid early-morning air to the washbasin and sluiced cold water over his skin, washing away the night’s passions.

Branna. She’d made him feel like he could have a future on earth. She was the one person who knew him. She’d touched his heart. He would love to have more of her. A lifetime would suit him.

Knowing it was impossible, he donned his drawers, a green tunic, surcoat and a mantle lined with fur, without the help of his chamberlain. He fastened the mantle at his neck with a brooch. He pulled out his sword. He needed a sparring match to numb his mind to what he had to do. A life with Branna could not be.

Devlin had his own destiny to fulfil. His life had been mapped and he’d trained for this moment.

He paused to admire Branna, lying warm and soft, nestled into the bedding, her hair spilling dark on the pillow. Devlin turned and closed the door on the sleeping woman and his heart.

Devlin slid over the bench and sat beside the large, behemoth of a man at the long wooden table within the great hall. Uncle Hugh slapped him on the back. «’Tis almost midday, my boy. What has detained you?»

Devlin preferred not to mention Branna. «Only the mundane duties of this castle.»

«Those will soon not be yours to bear.»

Devlin chose to say nothing. He grabbed a plate of food and nibbled from it. «My father. How did he die?»

Uncle Hugh looked at him in surprise. «We’ve already discussed this, years ago.»

«I know, but humour me and speak it again.»

«The night before he took his rites, he was accidentally attacked by the hounds. No one knows why.»

«He didn’t wish to marry?»

«Marry? Where would you have heard this?»

«Here and about.»

«Well, there was a woman who captured his eye.»

Devlin glared at him. «What happened?»

Hugh sighed. «They were in the chapel with the priest when the dogs burst through. She didn’t wish to die and pushed your father towards the dogs, hoping they would be occupied, allowing her to escape with her life. Unfortunately, this was not her destiny and she perished as well.»

«Why did you not tell me this before?»

«I thought to protect you from the hurt of knowing your father was betrayed by a woman he loved. I didn’t want you to be misguided and make the same mistake.»

Devlin smiled, trusting his uncle’s words. Branna had been young. Her grandmama had obviously filled her head with false information. Such a magic chalice surely didn’t exist.

He pushed away from the table. «No need to worry, Uncle. I know who I am and will accept my responsibilities.»

Devlin left the hall to seek his knights knowing his father had given up everything, including his life, for the sake of a woman, a woman who’d betrayed him. He would not repeat the mistakes of his father.

Branna stirred in the deep comfort of the bed, the sound of male laughter and clashing steel interrupting her dreams of dark eyes and a warm mouth. No longer afraid of the nightmares, Branna opened her eyes to beams of sunlight streaming through the slats in the shutters.

Her discarded clothes from the night before lay neatly folded over a chair, now dry. Her chemise lay with them on top. Branna smiled. Today, Devlin would take her to find her chalice.

With the air still cool, Branna wrapped the fur around her bare shoulders and padded to the window. She opened one shutter to the bailey below. She picked Devlin out most certainly as he sparred with his knights. He looked resplendent in a dark-green tunic, covering light chainmail, his immense sword in one hand and his shield in the other. Branna watched with pride as he exuded confidence and evaded his student’s powerful thrust. His exact timing and light footwork gave him the edge over his larger opponent.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, Devlin paused and glanced up. Branna quickly hid behind the shutter, not comfortable with him knowing she watched. Her feelings were too raw and uncertain. He’d said they’d have just one night, but Branna had to convince him they could have more.

She gathered her clothes and within the wardrobe found the washbasin and a clean linen towel. She cleansed herself, patting lightly between her legs at the unfamiliar sore feeling. Branna dressed quickly and managed to find her way through the keep to the bailey below. As she passed through the kitchen, she grabbed some bread — she was starving! She didn’t want to enter the great hall without Devlin, unsure if he wanted her presence known.

Arriving at the upper bailey, Branna’s heart sank. The knights still practised archery and fencing, and there was a group of children playing horseshoes, but Devlin had disappeared. He probably had to meet with his steward and bailiff, or attend to other important duties. Her desires were minor compared to his responsibilities.

She turned around, intent on returning to Devlin’s chamber. Then she saw him. He stood across the bailey near the hall. He held the reins of Ailbay and Molly.

Branna slowly walked towards him and he moved to her.

Devlin handed her Molly’s reins. «I thought to take a ride about the lough before we search for your chalice. Would you join me, Branna?»

Branna’s heart leaped. «Aye, my lord.»

«My given name is Devlin. I wish for you to use it.»

Devlin took her by the waist and lifted her on to the edge of the saddle. Branna raised her skirt, swung her left leg over the horn and sat astride. Devlin mounted Ailbay and she followed him through the outer ward to the gatehouse. Once they’d cleared the portcullis, Devlin spurred his horse to a gallop and Branna followed close behind. They raced over the high rolling hills, a tapestry of subtle shades of green: darker under the blackberry bushes, lighter as sunlight dappled through the sycamore trees.

Branna loved this land and its wild ruggedness tugged at her heart. She would hate to leave this beautiful place and return to the dour confines of her uncle’s house.

Devlin stopped on a high bluff overlooking the calm, blue waters. «Lough Ceo is oftentimes in fog. We are in luck this day as the view is clear.»

He dismounted and approached Molly, reaching for her. Branna leaned forwards, but as she slid into his outstretched arms, her skirt caught on the pommel of the saddle. Branna’s feet never touched the ground and she fell against Devlin, grabbing him around the neck.

Devlin stumbled back, but gained purchase before they both tumbled to the ground.

«I am ever so sorry, my lord.» She couldn’t keep the amusement from her voice.

«I am not.» He held her tightly and sealed his lips over hers, taking possession of her mouth. The first hungry swipe of his tongue took her breath away. She dug her hands into his hair, pulling his head closer.

Growling soft and low in his throat, he dragged his mouth away. His tongue rimmed her bruised lips. «Maybe ’tis best we find the chalice.»

He reached up and unhooked her arms from around his neck. There was unmistakable regret in his tone. Yet, she felt he held something important from her, something that lurked in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. Perhaps after they found the chalice she could speak to him of a future.

«Aye, ’tis best.»

Devlin approached the tomb where Branna had scraped the earth the night before, her shovel on the ground where she’d dropped it. He hopped from Ailbay’s back and walked the central tomb, studying the boulders. He knew the dogs and their fears. They wouldn’t have buried the chalice under the dolmen itself. It was a sacred place. They would have buried it outside the tomb, beneath the lowest end of the capstone, pointing downwards.

«I believe you were digging in the wrong place. You should find your chalice buried at the end point of this rock.»

He grabbed the shovel and began digging, making great headway in a short span of time. He easily removed and tossed away rock after rock. Within only a few minutes, he’d made a large, wide hole. Now on his knees, Devlin dug with his hands, capturing dirt in his cupped palms and throwing it aside.

The sunlight gleamed off a shiny object. Devlin’s heart thumped in his chest. He carefully removed more dirt, exposing the sides of a metal cup. Branna hovered beside him, her sky-blue eyes briefly meeting his.

Devlin hesitated. «Would you like the honour of removing it from its grave?»

«Nay, my lord.» She laughed, a silvery rush of pleasure. «As you’ve stated, ’tis on your property.»

Devlin smiled at her, then reached in and lifted the chalice out of the hole, brushing away the last vestige of dirt and dust. He held it high, admiring the graceful curves of the hammered gold cup. Engraved panels of filigree decorated the lower portion. Emerald stones gleamed around the edge of the upper band and lower girdle.

As he lowered it for Branna to hold, he felt a foreboding, a darkness descend upon his soul. He became cold, even as the sun warmed him. Evil thoughts consumed his mind. Why should he give it to her? Its magic had destroyed his family. He had to get rid of it.

Branna dropped her raised hands as Devlin’s face became distant and cold. His eyes were fixed on her but they looked very far away. He scared her.

«Devlin, what is wrong?»

He said nothing, but stared through her as if she didn’t exist.

Branna touched his arm. «Give me the chalice.»

His eyes grew luminous, glowing like red orbs in his now ashen face. She’d seen those eyes before. on the dogs.

He gripped her wrist, exerting hurtful pressure until she let go.

«Nay. You shall never touch this cup. Tonight I become Lord of the Underworld, ruler of all that is evil. The chalice is dangerous to us and will be destroyed.»

Branna gasped, horrified at his words. «Devlin, something is wrong. The chalice is hurting you.»

He forcefully shoved her away and Branna stumbled backwards.

She ran back at him. «Drop it. I beg of you to release it.»

Devlin withdrew a short dagger from his belt and wielded it at her threateningly. «Leave me and never return.»

Branna gasped and stopped, tears tumbling down her cheeks. «You can’t mean that.»

He took a menacing step towards her. «Would you challenge me and lose your life?»

Pain ripped through Branna’s heart, almost doubling her over. This couldn’t be happening.

She’d lost her chalice. She’d lost Devlin.

With little choice, Branna gathered Molly’s reins. Branna’s tears made it difficult for her to mount her horse, but somehow she managed to crawl upon its back. After a last look at Devlin’s stone cold face, Branna dug her heels into Molly’s flank.

With an aching heart and empty arms, she rode as if the Hounds of Hell had given chase, away from Castle Hollylough and the love of her life.

Branna dropped Molly’s reins and lay across her neck. Molly slowed her pace, sensing Branna’s distress, but Branna didn’t care. She buried her face into Molly’s silky mane and cried, huge heart-wrenching sobs. Devlin didn’t want her.

She was barely aware when Molly stopped in front of her uncle’s two-storey house. However, she noticed a flurry of activity seemed to have gripped the household, as all manner of people scurried about.

Wiping her face, Branna slid off Molly. She had to go on with her life and would have to force herself not to yearn for what she could never have. She woodenly stabled Molly and entered through the back door of her uncle’s house, hoping to get to her room without detection.

«Branna!»

She cringed and stopped, but didn’t turn around. Aunt Meeda.

«Where have you been all day? We are expecting a guest for supper. More than a guest and a normal supper, I’d say. We have found someone to take you in marriage, so ’tis a celebration with.»

The roaring in Branna’s ears cut through the remainder of her aunt’s words.

«Branna. Branna, are you listening? You are to be married tomorrow.»

Her aunt grabbed her arm and spun her around. Her gasp and hardened eyes were enough to snap Branna’s remaining threads of hope of ever seeing Devlin again. «You are filthy! Go wash at once. I’ll not see this marriage contract destroyed by your unseemly hoyden ways. You will act a lady until you leave this house as a married woman. Do you understand?»

Branna knew her aunt expected a positive response and so nodded her assent. Her aunt released her arm and Branna fled to her room. She closed the door behind her and crossed to her washbasin.

Branna picked up her small mirror. She was a mess. Her eyes were red and puffy and tears had stained her cheeks. Her hair hadn’t been brushed and her gown was dusty and torn.

She took a deep breath. If this was to be her life and her wedding celebration, then she would wear the colour her mother had worn on the night she was to be married, the night she’d died. It was the only way Branna knew to bring her mother close. She donned her yellow gown, made from patterned silk. It had long gathered sleeves trimmed with fur cuffs and a wide fur collar. She wrapped her best cloak about her shoulders and fastened it with her favourite silver brooch, a gift from Grandmama.

Branna left her room quietly and went in search of her grandmama, regularly found in the spinning room. She knocked lightly on the door and entered the room. Her grandmama sat at the side of the great spinning wheel, teasing the yarn into beautiful cloth. Branna stood without speaking, watching her grandmama’s fingers work their magic.

«Something on your mind, child?»

Branna took a deep breath. «Aunt Meeda has informed me of my marriage on the morrow.»

«I have also heard this. Are you not pleased?»

«I. ah. I cannot say as I have not met him.»

«This matters to you?»

«Aye. You have told me many times my mother loved the man she was to marry. I hoped to someday have the same.»

Her grandmama looked at her with sharp eyes. Branna couldn’t keep a flush from creeping up to her face.

«You have met someone who interests you.» It was a statement and not a question.

«Aye, but it can not be.» Branna changed the subject quickly. «Tell me more of the magic chalice. Can it make someone evil if that is in your heart?»

Grandmama resumed weaving. «Nay. It does not have such power.»

«It must. As Lord MacKenna held the chalice, I viewed a great evil take over his soul.»

Grandmama grabbed her arm. «You have seen the chalice?»

«Aye.» Branna cast her eyes to the floor. «But I lost it to Lord MacKenna, the man who helped me find it.»

«This man is your heart’s desire?»

Branna whispered, «Aye.»

«My child, the chalice has not the power to change what’s in one’s heart, but it can pass on lingering energy from the one who held it last. This might sway someone who has both good and evil in his heart.»

Branna raised her head and stared at her grandmama. «The dogs, they touched it last.» Hope flare within Branna. «You believe their evil was transferred and ’twas not truly him?»

«’Tis possible. Do you wish to know?»

«Aye.»

«Then you must trust your heart as did your mother.»

«Thank you.» Branna hugged and kissed her grandmama.

She ran from the spinning room and out to the stable. She pulled Molly from her stall and set her to saddle and bridle. A dirk lying across a table caught her attention. The dogs.

Branna grabbed it before mounting. If she had to kill them to save Devlin, so be it.

She knew without doubt that Devlin would never harm her.

Devlin stood within the old stone circle, just outside the portal tomb. The full moon illuminated the three cloaked and hooded men by his side.

He shifted on his feet, transferring the chalice to his other hand. Devlin was anxious to begin his new duties, to rule the Underworld. Yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was amiss. It was nothing he could lay a finger upon, but a hollow feeling persisted in his gut, similar to when his father had died.

Could his feelings of disquiet be due to his ill treatment of Branna? Devlin grew more uncomfortable. She hadn’t deserved his anger. Yet, he’d felt compelled to hurt her. He still could not understand why. Branna had only brought him comfort, lightness and ultimately. ecstasy. He could still smell and taste her skin after making love to her.

No woman had made him feel as whole or complete as Branna. Why was she not by his side? He knew the answer. His destiny lay in the Underworld and hers was in the light. His life was set and to bring Branna into it would cost her her life. He had to do this alone.

Devlin shook his head, dispelling his unease. Nothing would interfere with this transition. Devlin’s grip on the chalice hardened. It was now his duty to be sure this magic never reached mortal hands again. It was his heart’s desire, wasn’t it?

The thumping of hooves reached his ears. He turned and saw a woman on horseback. He knew who it was by her silhouette.

Branna.

The cloaked men around him transformed into sleek, powerful, white hounds. His uncle and the dogs moved as one to take up offensive positions.

Devlin raised his hand, stilling them. «I shall handle this.»

He stepped a short distance from the circle, headed for Branna. «Halt. You must leave at once.»

«Not until I get what I want.» She slid from the horse and walked towards him.

«You have no more business here. Return to your family and forget this.»

She didn’t stop. «Nay.»

Devlin drew his sword and held it stiffly before him. She stumbled when the moonlight struck it, glinting off its broad edge, but continued walking until she reached its sharp tip.

Devlin search her face, agonizing over his next words, barely moving for fear he’d nick her throat. «Please. don’t come closer. I’ve no wish to harm you.»

I wish to take you in my arms, but it would be your death.

She swallowed and whispered, «Nay.»

A chuckle almost escaped. He remembered their first meet had gone this way. «You must give up the chalice. It is lost to you.»

«’Tis not the chalice I seek.»

«What then?» Devlin words were ragged, not sure he could bear her closeness.

«’Tis you.»

«Nay, I’m lost.» The words slipped out painfully from between his tightly clenched teeth. «My uncle told me of your mother’s betrayal. She pushed my father into the jaws of the dogs. You must understand, she had to die.»

«Nay! Your uncle has lied to you. My mother took your father’s hand, prepared to fight beside him. But your father pushed her back to protect her. I was there. I saw it. My mother loved your father, as I love you.»

Confusion and anger ripped through Devlin. «You saw them fight together?»

«Aye.»

Devlin knew she did not lie.

Branna eased forwards until the tip of his sword pressed the base of her throat. «You are not evil. The evil you feel is from the dogs, as they last touched the chalice before it was buried. I believe you want to be released from this burden. I believe you want me.»

Devlin’s knees buckled as she leaned into the point. The sword pricked her skin, drawing a bead of blood. She closed her eyes. «You won’t hurt me. I trust you.»

The sight of crimson against her smooth white skin, skin he’d kissed and stroked, made him ill.

Aghast, he sank to his knees, sick and shaken. His sword dropped, the blade falling to the ground beside him. «Nay, I cannot harm you. I love you.»

The dogs growled menacingly behind him. He felt their presence closing in.

Devlin set his jaw. The idea seeded in him earlier had now taken root in his soul. He’d gain his heart’s desire — revenge against his uncle. He would not allow this evil to continue; it would stop with him. Even if it meant losing himself to the Underworld. and losing Branna.

Devlin stood, thrust the chalice into Branna’s hands and retrieved his sword. «Go. The chalice is yours. This is my fight.»

Branna shook her head. She pulled a small dirk from the folds of her skirt and grabbed his hand. «Nay. I will fight by your side. Together, we will defeat this evil.»

The dogs moved and encircled them, three to their two. Branna stood back to back with Devlin, each of them keeping the dogs within sight.

When Branna came close to the tomb, she threw the chalice within, praying its sacredness would protect it.

While she was distracted, the dogs attacked. Devlin whirled, pushing her against the tall rock. Branna stifled a scream as two hounds simultaneously launched at him. With a wide swipe of his sword, he scraped the first dog in the chest, splaying open a wound.

The blade continued its deadly path cleanly connecting with the neck of the other dog, beheading it. Both dogs fell to the earth. The headless dog was instantly sucked underground. The first dog lay panting hard, gravely injured. Its breaths slowed and stopped, then it was pulled below.

The third dog growled low in his throat. Branna gasped and moved out from behind Devlin. By its eyes, she recognized him as the lead dog, the one who’d panted in her face when she was a child. He snarled and bent low, jumping not at Devlin, but at her.

«Branna, no!»

Devlin brought his sword around, the blade awkwardly twisted away from its target. As she saw the dog flying towards her, Devlin threw his body in front of her and the dog’s jaws clamped down mere inches from her face. Devlin and the hound fell, snarling and grappling, a tangle of limbs. The dog gained the top, standing on Devlin’s chest, his hand and wrist in its jaws.

Branna gripped the dirk hard and threw herself at its back, stabbing it in the neck. It yelped and fell off Devlin, rolling on the ground, injured but not dead. Devlin quickly gained his feet and stabbed it in the chest. It too went still and disappeared under the earth.

«How very touching.»

Branna was yanked by her hair and pulled against the chest of Devlin’s uncle, his sword to her throat. This blade she knew could end her life.

Devlin gained his feet, his heart thumping as once again a blade rested at Branna’s throat.

«Release her. This is our fight, not hers.»

«I’m the better swordsman, especially with you injured.» He nodded to Devlin’s bleeding hand. Devlin held his sword strong and true, even as his bloodied arm throbbed. He didn’t care about the pain. He’d bear it to save Branna.

«Would you like to lose an arm to prove it?»

«Would you betray me as did your father?» His uncle’s voice turned soft, pleading. «She is of the same evil seed as her mother. She’ll destroy you. We must kill her, destroy the chalice and continue with our heart’s desire — the ceremony that will make you a ruler.»

Devlin had his heart’s desire in Branna. «I want the truth. Why did my father die?»

«It was an unfortunate miscalculation. Your father was besotted by that woman. He’d already sipped from the chalice and betrayed us. I couldn’t allow the marriage. I called to the dogs.»

«You called the dogs?»

«Aye. She was evil. Your father couldn’t see the wisdom of her death. He was weak, not like you who are strong.»

«What was of such great consequence you would sacrifice your own blood, your brother?»

«I was supposed to lead the Underworld, not the dogs. I made a bargain with the Lord of the Underworld, the most powerful of rulers. Yet there is always a sacrifice. The cost of my heart’s desire was my brother. and now you.»

«That is why you groomed me? To replace your brother, so you could have power?»

His uncle’s expression turned cold. «You shan’t judge me.» He glanced at the moon. «We waste time.» He pulled Branna by her hair towards the tomb. «Give me the chalice.»

Branna exchanged glances with Devlin. She reached in and retrieved it.

Once she had it in her possession, his uncle grabbed the chalice and pushed Branna away. «This is mine. I have to make it right.» He backed up and tripped on one of the discarded rocks from the previous night. He lost his balance and stumbled into the portal tomb.

His eyes turned into glowing red orbs like the dogs. His feet began sliding under the earth. «What’s happening? No, no this can’t be right. I gave you my brother. I’ll deliver my nephew to you. Don’t do. this. to me.»

A loud roaring filled Devlin’s ears and, within seconds, his uncle disappeared under the earth in a puff of smoke. The chalice bounced unharmed on the charred surface.

Branna lay where she’d fallen, exhausted by the ordeal but relieved. Devlin strode to the burned earth beneath the dolmen. He picked up the chalice and kicked the empty ground. With a shake of his head, he walked to her and offered her his hand.

«’Tis once again we find ourselves here.»

Branna gave him her hand and allowed him to pull her into his arms. «Aye, yet this time I’m not afraid.»

Devlin kissed the wounds on her neck, his warm lips soothing, removing the sting. «You were afraid of me?»

«Quaking in my boots, my lord. You have a most powerful sword.»

Devlin said, «And now what do you feel?»

«I feel the evil has been captured as surely as the hounds, save one.»

He smiled broadly. «Aye. Enough so the triumphant hound wishes to marry the hare.»

He held out the chalice. «Would you give up your quest to see your mother reborn? Will you have me?»

Branna placed her hand over his, moonlight glittering off the chalice’s green emeralds.

«Aye, I’ll have you.»

Branna knelt beside Devlin at the altar of the little stone chapel. Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, projecting the tree and colours on the stone floor. Branna’s freshly cleaned yellow gown flowed about her ankles. A garland of white flowers had been woven in her dark hair and streamed down her back.

«I, Devlin, take thee, Branna, to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, till death do us part, if the holy church will ordain it: and thereto I plight thee my troth.»

The priest handed Branna the golden chalice, embedded with brilliant emeralds. She took a sip, her eyes meeting Devlin’s over its gilded rim. She passed the chalice to him. He took a sip and then held the cup high.

Branna placed her hand over his, both their hands wrapped around the chalice’s centre.

They said in unison, their voices blending as strong as their love: «’Tis my heart’s desire.»