Kissing the Barney Stone by Megan Hussey

Margaret’s guardian fairy accidentally conjures handsome Irishman Barney Stone. Can love be borne from a misbegotten spell?

The Cunning Thief by Tysche Dwai

Clever Jack loves the squire’s daughter – but can a poor man gain her hand? With luck, libido, and larceny, Jack proves love prevails…given enough wit.

The Mists of Connemara by Isabelle Kane and Audrey Tremaine

Briana has seemingly lost all. Will Briana dare to follow her heart and her true love to Tir na nOg, beyond the mists of Connemara?

An Irish Bedtime Tale by Mae Powers

King Lachlan wants a bride who can tell him a special kind of story. Finding the right one amongst so many princesses is the problem.

Excerpts
 

Kissing The Barney Stone

By

Megan Hussey

Chapter One

Margaret O’Connor’s dreams of the Emerald Isle were radiant and unchanging. Night after night, her mind carried her over crystalline waterfalls and through vast, rich meadows, across gardens embroidered with gold and lavender floras, laced with lush greenery, and over cliffs that stood nobly above the bountiful Atlantic.

She never tired of these nocturnal images, she only wished she could run barefoot through the green grass of Beaufort, or pick a floral keepsake from the Rowallane Garden.

Most importantly, she wanted to kiss the cheek of the hearty, smiling Irish grandma who raised her in this enchanted land.

Instead, Margaret woke each morning in a cramped apartment, then left for an equally stifling office where the only nod to Irish culture was an annual St. Patrick’s Day celebration. This questionable festivity usually involved the telling of lame jokes and the mass consumption of turf-colored beer.

“Which makes it basically no different than any other office party at that place,” Margaret sniffed as she uttered sarcastically. “Except, of course, for the rather eerie hue of the beer. And when the priest, rabbi and giraffe walk into the hypothetical bar, they’re accompanied by a leprechaun.”

 What was worse, on the rare occasion she was able to speak with her grandmother no, the fact those blasted phone bills were greenish in color didn’t help a blimey bit, the news wasn’t all good. Like this morning when she was awakened from Irish dreams by the shrill ring of her telephone, she knew something was amiss. And she knew that “a miss” was at the center of it all; more specifically, an Irish miss about the size and character of Margaret’s bank account, which right now felt miniscule and chronically troublesome.

“Good morning, Granny,” she said into the phone, bracing herself for the inevitable.

“Margaret,” Clara O’Connor’s voice took the form of a sharp, clipped Irish brogue, a tone quite charming when she wasn’t royally peeved. “Call off your fairy!”

The request, which would sound totally preposterous to most people, was almost commonplace to Margaret. That was just the kind of life Margaret led.

Frightening, really, reflected the 28-year-old, then said aloud, “Granny, let me talk to Mairead.”

Soon her ears were filled with yet another Irish brogue – this one shrill and clear.

“Margaret, I did as she asked – truly I did. She…”

“She made my car disappear, Margaret.” Although Clara no longer occupied the phone line, her voice resounded loudly from the background.

Never any problem hearin’ Granny, thought Margaret.

Or Mairead, for that matter, who now wailed plaintively into a defenseless telephone receiver. “She told me she wanted her Cadillac to disappear,” she said. “She did! She did indeed!”

Margaret only rolled her eyes, and awaited the unfortunate punch-line.

“Granny?” she asked with a heavy sigh. “What did you really ask of Mairead?”

“Margaret,” Clara said. “I asked the fairy to make my cataract disappear.”

Shutting her eyes tight, Margaret exhaled sharply before answering.

“Mairead, you are a great and magical fairy, a Celtic deity and descendant of the Tuatha De Danaan. You are a woman of the sidhe, a bearer of incredible mystical powers.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “All of which makes you really old!” she finished bluntly. “You need a friggin’ hearing aid.”

“How dare you, you impertinent girl!” Mairead roared, more accurately, yelped as boldly as her falsetto tones would allow. “You will not speak to a daughter of Brigid, highest of the fairy queens, in that manner.”

Margaret chuckled in spite of herself as she heard an indelicate snort pass the maternal lips of her grandmum.

“Mairead, I know Brigid,” grandmum told the fuming fairy. “Brigid is a friend of mine. And you, my dear, are no…”

“That joke gets no funnier each time you tell it,” Mairead snapped.

“Ok! Ok!” Margaret interrupted, herself wishing to conjure a referee’s whist and a good set of earplugs. “It’s time for you two to hug and make up. That is, Mairead, after you produce Granny’s Cadillac. Come on, Celtic Chicksta, cough it up.”

“Not this time, Margaret.” Both Margaret and Mairead fell silent as Clara issued this sharply spoken declaration.

“Margaret,” Clara continued, tone sharp and measured. “Mairead is your fairy, she was given to you as a good luck charm on your fifth birthday.”

“I know, Grandmum,” Margaret replied, adding silently, Darn that Aunt Marian; a lovely woman, but why couldn’t she give me something more quiet and stereotypically Irish, like a shamrock? Or an easy listening tape with the sounds of a Celtic harp playing subtly in the background?

She listened closely as Clara continued. “I’ve housed and cared for Mairead since you moved to Florida,” she reminded her. “And now I shall send her to you.”

Margaret jumped as her ears filled with a loud, shrill wail of assent from the fairy in question.

“Indeed!” Mairead exclaimed. “I will live in the States with my Margaret, the woman for whom I was named. The woman whose wishes I was born to grant, the sister of my soul!”

Margaret sighed, and she smiled softly in spite of herself. Mairead’s words were true enough. The fairy’s name was a classic Irish variation of her own moniker; and gentle Aunt Marian intended the fairy as her lifetime guardian and friend.

“Grandmum,” she said finally. “Send my fairy to me.”

The Cunning Thief

by

Tysche Dwai

 In a simpler world, where carts carried a man’s family and not cars, there lived a strapping lad named Jack. Sure and he was the youngest of three sons sharing bed and board in his father’s house, and times were hard in the Irish hills. Their farm grew more stones than potatoes.

 One morning, their Da called the three boys together. There was a sorrow about him as they had never seen. “Lads, I can no longer support you as things stand. You must go forth and make your own way in the world. But know you all, there is a home here if you need it.”

 Sean, the eldest of the sons, laid a hand on his father’s shoulder and said, “We will make you proud, Da. I’ll leave in the morning, and go East.”

 Paddy, the middle brother, shook his father’s hand and said, “Aye. We are men grown. We will be fine. I will go West at daybreak.”

 Jack hugged his father and murmured, “Sure and we understand, Da. I’ll follow the wind in the morning.”

 But there were other things to settle that night.

 Jack was a handsome fellow, new turned twenty, and he had caught the eye of many a lass, including the squire’s daughter, Katherine. So, as soon as his father dismissed them, he hurried across the hill to the big house up the lane.

 Scooping up a handful of pebbles from the drive, he lobbed them one at a time with practiced ease against a certain leaded casement. On the third, it swung open. “Hist, Jack!” whispered Katherine, leaning out her window, “what are you playing at? Father is not yet gone to bed. If he catches you…”

 “Come down, Katie. I must talk to you.”

 “I’m in my nightdress!”

 Jack grinned up at her. “Sure and I’ve never seen that afore.”

 “You are a saucy lad, Jack Gallagher! I should sic the dogs on you.”

 “But you won’t, my pretty lass, will you now?”

 Katherine shook her red-gold head. “Nay. But I should. Be right down.”

 Scarce had Jack stepped into the shadows around the kitchen door when it flew open and Katherine ran into his arms, her little white feet bare beneath her linen nightdress. He swung her up into his embrace, planting a smacking kiss on her eager lips.

 “Katherine Callaghan, you are the light of my heart. But I must leave you in the morning.”

 “Leave?”

 “Aye. It’s duty to me father that sends me from your door.”

 She laid her head against his shoulder, her curls bright against the rough serge even in the twilight’s gloaming. “Must you, Jack?”

 “Aye, lass. I must. But I will be back for you, and we will be wed as I promised.”

 Katherine sighed. “Father will never allow it, Jack.”

 “Sure and if I come back with riches enough to buy the hall, he won’t be able to say no, now will he?” He kissed the tip of her upturned nose. “Don’t you fret, Katie me girl.”

 She shifted in his arms. “You can put me down now, Jack. I’m sure I must be heavy.”

 Jack shook his dark head. “Never, me love. You are a feather in me arms. But I have a thought…” He moved away from the shadows of the great stone hall.

 “Where are you taking me, you fiend?” Katherine laughed softly, the sound a tinkling music in the darkness.

 “Can’t you guess, me darlin’?”

 “Yes, I can. And I’ve told you before that it smells in there,” she protested.

 “Mebbe so, but it is warm and comfortable, ain’t it?” Jack pushed open the stable door with his foot. “And dry from the dew that will be soaking the heather before I let you go, me love.”

 “What if Mother comes to check on me?”

 “Sure and she still checks up on a great girl of nineteen? All the more reason I must make an honest woman of you as soon as I may.”

 Katherine giggled. “I set the bolster under the blanket as you told me, Jack. She’ll not venture inside, even if she does open the door…but it is a risk we take.”

 “Spice to the sauce, ain’t it?” He tossed her onto a pile of hay and turned to light the lantern hanging on a nearby hook. His hand stopped in mid air as he caught sight of the moonlight streaming through the open hay doors above them. Its silver light outlined Katherine’s slender figure, making her glow like the angel he knew her to be.

 “What is it, Jack?” she asked anxiously, propping herself up on her elbows.

 “Nothing but the moon, love—sure and it makes you more beautiful than ever. Leaving you will tear the heart from me breast.”

 “It will never do.” She patted the hay beside her. “Leave the lantern be. The moon is full tonight. Plenty of light to see by.”

 He stretched out beside her on the prickly hay. “’Tis no fine, goose-feather bed, me darlin’, but someday it will be. I promise you that.”

 Reaching up to touch his cheek, Katherine murmured, “As long as I bed with you, Jack Gallagher, I would sleep in the coal pit.”

 “And ruin that fine white gown?”

 “If it is my gown you worry on…” With a twinkle that even the wayward moonlight couldn’t hide, she sat up and pulled the linen nightdress over her head.

 Her body was sculptured marble in the pearly light, and he felt himself harden at the mere sight of her. The moon dampened the fire at crown and mound, but did not extinguish it. Bright as it was, he could even see a hint of the emerald in her eyes.

  “You are a true vision, Katie, me own.”

 “And you are seeing all of me while I see none of you, Jack Gallagher. Is that fair?” She pouted and crossed her arms over those lovely breasts that made him want to suckle like a babe.

 It wasn’t their first trip to the stables, but the moonlight cast a whole new feel upon the occasion, and he felt a solemnity to the moment that their romps had never drawn from him. He plucked a handful of hay from the rick, and braided it into a circlet.

Kneeling before her on the bed of straw, he reached out and took her hand, slipping the twist of hay about her wrist.

 “’Tisn’t a band of gold, Katie, but it is from me heart I ask you—officially and before God in His Heaven—will you do me the honor of being me wife?”

 Katherine tilted her head. “But I’ve told you before, Jack, when you asked me at the Martinmas dance. There is no one else in the world that I will wed.”

 “I know, me love, but that was flirting, and I didn’t know if you took me serious. Now I am vowing that I will come back to you with a mound of gold and replace this straw with the finest jewels. I will become a man your father will accept as son, and we will be wed in the church before God and His host.”

 She lay back in the straw and reached up to him. “Come and love me, Jack, and I will wait for you till Judgment if I must.”

 Jack was not opposed to the idea, and—in fact—parts of him were already eager for the joining. Quick as he might, he slipped out of his rough-spun clothes and laid him down beside her.

 Taking her in his arms, he kissed her long and deep, and then let his lips trail lower to the nubbin on her breast that had caught his eye before. He took it into his mouth, and sucked it until she gasped with pleasure.

 “Oh, Jack,” she moaned, “take me proper.”

 Moving up to nuzzle her neck, he covered her body with his, and let his cock slide home where it wanted to rest. She was tight around his shaft, and they moved together in a practiced harmony. Tonight, they went slow at first, savoring their last meeting till the bells of Fortune rang. But the fire between them was not content with the tameness of the hearth, and soon became a raging inferno that burned away all thought and sense.

 Jack cried out his release in a voice fit to wake the dead.

They froze in horror. All their plans would be for naught if the squire caught them in the stable in their present state of dress.

He dropped a kiss on her nose and snatched up his trousers. “I must be leaving you now, Katie, me love. We start out at first light.”

“We?”

“Aye. Da is sending the three of us packing at once. Crops this season he can harvest with one hand, and having three sturdy lads to feed squeezes each bean till it squeals.” He jerked on his trousers and shook out his shirt to remove the hay. “Sean and Paddy will head for a city and try to find some laborer’s berth—”

“You sound like that is a bad thing, Jack.” Katherine sat up in the straw, her arms hugging her knees.

“Put your clothes on, girl. You’ll catch your death—and you are distracting the life out of me.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, and pulled her nightdress over her. She began to comb out her curls with her fingers, the hay twist bangle riding up and down on her wrist. “Where will you go if you don’t go to the city, Jack?”

“I will make my way through the forest. I think there is treasure to be found there,” he replied, sitting to put on his brogues. “A clever man can find fortune anywhere.”

“But the forest is full of wild animals and wilder men, Jack. There are tales of a gang of thieves operating from its heart.”

“Where better to gain me wealth then? From thieves who’ve robbed the innocent. I will be righting a wrong while winning your father’s support.”

“Just come home to me, Jack. That is all that matters.”

“By that blessed moon peeking down on us, I swear, Katherine Callaghan. I will return for your hand. Watch for me by the time it rises full again.”

“Oh, Jack.” She laughed. “Not even you can win a fortune in less than a month.”

“Watch for me and see. Got to go, me darlin’. Let’s get you back to the house.”

Hand in hand they crept back to the kitchen door, and he kissed her hard in parting. “One month. It’s all I can stand apart from you, me beauty.”

Slipping like a shadow over the crest of the hill to the family farm, Jack thought about his promise. It wasn’t an idle one. If he could not make his fortune in a month, he would not be worthy of Katherine’s hand. He would return rich in a month or not at all.

The Mists of Connemara
 by

Isabelle Kane and Audrey Tremaine

As a young child, Brianna Dwyre believed in fairies. In fact, she’d seen them, drawn them, spoken with them, even befriended them. One in particular, Uistean the Fair of the Tuatha de Danaan, had been a special friend and companion to her throughout her childhood. By the time she was ten, she’d learned it wasn’t wise to speak of Uistean and the other fairies to her schoolmates, parents, and teachers. She’d overheard her mother whisper to an aunt: “We’re hoping she’ll outgrow this imaginary friend stage soon. It’s cute, but rather embarrassing. It’s almost like she prefers these fantasies of hers to real people. Perhaps I should bring it up with the pediatrician.”

She’d learned to keep the fairies and Uistean to herself. The only person with whom she discussed them with after that was her older sister, Moira. Moira listened to her babbling about her fairies and never made a comment. Brianna felt she could confide in her. But then one evening as fifteen-year-old Moira was applying mascara in her vanity mirror, getting ready to go to a school dance, she’d expressed her true feelings to her sister.

“Don’t you think it’s time to let the whole fairy thing go, Bri? Enough’s enough. You don’t really believe in fairies still, do you?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she met her sister’s glance in the mirror. “You do realize they’re about as real as Santa Claus, don’t you?”

Brianna never answered.

Moira turned her head from side to side as she admired the affect of the blue mascara on her lashes. “Honestly, Bri, you are just so weird sometimes. Such a baby.”

Brianna didn’t cry then…not until she was alone in her own room. Then, she sobbed, muffling the sounds in her pillow. It was a terrible dilemma for a girl of her age. Like any young teen, she wanted to be “normal,” accepted by her peers, and deep down inside, she recognized that Moira voiced the opinion that others would share. Brianna’s visits to the Rath, the ancient Celtic earthen fortress outlined with rocks, diminished. The number of fairies awaiting her diminished as well, until only Uistean remained.

He was always delighted to see her, and they passed their time together in the usual pleasant ways; he sang to her stories of Ireland’s past and she drew him. They wandered along the edge of the surf, or they galloped madly through it with him in the form of a Connemara stallion and her astride him. She knew he sensed her withdrawal, she witnessed the pain in his dark sea eyes.

Then, when she reached sixteen and worried for her own sanity, Brianna sent him away. It hadn’t been easy, in truth, it nearly broke her heart, but it needed to be done.

“I can’t see you anymore,” she stared at the ground as she’d said the words, unable to meet his glance. She’d gripped the Claddagh ring he’d given her.

Uistean didn’t object or protest. He’d simply asked her: “Why?”

She looked up at his elegant features, at the shoulder length, blond-brown hair that hung straight down his back. He was beautiful with his lean, angular cheeks, the way his blue eyes seemed to turn up at the corners when he smiled, and his arching eyebrows that called to mind a hawk or an eagle. To her immense discomfort, she’d been physically more aware of him lately. She noticed his long-fingered, callused, warrior’s hands that were so gentle when they brushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes. She observed how his shoulders were broadening and thickening, and that there was now a dusting of blond hair on the chest which he sometimes bared. The thick muscles on his thighs and the heat that radiated from him when he lay beside her in the grass also became difficult to disregard. He was so different from the boys at her school.

“Why is it that you’re always my age or just a few years older?”

“Because I choose to appear in a form you are comfortable with, Mo Ghrá My Love. We are meant to be together.”

“I can’t ever be your love, Uistean! Nor you mine. Can’t you see this…this thing between us is impossible?” She’d turned from him, and then felt his fingers gently encircle her arm. “No!” She’d thrust him away. “I can’t do this anymore. Sometimes I think I’m going crazy. Uistean, there’s no future in this, in us! I’ll keep coming here, just getting older, and you never will, not really. My family will say I’m ‘eccentric’ and I won’t ever marry. I’ll just have a hoard of dogs that’ll come with me when I visit you. That’s not a life for either of us. It’s a half life!” Then, she ran away, and he didn’t come after her. He, too, must have known she was right.

An Irish Bedtime Tale

by
Mae Powers

Chapter One

In the Irish Isles lived a royal man called King Lachlan De Tuath. Most considered him a great and fair king. He was good to his subjects when they were good to his whims. He ruled just and firm, but when he went to his private chambers early every evening, he liked being told stories in order to relax from his day’s burdens.

He’d had many storytellers in his employ, but none were able to tell him stories that he was more inclined to hear. But then most were from older men who told light-hearted daring tales. Most were good stories, Lachlan had to admit, but still he missed something more personal in those stories.

He figured that his own problem of late, had to be part of the reason. It was time for him to take a bride. Though he knew he should make a powerful alliance, he felt distraught about taking a strange woman into his home who might think that his story listening, before he slept, was a childish thing.

He wanted a woman who could share his enjoyment. He felt sure women liked to listen to daring tales of young noblemen and heroes, but the kind of stories he liked, or would like to listen to more, were not considered fit for a lady’s ears. Well, at least standard politeness said so.

Lachlan wondered if a woman could tell a tale, sensual enough to arouse him and keep him interested in her, both in heart and body, and of course, her mind too.

For it was the mind that sent him on a quest for more. He wanted to be scintillated physically, mentally and emotionally. Was that too much to ask for a mere king? As he sat upon his throne, one day, listening to his councilors and those that daily reminded him of his kingly tasks, it dawned on him that perhaps this should be his requirement for finding the right bride.

So, as his main councilor brought up the fact that he’d learn of several other kings of the land looking for husbands for their daughters, Lachlan held up his hand and stopped the older man.

“Delis, , I apologize for interrupting you, kind Councilor, but hear me out. I have certain requirements for a bride now.” When he felt his main councilor was mollified enough, he resumed his speech. “We will give a week long feast and invite several eligible princesses and other royal dames to our celebration in their honor. From them I will choose a queen who can best keep the court’s interest.”

Now quite a few of his councilors knew how the king loved his evening stories, so Delis, being the wise man he was, decided that in the marriage proclamation and search, he would make sure that the damsels knew how to secure the King’s interest.

“I will take care of your request, Sire,” Delis replied to the king.

Lachlan had long been use to Delis’ wiseness, for the man served his father, King Elrod, before Lachlan took the throne. The royal councilor knew about Lachlan’s desire to know other tales toofor Delis was his friend and confident also. Lachlan could trust the man to know what to look for in a bride.

So, the proclamation and invitations to King Lachlan’s court was sent out all over the Emerald Isles, that the young king looked for a bride and would entertain several candidates. The whole country was temporarily at peace, so it was a good thing Lachlan made his invitation then. Of course, there were those royals that knew a tie with such a powerful king as Lachlan would be good for their kingdoms; so many nobles from kings to dukes decided to send their daughters with their escorts to the feast Lachlan declared in their honor.

There happened to be one monarch in a small kingdom near the southern tip of Erin with a very comely daughter. It was a quiet kingdom, hardly ever ransacked by any villainous peoples, so the kingdom fairly prospered and knew peace most of the time.

King Raoth McCallah loved his kingdom and subjects and children with all his heart. His one constant bane was his eldest daughter. Princess Kyra stood tall like an oak, and her eyes were as green as any green in all of Erin. She had a lovely shape, or so he’d been told by her admirers, and a nice enough disposition. So though not as beautiful as her red-haired sisters, the raven-haired beauty never wanted for princes courting her, despite her unseemly behavior at times.

King Raoth had even sent his harridan of a daughter across the seas to neighboring countries, so she could learn more decorum. Sometimes he sent her just to get her sometimes annoying presence out of the royal court. Still, Kyra would be Kyra. And even though she made Raoth sigh with woe at times, he still loved his precocious eldest child.

When he heard about the invitation from King Lachlan, something told him that perhaps this might be the answer to his slight problem with his daughter. So he declared she would go, and he set his foot down about it. To his trembling amazement, she meekly obeyed his command. Kyra, it seemed, had no desire to upset her father.

Raoth took to his bed early that night, wondering what his daughter was up to now. Fathers often had sleepless nights over what their children might be about. Kings were no different. So, when he awoke early the next morning, it was to still find a very obedient daughter at his morning meal.

When he asked her about the trip to the northern coast, she answered she desired to go. She wished to make her father proud of her. Not really knowing what to say, he smiled wanly, believing his eldest child had finally learned to be a very good princess.

Many preparations were made for her journey. Within a week, she and her entourage headed to the kingdom of King Lachlan. When she arrived at the large castle, the king’s emissary met her and escorted her to her. She noted many fine princesses and other royals from neighboring kingdoms and other far off lands had come for the week’s festivities.

Kyra did not see King Lachlan until later at evening meal, when everyone gathered in the great hall for the first of the festivities. Being a princess from a smaller kingdom, she was placed at a side table away from the king’s table, where he had other royal ladies and people from larger monarchy’s sitting on either side of him. This did not bother her one bit.

For when she saw King Lachlan’s handsome personage, she knew then and there that this was the man for her. Having been to other lands, she knew that men of the ruling class sometimes liked a woman that intrigued them in different ways. So, she determined that she would find out what it would take to keep Lachlan’s interest for years to come.

After all, she wanted a man that would keep her mind, body, and heart occupied too. And her heart told her that Lachlan could. While she pretended to listen avidly to those on either side of her, she viewed his tall, sturdy body and handsome face intently. While he made merry, she saw evidence he was genuinely interested in what went on around him. Lachlan’s small goatee and bushy brows might have made some maiden princess fearful. He looked like a demon in disguise. Yet for her, she found his manners and hearty laugh very appealing, as she did his long yellow-brown hair and muscular build.

She would love a man like this in her bed. Not that she’d had that many men there, mind you, but she learned enough in her travels about how to please a man in different ways. Now, she felt determined to learn what pleased a man of intelligence like Lachlan. Being a person that studied others, Kyra saw that beneath his lively facade, he looked wistful when he glanced over the faces of the beauties that had come to vie for being his bride. This then, she thought, was a man with a secret desire for something, something that he found lacking in women before.

She resolved to find out what he yearned for. The voice of the man on her right filtered to her ears, and she turned to see an elderly blonde gent talking to a noble woman, perhaps his wife, since they were so animatedly close. She listened carefully to their conversation while trying not to appear too unseemly inquisitive.

The older woman addressed the man’s previous comment evidently. “I tell you, my dear Delis, there are naught but pretty faces here. Some seem clever but more placid than pretty in the noggin to be sure.”

“Now, Erina, me dear, as his main councilor, I must see to it that each of these lovelies has a chance to win our dear Lachlan’s heart. Surely, one of them knows how to tell a tale that would interest our young Lach and keep his heart and mind enchanted. What say you to helping me find just the right one?”

The elder smiled prettily for the councilor, and Kyra did her best not to chuckle at the sweet interplay between the older couple. Here, then, she realized, were two of the king’s closest friends. For they would not have spoke so personally of him were they not close indeed.

“For certain I will help you, dear to my heart. But what could I possibly do to help our Lachlan find the perfect mate?”

“As a noble lady of his court, you will be walking amongst the young candidates during the morning time ladies have set aside for entertainment. Perhaps you can discover who amongst them is book read. Or even likes to tell amusing stories. Then put it about that the king likes to be told verses of keen words.”

“They will all vie to try and tell the best story,” she smiled up at her husband affectionately, Kyra noted. “And I believe half of them are daft in their education.”

“Not all kingdoms encourage their women to have an education,” Delis said, patting his wife’s hand, “but Lachlan and his forefathers always encouraged that and more. Now pass me some of that mead, wench of my heart.”

Kyra turned her face back to the main table, having new respect for King Lachlan. She was determined more than anything now to get and keep the king’s interest. So, she quietly listened to more of what was said around her and began to form a plan. She went to bed that night thinking about what she had learned. Tomorrow she would put her plan into action: her goal—to win Lachlan’s heart, body and mind.

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