Claire Delacroix (43 page)

Julian coughed deliberately. “I could offer counsel on that dress.”

“Oh, and we wouldn’t go near the men’s department!”

Julian frowned with sudden concern. “Marissa, you don’t think the tux is too staid, do you? I don’t want to look old.”

“Well, maybe they way they have it displayed it looks conservative, but I tell you, Julian, I saw this jacquard vest and bowtie at Bloomingdales that just screamed your name...”

“Ooh! What color?”

“Framboise. It was absolutely luscious - elegant, yet audacious, you know? It was perfect!” She practically dragged him to the elevator. “Come on, I’ll show you!”

And Julian was only to happy to go.

* * *

Epilogue

It was a glorious day for a wedding. The sun sparkled on the sea and Aurelia awakened with anticipation filling her heart.

Baird’s single comment that he preferred traditional weddings had opened the issue of whose traditions to follow. Aurelia had vetoed the very idea of having a priest officiate, while Baird had not taken well to the idea of entertaining everyone within a day’s sail of Dunhelm for three days and nights.

In the end, they had decided on a morning handfasting in the gardens. A quiet ceremony with their friends alone, at Dunhelm to close the circle of what had been begun here so many years before.

And on the morrow, the Beauforte Dunhelm Resort would open with a fanfare. Aurelia had laughed aloud when Baird unveiled the resort’s logo, his wink telling her exactly why a single arrow had been worked into the design.

Cupid’s arrow, indeed.

Aurelia smiled to herself as she dressed. Her dress was simply cut and wrought of ivory silk. It fit her figure smoothly, flaring to swirl around her ankles and leaving her shoulders bare. There was a band of embroidery in the same creamy shades across the neckline and around the hem. She had decided to make her vows barefoot and had told Baird as much.

Just to keep his interest.

Aurelia eyed her reflection critically once she was dressed and hoped her hair would grow back quickly. The power of the Dreaming was vastly diminished without her hair and even when the locks grew back, Aurelia knew they would never have their former strength.

She could not blame Baird for preferring it long, for she did as well, but given her choice and the same circumstance, she gladly would cut it again. It had been a small price to pay for Baird’s happiness.

And what need did Aurelia have of the Dreaming when everything she had ever desired awaited her in Dunhelm’s garden?

There came a knock on the door and Aurelia knew it was Talorc. When she learned of the custom of fathers escorting their daughters down the aisle, she had immediately asked Talorc for his aid. The old man had unabashedly blinked back a tear before he agreed.

And today, he looked as splendid in his tux as an older Julian might. He winked at Aurelia. “Are you sure about this young man of yours, Miss Aurelia?” he demanded gruffly, the merry twinkle in his eye belying his protective tone.

“Oh yes.” Aurelia felt herself flush, but Talorc merely smiled and offered her his elbow with a paternal air.

And as they left her room, Aurelia could feel Gemma’s presence keeping step.

* * *

A harp was playing as they stepped out onto the lawn and Aurelia’s smile widened when she saw Baird.

This time he waited for her, his hands folded before himself, his morning suit impeccably cut. The suit emphasized the broad width of his shoulders, showing his height and lean strength to advantage.

Baird’s eyes glowed as Aurelia stepped into the circle of roses and stephanotis laid in the grass. She thought her heart might burst when the heat of his hand closed over hers. They clasped hands left in left, right in right, and faced each other before the crashing sea. The wind lifted her skirts ever so slightly as she smiled up at the man who held her heart.

“Ready, princess?” he murmured.

Just past Baird’s shoulder, Aurelia saw the faint shadow of the King of Inverness and his wife, their faces wreathed in proud smiles. And Julian was there beside Baird, Thord’s mischievous smile dancing on his lips. She looked back to Talorc and caught a glimpse of her father in his blue eyes, then Gemma/Ursilla’s merry twinkle right beside a glowing Elizabeth.

Beyond them all lingered three figures in white, the Nairns themselves who wove the fate of all men into their cloth, the features of three great priestesses cast like shadows upon their faces. Even the women who had graced Aurelia with their gifts now came to wish her well.

She and Baird were not alone, they never had been. On this long-fated day, they were surrounded by all the ones who had loved them so dearly, in this life and all others.

The pulse of Baird’s child murmured in her belly of the future and Aurelia turned back to Baird with tears shimmering in her eyes. “I love you so very much,” she whispered.

Baird’s lips tugged in the half-smile that heated Aurelia’s blood. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured. When Aurelia smiled in turn, he squeezed her fingers, the began to recite the vows they had written themselves.

Aurelia watched as Baird pledged himself to her, his voice ringing with quiet conviction. She did not falter in her own oath, then Baird slid a simple gold band onto Aurelia’s finger. The heat of his hand lingered over her own.

“And so it was,” Aurelia said softly.

“And so it is,” Baird concurred.

They stared into each other’s eyes and simultaneously declared. “And so it always shall be.”

And when Aurelia turned laughingly into the hail of rose petals, she saw that the shadows of those gone before had faded like the morning mist. The power of their love lingered in her heart, and Aurelia knew it always would be there.

Just as she knew even when this life was far behind them, the wheel of life would circle once more. She and Baird would return, they would find each other and share again the power of a love that never died. The threads of their destinies were woven tightly together and would remain entangled for all time.

So it was.

So it is.

And so it always would be.

* * *

Author’s Note

Dunhelm, of course, does not truly exist, although it is an amalgamation of many Scottish castles that I have had the good fortune to visit. In my mind’s eye, it occupies the northwest tip of the island of Rousay in the Orkney Islands, though - of course! - you won’t find it there.

Nor will you find a description of the Picts in any book as they appear here. As Talorc’s fictional book indicates, there is very little actually known of the Picts, other than their apparent preference for tattoos and for carving monumental stones. Aurelia’s stone is consistent with the symbolism of Pictish stones - with the exception of the image of Aurelia herself - though the interpretation is entirely my own. When in doubt, I’ve given the Picts characteristics and/or habits known of the Celts, since the prevalent theory is that the Picts are descendants of the Celts.

Since the Picts left no records other than their List of Kings, their religious beliefs are also unknown. I’ve taken the liberty of making them pagans, like the Celts, and their religion Goddess-based, as was common throughout Europe before the wave of conversions to Christianity. Neo-pagans and students of European paganism will recognize the triple aspect of the Goddess, as well as Her association with the moon.

The Stones of Stemness on the Orkney Islands are as described, though no interpretation of their positioning exists as explained in the text. These stones form the oldest ‘henge’ in Europe, though, and studies of others like them - for example, Stonehenge - have revealed their ancient use as observatories. Aurelia’s name for the Stones of Stemness and the nearby Ring of Brodgar are my own invention - both circles were named in the nineteenth century, so needs demanded she call them something else.

The fertility festival of Eostre was celebrated by European pagans, most particularly the Saxons (who passed the event to the Norse). The Moon of Eostre began on the first full moon after the spring equinox, and was the time when the Goddess was “pregnant” with the promise of the growing season. The festival also marked the Goddess’ victory over the underworld and her triumphant return to the land of the living - bringing spring and rebirth in her wake - an aspect echoed in the Christian celebration of Easter.

In addition, Christianity adopted the timing of Easter (which is still calculated on Roman calendars as the first Sunday after the first full moon after the spring equinox) from this festival, as well as the fertility symbols of the egg and the bunny.

The egg as a symbol of birth and renewal is pretty self-explanatory, but the bunny’s symbolism has nothing to do with that creature’s reproductive abilities! Many ancient cultures saw a Moon-hare in the full moon instead what we commonly call the Man in the Moon. Since the full moon symbolized the Goddess at the height of her power, the hare (or bunny) became sacred to Her.

So, next time the moon is full, take a good look at those dark marks and decide what you see!

* * *

If you enjoyed ONCE UPON A KISS and you post a review online, you could win a free book from Claire!

Each month, Claire hosts a contest in appreciation of readers who post reviews. Please visit her blog and choose Reviewers’ Contest from the category sidebar for more details.

http://www.delacroix.net/blog

* * *

Ready for more magical romance?

Please read on for a taste of LOVE POTION #9,

now available in new digital and print editions.

* * *

An excerpt from LOVE POTION #9 ©1999, 2011 Claire Delacroix, Inc.

Lilith was in a funk. She rattled through her house, picking listlessly at this crystal or that astrological chart. She was dimly aware of the moving van disgorging possessions next door, but wasn’t really interested.

She was hot in more ways than one.

It was their 579
^th
anniversary and – just like the last 578 times – Sebastian hadn’t shown.

Yet, even given that, today Lilith couldn’t evict Sebastian from her mind. The memory of the evening they’d spent together tormented her. The echo of his last pledge rang in her ears. She had dreamed of him the night before, relived that precious time so vividly that she’d been sure she could feel his hands on her when she awakened in the morning.

But he wasn’t there.

Lilith was alone.

Still.

Maybe it was the heat that tried her patience.

Maybe it was this marathon run of celibacy that was getting on her nerves. Lilith had been patient, but immortality alone wasn’t a lot of fun. She was tired of being resilient and optimistic. She was tired of being cheerful in solitude.

Lilith was done with the waiting.

And Sebastian was late, but any calculation.

Tarot card reader, astrologist and crystal therapist, Lilith had adopted all the trappings of the occult to mask her Gift. She was reluctant to give any hint of the real nature of her talent, so she blamed everything on the tarot cards. People found it easier to believe that a stack of cardboard cards held the secrets of the future than that Lilith could see the truth in their eyes.

For the fact was that the draught for immortality – when Lilith had ultimately earned the right to a sip – had added an interesting twist to her innate Gift. After drinking that elixir, Lilith could see anyone’s match right in their eyes. Regardless of where that lovematch was in the world, she could set anyone on the path to connecting with his or her soulmate.

Maybe it was because her heart had been so full of Sebastian when she had that precious sip.

It was a bitter kind of irony to make her living consoling the lovelorn when she was so lonely herself. Lilith didn’t even know how many weddings she’d been invited to attend, mostly because she had in some way been responsible for introducing the bride and groom.

Always a bridesmaid, as the saying went.

The experience was getting old. She’d stopped going stag to weddings five years before, but it didn’t make her feel any better. The invitations were bad enough.

Sebastian was taking his own sweet time returning to her, that much was for certain. Lilith remembered the way he had kissed her and her skin heated. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her favorite chair to remember every caress, one more time.

The only time.

So much for promises made on the gallows.

Lilith frowned at the room, and caught the knowing glint in D’Artagnan’s eyes. That cat saw too much, and it was a blessing he couldn’t talk. He had moved in with purpose two years before, characteristically disinterested in Lilith’s opinion of his presence.

She wondered whether the cat knew that she only let him stay in deliberate defiance of
Rom
norms. Cats licked themselves, polluting inside with outside. Cats were dirty in
Rom
terms. Cats were
mahrime
.

But then, Lilith had been
mahrime
herself for a long time. Maybe there was a twisted kind of justice in D’Artagnan’s deliberate adoption of her. Maybe they belonged together.

That wasn’t the most optimistic thought she could have had.

Lilith wondered why she had any concern with
mahrime
conventions. It wasn’t as if the
Rom
and their ideas had anything to do with her. Nope, she was just a witch who told fortunes, not a gypsy at all. She had studied
gadje
witchcraft, learned to mix potions and cast spells, draw circles for the moon and read astrological charts, too.

She was not
Rom
.

She refused to be
Rom
.

And that was that.

D’Artagnan started cleaning himself – always fastidious – and even the sight of his little darting tongue made Lilith fidget.