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“An army waits outside these walls for your orders. It is strange how time changes. I remember when we ran the druids out of the Otherworld for fear they would destroy us. Now, we all wait with bated breath as a druid determines whether or not she will catapult us into a time of blood and fear.”
“I have watched you grow from a child, to a woman, to a queen.” Macha reached out, her hand hovering in front of Sorcha and then closing into a fist. “You are more than the midwife I found in a glen with honey on her hands and rosemary in her hair. Look at you!”
She understood the formations which worked and those that didn’t. She saw through the eyes of the dying and the victors. Blades formed as red hot hammers struck them. Shields dented before her great strength, and blood flowed like a waterfall from her palms.
“You must not let it overwhelm you. War is dark and dangerous, there are many who fall prey to its nightmares. But you will not let it devour you. That is not your destiny.”
“And so the Druid Queen begins her war.”
“Magic in the most earthly way. You are a midwife, Sorcha. I thought you would have recognized the signs before I did.”
“A queen makes many hard decisions, and you will not be the first pregnant woman to march into battle. We fight many wars. With our bodies, with our minds, with our words. Go and be safe, Druid Queen.”
As she stepped from the armory, all who saw her felt fear in their hearts. Gone was their healer queen. A warrior stood before them, hair like a waving banner of blood, and war in her heart.
They would falter because they were not angry enough.
The wind picked up, catching her hair and snapping it out like the red banners they all held. The Druid Queen—the Rose Queen—sat atop her mighty steed. She knew how small she looked, how small she felt.
Eamonn palmed the back of her head and pressed their lips together. Warm and safe and wondrous, she framed his face with her palms and counted each of her many blessings.
“How was I blessed with such a woman?” “Is there an answer for that?” “The gods smiled on me when they created you. I am a well-loved man.”
Sorcha smiled. “I think they are afraid of me.” “In truth, so am I.” But he lifted her hand and pressed his lips against her fingers. “My Druid Queen, I am sorry I could not battle beside you.”
A star shaped wound over his heart Tiny crystals scattered around it, hardly comparable to his previous crevices and cracks, but still there. “Look,” she said. He held his hand over hers. “I’m pleased to keep it. It’s a good reminder of how precious life is.”
“There’s a reason my people were cast aside. They fear me, even more so now that I proved what I can do. I can control them so easily. They are right to be afraid.”
Beside himself and without words, Eamonn slid from the bed onto his knees before her. He pulled her close and pressed his forehead against her belly. She felt the slow glide of his nose as he nuzzled closer. “You are loved,” he growled, both to her and the child. “You will be great and honorable and good. You will have your mother’s flaming hair and your father’s stubborn chin. I will rock to sleep at night, and your mother will kiss you awake every morning.”
“Besides, it’s not every day a father gets to watch his child crowned queen.”
“We crown thee the Rose Queen! May you rule with kindness, nobility, and forgiveness.”
Eamonn reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Together.” She looked over at him and felt her heart swell. “Together.”
“It’s just in your delicate condition—” “If you say one more word about me being pregnant and fragile, I will set the drapes on fire.” “You wouldn’t dare.”
“It’s been a pleasure, ladies. But I have other business to attend to. I trust you will take care of my life?” “Your wife, you mean?” “No,” he corrected. “My life. She is the very reason I draw breath and is worth far more than just a title.”
The moon silhouetted her figure, sheer white fabric billowing over her body as the wind kissed her curves. How he loved her.
She was warm and soft, everything he had always desired his wife would be. He couldn’t remember ever seeing a Tuatha dé Danann woman quite like her. They were always regal, put together, tall and broad shouldered. Sorcha was tiny and so hot she burned like a furnace.
Eamonn felt the last chip of his soul slide back into place. His life had never been blessed with love, family, friends. He’d always been alone. Now, with this woman who was never alone, he found himself and a future filled with laughter and love.
He didn’t care that Bran was watching. Eamonn spun her around and dropped to his knees. He pressed his lips against her belly and felt the slow roll of his child between her hips. “Just a little while longer, nighean, daughter. Soon our family shall be together at last.”
Sorcha threaded her fingers through his loose hair, and Eamonn suddenly realized what it was like for all to be right in the world.
