Imbolc by Leydon Moore

Author:Leydon Moore
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, paranormal, novella, tuatha de danann, contemporary paranormal romance, fantasy paranormal, book 1 in novella series, celtic ireland and romance, irish myth legends and history
Publisher: Leydon Moore

Five

THE SUN WAS ALREADY LOW IN the sky by the time Seamus moored at the island of Inis Stéisse. It had taken all morning to gather up the items on Diarmuid’s list. He was anxious to see Bridget again, see how she had fared spending the night in such primitive conditions. He had not slept well at all.

Bridget was laying down a fire beneath the open-hearth oven when Seamus found her. She was still wearing the borrowed clothes from last night. Her long hair was braided but unruly strands escaped, fluttered around her eyes, frustrating her as she tried to focus on the task at hand. She knelt before the pile of stacked and layered wood and extended her hands outward, close but not touching the kindling at the base. Seamus took note of her intense focus and her apparent frustration. She looked up to ask Diarmuid something. Diarmuid knelt beside Bridget, folded his hands around hers and spoke softly - words Seamus could not hear. Slowly a flame rose from within the center of the pyre; tentative, weak, almost dying out before it flared and was joined by others. Bridget laughed with delight, ecstatic as a child on Christmas morning.

Seamus knew what she had done. He knew what Diarmuid was doing. He did not like it, not one bit.

“Bridget, I’ve brought your things. Perhaps you’d like to change into something more comfortable,” Seamus called out, interrupting them.

“Seamus! Oh, thank you! My own clothes were still too damp to put on this morning. We’re going to start baking some bread but I’ll take a few minutes to change and take a break. Are you hungry? Why don’t you come with me and we’ll have something hot to drink and some bread and cheese,” she said, excitement speeding the flow of her words.

“Thank you, Diarmuid. I’ll be back soon to help with the bread,” she said, taking Seamus by the hand and leading him away toward a small beehive hut that had been allotted to her.

“Pull up a rock, Seamus, and I’ll be right out. Then we can get something to eat. I have so much to tell you!” Seamus sat on a nearby stone - which was relatively flat-topped and comfortable enough to serve its purpose - and waited with dread.

Bridget emerged wearing faded loose-fitting jeans, a long pullover sweater that settled around her hips, and sturdy hiking boots. The emerald green sweater accentuated her eyes, prominent in a face dusted with freckles, flushed by the cold, and framed by a wild mane of russet curls reasonably tamed by the braid. She was everything he wanted and more. She was everything he could not have.

“Ah, I feel better. Thank you, again, Seamus. I’m starved; let’s go eat.”

They sat at a table near the central fire where she and Diarmuid had spent all night talking, teaching, and learning. The tea was good, strong and steaming; the bread hearty, spread with sweet butter; the cheese sharp and crumbly. A feast!

“This is an amazing place, Seamus; the people so intriguing.

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