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Fantasy Romance

Recommended reading sequence: Predestined, Fey Born, and White Fells.  These books are based on the myths of ancient Ireland.

For those unfamiliar with the word, "fells," it means upland pastures. 

Book Description

White Fells

Destiny will not be denied... 

A formidable warrior of the Tuatha De Danann, Boyden is one of the few born of the idir, the between. With the power to summon the bringer of death in the form of a fey wind, he could kill all living creatures — including an invader seeking vengeance for a wrongful death — but he vows to find another way.

Princess Scota, a confident warrior princess, does not believe in anything fey…until she meets her people's latest captive, a proud male whose defiant nature she cannot tame and, in a twist of fate, becomes captive instead of captor.

Across wind-scored hills and misty woodlands, to the realm of the fey below, theirs is a battle of determination and distrust that, once breached, erupts into a hot and eternal passion. A passion now susceptible to a needful and terrible fey claiming. In a land covered in blood, they battle for a truce between their warring people, one that will threaten their lives and newfound love. In a future offering little choice, Scota knows the survival of their love depends on Boyden learning to submit … willingly.

Excerpt

White Fells

In the dimming light of a long hard day, Boyden examined the bloody gash on his thumb.  Eyes narrowing to slits of pale gray, he glared silent retribution at the sharp ridge of the moss-dappled boulder.  Better suited for a passage grave, he was trying to move it out of the blind druidess’s ever-expanding garden without toppling the prolific growth of stunted hawthorns.  To his right, the gaping ruins of a stone wall sloped down an emerald knoll and curved into oak trees.  Horses stood quietly grazing on three separate hills in the distance, their tails swishing lazily in tranquillity.  Bare from the waist up, sweat and dirt covered every inch of him with the day near ending and the boulder not budging.  He looked at his bloody palm and thought, enough for today.

Hiking himself out of the rocky ditch he spent the day digging, he flipped a tawny plait back over his shoulder.  Tomorrow he would borrow a horse from one of the farmers and pitch the animal’s might against the rock.  No task was unconquerable for a warrior of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

 Sucking his throbbing thumb, he walked into the cool shadows of the nearest oak and bent at the waist to avoid several low hanging branches.  He squatted over a black root.  Moving his bronze dagger aside, he grabbed the leather pouch, and brought the lip to his mouth.  The water tasted cool and he finished the remainder in two mouthfuls.  Tossing the empty pouch aside, he looked down at his calloused hands.  They were large, the fingers blunt, and the nails dirty with work from the day.  He blew air out of his lungs, his hands fisting.  At twenty-five summers, he could not shake the embrace of darkness and death clinging to him since birth.  He detested it, detested the way it forced him to remain apart.  Shifting around, he pressed his bare back against the tree trunk and found a comfortable position.  For the moment, he was too exhausted to think or care and with a heavy sigh he closed his eyes and slipped swiftly into a deep sleep.

Little by little, the nightmare crept once more upon him …

~

… gloaming gave way to night shadow and the feral winds of a rising moon, claiming him in the gaoth way, the wind way.  He tried to flex his right arm, his fingers numbing from the tightness of the ropes restraining him.  Behind him, the large fire circle crackled with flames and glowed against his bare back, an ominous warning of what would be endured this night.  Boyden looked down upon himself in a blending of mixed curiosity and muted anger.  He was on his knees in the black soil and trodden grass, dripping with sweat.  Stripped of weapons, tunic, and menace, they tied his wrists with thick ropes.  Those same fat ropes held his arms outstretched to the wooden stakes buried in the ground on either side of him.

He swallowed hard, the dryness within him a living thing.  He shifted, trying to ease the strain of tendon and muscle in his shoulders and arms.  A full mane of tawny hair plastered to the dampness of his nape and down the middle of his bare back.  He felt dark and winded, his lungs feeling taut.

He lifted his gaze to the moon goddess in supplication.  Her luminosity seemed eerily bright and observant in the blue-black night of stars.  He wished he were formed of feathers and wings so he could soar free of this nightmare and ancient blood binding.

“What a magnificent animal you make,” his captor murmured with a silken voice of female possession.

Boyden lowered his gaze … to her, his breathing suddenly incomplete and hot.

A tall woman stood before him, slim and straight, a lethal warrior dressed in fitted clothing he did not recognize.  He waited in stillness, meeting her concentrated gaze.

“Good eve,” she remarked, fingers wrapped around the hilt of a short sword.

His brother’s whore. 

Darkness and threat engulfed him.

“Shall I tell you why you are here?” she prompted.

He exhaled in response, sharing nothing of himself.  He could hear the whimpering of a child and felt the watchfulness of another, but they seemed mere echoes and shadows compared to the presence of the woman.  Her hard eyes swept coolly over him, striving to find weakness.

His right hand clenched, the tingling sensation ongoing, blood dripping from his ravaged wrist.  She stood just out of his reach.  A wise choice, he thought vehemently.

The firelight caught her hair, reflecting the shiny darkness in it.  An intoxicating creature of deception and familiarity, she attempted to prevail over a king’s heart.  Having failed miserably, she turned her charms and trickery upon his easily led brother. 

“You were foolish to reject me,” she said with hushed violence, regarding him from beneath a spray of black lashes.  It was a seductive gaze meant to entice.

The numbness in his arm muted and he tightened his fist.  They stayed that way, locked in a test of wills, unmoving, except for breath and awareness.

Neither gave in.

“Must we battle like this?  Do you not understand that you belong to me?” she said, a faint curve to her lips.  “All is not lost, speak the wind vow to me.”

He said nothing, breathing in the heat of the fire at his back, his nerves pulsing.  The sounds of a child’s anguish faded in and out.

The woman’s head tilted and she lifted the sword, the tip grazing his shoulder in a threatening and fleeting caress, making his blood boil.

He answered her with mutinous silence and fury leaped into her eyes.  “Give me the wind vow!”

“You want the vow to have the power to rule my realm.  Nay, I willna give it.”  Words formed in Boyden’s mind, words not his own.  “Only I control the lethal wind, a male blood vow of promise to the land.”

“Your brother’s blood be the same as yours.”  She pointed behind her to a white faced man astride a mount shrouded in gray mist.  That was the watchful presence he felt earlier.

“He be rígdamnai, of kingly material, the same as you.”

Somehow, Boyden knew the younger brother possessed none of the noble qualities making the older brother a just ruler of the wind realm.

“The Elemental wishes freedom from your constant restraint.  She came to us and pleaded for our help.”

“The wind never pleads.”  He felt a snarling in his mind, rage and bitterness growing, his jaw clenching.

“Give your brother the vow, Conall.  He willna be as forceful as you in his rule.”  She pointed her sword at a weeping girl.  Swirls of mist receded in Boyden’s mind and he saw the tear stained face of a crumpled child as yellow-haired as himself.

“I promise to release you and your daughter.  When I stand beside your brother, I will be wind queen and promise to offer pardon to you.  You may live the remainder of your life far from here, but your line must end with her.”

Caustic laughter echoed inside Boyden’s head, hurtful and loud in rebelliousness.  “Foolish female.  You know little of what you speak.  My brother and I have different mothers.  The weakling standing behind you canna control the wind.  He canna even control his own lust for a scraping whore.”

“Wind bastard!” the woman screeched and lashed out with frustration.

Her sword arm rose in the blink of an eye.

Resolve settled deep within his chest and he took his last breath of free air.

The blade descended slowly, cast in the crawling pace of nightmares.  Pain and fire sliced into his side, stealing his life ...

 ~

… Boyden roared awake, heart pounding. 

Author's Notes

White Fells

The more I research and delve into the many realities of ancient Ireland, the more I realize I have a lifetime of learning ahead of me.  The history of Ireland can be described as a crooked road of which darkness, legend, and the real weave into storytelling.

Long ago, it was a land of winds and of oak-woods except for the bog and mountain areas.  Intensive farming overtook the yews, oaks, and hollies, giving way to a sense of the land we have today.  Ireland is still one of the windiest places in the world due to the influence of frontal depressions caused by the earth’s movement, and as I wrote this book over five blistery months in 2006, I gained a deeper respect for the gusting currents that toppled a dead tree branch (the size of a small oak) onto my house.

In White Fells, I revisit the ancient Irish text known as the Lebor Gabála, Book of Invasions.  The Milesians, known also as Hiberi, Iberi, Gaedhal, Gaeli, and Scotti, were the final invaders of Ireland.

On one Sunday afternoon, the tale of Íth caught my attention.  He was a traveler who sailed to Hibernia (Ireland) and met the country’s three kings.  In a tragic misunderstanding, he was killed and his body sent home.  In vengeance for their uncle, the sons of King Mil Espáine took to their ships and conquered Hibernia (Ireland).  The Tuatha Dé Danann were defeated at the battle of Tailtiu (pronounced “telltown”) and after a short resistance a truce was reached.  The Milesians retained the above ground, and the Tuatha Dé Danann went below, becoming the faeries. . .

However, a few researchers maintain. . .that the Milesians never existed.

* * *

An interesting side note:  Some ancient texts mention a mysterious woman named Scota, who accompanied the sons of King Mil across the sea.  Very little is known about her.

Reviews

White Fells

Here is what the reviewers and readers are saying . . .

"WHITE FELLS is a marvelous mix of fantasy and romance. The lilting dialog and lyrical descriptions are in perfect counterpoint with suspenseful action . . ." ~ Romance Junkies

"I just started White Fells last night and it is awesome.  You are really one of my favorite writers.  Your stories are intricate and beautiful with an unexpectedly powerful underlying strength.  To me, all of your books are like amazing pieces of jewelry.  Lovely and awesome."   ~ Mary Beth Bass, romance author, www.marybethbass.com 

Five Hearts! Excellent

"... WHITE FELLS is truly one of Ms. Gray’s exceptional works and this reviewer is hungering for more! Each page is definitely a roller coaster of a ride with many dips and turns as the reader is on a fast path with Boyden and Scota.  Feel the fire of this Fey Wind and journey with Boyden and Scota as they find that destiny will not wait for the “right” time!   Run to grab this mesmerizing story and be awed by Ms. Gray’s wonderful writing."  ~ Dawn, Love Romances

4.5/5  A Book I Would Keep On My Shelf/Lifetime Keeper!

"White Fells is another great hit by R. Garland Gray. Definitely another book to add to the keeper shelf . . ." ~  Night Owl Romance

" . . .Fans will appreciate WHITE FELLS as the hero provides a quiet message that with great power comes even greater responsibility not to arbitrarily wield it at every alleged insult. R. Garland Gray provides another exciting read." ~  Harriet Klausner, http://alternative-worlds.com

" . . . An enjoyable blend of romance and paranormal, this story has something for everyone. . ." ~  Romantic Times BOOKclub magazine

". . . Gray builds a world filled with the beauty and magic of the fey that’s plunged into the unexpected danger and turmoil of battle. An enchanting fantasy where there’s mayhem at every turn, and a searing passion that won’t be denied." ~ Kimberly Swan, Darque Reviews

"This is an erotic swords and wizards novel based on Gaelic background....  For those who like their fantasies based around relationships rather than magical tricks and quest barriers, they will find enjoyment with this tale.  Definitely R+ rated... a worthwhile read.  We rated it 4 hearts.  ~ Heartland Reviews

Copyright © 2006, 2007, 2008  R. Garland Gray.  All rights reserved. The books listed herein are the property of R. Garland Gray and may not be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author.  Chapters listed may not be the final version of the book.