Friday, July 25, 2008

An Encore for A Song of the Sidhe - Jeanne Barrack

A Song of the Sidhe
Jeanne Barrack
ISBN 978-1-59578-493-3
Format: PDF, MS Lit, HTML, Rocket (rb), Mobipocket
Available at:
With a new arrangement, more voices in the chorus, and a brand new cover!
The place: Ireland, a long, long time ago when the Sidhe walked among mortals Donal Bawn was the most handsome man in all of Tipperary with a voice that could lure the birds from the trees. But that all changed when he angered Ogma, High King of the Tipperary Sidhe. Doomed to wander as a hunchback with a voice as thin as a reed, Donal keeps to the forests away from human companionship until one day he hears a melodious female voice singing a fragmented tune over and over.
Ceoleen, a beautiful female of the Galway Sidhe has also been cursed for her vanity and foolhardiness. Blinded and exiled to a fairy ring deep in the woods, she can only repeat a broken phrase of music until that fated day when Donal finishes the song for her.
But their curses are only partially broken. It will take a great deal more than music to decide their fate.
Will their love be strong enough to finally free them?
In this scene we glimpse Ceoleen and witness the vain and foolish creature she once was.
County Galway—The Court of the Gaillimh Sidhe
Ceoleen gazed with little regret at the slumbering form of Lorcan, her soon-to-be-former lover. Her body ached from his clumsy lovemaking. She had accepted him into her bed because he had something of value to offer her. Now that she had what she wanted, she’d no more need of him. This last time, they had made love in the forest glade near her little cottage, so she wouldn’t need to air her sheets to remove his scent.
Quietly, she moved into the forest to ready herself for the day’s events. She knelt before a crystal-clear pool, admiring the vision she saw reflected in its still depths.
Long, curly hair, flaming as the sky at sunset, curved around her shoulders and fell to the forest floor, looping into intricate designs. Dipping her hand into the water, she flung the sparkling drops onto her hair to linger like diamonds amidst the strands.
She wet her lush, pink lips with the tip of her tongue, then bit down lightly to deepen their rosy color.
She sprinkled tiny beads of dew on the tips of her lashes to frame her brilliant emerald eyes.
Straightening, she ran her hands down her slim form, admiring the curves and swells of her hips and buttocks. Her silky-smooth skin delighted her senses. It seemed almost a shame to cover that perfect body with clothing. She compromised, bespelling a dress made of cobwebs, more revealing than concealing her figure.
On her dainty feet she wore slippers made from tough lily pond leaves.
She was ready.
Today she’d gain the rankings of Amhranai Ard—High Singer, and as An Te Aille—the Most Beautiful. That is, should she pass the tests.
But of course she would.
Who else in all the Gaillimh Sidhe was as beautiful? Who else sang as sweetly? Or composed the most melodious songs?
No one.
She flashed to the Great Hall to her seat near the High Table. Filling the hall were all the Gaillimh fairy, the highest ranks and lower. And waiting in the seat next to hers, Lorcan, his eyes red with rage.
“I knew you’d be here when I awoke to find you gone. Are you ready, Ceoleen deas, my sweet one? You know you could have had your place assured if you’d only grace my bed … forever.” He leaned toward her, his lips a searing breath away from her ear. “Should you become my mate, you gain my ranking as well.”
Ceoleen shifted away from him, casting a sneering look over her shoulder. “I need not your aid. I choose my lovers and whether I remain with them or not.” She rose and placed her hands on her hips, looking down at the handsome sidhe. “And you were not even an adequate lover. When I become Amhranai Ard, I’ll have my pick of all the fir-Sidhe, all the men.” She cupped her breasts, then ran her hands down her body, thrusting her hips in his face. “Look your last, Lorcan. You’ll never see me unclothed again.”
His voice croaked. “You took what I offered when I gave you the first three notes of the contest. You don’t need my aid now, but one day you will. And I will not give it.”
She laughed, shook her head and sauntered away, her hips swaying rhythmically.
Lorcan gnashed his teeth and whispered low. “You’ll regret this day. I’ll see you cursed before I let any fir-Sidhe become your lover.”
Ceoleen paused near the empty expanse in the middle of the Hall. Arranged in a circle, the twelve tables of the ard-Sidhe, the high Sidhe, formed the inner perimeter. Another row of tables, the mean-Sidhe, the middle Sidhe, made the second ring, and the iochtarach-Sidhe, the lowest Sidhe, the outer ring. Her place was in the second ring. One could only gain the inner circle through proving a talent or being a great beauty. Graced with beauty, Ceoleen had honed her talent as a singer and composer. Now she felt ready to display both.
Ailill, Ard RĂ­, High King of the Gaillimh Sidhe stood, and a hush filled the hall.
“This day marks the test for those who wish to ascend in rank. Let all contenders enter the circle and prepare for the challenge.”
Moving with eager step, Ceoleen slipped into the circle.
An audible gasp greeted her arrival. Scarce had there been seen a female of her beauty. The cocks of the fir-Sidhe hardened, and the eyes of the mna-Sidhe—of every female—narrowed with envy.
Ceoleen strode with confident steps into the very center, head held high. All eyes assessed her beauty, and none found her lacking.
Her gown did nothing to hide the flaming curls between her thighs, the sweet indentation of her navel, the swell of her hips, the pointy nipples and plump breasts. Her fiery hair tumbled wantonly down her back to her slim ankles. Her eyes flashed green sparks.
Every male present wished to take her and fuck her. Every female wished her dead or cursed.
A moment after she entered the circle, another slipped silently into the ring.
Scarce out of girlhood, straight, dun-brown hair curved to her shoulders. Soft blue eyes like the sky at mid-day gazed with awe at the High Sidhe. A slim figure, clad in a bleached gown of linen, a braided rope of vines around her waist, took her place next to Ceoleen. Her newly budded breasts barely lifted the fabric of her bodice. Her feet were bare. A sidhe of the iochtarach rank, she was not known to anyone.
Her fresh innocence called to the hearts of the fir-Sidhe there. Her shyness prompted the protectiveness of the mna-Sidhe.
Whose call was stronger? Ceoleen’s or the unknown contender?

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