Excerpt

The red mare rose on her two hind legs, her forelegs pawing the air. Damn Manannán mac Lir, Áine thought, whinnying as she reared up again. That man could make anyone insane.

As she plummeted to earth, the mare transformed into her human form. A woman now stood where the horse had been, her thick auburn hair flowing down her back in wavy strands. She had a long nose and generous mouth, her features compelling and strong. Her green dress embroidered with gold thread blended with the rolling countryside around her. What gave her away as faery were the pointed ears poking out through the mass of hair. While she might look like the people who inhabited this region, there was little human about her.

Her regular mount trotted up to her and snorted. The brown horse lipped at her hand, searching for treats.

“I know that look. What ails you?”

Áine turned to see Grianne, one of her two sisters, leaning on a nearby tree. Grianne lifted a hand in greeting and started toward her sibling, her own steed following behind.

“Mac. That one is making me feargach,” Àine said. They embraced until Grianne released her, stepping back.

“Aye, I know ye well enough to know that look is only with that feen one,” her sister agreed. “What’s the craic?”

Áine waved a hand. “It is hard to explain. You know I love him.”

“Else you would not have put up with him all these years. What is it the moppet has done this time?” Grianne persisted, her brows drawing together.

“He is ever mysterious. Aye, I do not wish to discuss it.”

Grianne opened her mouth as though to challenge her sister’s words and then closed it again.

“Keep your own counsel then if you would not trust your sister. I come on my own business. It is almost the time of the full moon. Can Fenne and I not ride with you this year? It has been too long since we took to our horses. It is tradition, like.”

“I don’t know.” Àine hesitated. “Our Midsummer Night ride seems hardly worth it these days.”

“Sister, we are still goddesses,” Grianne said with a touch of exasperation in her voice. “Why should we not stay with tradition and ride over Lough Gur? Tis custom, yet we neglect it. Come on, let’s give it a lash.”

Áine tossed her hair, feeling its heavy mass trail down her back. “It has been a long time,” she said, her shoulders straightening. “I don’t know. Is it not pointless?” She gave her sister a weary look. “I would have Fenne’s counsel. On this…and on Manannán mac Lir.”