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When Aisling closed her eyes, leaned back against Mahon, Tarryn soothed her clammy face with a cloth. As Breen started to step back, Tarryn waved her in.
“No, come, come, take her other hand. We’re so close now.”
“Praise the gods,” Mahon muttered and pressed a kiss to Aisling’s shoulder. “You’re a warrior, my darling.”
Aisling grabbed Breen’s hand. “Don’t take any of it, you understand? It’s for me. It’s mine, but I’m going to squeeze tight. And now. Marg, I have to push!”
“All right, give us a good one. More now, that’s right,” she said as Aisling set her teeth and pushed. “Give us some pants now, hold off. The head comes with the next.”
At that moment, Keegan stepped to the door. He simply said, “No,” and stepped out again.
“Typical.” Aisling leaned back against Mahon. “Gods, gods, all right, another.”
Breen watched, stunned, as the baby’s head—a full head of dark hair, long-lidded eyes—slid out.
“Pant now! Hold, hold.”
“Look at that face. Do you see, Aisling?”
“Mahon’s face, and his hair. Gods, gods, the rest wants out, and now.”
“Push your babe into the world, into the light, mother.” Marg placed her hands on the head, gently turning as Aisling pushed. As the shoulders appeared, and the torso, the new life let out a cry.
“Doesn’t even wait to let the world know.”
Into Marg’s hands, into the light, the baby came, one fist shaking.
“A fine, healthy son,” Marg announced as she cleaned the baby’s face and kissed it. “With a good set of lungs.”
“I’m bound to birth boys, beautiful, beautiful boys. Mahon, our son.”
He wept as he pressed his cheek to hers. “A warrior. My love, my heart, my life. Thank you for our son.”
Sitting back on her heels, Marg swiped at her forehead with the back of her hand. “You’ll cut the cord, Tarryn.”
“I will. With this you are born of love and are welcomed with joy.” With light, she severed the cord, then lifting the baby, pressed a kiss to his brow before laying him in Aisling’s arms.
“We’ve waited for you, my own, my love.” She kissed him in turn, shifted him so his father could do the same. “And here you are, at last. You’re Kelly.”
She smiled at Breen’s damp, stunned eyes. “In honor of the one who stood as my father when mine went to the gods. Will you kiss him in welcome, Breen?”
“Welcome to Talamh, and all the worlds, Kelly.”
This is why, Breen thought as she bent down to touch her lips to the soft cheek. This is why we fight.
This is why we’ll win.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Breen loved the way the Fey celebrated Christmas. For Talamh it stood as a time of joy and community, of gatherings and giving—and, as always, of light.
On the eve, from sunset till dawn, trees both inside and out would glow. Family and friends exchanged gifts, and stockings for the littles bulged with treats.
In the valley, many would gather at sunset to share the joy, to drink wassail as a representative from each tribe joined to sing the Welcoming Tree alight.
But her first Christmas in Talamh, in Ireland, couldn’t leave out the family across the sea.
In Fey Cottage with Marco, she sat with their tree in the background and Sally and Derrick on-screen.
