Eve of All Hallows (A Historical Fantasy)

By LGC Smith

EVE OF ALL HALLOWS (A Historical Fantasy)
L. G. C. Smith
28,000 words, or 100 print pages

Short Description
A young Anglo-Saxon king searches for a mysterious druid queen rumored to hold the key to ultimate power.

Praise for L.G.C. Smith from readers:

If you like fantasy romance you will LOVE this!! Lisa Alder

Wonderfully written. The story line is tight and the characters are both original and real (even the unreal ones). William Doonan

Talk about a fantasy you just want to fall into and never leave...this is it! Liria

Overview

A Secret Queen of Hidden Realms
She is a sorceress. A witch. Alone in the shadowed mountains she works forgotten magic to keep the land strong. Few remain who understand her sovereignty. Hers is a lonely life. One dark Samhain night she looks for one who might match her ability to bring harmony to the land and its people. If he will. His fate and the future of Britain lie in her hands.

An Enemy King
A young king of the Angles hears a fireside tale from his Welsh cousins. There is a witch who can grant him the power he yearns for most: To rule over all Britain. To gain it, he will have to prove himself worthy in unfamiliar ways. No sword or cunning will sway this witch. Can he learn the lessons she sets for him in time to earn his prize?

An Alliance to Assure the Future?
Not for hundreds of years has there has been a king with the potential to rule beside the Lady of the Isles. Strong and skillful, the young king tempts her when she tests his mettle. The Old Ways say that she can have him, or she can have his child. Which one will she choose?

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Eve of All Hallows is a Historical Fantasy of 28,000 words

More Praise for L. G. C. Smith:
Highly recommended! Anna “Constant Reader”
Can't wait for more! Adrienne Miller

Readers who enjoy books by Marion Zimmer Bradley, Karen Marie Moning, and Susanna Kearsley might enjoy Eve of All Hallows.

Author Bio
L.G.C. Smith is the author of Master of My Surrender (A Paranormal Erotic Romance Novella) and several traditionally published romance novels under the pen name Allison Hayes. She’s never met a historical period she couldn’t fall in love with, and most days she wouldn’t mind time travelling—except when Downton Abbey, Game of Thrones, or True Blood are on. She can be reached at: [e-mail], and you can follow her on Twitter: @lgcsmith

Author’s Note: Eve of All Hallows is set in Britain at the end of the sixth century. The hero is based on a fictional treatment of Æthelfrith of Bernicia, historical founder of the Kingdom of Northumbria. Eve of All Hallows is a prequel to the forthcoming historical romance novel Bonds of Destiny by L.G.C. Smith, to be published in April 2012.

Warning: Explicit adult content.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LGC Smith
• Release date: Mar 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9780985275716

LGC Smith

L.G.C. Smith is the author of Master of My Surrender (A Paranormal Erotic Romance Novella) and several traditionally published romance novels under the name Allison Hayes. She’s never met a historical period she couldn’t fall in love with, and most days she wouldn’t mind time travelling—except when Downton Abbey, Game of Thrones, or True Blood are on. She can be reached at: [e-mail], and you can follow her on Twitter: @lgcsmith

Book preview

Eve of All Hallows

L. G. C. Smith

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright 2012 by L. G. C. Smith

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

Once again, Lisa, Adrienne, Martha, and Alicia, I would write, but I might sit on my books forever without your support and encouragement. Thanks also to Gigi Pandian at Gargoyle Girl Productions for another wonderful cover.

A very special thanks to Roger and Elizabeth Miket, upon whose doorstep I once landed, for sharing hospitality and an immense enthusiasm for and expertise about Anglo-Saxon Northumbria.

To Natalie, again, for the conversations with Gwyn. I’m not sure I do her justice, but I’ll keep at it.

And last but far from least, this book was inspired by my nieces, who, like Gwyn, have important work to do.

Chapter One

Samhain, 594 AD, in an Eastern Vale of Gwynedd

At midnight following the last sunset of the old year and before the first sunrise of the new, the walls betwixt this world and the next shuddered, slipped, and fell. Gwyn was there to catch them, seeking tasks and truths, as her mother had once done, and all her grandmothers before them. Samhain it was, so alone Gwyn sat upon a hawthorn stump, gazing into the flames beneath her cauldron, awaiting any who might come to share her fire and a cup of warming broth.

Many came and told their tales. Gwyn listened carefully to each one so she might commit their words to memory. There were other nights the Visitors came to her, but none so important as on this night of summer’s turn to winter. She welcomed all who appeared, be they kindly fat old women, children lost in the woods, hunting wolves, madmen, goblins, half-formed wights, or shadowy spirits. She heard their tales, or simply kept them company if they did not speak. Samhain was hers, and none were turned away no matter how gruesome their appearance or the tales they brought.

When the eastern darkness shrank before the faintest graying breath of dawn, Gwyn blinked and, finding herself alone, rose to stir her soup and ladle a dipperful into her cup. It was almost to her lips, the steam warming her nose with woodsy herbs and the good meaty scent of her oldest hen, when a gentle cough stopped her.

Beside her stood a small, wizened being. An old man, perhaps, but she thought not. He put her in mind of a barrow wight who’d borrowed a woolen cloak and cap from some unsuspecting traveler. His pale, bland features peeked in and out beneath the shadows of his cap, the shape roughly a man’s, but lacking human details. No eyebrows. The nose but barely there. A smooth, unsmiling mouth.

Sit, my lord, if you would share my fire and cup. You are most welcome. She offered him her soup, noting how the cup glided from her hands without a touch. She gestured to one of the stumps beside her, and seated herself when he did.

Thank you, Lady. He sipped the broth. Ah. A kind and fertile land you have here. This was a happy hen. He sipped again. The parsley greened upon fat roots. The onion swelled thick and sweet in the sheltering earth. The water carried joy out of the mountains. The salt sings with the hale heart of ancient seas.

Gwyn smiled, for this was high praise indeed from one such as he. My thanks, kind lord. There is more in the pot if you would like it.

He nodded, handing her the cup that she might fill it once more, and then again and again until Gwyn’s pot was empty, with just a film drying on the bottom. It pleased her that he drank it all, for few appreciated it as much.

When he was finished, he set the earthenware cup upon the ground. The sky was moving on toward dawn now, and he would soon leave, Gwyn knew, but she did not hurry him. Daylight would not harm him.

I sought you from my home in the north, Lady, for I have news of one who will come to you before this year ends and the next follows on its wings. He is like a bright storm one moment and a dark flood the next. We have watched him since he was a babe, my kin and I, and he is now a man grown. King he has become in the Old Green Hills. Yet his path is not clear. He wavers between the dark and light. He needs a tempering hand, Lady. One such as yours. To guide him. He doesn’t know how deeply he can scar the land. He cares not. He cares for his people, but not the land that makes them and gives them life. There is . . . concern.

What would you have me do? Gwyn asked. She had seen this soul when scrying. Felt him in the cold east wind. Seen his hands drip blood in visions.

Teach him to respect the Mother.

Gwyn was silent whilst she sent her spirit searching for this young king. When she found him, she sighed. He will not listen. He harkens only to his own will.

You have something he seeks.

Startled, Gwyn met the wight’s hazel eyes. The Lady’s Gift.

He nodded solemnly.

It has not been used in centuries, she said.

Yet it is your right to grant.

I am not sure I could.

His eyes smiled even if his mouth did not. My kin and I are sure you can. I am come to tell you this. You must test him. If he is worthy, your guidance may turn him properly into the True King he is capable of becoming.

She measured his words. Or he may not earn the Blessing.

Indeed. You will judge.

Young as he is, I do not think he will like that.

He shrugged as though it didn’t matter. Will you take him on?

She thought about the Gift that was hers alone to grant, about what it would mean to the Isles to have a True King and True Queen at once for the first time in a thousand years. She thought about an old song she had learned from her great-grandmother, too.

Is it true, she asked her guest, that a draught of such a warrior king’s blood grants life immortal?

If the wight had possessed eyebrows, they would have drawn together. Not immortal in the sense you mean. Lengthened life. Three, maybe four natural lifetimes of your kind.

Gwyn considered that. In so many years, I could teach many. Strengthen our stewardship of the Isles.

He nodded solemnly. A Lady may take from such a king one of two Gifts in exchange for what she offers. You may have his child, or you may have the longer span of years.

Such a child would be powerful.

The wight inclined his head. In many ways.

She inhaled as the wind blew fragrant applewood smoke in her face. A choice like this bears close scrutiny.

Of course. There are great risks. If this king leans too far into the darkness . . . . This question gnaws at the bones of the hills and the rivers running. It is why I have come to you. Why the land itself seeks your help. He gripped his cloak with long fingers. Will you take him on? Test and try his soul? Urge him to his brighter side? Teach him to master the darker half?

Knowing it would not be easy, she raised her hands, palms up, toward the wight. I will accept this task, if he comes to me here on a coal black mare with a white foal birthed in May.

It was an acceptable condition, she knew. If the gods were with him, not at all difficult, either.

He should come with his pride in check, and his heart willing to learn, she added.

The wight stood and bowed to her. So be it, Lady. Look for him ere the year is ended. My thanks to you, and may the Mother’s blessings fall like warm sunlight all the year long.

She blinked, and the wight melted between the flamecast shadows into the sheltering wood behind them as the first blackbird’s song rose to greet the dawning of the New Year.

Chapter Two

A raven’s cry awakened Æthelfrith of Bernicia from a deep sleep. Cocooned between the warm bodies of the lasses he’d taken to his bed but a few hours earlier, he unwound himself from their arms, reluctantly relinquishing the plump titty in his left hand with a