Butterflies: A Celtic Romance Series

By Shea Hulse

Bridget has been rescued from the Queen's grasp, at a cost. As Ruad and Bridget attempt to save Declan, Bridget discovers the secrets that lay between her and her handsome mentor, secrets that change everything. But there is a lot more to the story Ruad hasn't told her yet. As her relationship with Ruad deepens, Bridget worries about breaking the heart of a man she can hardly remember. Until another tragedy strikes.

 

Who's heart will she break? While Bridget struggles with her duty to her realm and her duty to herself as war breaks out in her kingdom. When the dust settles, she finds that the choice has been made for her.

 

The final book in this trilogy is an emotional rollercoaster, as the characters struggle with internal and external expectations. Reality is never what you think it should be, is it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shea Hulse
• Release date: Sep 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737847151

Shea Hulse

My name is Shea and I am a wife and mom of two. My writing consists of steamy paranormal romances full of magic, mystery, and sarcasm. When I am not working I enjoy traveling with my family.   

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Prologue

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Maeve! my lover, Tiernan, called from the hall.

A thrill went through me at the sound of his voice. Not only did I love the deep timbre of it, but it had been a fortnight since I had seen him last.

There were grumblings in the halls of war. Dagda’s reign was threatened, and the whole of the Otherworld was riotous with the news.

Tiernan had joined our lord and many other men to march south in search of allies for the coming war. Our neighbors to the south were a mixed bag of smaller feudal lands and as many as we could align with the better.

And beneath them lay Dagda and his court. Tír Tairngire was the mecca of the Otherworld, the technology and sophistication of the city unlike anything else that existed in our world. But up here in the north, we were like their poor second cousins, barely recognizable and mostly forgotten.

We preferred it that way.

But when the first winds of discontent began to sow themselves in our fields, we knew we would be remembered at long last. Called upon to take a stand, and we wouldn't be caught with our pants around our ankles.

The question that remained was who would we ally with? Dagda was the only ruler we had ever known, and we had known peace under his rule. His opposition, the queen, was as mad as a hatter, and only the most depraved of the Fae dare join her.

But several other lords like my own saw the opportunity this presented. Collum was the strongest lord below the mountains that bisected the nation.

Above the mountains, nobody knew, but everyone surmised. More like clans than feudal estates like we had, they governed themselves.

Divided war factions, each with a man that led their band. But there was one man that was their unofficial ruler.

Titled King of Berserkers, he was part myth and part legend. It was told he had hair as red as blood because that's where it got its color. He won his crown by killing a giant, and from its teeth, he made his crown.

And that the women he took to bed lasted only long enough to give him children before their untimely demise. The children were reared by the clanswomen, what few there were.

These clans had attacked the legion of men dispatched to garner peace, Tiernan’s men. His voice was a balm for my jumbled nerves.

I see you've made it, I breathed as he lifted me, his lips finding mine in a brutal swell of passion.

He tasted of sweat and despair and bloodthirst. Collum hadn't built his strength on peaceful negotiations; he'd made it in blood. Tiernan had gone to and returned from many battles in our time; I had too.

I think that's why I appreciated him so much.

The threat of his never returning was a weapon all its own, spiking my blood with adrenaline from the thrill of it. The visceral understanding amplified every kiss and touch that any time might be the last time.

Aye, he spoke into my mouth, breaking contact for the briefest of seconds before engulfing me again.

Our hands raced everywhere, and our mouths quickly followed until our clothes lay in a heap on the floor. He took me hard and fast against the stone wall of our room, but I wasn't complaining. The pain lent an edge to our lovemaking that perfectly limned our relationship.

Pain and love, brutality and tenderness, the world was full of dichotomies that made it equally beautiful and horrible. I like to think we embraced what others were too afraid of. And that's made all the difference.

Sated at last, we lay under the covers, curled together in bed. For all of the fun that was, it was painfully cold once the heat of the moment had passed, and sharing warmth was necessary until we could feel our extremities again.

Though a fire was lit in the hearth, it was brutally cold out, much colder than this early in the season usually warranted. I found the early snows to be ominous, foretelling a change in more than just the weather.

We lay in silence awhile, catching our breath and slowly shivering less. I felt a spot in my shoulder that had been pushed against an exceptionally sharp rock protesting deliciously. Like sore muscles after a strenuous day, the pain is cathartic.

What happened? I asked finally.

I'd heard the horn blast, one for riders returning, our men. Women weren't usually appointed for negotiations unless a woman's persuasion was required. But we’d heard the news of raiders from the north attacking our party, and we had been at the ready should the call come to go to their aid or avenge their deaths. For better or worse that call did not come.

Finan’s merry men were after us near Carrick. We'd just finished our business with the lord there when the raiders came from the loch. They looked ragged, like they were on the run. It was supplies they were after; we’d had a fresh kill, and they made off with it, the skirmish only a result of us finding them on the blood trail instead of our deer.

Savage lot they are.

Aye, but it begs the question, what are they running from?

There's plenty of wildlife north of the range; it wasn't your deer. You think those men were running from Finan?

Aye. If the Berserker King were after me, I’d run too,

You would not. You'd sooner die than run from anything, even if you ought to.

Aye again, but these men were not me. They were barely men, Maeve. Skinny things, but mean, desperate. Couldn't have been more than teenagers. I don't know what Finan’s about, but going after kids? I don't like it.

You don't know that's who they were running from. Could be their father, a bunch of brothers escaping a broken home.

Could be, mo grá, but why did they risk those mountains when they could have crossed the sea?

You need money for a ship, you only need grit to cross those mountains,

Well, grit they had. A meal they had not. It was my kill, so I was the first to contact them; the one nearly had an ax in my skull before I realized what was happening. I was so focused on the blood trail I didn't sense the tallest of them tucked behind a fat old oak. I parried him until he retreated and the rest of them followed him.

So it wasn't a skirmish precisely; it was more like a theft.

Yes, but still, the problem remains that the northerners were on our land. Stealing our deer and fighting your man for it.

You were on our land? You're sure of it?

We wouldn't have hunted if we weren't sure of it. You know those other lords would charge Collum for it if not.

It's true; we were all reasonably disinclined to share even a fish. If you happened to wander too far south and fish another lord's part of the river, they'd ask payment for it—something those misfits would find out soon enough.

"Well, I'm glad my man survived," I said, echoing his earlier sentiment.

How glad? he rumbled, rolling on top of me in one swift movement.

Enough, I rasped, voice thick with the desire that spiked my blood at his forcefulness.

Chapter 1

The morning sun was highly unwelcome. I felt as if I had slept forever and not at all at the same time.

My room felt musty, and I threw back the curtains for some much-needed air. The cold blast that hit my face was like a sack of rocks and the memories of last night came flooding with it.

Married...my father had married me off to a Fomorian Prince, and a rotten one at that. Not that I told my father that bit of information, but I didn't see how I had to.

The mountain of a man was drunk before the ceremony began. And not the fun, happy, I have the jitters because I'm getting married drunk.

No, he was the held up by his fellow giants, started a brawl during the feast that followed our nuptials, and barely managed to consummate the marriage kind of drunk. And he was bloody mean, too.

Once he was finished, he sent me off to my room; he couldn't even be bothered to share a bed with his new wife nor extricate himself. He made me wander the halls at well past midnight after making me wait that damn long in the first place.

At least he wasn't waiting to find evidence of my virginity like they used to because he wouldn't find it. However, I was still expected to remain faithful to him now that we were married. Even if he wasn't strictly prohibited from other females.

I rolled my eyes at that thought. At least there had been some forward progress in the last millennia. 

He could have all of the other women he wanted so far as I was concerned. As long as he left me the hell alone.

I knew the wisdom behind the match. It strengthened my father's reign. Dagda had ruled the Otherworld for as long as anyone could remember, and for equally as long, he'd been contested. My marriage was a bridge allying my people with the long hated giant race, the Fomorians.

Now to dislodge Dagda would be to forfeit their foothold in the political process of the realm. Well, that and war, but we were always on the brink of war.

You would think with all of the years that Fae had existed, we would have found a way to peace, but you'd be wrong. I sometimes wondered whether it was simply because we were all so different or just the natural order of things.

Either way, I kept to my own peaceful existence as much as possible. If not for the realm, for my damn self.

I used to run around trying to please everyone else, and it didn't work. People are generally predisposed to be miserable, if you ask me. Miserable with themselves and miserable to other people just for the sake of it. Misery loves company, after all.

So I hardly minded my marriage to Bres; he was likely to sepulcher me in a forgotten tower of his castle, take me out and dust me off when necessary. I was wholeheartedly looking forward to all of that free time; I had plans to knit, read, learn as much as possible about everything I could. It was a dream in that sense.

As long as that's what he did. That was the only concern of mine. What if he didn't just leave me alone? But it was too late to worry about it now. Now I would get to find out just how awful my husband was firsthand. Lucky me.

I knew why my father did it, but I wish he could have chosen a more likable giant. They weren't all big ugly oafs either; Bres was reasonably handsome if his personality wasn't shit.

Maybe that was my consolation. Good looks. To some, it would be, I supposed. Not that I didn't enjoy a handsome man, but I needed substance, too.

Well, most of the time, at least. A handsome face was all that was required under certain circumstances. Marriage wasn't one of them. A handsome face couldn't make a marriage if you asked me.

I was grateful for the chance to help our people, though. Another small consolation for me. Dagda was a great leader, if not a great father.

The cold morning air had chilled me to the bone, so I coaxed the fire to a roar before sliding back into bed. After a feast, everyone was slow to move in the morning. Savoring the warmth of the bed, I allowed myself to drift.

My peace was interrupted before long by sharp knocks at the door. She didn't wait for my answer, though prudence would require that she did.

I was a married woman now; who's to say my husband hadn't joined me in my chambers? But Saoirse rarely cared for such matters.

She had opened my door to any number of inappropriate things through the years, but she never balked or judged. And though I had told her to quit it countless times, she said she didn't have time to wait for me every morning, that I was too lackadaisical, particularly in the morning.

She wasn't wrong.

She and I were opposites in many ways, morning habits included. With long, blonde hair and long, lean legs, she was a head taller than me and probably ten pounds lighter as well. In the morning, she was chipper and I miserable; she liked people, I didn't.

Saoirse had been my chambermaid forever, and we'd grown close as sisters despite our differences. My father thought it inappropriate but seeing as I had no interest in making friends with courtiers, he allowed it.

Still in bed, surprise, she said flatly.

It was my wedding night. I’m allowed to sleep in.

You always have a good reason to sleep in.

She wasn't wrong.

Why are you in here? Your husband didn't want to share his bed with such a dour bride? She gave me a wistful smile at that one.

Dour, now that's a new one, I said dryly. "He probably doesn't even know I'm gone. He passed out as soon as he was finished." I emphasized the last.

I see; that would make me dour too.

She came to me then and threw her arms around me. I was so astonished it took me a moment before I embraced her back.

As I had only brothers, Saoirse was indeed a sister to me, in spirit if not blood. Hugs weren't uncommon, but this one was confusing.

I love you too, I said to her as she broke the embrace.

I know what a sacrifice you’re making for the realm. I just wanted to be sure you knew it. And I guess I love you, she said as she shoved me back toward the pillows.

That’s how affection works in families high in testosterone. My four brothers and her seven meant we weren’t raised sewing and practicing our curtsies like the other women we knew.

We knew how to do those things but didn’t relish in them. Put us in the woods or the training yard, and we felt better. Our fathers, surprisingly, didn’t mind.

I don’t know if they’re progressive or just wish we were men, too. But each taught us how to wield a sword and shoot a bow.

Saoirse's father was a jovial man. There was always a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. But he could hit a buck from four hundred yards and best a man three times his size in a fight.

Darragh was my father's commander of his army and had been for millennia. Saoirse was above chambermaid, and our preference for each other meant she would have done it without pay but with handsome recompense meant she did it exceptionally well.

Her room was next to mine, as it always had been. As kids we often were in trouble sneaking into each other's rooms to get up to something instead of going to sleep. Memories I would hold dear forever.

Her intrusion now wasn’t chambermaid related though, and we both knew it. She was checking on me, likely hearing me returning to my quarters in the middle of the night. There had already been a roaring fire in the hearth, magicked to burn without burning the castle down.

She always made it so stiflingly hot though, so I secretly banked the flames after she left every night. Like a mother hen, she clucked over me, though last night I appreciated it.

I needed the symbolic warmth of her fire more than the heat itself. We would be departing in a day's time to Bres’ estate. Saiorse would accompany because why not?

She was my only friend, yet unmarried herself, with