Fey Born: Book Two in the Fairy (Faith) Series by R. Garland Gray | Paperback | Barnes & Noble
Fey Born (Fairy Faith Series #2)

Fey Born (Fairy Faith Series #2)

4.0 9
by R Garland Gray

View All Available Formats & Editions

Lana is a frail farm girl who never could have imagined being magically fated to become a fey host for the sword spirit, Valor. Keegan, a fearless fey guardian of the waters, who must find the magical sword for his king, never expects to meet his match in the small, spirited beauty he needs to guide him to the sword.


Lana is a frail farm girl who never could have imagined being magically fated to become a fey host for the sword spirit, Valor. Keegan, a fearless fey guardian of the waters, who must find the magical sword for his king, never expects to meet his match in the small, spirited beauty he needs to guide him to the sword.

Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher

"Fey Born is a fantastically written, solid romantic fantasy that readers of all interests will enjoy for the sweet love story or for the epic quest."  —Fantasy Romance Writers

Product Details

Medallion Media Group
Publication date:
Fairy (Faith) Series Series, #2
Edition description:
Product dimensions:
4.22(w) x 6.92(h) x 1.07(d)

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt

Fey Born

By R. Garland Grey Medallion Press, Inc. Copyright © 2007 R. Garland Grey
All right reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-932815-82-5

Chapter One Drumanagh, Eire Spring


He stood at the edge of the high ranging meadows where the horses of the tribe grazed. Darkly lashed eyelids closed in exquisite pleasure. Slowly, his head tilted back, long brown hair flowing down his bare back in dampening glints of red and gold. It began to rain, a gathering of gray clouds muting the light of the late afternoon. He sighed deeply, tasting the sweet air of Meitheamh, June, in his lungs and savoring the touch of cool raindrops upon his naked and responsive flesh.

He was fey born, a purebred creature of sensations and selfishness. A legendary guardian of the waters, he was crafted of cruelty and enchantment, a being to be feared; a being whose true form must remain secret. He knew he should not be here and thought of the olden ways with a sharp surge of resentment. There was no sense in being bored, he thought rebelliously.

Wearing his mortal appearance, he lived among the tribe of the Tuatha Dé Danann now. A fierce, loyal, and constant warrior - he slowly grinned - answering to the given name of Keegan. The name meant "highly spirited." An admirable name, he chuckled darkly. If only they knew ...

Lana, a farm girl of unimpressive worth, at least that is how she thought of herself, stumbled back behind the ancient oaks and nearly dropped the druidess's basket of herbs. She had been making her customary visit to see Lightning, the aged sorrel stallion, when fat raindrops plopped and splashed upon the land. Dashing into the tall oaks for cover, a shortcut back to the village, she had never thought to see him.

Like that!

Lana set the basket down on a dry spot beneath a thick canopy of branches and took a moment to catch her breath. Swiping a drenched blond curl out of her eyes, she peered around the thick tree trunk, unable to help herself. The fading light caught the silver glint from the cuff he always wore on his right wrist.

She looked at the lines of his body and blinked to clear her vision. Lightning and three black mares calmly grazed around the naked warrior in acceptance of the afternoon rain showers. From what she could see, Keegan's silvery gray eyes were closed, his angular face tilted upward as if listening to the rain's chant of faery whispers. The corners of his lips slowly curved and Lana had the impression the raindrops sang to him of their joyous journey from the stormy clouds to the green land below.

She watched him in silent fascination as any female would. His lean, well-built body was turned slightly away from her, offering a splendid view of long limbs and curved buttocks. If she leaned right, she might get a glimpse of that very impressive male part of him. Good sense took hold, however, and she decided to stay under the protection of the trees. Besides, she could see him well enough from here, she reasoned. He looked taller without clothes. All that smooth skin she could just imagine running the tips of her fingers over the ripple of muscle and strength.

Lana drew back. She must learn to curtail her over-active imagination. She might be impulsive, but she was not stupid. The gentle sound of the rain pattered consistently in her ears, and she tugged the laces of her damp tunic closer with cold fingers. Never could she hope to know the remote Keegan in that way, or any warrior, given her frail condition.

He stood not ten horse lengths from her, his dark hair falling in wet plaits down his broad back. He was not born of her tribe. However, he had earned the right to belong to the warrior class of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He came during the time of shadows only two summers before. A freeman, he worked hard and trained hard with sword, spear, and shield. Last year he fought bravely in the battle of Kindred, the recapturing of their ancestral home from the invaders, yet still he was considered an outsider by many.

He did not partake of their ways, and did not seek payment for his fine skills. Instead, he offered to help her father in the fields. A warrior on a farm? She shook her head in bewilderment and rubbed her wet nose. If she remained much longer, she might catch a chill, but feminine curiosity took hold of her and she could do nothing else but look.

"Caught in the spring showers, too, Lana?"

Lana straightened abruptly in surprise, her hand clenched across her chest. With flushed cheeks, she stared guiltily at the white-haired druidess, Derina.

"Your heart bothers you?" the druidess asked in concern.

"Nay," Lana choked, embarrassed at being found gaping at the naked warrior. She took a recovering breath, feeling the familiar twinges inside her chest. Everyone in the village knew of her weak heart, lack of stamina, and occasional fainting spells. However, unlike some others, the ancient was always helpful and sympathetic, which was odd since most members of the druid class were callous. She heard so, anyway.

"Come to visit that mean-tempered stallion again?" the druidess prompted, moving under the protection of the canopy. "What be his name?" Her white brows drew together and then she answered her own question, a common occurrence. "Lightning, methinks."

"Aye." Lana bristled slightly at the description of her friend. "Lightning is not mean-tempered, at least not to me," she whispered, hoping the naked warrior could not hear them. "He has mellowed much over the years."

The druidess was not listening to her.

She shifted right and appeared to be looking, if looking could be used to describe one who had no eyes and yet could see.

"Ah," the ancient said in a hushed tone, understanding immediately. She pointed her walking stick. "You be visiting another kind of stallion today."

Lana turned apple red. "I am not visiting," she said firmly in a hushed tone.

"Watching then."

"I am not watching," she protested.

The ancient smiled. "I would."

Lana looked away, wondering how the blind druidess could possibly know.

"He fascinates you, Lana?"

"Please lower your voice. I doona wish him to hear us."

The druidess nodded and hunched her shoulders, leaning forward. "He fascinates you?" she repeated her question with less volume and more emphasis.

"Aye, he does." Lana admitted grudgingly. Keegan captivated her interest since he first came to the tribe two seasons before. He always smelled clean and fresh like the rain even when soiled with toil and sweat.

"I know," the ancient replied as if reading her mind. She tapped a bent finger on a wrinkled cheek. "I may be one hundred and ..."

"... three," Lana offered.


"You are one hundred and three summers."

"I know how old I am," the ancient grumbled. "Now, what did I want to say? Ah, I may be one hundred and three summers, but my fey sight remains strong. This gift be from our fey brethren."

"I know."

"It allows me to see shapes and movement; otherwise I would be walking into trees and tumbling into lochs."

"I know," Lana repeated patiently.

Empty eye sockets crinkled in merriment. "Now tell me, why does he interest you?"

Lana shrugged. "He is different, ancient."

"Different how?"

She wished the druidess would keep her voice down. Taking a moment to stem the flow of her tumultuous thoughts, Lana found she could not describe what she felt and instead blurted, "He looks perfect."

"You think so, do you?" The druidess laughed and Lana quickly motioned her to lower her tone.

The druidess nodded and then whispered, "I would not call him perfect, young Lana. His voice is too deep."

"Nay, 'tis not."

"His hands and feet look a wee bit large, methinks."

She shrugged. Mayhap. "His eyes are the pale gray color ...

"... of rainstorms," the ancient continued with hushed gaiety.

"Aye," Lana answered in all seriousness. "And his ways are different than ours, too."

"This be true, yet has he not earned honor among us?"

"Aye," Lana acknowledged easily, having seen the quickness and strength of his battle skills.

"What else be bothering you about him, young Lana?"

She took a breath. "Derina, a warrior does not work on a farm."

"That one does."

The druidess made her answer sound so simple. Lana pointed over her shoulder. "He stands in the rain unclothed."

"Mayhap he needs a bath." Leaning heavily on the walking stick, the ancient looked around her, lips curving in what seemed to Lana a bold appreciation indeed.

"I have decided the shape of those hands and feet be perfect. Our fey brethren could not have crafted a finer male form." The ancient laughed softly at a secret known only to her. "Do you wish to discuss another part of him then?"

Lana shook her head self-consciously. Thank the goddess the warrior could not hear their conversation.

"Then I be curious and ask, did you find my linseed, Lana?"

"Aye, I have it here in my basket." Lana walked back to where she left the basket. "It is still early yet, but I have found a good patch." The blue flowering herb soothed the coughs and problems of the chest several members of her tribe occasionally suffered.

"Good," the ancient remarked, and followed. She tapped her walking stick against the tree trunk. "The spring shower has paused for us so you may walk back with me. Come, my robes be damp, my bones be aching, and my stomach pains me again."

Lana could not help but smile. "Your stomach grumbles, does it now?" All in her tribe knew of the ancient's complaints. She picked up the basket and settled it on her hip.

"Lana, has your father made more of his sweet mead?" the druidess asked nonchalantly.

"Aye," she said and laughed softly, "I will bring some to you this eve."

* * *

Keegan let a smile curve his lips as he listened to the ancient one's inner thoughts.

"I have fetched her away," Derina remarked in her mind so that he heard.

"I am in your debt, ancient."

"You should be." She gave her thought to him in a huff.

The druidess kept his secrets, an olden pledge always to serve the fey. She came as he bade. Being fey blooded herself, she responded to his mind call and claimed his inquisitive onlooker from the small grouping of trees beside the meadow. Lana was a lovely, sickly female of little worth. He valued strength and had little tolerance for fragility and weakness. Still, she was pleasant to look upon and he enjoyed the way her nose wrinkled when she smiled.

He turned away, his nostrils flaring in recognition of a familiar scent.

He did not want Lana to see the golden territorial goddess who also came to the rain drenched meadow and now stood in silent splendor, watching, waiting, her sweet fey scent filling the air.

Lana and Blodenwedd, though mortal and faery goddess respectively, were crafted of the same sunlit hues. Lana's mortal shades were softer than Blodenwedd's and he found her black eyes strangely alluring, certainly more so than the goddess's piercing amber.

Keegan felt wisps of gold in the air touching his skin and heard the horses move away.

"Rain," the golden perfect one said.

He did not answer, did not move.

"Rain," she hissed at him in exasperation, using his faery name.

Keegan lowered his head and stared down into flashing amber eyes with silver tipped lashes.

"Blodenwedd," he replied, bowing his head respectfully to the territorial goddess.

She pulled back the white webs of her robe's hood and Keegan once more looked upon the excellence of her features.

"Why do you stay Amongst Mortals and not your own kin?"

Boredom, he thought and arched a brown brow at her reproachful tone. The fey born always believed themselves superior to mortals, though they themselves were not immortal, only extremely long lived.

"Foolish," she spat when he did not answer.

"Not foolish," he said very slowly. The tedium of life had led him to their mortal brethren, an inner curiosity, an interest to be part of their responsiveness to the land.

"I say foolish."

She was in a foul temper, he mused, nothing new. He adjusted the cuff on his wrist. "Foolish is the territorial goddess who continues to desire the Dark Chieftain of the Tuatha Dé Danann for her own when the Faery King has pledged her to another."

Her gaze slid away and he felt a twinge of regret for his harshness.

"I no longer desire him," she murmured.


"I Doona like the new one either."

"If you doona like the king's choice for your mate, Blodenwedd, then you should tell him."

"Tell? He doona Listen to me," She said with an impatient turn of her hand.

"Who did he choose for you?"

She looked back at him, a dark light in her eyes. "You."

He smiled only slightly at her mischief. "Why are you really here, great goddess?"

"You doona believe me, Rain?" There was an open challenge in her voice, a menacing quality to her tone.

"Careful, Blodenwedd," he warned silkily, his resentment aroused. He could detect the fragrance of her, the changing scent meant to dull his senses. "I am not like mortal men who bow to your every wish."

"You are male bred," she said, her eyelids lowered, and he felt the inspection of his man-parts.

A flicker of annoyance gleamed in his eyes when he saw appreciation light her face. He waited for what he knew was coming.

"Rain, I wish you to be my consort."

He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her gaze to his. "The king dinna pick me, did he, Blodenwedd?"

"Nay," she grumbled, admitting to the devious lie, and whirled away.


"I want you instead." She tossed her silken mane.

"You doona want me."

She turned back, her gaze hot and expectant, roaming boldly up and down his naked body.

"I can make you want me, Báisteach."

He did not like it when she used his olden fey name. Báisteach meant Rain. Keegan locked his hands behind his back in rebuff and looked up at the clouds. He could feel her anger and resentment brewing just below the surface. "Goddess," he said with extreme patience, "you canna make me want or do anything I doona want to do."

"Be you sure of that?" she murmured coyly.

He looked into her cold, lovely face. The game she played no longer amused him. "Be you sure, Blodenwedd?"

At his returned challenge, she pulled back in stunned silence. He guessed his defiance rankled her a wee bit. The look she bestowed on him was filled with such hatred he felt his only recourse was to ... chuckle.

"How dare you!" she spat in a full temper, the urge to kill shining in her eyes.

He peered at her with a strong conviction. "Why did you come here?"

She made a distasteful sound in her throat. "Wants you now to Come."

"Who wants me?"

"The high King. Come now." She turned away, expecting him to follow like an obedient slave.

He did not move.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder, golden tresses glimmering with raindrops. "Rain," she said in irritation.

"Blodenwedd," he cajoled.

He saw she struggled with his sweet and patient tone. "Come now!" She actually stomped her foot at him.

"I will come after the storm abates and twilight passes into night."

"Now, I say."


Her wraithlike body stiffened, her face turning cruel. "You not be special, not ever, Guardian of the Waters. I doona know why I want you."

A passing fancy, he mused. Whenever Blodenwedd did not get her way, he knew from experience she could become malicious.

"After," he said calmly, which only infuriated her more.

"You should have died at birth."

"Then who, lovely goddess, would you dream about?"

Her slender chin jutted out and she hissed at him.

He arched a brow.

She shimmered then, dissolving into threads of golden light and nothingness, or as the piskies would say, winked out.

Spoiled, self-indulgent goddess used to having her own way. He knew her infatuation with him would pass in time, as it had passed when all she could talk about was the Dark Chieftain of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he closed his eyes and threw back his head.

"Drench me," he called out to the clouds. Heavy rain fell from the sky. He could not command rainfall. Only when the clouds were full with moisture could he beseech them. Being a full guardian of the waters, he sensed all things having to do with water and always knew when rain was about to fall.

"More," he whispered and fell to his knees, arms outstretched in entreaty, hands open. He glimmered in the way of his faery brethren, his body changing, eyes tilting at the ends, ears pointing. Gossamer wings unfolded from his back, forming into a webwork of shimmering silver, gray, and black filaments.

He stretched out his magnificent wings fully, relishing in the freedom of his true fey form.


Excerpted from Fey Born by R. Garland Grey Copyright © 2007 by R. Garland Grey. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

R. Garland Gray beckons readers into her unique worlds, weaving passionate, compelling tales that entertain and escape the ordinary. Garland currently resides with her husband in a small country home in New England.

Customer Reviews

Average Review:

Write a Review

and post it to your social network


Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See all customer reviews >

Fey Born 4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 9 reviews.
harstan More than 1 year ago
Keegan, whose faery name is Rain, is bored with his existence and takes mortal form to live among the Tuatha De Danann tribe in Drumanagh, Eire. One of the members of the tribe is Lana who has a weak heart and a strange birthmark on her body. Both are erotically aware of the other but it is forbidden for a guardian of the waters to mate with a mortal. Keegan is called before the High King Nuada where he is informed that the talisman sword Valor is missing and drowning in the water so he must recover it. The druidess of his human tribe insists he take the Sword Host Lana with him. Her mark means she can meld with the sword if the human guardian inside Valor is dead because of being immersed in water so long. After they handfast, they travel north to find Valor, a trip made hard because both want to mate with one another but can¿t because Lana must be pure to meld with the sword. They remain unaware of an enemy planning to use magic to kill him and capture her so this adversary can use the sword to become the next High King. --- Romantic fantasy readers will enjoy this magical and enchanted tale of two-star crossed lovers who must fight against overwhelming odds to achieve their goal. Lana who always thought she was weak learns she has the strength to hold her own with her fairy man and love him with all her heart. R. Garland Gray has the magic touch when it comes to writing fantasy. --- Harriet Klausner
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
if you like fantasy romance you will love this book!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago