Goddess Fish Party Pavilion: Kelley Heckart

http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/Check out my long hair hotties!

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My book page at Mundania Press:

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http://www.amazon.com/Kelley-Heckart/e/B002BMOQ3C/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Tree Faeries

In my latest release, a short story titled The Enchanted Meadow, I decided to make my heroine, Alina, a Tree Faerie. The ancient Celts believed that since trees were the oldest living organisms in the forest that they were powerful and held the memories of the past. The Celtic Druids worshipped in forests, usually oak groves, and had a close relationship with trees.

Did their close relationship with the trees mean that they conversed with spirits living in the trees? Perhaps. And perhaps it was these tree spirits that taught them the secrets about tree magic, divination and astral travel.

Tree Faeries, or Dryads, are also called Tree Spirits, Tree Ladies, Druidesses, Hamadryads and in Gaelic are sometimes called Sidhe Draoi, which means ‘Faery Druids.’ Tree faeries appear as wisps of light, flitting from tree to tree. These playful, androgynous creatures are referred to as female. They prefer willow trees but can be found in all trees. Tree Faeries are associated with the element of air.

Since Tree Faeries are seen as wisps of light, I needed to figure out a way that my hero could see Alina. Some humans are more sensitive to otherworldly creatures and are able to see the unseen. I decided that my hero, Taran, had some druid training in his earlier years so he was able to see Alina as a human woman while his warriors could only see her as a bobbing light. Taran’s sensitivity to the supernatural also plays a key role in the plot.

Title: The Enchanted Meadow

Publisher: Freya’s Bower

Genre: Short erotic fantasy romance

Release date: 11/22/11

Pages: 46

Link to buy links: http://kelleyheckart.com/TheEnchantedMeadow.html

Kelley Heckart, Historical fantasy romance author

Captivating...Sensual...Otherworldly

http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/Check out my long hair hotties!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

My book page at Mundania Press:

http://www.mundania.com/author.php?author=Kelley+Heckart

My author page on amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Kelley-Heckart/e/B002BMOQ3C/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

New short erotic fantasy--a Tree Faery, a warrior and a cursed meadow

Title: The Enchanted Meadow

Publisher: Freya’s Bower

Genre: Short erotic fantasy romance

Release date: 11/22/11

Pages: 46

Link to buy links: http://kelleyheckart.com/TheEnchantedMeadow.html

Blurb:

Warriors from the Raven clan are sent to guard the king's cattle. They are unprepared for the strange, otherworldly happenings in the new winter grazing land, including nocturnal visits by a beautiful lass. Only their leader, Taran, can save them—if he remembers how.

Excerpt:

Alina wanted to cry out to him, but her throat would not form any sounds. The one who had betrayed her and trapped her in this tree had taken away her speech so she could not ask for help to escape her prison. So many centuries had turned, each season passing in a blur of muted colors, her hope fading. Now someone had come, a mortal who could help her, but she needed to communicate with him in some way. Sighing, she realized she was not even sure she knew how to break the curse.

He watched her now with curious eyes, unaware that she also watched him. When she concentrated all of her power, she could imprint an image of her face on the tree trunk, becoming one with the tree. Only he had seen her face in the tree bark, so she knew he was more than a simple warrior. He had the mind of a druid. Only the one who could help her would be able to see into other realms and pay such close attention to her tree. She sensed the affection in his caress. Shivers of pleasure shot through her body at his gentle touch, giving her a sense of hope.

She studied him, admiring the confident way he commanded his men even as he faced the unknown. He stood regal and powerful, the blue warrior marks he earned shadowing the austere planes of his handsome face. Long, golden-copper streaked hair plunged down his back in a wild tangle. She yearned to run her hands through his thick mane again.

As if reading her thoughts, he glanced back at her tree, his bright blue eyes darkening to a deeper hue in the shifting light, his face softening from its usual hardness. When he looked in her direction, he let slip his true feelings he hid from his warriors. Her heart sang with compassion for him.

She felt herself blush at his penetrating gaze. His eyes awakened that feeling of familiarity in her again, but she still could not place it. If she escaped her prison, she could go to him now. Frowning, she thought how she hated the tree that felt like a tomb. The world beyond the tree taunted her with its bright autumn colors, a world so full of life and freedom. She could not bear to look upon it any longer.

To help her bide her time, she thought about their coupling. Her body flushed at the memory. She recalled how wonderful his muscles had felt beneath her touch and the way he had kissed her, caressing her secret places with his skillful tongue, making her moan and quake. A twinge of desire flickered inside her at the thought of having him touch her again tonight.

When they discovered another missing cow, they would have to stay. At least she hoped so. She continued to hide some of their cattle to keep the warrior there so eventually he could help her escape.

At first, she only wanted to use him to help her escape, but now her body trembled with affection for the golden warrior. After he rekindled what had been dormant for so long inside of her, she began to yearn for him and his tender, passionate touch. Could she let him go? And if he should eat of the apples….

* * *

Praise for The Enchanted Meadow:
"Hauntingly beautiful; this enchanting story takes
the reader into a magical meadow where there is
a bad curse and an evil source watching. These
exceptional characters carry out a plot that
ensnares the reader and keeps you there until
the end."
Reviewed by Wateena
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance
Reviewer for Karen Find Out About New Books

Kelley Heckart, Historical fantasy romance author

Captivating...Sensual...Otherworldly

http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/Check out my long hair hotties!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

My book page at Mundania Press:

http://www.mundania.com/author.php?author=Kelley+Heckart

My author page on amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Kelley-Heckart/e/B002BMOQ3C/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Excerpt 3 from Winter’s Requiem, Historical/fantasy, PG

Available in Print and Ebook

Winter’s Requiem, Book 3, Dark Goddess Trilogy, Celtic historical/fantasy

Blurb:

Three different women, one ancient curse…

An ancient curse is revealed, leading Domelch, Brigit and Cailleach into certain danger amid a web of deceit. Can they break the curse and put the shattered pieces of their lives back together?

Excerpt:

“Ungild, I am retiring to my room for the night. I will not need your services.” Cailleach concentrated on concealing her thoughts, hoping the old woman would not detect her deceit. Wrapping herself in shadows, she pretended to walk toward the hall to the royal quarters, but instead slipped silently into the woods.

She’d been careful not to use magic around the mortals, but tonight she had no choice if she was to test Aethelfrith’s heart. Concealing herself among thick bushes, she stepped out of her clothes. Her naked skin prickled in the cold autumn night, but the feeling of being naked filled her with a sense of freedom—freedom from the binding fabric, freedom from the laws of mortals.

Calling on her powers, she used all of her concentration and strength, aware of her weakness in this foreign land. Her body tingled with the transformation, her flesh twisted and shifted, sprouting black feathers.

The raven let out a harsh cry, ruffling her feathers and taking flight. Happiness filled her at the freedom this shape gave her to slip undetected through the night, soaring on wings across the treetops. The cold air bounced off her insulated body, her wings slicing with ease through a night illuminated by a full moon. The sounds of pounding hooves and jangling bridles reached her ears and she changed course, flying toward the river. Below outstretched branches, she spotted Aethelfrith and his band of warriors. They emerged from the woodlands into a clearing in pursuit of a stag.

Cailleach flapped her wings faster to increase her speed so she could keep up with the swift hunters. She recalled the thrill of hunting, her heart fluttering with excitement. The riders spread out around the fleeing stag in a skillful formation, cutting off its escape. The majestic beast fell under the might of the roaring spears.

Alighting on a nearby branch, Cailleach waited for the warriors to gather their prize stag, knowing they would probably stop to rest now.

A small fire sparked below. The warriors gathered around for warmth. Drinking horns gleamed in the moonlight, laughter carried up into the night.

It was time. Cailleach shrugged off the nervous jitters surging through her body, uncertain of what she wanted to happen. Spreading her wings, she landed on the ground, calling on more magic. Her body shifted, her flesh pulling and shaping into the sagging flesh of an old, ugly woman. In this tormented body, she did not have the same joyful feelings as she embraced in the raven’s body. The gnarled, painful joints twisted in a hideous angle, the naked flesh wrinkled and sagging. A sudden terrifying thought filled her that her senses about Aethelfrith were wrong. If he failed her test, she might not have the strength to change her shape back and she would be stuck in the hideous body.

It has to be this way. It has always been this way.

Naked and limping through the trees, she emerged before the warriors who sat in a circle around the fire. All heads turned toward her.

“Who here will give warmth to a lost, cold old woman?” Her voice sounded like a raven’s harsh croak. She parted her lips in a smile, revealing blackened and chipped teeth.

Theodbald looked at her with disgust. “Old woman, you will find no warmth here. Be off with you,” he barked, waving her away.

“Wait.” Aethelfrith stood, peering at her. “Take this to cover yourself.” He took off his cloak and approached her, draping it across her naked shoulders.

She looked at him, hoping he would see through the guise. Her chest tightened in apprehension. “Would you warm an old woman’s frozen lips?”

He gazed at her as if looking right through her. Cailleach’s heart quickened. He pressed a kiss to her lips, awakening the magic.

Her body changed, the bent, swollen joints straightening, the sagging skin tightening into the shape of a young, beautiful woman.

“What is this?” He stared wide-eyed at her.

“King of the land of Bernicia, I am Sovereignty and your seed shall be sown over every kin,” she said, hardly able to keep from revealing herself to him.

He peered at her, recognition glimmering in his eyes. “Frige?”

She gave him an enigmatic smile and called on the magic to change her shape into a raven. The cloak landed in a heap on the ground at Aethelfrith’s feet. Her transformation used the last of her powers until she could rest and gain more strength. The raven stared up at him and let out a parting croak. Flapping wings carried Cailleach away into the moonlit night, her thoughts troubled. She should be happy that he had the heart of a king, but something didn’t feel right.

A blanket of mist sparkled and shimmered beneath the ghostly splash of moonlight over the river dividing Bernicia from Gododdin. The fog emitted an unearthly radiance, parting as if opening a doorway. She tried to turn to avoid entering the strange mist, realizing it was a trap, but the fog surrounded her. In her weakened state, Cailleach’s magic was nothing more than a harmless ember that faded into a cold ash. She experienced a sense of confusion, the cold, wet mist capturing her.

Cailleach struggled to escape the trap. She sensed that Badb had tricked her, luring her here with magic. Badb knew Cailleach was unable to resist the temptation to test the prince for kingship and would be too weak after working such strong magic to be able to escape the trap. The fog encircled Cailleach with a memory, one she wanted to close her mind against. She tried to fight the powerful, magical pull.

I cannot escape from my past.

****

'Ms. Heckart draws the reader into the pages and enchants them with her words.'

Karen McGill, Coffee Time Romance

Kelley Heckart

'Timeless tales of romance, conflict & magic'

http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/ Check out my long hair hotties!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

My book page at Mundania Press: http://www.mundania.com/author.php?author=Kelley+Heckart

My author page on amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Kelley-Heckart/e/B002BMOQ3C/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

The Perfect Hero

How does a romance writer create that perfect hero? Heroes come in all shapes and sizes. In paranormal and fantasy romance, they may even be supernatural. There are Alpha, Beta and Omega males to choose from. The Alpha hero seems to be popular, but I prefer a hero somewhere in between Alpha and Beta. While the Alpha can set a female’s blood on fire, he does not make a great long term, monogamous romantic partner. A Beta is a better choice, maybe not as exciting as the Alpha, but give him some Alpha qualities and he can make a woman’s pulse race. Either way, the perfect hero should be appealing to the reader. It can be challenging for a writer to combine just the right ingredients to make that ideal hero.

My heroes are usually warriors, which is weird because in real life I am married to a pacifist musician. Ancient warriors are fascinating to me because they are a mix of courage, fierceness and passion. I grew up reading about them in Greek classics like The Iliad, in the tales of King Arthur and in Irish/Celtic mythology where they usually battled mythical monsters and were enchanted by goddesses or faery women. Some of them even had magical powers of their own.

I usually base my heroes on the Irish Fianna. In early Ireland, fianna were small warrior bands living apart from society as mercenaries, bandits and hunters, but could be called upon by kings in time of war. They appear in Irish mythology as an otherworldly, fierce band of warriors with the hearts of poets. Yes, I said poets. Along with other rigorous tests to prove their supernatural strength, expertise and bravery, one of the requirements to be initiated into the Fianna was to be a skilled poet. That mix of fierceness, courage, passion and sensitivity fascinates me and I like to create heroes with those qualities.

When I say perfect, I do not actually mean that the hero should be without imperfections. I like complicated heroes, ones with flaws. This is where a writer needs to use caution because a hero with too many flaws or unlikable traits might turn a reader off. For instance, I had the challenge of taking a real sixth century Irish king known as one of the most feared warlords of his time and turn him into the hero in my latest release. He was called Aedan the Treacherous in the Welsh poems. I thought about this and realized that his enemies would probably not call him something nice, but to be a successful king in that century he would have to be a tough ruler. And to the outside world he is strong and merciless, but in private with the woman he loves, he shows a more tender side. But he is not without his faults. He can be arrogant and has a jealous streak. This adds some conflict to the story, but I had to be careful not to take things too far or my hero could come across as a tyrannical jerk. Those are the risks writers have to take when creating a flawed hero.

My perfect hero has some qualities of the Alpha male, he is a leader and has a touch of arrogance, but also possesses some Beta qualities like compassion. Oh, and he should have a cool name. My perfect hero is also tall, muscular and has long hair. That last part about long hair is probably influenced by my real life infatuation with musicians.

What type of male is your perfect hero?

************

http://kelleyheckart.com/cats_curse.html

Blurb for Cat’s Curse, Book One: Dark Goddess Trilogy: A Celtic prince, an ancient vampire and two curses…

Excerpt from Cat’s Curse:

The man started at her sudden words, turning toward her with the sword blade stopping just before the blade cut into Cardea's neck, the coldness of the iron striking a shudder in her. That was the second time in one night she almost lost her head to his sword blade.

“Why are ye following me?” Irritation filled his voice.

“You look like you need some help starting that fire.”

“I do not need yer help.” He stared at her. His brows knitted together, his eyes scrutinizing her. “A good Christian lass would not be out here all alone in the forest at night,” he remarked with a sneer.

Cardea’s mocking laughter filled the air.

“Do I amuse ye?” He peered at her, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

She found her courage again. “You presume much of me, but what about you? I can only imagine what dreadful act you committed to be banished into these dark-winged woods. Though I can assume your misdeeds had nothing to do with fire,” she smirked, crossing her arms and planting her feet firm to the ground.

“Ye lass, are a rude minion of the Devil himself.” His handsome face rippled with indignation.

“That I may be indeed.” She stared hard at him. His ranting recalled images of the hated Levite priests. A shudder tore through her body and rage fumed inside of her, threatening to rise. She flirted with the temptation to rip his neck open and drink him dry. No one would find his rotting corpse out this far in the forest. The beasts would clean the bones of all flesh. She did not understand why she held back, but her hesitation had something to do with the odd way this man stirred her senses.

He turned around and strode with great arrogance back to his fire pit, striking the blade with the flint rock in angry thrusts. After watching him for a few moments, she approached him.

“Do ye have more insults for me?”

“No. I just cannot stand to watch you make a mockery of fire starting.”

“I can start the fire,” he insisted, turning back to the fire pit.

She watched him struggle again with the stone and blade, trying not to laugh.

“Please, allow me to assist you. It is much too cold tonight to be without a warm fire.” She did not understand why she felt compelled to help him and reached for the dagger she carried on her belt. His cold blade touched her throat before she could blink. Three times now his blade touched her throat and she wondered if it were a portent. “I need my dagger to start your fire.”

He eyed her with suspicion, but withdrew his blade from her throat.

“Ye live alone?” he asked, giving her room to start the fire, but he did not sheath his sword.

“Yes.” She noticed how he bit back a derisive retort.

Cardea held the stone with the sharp edge facing the blade and struck the blade in one swift movement. A spark shot out and the dry peat began to smolder. She struck the blade one more time and a flame rose from the peat, sending out warmth.

“You have to strike the blade in one swift movement with the stone to create a spark. Rubbing it like you were doing only wears the stone down. And it is best to strike the blade with the sharpest edge of the stone.”

“I have a capable pair of eyes. I saw how ye did it.” The bitter tone of his voice revealed his irritation toward her.

“I did not intend to offend you.”

“Good night to ye.” He waited for her to leave the fire before sheathing his sword. Keeping his eyes on her, he stoked the flames.

She stepped toward him and he jumped up, moving away from her. “Do not touch me.” His eyes turned an angry shade of dark blue and an aura of torment surrounded him. “I wish to be left alone.”

Cardea bristled at his surliness, thinking him to be the most arrogant man she'd ever met.

*********

Kelley’s Bio:

Kelley writes Celtic historical romances with fantasy elements. Her stories reflect her passion for history, storytelling and the supernatural. Inspired by the ancient Celts, her tales are filled with fierce warriors, bold women, magic, conflict and romance.

Kelley’s links:

http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/ Check out my long hair hotties!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

http://www.mundania.com/author.php?author=Kelley+Heckart

Kelley’s book page at Mundania:

Kelley’s book page on Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Kelley-Heckart/e/B002BMOQ3C/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Excerpt 2 from Winter’s Requiem, Historical/fantasy, PG

Available in Print and Ebook

Winter’s Requiem, Book 3, Dark Goddess Trilogy, Celtic historical/fantasy

Blurb:

Three different women, one ancient curse…

An ancient curse is revealed, leading Domelch, Brigit and Cailleach into certain danger amid a web of deceit. Can they break the curse and put the shattered pieces of their lives back together?

Excerpt:

Night and day melted into one. The weakening sun stirred her heart, its rays reaching lower in the sky, cleaving deep, twilight shadows. A mighty river cut a wide swath through a land of rolling hills, the heather bloom turned tender colors by autumn’s kiss, ringed by furrowed alder and pale birch. Cailleach pressed her cheek against the smooth bark of a birch, sensing the power stored within the ancient tree. The sounds of people chattering faded away, leaving her with a calming feeling.

“Do not wander too far off, my love. Enemy lands lie just across the river. It would fill me with dread if you were to be taken captive.” Aethelfrith’s strong arms enfolded her.

She rested her head against his shoulder. “I needed to be alone, away from all the constant chatter that muddles my thoughts.”

“I understand, but this gathering is very important to me,” he said, “and I am honored to have you at my side.” He pressed his cheek against her head.

“It is important to me as well.” He would be tested tomorrow night. Will I be tested as well? The warmth of his body caressed her, and the wonder of the grove awakened her senses. “This is a beautiful place. I understand why your priests chose it.” The river sparkled in the faint sunlight, capturing the beauty of the hills and woodlands reflected on its surface.

“Then come with me,” he said, gazing down at her. “The ritual will begin soon after sunset.”

“Already I smell the blood of the slaughtered beasts.” Her heart leaped in a hurried beat, excitement growing at the significance of the sacrifices—the power of the night of thinning barriers. But being in Brigit’s strange body and having her lost memories back left Cailleach with an odd feeling of reluctance.

He stepped away from her, holding out his hand. The prince had a captivating effect on her, his tender smile drawing her in. She accepted his hand and they walked together toward the grove.

The grove of oak, alder and birch shuddered with the force of hundreds of people, wrapped tight in cloaks, gathered outside the fenced off sacred area. A hush fell over the crowd as handfuls of oxen were brought forth amid a twinkling pathway of flaming torches. Without sufficient fodder to keep the beasts alive through winter, their great sacrifice would ensure the survival of the people over the harsh winter.

Cailleach had witnessed many such sacrifices. She shuddered, glancing up at Aethelfrith’s face. His gaze rested on the priests. He watched with interest as the long knives arced downward, spraying the beasts’ blood. She tried not to think of the one sacrifice she performed that ended in tragedy, wishing she could forget that horrible memory.

The priest’s voice echoed, dedicating the sacrifices to the fertility goddess, Frige. A chill touched her at the mention of the goddess. Aethelfrith gazed down at her. He squeezed her hand, a knowing smile on his lips. The strong touch of his warm male hand reassured her.

With whetted blades, the heads, being the anima of the beast, were removed from the carcasses and strung up in trees to appease the goddess. The ghastly ornaments bobbed from half-bare branches, illuminated by the rising moon. Slaves carted off the bodies to be prepared in the kitchens for a feast, the leftovers to be salted and eaten throughout the winter.

“There is one more rite to be witnessed.” Aethelfrith held her hand in a tight grip, his strong, bare jaw clenched.

Gleaming with the translucence of a moonbeam, a milk white horse pulling a chariot entered the grove. Silence fell like a veil over those gathered. Cailleach’s eyes widened with awe at the sight of such a splendid beast that she barely noticed the two occupants riding in the chariot. Both men wore flowing white robes embroidered in golden spirals, but one of them also wore a golden crown, identifying him as King Hussa.

The priest and the king observed each neigh and action of the horse before the expectant crowd. Cailleach knew this to be a divine beast, nourished in a sacred wood and employed in no earthly labor.

Ungild stepped from the shadows, her eyes brightening with surprise and approval. Cailleach sensed the presages divined from the horse’s actions had something to do with Aethelfrith.

The king addressed the gathering. His great stature and flowing blond locks gave him godlike qualities, the golden crown sparkling with an unearthly radiance on his brow. “The gods have spoken. The enemy will be routed under the force of our mighty armies. We have much to celebrate tonight.” His gaze rested in the direction where Aethelfrith stood.

Theodbald stood close to Aethelfrith, arms crossed and bearded jaw set in a grim line of intimidation, his stare aimed at King Hussa’s warriors. A handful of young, smooth-jawed warriors, mixed in with handfuls of seasoned warriors, flanked Aethelfrith in a protective arc behind their lord.

“Do you think King Hussa will allow us into his hall tonight?” Theodbald spoke low to his brother.

Cailleach sensed a change in the king, his stare warm and inviting instead of filled with malice. The white horse had divined in Aethefrith’s favor.

“I think he will do more than that, brother,” Aethelfrith grinned, squeezing Cailleach’s hand.

The crowd of warriors, craftsmen and farmers dissipated, drawn to the raging bonfire rising in the center of the clearing. Towering flames consumed the stack of wood, writhing and crackling with intensity. Servants brought forth flagons of mead and ale to the eager crowd and drinking horns glittered in the darkness. Music rang through the night on resonating strings entangled with sharp, airy flutes and chased by galloping drums, entertaining the crowd as they awaited the opening of the mead hall doors.

Aethelfrith pulled Cailleach into his arms, keeping to the shadows. “You have brought me good fortune.” He pressed a quick, tender kiss to her lips.

His kiss filled her with warmth. “I hope it is good fortune I have brought you,” she said, her thoughts mixed. The flames of the bonfire flicked out and stretched across the darkness, reminding her of ill-tempered spirits searching out the innocent to torment.

The mead hall doors swung open. Light and warmth spilled into the frigid night. A herald stepped out, pressing a horn to his lips. The harsh sound carried across the clearing, a welcome sound to the hungry guests.

Aethelfrith straightened his shoulders, his bearing one of confidence. He looked down at her, expressing regret. “I wish to have you at my side, but...”

The customs of these people irritated her. Even in Aethelfrith’s own hall, she could not sit at his side. “I understand. We will meet later.”

She fell back into the shadows, watching her golden prince with his band of warriors stop at the open doors. Two large door wardens looked them over, one of them grunting out a request. “King Hussa requests that you sit at an honored place at the table.”

“He does?” Aethelfrith flashed the door warden a smug grin. “Why, Hunwald, you seem almost disappointed that you cannot throw me out.”

Hunwald grunted and moved aside to allow Aethelfrith and his men entry into the hall. The dim, smoky hall swallowed her prince. Sighing, she debated whether to enter with the women. The thought of enduring an entire night in a packed hall with awful smells and endless noise turned her stomach.

“So, it displeases you how women are treated among the sons of Woden.”

Ungild’s voice was a welcome intrusion to her tonight. “It is not the way of my people,” Cailleach said. The words sent a prickle across the back of her neck, reminding her she did not belong here.

“To an outsider it may seem that women are mistreated. They are kept in the shadows, but the men welcome their council. Women are honored. Our way is just different,” Ungild said, glancing at the hall doors. “Sadly, I do not have the honors here that I enjoy in Aethelfrith’s hall. We can sit with the women or we can stay out in the night.”

“Staying out in the night is the more welcome choice, but I feel I must be inside.”

“Near Aethelfrith.” Ungild’s expression remained impassive, but her voice sounded discontented.

“That still displeases you.”

“I think you know you do not belong here.” Ungild proceeded into the hall.

A chill wind bit at her face and penetrated her wool tunic dress. Cailleach pulled her cloak tight and followed Ungild into the warm hall.

****

'Ms. Heckart draws the reader into the pages and enchants them with her words.'

Karen McGill, Coffee Time Romance

Kelley Heckart

'Timeless tales of romance, conflict & magic'

http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/ Check out my long hair hotties!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

My book page at Mundania Press: http://www.mundania.com/author.php?author=Kelley+Heckart

My author page on amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Kelley-Heckart/e/B002BMOQ3C/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Inspiration for my Dark Goddess trilogy

"I am the wind on the sea;

I am the wave of the sea;

I am the bull of seven battles;

I am the eagle on the rock;

I am a flash from the sun;

I am the most beautiful of plants;

I am a strong wild boar;

I am a salmon in the water;

I am a lake in the plain;

I am the word of knowledge;

I am the head of the spear in battle;

I am the god that puts fire in the head;

Who spreads light in the gathering on the hills?

Who can tell the ages of the moon?

Who can tell the place where the sun rests?"

Song of Amergin

This is a poem by a bard/druid named Amergin. He sang this song when his ship first landed on the shores of Ireland. No one knows for certain when the Sons of Mil (the Gaels) sailed from the Mediterranean and landed on what was then called Eriu (Ireland), but it was at least one thousand years before the birth of Christ—if the stories are to be believed.

At that time the godlike Tuatha de Danaan, the Irish faeries, ruled Ireland. The De' Danaans were described by Y.B. Yeats as 'tall and noble and able to change their shapes into different shapes not their own.' They were a society of druids, kings and warriors, but their true identity is shrouded in mystery. Were they tribes of the goddess Danu or gods themselves? According to the Book of Invasions, the Danaans were driven northward from Greece and came to Ireland by way of Denmark about 1472 BC.

The Sons of Mil were men who wielded iron swords while the De'Danaans were of an earlier time of magic. There were many battles fought between these two races until finally a great battle was fought and the Tuatha de Danaan retreated underground to the Sidhe, leaving the earthly plane to men. Even then the stories continued because some of the De'Danaans decided to remain above ground and on Beltaine and Samhain, the barriers between the two worlds would open and men were exposed to the magic of the Fae.

These tales of men and gods were the inspiration for my Dark Goddess trilogy and is the basis for many of my stories. I specifically focused on a legend about two goddesses, one ruled from Samhain to Beltaine and one ruled from Beltaine to Samhain. As I was doing research for the first book in this trilogy, I came across an Irish king who ruled in the sixth century in Scotland (Dal Riata). He had a shadowy past and was believed to have fathered a future king of the Picts. He was also known as one of the most feared kings of his time. In the Welsh poems, he is called 'Aedan the Treacherous' and he was a contemporary of St. Columba. He fascinated me and I came up with an idea for a curse that revolved around his clan, Brigit (a Tuatha de Danaan goddess), Cailleach (an ancient goddess known in Ireland and Scotland) and an ancient Greek vampire. This curse is connected to the legend of a winter and summer goddess and also connected to that final battle between the Sons of Mil and the Tuatha de Danaan.

Cat's Curse (Bk 1), Beltaine’s Song (Bk 2) and Winter’s Requiem (Bk 3) are all available now in Print and Ebook.

http://kelleyheckart.com/BookShelf.html

Kelley Heckart

'Timeless tales of romance, conflict & magic'

http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/ Check out my long hair hotties!

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My book page at Mundania Press: http://www.mundania.com/author.php?author=Kelley+Heckart

My author page on amazon.com:

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Excerpt 1 from Winter’s Requiem, Historical/fantasy Rated R

Available in Print and Ebook

Winter’s Requiem, Book 3, Dark Goddess Trilogy, Celtic historical/fantasy

Blurb:

Three different women, one ancient curse…

An ancient curse is revealed, leading Domelch, Brigit and Cailleach into certain danger amid a web of deceit. Can they break the curse and put the shattered pieces of their lives back together?

Excerpt:

The darkness and fear of this night grew powerful wings on the back of a sudden thunderstorm. Thunder rumbled, riding the sky on the pounding hooves of a ferocious warhorse. Flashes of lightning cleaved the darkened sky above Dunadd, revealing the glint of a sky warrior’s mighty sword.

Within the surly clouds, Domelch imagined she saw Cailleach’s amber eyes flickering with danger, taunting her. For what I came for, you are not ready yet. From out of the past, Cailleach’s veiled words still haunted her.

Domelch stood outside the dun as wind, rain and lightning lashed out at the towering fortress. Cold rain erupted from the black-bellied clouds, soaking her hair, skin and clothes. The sodden tunic dress clung to her body, weighing her down against the vicious wind. Her skin numbed to the frozen rain. “Leave us be!” she shouted, boldly standing up to the wrathful storm, challenging the forces of nature, and Cailleach.

“Domelch, are ye mad?” Aedan pulled her inside.

Shivering, she clung to Aedan’s warm, dry body. Water dripped from her onto the rushes.

“Ye will catch an ague,” he said, looking down at her with concern. “What were ye thinking, lass?”

“I know Cailleach is out there. The storm has her deathly cold touch.” Her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

“Come, we must get ye warm.” Aedan pulled her up the steps to their bedchamber.

A blazing fire greeted her, the flames reaching out to dry her wet clothes and skin with welcome, fiery arms.

“Off with yer clothes,” he said, standing her near the warming fire.

He helped her undress, pulling a blanket around her nakedness. The warmth and softness of the wool caressed her cold, shivering skin.

“Ye feel colder than a frozen blade.”

The warmth from the fire calmed Domelch’s trembling limbs. She leaned into Aedan, seeking the heat from his body, laying her head against his wide chest. His arms tightened around her in a tender embrace.

Thunder faded away across the hills to a low rumble, the storm gone as fast as it had arrived. It would be just like Cailleach to announce her awakening like that, she thought, snuggling closer to Aedan, nestling her hips against his bulging manhood. With only a blanket covering her naked body and a warm fire to make her body flush, she tingled with amorous delight.

He moved her damp hair away from her neck and kissed her, his warm lips heating her blood with desire. “Are ye feeling playful, my she-cat?” He licked her ear lobe, making her squirm against him. “We have some time before the evening meal.”

“Very much so,” she panted, the heat of her body growing. Something about the storm, the rain and the fire awakened her passion and left her quivering with arousal. Magic stirred the air on this Samhain Eve and filled her with pent up urges. The blanket dropped to the floor in a heap. She turned around to face him.

“This is a welcome surprise,” he whispered in a husky, craving voice.” Desire flickered in his eyes. Aedan’s hands searched out her breasts, lightly pinching her nipples to taut peaks. “Ye are still the most beautiful lass,” he whispered, his voice rough with longing. He picked her up in his strong arms and carried her over to the bed. Her pulse raced in anticipation, thrilled to have the love of such a vigorous male.

****

'Ms. Heckart draws the reader into the pages and enchants them with her words.'

Karen McGill, Coffee Time Romance

Kelley Heckart

'Timeless tales of romance, conflict & magic'

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

My book page at Mundania Press: http://www.mundania.com/author.php?author=Kelley+Heckart

My author page on amazon.com:

http://www.amazon.com/Kelley-Heckart/e/B002BMOQ3C/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

The Morrigan

Most people don’t think of faeries as frightening beings like vampires or werewolves, but there are many different types of faeries, some good and some evil. One of these more frightening faeries is the Irish faerie The Morrigan, also called Morrigu. Her name means Phantom Queen and she isn’t the typical faerie like the better-known Tinkerbell, gossamer-winged, tiny, benevolent faeries that most people know.

The Morrigan is a battle goddess associated with the Irish Tuatha de Danaan, one of the mythical races of ancient Ireland. These are the faeries that J.R.R. Tolkien based his elves on, and they are human size fae. W.B. Yeats writes about them in Celtic Twilight, ‘Tribes of the goddess Danu are indeed tall and noble, and they can take shapes and sizes that are not their true shapes and sizes.’

As a battle goddess, the Morrigan holds the fate of warriors and is sometimes seen as the washerwoman at the ford, a gruesome hag washing the bloody clothes of a warrior about to die in battle. She is also a fertility goddess—a goddess of death as well as renewal. She is often viewed as the destructive aspect of the Triple Goddess, her other forms are Badb and Nemhain. The Morrigan may have been part of a megalithic triad—three goddesses called The Mothers that were similar to the Greek Fates. She is neither good nor evil, but an unpredictable force that is best approached with caution. The Morrigan is associated with the crow and raven, and often appears in those shapes.

In my stories, she is Morrigan, a capricious, shape-shifting deity comparable in temperament to the Norse god Loki. She appears in the aspect of Badb in Winter’s Requiem, the third book in my Dark Goddess trilogy. The Morrigan is my favorite Irish faerie and appears in various forms in four of my books. I think what I like best about her is her unpredictability and how she straddles the line between good and evil.

The Morrigan is a fae/goddess to be wary of, especially since her appearance could foreshadow death.

Three different women, one ancient curse…

Kelley Heckart

'Timeless tales of romance, conflict & magic'

http://kelleysrealm.blogspot.com/ Check out my long hair hotties!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

Excerpt 1 from Beltaine’s Song, Historical/fantasy, PG

Samhain is a somber night for the main characters in the second book of my Dark Goddess trilogy because they are haunted by the vengeful goddess called Cailleach who wants to destroy them. My story is set in a time when Christianity began taking hold in parts of Scotland, but the pagan ways were till very much alive, especially among the farmers. In this Dark Age time period kings were likely to be Christian, but most were Christian in name only.

Available in Print and Ebook

http://kelleyheckart.com/BeltainesSong.html

Beltaine’s Song, Book 2, Dark Goddess Trilogy, Celtic historical/fantasy

Blurb: For each of them, spring's song has a different meaning.

Aedan and Domelch must battle earthly foes—enemy kings and traitorous allies. For the first time, the arrival of spring heralds the sound of a harsh battle horn as their foes close in. Through all this turmoil, can their love survive?

For their son, Gartnait, spring brings with it the promise of new love and the thrilling sound of the battle horn, putting those he cares about in danger.

Excerpt:

Wood smoke scented the air. Through the wide branched oak trees, nearly bare of leaves, the valley below glowed with bonfires, which would be snuffed out to symbolize the dying of the sun and relit in the spring when the sun was reborn. To some, this still symbolized the death and rebirth of the sun god. A blood red moon gazed down on the somber scene and a sense of relief washed through her. Cailleach's power lay in the waning moon and the full moon gave Domelch comfort.

A few brave souls gathered near the bonfires. The sorrowful notes of a flute stirred Domelch's heart. The somber notes echoed within the mist that crept from the darkest corners. Voices joined the flute, chanting in mournful tones, the words lost in the night. Mist swirled around the valley, hovering above the reaped fields and rising toward the pointed thatched roofs of the village homes. Next to the homes, the new Christian church, built outside the fortress to accommodate the growing village, lay in darkness. She imagined the monk, huddled in the back of the church where he lived, trembling beneath his blanket on this night when the veil grew thinnest between the earthly realm and the land of the dead. Sensing the sorrow of the night, she knew candles burned in each house to honor those family members who had died.

She tried to see Aedan's face in the moonlit night to judge his reaction to the scene below. “Does it bother you that they still celebrate pagan holidays?”

“Nae. As much as I want to believe the Christian doctrines, a part of me understands how important it is to honor the spirits of the land, of nature.” He pulled her closer to him.

A warm feeling washed over her. She knew he would never admit that to anyone else except her. The villagers continued chanting, snatches of their words floated up to them. Gone were the long ago large gatherings and rituals to honor this dark time of the year, marking the beginning of the new year, but parts of the rituals were kept alive by the few who still believed.

“I hope they do not draw her attention.” Domelch shivered despite the warmth of her cloak and Aedan's arms. She thought the back of her neck tingled where the cat's claw brand had once bound her as Cailleach's servant. Somewhere off in the shelter of trees away from prying eyes, people still gathered to honor the goddess of the land in her aspect of Destroyer, possibly offering human sacrifices to her to ensure that the cycles would continue unbroken.

“She will not come.”

“How do you know that?” The confidence in his voice surprised her.

“I cannot explain it. 'Tis a feeling I have.”

She remembered the secret she kept from Aedan, the one she promised Columcille she would never tell him—that he had fae blood, even worse, it was Cailleach's blood. What it meant, she had no idea, but he probably had some kind of connection to her through his blood.

The chanting chilled her heart, the sense of spirits running free hidden in the mists, nagged at her. Even if Cailleach's shadow did not hang over them every year at this time, this night still gave her a sense of fear. A large talon seemed to reach out of the darkest part of the earth and snatch the sun away, blighting the land with snow and death.

****

Kimberly
Reviewer for Coffee Time Romance & More

‘This story is a remarkable one on so many levels. The theme spoke to my soul and touched my heart. The warrior women made this story sing for me…I adored the way Ms. Heckart tangled religion and politics into a tale that held my interest to the very end.’

Kelley Heckart

'Timeless tales of romance, conflict & magic'

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

http://www.mundania.com/author.php?author=Kelley+Heckart

My book page at Mundania Press

My author page on amazon.com:

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The Time of the Crone

I have always been fascinated with the changing seasons and this time of year is my favorite. Fall leads into winter, bringing longer days of darkness. I don’t know why, but this is the most inspiring time for me to write.

Fall and winter belong to the Crone, the darker aspect of the Goddess. There are three faces to the Goddess, mirroring the three phases of the moon. There is the Maiden (new moon), Mother (full moon) and Crone (old moon). The Crone has always been my favorite and she comes in many different disguises of Hecate, Badb, Cerridwen, Atropos and The Cailleach. She has many other names as well in different cultures, but she is always the one who has the power of prophecy, she is wise, she is the bringer of death, of change and of cleansing. She is associated with the winter months because those are the months when the earth rests and readies for spring. She is feared by most, but respected by all. The raven, crow and wolf are her animal guises.

Though she is a goddess of death, she is necessary to the fabric of life. Without death, we can have no life.

The Cailleach (veiled one) is the center of my trilogy titled Dark Goddess. I chose her because she is known in Ireland and Scotland, which corresponded with the settings of my story. She is one of the oldest goddesses who personifies the cutting winds and harshness of the northern winter. She is usually an old hag, but there are Irish myths that show her as a beautiful young maiden. In legends, she appears to the hero as a hideous old woman to test his heart for kingship. The one who kisses the old hag is rewarded—she changes into a beautiful maiden and bestows sovereignty on him.

There are many stories about her, but the one I focused on is the legend of The Cailleach and Brigit. The Cailleach ruled in the winter months and Brigit ruled in the summer months. The part that interested me about this legend is that they may have been two different faces of the same goddess. I decided to write a story using that theory and what may have caused that to happen.

In my trilogy, the Cailleach's destiny is entwined with that of an Irish clan and goes back to the battle between the Milesians and the Tuatha de Danaan of ancient Ireland. She makes an appearance in the first two books, but the third book of the trilogy (Winter's Requiem) belongs to the Cailleach.

Three different women, one ancient curse…

Kelley Heckart

'Timeless tales of romance, conflict & magic'

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604

My book page at Mundania Press

http://www.mundania.com/author.php?author=Kelley+Heckart

Excerpt 1 from Cat’s Curse, Historical fantasy, PG

Available in Print and Ebook

http://kelleyheckart.com/cats_curse.html

Cat's Curse, Book One: Dark Goddess Trilogy, Celtic historical romance/fantasy

Enter Dark Age Scotland—a mysterious, dangerous & exciting place…

Blurb: Cardea is cursed to live an eternity as a blood drinker. Aedan mac Gabrain, prince of Dal Riata, trusts no one after suffering a curse that keeps him from touching any females. Can two tortured souls find love while battling a dark goddess determined to destroy them?

Samhain signaled the darker half of the year to the ancient Celts, a time of sacrifice and survival with the culling of the herds, the reaping of the fields and preparing for the long cold winter. Cat Anna was known throughout the highlands as a frightening being that often traveled in the shape of a black cat, terrorizing the countryside. She is linked to a winter goddess called Cailleach and they may have been the same being. Samhain was her night of greatest power, but to gain her power, she had to take a sacrifice. In Cat’s Curse, her intended sacrifice is the heroine, Cardea.

Excerpt:

A large full moon filled the twilight sky on the night before Samhain, resting above a red, hazy horizon spreading across the sky in layers resembling fresh streaks of blood. To Cardea the blood red horizon of the dying sun spoke of what lay ahead and a feeling of doom pressed against her heart.

The fortress rang with the sounds of an impending celebration for the plentiful harvest and the coming of winter. Large bonfires burned until they would be extinguished like the long days of sunshine. She noted how the important festival had survived the rising power of the Christ god. ‘Perhaps not all is lost,’ she thought.

Galan stood before Aedan and Cardea. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“We have to do this alone.” An uneasy feeling shadowed Cardea’s heart.

Aedan studied her with concern in his eyes. “Are ye ready?” He squeezed her hand.

She nodded. “I hope to see you soon, Galan.” She kissed his cheek.

“Go with God,” he called after them.

Riding past the small church, Cardea stared at the blazing torches filling the burial site near the church. In anticipation of the open barriers between the living and the dead, torches had been planted in memory of those who had left the earthly realm. Each torch represented a villager who had passed into the Otherworld. She wondered that there were so many of them, lost souls lighting up the heavens.

Riding side by side, they followed the wide strath to the west along the loch, past darkened farmsteads. They followed the same path they took to the small village where Aedan’s warriors took refuge.

Clear fall skies twinkled with stars. The full moon acted as a guiding light, illuminating the deep valley and casting the bleak hills in a ghostly glow. They rode without speaking, each lost in their own troubled thoughts. Silence surrounded them; the only sound the soft plodding of their horses on the path empty of other travelers, spreading an edgy feeling over her. Her eyes and ears stayed aware of any unusual sounds and moving shadows. Aedan's hand rested on his sword hilt, his eyes following every rustle and stir, his jaw set in grim concentration. Cardea's heart filled with warmth, touched by the way he protected her and their unborn babe.

Rolling hills turned into forest-lined paths. Leaving the wide-open spaces and sweeping hills behind, they entered woodlands of multi-colored fall leaves. Trees on either side of the path reached across, the wide-leafed branches touching overhead, forming a grand, natural archway. In the moonlight the colors looked muted, but sparkled in the wondrous moonlight. She stared upward at the archway, captivated by the otherworldly scenery. She wondered if it would be the last time she would see such beauty.

****

Four books! This is true dark ages stuff—the aftermath of Rome’s occupation of Britain, and the growing influence of Christianity vs. the old pagan ways and gods. I love epic historical/high fantasy. Fae, Celt, vampire, curses—all rolled into one book. You truly are transported to a magical time and place…it’s a wonderful escape book for anyone wanting to get away from it all and I would definitely recommend it.

Reviewed by Heather from the Long and the Short of It

http://longandshortreviews.blogspot.com/2009/08/cats-curse-by-kelley-heckart.html

****

Kelley Heckart

'Timeless tales of romance, conflict & magic'

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kelley-Heckart/111838455604