Rhiannon's mother, the triune goddess of the Irish.
Amazingly, Rhiannon kept up her movements as the tableau unfolded, her fingers still holding him tight. With a flash, Tom understood. She dared not stop, not at this point in the ritual. The backlash from the power could damage her.
And if it damaged her, it could kill him stone-dead.
“Well, daughter,” said Brigit. Her voice was calm and deep, like a tree's heartwood. “This is unexpected. That after finally being freed you would choose to bind yourself again so soon? How well you love mortals. It might be seen,” she concluded, “as a flaw in your character.”
Rhiannon's eyes flashed, even as her hips came down to merge with Tom's once more. “I did not choose to bind myself with Mick Phelan, Mother. I was young and stupid and trusted the
