First off, thank you for having me! This is my very first solo guestpost/giveaway in my short writing career (yep, a giveaway virgin…please be kind!). In only a year and a bit of publishing The Faery Reel is my second novella purely in the m/m romance genre.

The story came about whilst researching for a completely different novel (that still hasn’t progressed past the plotting stage). I was reading The Faery Faith in Celtic Countries, an ethnography from 1911, and was struck by the experiences recorded that were very similar to what my husband and I went through when we first moved into an ancient stone cottage six years ago (our house was old when America was fighting the English for independence). The opening few paragraphs came fully formed in my head one morning, and Osian with all his snark began to tell me his story of being kidnapped by a faery lover.

I enjoyed the thought of writing a fey story completely from a Welsh perspective, as I think my home country isn’t one that isn’t often in the collective thought of Americans. I wanted to try for a Celtic trope, written from a Celtic view point, but in a modern context. So no Druids, no magical poets, just one rather bad tempered violinist, who is caught out on the night of the summer solstice whilst in western Ireland, meeting his best friend, who has somehow conned him into going to a Irish fiddle workshop.

As a fiddle player myself, this was the most enjoyable part, putting into Osian’s mindset set all the snarky little comments and in-fighting that goes on during a Celtic music session (an informal get together of various musicians in a pub). There is a lot of hate between the fiddle players that learn through listening to the music and those who learn via a sheet of music (i.e. dot readers). Osian is the later and sees himself as a proper violinist with a future as a classical musician. He looks down his nose at the traditional fiddle players, but part of this is his sneaking awareness that, next to them, he’s not particularly good.

That was one aspect of Osian that was the funnest to write, his seemingly lack of knowledge of himself. In the opening lines he even states everything that he isn’t, though in reality he actually is. He actually is quite short, he is pretty, he is quite twink-ish, and he most certainly is submissive between the sheets. The only thing he does get right is he is a right pain in the arse.

With him—as well—I took the risk of writing him the way he would speak back home in Wales. So there are little jabs at people known as gogs (Welsh speaking Welsh people, usually from Northern Wales…this shows that Osian is a southerner—around Cardiff—and though it never comes up, with his very traditional name, he probably is from a Welsh speaking family himself), the Eisteddfod (a cultural/arts festival dating back to the Druids that is a major event for Welsh speakers every year), the Urdd (the children’s version of the Eisteddfod), and cwtching (Welsh/Wenglish for cuddling). I just hope it wasn’t too much!

All in all, the main idea of this story was to have a bit of fun. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for having me, diolch yn fawr!

Blurb for ‘The Faery Reel’ 

Faeries don’t exist, right?

That’s what Osian tells himself. So what if the stranger in the pub, the one that glows in the darkened room, has a beauty that is otherworldly. And that the man is watching him with eyes that promise trouble. So what if the music that drifts across the moor sounds like nothing he’s ever heard. So what if it’s the night of the summer solstice, the night when the veil between the human world and the faery world is whisper thin.

Osian is not a believer. Not until he is kidnapped by Conall to the world of the fey. In the Otherworld, Osian is offered something he’s never had: the love of another man. But this love comes at the cruelest price. For in order to stay with Conall, Osian must give up his home, his friends, and his family.

But there is a way out—if he chooses. It involves letting himself go, allowing himself to trust Conall, and finding the true meaning of his name.

Can Osian trust Conall enough to risk it all? It’s a dangerous game he plays, but the prize—love—may be worth the risk of losing it all.

 

Excerpt:

The first thing I felt was a heavy duvet over me. Or at least I was assuming it was a duvet. It felt like one, even if it didn’t smell like a goose gone to the gallows. The second was the pillow and sheet obviously made of the finest Egyptian cotton or some other such naff crap. The third was the feeling of a person watching me, y’know, that itchy feeling you just get. I opened my eyes.

The fey man was sat on the edge of the bed, looking—just looking—at me. Though I hadn’t noticed it before, his eyes were some funny colour, like they were blue but not quite, they were green…but not quite…they could have been gold….you get the idea. His features really were almost but not exactly human. And he really was impossibly tall. No wonder my punches did absolutely nothing. He looked as though I would almost come to his shoulder, or so.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” Somehow I managed not to sound scared shitless, though how I did  that was beyond my comprehension. I was hoping he couldn’t hear the sound of my heart thumping in my chest. Sitting up, I glared at him, hoping my look would cover the slight tremble that rippled through my body no matter how hard I tried to stop it.

And that’s when I noticed I was naked. Ah, shit. That never boded well, did it?

“You were saying?” He arched one perfectly formed eyebrow and looked at me in sheer amusement, the mother fucker.

Determined to ignore my vulnerability, I shoved the duvet up over my lap to hide my modesty. “Where’s Jo?”

“Jo?”

It was all I could do not to punch his bloody perfect arrogant bloody face. “My friend, the one you made go to sleep. Where is she?”

He sat back. “Ah, the girl, I presume that’s who you’re talking about.” His smile was back. He chose that moment to let one hand stray up the duvet, close to my thigh.

“Yeah, Jo, what’d you do with her?” It took everything not to slap that hand that was so much longer than my own. I bit my lip hard when—again—my crotch began responding to him being so close.

“She’s fine, I assume. We left her to sleep where she laid down.”

“Why you mother—”

He held up a warning hand. “It was you I wanted anyway. She’ll be okay, I’ve put wards around her to protect her from any troublemakers. She’ll wake up in the morning and go home, none the wiser for what happened. But if you continue to act in such a disagreeable way I may have to amend my earlier feelings about you.”

“Back in the pub—”

“Yes, back in the pub. I watched you for a long time. I admire beautiful things, after all.”

“Well, if you think I’m beautiful, then you must really be blind, mate.” Despite trying to play it cool, my face flushed as prettily as any silly girl getting a complement. But I couldn’t let that go to my head. “Now if you can hand me my clothes, I think I’ll be leaving.”

“That won’t be possible.” The faery avoided my eyes, but a sly little smile played at his rather full lips.

Gritting my teeth, I balled my hands into fists. It took almost all the willpower I had not to punch that smug look off his exotically beautiful face. “Why not?”

He spoke slowly, as if he were talking to a simple-minded child. “As I told you, we aes Sídhe enjoy good musicians, though by the way you were playing in those pubs that was a bit hard to discern.”

Oh, that fucking cut, right there. “What d’you mean? I can play circles around those guys!” I sat up on my knees, forgetting the blanket for the moment.

He threw his head back and laughed. “And that is why you’re here, and not one of them! You will be able to play circles around them, if you stay with us and let our musicians teach you. But right now, I’m afraid that old man who had sat next to you was right, you are nothing more than a ‘dot reader.’ But if you stay with me…” His eyes dropped down to my naked form.

Ah shit, forgot about that bit. Snatching the blanket, I held it before myself.

“There’s no need.” And like that, he pulled it away.

Great, now what?

Purchase Links:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/406168

 

About the author.

Arielle Pierce currently resides in both southern Spain and in Wales, ensuring that she doesn’t miss the worst of the rains and gales of one country, nor the blazing heat and droughts of the other. When not merrily scribbling away about the adventures of two men in love (or lust, more likely) she can be found sewing sock kitty cats for her small son or gardening in her back yard, where she is locked into a losing battle with the weeds (and with the sock cats, for that matter).

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=arielle+pierce&sprefix=arielle+%2Cstripbooks%2C288

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6565275.Arielle_Pierce

http://ariellepierce.wordpress.com/2014/02/11/new-novella/

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