After they’d gone to Balanoch (which he’d scarce even seen, too consumed by the wee woman between his thighs on the horse), they’d lazily sunned themselves naked beside the tumbling brook that fed the pool. They’d run their hands over each other’s body, learning every plane and curve. Tasting all the hollows and crevices. They’d shared more spiced wine and talked.

They’d talked.

She’d told him about her childhood, what it was like to grow up without parents. She’d made him laugh with stories of her elderly grandda warily taking her shopping for her first bra, (making him picture Silvan trying to choose female undergarments—och, that would be a sight!) and having The Talk with her about what she called “the birds and the bees.” Try as he might, Dageus couldn’t grasp that colloquialism. What birds and bees had to do with tooping, was beyond him. Horses he could understand. But bees? Unfathomable.

He’d spoken a bit about his childhood—the finer parts, growing up with Drustan, before he’d been old enough to know that the Keltars were feared, during those years he’d still harbored a young lad’s dreams and fancies. He’d sung her bawdy, outrageous Scottish ditties as the sun had raced across the sky, and she’d laughed until tears filled her eyes. He was astonished by her every expression, so open and unguarded. Amazed by her resilience. Amazed by the emotions she stirred in him, feelings he’d long forgotten.

She’d asked him questions about Druidry and he’d told her of the myriad Keltar duties: performing the seasonal rituals on Yule, Beltane, Samhain, and Lughnassadh, tending the earth and the wee creatures, preserving and guarding the sacred lore, using the stones on certain necessary occasions. He’d also explained, as best he could, how the stones worked. The physics of it had flummoxed her, and when her eyes had begun to glaze over, he’d spared her further edification. He’d told her what little they knew about the Tuatha Dé, and how the Keltar had formed an alliance with them many thousands of years ago—though he wisely avoided the subject of oaths.

So the Tuatha Dé really existed? she’d exclaimed. An actual race of technologically advanced people? Where did they come from? Do you know?

Nay, lass, we doona ken. There is very little we know about them for a certainty.

He’d known the precise moment she’d truly accepted it; her eyes had sparkled, her cheeks had flushed, and he’d half-feared she was going to rush right back to the stones to examine them further. He’d swift given her something else to examine.

Och, aye, his mate was wanton. . . .