When Fergus arrived in the clearing, he found Aiobhell hard at work. She was chopping wood, of all things. The girl's brow was wrinkled in concentration and beads of sweat were beginning to form on her flushed face.

"Need a hand there, lass?" Fergus smiled as he walked up to her.

He was indeed finding it harder and harder not to trust the girl.

"Good morning, Fergus," she smiled broadly. "No, thank you, I'm fine."

Her small arms lifted the heavy axe and awkwardly swung the blade down, cutting into the wood. The next time she hoisted the tool, Fergus caught the axe by the handle and gently took it from her.

"No, I insist," he winked.

She stepped aside and the big man made fast work of the large branch.

Tully watched from a distance. Fergus, as usual, showing off. He laughed audibly and shook his head. As his gaze wandered to Aiobhell, he smiled again. He was happy that Fergus was beginning to see that she was no threat to them. There were just certain things that you knew in your heart to be true. This was one of them. Still, there was something strange about the beautiful girl. Something he couldn't place. Perhaps he was taken with her. Maybe that's what he was sensing.

"Tully!" Fergus yelled over to his friend. "Are you going to do any work today, lad? Any at all?"

Tully walked over to them. Aiobhell was laughing and patting Fergus on the back. It seemed the uneasiness between them had vanished.


"Guard!" Diana beckoned. The obedient soldier pushed through the door to her chamber.

"Yes, my Queen?" His eyes looked at her hesitantly.

"Antonius, is it?" she smiled.

He was the same guard from the previous several evenings. It was obvious she had complete control over him. She had finally bothered to learn his name.

"Yes, my Queen," he replied.

Diana cocked her head to the side and smiled at him. She walked over to him and took him by the arm to her bed.

"Please," she smiled, gesturing for him to sit.

Antonius did as he was told. He always did. Regardless, the events of the last several days had been too much for him to understand; not that he was complaining about his new role as the Queen's 'personal guard.'

Diana opened a drawer in her bureau and pulled out a piece of parchment. Lithely, she sauntered back to the bed and lay across it, facing Antonius. She waved the paper back and forth under his nose.

"Do you know what this is?" she said.

It was a rhetorical question. His blank stare urged her to continue.

"Well," she said, unrolling the paper, "let's read it, shall we?"

She looked at the dumbfounded guard and pursed her lips as she read the contents of the letter.

"'My Lord Longinus. The plan is going well. I await any further instructions you may have. Your obedient servant.'"

There was no signature, just a design of Celtic origin that Diana could not place.

"My Queen, perhaps you could discuss this matter with Longinus..."

Antonius was obviously not the smartest soldier in their legion.

Diana drew closer to him and ran her finger from his forehead to the tip of his nose.

"Antonius," she said as if addressing a child, "Longinus cannot be bothered with such things. I think it's best if we figure this out on our own."

She lightly kissed his nose and laughed.

"Yes, of course, my Queen."

"Now," again, her hand wandered across his face and down to his chest, "I need you to listen and watch. If you see anyone delivering papers to Longinus, I want you to find out who they are and where they come from... But of course, Longinus can never know."

"Yes, my Queen."

His eyes smoldered with desire for the dark haired beauty. She pushed him onto his back and sat across him.

"Good... It's nice to know we have such capable soldiers in our ranks."

She leaned in and kissed him deeply, then rolled off of him.

"Now, leave me," she purred.

Antonius did as he was told.


They arrived at the village center just as the sun was beginning to set. Guards had been following them for several hours. Ian had his lands well defended, there was no doubt about that. Hopefully, he was as willing to use his power to unite against the Romans.

Conor and Catlin dismounted their horses and tied them to a nearby tree. Void of their weapons, they walked towards the dark haired man they had met earlier in the woods. Earlier they had stopped to clean up. Conor was wearing a cloak pin that had been a gift from Ian's grandfather to Conor's grandfather. Catlin had simply washed up. As per the village's custom, she walked behind Conor, but disobeyed the law to keep her eyes downcast. She stared defiantly at all the townspeople who whispered as she passed. The man smiled at them both and stretched out a welcome hand to Conor.

"You are Derek's son?" he smiled good-naturedly.

"Yes. I'm Conor."

The man clasped Conor's arm and smiled at him.

"We respected your father, Conor. I was sorry to hear about his death at the hands of Gar and his Roman butchers."

"Thank you," he nodded.

The man turned to Catlin. Small gasps rose from the crowd as he put his hand out to her.

"My name is Ian... you are welcome in my village."

"I'm Catlin," she said as she extended her hand to him.

He took it and kissed it.

"You are an excellent archer, Catlin. While you are here, I think perhaps you could teach my men a few things," he said in a low voice.

He winked at her. Catlin couldn't suppress a smile from lighting her face.

The leader turned his attention back to Conor.

"To what do I owe this visit?"

"I've come as a member of the Confederation of Tribes. We have united against the Romans, and we have come to ask you to join us."

"I have heard of the great Confederation. I'm glad you've come. There will be much to discuss, but that will wait until morning. There is a festival tonight, and I wish you both to attend."

As he said this, a beautiful girl with hair and eyes matching the leader stepped forward and took Catlin's hand.

"I'm Aisling, Ian's sister," she said in a shy voice. "I'll show you to your quarters."

She giggled and whispered to Catlin, "I've never seen a woman in clothing like yours... my brother says you are a warrior. Is that true?"

Her green eyes danced at the thought.

Catlin smiled at her, "Yes it is."

She glanced at the other women as they passed. All were wearing long modest dresses of soft colouring. It must have been shocking to them to see such a bold confident woman walk into the village and speak as equals with the men.

"If you'd like, I can teach you to shoot an arrow."

"Really?" Aisling stared at her in disbelief. "I don't think my brother would approve."

"He doesn't have to know," Catlin said conspiratorially.

This happy place might be just what she needed to rid her mind of the worrying thoughts of Conor.

Ian and Conor followed the women to three large huts at the center of the walled village. Ian showed Conor to one and bid him adieu. Conor sat on the chair in the corner of the cozy quarters. Inky darkness began to creep into the room as he tried to push the thoughts of his argument with Catlin out of his weary head. Now that she was angry with him, it would be impossible to keep close enough to her to protect her. He would apologize. As much as her words had hurt him, he would take the blame. If she would let him back in he would keep watch from a short distance. He walked back out to the chilly night air and pulled his cloak tightly around him.


Catlin sat in her hut waiting for Aisling to return. The other woman seemed younger than Catlin, but in truth she was several years older. Aisling had gone to fetch a dress for Catlin to wear, insisting she would be the most beautiful one at the festival. In a pained moment, Catlin realized that Aisling reminded her of Amalia. Sighing heavily she walked to the door of the hut. She leaned out the door and looked toward the other quarters. Conor was leaning up against a nearby tree staring into the distance. Her heavy heart shuddered at the sight of him and she quickly withdrew into the room. It pained her to see him, knowing the feelings she thought they might have shared were not there. Her reverie was broken by Aisling bursting into the room.

"I found the perfect dress for you!" she said excitedly. "Look, it will match your eyes."

An hour later Ian appeared outside the guests' rooms. A billowing dark emerald cloak hung over his broad shoulders. He clapped Conor heartily on the shoulder.

"We will feast and drink and dance tonight!" he smiled. "Already many of the ladies have asked about you. It seems you'll have no lack of company tonight!" he laughed at the somber faced Conor.

"What is the occasion?" Conor asked.

"It is our yearly festival... The older townsfolk think it's high time I got married, so they intend to help me pick out a bride," Ian said a bit remorsefully.

Conor smiled at this, remembering his arranged marriage with Molly and how uncomfortable it makes one feel to be betrothed to someone they do not love.

"It sounds like you could use some ale," Conor laughed.

"Perhaps..." Ian stepped away from Conor, "Will you excuse me? I'll be right back."

Without waiting for a reply he walked off toward a sentry standing in the clearing.

Conor turned his attention back to Catlin's door. The dark haired Aisling stepped out into the starlit night. Behind her followed Catlin. Conor's breath stopped in his throat. Catlin walked over to him as Aisling ran to her brother.

The dress was of blue fabric and accented every curve of her body. Catlin's long hair had been brushed out until it reflected the moonlight. Blue ribbons weaved in and out of her hair like waves on a sandy beach. She was beautiful.

"Sweet Brigit," he said softly.

"I look ridiculous, don't I," she said, slightly tugging at the neckline of the dress.

"Cat, you look - "Before Conor could break through the wall between them with words of adoration, Ian stepped up swiftly.

"Catlin, you look exquisite. I've never seen such beauty," Ian said sincerely.

Blushing at the compliment, she smiled at him, "Thank you."

"Come with me," he said taking her hand, "Let us lead off the dancing."

"Ian, I'm... I've never really... danced," she admitted.

"Well I'm sure someone as precise as you are with a bow and arrow would be equally as agile on her feet."

With that he took her hand and they ran off. Conor forlornly watched them leave.

Aisling stood by quietly. Her small voice broke through his thoughts.

"Excuse me, my Lord, may I lead you to the dance?"

Conor, who had been completely oblivious of the girl standing beside him, turned to face her. Her eyes were downcast, set at the ground next to his feet.

"Aisling, is it?" he said softly.

"Yes, my Lord," she nodded shyly, never raising her eyes.

"Conor... call me Conor."

He lifted her chin up with his hand. The girl blushed and stammered.

"Shall we go to the dance, C-Conor?"

"Yes," he smiled, "my Lady."

He offered her his arm and they made their way to where the music was playing.

Ian patiently taught Catlin each new step. She laughed cheerily and whirled to the music. The ruler's attention never strayed from her.

"You amaze me," Ian complimented as they sat down to rest in a shadowy corner. "You can fight men single handedly, yet still win their hearts."

Catlin let a wry smile cross her lips. Not quite knowing how to follow that statement, she changed the subject.

"I think I'm making enemies with the women in the village for taking up your time."

She nodded her head to a large group of women and girls who were not very subtly watching every move the leader made.

"Oh, think nothing of that. Before my father died, I was betrothed to one of the girls in the village. After he died I saw no reason to go through with the marriage... I did not love her."

"And that did not go well with her family?"

"No, it certainly did not." He laughed. "My advisors wish me to get married before winter comes. They say I must choose a bride this evening."

Catlin began to stand up, "Then I should go..."

Ian scrambled to his feet and took her arm, "An excellent idea... I shall go too."

Catlin smiled, "Then where are we going?"

"I believe I need archery lessons."


Conor drank his ale a good distance from where Catlin and Ian were talking. He had tried to dance, to enjoy the evening, but he couldn't help but keep watching Catlin. Her silhouette in the firelight as she and Ian laughed and danced. Many of the village women had wanted to dance with him. Brothers, fathers walked up to him and asked if he would like to dance with their sisters, daughters. Conor politely refused each one. Soon word traveled around the village not to bother with the glum stranger. He sat alone, trying to sort out the jealousy from the concern. Though Ian's family had been allies with Conor's family, he still did not know Ian, or completely trust him.

Aisling approached him demurely. "I apologize for being so forward," she said keeping her eyes to the ground. "But you have not danced a single dance. I was worried that you are not enjoying the evening." Bravely, she looked him in the eyes.

Conor flashed a grin. "It's not that. I think I'm just tired, that's all."

"Oh..." the girl's eyes fell back to the grass.

"Would you like to dance with me?" Conor offered his arm.

"Yes, very much."

Her face lit up and she smiled broadly as he led her to where the music was loudest.

As they walked toward the training grounds, Catlin caught a glimpse of Conor out of the corner of her eye. He was dancing happily with Aisling. The girl had a dewy look on her face that could only mean one thing: she was under his spell. She sighed audibly.

"Is something wrong?" Ian asked.

"No," she smiled, "It's been a long journey."

"Would you rather go and rest?"

"No, no. I'm looking forward to besting you," she laughed. Ian grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the field.

Conor saw them leave. As the music stopped, he took the opportunity to end the dance. "Aisling, thank you for a lovely evening..."

"Of course," she smiled, shyly biting her bottom lip.

"Goodnight," he said kissing her cheek.

Within a moment, he was gone, following Ian and Catlin into the night.

"Goodnight," she nearly gasped.

In the inky darkness, the targets were hard to see, but Catlin still hit the mark with deadly precision.

"Well done," Ian clapped.

"Now, let's see how you do," she challenged.

Ian notched the arrow in the bow and took his aim. He loosed the arrow, which hit the edge of the target, almost a foot away from Catlin's center mark.

"Not bad," she said. "You have good form. It's just your aim that needs work."

"Well..." he was humbled, "Can you show me the proper way to aim?"

"Of course," she readied another arrow and pulled back on the bow. "Come here."

She gestured him toward her right shoulder with her chin. "Can you see how this is lined up?"

He stood a breath away from her.

"Here, take the bow."

Ian placed his left hand on top of hers to take the bow. With his right arm, he reached around Catlin's shoulder to meet her other hand. Together, they shot the arrow. It hit directly next to Catlin's earlier mark.

"Good job," she turned facing him.

Ian dropped the bow and leaned in to kiss her. Catlin pushed him away gently.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized.

"It's alright... I... I should go. Goodnight Ian."

"Goodnight Catlin," he smiled warmly at her.

As she turned and walked away from him, she heard a twig snap ahead. She could barely make out the figure of Conor, walking quickly toward his hut.