Author's Note: my deepest apologies for the long gap between chapters. The new semester was really kicking my butt - I ended up dropping one class to balance the load. Today, though, I finally have a day completely free of both work and school, and intend to make the most of it.

Celtic Ceili: Strange Homecoming

Rhosyn stumbled out of the lightning, staggering several steps before she found her feet again. The first thing that struck her was the near-absolute silence. After living all her life in noisy London, her ears almost rang with it. The next thing she noticed was the clean, fresh wind; not a hint of pollution or even smoke. All about her was a deep, green primeval forest, ancient and proud, its oaks and poplars reaching for the sky high above. She could almost sense their roots digging down towards the center of the Earth far below her feet.

No, Dilwen, I don't think we're in Llundain any more, she thought ruefully, remembering the famous line from the old movie.

She still wasn't at all sure she really believed this entire nonsense about going back in time and "fixing" history, but she didn't seem to have any choice but to go along with it for now. She'd just reserve judgment until something proved out.

Back in that mysterious techno-lair, she'd rifled through the book Jared had handed her, then tossed it back to him with a snort. "I can't read that!" Apparently it had been written in his language, whatever that was, not hers. So, he'd walked her through the startlingly different path and outcome of Boudicca's Revolt in "his" history.

"We don't know exactly when these events happened, so we're going to have to send you back a few months early. At least that will give you time to learn the language, and get close to the people in the center of things."

She was abruptly shaken out of her reverie by a shout directly behind and above her. Whirling around, she threw herself sideways into the bank of ferns beside the pathway that materialized under her feet, out of the way of the troop of horses thundering down upon her. The leader furiously lashed his horse out of its attempted rearing check and it plunged on past, carrying his angry shout along. Rhosyn's jaw dropped in astonishment, partly at his incredible rudeness, but then, mostly at his attire.

The leader, and the other half-dozen riders behind him, were Roman soldiers, complete with armor, swords, and spears.

The next rider pulled up beside her and sat, grinning down at her as he tossed some remark off to his fellows. Rhosyn didn't understand what he was saying any more than she had anyone else save Jared all day. His meaning became all too clear a moment later, though, as he roughly motioned her up off the ground and onto his horse behind him!

She wouldn't have thought herself capable of further astonishment, but there it was. "Are you insane?" she spat out.

One of the other soldiers spurred past her would-be captor, shouting at him and motioning to their leader, now far down the path. The first soldier's face, flat-nosed and dark-skinned like a North African, twisted in fury at her intransigence, and his motions turned demanding. Another of his companions laughed, and maneuvered his horse around behind her, where he prodded her backside with his spear, and she sprang to her feet and whirled to growl at him. Unfortunately, doing so prevented her from seeing the third soldier spring off his own horse, and he grabbed her and tossed her up behind Flatface before she could turn to throw him. She wasn't even properly ON the beast, but he spurred it abruptly ahead, whipping it into a gallop before she could even scream, and she grabbed his shoulders to keep from falling off and being trampled by the horses behind.

Somehow she managed to hold on, and shifted her seat slightly to something a bit more secure, cursing the centurion all the while. His Roman saddle, a tiny wood-and-leather affair, didn't take up much of the horse's long back, so she was at least able to perch on the front side of the horse's croup. Unfortunately, that put her nearly directly atop his hipbones. Before they'd gone a mile, she was sure she'd be permanently crippled.

They caught up to the leader quickly, who didn't even glance around. Flatface hissed at her, apparently telling her to be quiet, then backed it up with a slice at her leg with the long ends of his reins. She got the message, and concentrated on hanging on.

The troop cantered out of the forest shortly thereafter, down a ridge and onto flatland. All around them were low, rolling hills, many of them with fields of grain growing in the sun. They dashed through several tiny settlements, bare handfuls of rude huts that looked to Rhosyn's eyes more like haphazard piles of straw. Finally, almost an hour later, with salt sea air tickling her nose, they pulled up in yet another settlement, this one rather larger. Twenty or thirty of the huts lay scattered about a hollow between three low hills, while on the fourth side, a long reach of water stretched out towards a distant bay.

The Roman leader barked out a shouted command, evidently calling for someone, ignoring the pigs grunting in the pen to their right as well as the handful of people staring sullenly at them. Rhosyn had time to catch the rude stares of a couple of them, wondering (well, not really; it was obvious) what they thought of her, there behind the flat-nosed soldier.

A commotion to her left brought her head around, then, as a tall man with greying hair strode forward towards the troop from between two of the huts. All Rhosyn's attention, however, was immediately captured by the woman striding behind him. As tall as her companion, her tawny-red hair tumbled roughly to her waist, while a golden torc glinting around her neck vied with her flashing eyes. Those eyes picked out Rhosyn at once, and she paused, startled, before saying something in a low voice to the grey-haired man. He, in turn, put an evident query to the troop leader, gesturing towards Rhosyn. That leader, turning in his saddle, spied her for the first time (he'd completely ignored the men riding behind him this whole time), and scowled. He barked a short command to Flatface, who drew a quick breath as if to argue, evidently thought better of it, and shrugged, then simply swept one muscled arm sharply back, knocking Rhosyn off the horse to land on her butt in the dirt, while he and the other soldiers snickered loudly.

The woman strode quickly to her side, reached down for her arm and helped Rhosyn to her feet. Her eyes swept down and up, taking in the blonde's very odd clothing with a bewildered expression, then she shook her head, gave her visitor a quick smile, and drew her back behind the grey-haired man. He had been engaged in a rapid conversation with the Roman leader, ignoring the women – a conversation that was turning a bit sour, to judge from his expression. He paused, took a deep breath, and visibly changed tactics, inviting the Roman down off his horse and into their hut with a gracious sweep of one hand.

The Roman refused, sneering haughtily, and gave a final short speech before dragging his horse around and plunging through the middle of his soldiers without a glance at them. The troop hurriedly pulled their own mounts aside, then whirled them in unison and thundered down the track behind their leader, back the way they'd come. Flatface shot Rhosyn a final piercing look and a malicious grin, his meaning clear: I'll be back.

The tawny-haired woman began quarreling with the man, Rhosyn still unable to understand a word of their speech. It sounded familiar, as if it were close to her own Gaelic, but still... "Bah!" the woman finally cried, dismissing the subject, and turned to her sudden guest with a smile and an obviously welcoming speech, ending with a question?

Rhosyn shook her head, miserable. But one thing was clear. "Boudicca?"

Boudicca nodded, surprised that her name was known by this stranger.

Rhosyn laid a hand on her chest. "I'm Rhosyn. Rhosyn," she repeated, then snorted softly as spots of red against the nearest hut caught her eye. She walked over and captured one of the bush roses in her hand, then turned back to her hostess, gesturing between the flower and herself.

"Rhosyn. Like the flower."

Boudicca finally caught on and smiled, introducing her husband, Prasutagus, and the two young teenage girls who'd been hiding inside the hut during the soldier's visit, Fedelmid and Genofeva. Those two clustered about Rhosyn, reaching tentative hands towards her Tshirt and blue jeans and making wondering comments.

Suddenly it was all too much for Rhosyn. In the space of a few hours, she'd been snatched away from the only life she'd ever known, flung into the future, and now far into the remote, primitive past, face to face with people of legend; kidnapped twice over, pummeled emotionally and physically – and all without even a bite of breakfast. She clapped her hands to her mouth, mortified at the tears escaping her eyes, but unable to hold back the sobs.

Boudicca didn't know the source, but she knew someone stretched beyond the limits of endurance when she saw them. She shooed everyone else away, took her guest by the shoulders, gently drew her into her hut and stretched her out on the girls' bed. Rhosyn was barely aware of a fur coverlet being drawn up over her before consciousness fled, and she sank gratefully into the blessed darkness.