"And her answer?"

"She has agreed." A huge smile spread across Tristan's face. "I still cannot believe she has agreed to wed me. She is so perfect, so gentle and loving and I am..." His voice trailed off as he remembered how happy Marisa had been.

"Beltane," she had said with a gentle smile. "Can we marry on Beltane? Would you ask Adrian if we can wed when he and Tempest have their ceremony? Tempest is my best friend.

'Twould be wonderful to have a double wedding."

"You are?"

Tristan looked confused.

"You did not finish what you were saying. You said 'I am"...."

"I am a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, Adrian. I have no t.i.tle nor holdings. My father has not acknowledged me, and may never do it. I am not nearly good enough for one such as she. She is so beautiful and so perfect. Mayhap I should not have asked her to be my wife."

"Nay, Tristan, you will make her a good husband. But is it not too soon after the death of her father? Should you not wait for her mourning period?"

"She is alone now. She needs a protector. I do not think I can wait, Adrian." Tristan's face grew red with embarra.s.sment, and Adrian grinned.

"I will speak to Tempest and my mother. I am sure they will agree. A double wedding! Aye!" He threw his arm around Tristan's shoulders. "A double wedding!"

"Now let us get this maypole back to the cottage! There is still much to be done!"

They sang loudly as they carried the newly cut maypole through the woods, each man happier than they had been in a long while.

Adrian's thoughts were on the coming day. Tomorrow Tempest would be his bride, and he was afraid-more afraid than he had ever been. He had lived a hundred years, fought dragons to the death, seen man battle man for such paltry things as a piece of land or a rich treasure and had even faced his father down in a contest of wills-but he had never bedded a woman. He remembered how close he and Tempest had come that day at Windhaven but...

Adrian knew what men and women did to procreate. He had all the information, but he was afraid, afraid he would hurt the woman he loved, afraid he would disappoint her, afraid he would somehow destroy her love by being inept. Afraid he would fail.

He sighed as he wrapped the long, white silk ribbon around the small bundle of wood.

"Adrian?" Damien sat on the step beside him. "You look worried."

"Aye, Father," he answered, looking at Damien, a frown on his face. "Tomorrow..." He cleared his throat, tried to speak but could not find the words to voice his misgivings.

"You are prepared for the Beltane celebration?" Damien gave his son an obtuse look. "You and Tristan found a fine maypole, and I see you have your bundle ready for the fire.

Have you other concerns? I am sure your mother will be happy to help you." He smiled encouragingly. "I am aware of how you feel. I felt much the same way upon the eve of my marriage to your mother.".

"Nay, Father," Adrian answered impatiently. "I have seen too many Beltane fires to count. 'Tis Tempest. I cannot..." he swallowed, dropped his bundle to the ground, rose to his feet and began pacing. "I love her, Father."

"I know that, son."

"But she is a maiden."

"Aye."

"The pain. I cannot hurt her." Adrian stopped his pacing and looked at Damien, desperation in his blue eyes. "She will hate me."

"'Tis a small pain, son. 'Tis a necessary thing. You will find the control within yourself."

"But I do not know what to do!"

"You have never bedded a woman?"

"Nay!" But he remembered-remembered the day he had nearly made love to Tempest. Remembered how he had ripped her clothes from her and...Great G.o.ds, he had almost hurt her then. He had waited so long, wanted her for so long. What if he could not control himself on their wedding night? What if he hurt her? What if...What if he turned into a dragon?

"Walk with me." Damien rose from his seat on the moss- covered stone step. "I believe there is much we must discuss."

"Lysira?" Tempest finished tying the small nosegay

of flowers to her Beltane bundle. She had carefully selected the nine different woods for her bundle: birch to symbolize the G.o.ddess; oak for the G.o.d; fir for birth; willow for death; rowan-her favorite-for magic; apple for love-for Adrian, her sweet, strong, dragon love; grapevine for joy; hazel for wisdom; and hawthorn for purity.

"Aye, Tempest?" Lysira laid her beribboned bundle on the trestle table in front of her. "You worry about the coming events?"

"He loves me," Tempest stated firmly.

"Aye, Adrian loves you."

"Has he loved others before me?" There, it was out, her deepest fear. Would she be enough for him? Would he still love her after...She was only human after all. And he, well, Adrian had soared the skies on golden wings, had fought mighty battles, had lived much longer than she. Could she keep him happy for the time they would have together?

"He has loved only you, Tempest," answered Lysira gently.

"You were soul joined at birth and promised to each other."

She tied a small nosegay of flowers to the bundle of wood she had been working on. "He has loved no other."

"But how do you know? He has lived long."

"Aye. He has lived a hundred years. He was born on Beltane Eve."

"Tomorrow is his birthday?"

"Aye."

"He was born," Tempest hesitated, "not hatched?"

"Adrian was born a human child," Lysira said with a small smile. "His father is human, and I was in human form when he was born."

"But..." Tempest searched her mind, trying to take it all in, trying to ask Lysira the important questions without hurting her, without seeming too nosy.

"Damien is his foster father?" she finally ventured. But Adrian had told her Damien was his father. 'Twas all quite confusing. Damien looked to be no older than thirty or thirty- five. He could not be Adrian's blood father.

"Damien is Adrian's true father."

"But you just told me that Adrian is one hundred years old!"

"Aye."

"The oldest human I have ever heard of was ninety years old. Is Damien not truly human then? Is he demon, as they say?"

"He is as human as you, Tempest."

"But...'tis not possible. No person lives that many years.

Unless..." Nay, thought Tempest in confusion, 'tis not possible.

The Damien Westbrooke she knew could not be so old. But Lysira had never lied to her, neither had Adrian. They both claimed Damien to be Adrian's father. "How?" she whispered.

"Damien is not like other men," Lysira explained, taking Tempest's hand in hers, turning it to touch the lines of her palm.

"This line," She traced the line from Tempest's thumb, across her palm and around to its beginning, "is your lifeline," Lysira said softly. "'Tis a circle. It has no beginning and has no end.

Damien has the same line. Your lifeline began joining the moment your soul soared with Adrian's. Damien's lifeline met when we were mated. He was twenty five years old. Yours began when you were newly born.

"This has happened only three times-the first time when my mother, Angeline, became one with the Great Wyrm T'bor, the second when Damien Westbrooke finally declared his love for me, and lastly when you joined Adrian in his battle to defeat the black dragon S'rdonne."

"S'rdonne? The dragon battle at my birth?" Tempest looked closely at the line. It lacked only a hair's breadth 'til it was joined. The circle was not complete.

"'Tis not joined," she said brokenly. "Does this mean Adrian and I are not meant to be? Will I lose him?"

"You and A'dryan are not yet joined, child. 'Twill meet when your marriage has been consummated. Fear not, for it will come to pa.s.s. 'Twill be a wondrous thing, Tempest." Lysira gently stroked Tempest's cheek. "'Tis a rare and magical thing, this mating between dragon and human. We are all truly blessed by the G.o.ds."

'Twas a beautiful night. The stars hung in the heavens like sparkling jewels, a warm breeze ruffled Tempest's hair as she waited with Lysira and Marisa for the men to bring the maypole.

The trees whispered their contentment, the flowers lowered their fragrant heads in respect to their creators. The air was filled with love and peace and the scent of late spring.

Tonight the pole would be joined with Mother Earth to symbolize the joining of the G.o.d and G.o.ddess in the divine marriage.

Tempest sighed. 'Twas all so romantic. 'Twas her favorite celebration and more so now that she accepted her powers, knew what and who she really was. "I am truly blessed," she whispered. "I have my love, my new family, and Tris and Marisa will be wed with Adrian and me tomorrow." But not my father, she thought sadly, nor Miriam. And my mother, is she still alive?

Did the crystal ball tell me true?

She bowed her head and said a silent prayer for the mother who had never loved her, for the father whom she had always loved, for the brother who had always been there for her, and for Miriam, her servant and mentor, who had been her strength and protector.

Until Adrian. Adrian. Her man, her dragon, soon to be her mate, her husband and forever her love.

They came into the clearing carrying the maypole, singing and laughing in their joy of life. Damien was in the lead, carrying the heaviest part of the tree, his broad shoulders bearing the weight easily. Tristan carried the center part of the tree and Adrian was last. They laid the pole down carefully and stepped away.

Lysira, in her long, shimmering gown of deep scarlet silk, walked regally toward them. She carried a small earthen jar full of oil, scented with precious myrrh and sweet woodruff.

She dipped her finger in the oil and drew symbols on the maypole.

"Blessed be this tree of fir," she chanted as she drew the symbols. "Implement of our great Lord which shall soon enter our Mother Earth in consummation of love and fertility in this, their divine union." She stepped back and nodded to

Tempest.

Tempest walked slowly to the hole they had dug earlier, the skirts of her creamy white silk gown rustling as she moved.

She carried a small jug of salted water.

"Mother," she intoned as she poured the water into the hole, "may this offering prepare you gently for the entrance of our Lord, Your Consort. May you dwell together in love and bring a fertile year." She stepped quietly to Lysira's side and watched as the men placed the tall pole in its earthen home.

The world seemed to sigh as the fir tree stood erect and proud against the midnight sky. The red and white ribbons glowed with a life of their own and danced excitedly in the gentle breeze. All was quiet as the small group watched the moonlight filter through the branches to rest like a halo upon the beribboned pole.

They turned as one and reverently left the clearing, the lone maypole left to wait in silent majesty for the next day's Beltane celebration.

The raven-haired woman watched the erection of the maypole in silence. Her memories were so near and yet so far away. Vague images of times gone by nudged at her but refused to emerge for closer scrutiny. She tried, oh how she tried, but the images faded and were soon gone from mind and sight.

"Lysira called you 'Great Wyrm'," she noted, looking at her golden-haired companion. "She named you Father."

"Aye," he answered heavily. "I have tried to recall, but the images seem to elude me every time I try. Why can I not remember? If I was Dragonkind, why can I not remember?

Why can I not recall my own child?" He looked at her, anguish suffusing his face.

"But you said you remembered something when you returned from giving Adrian his sign. Tell me what you remembered, dearest. Mayhap I can help."

"Flying," he said with wonder. "I remember soaring through the clouds. I remember how the wind felt as it rushed by, how soft the clouds were upon my skin, how the raindrops tasted. I remember the smell of pine and cedar and newly

turned earth." He leaned forward in despair, his head resting in his large hands. "Is it possible?" he asked, his voice heavy with emotion. "Could Lysira be my child? Why, oh why can I not remember?"

She stood by his chair, pulled his head gently to her flat stomach and ran her fingers slowly through his long, golden hair. "I cannot remember either, my darling golden one," she said softly. "But the knowledge is there. He would not keep it from us. 'Twould be too cruel."

"But what if 'tis all true?" He looked up at her. "Why can we not remember? What have we done?"