Joscelin approached the dolmen and knelt with his usual economical grace. He bowed his head, offering a silent prayer, then drew a cupped handful of water from the darkness. Phedre joined him and they both drank, smiling at one another.

And then it was my turn.

I knelt before the dolmen and spoke a simple prayer the ollamh had taught me. "Good goddess, we thank you for your bounty and honor your ways," I murmured, dipping my hand into the hidden spring. The water was colder than I'd expected. And I'd expected it to have a mineral odor, but it didn't. It smelled clean and sweet, like berries. Dorelei came forward to kneel beside me, steadying my hand against her lips to drink from it. She, too, smiled at the water's taste.

I smiled back at her and drank.

Foulness filled my mouth, sharp and shocking. It tasted of leaf-mold and rot and berries, yes, but fermented berries turned rank and rancid. I nearly gagged. My head jerked back in shock, and I saw my own shocked reflection in Dorelei's eyes. I swallowed convulsively, fighting another impulse to gag.

"What is it?" she asked in alarm.

"Imri?" Eamonn echoed her, his joy giving way to concern.

I couldn't bring myself to spoil his pleasure. Whatever the matter was, clearly it was me and not Brigid's Well. The water had tasted sweet to everyone else. "Cold." I gritted the word out. "Sore tooth, that's all."

In the back of my mind, I heard an echo of a woman's laughter.

"Oh, aye." He relaxed. "We'll be at Innisclan tomorrow. My old nurse will make you a poultice for it."

"My thanks." I got to my feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a wiry clump of brownish hair caught on the bark of the giant beech. My thoughts flashed back to the warning lessons of my childhood in the mountains. Bear sign. I blinked. No. It was only a knot of red thread, tangled and faded, dangling from a branch.

A shiver ran over my skin.

Truly, I was losing my wits.

On the way back to camp, I wanted to spit over and over to get that taste out of my mouth. I didn't, though. I kept my mouth shut on it. In time it faded until it was merely cloying, and then somewhat that hovered betwixt unpleasant and tolerable. Dorelei shot me sidelong glances, wondering. Alone among our company, she'd seen my face when I drank. She didn't believe my tale of a toothache.

By the time we returned to camp, the sun was growing low. Around the campfire, they were calling for us to join them and dine. Dorelei hesitated when Eamonn and the others went forward.

"Imriel." She tilted her head. "What happened there at the spring?"

"I'm not sure." I touched her cheek. "Somewhat strange. A trick of sorts, mayhap. I don't want to ruin Eamonn's homecoming. I'll tell you about it when we're alone tonight, and you can give me your thoughts. All right?"

Dorelei nodded. "Of course."

No one else had noticed aught amiss. The mood was cheerful. At Eamonn's request, I played my flute after we'd all dined. As the sun sank below the horizon, I played the familiar songs we'd sung on our journey, finding I'd grown proficient at them. Dredging my memory, I essayed a lively, skirling tune I'd heard aboard the Aeolia, the ship that had borne me home to Terre d'Ange after the siege of Lucca.

It seemed fitting, and I don't think I acquitted myself too badly. I couldn't remember the words that Captain Oppius' sailors had sung, but it didn't matter. It was a merry tune, designed to set hands to clapping and feet to stamping.

The sound of our merriment drowned out the drumming of approaching hoofbeats. It wasn't until we heard shouts from the sentries that we realized we weren't alone. Joscelin was on his feet in a heartbeat, sword drawn, and Eamonn and I right behind him. Brigitta drew a wicked-looking dagger, and Dorelei retrieved her hunting bow. Only Phedre remained calm and seated, cocking her head to listen to the exchange of hails.

"Friends, it seems," she observed.

It was a party of a dozen or so riders, their figures vague in the twilight. One of them detached from the rest, riding toward us. Eamonn squinted. "Mairead?" he called, then raised his voice to a bellow. "Mairead!"

There was a wordless whoop in reply. Horse and rider charged into our midst, scattering all of us. I caught an impression of a woman's face, a wild mane of ruddy-gold hair, firelight gleaming on the horse's flanks as it planted a rear hoof dangerously near our campfire.

"Eamonn!" The rider dismounted with careless aplomb, flinging both arms around his neck and kissing him. "You're home!"

"Mairead, girl!" Eamonn hugged her as though he meant to crack her ribs. "What are you doing here?"

The riderless horse was turning in excited circles, adding to the mayhem. Brigitta was scowling, fingering the hilt of her dagger. I caught the horse's reins and led it safely to one side. "Don't worry," I said to Brigitta. "I've a strong suspicion that's not an old lover."

Her scowl eased. "Sister?"

I nodded at the pair of them, tall and loud and exuberant. "What do you think?"

Indeed, so it proved. After the initial exchange of greetings, Eamonn called us over to introduce us to Mairead, the elder of his two younger sisters. She was tall and rangy, with an open, friendly face that bore a smattering of golden freckles and a grin to match Eamonn's.

I liked her immediately; I daresay all of us did. Even Brigitta smiled when Mairead embraced her with uninhibited warmth. "You're the one!" Mairead exclaimed. "Oh, sister! You've no idea how long we've been waiting to meet you!"

"One half a year, I think," Brigitta said, careful and precise.

"Is it only that long?" Mairead's brow wrinkled. "Oh, well, since Eamonn's letter arrived, I suppose. It seems like longer. We've been so worried, waiting and hoping all these months. And he left years before it." She thumped her brother's shoulder. "You were gone so long! I want to hear all about it. I want to hear all about Terre d'Ange and Tiberium and Skaldia...Skaldia! And all these people, your foster-family ...oh, Dagda Mor, they're right out of the stories! And Lady Dorelei, you're very welcome among us ...Eamonn, what are they all doing here? Oh, Mother's going to be so pleased. Well, I think, anyway."

Brigitta looked bemused, having lost the thread of her words long ago.

"Slow down." Eamonn laughed. "There's time. And it's hard for Brigitta to understand when you gabble."

Mairead thumped him again in indignation. "I don't gabble!"

"You do," he informed her.

"You do," she retorted. "You always did. Talk, talk, talk!"

After some bickering and discussion, Eamonn went with Mairead to greet the Dalriada who'd ridden with her and make them welcome at our camp tonight. They were friends of his from childhood, and we heard the roars and shouts drifting across the darkening meadow. A fleeting memory of Sidonie crossed my mind. He's just so infernally loud! I pushed the thought away, blowing a few idle notes on Hugues' flute.

"Well," I said lightly to Brigitta. "Now you've an idea what you're in for."

"Yes." She nodded. "I think I will like it."

Once they had matters settled, Eamonn and Mairead returned. Although it was growing late, we stayed awake for a time. Eamonn was reluctant to tell the tale of his Skaldic courtship of Brigitta, wanting to save it for Innisclan, but he told her about the tribute we bore for the Lady of the Dalriada, and how Queen Ysandre had wished to escort him home in honor.

In turn, Mairead told us that she had been leading a scouting-party.

"You?" Eamonn scoffed fondly.

She elbowed him. "I'm the oldest after Brennan and you, am I not? Brennan rode north, and I rode south. Some clan-holders have complained about calves being taken. There have been rumors of bears" She shook her head. "But we found no bear sign, only your campfires."

A shudder ran up my spine.

Bears.

Dorelei glanced at me. "Bears?" she asked cautiously. "Or ...?"

"The Old Ones?" Mairead grimaced. "I cannot say. I thought they had no cause to trouble the Dalriada. Mother has long maintained a truce with them. But perhaps we have given them cause. If we have, I do not know what it is. Or perhaps they're merely curious. Or hungry."

"Old Ones?" Phedre murmured. Anyone who didn't know her would have thought her sleepy. "I don't know that name."

"The Old Ones, the Wise Ones." Mairead made a gesture intended to avert bad luck and nodded at Dorelei. "So we call them to avoid giving offense. Some of them play tricks if not given proper respect. How do the Cullach Gorrym call them?"

"We don't," Dorelei said in a tight voice. "If we must speak of them, we call them by name. But it is better if we do not speak of them at all."

Mairead eyed her. "The Dalriada believe otherwise."

I cleared my throat. "Kinadius called them bear-witches."

"Men fear things more than women," Brigitta observed, paying close attention to the conversation. "Like Lucius and the dead."

"Perhaps, but Lucius was right, my love," Eamonn said. "He had reason to fear the dead. Still, we have made our camp beside Brigid's Well, and I think no harm will come to us here." He yawned. "My friends, it grows late. Imri, why don't you give us a song to fill our heads with pleasant dreams as we take to our beds?"

I set the flute to my lips and played the first thing that came to mind. It wasn't until I was well into it that I realized it was the piper's tune, the one that plagued me. My fingers faltered briefly on the holes, but I kept going. It was a plaintive melody, and yet there was somewhat seductive about it, too. A yearning promise of ease, of bittersweet desire. Around the campfire, my listeners' faces softened, sinking into private reveries.

The sight filled me with unease, so much so that I stopped playing. Eamonn shook his head like a man waking from a nap and gave another mighty yawn. "Dagda Mor! You've gotten good on that thing. Well, bed it is. Come, Mairead, you can share with us."

I wasn't tired, not at all.

"I'm sorry, Imriel." In the tent Dorelei and I shared, she was heavy-lidded and yawning, too. "I know I promised, but can we speak in the morning? We've been travelling for a long time, and I'm bone-weary."

"You weren't so tired last night," I reminded her.

"No." She smiled with remembered pleasure, the sort of smile that makes any woman look beautiful. "And I won't be at Innisclan, but tonight I am."

I gave up. "Sleep well, then."

"Mmm." Dorelei closed her eyes. "What was that song you played? It was lovely."

"I don't know," I said. "That's the thing. I keep hearing it in my dreams. That, and a woman's laughter. Only it's not in my dreams, exactly. It's that time just before you fall asleep, when you're not quite one or the other. That's why I asked if you'd heard aught peculiar. I wanted to tell you about it and what happened today at Brigid's Well, and to ask ..." I hesitated. "Well, after what Mairead said, to ask what you know about the Maghuin Dhonn. Because I don't feel I'm in danger, not exactly, but I don't feel safe, either. Someone or something is playing tricks on me."

A faint snore escaped Dorelei's parted lips.

I sighed.

Wide awake and lonely, I sat cross-legged on my bedroll, twisting Sidonie's ring around my finger. I was alone in a strange land, and although it was a beautiful land, it seemed not to want me here. I missed my home, and oh, gods! I missed Sidonie. I wished I could talk to her. I wished she was here or I was there.

I wished I could lose myself in her.

For the first time in many days, I lowered the rigid guards I'd erected around my thoughts and let myself think of her.

Ah, Elua! It hurt, but it felt so good, too. I chose a memory of our lovemaking; only one. They were like perfect pearls on a strand, precious and far too few. I pushed away the strangeness and the nagging sense of fear and sank into my memories with a vast sense of comfort and indulgence, playing them over in my mind. Every kiss, every gasp, every thrust was etched there. Sunlight in her hair, the sheen of sweat, the honey-sweet taste of her mouth. It drove everything else away, until I was taut with desire.

Nothing else mattered.

I propped myself on one elbow, stroking my throbbing phallus with my other hand. Is this what you want? Another memory; too many, too fast. I was spending them too quickly. I couldn't stop, though. Faster and faster. Sidonie, wrists straining. Begging. Shuddering over and over as I took her relentlessly, driving her to new heights, plunging to new depths. I stroked myself harder, my testes rising and tightening at the memory.

It came fast and hard. I rolled to one side and hissed between my teeth, my seed spurting onto the ground.

And then it was over. I flopped onto my back and lay panting. Turning my head, I could make out Dorelei's profile in the dim light of the low-burning campfire that filtered through the tent walls. Sleeping, peaceful and oblivious.

I felt better and worse, all at once. And I felt tired. I'd opened the floodgates and other memories sought to crowd me, tender and importunate and hurtful. I was too tired to fight them, to tired to wrestle them into submission. Instead I fled, seeking refuge in sleep, eased by my body's languor.

This time, I didn't hear the pipes.

Only the woman's laughter.

Chapter Twenty.

In the morning, a handful of Mairead's riders departed for Innisclan to give warning of our impending arrival. Unencumbered by wagons, they were likely to arrive some hours before us. The young Dalriadan warriors were a loud, merry lot. They'd stayed up late, drinking and boasting with the Cruithne and the D'Angelines, and seemed none the worse for wear. I was glad relations seemed amicable among all parties, and I envied them.My own head felt thick, as though I'd drunk too much wine. Too much emotion, like as not. The boulder of my buried heart shifted and groaned, disturbed from its place of rest far, far beneath the surface of my life.

"Shall we talk now?" Dorelei asked me, clear-eyed and well rested. "I'm sorry I couldn't stay awake."

I made myself smile at her. "It can wait. I can't think straight with all this lot around. My head's a muddle."

She smiled back at me, dimples flashing. "They are a bit loud."

No one else was melancholy. It was a fine day, bright and clear, with nary a cloud in sight. All of last night's concerns were forgotten. No one spoke of Wise Ones, Old Ones, bear-witches, or the Maghuin Dhonn.

And in the bright light of day, that was fine with me.

We made good time, following the tracks of the Dalriada. Before long, we came upon rutted paths and the wagons travelled more smoothly. There were low stone fences marking pastures, and cattle watched us with incurious eyes. The mules pricked their ears, the Bastard pranced beneath me. We sang as we rode. I played Hugues' flute, although not that song.

The air took on a tang of salt. Gulls circled with raucous cries.

From atop a grassy rise, we beheld the land spread below. Innisclan, the vast hall and scattered outlying holdings, the mill and the smithy, the grazing cattle. And beyond, the sea, grey and shining in the afternoon sunlight.

Phedre reached for Joscelin's hand. "Oh, love! 'Tis the same!"

"So it is." He smiled at her. "Do you remember ...?"

She flushed. "All too well."

The whole of Innisclan turned out to meet us. I would have known Eamonn's mother anywhere. The Lady Grainne of the Dalriada was tall and imposing. Strands of grey dimmed the fire of her red-gold hair and there were lines on her strong face, but her eyes crinkled like her son's when she smiled.

Eamonn greeted his mother with a sweeping bow, then straightened to receive her embrace, grinning with delight. He introduced Brigitta to her. After that, there was a good deal of exuberant shouting and hugging as various siblings came forward, and then at last, the rest of us were presented.

As Ysandre's delegate, Phedre made a graceful speech regarding the tribute we'd brought. The Lady Grainne listened to it with a look of amusement.

"Books!" Her grey-green eyes crinkled. "You always do bring interesting gifts, Phedre no Delaunay."

Phedre smiled. "This was Eamonn's choice."

"We mean to start an academy," he told his mother. "Brigitta and I."