“Lovely weather,” Catlin smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

Conor looked over at her, his eyes searching hers for something.  What, she couldn’t place.

“Are you alright?”  she finally asked.

“Just a bit tired,” was his response.

“Conor...  last night...  what did you dream about?”  she said in a soft voice.

He looked straight on the trail ahead and avoided her questioning face.  He shut his eyes for a moment and swallowed.  Visions of that terrible nightmare crept back into his thoughts.  He wanted so much to be able to tell her.  To unburden himself.  But he couldn’t.  Not when the dreams foretold of her own death.  Summoning strength he opened his eyes, smiled and laughed half-heartedly.

“It was nothing.   Probably just something I ate.”

Catlin knew it was a lie, but she played along anyway.

“That’s why I never eat Fergus’ cooking.”

The subject was dropped, for the moment and they settled into comfortable banter.

By midday, the clouds had begun to lift.  Their spirits were buoyed as well.  How many moments, during the day’s ride had Conor looked for a way to slip in that conversation he started yesterday?  Was that only yesterday?  More time had seemed to pass since then.  With dusk the fall air turned colder.  The chirps of crickets filled the darkness.  Again, the dream returned sharply.  The sounds of crickets, the sounds of Catlin’s dying scream.  Conor shivered and tried to push the bloody images from his mind.

“Conor?!” Catlin’s voice was impatient.

“What?” he answered hazily.

“I’ve been calling your name... are you sure you’re alright?” Catlin said, stopping her mare.

She jumped off the horse without waiting for Conor’s answer.  He searched the spot.  There was a small stream running along the thick mass of trees to the right.  Tying her horse to a tree Catlin grabbed her bow and quiver and headed into the thicket.

“Make a fire,” she yelled back to him, “I’ll be right back.”

As she disappeared into woods the pale grip of fear caught him again.  Conor jumped off his horse and headed into the woods after her.

“Catlin, wait!” he yelled.

Catlin ran through the woods, tracking her prey.  She came to a clearing and saw the small rabbit streak across the meadow.  Raising her bow she took aim.  A split second before she let the arrow fly, Conor came crashing through the brush.  Startled, her arm moved slightly and the arrow missed its mark.

“Cat!”  he yelled running over to her.

“What is it?”

She was annoyed by the fact that they were now without supper, but the look on Conor’s face...  Placing his hands on her arms he started to pull her back towards the woods.

“What is it?!”  she said breaking free of his grasp.

“I just...  I...”  he shook his head.

The clearing was exactly the same as in the dream.  How could this be?  He half expected to see Longinus appear out of thin air.

“Conor, would you please tell me what’s going on?” she implored.

Gently she placed her hands on his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

“Please tell me... please.”

In that split second, he actually considered telling her.

“I don’t think you should go off by yourself...  it’s not safe,” he said, pulling her hands away from his face and holding them in his.

A slightly miffed expression played across her cheeks and her jaw set stubbornly.  How dare he?  Didn’t he realize how important his life was?  He was the symbol of the Confederation.  She was merely a foot soldier.

“Conor,” she said the words distinctly, “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself...  If anyone should be careful- it’s you.”

“What?”  Now he was the one who was getting mad.

“You are the leader - you need to be more careful.  Your life is more important than-”

“You’re right about one thing,” he said forcefully, “I am the leader...  and right now I’m giving an order that you shouldn’t go off alone.”

Staring at him in disbelief, she was far past the point of annoyance.  She was angry.  Quickly, she ran the short distance and collected her wayward arrow.  Walking back towards the woods she ignored him completely.

“Where are you going?”

Venomously, she spun back to face him.

“Back to the horses.  That is, if that’s alright with you, my Lord,” she said sarcastically, bowing low.

~*~*~*~

When he reached her, she was already sitting by a small fire.  Orange light lit the tiny camp.  Obviously, Catlin was still angry.  Her eyes didn’t meet his as she spoke to him.

“You made me miss my mark, so there’s no meat.”

“I’m sorry.”

The apology caught her slightly off guard.  Her head raised to meet his gaze.  Lost in his brown eyes, she softly spoke.

“Apology accepted.”

“Cat, I only - “ she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“I’m tired, Conor…  Let’s just not get into this right now.”  She poked at the fire with a long stick.

“I’ll take the first watch,” he said walking over to a slight rise where a broad oak stood, sheltering their spot.

Leaning up against the tree he watched as she silently unwrapped her sleeping pack.  Thick blankets spread out on the grassy floor.  Catlin burrowed herself in their folds.  For a brief moment she gazed at him from across the fire studying his eyes, his face, she let herself smile.

“Goodnight.”

He flashed her a lopsided grin.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” he sat up, looking over the fire.

“It means ‘goodnight,’”  she said as she lay back on her camp bed.

~*~*~*~

The figure moved quietly, stealthily.  Her face was covered in the shadows of a long hood.  Surreptitiously she glanced left, then right before proceeding up the stairs to Longinus’ throne room.

When she entered the room she found herself alone.  Curiously, she peered around at the hall.  An ancient stone throne sat in the center by the back wall.  In her father’s day, King Dar, then his son Gar, had occupied the seat.  With the coming of Rome, however, all that had changed.  So many of the people of her village feared change.  Leading sedentary lives they were content to live as their parents had.  And their parents’ parents.  And so on.  Rome meant change.  It meant civilization…  It meant power.  In days to come even she would be powerful.  A smile played across her face as she anxiously awaited the arrival of her lord.

From down the hall she heard the complaining of Diana.  The only thing she couldn’t understand was how someone like Longinus could have that woman as a companion.  Slipping into the shadows she hid herself as the bleating woman stormed into the room.

“I don’t care how important ‘secrecy’ was!  How dare you leave without informing me!”  she fumed.

“I can’t completely trust you, Diana…  In fact, I can’t trust you at all.  You’ve proven that to me already,” the calm silken voice said.

Without looking, the woman knew it was Longinus.  She then heard shuffling as if a minor struggle.

“Let go of me,” Diana glowered.  “I command you!”

Leaning her head slightly to watch the couple, the woman held her breath, fearing yet anticipating her master’s reaction to the impudent Queen.  Longinus pulled Diana to him and let go of her arms.  She wrapped them around his neck and kissed him passionately.  Their hungered embrace lasted for quite some time.  Abruptly, the dark haired beauty let go of him, pulled away and slapped him hard across the face.

“Don’t think you own me, “ she hissed as she walked away.  He let her go.

“I suppose that means you missed me,” he laughed after her.

The heavy door closed with an impertinent thud.  Scanning the room with his eyes, Longinus softly spoke.

“You can come out now…”

“My Lord,” she said, savoring his presence.

Smiling to himself, Longinus thought how obedient this particular servant was.  Often times he wished Diana would revere him as well.  But, Diana without her impetuous ways was not nearly as enticing as the real Diana.  Even though little mattered to him, else revenge, Diana could still incite desire in him.  Turning away from his thoughts, he redirected his attention to the cloaked woman before him.

“I have special plans for you…”

Rising she walked along side of him as he explained why he had summoned her.

“One of his soldiers is a woman named Catlin…  They’re very close…  If you find them, bring her to me…  alive.”

“And Conor?”

“He mustn’t be harmed…  or captured.”  He paused for a moment.  “First, though, I want you to gain their trust…  it’s not the speed of the capture that interests me…  it is the betrayal…  Perhaps you can gather information about them in the meantime…  things I can use against him in the future.”

“I won’t fail you,” she said with relish.

Smiling, he placed his hand under her chin and tilted her face to his.  In a breathless moment, she thought he would kiss her.  Instead, he let the smile slide off his face and sneered.

“You’d better not,” he said with a darkened stare.

Pushing her away he turned to leave the room.  In that moment she was frightened of him, but only for a brief moment.  Bowing again she regained her composure.  He turned back to face her.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

He waved her off and she slipped into the shadows once again.  After all…  it was what she did best.

~*~*~*~

Snap.  In a flash Conor opened his eyes.  An all too familiar sound cracked open the night and his dreams.  A careless soldier’s boot crushing a fallen twig.  He had fallen asleep on watch.  How could he have been so careless?  Before he could unsheathe his sword they were upon them.  Catlin’s fitful sleep roughly shattered by Roman guards pulling her callously upright.  Arms encircled him, twisting his wrists painfully behind his own back.

As the events unfolded, Conor could recognize an uncanny heightened awareness.  The smell of the smoldering campfire; dying embers burning in the wet wood.  Crickets chirping away in blissful unawareness.  The hollow sounds of each vile Roman shout.  A light mist had rolled in and the pre-dawn hours threatened rain.

Focusing on her eyes Conor quickly tried to plot a way out of their dilemma.  He could tell by Catlin’s own intense gaze that she was working on the same problem.

Surprisingly the guards, after their initial orders during the capture, remained silent and made no move to tie the captives up.  They simply held them where they were and waited.

It seemed an eternity before the sound of approaching footsteps broke the unearthly tableau.  The man came from behind Conor.  Although he couldn’t see his approach, he knew who it was.  Mirrored in Catlin’s face was a stone cold expression.  The planning of moments before gone.  Her eyes took on a look of hatred and resignation.

Longinus.

He walked past Conor without even turning to look at him.  Moving in behind Catlin, Longinus draped his right arm across her shoulder and around her neck.  He held her wrists with his left hand.  Catlin struggled, but to no avail.  Conor knew first-hand the supernatural strength the immortal possessed.  The guards fell away as their leader took the prisoner.  They were no more than an arm’s length away from Conor when Longinus let go of her wrists.  Seizing the opportunity, Catlin almost broke free.  Longinus brought both of his hands to her throat and slowly, painfully began to choke her.

“No!!” Conor yelled.  “Stop this!  It’s me you’re after.”

The only response was the Roman’s haunting laughter.  Catlin’s arms went instinctively to her neck, trying to pry the hands apart.  Her eyes began to loose focus as she succumbed to the inky darkness closing in on her.  At the last instant, her arms reached out and touched Conor’s face, lingering for a precious moment, then fell away as she collapsed.  Longinus let go of her and she fell to the ground, limp and lifeless.

As quickly as the guards had set upon them, they disappeared leaving Conor to pull her up into his arms.  He gently rocked her back and forth, refusing to believe she was dead.  Trailing his fingers across her cheek he whispered desolate apologies.

A glimmer of white teased the corner of his eyes.  He glanced up, his tear- streaked face finding a vision he did not fully believe.  It was Claire.  White light bathed her and she seemed to simply hover in the air.  She was as translucent as water, but her presence filled the night.

“Let her go, Conor,” the apparition spoke.

“Claire - what…  why are you here?” he managed.

“She’s gone…  she’s gone, like I am.”

“No…” he sobbed, rocking Catlin in his arms.

“You failed us both,” the ghostly Claire said, without malice.  “Now let her go.”

Conor clung tightly to Catlin’s body.

“Please, Claire…” he begged as the spirit drew nearer.  “Please…”

Conor no longer controlled his arms.  Inexplicably they let go of Catlin.  Claire picked her up as if she was a child and started back into the woods.

“Claire, come back!” he yelled, unable to move.  “Claire!!!!”

But it was too late.  Cradling Catlin, she vanished into the mist.

~*~*~*~

In the early dawn hours Tully found the land most at peace.  He would often times trek out beyond the Sanctuary’s defenses.  It was a habit that everyone, especially Fergus, disapproved of.  Sometimes, though, he needed to be alone.  He always felt closer to Galen in these woods.  He could almost feel the druid’s presence, like a cloak around their home.  It was here that he practiced his magic, or what little he knew.  Early morning dew blanketed the grass and shrubs and a slight chill hung in the air.  Knowing the Romans were looking for them, he kept a close watch and secluded himself up in a full oak that stood within a thick grove.

He heard the noise first, and crept further back towards the trunk of the tree to hide and watch.  With a crash, a figure emerged from the brush.  Her long cloak was torn by branches and as she glanced over her shoulder her hood swept back to reveal a flowing mane of brown hair.  She abruptly stopped, looked around momentarily and headed toward the tree in which Tully was hiding.  Jumping up to swing from the lowest branch, she nimbly pulled herself up, much in the same way he had just done minutes before.  Clamoring up the tree she almost fell when she saw Tully.  He put his finger to his lips eliciting a smile.

Tully studied her face.  She looked to be about his age.  Her fair cheeks were spotted with freckles and her face was rosy from her run.  Large inquisitive eyes gazed back at him, the color of the sky.   Her hair was pulled back in haphazard braids by small pieces of leather.  Turning his attention back to the ground, he looked in the direction she had emerged from, waiting for her pursuers.  They did not come.

~*~*~*~

From her perch, Catlin had a clear view of the surrounding woods.  Ever vigilant, she kept looking for signs of danger.  Several paces below her Conor slept.  He seemed to be dreaming, by the movements he made.  Chuckling softly, she walked down toward him.  He was about to kick over the kettle of stew…  meatless stew he had prepared the night before, while she was fast asleep.

“No…” he spoke, from within his slumber.

Catlin stopped for a moment, afraid to wake him from, his trance-like dream.  Kneeling down beside him she watched him.  He was breathing heavily and sobs began to emerge from his lips.

“Please, Claire…  Please…”

Catlin almost heard the shudder her heart made.  Only yesterday she had the slightest hope that he cared for her.  Again she chided herself for belief in things that could never be.  He was still in anguish over Claire.  He was still longing to be with her.

“Claire, come back!  Claire!!!” he yelled.

Catlin bit back her disappointment and gently shook him…  he was startled awake and gasped for air, as if the dream was water and he was drowning in it.

“Conor?” she said softly.

His eyes were red with tears and devastation.

“Catlin?” he questioned in amazement.

“You were dreaming,” she said sitting on the edge of his blankets.

“Dreaming?” he said as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Yes…  about Claire,” she hid the pain in her voice.

“Claire?”

“You called out her name…”  She paused momentarily, then looked him deeply in the eyes.  “This is what’s been bothering you…  isn’t it?”

Breath caught in his throat.  Did she know about the dreams?  Did she know they were full of her death?

“Conor…  I want you to forgive yourself…”

“Cat, I can’t talk about this right now,” he said starting to get up.

Taking his arm she pulled him back down to the ground.

“We need to talk about this,” she said forcefully, though her heart wanted nothing to do with the conversation they were about to embark upon.

Fearing she might look into his eyes and read his mind, Conor tried to shift his gaze away from her.

“Conor,” her voice was merely a whisper.  “I know what it’s like to feel responsible for the death of someone you love.”

His heart pounded.  How could she possibly know what his dreams entailed?

“You helped me,” she continued.  “You made me realize that my sister’s death was not my fault.”

“You don’t understand, Catlin.  It is my fault,” he said taking her arms.

How could she have known?  Yet she was still calm.  She was still more concerned for him than for her own life.

“Conor, listen to me…  Claire’s death was not your fault.”

“Claire?”

“I heard you cry her name in your sleep,” she said softly, desperately trying to control the tremble in her voice.  “You didn’t kill her…  Gar did.”

Leaning back on his hands, Conor realized she didn’t know what the dreams were about.  Hearing him call out Claire’s name, Catlin had mistakenly believed that it was Claire’s death, not her own, that racked his dreams.  Seizing the opportunity, he played along.

“I know…  I know he did…”  Conor got up and began to tie up his pack.  “I’m going to go wash up…” he said quietly heading for the shallow waters of the nearby stream.

She caught him by the arm gently.

“Conor?”

Turning to look at her, he smiled.

“Please don’t hold things in…  You can trust me, ok?” she smiled, hugging him tightly.

Feeling her warm skin beneath his hands as he held her, he finally shook off the last of the dream.  For the moment she was alive and safe.  The portents of the dream could be escaped.  He just had to figure out how.

“Thanks, Cat,” he whispered, kissing her hair.

Letting her go he turned and headed to the brisk water.

Watching him leave, tears pooled up in her eyes.  She fought futilely to keep them from spilling over.  The grief of love’s chance lost hit her in the stomach.  She turned quickly and walked to a secluded spot, away from his view.  Tears slid silently down her cheeks.

“Stop it!” she chided herself.  “You’re being a fool…”

Yet she couldn’t help from feeling desolate.  It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how deeply she felt for him… and how deeply he still felt for Claire.  Roughly wiping the tears from her face she made a silent resolution.

“I will move on…”

~*~*~*~

Tully and the stranger clung to the tree for what seemed like an eternity.  Who was she hiding from?  After a long silence she finally spoke.

“I must have lost them,” she sighed.

Tully was intoxicated by the sound of her voice.  Tones as bright as a harp, yet not abrasive.  Mellow as a low wind, but not sad.

“My name is Tully,” he finally managed.

“I’m Aiobhell,” she smiled.  “Now…  where shall we go?”

“Down, I suppose,” he smiled.

~*~*~*~
 

By mid-afternoon, the effects of Conor’s inability to sleep wore dark circles under his eyes.  Catlin could see he was not doing well.

“Do you want to stop and rest?” she suggested.

“No,” he answered crankily.

“No need to bite my head off,” she rolled her eyes.

Stopping his horse, he turned to face her.

“Do you have a problem with the way I’m doing things?” he challenged.

Again defiant anger sparked in her face.

“No… not at all,” she said knowing the words rang hollow.

I have moved on!  she thought.

“Fine,” he said abruptly.

They continued on in silence.  Conor knew he was behaving like a child, but he lacked the energy to brighten his disposition.

Catlin turned to singing bits of songs.  Some were tunes that Conor knew well.  Some were improvisational creations of her mind.  Others were unfamiliar Roman tunes.  The gentle song of her voice and the sway of the horse beneath him lulled him practically to sleep.  It was when he nearly fell off his horse, that he realized Catlin was right.

“Cat?”

“Um-hmm?” she said without interest.

“Let’s stop for a moment.”

Without waiting for a comment he jumped down off his horse and tied the steed to a tree.  Pulling his cloak tightly around himself he found a patch of sunlight and stretched out to rest.

“I’ll keep watch,” she smiled.

“Maybe…” he yawned, “Maybe you could keep singing.”

“Oh…” she laughed.  “All right.  I will…  Only if you admit that I was right.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I guess that’s as good as I’m going to get…”

“…Mmm-hmm.”

She began to sing watching as Conor drifted off to sleep.  No matter what they said to one another, they could never stay angry with one another for long.  Once she had accidentally embarrassed him in front of the Confederation Council.  He claimed he would never forgive her and had berated her for making him look foolish.  Yet, later that day he had come to her room with Declan, a boy of about eight.  Sending the boy in ahead, Conor yelled in from outside the door.

“You wouldn’t hurt me when there are children around?”

He entered the room and picked up the boy, who was giggling.  Catlin smiled at the memory.  Conor could be so charming.  It was easy to understand why she felt the way she did about him.  Most likely, every woman he had ever met had been under his spell.  But it wasn’t just that.  The friendship they had was built on mutual trust and experience.  Sharing the loss of everything they had and rebuilding a future that neither could have ever foreseen, they had come to rely on each other.  She watched him sleep peacefully.  Slowly, his jaw dropped and shallow snoring escaped his mouth.  Perhaps there would be no more dreams.  Perhaps his sleep would be filled with no more painful memories.  At times she wondered how God could see fit to plague one man with so many burdens.  If she could, she would sacrifice anything, even herself, to lessen the weight he had to carry on his shoulders.

~*~*~*~

An hour later, Conor awoke.  For the first time in two days he had slept without dreaming.  He felt refreshed and quite rested.  Catlin smiled at him.

~*~*~*~

Fergus frowned at Tully.  “Sweet Brigit, lad, you should know better by now,” he gestured to Aiobhell who was leaning against a tree a short distance away.

“She needed help.  Galen always taught us to help others.  That’s why we’re here.”

“But she could be a Roman spy.”

“Fergus, you’re mad…  Like I already said, she was running away from them when she climbed up into that tree,” Tully insisted.

“Did you ever get a look at them?”  The big man asked plainly.

“Well, I, er…”  Tully stammered.

Fergus looked at him sideways, his eyebrows arching.

“No…  I guess I didn’t,”  Tully finished lamely.

“Well, she’s already here…  Just keep a close eye on her, alright?”

Tully nodded and quickly walked back over to where the girl was standing.

“It’s alright, Aiobhell.  You can stay.”

She turned and smiled at him.  “It’s so beautiful here.  It truly is a sanctuary.”

Tully took her arm, “Come on.  Let me show you where you’ll sleep.”

She stopped him and looked at him with a grateful expression.

“Tully, I can’t thank you enough.  You don’t know what this means to me…”

“You needed help…  anyone would have done the same.”

“No,” she shook her head, “they wouldn’t…  You have a good heart, Tully.  Thank you.”  She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

He couldn’t help a silly grin from lighting his face.

Fergus watched them from a distance.  When the girl leaned in and kissed Tully, Fergus knew that the boy would be of no use when it came to judging Aiobhell’s character.  He rolled his eyes, shook his head and trudged off, sighing.

“Sweet Brigit…  they’ve all gone daft.”

~*~*~*~

Conor watched Catlin sleep under the moonlight.  Occasionally, she would shift or move.  Slight murmurs would escape her lips.  Conor wondered what it was that filled her dreams at night.  He wished that they would be happy dreams, not nightmares of her past.  For as much as they had shared with each other, Catlin was very guarded about her life as a slave.  She rarely spoke of it, and when she did, she spoke in generalities.  It was as if she was afraid or ashamed to speak of those days.  Perhaps she worried that it may somehow have a hold on her if she were to form the words.  Maybe it was just still too painful.  He crossed over to where she was sleeping and gently stroked her hair.  Her shifting and quiet mumblings stopped and she sighed in her sleep.

Walking back to his post, Conor gazed into the pitch darkness.  Something was out there.  Something was clouding over their journey.  Every night his dreams had worsened, and every night he was more and more sure that the threat was real.

~*~*~*~

“So, where are you from, Lass?”  Fergus asked Aiobhell from across the fire.

“Craig Laith, near Cill Dalua.  It’s a very small place.”  She smiled at the warrior.

“Aye, I know that place…  on the River, is it?”

“Yes…  it’s quite beautiful there…  but I couldn’t stay.”

A sadness crept into her voice and she focused her gaze at the heart of the fire.  Tully, feeling protective of her, addressed Fergus.

“She left her village.  The other villagers thought she was a sídhe.  They were afraid she would bring them misfortune.   Can you imagine?”  Tully had taken up the girl’s plight.  “Now she’s like us…”

“How did you manage to get into trouble with the Romans?”  Fergus questioned.

Aiobhell’s gaze focused on Fergus’ eyes.  There was something about her stare that made him feel naked.  It was as if she could see into his very soul.

“A group of soldiers followed me at a distance.  When I stopped for the night…” her voice faltered slightly, “…they attacked me.”  Her stare refocused on the fire between them.  “I got away.”

A stony moment of silence followed.  Tully searched his mind for something to say to erase the pall of tension that fell over the crisp night.

“It’s late…  Aiobhell, why don’t I walk you back…”  he offered rather lamely.

“Thank you Tully,” she smiled at him then turned her attention to the big warrior.

“Fergus, I know you don’t believe I am who I say I am…  I hope that someday I can gain your trust.”

She walked over to where the warrior sat and clasped his shoulder.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay.”

Her face showed true gratitude, and Fergus found it hard to think he suspected her.

“Sleep well,” he called after her as she and Tully walked off into the darkness.

~*~*~*~

As Conor opened his eyes, he hardly believed what they saw.  Flower garlands hung from the old rafters.  It was the great hall of his father’s stead.  But how?  The smell of the wedding feast roasting over the pit lingered in his nose.  He heard musicians entering the hall joyfully playing their tunes.  A gentle hand touched his shoulder.  He spun around.

“Father?”  the unbelieving voice questioned, voice cracking.

King Derek stood before him, alive, smiling.  His father.

“Conor,” his familiar voice rang in the prince’s ears.  “We’ve been given another chance.  Another chance to do things right.”

Conor looked down at the clothes he was wearing:  a new dark blue tunic.  Around his shoulders hung a new cloak with his father’s pin at the closure.  His hands ran over the fabric on his arms, his senses not believing the feel.

“How?”  he barely managed.

Derek smiled at his younger son.  “We’ll talk about it later.”

He placed an arm around his son’s shoulders.

“Now, it’s time,”  the King gestured behind Conor.

As he spun around, again his mind had trouble registering what he saw.

“Galen?”

The druid winked at him and spoke in low tones.

“You’ve done good work Conor.  I’m proud of you, boy.”

His chest seemed barely able to contain the pounding of his heart.  It was all real.  He could see, touch, smell and hear things that had long ago been destroyed.  He heard the sounds of people behind him.  He looked over his shoulder at the familiar faces, all long dead.  They smiled at him and murmured as the door in the back of the hall opened.  Fergus stepped through it, trailing his hand to help someone else inside.  Suddenly, Tully elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

“It’s bad luck,” he grinned as Conor turned back to face his friend.

How had he not known that Tully was right next to him?  Conor kept his eyes forward on Galen’s smiling visage.

He heard the big ox approaching as softly as he could.  He sensed that his friend was right behind him and he heard the man whisper, “I’m honored you chose me to do this, girl.”

Conor turned to face the girl.  It was Catlin.  She smiled warmly at him and took his hands.  A small crown of flowers circled her head and her hair was brushed straight.  She wore a simple gown.

Galen spoke the ancient words of the ceremony.  Catlin’s eyes never left Conor’s.  Conor was overwhelmed with emotion; his brain tried desperately to make sense of it all.  His mother, father and brother were all at his side.  The people of his village were all there.  The past had become this bizarre present.  Parts that had been taken away from him had been returned.  Then, along side of them were Tully and Catlin.  Both people who had not come into his life until after the devastating bloodshed and fire that separated his former existence with his new one.

In this dreamlike state, Conor took in every detail.  In his heart he knew that this couldn’t last.  But, every part of his being wanted, desperately wanted, to believe in this reality.

As the druid finished speaking, Derek turned to face his younger son.  “I’m proud of you.  Of the man you’ve become, of the leader you’ve become…”  He took his son’s hand and his new daughter’s.

“This marriage will be celebrated!”

The words rang like a hollow bell in Conor’s head.  A memory.   A foretelling that perhaps this happiness couldn’t last.  He pulled Catlin toward him and kissed her.  Her skin smelled vaguely of flowers.  Her lips tasted sweet.  Their embrace was halted by Fergus and Tully greeting them with congratulations and laughter.

They danced and celebrated through the night.  The King and Queen rested away from the crowd.  Fergus danced with a barrel of ale and disappeared.  The fine mist of fear began to grow thicker in Conor’s mind.  As he felt the happy tableau ending, he tried desperately to take it all in.  Catlin speaking with his mother and father.  They, in turn, showing affection and welcoming her into his family.  It was all he’d ever wanted.

In a lightening fast moment riders broke through the doorway.  One approached the King and Queen and removed his helmet.

“GAR!!!!”  Derek screamed as Gar slashed him down with his sword.

“FATHER!!!!!”

Conor ran toward him but it was too late.  Once Gar had slain his father, he took the sword to his mother.

“NOOOO!!!!!”  Conor yelled.

He nearly reached Gar when another sound caught his attention over the screams and horror that filled the room.  It was Catlin’s muffled shout.  Conor spun around.

Longinus stood amidst the carnage.  Tully had reached him, but Longinus had stabbed the lad in the heart.  He slumped lifelessly to the floor.

“No…  no…”  It was barely more than a whisper.

Sorrow and desolation choked his voice.  Longinus held Catlin’s arms with his left hand.  His right covered her mouth.  Her eyes were glazed over with fear and sadness.

“Longinus, please…  please,” Conor begged.

The undead monster smiled.

“I recall saying the same thing to you, Prince…  I begged you, I begged you to end my suffering.  You had the power to end my curse.  Instead you walked away…”

He brought a knife to Catlin’s throat.  Short, shallow breaths shuddered from her gut.

“Longinus, don’t do this.  Take your revenge on me,” he pleaded.

“I am…”

In an agonizing endless moment, Longinus pulled the blade across her skin.  Ruby droplets stained her pale gown.  The look on her face became foggy and she slowly collapsed.  Longinus disappeared, as did Gar and his men.  The smell of death stifled the air and tears flowed down Conor’s cheeks.  In the distance he could hear the crackling of a fire beginning and could smell the smoldering wood.  He pulled Tully and Catlin to him, an arm around each one, and he sobbed over them.

~*~*~*~

“Conor?”

Again, it was morning.  He had tried not to sleep that night, but he had succumbed to his fatigue.  Catlin could not hide her worried expression, but pretended she hadn’t noticed anything was wrong.  Conor’s heart was racing, he felt as if it would break through his chest.  Death and the smell of smoke still pricked his nose.

“I made you some breakfast, but don’t get used to it,” she smiled.

A half-grin played on his face and he felt slightly better.

“Thank you.”

It was a statement with a great deal of meaning.  He wasn’t used to keeping secrets from her.  She wasn’t used to it either.  However, she understood that he needed to keep this to himself.  Catlin thought that he was reliving guilt of Claire’s death.  It made sense that he would keep that private.  She’d never really known Claire.  To Catlin, Claire had always been a princess.  A princess whose father had owned Catlin.  Conor winced.  He hoped that someday, when this was all behind them, he could make it up to Cat.

“We’ll have plenty of time, if you’d like to stop for a short rest midday,” she suggested.

“Good,” he said standing up.

~*~*~*~

She awoke early.  She had never needed much sleep.  Thinking of Longinus, she smiled.  Power had always been attractive to her, and what was more powerful than immortality?  She had taken the first step, and she knew that her task would be fulfilled.  She had convinced one person, he was the easy one.  However, the others would be more difficult.  Smiling in the morning darkness, she prepared her role for the day:  demure, smiling, gracious.  Why was it men always seemed to fall for that?  The anticipation was palpable.  She was indeed her Master’s servant.

~*~*~*~

The last day of their journey was under a mournful sky.  It seemed as if there was something gloomy in the air.  A light drizzle continued on.  Even Catlin was tired.

“Conor, do you want to stop?” she yawned.

He had been silent and moody all day.  Catlin wanted nothing more than to shake him and scream at him, What is wrong?!  Why won’t you tell me?!  Yet, she restrained herself and tried to concentrate on other things.

“Yes.  If we stop now, we’ll still be able to approach the village before nightfall.”

They settled on a secluded spot with a small hill that provided a good lookout point.  No words were exchanged by the two, they simply took their places.  Conor rested by the horses and Catlin took watch.

Within moments, deep exhalations emerged from his slumber.  It was a peaceful, relaxed sound.  The sound of someone who was not dreaming - for now.  Catlin tried not to thinkk about the content of his dreams, but she couldn’t help it.  Watching his face she tried to rid her mind of what she knew she could not.  It had always been Claire, and it would always be so.  She remembered the princess.  She was never mean or rude to the slaves in Gar’s fortress.  Catlin could sense the unease whenever the girl would have need of help.  The day before Catlin escaped, Claire found her washing Diana’s clothing.

*****

“Excuse me,” Claire asked shyly.

Catlin had practically knocked over the wash bucket she was using.  For a moment she was silent, then paid the girl her mandatory respect.

“Yes?” she said, curtsying low and nodding her head.

Claire looked to her and away from her uneasily.

“Could you help me wash this?”

The princess produced a beautiful white gown from her sack.  The gown was simple, yet elegant.  It was obviously the girl’s favorite.

“It’s dirty and I must wear it tomorrow night…  it’s a special day.”

She was taken aback by the way the girl had requested the dress washed.  Usually, some other slave or servant would bring the garment from inside the living quarters.  Princesses usually didn’t carry their own laundry.

“Here,” Catlin reached out for the sack.  “I will have it ready for you.”

“No, no…” she stammered back, “I don’t want to be any trouble.  I can see you have much to do…” she gestured with obvious disgust at Diana’s many garments which were strewn about the little room.

Smiling at Catlin she leaned close, like a child with a secret.

“I will do it myself…  I just need you to show me how!”

Uneasiness spread across Catlin’s face.

“If someone were to see you…  I…  I would get in trouble.  It is better if I do it for you.”

Disappointment and a melancholy look came into the girl’s eyes.

“Of course…  of course.”

Sighing, she handed the bag over to Catlin.  Walking out of the room, Claire called back softly, “Thank you…”  She hesitated for a moment then asked, “What’s your name?”

“Catlin.”

 It sounded almost more of a question.  Who ever asked a slave-girl’s name?

“Are you sure?”  Claire chuckled good-naturedly.

“Yes,” Catlin smiled.

“Good…  it’s a very pretty name, it suits you.”

*****

In a moment of self-doubt she compared herself to Claire.  Conor had loved her so dearly that he was ready to die for her.  And Claire had loved him enough to die to protect him.  It was tragic.  Both were born to privilege and should have had every opportunity to be happy.  Now, she was gone and Conor could not rid himself of the guilt of her death.

A slight rustling of trees rushed her out of her thoughts.  Grabbing her bow and slipping an arrow to the ready her eyes peered in the direction of the disturbance.  Silently, she side stepped over to Conor’s sleeping form and crouched down beside him.  Lowering her defenses for a moment, she shook him and quickly placed a hand over his mouth.  Stunned eyes looked up at her, then realization took hold as she gestured towards the woods with a nod of her head.  Regaining her stance she waited for another sign of movement.

Conor was alert in a single moment.  Noiselessly he stood and quietly withdrew his sword, the metallic slither a quiet whisper in the trees.  Back to back the friends stood, waiting for the attack.

When it came, it was not so much an attack, as a warning.  Ten men stood facing Catlin’s side of the clearing.  All were armed and had their swords ready.  In the midst of them stood a striking man with black hair and green eyes.  Smiling at them his voice filled the air with authority.

“And what do we have here?”

There was no mistaking the fact that he was in charge.

“Just passing through,” Catlin responded as nonchalantly as she could, considering the circumstances.

Her bow was still taunt and ready to strike.  Protectively, Conor stepped out in front of her, putting himself between her and the small group.  Tentative aggression hung in the air.

“Just passing through, are you?”  the leader asked, a hint of sarcasm tainting his voice.

His men laughed.

“Is there a problem?” Conor’s voice said evenly.

He held one arm out behind him, trying to hold Catlin behind him.

“Tell the girl to drop her weapon,” he said simply.

Catlin stepped out from behind Conor, placing herself between him and the soldiers.

“Forgive me, but I won’t do that until you lower your weapons.  As you can plainly see, we’re outnumbered, so there’s no need for you to fear us…  however, we have considerable reason to be wary of you.”

“Perhaps you should tell that girl not to play with toys,” one of the rougher men laughed.  An ugly scar ran from his left temple to his chin.  “She may end up hurting someone…”

Conor watched as Catlin’s muscles tensed.  This time he lowered his sword long enough to grab Catlin around the waist.  In one swift movement he pulled her back and gently pushed her behind himself.  Surprised, she lost her footing and unceremoniously fell down.

“You’ll have to excuse her, she can be a bit headstrong,” Conor chuckled.

The men, except for the leader, laughed heartily.  White-hot rage was rising off Catlin, and Conor knew he would have some explaining to do.

The dark haired leader spoke, “Now may I ask you what you are doing here?  These are Ian’s lands.”

A lecherous gaze came from the rough man as Catlin got up.  Without stopping to brush herself off, Catlin again held her bow poised to strike.  She stepped away from Conor.

“Like the girl said.  We’re just passing through,” Conor emulated Catlin’s easy tone.

The man with the scar smiled and started toward Catlin.  “Would you like some help there, girl?”

Catlin loosed the arrow.  It hit a tree no more than a finger’s width from the man’s face.  He stopped dead in his tracks.  In a swift movement, Catlin carefully readied another arrow.

“I said, stay back.  Next time I’ll pierce your feeble brain…or maybe something else,”  she glowered lowering her aim quite a bit.

“Why you little…”

“Colin!” the leader ordered, “That’s enough!”

Like a scolded dog, Colin retreated to where the other men stood, but his eyes never left Catlin.

The leader continued, “Be careful of the Romans.  We’ve caught word they may be entering these lands.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Conor nodded.

“Safe journey,” the leader smiled, “though it looks like you have all the protection you need,” he nodded respectfully to Catlin.

The band of men retreated into the woods.  Catlin kept them in her sights for several minutes before lowering her guard.  Conor watched her from a distance, he was angry with her for taking such a stance, for putting herself at risk.  However, he knew she was probably more angry than he was.

Lowering her weapon, Catlin turned to Conor.  Calmly dusting herself off, her voice was extremely quiet.

“What were you doing?” her jaw set stubbornly and her eyes were wide and questioning.

“Catlin,” Conor started, equally angry, “you had no right to attack that man.  If we are going to try to get these people to join the Confederation-“

“Those were Ian’s men?  Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“There wasn’t an opportunity,” he smiled sarcastically.  “And while we’re on the subject, why did you have to put yourself at risk and make me look like a coward?”

“My job is to protect you…  Let’s not even get on the subject how you made me look.”  Her voice was no longer quiet.  She was yelling at him.

“Ian’s tribe is a bit more…” he searched for the word.  “They just don’t treat women the same way we do.  The women in their tribe do not fight…  I was only trying to get them to accept us.”

“By making me seem like your slave?”

Conor winced as if the word had slapped him.  His time in the Sanctuary had taught him that others must always be treated as equals.  In his new home there were no princes and slaves.  There were only people.  Sometimes he forgot how close those times were for Catlin.  She had spent the majority of her life as the property of others.  She had only recently been able to see the kindness in people, which she now embraced so freely.

A heavy silence hung in the air between them.  Even saying the word ‘slave’ had hurt Catlin.  Even in her rage she knew that Conor never saw her as that.  However, she had been a slave in Claire’s house.  While Claire never treated the slaves in her father’s house poorly, it didn’t negate the fact that Catlin had been her property.  Catlin didn’t blame her for it, after all, the girl had been raised a princess.  But somehow, even now, it still pained her.  The woman Conor had loved; still loved, had owned her.  As it so often did, her pain turned to anger.  Rage filled her.  She was so angry she couldn’t say anything.  Reaching back, she punched Conor in the chin.  Reeling from the blow, Conor staggered backward and rubbed his jaw with his hand.

“What did you do that for?”

Without saying a word she turned on her heel and walked toward the horses.  Conor grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

“Catlin, I’m just concerned with your safety.  Why can’t you see that?” he said an inch away from her face.  He had rarely seen her stare so intense.

“Let go of me.”  It was a quiet demand.

“Not until you agree to be more careful.”

“Damn it, Conor!”  she broke free of his grasp and pushed him away, solidly in the chest.

Turning away from him she started back to the horses.  Again, his hands were at her arms, restraining her.

“Catlin, no!  You can’t go off alone!”

Wrenching her right arm free she spun around and punched him again, landing another solid hit in jaw.  Caught off guard, he lost his balance and fell to the ground.  Catlin stood above him for a moment shaking her head.

“I can take care of myself,” she said in a low voice.

In a swift movement, he tripped her.  She fell to the ground, and in an instant he was atop her, pining her arms at either side of her head.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he said slowly, deliberately.  “But there’s no need for you to be taking foolish risks.”

He stared at her in silence, their faces no more than an inch apart.  Catlin’s eyes were alight with defiance and anger.  Conor had never seen her so upset.

“Conor,” she said with a heavy sigh.  “Why don’t you realize that I am just trying to do what’s right.  You are the leader.  I’m just another fighter…  If I were Fergus or Tully, this wouldn’t even be an issue.”

As she spoke, she could feel her heart beating wildly.  Feeling the weight of his body against hers was too difficult.  He was so close to her, yet, she knew that they were miles apart.  She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her lips together.  The leather from his tunic and the raw smell of him mingled in her nose.  When she opened her eyes again, it seemed as if he was impossibly closer than before.  She felt lost in his gaze.

“I know you feel obligated to protect me.  I know you have from the beginning…  But I don’t need you to save me anymore.”

The words pierced his soul.  It was so obvious to him now that she did not feel the love he felt for her.  His eyes darkened as his whole being cried out.  She was warm, beneath his skin, and she felt nothing but contempt for him.  He so wanted to kiss her.  He wanted to taste her lips- to feel her breath against his ear.  He wanted to always protect her, to love her, to save her.

“I’m sorry, Cat.  I really am…  I’ll…  give you a little distance.”

Taking one last lingering gaze into her eyes, he let go of her wrists and rolled off of her.  Without a word he walked toward the horses and began to get them ready for the final part of the trip.

Pulling herself up, Catlin could sense the wall that now separated them.  Nothing, nothing could ever be the same between them again.  She now knew how he had always seen her:  as someone to be rescued.  Small glimpses into his eyes had once told her that he may have loved her.  Now she knew those small signs to be traitors.  What she had mistaken for love was duty, pity.  Tears tried to form, but she had no emotion left for them.  Silently, she walked towards her horse.

~*~*~*~
 
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