Finally feeling strong again after a braw night’s sleep in a wonderful bed —not to mention a bonny dream of Nadia— Ciaran kept a careful eye on Kelsey while she unlocked one of the three dozen castles in ‘Druidville’ and took him downstairs into a huge dungeon full of clothing. Among rich gowns, clerical robes, bardic costumes, truly the clothing of every walk of life, the underground room held kilts of many different tartans, some of which he didn’t recognize. She gestured for him to choose one while she held out her hand for the one he was wearing. She seemed so businesslike about all this. As if it was part of some grand scheme. He didn't doubt it was, but did Eoin know that? Did it matter?

He pointed to a brown and yellow tartan kilt. “Which region o’ Scotland yields these dyes?”

She smiled at him conspiratorially. “None. It’s pure modern theater.” She still held out her hand as if she expected him to disrobe right in front of her.

He raised his eyebrows at her, then looked at the stairs up to where Baltair and Eoin waited.

Rolling her eyes, she took the hint and left, flipping a switch that cast bright lights on all the clothing behind her.

Recovering from the sudden profusion of light and scarcely believing the wealth of wool and velvet down here, Ciaran chose a new outfit for himself out of the tartan Kelsey had assured him was only found in modern times. He appreciated the chance to do this. A highlander’s kilt distinguished him, and while the clans didn’t have official tartans, the regions where they normally harvested dyes did tell much about where a man hailed from. The less they knew about him by looking at him, the better.

He chose an older outfit, weather worn and unremarkable. He kept his sporran though, unable to part with it because his father had made it for him. And of course he had the halberd, but he was practicing disguising it as a walking stick, and because of that he also practiced walking with a limp. It didn't help his unmemorable and unremarkable image, but at least it would explain why he had a walking stick.

There was a mirror in the room, a luxury item mounted on the wall over a dressing table. Having only heard of mirrors and never actually having seen one, he couldn't resist looking at himself in it, practicing all his usual smiles to see what they looked like in clear view and not just in his reflection in water.

He had to admit, his face was darn charming. And far too memorable. It was his long hair, he decided, water slicked against his face and tied as it was with a leather cord into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He took it out of the ponytail and combed it with his fingers till it hung down against the sides of his face. There. He looked much more like all the other warriors he’d ever met. But when he turned to go, his hair swiveled around his face, causing it to tickle his nose, and he remembered why he always wore it in a ponytail. There was nothing for it.

Not trusting Kelsey with this task, he sought out his cousin. "Eoin, you have to cut my hair."

Looking giddy, Eoin took to the task with relish, especially when Kelsey showed him there was a pair of scissors in one of the dressing table’s drawers, so he wouldn't have to use his dirk. When it was all done, Ciaran's hair was short enough that it wasn't tickling his nose.

He stared at the mirror again, looking at his new haircut from all angles, pleased with it. He was still strikingly handsome, but with this new hair and these new clothes, from a distance he would look like an entirely different person. Good.

Without ceremony, Ciaran and his cousins returned to their horses and then to 1706, arriving with plenty of time to get to the Cameron fortress by dawn. On the craggy highland mountain that looked out over it, still within the shelter of the trees, Eoin reined his horse in. "This is where ye dismount and gae on yer own, Ciaran. We wull bide here for two days only, sae ye hae two days tae spy. Then get back here, else ye are on yer own tae return tae Murray camp."

"Aye, we wull be here within two days’ time," Ciaran told Eoin as he surveyed the way down to the fortress in the darkness. "Nay a moment tae linger if I am tae hae a chance o’ meeting Nadia at dawn withoot being seen."

Eoin chuckled. "Use the halberd."

Wondering just what he meant by that, Ciaran dashed through the open ground to the first bit of cover, a clump of boulders a little way down the hill. There, he looked for the next bit of cover, and so on. He was halfway to the fortress in this manner when he realized there wasn't any cover for the last fifty yards. The fortress was very strategically placed with this in mind, its perch on the small piece of land between two lochs making it impossible to approach without being seen. Why hadn't he thought of this earlier?

Eoin’s voice came to Ciaran in memory. "Use the halberd."

What did that mean?

As the first ray of dawn beamed down into the heather and reflected off the loch, Ciaran saw Nadia in the stableyard, looking for him. The mischievous part of him wished he could just appear there in the stableyard without any warning and startle her, and he chuckled, imagining her face when he did so.

Ciaran nearly fell down. Energy was draining from him, just like it had when Eoin uttered that word and the halberd made all the Camerons around the apple wagon fall down paralyzed. A lot of energy, so much that it scared him. Now he was in no condition to run to the next bit of cover, let alone fight if he got attacked.

Suddenly, Nadia was right in front of him.

And he was in the stableyard.

Ciaran did what he’d wished he could do, reached forward with his left hand and tickled Nadia's waist, startling her into jumping straight up in the air and twisting around with the funniest look on her face when she saw him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she put a hand over it, grabbed his arm with her other hand, and dragged him into the stable, thinking, "Is he daft? He canna be seen by anyone, let alone heard.”

A memory of the druid child Tahra killing a man flashed through Nadia’s mind, bathing it in terror at what might happen if Ciaran were discovered here and remembered to be a Murray.

She stuffed this memory and the fear it caused down out of her conscious thoughts, which raced on. “And how did he get in? If he's gaun'ae dae underhanded things like this tae me, then I dinna want him here. The nerve o’ the man... Who am I kidding? O’ course I want him here. He looks gorgeous with his new haircut!”

Wanting to hear more but unable to resist telling her he would not be leaving, Ciaran deliberately thought to Nadia, "There's not a chance I wull leave ye here by yerself while I can hear yer thoughts like this. We wull dae this together."

The two of them stood in an empty stall in the near dark of the stable, but he could see Nadia's eyes open big.

She didn’t look afraid, more embarrassed. And intrigued. "How are ye doing this?" she asked him in her mind while at the same time testing his thoughts out, seeing how much she could discover!

He mock scolded her for her boldness with the color of the words he thought toward her. "Eoin suggested I use the halberd for things I dinna understand how tae dae, and 'tis working. It got me inside the stableyard from a hundred yards away, and now 'tis allowing me tae speak with ye withoot alerting the others."

Thoughts of the early death he was cursed to because of the halberd tried to surface in his mind, but he shoved them away, lest she hear them and despair. There was no help for him. He had already used the halberd. The curse was already on his shoulders. He was going to fully enjoy the short time he had left in the world, and that meant being in the company of a Nadia who wasn’t terrified about his fate.

Nadia was still holding him by the arm, and the contact was at the same time both not enough and far too much. If he could be sure they wouldn't be interrupted it would be a different story, but…

As if Ciaran's thinking about it had caused it to happen, the door at the opposite end of the stable rattled and opened, letting in the light of the sun that had at last risen. The man who had opened the door spoke to the horses like a father. "Ye need a bit o’ work there on yer left rear shoe, aye?” Down to the next stall. “Wull the flies are getting tae yer hindquarters, eh? We'll see if we canna get ye some ointment for that.” Down another few stalls. “Och, such a pile ye hae made owernight! Were things sae easy ye had sae much time tae eat grass yesterday?"

Ciaran cast about for something to do to look productive in here so that he wouldn't be kicked out immediately.

Nadia thought at him, "Grab that rake and start mucking out stalls!" Her choice of words was odd, but the clear —and amused— vision she showed of him clearing the horse dung away from the straw left nothing to his imagination.

He cast about in his mind for some other way, any other way, to look useful, but came up with only impractical ideas. Grooming horses that had just slept the night. Going out to bring in feed when he had no idea where it was.

"Good idea," he told her even as he shook free of her and went out to grab the rake that leaned against the wall by their empty stall. He got to work immediately, not taking any time to say hello to the stable master or even acknowledge his presence. "If he first sees me working, I wull hae the best chance o’ being allowed tae bide.”

The flavor of Nadia's thoughts was troubling, and when she spoke to the stable master, she confirmed she was having fun at Ciaran’s expense. "Top o’ the morning tae ye, stable master. Bixby here came at the same time I did, but he has been hiding because he's lame, and a bit addlepated. He was afraid ye lot will cast him oot rather than give him something useful tae dae. He can dae work, see?"

Fuming, Ciaran had no choice but to pretend to be an incompetent man named Bixby, of all things. He did look rather silly holding the walking stick with one hand and the rake with the other, and he wasn’t about to set his ‘walking stick’ aside.

Nadia was laughing furiously in her mind. This wouldn't do. Ciaran thought deliberately at her, "Aye, ye hae won the moment, but I shall win the day, mark my words."

In their heads and silently, she laughed all the more at his threat.

He really couldn't blame her, seeing the ridiculous position he was in. Darn it.

The stable master was looking thoughtful whenever Ciaran glanced his way —which was not often. Ciaran was giving the work his best effort, under the circumstances. His full attention, anyway.

"My name isna stable master. Call me Ruadh. And I will give ye a try, Bixby. Ye dinna merit sleeping anywhere but here in the stable, which I reckon ye hae already found tae yer liking, sae ye may abide. But more than raking dung, I want ye tae go along out in the fields and help the lads bring in the cattle for milking.”

Outwardly, Ciaran tried his best to look slow of mind, yet grateful for the opportunity. "I thank ye, Ruadh." But inwardly he rejoiced with Nadia. "This is oor chance. We can gae up and report tae Eoin what we hae learnit sae far. And we can beg him tae bide another two days sae we can learn more.” He played like he was falling. “Ye wull want tae help me, seeing as how I'm lame and all." With that last thought, he grabbed her and used her to lean on, tickling her ribs as he did.

She elbowed him in the side to disguise her laugh and his tickle and then elbowed him again for good measure as the two of them headed arm in arm toward the front gate. But all the while, she was thinking about the first time they met.

She’d been tied up on a stone slab in the sacred grove waiting to be sacrificed. She had seen him rushing in with the other Murray horsemen, her friend Sarah, and Eoin’s brother Meehall. Ciaran felt in her mind how much she had admired his ability as a swordsman when he fought Tahra, before the druid child almost killed Sarah with her magic. But Sarah had freed Nadia and Ellie, and together they had lit the sacred grove on fire. Tahra had fled then, bereft of her magic, which came from the plants and taking the surviving Camerons with her, to fight another day.

He relented then and showed her the way he had seen her that day, not even a week ago. He showed her how beautiful she was, how graceful. He had resolved, the moment he saw her, that she should be loose and carefree and dancing out in the field under the moon at planting.

They held each other a bit tighter as they approached the front gate

"Hae ye e’er been marrit?" Nadia asked him in her mind. Her thought was curious, and prepared for grief. She was ready to console him if he was a widower.

With the color of his thoughts, he let her feel how grateful he was for her planned offer of solace. Talking with her this way felt so intimate, more so than anything physical they could do. It made him a bit giddy. "Nay, hae ye?"

Her answer came to his mind sweetly, like a favorite memory. "Nay. Folk get marrit older in my time, na till they are five and twenty at the least, and more often na till they are thirty."

He could tell she was sincere, but with the flavor of his thought, he playfully called her on it. "Nay!"

Her thoughts tickled his mind. "Aye, I telt ye true! Sae why hae ye na been marrit, Ciaran? Dinna folk marry quite young nowadays?"

He tried to keep up the light mood, but her question brought him back down to the earth beneath his feet. Not sad, just serious, he caressed her mind with his to let her know he didn’t resent her for changing the mood. "Aye, we dae marry young, but ever syne Baltair and I started running about with Eoin, the lasses hae shied away from us. Till ye and Ellie showed up and took an interest."

She pushed him away, playfully.

Holding the halberd sideways as if it was weak and unable to support him compared to her, he made a big show of limping so that she had to hold him up.

She tickled his mind with hers. "Wull, I would tell ye ‘Sorry tae hear the lasses shunned ye, but ye would ken ‘twas a fib. I always thought ‘twould be convenient, the ability tae read thoughts, but now I am na sae certain."

He sent mental caresses. "Certies, ye jest. This is amazing. And I wouldna want tae share this with anyone more than with ye."

She relaxed a bit in his embrace, so that he was the one who reached out to open the gate. So close. They came so close to having a field day together.

An authoritative woman's voice called out, "Nadia! What dae ye oot here? Get in the house and make up the beds."

Desperately, he tried to hold her mind close to his. "Canna ye tell her ye hae other orders already?”

"Nay. Ainly the clan chieftain can gainsay her. ‘Tis his wife."

Reluctantly, the two of them parted.