"Only on Alban soil," I noted.

"Our magic?" Morwen inclined her head. "That is true. But what binds Dorelei mab Breidaia and her kin are ties of love and blood.”

"There are worse things," I said.

"Than love and blood?" She smiled. "To be sure. But these are gifts meant to be given freely. If they are not, love may be poisoned, and blood may turn bitter as gall. Such is the heritage that runs in your veins. Is that what you wish, Imriel de la Courcel?”

I thought about the terrible sorrow in my father's face and turned to Firdha. "Daughter of the Grove, what is your counsel?”

The ollamh looked stricken. Still, when I called upon her, she squared her shoulders and approached Morwen. She held the gilded oak branch of her office so tightly her knuckles whitened. Urist jerked his head, and the men of the garrison spread out. I beckoned to Alais, who hurried to my side, her fingers locked around Celeste's collar.

"Where is the talisman?" Firdha asked.

"It is near," Morwen said calmly. "But you will not find it.”

"Give it unto my keeping, and I will hold it," Firdha said. "I swear it by the grove.”

Morwen considered; or pretended to. "No," she said at length. "Not until he has seen. That is the bargain I offer." She tilted her head. "The price of freedom is knowledge, lady. You ought to know its worth. If Imriel accepts this bargain, he will understand why we made it, and we will be at quits for all time. But I cannot change the terms.”

Firdha studied her for a long, long time. Morwen bore her scrutiny in silence. At last the ollamh turned to address me. "Prince Imriel, the choice is yours. But if it is your wish to do this thing, I tell you this. I would not trust in the oath her people have sworn. I would bind her by an oath uttered in her own words, in the ring of standing stones itself. An oath that no harm come to you, nor to any member of your household, with the direst of consequences. With your permission, I would administer it myself.”

"Would you swear such an oath?" I asked Morwen.

Her chin rose. "I will.”

She wasn't lying, or at least there were no tell-tales. Beyond that, I couldn't read her. Frustration, yearning, and foreboding warred in me.

Beside me, Dorelei was shaking her head, but her face was troubled and unsure. I glanced up at the sun. "I must confer with my wife," I said to Morwen. "I'll return at sundown to give you my answer.”

The bear-witch nodded. "So be it.”

With that, she turned her back fearlessly on Urist's men with their drawn bows, melting into the forest. Urist glanced at me, and I shook my head at him. "Let her go, but post a guard on the woods.”

No one spoke on the walk back to the castle.

I wished I knew what to do.

As the news spread through Clunderry, Dorelei and I retreated to our bedchamber to talk in private. I propped pillows on the bed so she could recline in comfort, then sat on the end with her feet in my lap, rubbing them. Neither of us knew what to say.

"I don't like it," Dorelei finally said. "And I don't trust her.”

"Nor do I," I murmured.

"Good." She hesitated. "Still…”

"What if it's genuine?" I asked.

Dorelei nodded. "I've thought…betimes I've thought about the blessing they offered. At our wedding. I've wondered if we were right to refuse it. If I was right. I made that choice, and I'm not sure it was the right one. This choice is yours.”

"But you don't think I should dare take her bargain," I said.

"I don't know!" Her voice broke. "No, I don't, but…what comes next, Imriel? That's the thing. Every time I hope mayhap they'll leave us in peace, they come back. Charms, tricks, oaths, seductions…" She drew a long, shaking breath. "What if this truly did put an end to it?”

"Wouldn't that be nice?" I said wistfully.

"Yes." Dorelei was trembling. "Hold me, will you?”

I set her feet down gently and shifted to the head of the bed to enfold Dorelei in my arms from behind. She leaned back against me, resting her head on my shoulder. I laid my right hand on her straining belly and felt the babe kick. "Oof!”

She made an effort to smile. "That was a strong one.”

"Little Gartnach is restless," I said.

That made her laugh. "You know, I did have a thought. Isn't it odd how things occur to you at the strangest times? My father's mother died in childbirth, and he grew up bearing his father's name. Gartnach mab Aniel.”

"Aniel," I mused.

"It nearly sounds D'Angeline, doesn't it?" she said.

"Anael is one of Blessed Elua's Companions," I said. "And Phèdre's lord and mentor was named Anafiel Delaunay.”

Dorelei folded her fingers over mine. "So he'd be named for both our families.”

"And if it's a girl?" I asked. "Anielle?”

"Anielle." She tasted the word. "It's not an Alban name, but it almost could be. And it could be D'Angeline, too. It's pretty, don't you think?”

"I do," I said.

"Aniel, Anielle." A smile curved her brown cheek. "I like it.”

I tried to peer around her to see her dimples. "It could be twins, you know.”

"It feels like it." Dorelei twisted awkwardly in my arms. "Imri… I do want you to be free. I want it more than anything for you. For us. For the babe. Whatever the future holds, I'd have you face it as a free man.”

"And you, too." I stroked her face. "The bear-witch was right about that. You're bound as surely as I am, only in a different way.”

"Love and blood, and the fog that clouds my vision." She smiled wryly. " 'Tis true. It's like a great dark cloud hanging over me, Imriel. I'd breathe easier if I were free of it. To dream once more, to face the woods without fear …mayhap it's worth the risk.”

We regarded one another.

"Firdha would administer the oath," I said softly.

"And Urist and his men would be there to keep watch," Dorelei said.

"So." I tightened my arms around her. "Is it decided?”

"Yes." She swallowed. "Are you frightened of what you might see?”

I shook my head. "All knowledge is worth having.”

So it was decided, right or wrong; and I felt better for having the decision made. Dorelei and I descended into the great hall together and informed our household of the decision. Everyone nodded gravely.

I pulled Urist aside to discuss the matter of an escort. We settled on three dozen men under his command, enough to encompass the ring of stones. It would leave the garrison short-handed, but Urist reckoned it was worth the risk.

"I fear the Old Ones more than a cattle-raid," he said grimly.

We had an early supper, keeping a wary eye on the lowering sun. I didn't eat much. I felt strange and lightheaded, drunk on the prospect of freedom. Ah, Elua! To face each new day without the eternal litany of checking my bindings, to be free of the damp, smothering blanket that lay over my soul, to be myself…

It would be glorious.

The sun was hanging low over the western woods when the ollamh Firdha cleared her throat and declared it was growing late. Urist had assembled his men. They were all ready, swords at their belts, hunting bows slung over their shoulders. I took arm, too. Dorelei insisted on doing it herself. Alais helped, kneeling to buckle my old rhinoceros-hide sword-belt around my waist.

"Be careful, Imri," she whispered.

"I will, villain." I kissed her cheek when she rose. "I'll be back before you know it.”

Alais sniffled. "Don't call me that!”

I extended my arms, and Dorelei slid the vambraces over my forearms, one after the other, taking care not to tangle my yarn bindings. "May all the gods of Alba and the diadh-anam of the Cullach Gorrym be with you," she murmured, buckling them in place. She looked up at me, her eyes bright with tears. "Oh, Imri! Come home safe and free.”

I hugged her, feeling the swell of her belly pressed between us. "I will, love," I promised. "I promise." I stooped, then, and kissed her belly. "Both of you.”

Dorelei laughed through her tears. "Keep your promise, Imriel de la Courcel!”

I straightened and smiled at her, bent to kiss her lips. "I always do.”

She clung to me for a moment, then let me go.

" 'Tis time," Urist said quietly.

I nodded. "Let's go.”

Chapter Thirty- Six

Morwen was waiting at the edge of the woods. She took in the sight of Firdha and Urist and his men with a faint smile. "Ready, are you?”"Yes," I said briefly.

She tilted her head. "Then come.”

We followed her into the woods in a procession echoing the Feast of the Dead, with a handful of Urist's men carrying torches. Morwen led it, swift and silent on her bare feet, needing no torch to light her way. The paths were still fairly clear, not yet overgrown. We passed through the oak grove, where she stooped and placed her hands on the earth, murmuring a prayer.

I wished I'd taken the time to visit Elua's shrine.

On and on we walked. Torchlight made the trees seem to shift and writhe. I found my ears straining at every sound. My nerves were strung taut as harp-strings and my bindings itched ferociously. By the time we reached the clearing, the moon had risen above the treeline. It was full and round as a coin, drenching the glade in silvery light. The standing stones seemed majestic and peaceful, casting stark black-on-dark shadows on the grass.

"Two things." Morwen faced me. "Before we begin, your men must extinguish their torches. And you may not enter the stone circle wearing steel.”

I frowned. "Why not?”

"Because that is the way the magic works," she said patiently.

"Let me hear you recite the Daughter of the Grove's oath," I said.

There was no trace of a smile on her face, no hint of mockery. "As you wish.”

Firdha led Morwen into the center of the standing stones, there beside the half-buried boulder where she had offered the uisghe. They spoke together, their voices low and indistinct, and then, to my surprise, Morwen bowed to the ollamh, who raised the golden branch of her office. The bear-witch stooped, touching earth, touching stone, then rose, lifting her empty palms to the sky.

"I, Morwen of the Maghuin Dhonn, do swear this oath," she said, her voice clear and carrying. "No harm will befall Imriel de la Courcel of Clunderry this night, nor any member of his household, nor any person dear to him. I swear it by stone and sea and sky, by all the gods of Alba, and by the diadh-anam of the Maghuin Dhonn. If I lie, let my magic be broken and my life be forfeit. Let every man and woman's hand be raised against me, let my name be gall on their lips. Let the gods and the diadh-anam forsake me, and let the land itself despise my footfall. Let my spirit wander for ten thousand years without solace.”

The earth seemed to shudder beneath the soles of my boots. A slight breeze made the torches ripple, and I saw Urist nod with grim satisfaction. It was a powerful oath.

Morwen lowered her arms. "It is done.”

"It is," Firdha said.

They returned slowly to the outer edge of the stone circle. The ollamh's face was grave. Morwen's brown skin looked more pale than usual, the claw tattoos standing out like dark slashes around her eyes. "Does it suffice?" she asked me.

I clenched my hot, itching hands into fists. "Let us do this thing, lady.”

So it began.

I unsheathed my sword and drew my daggers from their scabbards, giving my weapons into Urist's keeping. I unbuckled the vambraces with their chased images of the Black Boar that Dorelei had placed on my arms with loving care. I checked the bindings beneath them.

"Take off your boots," Morwen said softly. "Your feet must touch the earth.”

I obeyed. "Thus do we worship Elua, too.”

"Truly?" Her brows furrowed. "I did not know.”

"Mayhap there is much we might learn of one another," I said. "Is that all?”

"Yes." She reached out her hand. "Come with me.”

I took her hand and went.

The grass was cool beneath my feet, damp with dew. Morwen's touch was light and careful, though it almost seemed her fingers trembled. Urist and his lads spread out to position themselves around the perimeter of the standing stones, torches bobbing like fireflies. Firdha stayed behind. She, too, would keep watch in her own way. When Urist's men were in place, he gave a signal and the torches were snuffed.

Beside the center boulder, Morwen let go my hand and bowed her head. "Here.”

"What must I do?" I asked.

"Wait." Beneath the stars and the bright moon, she stooped for a third time, digging her fingers into the earth surrounding the boulder, an object too large and heavy for five strong men to move. There was a scraping sound. Her shape changed, surging and rippling. I heard her groan. The boulder shifted in its deep mooring, and my mouth went dry.

It rose. A solid slab of stone, lichen-stained and half buried. Morwen's hand—or something like it—shot out and reached into the hollow beneath the boulder, snatching at a hidden bundle and removing it.

The boulder settled back into place.

Morwen laughed, low and sad. She straightened and covered her eyes. Fingers or claws? I blinked, unsure. Fingers. She lowered them. "Sit," she said. "Sit and be welcome.”