"But you are to marry Bodvoc!" Cailin squeaked nervously.

"I'm not jealous. After all, you don't love him. He's a marvelous lover, Cailin. Just perfect for a first experience! I'm certain he would be happy to oblige us in this matter."

"I do not know if I can do such a thing, Nuala. I have not grown up as freely as you have. These are not my ways," Cailin said.

"We do not hold that lovemaking between two consenting parties is wrong, Cailin," Nuala explained. "There is nothing evil about giving and receiving pleasure. Your mother was certainly no virgin when she wed your father." She patted her obviously distressed relative. "We will speak on this when I return from my visit to Carvilius's village."

Cailin's mother had never told her these things. Brenna had never told her these things. While many girls her age and younger had spoken of the mysterious ways of love, Cailin had never been particularly curious about it. There had been no man who attracted her enough to rouse her interest. While she had grown in height and breadth, and her chest had sprouted round little breasts two years ago, she had never considered life as a grown woman one day. Now it appeared that she must.

Ceara and Maeve were hardly subtle in their quest for a husband for her. Their reasoning was sound. She needed a protector. Berikos barely tolerated her, and given the chance, would have been rid of her by now. She no longer had any family. Oh, Ceara and Maeve looked after her, but what would happen to her when they were not here?

"Stay away from your grandfather while we are gone," Ceara warned Cailin in the morning of her departure. "Brigit has yet to attempt any revenge against you, but she will try, particularly if there is no one here to defend you. Are you sure you do not want to come with us, my child? You would be most welcome."

Cailin shook her head. "You are good to ask me, but I need to be alone with myself, and my thoughts. There has been no time for that since I came here. I will keep from Berikos's sight, I promise you, Ceara. I do not want him to disown me as he did my mother. At least she had my father to go to, but I have no one."


"Be certain the slaves have his meals prepared on time, and that they are hot. You will have no trouble with him then. His stomach, and his manroot, are the center of his life these days. You take care of the stomach, and Brigit will see to the other," Ceara told her wryly.

Cailin laughed. "If Berikos heard you, he would say it sounded like Brenna talking, I am certain. Do not fear, I will oversee the slaves properly."

For two days all went well, and then in mid-morning of the third day, Brigit came into the hall, looking agitated. "Where is Ceara?" she demanded of Cailin, who was alone at her loom, weaving.

"Gone two days ago to visit her sons," Cailin answered politely. "Did you not know it, lady?"

"Know? How could I know? Who tells me anything?" Brigit complained. "Then Maeve! Find Maeve!" she demanded excitedly.

"Maeve has gone visiting as well," Cailin replied.

"The gods! What am I to do?" Brigit cried.

Cailin swallowed hard. Brigit seemed genuinely disturbed, and although they were scarcely friends, Cailin heard herself ask, "Can I help you in some way, lady?"

Brigit's blue eyes narrowed and she observed Cailin thoughtfully. "Can you cook?" she finally said. "Can you prepare a small feast for tonight? Berikos has an important guest arriving. We must extend him our best hospitality." She flushed, and then admitted, "I cannot cook, at least not well enough to prepare the kind of meal that must be served."

"I am a good cook, and with the slaves to do my bidding, I can prepare a meal worthy of an important guest, lady," Cailin told her.

"Then do it!" Brigit commanded her ungraciously. "And it had better be good, mongrel, or this time I will see your grandfather has you beaten for your insolence. There is no one here to defend you now." She turned and hurried from the hall, her yellow skirts thrashing.

"I should have gone with Ceara and Maeve," Cailin muttered. "Then she would have been in the soup, and what would Berikos have thought of his beautiful young wife then, the ungrateful bitch! Well, I shall do it because Ceara would want me to, and she is good to me."

Cailin hurried off to the cook house, which was located just behind the hall. There she instructed the servants in the preparation of a thick pottage with lentils and lamb, while upon the open spit a side of beef was to be slowly roasted. There would be cabbage, and turnip, and onions braised in the coals of the fire. Fresh loaves were baked that afternoon, which would be served with butter and cheese. Cailin polished a dozen apples to a bright shine and piled them artistically in a burnished brass bowl. Taking them into the hall to place them upon the high board she complimented the young slave girl who had just finished polishing the board with beeswax. The huge table was Ceara's pride and joy. She reveled in the fact that in other halls the high boards were worn and pockmarked by knives and goblets. In her hall, the high board glowed and shone like new.

The slave girl brought heavy brass candle holders. "The mistress always uses these for important guests," she told Cailin.

Cailin thanked her and set them on the table, taking the large fat candles from the serving wench and placing them carefully on the iron spikes that held them. She stood back and smiled to herself. The high board looked as if Ceara had set it herself. Berikos would have no cause for complaint.

It was then that Cailin realized that someone was staring at her. She turned and, looking down the hall, saw a great, tall man standing there. His look, even from a distance, was bold.

"Who is that?" she asked the slave.

"It is your grandfather's guest," the girl whispered. "The Saxon."

Cailin turned and stepped down from the dais. She walked with measured steps toward the man. "May I be of service to you, sir?" she asked politely, not even stopping to think he might not speak Latin.

"I would ask permission to sit by your fire, lady," the answer came. "The day is chill, and I have had a long journey."

"Indeed, come by the fire," Cailin replied. "I will fetch you a goblet of wine, unless, of course, you would prefer ale."


"Wine, thank you, lady. May I ask whom I have the honor of addressing? I would give no offense in this hall."

"I am Cailin Drusus, a granddaughter of Berikos, the chieftain of the hill Dobunni. I apologize for your poor welcome, but the lady Ceara, who is mistress here, is away visiting her grandchildren before the winter snows come. We did not know you were expected, or she would have never gone. Has your horse been stabled properly, sir?" Cailin poured some wine into a silver goblet decorated with dark green agates, and handed it to the huge Saxon. She had never seen such a big man before. He was even larger than the Celtic men she knew. His garb was most colorful: red braccos cross-gartered in deep blue and gold, and a deep blue tunic from which his chest threatened to burst forth with every breath.

"Thank you, lady; my horse has been taken care of by your grandfather's servants." He drained the goblet and handed it back to her with a dazzling smile. His teeth were large, white, and amazingly even.

"More?" she inquired politely. He had shoulder-length yellow hair. She had never seen hair naturally that color before.

"Nay, it is enough for now. I thank you." Dazzling blue eyes, the blue of a summer's sky, looked into hers.

Cailin blushed. This man was having the oddest effect on her.

"My name is Wulf Ironfist," he told her.

"It is a ferocious-sounding name, sir," she answered.

He grinned boyishly. "I gained it as a mere stripling because I could crack nuts with one blow of my fist," he told her, chuckling. "Later, however, my name took on a different meaning when I joined Caesar's legions in the Rhineland, where I was born."

"That is why you speak our tongue!" Cailin burst out, and then she blushed again. "I am too forward," she said ruefully.

"Nay," he said. "You are blunt, honest. There is no crime in that, Cailin Drusus. I like it."

Her cheeks warmed at the sound of her name on his lips, but her curiosity was greater than her shyness. "How came you to Britain?" she asked.

"I was told there is opportunity in Britain. Land! There is little unclaimed land left in my homeland. I spent ten years with the legions, and now I would settle down to farm my own land and raise my children."

"You are wed, then?"

"Nay. First the land, and then a wife, or two," he told her in practical tones.

Cailin smiled shyly at Wulf Ironfist. She thought the Saxon quite the handsomest man she had ever seen. Then, remembering her duties, she said, "You must excuse me, sir. With the lady Ceara gone, the kitchens are in my charge. My grandfather is very fussy about his meals, and he likes them piping hot. Stay by the fire and make yourself comfortable. I will send for Berikos to let him know that you have arrived."

"My thanks for your kindness and hospitality, lady."

Cailin hurried from the hall, and directed the first male servant she saw to go and fetch his master. Then she returned to the kitchens to oversee the final preparations for dinner, requesting that pitchers of wine, ale, and honeyed mead be made ready for the evening's meal. She tasted the pottage, and directed the cook to add a bit more garlic. The beef sizzled and spat over the fire. It smelled wonderful.

"I sent a man down to the stream to look in the fish trap, little mistress," the cook told her. "He found two fine fat perch. I've stuffed them with scallions and parsley, and baked them in the coals. Better to have too much than too little. I'm told the Saxon is a giant of a man, and he's had a long ride. He'll have a good appetite for his supper, I'm thinking."