 
Imbolc: Bridget's Return

Leydon Moore

Published by Eriu Legacy Press at Smashwords.

Copyright 2015 Leydon Moore

Cover image created by Rae Ann Partridge, Rae By Design

Thank you for downloading this eBook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Dedicated to my Guardian Angel

### Table of Contents

Start of Imbolc: Bridget's Return

About the Celtic Fire Novella Series

About the Celtic Sun Novella Series

About the Triskelle Novel Series

About Leydon Moore
One

**THE WINDSWEPT BLUFF OVERLOOKED THE HARBOR.** Bridget could feel the wind getting stronger, swirling around her, flinging her hair in a multitude of directions. Frustrated, she gathered the wayward strands, clipped the whole mess together in a hastily made French-twist, covered it all with her scarf and tucked the ends inside her coat.

The talk at the pub had been about the approaching storm; spawn without warning as they were wont to do on Ireland's turbulent western sea. They talked of the last time such a storm occurred and the two O'Halloran boys were lost. A tragedy to be sure and a glass raised all around to their memory; may they rest in peace.

She'd placed fifteen euro on the table to cover her lunch of vegetable soup, home-baked brown soda bread with fresh creamy butter, and a pot of piping hot tea. Bridget had shouldered her bag, grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair, and left her cozy place by the fire.

She knew Seamus' boat, the _Fand_ \- Sea Goddess - with its distinctive teal-painted hull and dark wood trim. It wasn't secured in the harbor below. He was out there.

She watched the sea grow wilder as, ironically, the sky cleared and the sun shone down warmly on her face. Perhaps the sun meant the locals were wrong and the storm had already passed them by. However, looking out to the horizon her sanguinity was tempered by the darkness that loomed. The waves rose higher each time a new one rolled in and crashed against the rocky coastline, foaming white eruptions mirroring her inner turmoil.

Hours passed and still she stood near the cliff edge, buffeted by the winds, anxiously awaiting each new boat as it came in hoping it would be his. It never was. The sun had left her, along with any optimism she harbored that the storm would pass them by. The sea was wild, angry, its battleship-grey color emulating the sky above. Both were dressed for war.

She barely knew him and didn't really like him. She was _drawn_ to him. Her waking thoughts and restless dreams were obsessed with him. It was crazy, as crazy as her sitting on a windswept - now also rain swept - cliff anxiously waiting for a virtual stranger to return safe to shore.

In the harbor below the villagers had already tied every boat down and done all they could to safeguard them from the storm. No one was outside now, having returned to their homes or to the companionship of the local pub. The boats swayed, rising and falling within their limited range of motion, straining against their tethers.

She saw it first as a large swell far out from shore. She watched in horror, helpless, as it grew slowly, steadily and moved inexorably toward the harbor, toward the village, toward her. The massive wave crashed over the barrier rocks. Fifteen feet of surging surf swamped the quay, shattering storage crates, tossing the boats around and into each other, some torn from their moorings. A second powerful wave followed right behind the first causing further damage. The raging sea continued to batter the tiny harbor. Spray from the breaking waves reached her on her perch above. Still, she could not move. She saw it, a boat on the horizon, so small but she knew it was the _Fand_. Seamus. She just knew.

Bridget tracked the _Fand_ as it drew closer, became more distinct, following behind the waves that were slowly diminishing in size and fury. Finally she was able to determine the hull was teal and trimmed in dark wood even as it disappeared and reappeared amidst the roiling sea. His Sea Goddess persevered and pushed through to the battered harbor.

She watched Seamus emerge, wearing slick oilskins, and fight to secure the _Fand_ at a safe distance away from the other boats. She watched as he and his crew, drenched with seawater and rain - just as she was - step onto the quay. With pats on the back and glad handshakes all around they went to join friends and family anxiously awaiting their safe return in the center of village life - second only to the church - Farrell's pub.

Tired, cold and wet Bridget headed for her own shelter from the storm just as Seamus looked up to the place where she had kept her vigil.
Two

**BRIDGET ALWAYS ROSE WITH THE SUN.** She enjoyed the quiet solitude of the day's beginning. This morning, however, she had the company of the entire village out to assess the damage visited upon them by last night's storm.

Several boats were seriously damaged and some were, clearly, total losses as their hulls were barely showing above the waters of the now tranquil harbor. Crates of supplies awaiting shipment to the outer islands were now shattered pieces of wood, their contents strewn across land and sea.

Liam Farrell - proprietor of the village pub and owner of a large boat listing to port but still attached to its mooring - broke the silence, "By God, this will ruin me to be sure. That load of rubbish set me back ten thousand euro and I paid cash for the bloody boat that's disappearing before my eyes. On top of it all the storage cellar is flooded and I'll probably lose most of my stock. Ah, it's a crying shame. I may have to up me prices to help cover the loss, I'm sorry to say."

"You've always been one for the insurance, Liam. I'll wager by the end of the day you'll have tripled your losses and filed a claim with the insurance man for the same. Don't be looking to these poor folks to further line your pockets you old skinflint," said Seamus, winking at Bridget as he slapped Liam companionably on the back.

"Now, why don't we all go over to Farrell's and have a hearty breakfast before we tackle this mess so we can all get back to work. I imagine even our resident tourist will pitch in and lend a hand," Seamus said, smiling mischievously at Bridget.

"Stop needling the lass, Seamus," said Mary, Liam's wife. "Come on now, everyone. The kettle's on and I've got a feast started from what was salvageable. After a good meal we'll set this place to right again."

"I'll help you, Mary," Bridget said. Before she could step away Seamus leaned in and whispered, "Did you worry for me, lass? I could feel you out there, searching for me on the water; a beacon to me, calling me home."

Bridget faced him, flushed and unsure of what to say. There was a connection they both felt but neither understood nor wanted. "It seems your brain got a bit water-logged, _laddie_ ," Bridget quipped and walked toward Farrell's with the sound of Seamus' laughter at her heels.

_ _ _

**DURING A LULL** in the commotion of helping Mary and Liam feed a village Bridget reflected on what had brought her here and the day she and Seamus met.

It was her thrice-great-grandfather's stories of Ireland that drew her to Rathmor, a quaint fishing village nestled within the crags on the outer edges of the Iveragh Peninsula on County Kerry's southwest coast. James Nicholas Mor was born in Rathmor in 1836 and left, like so many others, to seek a better life in America. He was fourteen when he boarded a ship going west, alone, with nothing but the ragged clothes he wore and a rucksack of meager rations for the voyage across the Atlantic to New York. His parents and sisters would remain behind, forever beneath Ireland's emerald mantle, victims of servitude, poverty and famine.

Bridget never met him but she felt she knew her grandfather Nicholas from the stories he left behind in his journal. In it he told of his beloved Ireland, the home of his soul, and of America the home of his heart.

Bridget took advantage of the economic slowdown to pursue a dream.

She had achieved professional and financial success as a financial analyst. During the boom times she prudently saved for the eventual downturn. Although Bridget loved her career at the outset she had become disheartened. She wanted out and when the Boston based firm of Cooper & Lyman, LLC offered buyouts she took the opportunity at first knock.

After nearly two years of research, planning and preparation she left her condo in the dubious care of her younger sister, told her most recent mistake-of-a-boyfriend goodbye, and hosted a rocking-good-time of a bon voyage party with her closest friends.

With a healthy bank account, a strategically-packed compact traveling case and Nicholas' journal, Bridget retraced James Nicholas Mor's steps - albeit in more comfortable and luxurious accommodations aboard the Queen Mary II. Departing New York for Southampton, England and from there to her ancestral home of Ireland, one hundred and sixty-three years later the circle was complete.

When Bridget arrived, in Rathmor, it was late in the afternoon on a cold day in mid January. The sun was setting, the sky feathered with pink and lavender plumes. She parked her rented Volvo in front of the pub - Farrell's Folly - and entered the white-washed, thatched-roofed, cottage-style building.

The real estate agent was to meet her here and then escort her out to the cottage Bridget had arranged to rent for six weeks. With near an hour to wait she found a cozy spot by the large stone hearth, a blazing fire combated the chill and damp of the stone building. She ordered a pot of hot tea and some homemade scones with butter and jam. They were suggested as the perfect accompaniment by her waitress, who was also the cook and co-owner, Mary Farrell.

Bridget was biting into a delightfully crumbling scone smothered with fresh butter and sweet mixed-berry jam when the door opened and a cold wind blew in around her. The hearth fire flared and her attention was drawn to the man entering to friendly hails from the locals at the bar.

A fisherman - wearing a traditional Aran sweater to keep out the cold and wet, faded jeans that artfully displayed his muscular thighs and disappeared into tall Wellington boots shimmering with seawater - returned the greetings. Unruly dark hair suited the man who made his living from the sea and framed a youthful face that simultaneously mirrored an old soul.

Bridget froze mid-bite when he focused his stormy grey eyes on her. She experienced a surge of lustful desire beyond anything she'd ever known before. She wanted to go to him, rush to greet him, welcome him back home from a dangerous sea. Every sound diminished but the rapid beating of her heart. Slowly she lowered the scone to her plate, unable to take her eyes off him as he approached her table.

He gently wiped a trace of jam from her slightly parted lips and tasted it. "Delicious."

" _Céad mille fáilte, bhean álainn._ American?" he asked.

"Yes," Bridget answered after a moment's hesitation. "I arrived at Shannon this morning. What was it you just said to me?"

" _Céad mille fáilte, bhean álainn_ \- a hundred thousand welcomes, beautiful lady. Welcome to Rathmor. I'm Seamus Gwyffuid," he said, sitting down at her table. "Thank you, Mary," he said as Mary Farrell brought Seamus a pint of Guinness and a pot of tea. Seamus poured Bridget a fresh cup of tea and one for himself, slathered butter on a scone and took a large bite; closing his eyes he blissfully savored the simple decadence that was Mary Farrell's scones. "I should know the name of the woman with whom I'm having my tea," he said, opening his eyes and fixing them on her once again.

"Bridget Mor," she responded, unsettled by the myriad intense and inexplicable feelings coursing through her.

"Goddess or Saint, I wonder," Seamus murmured.

"Excuse me?" she asked.

"Nothing. To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence here today? Are ye just passing through on your way to somewhere grand or will ye be staying a while to enjoy the simple pleasures of our humble village?" Seamus inquired, just slightly less than outright condescending.

Bridget bristled at his tone, so at odds with his outwardly smiling countenance and friendly manner. Before she could respond they were interrupted by an older woman, near as round as she was tall, her dark hair generously streaked with grey and in disarray.

"You must be Bridget Mor. I'm Marion Donlan. I'm sorry if I've kept you waiting. I see you've the misfortune to have been set upon by this rascal. I'm not afraid to tell you, you'd be wise to keep Seamus Gwyffuid at a distance during your stay in Rathmor. His reputation with the ladies is one of a string of broken hearts and my own sweet Rose one of them," Marion said in a breathless rush, her accent making it a bit difficult for Bridget to understand every word but enough to get the message.

"Marion Donlan, you wound me and give this lovely lady the wrong impression," Seamus said, rising and offering his seat to Marion. "You look fair famished, Marion. Sit and have a cup of tea while you tell Bridget the truth of how it was between sweet Rose and me. Wasn't it _she_ who left _me_ for that scoundrel that's now her husband?"

"I've not the time for that now, Seamus. I must take Bridget here out to DunMor Cottage before it's full dark and there's a bit of weather coming in. I hate to rush you, dear, but if you're ready you can follow me out and I'll make sure you're all settled in before I go home to my Tom," Marion said, waving away Seamus and the offer of his chair.

Bridget gathered up her things and left some money on the table; enough, she was sure, to cover everything. Standing to follow Marion out she curtly said goodbye to Seamus.

"How long are you staying?" he asked her.

Marion spoke before Bridget could answer. "She's let the place for six weeks but with the likes of you bothering her I imagine she'll be looking to move on earlier than planned. Leave the poor woman alone and give her a chance to get settled; meet some of the finer folks of Rathmor before you turn her against the whole place. Her great-granddad was from Rathmor and by her last name is likely to be descended from one of the great founding families of long ago," revealing much more to a stranger than Bridget would have wanted.

"Seamus is descended from one of the old families, too, only his is reputed to have been a den of pirates, smugglers and the like.

"Come now, dear; we must be going," she finished and pushed through the expanded crowd of patrons to the door.

Bridget searched Seamus' face for a reaction to all that Marion had said but only saw a roguish smile in response. She followed Marion out the door, refusing to react as Seamus caused everyone in the pub to turn their unwanted attention to her by calling out, "Welcome home Bridget Mor. I'll be sure to visit you soon at DunMor Cottage and bring you the supplies you'll be needing."

That was nearly two weeks ago. True to his word, Seamus had gone out to DunMor Cottage to visit her with half the village in tow, laden with welcoming provisions of home-baked breads, cream, butter, tea, sausages, kippers, eggs, rashers, black pudding, white pudding, and a generous supply of Mary Farrell's scrumptious scones and jam. The sun was barely up when they descended on her the morning after her arrival. Bridget, a habitual early riser, was awake to greet the welcoming horde.

Seamus had ushered several people into Bridget's kitchen with the supplies and, taking her by the hand, said "Come out of the way, Bridget, and let these ladies work. They'll have a fine breakfast ready in no time. I'm glad to see you're up early and didn't have to roust you from your bed. You'll find that's the way of it here with most of us making our living from the sea, the land, or meeting the needs of those who do. In the meantime, I want you to meet your neighbors, some of whom may well be your relations," and led a flustered Bridget out of the house into the front garden where everyone was waiting to meet her.

Surveying the crowd gathered in Farrell's for breakfast this day Bridget noted many of the same people from that first morning, several of whom were indeed related to her in one way or another through ties to her thrice-great-grandfather. In less than two weeks she had become a member of this small, vibrant community and integrated into the daily fabric of life. She knew she had Seamus to thank for it.

It had all gone wrong between them on that first full day together.

Feeling comforted by the goodwill of all those she'd met in consequence of Seamus' brash but kindly intended arrangements, Bridget accepted his offer to show her around the area. It had been a great day filled with beautiful sites, laughter, and enjoyment of each other's company. And then he kissed her.

"Do ye have more tea ready, Bridget?" Mary asked, startling her out of the recent past and back to the present.

"Oh, s...s...sorry," she stammered, "I'll have it ready in a minute." Turning back to the kettles she found Seamus' grey eyes focused intently on her, as if seeing into her thoughts. After an eternal moment he spoke.

"Never mind the tea, Bridget, it's time we got everyone to work on cleaning up that mess out there. The sun's not long up before it's gone again. Mary, if you'll spare Bridget I could really use her help gathering up whatever can be salvaged of the supplies for Inis Stéisse. Since my boat's undamaged I'll take what we can over there and see how they fared."

"Good idea, Seamus. Here we are concerned for our own troubles and there are people out there who might be in a desperate state. There's been no word and it may be their radio is out. Why don't you take a couple of the other men with you in case--" Mary was saying when Seamus interrupted her.

"No, Mary. You need all the help you can get here. Bridget and I can manage and with just the two of us in the boat there'll be more room for supplies. I'll radio in from the boat when we know what the situation is over there."

"Very well then, as you will, but you best be going. As you say, the sun is not long for the day. Get John and Denis to help you load supplies and take some of what's left here if you need it to make a full load," Mary said and ushered Bridget out the door behind Seamus.

_ _ _

**THE** _FAND_ **WAS** loaded and ready to go within the hour.

En route to Inis Stéisse, Bridget maintained as much physical distance between them as possible. Seamus piloted the boat through a choppy sea to the rocky outcropping that was home to a small group of people who chose to live a primitive existence in the way of the ancient Irish. The closer they got to the island the more her disquiet at being so close to Seamus was replaced by a growing sense of dread over what might lie ahead.

Seamus skillfully eased the _Fand_ alongside a short, sturdy pier; the boat pitched in the churning water. "Bridget, I'll hold her as close to the pier as I can while you jump out and tie her down."

Bridget did as he asked, her long legs making it easy to leap from the rocking boat onto the stable pier. Seamus' seamanship allowed her to grasp the bow and stern lines and moor the boat. Seamus cut the engine, disembarked, checked the lines and secured them to his liking.

Grasping her by the hand he led her to a narrow, rocky trail that climbed steeply up the slope of Inis Stéisse. "We'll leave all this here for now. Let's see how things are before we unload."

"How many people live out here?" she asked.

"Several hundred. The number varies with the time of year, but rarely more than six hundred or so at its peak. I expect there's no more than three hundred right now. They'll be the hardiest who remain year round," Seamus answered.

"It must be a very hard life. It's so barren and last night's storm surge probably washed over the entire island. How can they survive such harsh conditions? I'm afraid of what we'll find," Bridget quietly said.

"They're a very special group of people who hold to the old ways and seem the stronger for it. They've been through worse. However, you should know, they are wary of strangers," he warned.

"Understood."

The rock strewn path climbed away from the water, leading inland toward the craggy promontory where the reclusive community was established. They encountered no one along the way. As they approached the outskirts of the settlement - a grouping of huts and low buildings made of stone encircling a common area - they saw a large crowd was gathered. Several bodies were covered by rough-hewn blankets. Kneeling before the smallest of these was a woman hunched over in grief. A man stood behind her, his hands on her heaving shoulders.

The sound of their approach penetrated the heavy silence and a tall man on the outer ring of the group turned to face them. He held up a hand to indicate they should stay where they were. He whispered something to the woman beside him who looked their way then nodded her assent. The tall man left the gathering and approached.

"Seamus, _a bhuanchara_ , it is good to see you," he said, extending a hand in greeting.

"Diarmuid, my friend, I'm glad to see you well," Seamus responded, shaking the tall man's hand. "How many?" he asked, indicating the bodies.

"Seven: One of the elders, Tomas; Michael, his apprentice; Mary and Keavan, the herbalists; Peter and Aine, two novices you wouldn't have met; Little Maeve, Colleen and Iwan's daughter of but four years. It's a sad day for us all," Diarmuid said, his head bowed with the weight of his sorrow.

"I'm so sorry for your loss," Bridget said, bringing Diarmuid's attention to her.

"Diarmuid, this is Bridget Mor an American daughter of the Bran Mor line. She's staying in the village a while and has come to help."

Bridget shot Seamus an inquisitive look at the unusual introduction.

Diarmuid appraised Bridget silently, intently, for so long that Bridget was becoming uncomfortable despite Seamus' earlier warning. Diarmuid finally spoke, "Welcome home, Bridget, daughter of Bran Mor. Your skills will be of great assistance to us.

"I presume you did not come empty handed. How many will you need to help you unload the supplies?" Diarmuid asked, returning his attention to Seamus.

"Much was destroyed by the storm. The crates were on the quay waiting to be loaded in Liam's boat, which was also badly damaged. The _Fand_ was spared so Bridget and I brought everything that was salvageable, along with some supplies from Liam and Mary Farrell's stores to complete the load. If a couple of the young lads help us we'll get it done quick enough and be able to get back before dark," Seamus explained.

"I'll have four of the strongest help you. Bridget will come with me; I'll introduce her to the others. We can use her help in setting things to right as best we can before nightfall. Wait here but a moment. The blessing is almost completed," Diarmuid informed them before rejoining the others.

"What was with that _daughter of Bran Mor_ nonsense? And what does he think _my skills_ are to be of _great assistance_?" Bridget asked Seamus, tersely.

"As to your _skills_ I've no idea what he thinks they might be as I've yet to see much of them myself," Seamus retorted. "However, I thought that letting Diarmuid know of your ancestral ties to the area would help. Obviously, it worked. He seems quite taken with you."

"I just don't know what he thinks I'm to do when he introduces me as some ... whatever, thanks to you!" Bridget snapped.

Chuckling, Seamus replied, "Don't worry about it. Trust your instincts. I've noticed you're quick to adjust, adapt to events as they unfold and do what needs to be done. I don't think he's expecting you to work miracles. You have a rare opportunity to know a unique, interesting, reclusive group of people. I'll be back for you once the supplies are unloaded. We'll be on our way home well before dark."

Diarmuid returned with four adolescent males in his wake.

In the two hours that followed Bridget was introduced to most of the two hundred and twenty-seven residents of Inis Stéisse. They were a hardy group, all ages, stoically accepting their recent losses as part of life on the unforgiving island they called home.

There was no electricity. A battery-operated ship-to-shore radio was their only communication with the mainland. The storm had swamped the stone hut where it was kept and it was now inoperable, dashed around by the surging waves that washed over the island throughout the night before. It would have to be replaced.

Fortunately their fresh water stores were untouched. However, they truly needed the food and other supplies they'd brought. Eventually the monthly supply runs would resume and their subsistence gardens would be repaired, readied for the upcoming spring planting.

The dead were borne to a stone building with no windows and laid to rest on raised platforms. Diarmuid explained they would be cremated. Their remains later removed to a reliquary and placed in a tomb with those who have gone before. The aggrieved would hold vigil. The rest of the community would begin the work of recovery from the storm.

Bridget was impressed with their fortitude and optimism. In spite of all they'd endured, and the loved ones they'd lost, they would endure.

She was also struck by how they reacted to Diarmuid's introduction of her as a _daughter of Bran Mor_. It was as if they were assessing her while simultaneously revering her. Bridget tried not to let it bother her and did as Seamus had suggested. She operated in the moment, doing what she could to help, trusting her instincts.

Bridget began by helping with the gathering and sorting of debris strewn about. She spread soggy blankets atop rocky outcroppings to dry in the feeble February sun. Broken furniture was sent to be repaired or broken down and stacked as kindling. Cooking pots were set on peat fires and hearty stews prepared for the evening meal when they would all gather at sunset. She witnessed the healers treating the injured. Herbal remedies were given to soothe and heal. Hands were laid to affect a process she could not see but felt on an intrinsic level, stirring something she could not name or understand.

When Seamus joined them Bridget's jeans were liberally spotted with mud and were soaking wet in many areas, including her derriere from a tumble taken into a puddle. Her beige sweater was ruined, her fiery hair a riot of tangled and dampened curls. Seamus was taken aback by his desire to hold Bridget to him and never let her go. Bridget smiled when she saw him and approached, Diarmuid following.

"Seamus, please ask Mary to go to the cottage and pack a few things for me - enough for a few days at least - and bring them with you when you return tomorrow. One of the women will lend me something for tonight so I don't have to stay in these wet clothes until then. Diarmuid also made a list of some of the other things they need as soon as they can be obtained, not the least of which is a new radio," Bridget said brightly as Diarmuid held out the list for Seamus to take.

"You're not staying here," Seamus said without question. "We're leaving. Now. You can come back with me tomorrow but you can't stay here."

"Bridget is welcome to stay and we are glad of her willingness to do so," Diarmuid informed him.

"Then I'm staying, too. I'll go back to the mainland in the morning with your list, pack some clothes for both of us for a few days, and be back before sunset," Seamus said.

"You cannot stay, Seamus. You must leave before sunset and the sun approaches the horizon as we speak. Take the list and return on the morrow with what you can," Diarmuid said sternly.

"If Bridget stays so do I," Seamus stated.

"Bridget is a daughter of Bran Mor," Diarmuid responded.

"And I am a son of Rhys Gwyffuid," Seamus growled.

"Exactly. This is why you cannot stay, as you well know."

"Bloody Hell, Diarmuid! How much longer is it going to last? It's ancient history!" Seamus shouted.

"Until the Debt is paid. When that will be is beyond my ken but it will be known if and when it is done. Now, you must leave. Bridget will be well cared for here. She has already made friends and is accepted as one of us, as is her right. I will leave you to say farewell," Diarmuid said and rejoined the community that welcomed a stranger and shunned an old friend.

A daughter of Bran Mor and a son of Rhys Gwyffuid; what a fool he was to think he could ever escape the burden of who he was. Seamus saw the concern for him reflected in her eyes; eyes that captivated him from the beginning. Closing the distance between them he took hold of her hands, wanting to hold on to what he knew could never be. A truth he had known since that first kiss.

It had been a fantastic day. He'd shown her the wild beauty of their remote village and she reveled in it. He'd entertained her with tales of its colorful past. Not all of them; no, not all of them. It was a carefree, spontaneous, special day. Until it all went wrong.

One simple kiss and the recklessness within was unleashed. He felt it rage inside him as their kiss deepened, their tongues sought and danced the lovers dance. Never before had he felt so out of control, so desirous of one woman. Forbidden fruit. He broke the kiss and thrust her away from him. He saw the confusion in her eyes as he mumbled something unintelligible and left her beneath the stars on the land of her ancestors. He'd felt their scorn upon his retreating back.

He stepped away from her now, releasing her hands.

"I'll see you tomorrow, with your things, and as much as I can gather on Diarmuid's list. Go. Get changed and warm yourself by the fire. It's getting cold now the sun is nearly gone," Seamus said quietly.

Bridget watched Seamus stride down the trail to the pier and his Sea Goddess. She thought of the night he pushed her away from a kiss that seared her to her very soul. She was sure he'd wanted to kiss her again. Despite her misgivings she wanted him to. What drew them together was elemental, raw and explosive. Then, as before, he pushed her away. Perhaps, she should be thankful. She was doing what she always did: falling for the wrong man.

She didn't understand the rejection then any more than she understood it now. Nor did she understand the contentious exchange between Diarmuid and Seamus. Why couldn't he stay? She was going to find out.

Setting the _Fand_ free of her moorings he jumped aboard before the current could pull her too far away. Firing up the engine he eased her away from Inis Stéisse, forbidden desire, Bridget. He had no choice; it was taken from him centuries ago.

Bridget stayed until she heard the _Fand's_ engines fade away. Darkness consumed the path to the sea.

She felt Diarmuid's gentle touch and heard his quiet voice, "Come, the fire's warm and the stew is ready. Join us for the feast of Imbolc."
Three

**THE NIGHT WAS WARM FOR FEBRUARY** , the promise of spring in the air. Wearing a simple dress, a blanket settled on her shoulders, Bridget sat next to Diarmuid before one of the large fires and ate a delicious chicken stew.

"Imbolc, from sundown of February 1st to sunrise of February 2nd, is an ancient fire feast in celebration of the coming of spring. It is the feast of your namesake, Brighid of the Tuatha Dé Danann. In honor of the Christian Saint Brigit the day is also Saint Brigit's day, or Candlemas. Imbolc is a celebration of new life and rebirth. Even as we mourn the loss of our own we celebrate life," Diarmuid explained.

Bridget observed everyone was tired from an exhausting day's work, emotionally drained, and huddled before the fire eating their stew, sharing quiet conversation. They did not look like a group of people ready to celebrate anything. She noticed small bundles on the outskirts of the fire. "Diarmuid, what's in those?" she asked.

"Offerings. Sacrifices, if you will. Some contain precious objects that belonged to those who died. Others contain things precious to the person who is making the offering. They will be given to the fire and the blessing of Brighid asked for in exchange. Imbolc is a time of spiritual celebration, a time to give thanks for the end of the harshness of winter, the beginning of spring and the season of growth. It is a time to celebrate our connection to all that sustains us - the land, the sea, the sky, the earth itself and the universe beyond - and remind ourselves that we thrive when we honor and preserve that connection and wither when we do not.

"The fire is a symbol of cleansing and renewal, of rebirth. The eternal flame of life is associated with Brighid and Saint Brigit, alike. Saint Brigit was born of a druid father about twenty years after Saint Patrick returned to Ireland to bring Christianity to the people. Her monastery in Kildare was established on the site where Brighid's sacred fire burned and the nuns kept alight an eternal flame from the sixth century until Henry VIII banned all monasteries in 1539. The fire of Brighid was born in the woman who was to become the Christian Saint Brigit. As, I believe, the flame of Brighid has been born in you.

"Brighid, of the Tuatha Dé Danann, was revered by the people as a goddess of fertility and life; a mother goddess," Diarmuid continued. "Moreover, she was seen as a triple-goddess. Three aspects united by fire: fire of inspiration, fire of the hearth, fire of the forge. Brighid was the daughter of Dagda and wife of Bres. To the Tuatha Dé Danann Brighid also represented fertility and life. As with the Phoenix, that is destroyed in fire but renewed life is born of the ashes, so was the life-giving fire of Brighid to the Tuath Dé. When she was lost to them, so began the diminishing of their race and their eventual retreat from this world."

"You are talking of myths and legends, Diarmuid; fanciful tales before the fire. Entertaining, I'll admit, but you can't seriously believe that I have any connection to either of these women. I understand and respect that you and your people hold to the old ways but I can't accept the role you are offering me. I'm just an average American fortunate to be pursuing a dream and tracing my Irish roots."

"And that dream has brought you to us, as it was meant to do. Your ancestor's journals were left for you because he knew someone in his line would be born a druid. That person would be drawn to them, see things in them that no one else could. You are special, Bridget, and you have an obligation to your ancestors to fulfill your destiny. The three aspects - inspiration or knowledge, hearth or healing, forge or craftsmanship - they are yours to wield, to share, to teach.

"You have probably had people call you an _old soul_. Things have generally come easy to you and you did very well in school; it was as if you already knew much of what was being taught. For you it was as if the layers of an onion were being removed to reveal the layer beneath that you knew all along was there. When anyone needed help understanding something you were a willing tutor. Intuitively you find ways to heal yourself and others, holistically first and foremost but you appreciate and marvel at the wonders of modern medicine. A single, finely-crafted toy was your preference to the multitude of lesser quality, more popular ones your friends would receive at Christmas. How am I doing?" he asked.

"All true, but that could describe a lot of people. It means nothing of what you're implying," Bridget responded.

"In your case this, and more, is just the outside layer of the onion. You have not had the opportunity to reveal all that lies beneath.

"Our world is old, the universe older still, and the knowledge humanity beholds and retains is infinitesimal in comparison to that which the ancient race of the Tuatha Dé Danann possess. The name means the people of the goddess Danu, or Tuath Dé \- tribe of the gods. It is a name given to them by the people of Ériu, of Ireland. Their true name is not known to any outsider.

They desired to share their knowledge with the people, improve lives, and help them reach their potential. However, the disparity between the races was so vast that the people saw them as supernatural beings, gods and goddesses, and feared and worshipped them accordingly. It was this that led to the great civil war amongst the Tuath Dé. While most abhorred being viewed in this way there were others who saw it as an opportunity to seize power, enslave the people, and enrich themselves. It was during the civil war that Brighid was believed to have been killed. It is also when the first druids were born. "

Bridget listened intently to Diarmuid, fascinated by his tales of the ancient race and mesmerized by his voice. He raised his hand and soon they were being served a full-bodied, tart red wine in intricate golden goblets etched with spirals and studded with small emeralds. The globe was full and squat, the stem short and wide.

"All this talking has made me thirsty. I hope you like it, it's my own special blend," Diarmuid said, handing Bridget one of the goblets.

"Thank you. These are beautiful and they appear to be very old," Bridget said, taking a sip of the wine. "Strong," she said, coughing a little.

"It's an acquired taste. The wine will take you by surprise so sip slowly, savor it, and you'll find it to be quite pleasing. The goblets were made some time in the years just before Christ was born. They were a gift from a dear friend, a long time ago."

"Over two thousand years old! And you have them out here, in the middle of the ocean, and drink wine out of them every day! They must be priceless!" Bridget exclaimed.

Diarmuid smiled. "Perhaps they are, but they are mine and I value them enough to enjoy them as my friend intended. Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the birth of the first druids.

"The Tuath Dé understood that they could not fulfill their desire to live amongst the people and share their knowledge freely with them. The disparity was too great and it had led to devastating unintended consequences. Damage was done and they could not simply leave so they sought an alternative. Through the mingling of the races, choosing certain couples to receive the light of Danu during conception, some special children were born. Their lifespan would be similar to humans - albeit somewhat longer if allowed to die of natural causes - but they would be reborn with the knowledge and skills of each past life known to them. The Tuath Dé would teach the druids and the druids would teach the people. In this way the knowledge of the Tuath Dé would be shared with humanity through members of their own race, over time, as people were able to accept and see the truth. History has proven things were not to be so simple. It is into this legacy, Bridget, you were born and have now come here to fulfill."

Diarmuid stopped speaking to take a sip of wine, his gaze focused on Bridget, assessing. She saw in his eyes the moment he decided to move forward, and then seem to reconsider. "What is it, Diarmuid that you're not sure you want to say?"

"Bridget, forgive my boldness, but I sense you and Seamus have feelings for each other beyond friendship. He's a good man, Seamus, and a good friend. However, there are things about him, about his family, about his connection to the druids that you do not know. A relationship between you has no future."

"We hardly know each other well enough to talk about any kind of relationship. I won't deny there's an attraction between us but Seamus pushes me away or, perhaps more accurately, pulls himself back all the time. I imagine he agrees with you. However, I fail to see why whatever our ancestors did or did not do should have any bearing on us here and now."

"That is what you do not understand, Bridget. The past does have an effect on the here and now, and directly affects you and Seamus."

"Maybe you should explain it to me, Diarmuid, over a bit more wine." The wine was fortifying and she sensed she had a long night ahead of her.

"Very well," Diarmuid agreed, refilling their goblets.
Four

**WITH THE EXPANSION OF THE ROMAN** Empire into Celtic lands the traditions of the Celts were systematically destroyed," Diarmuid began. "The people were encouraged to embrace the ways of Rome or face the punishment associated with rebellion. Druids were persecuted, their sacred groves and wells destroyed. Tales of human sacrifice were told in order to turn the people away from the Celts, the Druids, and their ancient rites. By 60 A. D. Anglesey, Wales - Mam Cymru, Mother of Wales, in Welsh - had become the last stronghold of Druidism in the British Isles. The Romans feared the Druids of Anglesey's power to organize rebellious tribes. They had to be dealt with.

"In the year before Seutonius Paulinus led the invasion of Anglesey the Romans successfully defeated the neighboring Welsh tribes. In Anglesey, however, the Celts felt secure, situated as they were off the mainland of North Wales and surrounded by the sea. A narrow strip of water, the Menai Straits, separated Anglesey from the mainland. The Straits are treacherous, fast-moving waters, with strong tides and quicksand. Knowledge of these hazards was essential to any successful attack.

"The Celts were self-sufficient, the land rich and fertile. Copper mines provided a valuable resource. It was because of this that Rhys Gwyffuid - Seamus' ancestor - an accomplished seaman and renowned pirate, navigated the Menai Straits regularly. Rhys traded with the Romans as often as he raided their ships on the open sea. He would use Anglesey as a home port as much as any other, taking advantage of the insular nature of the island that the Romans named Mona Insulis," Diarmuid explained.

"You're saying Rhys Gwyffuid provided the Romans with the information they needed to navigate the Menai Straits two thousand years ago and because of that his ancestors have borne the blame. I agree it was a terrible thing to do but it hardly seems fair that Seamus should be judged by the acts of someone else and from so long ago," Bridget said.

"Mere words do not have the power to convey the horror wrought by Rhys Gwyffuid's betrayal. Look into the fire, Bridget. See into the past and bear witness," Diarmuid directed her.

Hesitating briefly, Bridget complied. As she focused on the fire the sound of the ocean faded away. The subdued voices silenced until all that remained for Bridget was the fire. The flames danced, writhed, evolved into images and beckoned Bridget deeper into the conflagration. Compelled she went and followed the fiery specters as they opened a gateway to the past.

_ _ _

_DIARMUID STOOD ALONE_ _on the shore shrouded in dense fog as dawn approached and recognized the stench of evil in the air. He had failed, missed the signs, become complacent. Now the people he was responsible for, the people he loved, would suffer the consequences. If he asked for help would they come? Was there even time? To the Aos Si time was something that flowed, ebbed with the rhythm of the universe, within which they moved freely. Time did not hold the same finite, urgent need for action with them as it did those who were now facing destruction. Nevertheless, he had to try and so he begged the attention of the Council and their immediate assistance._

With the dawn came the revelation of the enemy arrayed against them. On the Welsh mainland, less than three hundred feet away and separated by the turbulent waters of the Menai Straits, a force of Roman soldiers numbering in the thousands was preparing to attack the Druids of Anglesey and the Celts who lived under their protection. Diarmuid recognized their commander to be Seutonius Paulinus, the ambitious, renowned leader of the XIV Gemima. With so many legionnaires encamped on the mainland it would appear he had combined his own force with that of another. Diarmuid knew Paulinus was a man who did not like to lose, and rarely did. He would have come with a plan he believed would breach the natural defense afforded Anglesey by the treacherous Straits. It would be up to Diarmuid and his Druids to defeat that plan.

In addition to his seasoned, battle-tested solders Paulinus had horses, boats, ballistae and onagers - catapults and siege weapons capable of raining fiery missiles, iron, stones and boulders down on them from across the divide. Amply supplied with weapons, armor, food, water and tents Paulinus was capable of waging a sustained siege against them. Diarmuid instructed his Druids to ensure the people were ready to fight and defend their sanctuary. There was nowhere to run and not enough places in which to hide.

The Celts were fearsome warriors, employing tactics that included overwhelming the enemy with a full-on charge, separating their forces, and positioning themselves to make best use of their close-in weapons of sword, dagger and shield. They also used intimidation as a weapon, seeking to strike fear in their enemies of the wild, savage Celts arrayed against them. The Druids among them employed the forces of nature to fortify this weapon of fear. Diarmuid watched as the Celts and Druids amassed on the shores of Anglesey, some with armor for protection and others with none. Heads bore long, wild tresses lifted by the strong winds or protective helmets. Hands wielded swords, daggers, spears, javelins, crossbows or stones. Arms bore shields fastened with leather straps. Chariots raced back and forth at the fore, raising the battle cry. The Druids cast a Glamour over the throng to enhance the threat, making mere children appear as men, women as sisters of the renowned and feared warrior Queen Boudicca. The cry of the Celts was raised to a level that crossed the distance and penetrated into the very heart, mind and soul of the enemy; caused even the bravest among them to tremble and doubt.

Paulinus saw the tactics of the Celts and the magic of the Druids were affecting his men. He watched the fear overtake them, their limbs begin to shake. Cursing he mounted and rode among them, berated them for letting a bunch of savages intimidate the legions of Rome. He reminded them what they would face if returned to Rome in shame instead of victors and heroes. Paulinus successfully combated the intimidation and turned it into a fearsome motivating force that drove his soldiers into a frenzy, thirsting for blood and revenge as they sought to ameliorate the shame they bore because of their earlier fear.

While the Roman soldiers prepared to launch their attack Diarmuid and his Druids prepared to thwart and defend while simultaneously planning for retreat and concealment once the battle was joined. Diarmuid surmised Paulinus planned to cross at slack water. The boats they were loading with men, weapons and supplies were small and flat-bottomed, better suited to successfully navigating the Straits. The cavalry prepared to swim across beside their horses, ready to mount and charge the Celts once ashore. Ballistae and onagers were loaded and ready to fire, reload and fire, providing coverage for the advance and inflicting destruction on the people gathered on the opposite shore. The superior number and battle-proven strategy of the Roman legionnaires would overwhelm the courageous but less equipped tribesmen; it would be a bloody rout if Paulinus' troops succeeded in crossing the narrow strip of water that up to now had provided them with a natural, protective barrier. Paulinus was a smart man, a brilliant strategist, Diarmuid knew. He also knew that Paulinus had devised this strategy with the aid of someone who knew these waters well; someone who had been a friend.

Diarmuid again appealed for help from the Tuatha Dé Danann; again there was no response. For centuries, after retreating from this world and leaving only a few Guardians to serve as liaisons and teachers to the Druids - the children of the blending of the races - the Tuatha Dé Danann had stayed out of the affairs of men. Their earlier, altruistic attempt to share their knowledge with the human race had led to a devastating and nearly genocidal civil war between rival factions of the Tuath Dé. They would not answer his call.

The attack would begin soon. Diarmuid instructed his Druids to array the forces of nature against the soldiers as they attempted the crossing, expecting to cause many of their number to perish in the attempt. Meanwhile, the charioteers were positioned strategically to be able to charge through the landed soldiers and cavalry before they had a chance to mobilize an ordered advance. The foot soldiers were to advance and retreat in waves, inflicting losses and also overwhelming the landed troops before they could organize and advance further onshore. Once it became clear the tide had turned against them they were to retreat, seek higher ground from which to mount a defense, seek out places in which they could hide and gather strength, from where they could launch strategic attacks. However, Diarmuid was not confident the tribal people would listen. They were not known to retreat and once engaged in a fight they would fight to the death; it was like to be their own this day. His Druids would seek to do all they could to offer protection but it would not be enough. He hoped many of them would seek refuge when the time came and survive; there were so few of them left.

Waiting until the Romans were in the water, boats and cavalry, Diarmuid turned the slack water into a roiling tempest capsizing boats, separating horse and rider, drowning men and beasts. Roman archers launched a volley that caused as much damage to their own as to the Celts on shore. The onslaught from the ballistae and onagers was devastating despite the efforts of the Druids to divert their aim, extinguish the fires, and change the composition of the matter that was launched. There was just too much for them to contend with. The charioteers had inflicted losses on the solders that had managed to survive the crossing and were the first to land on shore. But they, too, were becoming overwhelmed with sheer numbers and it was time for those who could to retreat. The Celts were now heavily involved in hand-to-hand combat. They had inflicted more losses than they suffered, at first. But now the Romans had overwhelmed them and were cutting through them brutally, without mercy, butchering anyone in their path, including children as they were in retreat.

Diarmuid instructed the Druids to seek shelter, take as many people as they could with them and protect their refuge with a Blind; he would join them when he was able. With a heavy heart, sad and angry at the decisions of the Aos Si and the limitations they had placed on him, he watched the massacre of the people he loved. He had tried to protect and enlighten, but was destined to fail in the end. Diarmuid concealed the retreat of as many of the Druids and Celts that he could, created obstacles to hamper the advancing soldiers, formed specters before them in an attempt to bewilder and frighten. Paulinus had done his job well, however; these men would rather die on this island than return to Rome shamed by fear.

With the battle lost, his people decimated, Diarmuid channeled his energy to protecting the few who survived and sought refuge in those places the Druids had prepared for them to hide. He reinforced the enchantments that concealed them and concealed himself from the Romans as they continued to destroy all that was sacred to his people. The sacred groves were cut down and set afire, the wells poisoned, funeral pyres created amidst the destruction and those who could not flee the battlefield, the living and the dead, were thrown into the flames.

_ _ _

**AS THE FLAMES** of Anglesey flared and joined with the flames on Inis Stéisse, Bridget rejoined the present. The sound of the ocean returned along with the murmur of voices and quiet laughter. Aware that her face was wet with tears she wiped them away with trembling hands. Turning to face Diarmuid, he took her hands and folded them around the goblet of wine that he must have taken from her when she was _there_ , with _him_ , in the past; seeing it through _his_ eyes. How could that be?

"Drink, Bridget." She drank Diarmuid's strong wine; felt it permeate, calming her.

"Suetonius Paulinus was determined to completely eliminate the remaining Druids, removing the threat to Roman Britain they represented. Those who survived the massacre at Anglesey would have been found eventually, such was his determination, if it had not been for Queen Boudicca. When Roman forces came to take her lands after the death or her husband she resisted and was beaten and raped, along with her daughters, in retaliation. In revenge she led her people, the Iceni, in rebellion. The Trinovantes soon joined forces with Boudicca and she led them on a rampage so devastating that Paulinus was forced to return and leave Anglesey.

"Paulinus was eventually successful in defeating Queen Boudicca and she chose to take her own life rather than allow herself to be taken prisoner and paraded in triumph through Rome, like the Celtic warlord Caratacus a decade earlier.

"With Paulinus otherwise occupied the survivors of Anglesey buried their dead. The Field of the Long Battle, the Field of Bitter Lamentation, and _Plas Goch_ \- the Red Place - remain to bear witness to the carnage of that terrible day.

"The survivors made their way to Holyhead and from there to Ireland, which remained free of Roman invasion. It was to have been Rhys Gwyffuid who provided the ships and safe passage to Ireland and settlement of a new Druid sanctuary and stronghold; Inis Stéisse. Instead, it was Rhys Gwyffuid who betrayed the Druids and the people of Anglesey. He was found and brought, along with his entire family, before the Druid High Council.

"Rhys Gwyffuid confessed the extent of his betrayal: revealing to Paulinus Diarmuid's plan to begin evacuating Anglesey to a new protectorate in Ireland - the exact location, fortunately, unknown to him; failing to provide those ships as originally planned and scheduled; helping Paulinus craft a strategy to defeat the Straits. His reward: gold; a position of power in Anglia; a pardon for piracy, allowing him to continue trade and plunder for Rome.

"Rhys lay his cursed gold at the feet of the High Council and begged forgiveness for all that his treachery had wrought. He pleaded, not for his own life but for the lives of his family.

"After he was captured in the act of pirating a Roman vessel he was brought before Paulinus. As punishment, Paulinus threatened to kill him but only after he witnessed the torture and killing of his family. For their lives he bargained away the lives of the Druids and Celts of Anglesey.

"The Tuath Dé members on the Druid High Council imposed the Debt on Rhys, his family, and their descendents until such time as the Debt would be considered paid. Their lives would be spared as long as they were spent in service to the Druids of Inis Stéisse. However, the punishment of Banishment would also be imposed. Although they were in service to the people of Inis Stéisse they would not be allowed to be one with them. The sunrise to sunset restriction was established at that time.

"Gwyffuid and his family settled on the nearby shore, which is now Rathmor, earned their living from the sea - as they had always done - and honored the Debt. Failure to comply would incur the sentence of death. Understand, Bridget, the sentences imposed on Rhys Gwyffuid, his family, and his descendents were of the Tuatha Dé Danann and not the Druids who sat on the High Council. Such a sentence would be beyond our ability to enforce, but not the Tuath Dé."

Bridget had focused on the fire before her as she listened to Diarmuid, trying to understand what she had seen in the flames and reconcile that with what he was telling her. She turned her attention to the goblet in her hands, fashioned during the time before Christ and given to the man beside her; through whose eyes she had witnessed the massacre at Anglesey.

"You were there, at Anglesey, and were a member of the Druid High Council at Inis Stéisse when the sentences of Debt and Banishment were imposed. How can that be?" Bridget whispered. "How can that be, Diarmuid?" she asked, her voice rising. "How the Hell can that be?" she shouted, her attention now firmly focused on him.

At her outburst conversation stopped and all attention focused on them until assured by a slight movement of Diarmuid's hand.

"I was born of the union between a Tuath Dé and one of the original Druids. I am a Druid. However, because I am three fourths Tuath Dé I am long-lived. I was born in the year 1306 B.C., in Ireland, near what is now known as Wexford. My father was killed in battle and my mother left with the Tuatha Dé Danann. Bridget, I know this all seems implausible but keep an open mind and let your instincts guide you," Diarmuid said, placing a comforting hand on hers.

Bridget shook her head as if trying to clear it. "Over three thousand years old and you barely look a day over a thousand. Amazing!" she quipped. Diarmuid laughed.

"Is everyone here like you?" she asked.

"No, at least they are not as ancient as I. They are all Druids, of one level or another, but they are all living a normal, human lifespan. I am among the last of my kind. There are less than fifty of us who remain and we - along with our Tuath Dé Guardians - are responsible for finding, guiding, teaching and protecting the Druids wherever they may be.

"Ireland was a safe haven for Druids but the most skilled and knowledgeable had been at Anglesey and many were killed. Ireland had not been invaded by the Romans but that could change. After Anglesey Inis Stéisse - The Island of the Reborn - was established as a new protectorate and center of Druidism.

"I failed them in Anglesey and I have tried to atone for all those lives every day since."

"From what I saw you did everything you could. Because of you there were survivors," Bridget responded.

"Because of me, because I trusted the wrong man, they died and the world suffered for their loss.

"You are very special, Bridget, and I hope you will let me help you find out just how exceptional you are."

"I'm not saying I believe all...this," Bridget said, waving her hand in an all-encompassing arc, "but I'm intrigued enough to listen and curious enough to give you the chance to convince me. Does Seamus know about you and all the details of the Debt?"

"The nature of the obligation - its origin, requirements, and consequences - has been meticulously passed down from generation to generation. Each generation wonders if they will be the one to see the Debt finally paid in full. Seamus is an honorable man and I consider him my friend, but the Debt and the banishment will always be between us; as it will be with you."

Not wanting to consider any relationship between her and Seamus, especially one that Diarmuid was concerned about, Bridget wondered, "In nearly two thousand years no one has failed to honor the Debt?"

"Rhys Gwyffuid's youngest son, Rhodri, was not yet a man but old enough to remember and miss his previous life. He chafed at the restrictions placed on him and was angered, and shamed, by the banishment order. You can imagine the feelings of the survivors of Anglesey toward Rhys Gwyffuid and his family. The friendship and goodwill you see between us and Seamus did not exist then, and would not for many years. Rhodri was to ferry supplies to Inis Stéisse. Instead, he took the supplies, sailed to a nearby village, sold the supplies and then sailed on intending to return to Anglia. The boat came ashore the next day. Rhodri was dead, a purse filled with coin held in outstretched hands as if in offering. That story is also told to every Gwyffuid bound to the Debt."

Bridget was silent for a while, looking into the flames. Diarmuid let her have whatever time she needed, knowing her natural curiosity and thirst for knowledge would guide her and lead her where he wanted her to go: to him and her destiny.

It had been over five hundred years since one of her caliber had come to him and Arianne had been killed so young; had yet to return.

He would protect Bridget, teach her, and prepare her for what would come. _I'm sorry, Seamus, my friend. Bridget is not for you, she is for the world._

"Are you tired, Bridget? Would you like to go to your rest?" Diarmuid asked.

Roused from her thoughts Bridget looked around and saw that most everyone had already gone. She did not feel tired, and with all that was spinning around in her mind she would not sleep. She looked at Diarmuid who appeared as alert as ever. "If you're not tired I'd like to talk some more."

Smiling, Diarmuid said, "What would you like to talk about?"

"Nicholas Mor and Rathmor, _the place of his soul_. His journals spoke of Rathmor with so many mixed emotions: pride, joy, sorrow, pain. He wrote that Rathmor was named for his ancestors who were, at one time, members of royalty. However, he was living in dire poverty when he left during the famine." Suspending disbelief in Diarmuid's personal story, Bridget asked, "Did you know him?"

"I did. But perhaps we should start his story with the arrival of his royal ancestors, _your_ royal ancestors. It was due to another massacre that Bran Mor came to establish what is now known as the village of Rathmor.

"Ruari Oge O'More, chief of Leix and Offaly, was such a thorn in the side of England's Queen Elizabeth that a plan was derived to exterminate the entire Clan O'More, along with the other aligned clans.

"On January 1, 1577 - under the guise of convening a banquet during which items of a Queen's Peace would be presented to the clans - they were coldly and systematically murdered by the English troops under command of Sir Francis Crosby, aided by members of the O'Dempsey clan. The massacre at Mullach-Maisten devastated the clans with over six hundred dead, including one hundred and eighty O'Mores.

"Hugh O'Lalor managed to escape the trap and spread word to the clans of the treachery. It was due to his actions that anyone survived, including Ruari Oge who later brought vengeance down on Crosby and all who aided him.

"Survivors fled to the west, among them Bran Mor, cousin to Ruari Oge and your ancestor.

"As with all the ancient Irish ruling clans the customs and traditions of old were honored. Included amongst these traditions was to have members of the clan devoted to learning the Druidic arts and serving in that capacity. Bran Mor was one such as this.

"He knew of the island of Inis Stéisse, having been there as a student of Druidism for several years before returning to serve his king and the people of the aligned clans, the Seven Septs of Leix. Bran settled the remnants of his family in the seaside village established by Rhys Gwyffuid. He built a simple dwelling at first - the cottage you rented, DunMor Cottage. Later on he built what came to be known as Rathmor Castle, now fallen to ruin. The village of Dyled Gwaed - Blood Debt - was henceforth known as Rathmor.

"What the English could not do over centuries of invasion and persecution the Great Famine did in just a few short years. It is then that your thrice-great-grandfather, James Nicholas Mor, left Ireland for America; as did so many of the Irish. From death and immigration Ireland's population was cut in half.

"Nicholas was one of the few remaining direct descendants of Bran Mor. The Druid High Council advised him to leave Rathmor in hopes of ensuring the survival of his line."

"He was a druid? That explains some of the more obscure notations in his journals," Bridget commented.

"He was," Diarmuid confirmed. "However, he left before his training could be completed. Not that we ever stop learning, growing and seeking the truth. An essential task of a druid is to seek the truth in all things and to help others in their own quest."

"I suppose that is one reason why Nicholas traveled so extensively throughout America, including Canada and Mexico. It was not an easy task in his day, but he accomplished so much. What he wrote about his experiences inspired me and made me wish I had known the man. I wanted to follow in his footsteps. To do that, I had to begin where he had; in Ireland."

"The Heritage was strong in your grandfather, but undisciplined. Moreover, he did not have the support of a community. It was wise of him to keep his journals so that those of his line born with the gift would have something to guide them and, perhaps, even lead them back here, to Inis Stéisse," Diarmuid said.

"My father used to read passages from them when we were younger. When I was old enough to read his journals myself I would spend hours going through them, over and over again, to the point where I knew every word. I seemed to learn something new each time, even to this day. It's as if there are secrets hidden amongst the visible words on the page, revealed to me in their own time," Bridget explained.

"I'm pleased to know Nicholas' own skills had advanced to such a degree. Was there anything in particular that you remember, or made the greatest impression on you?" Diarmuid asked.

"As I said, it was the extent of his travels. Moreover, it was where he went most often, what he did there, and how much he valued those experiences over any other.

"He would seek out the native populations of North America. Their connection to the land, the water, the sky - elemental and spiritual - mirrored his own beliefs and he said he learned much from them. He lived among them for months at a time, various tribes in various locations, and was accepted as one of them. He hated the way they were treated, persecuted; their culture and ancient ways decimated. There were parallels to the way the Irish had been treated for centuries. Their lands seized, culture destroyed, people impoverished; much the same as your story of the Druids."

"Now that you are here, Bridget, what do you want to do?"

"What I came here to do," she stated. "Follow in Nicholas Mor's footsteps. That would seem to include spending time here, on Inis Stéisse, to learn what I can of Druidry. That is, if you will let me stay and if you are willing to teach me."

Diarmuid smiled. "It would be my great honor, Bridget Mor, daughter of Bran Mor."
Five

**THE SUN WAS ALREADY LOW IN** the sky by the time Seamus moored at the island of Inis Stéisse. It had taken all morning to gather up the items on Diarmuid's list. _He_ was anxious to see Bridget again, see how she had fared spending the night in such primitive conditions. He had not slept well at all.

Bridget was laying down a fire beneath the open-hearth oven when Seamus found her. She was still wearing the borrowed clothes from last night. Her long hair was braided but unruly strands escaped, fluttered around her eyes, frustrating her as she tried to focus on the task at hand. She knelt before the pile of stacked and layered wood and extended her hands outward, close but not touching the kindling at the base. Seamus took note of her intense focus and her apparent frustration. She looked up to ask Diarmuid something. Diarmuid knelt beside Bridget, folded his hands around hers and spoke softly - words Seamus could not hear. Slowly a flame rose from within the center of the pyre; tentative, weak, almost dying out before it flared and was joined by others. Bridget laughed with delight, ecstatic as a child on Christmas morning.

Seamus knew what she had done. He knew what Diarmuid was doing. He did not like it, not one bit.

"Bridget, I've brought your things. Perhaps you'd like to change into something more comfortable," Seamus called out, interrupting them.

"Seamus! Oh, thank you! My own clothes were still too damp to put on this morning. We're going to start baking some bread but I'll take a few minutes to change and take a break. Are you hungry? Why don't you come with me and we'll have something hot to drink and some bread and cheese," she said, excitement speeding the flow of her words.

"Thank you, Diarmuid. I'll be back soon to help with the bread," she said, taking Seamus by the hand and leading him away toward a small beehive hut that had been allotted to her.

"Pull up a rock, Seamus, and I'll be right out. Then we can get something to eat. I have so much to tell you!" Seamus sat on a nearby stone - which was relatively flat-topped and comfortable enough to serve its purpose - and waited with dread.

Bridget emerged wearing faded loose-fitting jeans, a long pullover sweater that settled around her hips, and sturdy hiking boots. The emerald green sweater accentuated her eyes, prominent in a face dusted with freckles, flushed by the cold, and framed by a wild mane of russet curls reasonably tamed by the braid. She was everything he wanted and more. She was everything he could not have.

"Ah, I feel better. Thank you, again, Seamus. I'm starved; let's go eat."

They sat at a table near the central fire where she and Diarmuid had spent all night talking, teaching, and learning. The tea was good, strong and steaming; the bread hearty, spread with sweet butter; the cheese sharp and crumbly. A feast!

"This is an amazing place, Seamus; the people so intriguing. And to think, if not for the storm I'd probably never have known of their existence. When I decided to trace my grandfather's past I never dreamed it would entail anything like this. But this is exactly where his journals were meant to lead me and I have you to thank for bringing me here."

_Well, isn't that just grand_ , Seamus thought. _If you're looking for someone to blame, just look in the mirror._ Instead, he said, "I'm glad for you. I'm sure Diarmuid will welcome you back anytime you like."

"Actually, I'll be staying for a while. There's so much for me to learn and Diarmuid has been kind enough to offer to teach me. Nicholas spent time here before he left for America. My own journey begins here, too.

"Last night I experienced a celebration of Imbolc - albeit subdued due to the recent lives lost - in the ways of the ancients. Diarmuid and I talked until the sun came up. He told me so much about my ancestors, about himself, about the history of Inis Stéisse and the people here. I experienced the most amazing things, physically and spiritually. I felt closer to my thrice-great-grandfather than I ever have before. It was the most incredible birthday I've ever had."

"Birthday?"

"February first. My thirtieth. It was, by far, the most memorable and unique to date.

"I need to get back to help with the bread baking. And I know you need to be heading back. Would you do something for me, Seamus?"

"Of course," he said, keeping the pain out of his voice, erecting barriers around his heart too late to provide protection.

"Go to DunMor Cottage and bring me my grandfather's journals. They're in a carved box near my bed. I'd so love to have them here with me." Bridget leaned over the space between them and kissed his cheek. "See you tomorrow?" she asked.

"First thing in the morning," he replied, and watched her walk away, joy in every step.

_ _ _

**SEAMUS WAS OUT** with the sun the next day and delivered the intricately carved box to Bridget, receiving another chaste kiss in gratitude.

He came every day, landing on Inis Stéisse at sunrise and leaving at sunset. He worked to help the druid community rebuild, repairing the damage from the storm. He prepared plots for the first planting of crops that would survive the early spring weather. He worked with, or near, Bridget every chance he could; a moth to the flame.

Bridget buried herself in the work. She immersed herself in the training. She greedily consumed the wealth of Druidic knowledge and skill that Diarmuid and the others willingly, enthusiastically, shared. She thrived and excelled. Every night she pored over her grandfather's journals, secrets within revealing themselves to her as her capacity to understand them grew.

Every day Seamus came and worked with her, with the others, giving so much of his time and skills. The attraction between them was never far from the surface, waiting to erupt whenever they were close. Beyond the physical attraction Bridget admired Seamus. His selflessness endeared him to her, betrayed his facade of a rogue. She found herself looking for him to arrive every morning and wishing he could stay every night.

It had been two weeks and the sun was setting once more. Seamus was preparing to leave. He had not seen Bridget in over an hour and was loathe to leave without saying goodbye. He would miss that last touch, the sweet kiss; restrained but holding the promise of so much more. He would hold onto the memory of it through the long night until he saw her again in the morning, bathed in the sun's new light, waiting for him on the pier.

"I was afraid I'd be too late. I have something for you," Bridget said, running down the path, skidding on the loose stones. She held out a necklace fashioned from finely braided leather and bearing a polished stone pendant. An intricate symbol, Celtic in design, was carved on one side. Bridget placed it over Seamus' head, settling it around his neck, the pendant resting in the hollow of his throat.

"I wanted to give you something, to thank you, for everything you've done. Promise me you'll wear it when you come back tomorrow. You will come back tomorrow, won't you?"

Seamus touched the carved pendant, the warmth of the stone penetrating his flesh. "Thank you, Bridget. I'll be here with the sun."

Bridget took hold of his hands and leaned in to meet his kiss; lingering, savoring.

Seamus wanted to take her with him but knew she would not go. "Until tomorrow," he said when they parted.

"Ah, there you are, Bridget! I'm sorry to disturb you but Maureen was wondering if you might help her with one of the goats. She says you shared some unique insights into a similar problem the other day," Diarmuid said, from the top of the path.

"Until tomorrow, Seamus. Don't forget to wear this," she whispered, touching the stone at his neck. Turning away she strode up the trail, passing by Diarmuid as he walked down.

"You are my friend, Seamus. As your friend I must caution you against walking a path that is littered with insurmountable obstacles. I am not blind to the attraction between you and Bridget. However, you must know that any relationship you might have would be difficult at best, and likely dangerous to pursue. There is so much arrayed against you."

"I know, Diarmuid. It haunts me every moment of every day. Every precious moment I spend with her I'm drawn to her like no one ever before. I have been from the first time we met. No matter how much I tell myself I should stay away, I can't. I keep hoping there'll be some way, some change in this curse. Perhaps it is with us that my family's burden will end. I'm willing to risk it all for her as surely my life will be empty without her. Diarmuid, please find a way. There must be some way for me to be with the woman I love. You were there, you must know of a way," Seamus pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Seamus. If it were in my power to do anything I would. Since the actions of your ancestor incurred the wrath of the Tuath Dé they have never revealed to me how or when the Debt might be satisfied," Diarmuid answered. Looking to the setting sun he said, "You'd best be on your way, _a bhuanchara_. I'll see you tomorrow. I know you will not stay away."

Diarmuid watched Seamus skillfully navigate the turbulent sea surrounding Inis Stéisse, returning to Rathmor, the prison of generations of Gwyffuid's before him and likely of his descendents. Diarmuid was afraid of what tomorrow would bring. He sensed a change, a new force at work, a danger to all that had been and might yet be. He feared the danger was in Bridget, in the forbidden love she bore for a son of Rhys Gwyffuid, traitor to the Druids.
Six

**BRIDGET STOOD AT THE EDGE OF** the cliff facing east. She waited for the sun to rise and bring with it the man she yearned for and, despite her better judgment, was falling in love with. When Seamus left last evening at sunset, the two of them holding onto each precious minute together, she had decided it was foolish for either of them to deny it any longer.

During the past two weeks Bridget had learned much about the Druids of Inis Stéisse: their history, unique abilities, mission, and their connection to her and her ancestors. She discovered much about herself, her ancestry, her own unique abilities and destiny. The historical bond of Seamus' family with the people of the Island of the Reborn, of the Debt, had been revealed. A debt that should have been considered repaid long ago, Bridget thought.

Bridget believed the sunset to sunrise restriction, the Banishment - apparently never tested - was meant to imprint upon Seamus' ancestors their place in relation to the Druids; a throwback to a time when one's class and station in life was fixed by birth. This was unacceptable to Bridget, a woman who set no limitations on herself and would accept none from others.

Under Diarmuid's tutelage Bridget had tapped into her latent abilities and genetic memory. Her ability to master ancient skills, in so brief a time, surprised even Diarmuid. He considered it further evidence that Bridget truly was the present-day incarnation of Brighid, a high priestess of the Druids, revered as a triple-goddess of many gifts and blessings. Last night, as they talked before the fire and ate their meal of bread and stew, Diarmuid told her, "My dear Bridget, it is my honor to be of service to you, a daughter of the great Bran Mor and our beloved Brighid, reborn."

"Granted, all that you've told me, shown me - that I've learned about myself - is beyond my imagining. But to say that I am some present-day goddess is ridiculous!" she'd responded.

Diarmuid proceeded to explain. "Brighid was the daughter of the Dagda, the high king of the Tuatha Dé Danann, and grand-daughter of Danu, the mother of the Tuath Dé. The Tuatha Dé Danann have become creatures of Irish myth and legend. They were revered as gods and goddesses by people who could not understand the power of the Tuath Dé for what it was: the cumulative knowledge of an ancient and advanced race. They're long-lived, considered to be immortal by humans, but they can be killed, or die by means unknown. Whether the Brighid of long ago still lives I do not know, but her life-giving fire was lost to them. As I said before, it is believed she was killed in the great civil war between competing tribes of the _Aos Sí_. However, she lives on through her descendants; her knowledge and skills passed down to her children and grand-children in their genetic code. It is the way of the Tuatha Dé Danann.

"The Druids have been the seekers, the protectors, the guardians of this heritage for millennia. So many of us were killed and much was lost. Inis Stéisse is one of the few protectorates left in this world and I one of very few Druid Masters remaining. In you I see the genetic memory of Brighid, so true and strong, as has not been seen in this world for centuries. You have only begun to scratch the surface of all you know, all you can do, all you can teach to others and I am truly honored to be your guide."

It was a lot to take in, a lot to believe. However, she couldn't deny the truth of what she had seen, had learned, and had been able to do in so short a time. Diarmuid had witnessed most of her accomplishments, but not all.

She'd discovered there were things she could do that he had not mentioned; perhaps he did not even know could be done. Bridget kept these discoveries to herself as she considered how this knowledge might be of use. Whatever it was that forbade Seamus to remain on Inis Stéisse did not matter. She had found a way for them to be together, all night. Tonight.

_ _ _

**THE SUN WAS** just breaking the horizon when Seamus moored the _Fand_ and unloaded the few items he'd brought with him from the mainland: a new ship-to-shore radio, batteries, water. All this he would leave on the pier for others to transport inland. Reaching back into the boat he grabbed his backpack. Diarmuid was going to have to do without him and Bridget today. After another restless night he needed to get Bridget alone and talk, among other things.

Stepping onto the narrow, rock-strewn path that wound its way from the sea to the center of the island where Diarmuid and his people lived, where Bridget was staying - perhaps forever - he looked up and froze. _Á Dhia_ , she was beautiful. Her smile, slow and sultry, aroused the feelings he fought to suppress every time he was near her.

"Good morning, Seamus," she said, slowly traversing the short distance between them. "I've been waiting for you."

She moved in closer, her arms reaching beneath his that were positioned straight down by his sides, his backpack gripped tightly in one hand. Embracing him Bridget moved in even closer, her breath warm on his cheek as she whispered, "Today is just for us." She kissed him, gently, her soft lips fluttering lightly over the right side of his face moving inexorably to his lips, pressing gentle, seductive kisses to the corners before focusing all their sweet attention to the fullness of his eagerly awaiting mouth. Seamus let her play for the briefest of moments before he released his burden and seized her, pressing the breadth of her supple body against his and took control of the kiss, parting her lips with his tongue, possessing her the way he'd wanted to since the day they'd first met in Farrell's. This time he would not pull away, nor would he let her go. He could fight it no longer, no matter the cost.

Bridget slowly separated from his searing kiss, smiling with passion-bruised lips. Touching a finger to the pendant she gave him the day before she said, "Come, I have some very special plans for us today. I've already told Diarmuid we're taking the day off so he'll send some people down later. I've packed enough food for us for the day and I even persuaded Diarmuid to part with a bottle of his precious wine."

Seamus laughed. "Let's go, then. We don't want to waste a minute of what's sure to be too short a day."

Bridget led him to the same spot where she had waited for him to arrive. The impulsive passion of moments ago was giving way to nervous anticipation, lingering doubt. On a blanket she laid out a simple but hearty breakfast of bread, cheese, boiled eggs and fruit. "Let's eat while we watch the rest of the sunrise. There's water in my pack."

Seamus sat down on the blanket and opened his backpack saying, "I have something in here I think you're going to enjoy." He pulled out a thermos and held it up proudly. "Hot coffee!"

"Now you've really made my day! If you'll pour me a cup I'll fix you a plate."

Silence enveloped them, punctuated only by the calls of the sea birds soaring with the sun. They sipped their coffee, ate sparingly from their plates, and let the act of sharing a meal and watching the sun paint the clouds in shifting shades of orange and red calm their nerves.

Seamus poured Bridget more coffee and leaned in for a kiss; simple, sweet, briefly lingering, wanting more. She smiled as he settled back onto the blanket beside her.

"Bridget, I know you said you had plans for the day but let's leave the island. We can go anywhere you want, spend the whole day together, and the night. I know I've been sending mixed signals, and I'm sorry, it's just that...our ancestors...I don't..."

"I can't, Seamus. Not yet."

"I understand if you're not ready to spend the night with me, what with the way I've pushed you away before, but I think - I know - we have something that's worth fighting for, no matter the obstacles. Come back with me. Give us a chance to explore what's between us. You've been a big help to them here but there really isn't much more that you can do. They're used to living here, and you've been great to give up so much to help them. You can sleep in your own comfortable bed tonight, and tomorrow night. And maybe, on one of those nights...," he finished quietly.

Leaning in to kiss her passion flared as it did earlier. Seamus set her coffee cup aside and placed his hand on the back of her neck as he guided her down with his body to lie on the blanket. His other hand caressed her hip, her thigh, the shapely curve of her derriere, all the while deepening the kiss; exploring, stirring the ardor within.

Bridget took all that he was giving and gave it back to him, welcoming the fervor in his kiss. She leaned her body into his as he caressed her, sought to know her, as she wanted to know him. She embraced him, not wanting to let him go. His desire unmistakable, Bridget shifted her hips, arched her back, pressed against his strong body.

He growled low and feral. "Now, Bridget. Come away with me now."

"Oh, Seamus, I...I have a place. I prepared it for today; for us. It's private, warm and secure. Come with me. Be with me. Here, on Inis Stéisse. It is as it should be for us, here and now. Trust me, Seamus. Trust in us."

Seamus looked into the eyes of the woman he knew he loved. The woman he was destined to love no matter the past, ancestral obligations or debts. It was in those eyes, as green as the grass of Erin, that he saw redemption and forgiveness for the sins of his ancestor. He saw a chance for the lives of his children to be their own. He saw love and he could not deny her, or himself, the opportunity to know what such a love might become. Wordlessly he rose, bringing her with him.

"It's not far," Bridget said as she held his hand and led him away from the cliff to the place she had prepared for them.

_ _ _

**LESS THAN HALF** a mile from where they'd breakfasted was a small, stone building facing southwest and sheltered within an outcropping of jagged stones weathered and beaten by the ocean. The spherical building had openings that served as a door and two windows. An opening in the roof allowed the smoke from a central fire to escape. From the front the view was unobstructed. The sea was calm, the sky nearly cloudless. The sun was continuing to climb to its zenith, bringing warmth to this February day.

On the walk over neither of them had said a word, afraid to do or say anything that might change things, ruin the moment; cause them to turn away from the inevitable. Even now they stayed silent; understanding, accepting, wanting, and needing. Bridget turned away from the ocean, ducked her head and led Seamus inside the small hut.

Daylight entering through the openings of the door, windows and roof provided enough light to see the preparations Bridget had made. A circle of stones in the center of the hut was laid with wood for a fire. Candles perched on small ledges of stone at various points around the hut. The stone floor was clean and on the edges, away from the fire, waterproof woolen blankets were laid and piled together. A basket held bread, cheese and fruit, along with a precious bottle of Diarmuid's wine. In one corner a pallet of blankets and quilted coverlets, filled with the down of the island's seabirds, invitingly awaited them.

Despite the increasing warmth of the day outside, inside the stone held the cold. Bridget released Seamus' hand. Extending her hands she lighted the fire and the candles. The kindling caught easily and within minutes the fire was beating back the chill. But not fast enough or strong enough, to combat the cold hand of doubt that was gripping Seamus' heart. He was a fool, grasping at false hope. She had prepared all this for them, for a tryst, because _she_ had no intention of leaving and _he_ could not stay.

Bridget saw that something had changed. Something was wrong. She could see it in the way Seamus' body tensed and his eyes, so recently dark with passion, had cooled to the cold grey of the ocean outside. He was leaving. "Why?"

"Why?" he repeated. "Why? That's what I'd like to know, Bridget. Why won't you leave? All this," Seamus said, indicating all she had done inside the hut with a sweep of his arm, "tells me you plan on staying here a long time. Diarmuid may have taught you a few tricks but you are not one of them, Bridget. You belong to the world not this isolated, arcane island," he said sharply, afraid he was wrong and any chance of a future with Bridget would be lost.

"I _am_ one of them, Seamus; a Druid. I feel more connected to them than I have to anyone before. It's as if I've returned home to a place I left long ago, the memory of which had faded with time but came rushing back once I was here. I've learned so much about my family history, about the people here and what makes Inis Stéisse so special. Diarmuid has been teaching me how to discover what latent abilities I have, passed down to me from my ancestors. I've so much to learn and I must stay here to do that. I need you to understand, Seamus."

Seamus walked away from her and went towards the open doorway. He looked out at the ocean, cold and calm, while a storm raged within him. "And what have you learned?" he asked, still looking out to sea.

"So much, and yet so little," Bridget enthused. "I know I've only scratched the surface and it will take years of study with Diarmuid, and the others. Mostly, I've been learning about who the Druids are and were, about my namesakes - Brighid of the Tuatha Dé Danann and the Christian Saint Brighid. I've also been working on developing my skills in the healing arts, an area of expertise attributed to my ancestors."

"Your ancestors?"

"Diarmuid believes my lineage has connections with both of my namesakes through ties to the Mors of Rathmor and the ruling O'More clan of Leix. He told me that when the O'Mores were almost wiped out, in a massacre in the 1500's, survivors fled to the west and some of them founded Rathmor. The O'More line has ties that go back to the Milesians and the ancient race of the Tuatha Dé Danann. The Druids gained their knowledge from the Tuath Dé and my ancestor Bran Mor was a Druid. It was as a result of another massacre, of the Druids, that Inis Stéisse was settled and established as a protectorate of those who survived."

Seamus turned to face her and saw the joy and excitement in her eyes. It was in direct contrast to the dismay and hopelessness he felt.

"Since you've learned so much about your ancestry and that of the Druids of Inis Stéisse I presume you also learned of my own. That it was my ancestor who betrayed the Druids when they relied upon him to be their salvation, to take them from Wales to sanctuary in Ireland. Instead, because of him, they were massacred by the Romans. The few survivors that escaped found refuge here. It has been the obligation of my family ever since to serve the Druids of Inis Stéisse; to ensure their survival, keep their existence secret. However, never to be considered one of them and forever forbidden to reside on this rock, their sanctuary.

"So what was this to be, Bridget? A little afternoon fling with the dark side? You'll send me off at sunset, sated after an afternoon of illicit sex with a Druid princess. Then we'll each go on with our lives, follow our destined paths. Is that what you had planned?" he growled. "Well count me out! I can't stay on this bloody, forsaken rock and you won't leave. I want more than what you're offering. I want more than you're willing to give. Goodbye, Bridget." Seamus turned quickly and was out the door, striding back the way they had come. Back to the _Fand_ ; back to where he belonged.

"Seamus, wait!" Bridget called out, running to catch up to him. She reached out and grabbed him by the arm. "Listen to me. You're wrong, so very wrong. I know what happened centuries ago. It doesn't matter. Ancient history is just that, ancient history. It has no bearing on us. Look at me, Seamus. Look at me!"

He faced her and saw the moisture welling behind her vivid green eyes. He knew he could not leave her; ancestral curses, debts and obligations be damned.

"I love you, Seamus, and I know you love me. We belong together and I don't want to wait a moment longer. Stay. Be with me. Love me. We'll find a way to work past whatever may stand in our way. We have today, let's make the most of it; seize every moment and make it last as long as we can. Stay."

Seamus drew her into him, his lips finding hers; penetrating, seizing, searching for something to hold onto. Desire burned away his remaining doubts. "Is the offer of illicit sex with a Druid princess still open?"

Bridget smiled and together they returned to their haven.

The fire burned low and hot, beating back the cold emanating from the stones of their primitive shelter. Warmth reached up and out, filling in the cracks and hollows, penetrating their clothes and seeping into their flesh.

Keeping her gaze fixed on Seamus Bridget slipped out of her jacket and tossed it to the side. Crossing her arms in front she grabbed the hem of her sweater and lifted it up and over her head; it landed on top of her crumpled jacket.

Seamus admired the fullness of her breasts rising above the rounded neckline of her camisole, her nipples peaked and pushing against the soft fabric. He sent his Aran sweater, patterned with the stitch that identified the man who wore it, to mingle with her outer layers.

Bridget ached to feel the power of the man revealed before her. Muscles honed by the work of a fisherman, sculpted by the sea, fluid and powerful. She wanted to touch him, so close but still too far away. She waited, wanting him to take the next step, to come to her; afraid he might leave.

Seamus had been drawn to her from that first moment, on that first day. He could resist her no longer, no matter the cost. As if drawn by a force beyond his control he embraced her outstretched hand and flinched as if burned by the contact. The fire flared beside him as a flame rose within.

Hard muscle, smooth skin, coarse hair; Bridget felt it all as she let her hand rest on his chest directly over his heart. Pulsing with life she let the heat from his body seep into hers through her hand. She watched his grey eyes darken as desire flared and doubts receded. She saw the moment he decided to take her, take all that she was offering him.

Seamus pulled her close, felt her firm nipples against his chest, a thin cotton membrane separating them. He took possession of her mouth, seizing her tongue and seeking to reach the deepest part of her, make his mark on her soul. He felt her body molding itself to his, heard her sigh with satisfaction and desire, tasted the smoky flavor of the coffee.

Bridget held onto him, her hands pressed against the broad expanse of his back. She let him take her as she opened herself up to him completely. Separating his lips from hers he whispered, "I am yours. No matter the consequences. Are you mine?"

"Yes," she breathed, arching her back as he moved his lips to suckle on one breast through the fabric of her camisole. Primeval lust flowed like liquid fire through her body making her hot and wet, ready for him. He swept her into his arms and carried her to the bedding of blankets and quilts she had prepared for them, for this moment.

Seamus laid Bridget down and slipped off her camisole. He removed her boots and socks, aware she was watching his every move; waiting for him. He peeled off her jeans but decided to leave the simple cotton barrier in place, for now. After casting off his own boots and socks he stood. Keeping his gaze locked on her mesmerizing emerald eyes he started to shed his own dungarees.

In one smooth motion she rose up on her knees and stayed his hand. She traced the length and fullness of him. She denuded him, tossing his dungarees on the pile of discarded clothing.

Bridget smiled as she admired the man before her; gloriously sculpted, naked man - her man.

"We have all day, Seamus, and I intend to make the most of every moment of this day with you." _And the night_ , she thought.

Seamus closed his eyes as she took him. Her hands stroked and caressed him, her mouth moved over him. Her tongue tasted him, tortured him. He reached for her and guided her down onto the blankets. He wanted her, all of her.

Seamus explored her body, filled his palms with her full breasts, and fondled her ruched nipples. He watched her eyes close, her back arch in pleasure and need for more; for him.

His lips traced the swell of her breast, the indent of her waist, the curvature of her hips, the shapely fullness of her bottom. He breached the cotton barrier and felt her moist heat. Entering he found the nub of her sex; she tensed at his touch. She clamped around his fingers as he pleasured her. Her body shuddered, calmed, and tensed; wanting more.

Bridget opened her eyes and watched him enter her.

"As I take you now I take you forever; as you take me. We are one," Seamus said, his eyes locked on hers.

As their bodies were joined Seamus retreated slightly then thrust harder, deeper, wanting to touch the very core of the woman who made him risk so much.

"We are one," Bridget whispered as she closed her eyes and let the fire within roar.

_ _ _

**IT WAS LATE** in the afternoon and the sun hung low in the sky. It would be setting in just a few hours and Seamus would leave. Because of some arcane debt he was forbidden to be on Inis Stéisse between sunset and sunrise. What would happen, if anything, if Seamus were to stay? No one had ever gone against the Banishment. Bridget thought it was time to change things and she had the power. But did she have the courage to use it? Did she have the strength to make it last until the dawn? Could she keep Seamus safe?

She turned away from the open doorway and looked at the man she was in love with, the man who was her future if she could help him - help them all - let go of the past. He slept, tired and sated. She ached to touch him, arouse him; be with him again, now and forever. Resolved to do whatever she must for him, for both of them, she stepped outside and raised her arms to embrace the sun.

_ _ _

**SEAMUS WOKE REFRESHED** and pleased to find the beautiful Bridget curled up beside him, her head nestled into the curve of his shoulder; her burnished hair caressed his bare chest. He loved her, there was no denying it, and there was no way he was going to live apart from her. They were one. Let the rest be damned.

He could see the sun through the open window, low in the sky. It would be sunset in little more than an hour. He would have to leave her and wait to return with the dawn. But it would be the last night they would spend apart. He would make sure of it, somehow. For now he wanted her; wanted to make the most of every moment left for them in this day.

"Wake up, Bridget, we don't have much time left," he whispered, trailing kisses to her sensuous mouth.

Bridget's lips curved in pleasurable response, moving against his to form the words, "We have forever."
Seven

**WORDS, VOICES, PAIN. THEY WERE ALL** as one, invading his body and mind. Seamus was awake but couldn't open his eyes. He concentrated on that one task, willing them to open, ignoring the pain in his head as his eyes slowly obeyed.

Bridget and Diarmuid stood in the doorway of the hut in which he and Bridget had spent so many pleasurable hours together exploring each other's bodies, learning about each other's lives, falling deeply and eternally in love. Seamus wanted to go to her but couldn't move, couldn't speak. He could barely keep his eyes open by force of will. The pain was excruciating but he pushed it aside and tried to focus on Bridget and Diarmuid, tried to hear what they were saying. Words came to him in pieces, detached from their context, meaningless. _Rift. Survival. Dimension. Impossible. Choose._

Seamus tried to stay awake. He could see the sun was still above the horizon but it would soon be setting; he needed to leave the island. If he could get Diarmuid's attention he would help him get up. Diarmuid would make sure he left, even though it was the last thing Seamus wanted to do. But he couldn't do anything. _What's wrong with me? Am I dreaming?_ He closed his eyes unable to bear the pain any longer.

"Bridget, the power within you is strong, stronger than I could have known, but there are rules of the universe we all must obey."

"Diarmuid, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause any harm. When I experimented, even for several hours, it seemed to go alright. I only wanted to prove to him, and to you, he could stay on Inis Stéisse; the Banishment need not continue. I love him, Diarmuid. How can I lose him now? My foolishness - my arrogance - may be the cause of Seamus' death. Moreover, I've torn a rift in time and space that may destroy Inis Stéisse and threaten the survival of everyone here. Help me, Diarmuid. Help me fix this!"

"It's my fault as much as yours, Bridget. I should have been more cautious and attentive to your training. I was so caught up in having you here and what someone of your heritage would mean for us. I was careless, selfish."

Bridget could see the darkness of the night breaking through the ripple in time and space she'd created. She had discovered a way to slow down time so that when the sun set on Seamus and Inis Stéisse it would be dawn again outside the bubble. When she released them from her protection it would be sunrise and they would have accomplished what was forbidden. But the curse would not be denied and danger to those she loved and cared for would come by her own hand.

"Every reality, every dimension, every element of the universe has rules that if we know and understand we can use. However, no matter the power we gain from that knowledge we cannot do that which is anathema to what The One has made. What you did was possible, with limits, and accomplished at great cost. You must choose between the survival of Inis Stéisse and her people or the survival of Seamus. You don't have much time to decide. Whatever you choose, understand, you and Seamus cannot be together. You are one of us, Bridget. You live or die with us. Before the sun rises, for Seamus Gwyffuid to live Inis Stéisse and her people must die."

_You are one of us, Bridget, and you live or die with us. For Seamus Gwyffuid to live Inis Stéisse and her people must die. Before the sun rises._ The words broke through the pain in Seamus' head. He understood that Bridget had done something to allow them to be together and it had brought the curse upon them all.

It was his fault, for pushing her, insisting she leave with him; for being impatient. She had no way of knowing, of understanding, there are forces that reach across time and space; things we may not understand but cannot change. He had done this to them all and he would not let them pay the price for his defiance.

Seamus forced his eyes open again and saw Bridget and Diarmuid leaving. As they moved away from the doorway he could see Diarmuid point to slivers of darkness in the sepia sky. He still had time. Perhaps if he could leave before the sun set - before the sun rose - Bridget and the others would live. He didn't have time to get to his boat but he would be able to get to the cliff's edge - that is, if he could move. He tried to focus on moving his legs, his arms, to get up and walk. It was as if he was in a cocoon, trapped, feeling the air around him holding him down. Painfully, deliberately, he pulled himself across the floor by focusing on his upper body and dragging his legs behind. He approached the door and saw that Bridget and Diarmuid had moved further away, to the other side of the clearing. There were more slivers of darkness breaching the sky and patches of dark night speckled with stars. Whatever Bridget did it was because she loved him. He did this now because he loved her.

Bridget turned at the sound: a grunt, a scrape, and loose rocks falling.

"No! Seamus, no!"

She ran, followed by Diarmuid. They were too late. Seamus lay on the ragged shore of Inis Stéisse, his beautiful body broken and bleeding.

"You can't, Bridget," Diarmuid said, holding her back from going down after Seamus.

"Let me go!" she screamed.

Bridget pulled and tugged, trying to break free of Diarmuid's grasp. Tears clouded her vision of a sight so horrible she was glad it was blurred. Movement! She saw movement!

"He's still alive! We have to go down there and help him. Let me go!"

"Bridget, he has done this to try and save you; to try and save us all. Don't take that away from him."

Seamus dragged himself the last few feet and entered the frigid waters of the Atlantic. He had made his living from the ocean and it is where he would meet his death. Rolling over on his back he saw the woman he loved and prayed that it was enough; that she would live. She was all he saw as life ebbed away and the sea took him.

Bridget collapsed in grief as a flash of light burst all around her. The indigo sky of Inis Stéisse, populated with stars, showed signs of the approaching dawn.
Eight

**ONE YEAR HAD PASSED SINCE BRIDGET** stood on a bluff watching and waiting for a man she barely knew to come home safely from the sea. One year had passed since she saw that same man die beneath the cliff she now stood upon. The man she loved. The man she had killed.

Bridget gazed out over the cold Atlantic. The sun was sinking below the horizon, darkness rising to swallow the remaining fiery hues. It was the beginning of her final twenty-four hours on Inis Stéisse. A February wind blew in off the ocean, cold tendrils burrowed beneath her clothes to touch her fair skin. Bridget's fire, raging within her since the day she killed Seamus and forever changed the lives of the Druids of Inis Stéisse, flared to beat back the cold. It was a fire that sustained her and it was a fire that would one day consume her.

"I thought I'd find you here," Diarmuid said, strolling up behind her and placing a hooded cloak around her shoulders. "You left without your cloak, again. They're waiting to begin the celebration of Imbolc. If you're ready we should go. The sun is nearly set and the fires need to be lighted."

Bridget closed her eyes on the vision of Seamus looking up at her from below, his last words forming on lips covered in blood. _We are one._

Bridget breathed deeply to let the cold air in and feed the fire. "Let's go, Diarmuid." It was time to rejoin her people for the last time.

They walked the winding rugged paths away from the cliff to the promontory, speaking of what had been and what was to come.

"You have attained mastery in Druidism in the past year - an amazing feat. You have been instructive to us. Your innate skills are beyond any seen in a thousand years or more. It is right that you leave us now. Continue to learn. Use your gift to benefit others. One such as you is sorely needed," Diarmuid assured her.

"One such as me? An arrogant fool, who believed herself infallible, killed the man she loved and destroyed the home of her people. I think the world would be glad to keep me hidden away. I'm likely even more dangerous than I was a year ago. And you would send me out, on my own, without even you to guide me. Please come with me, Diarmuid, if you won't let me stay here."

"I am not making you leave but you do not belong to us. You are of the world and belong to it whereas I belong to Inis Stéisse.

"Bridget, you continue to berate yourself, unjustly. As we've discussed before, you blame yourself for what was destined to be. You were the catalyst that brought the ancient obligation to its conclusion. Seamus broke it when he sacrificed himself for you, and for all the Druids of Inis Stéisse. The Debt incurred by Rhys Gwyffuid for betraying the Druids of Anglesey is paid in full. His ancestors are free of that burden, their lives their own.

"On that day the Tuath Dé protected Inis Stéisse by secreting it within the veil between dimensions, creating a sanctuary where Druidism can thrive, where druids can master their art, where the reborn can discover their destiny. We have followed the path of our ancestors and teachers. We live without the boundaries of this world while still retaining our ability to interact with it, our secrecy and protection ensured.

"To the people of Rathmor, to the world, Inis Stéisse no longer exists and, in their memories, never did. All is as it was meant to be.

"The people of this world are still not ready to open their minds and hearts to what the Tuatha Dé Danann wanted to teach them. We, the Druids, were meant to be a bridge; a way to bring people to an understanding of themselves, their world, the universe. However, out of fear and in pursuit of power we were made a target of persecution; mortally vulnerable we were decimated. I'm afraid the world is heading towards darkness once more. Intolerance and persecution is on the rise. Freedom, intellectual curiosity, and pursuit of the truth are constrained by political and ideological power struggles. That is why you are needed, along with others like you. It is your duty, Bridget, and it is your gift. Seamus sacrificed himself so that you would live and fulfill your destiny."

"I will try to hold onto that, Diarmuid. But I miss him so. It doesn't matter that the Gwyffuid's are no longer bound by the Debt; he was the last. All I have left of him is his boat, the _Fand_. Is she ready for me to take to the mainland tomorrow?"

"Yes. Everything you wanted to take with you is stowed on board. She has been well cared for this past year, mostly under your loving hand. He would be proud."

Darkness had closed in around the settlement by the time they arrived. Bridget raised her right hand and swept it overhead in a circle. A ring of torches flared to life, bringing light to the dark. She approached the center where a large bonfire had been laid. Everyone - ranging in age from a newborn just three weeks old to Diarmuid, the Druid Master, over three thousand years old - was in attendance. It was the beginning of the celebration of Imbolc, the high holy day of their druid priestess Brighid now embodied in the woman who stood before them.

"May the blessing and light of Brighid - daughter of Danu, the Mother reborn, goddess and saint - be upon you this night as we banish the dark and welcome the returning light, warmth and life-giving gift of the sun. May her blessing be upon this land, on the dwellings that provide shelter, on all who live and work here making productive use of her gifts and replenishing what has been consumed. May Brighid's fire purify all that it touches." Bridget raised her hands skyward and spread them out to encompass the breadth of the bonfire before her. Slowly flames rose up from within the stacked wood, darting in and out, reaching higher and wider until the conflagration was ablaze. Offerings that had been made to honor Brighid and the festival of Imbolc were consumed and symbolically purified by the fire. A cheer rose up amongst the crowd and the time for feasting and celebration had arrived.

_ _ _

**SUNRISE MARKED THE** end of the celebration and the beginning of Bridget's life away from Inis Stéisse. Alone. Without Seamus.

"Diarmuid, walk with me to the pier. It was hard saying goodbye to everyone and it will be hardest of all saying goodbye to you."

"Come, Bridget. We will take the long way," he said with a smile. He laid a strong arm across her shoulders as he led her away from where she had come to know her true self and toward the unknown.

"You have had news of your family and friends in America during your stay here and have been able to maintain contact with them through letters, which our people have posted for you from various places all over Ireland. Your cover story of discovering your roots and wanting to _unplug_ for a while has served its purpose. You will be able to engage with them through modern means once more. Of course, the truth of the past year will remain secret."

"It will be good to hear my sister's voice again after so long. But, I won't be going back, not for some time; if ever. I don't know what I will do but I think I'll want to spend some time in Rathmor, at least for a little while. Even though I saw him die, saw him go beneath the waves, my heart still doesn't believe he is gone. I want to be close to the memory of Seamus for a while. I suppose there will be questions, especially when I arrive with his boat and wearing his sweater. They'll have presumed us both dead, I imagine."

"Actually, Bridget, since that day Inis Stéisse no longer existed in their world. They will remember you and Seamus, of course, but they will have supplanted any memory of your activities related to Inis Stéisse and the aftermath of the storm with something else. However, whatever you say will be believed. You have the power of Voice and any inconsistencies will be discounted and accepted as a fault in their own recollection. Even so, it will be challenging for you. You will have all your memories intact while others will not and you may find it hard to bear."

"I'll cope. My memories are all I have and they are very precious to me. I plan to keep the _Fand_ at Rathmor so that when I return I can take her out here to visit with you. I think she'll remember the way."

"That she will, Bridget, as will you. Always.

"It was imperative you stay here and learn, discover, become what you were meant to be. I have done what I must. I have done what I could, dear Bridget. Remember, Seamus' sacrifice paid the Debt and his heirs are no longer bound by it. Remember, and understand," Diarmuid said, pointedly.

"Ah, here we are. The lads have the engine running and most of her lines cast off already," Diarmuid said, drawing Bridget's attention to Seamus' boat, ready and straining at her remaining tethers, seemingly anxious to leave.

"Oh, Diarmuid," Bridget cried, flinging her arms around him and burying her head in his chest. "You've been such a good friend, mentor and so much more. It was Nicholas' journals that led me here but it was you who helped me see the wisdom therein; understand the truth of my ancestry. I owe you so much and I am going to miss you."

Diarmuid held Bridget close and kissed the top of her head, covered with a riot of copper curls.

"Come now, it is time," Diarmuid said, gently setting Bridget away from him. "You can reach out to me anytime, you know that, and I will always be listening for you."

"I know. I'll probably be a real bother, pestering you with questions, wanting to cry on your shoulder. It's a real comfort to know you will be only a thought away. Thank you, for everything, Diarmuid."

Bridget stood up on her toes and kissed Diarmuid on the cheek. She stepped off the dock and onto the _Fand_. She cast off the last line holding Seamus' _Sea Goddess_ in place and took control, turning towards Rathmor; his home, their past and an unknown future.

"Remember and understand, dear Bridget," Diarmuid said, watching her navigate the turbulent waters.

_ _ _

**MOST OF THE** boats had already returned from the morning's catch and were tied to the quay, bobbing on the gentle swells glistening in the February sun, when Bridget eased the _Fand_ into the empty slip Seamus always used. She cut the engine and quickly tied off amidships. With no one around to help her she employed a special technique to moor the boat.

"Here, let me give you a hand there," a voice called out behind her. "I'll toss you the bow line." As she turned she heard the person gasp.

"Well, I wouldn't believe it if I wasn't seeing it with me own eyes. It's the _Fand_ after all this time. We thought her lost at sea with her captain. Yet here she is looking as grand as the day Seamus named her. Where did you find her?" he asked, and then continued without waiting for an answer.

"You're the American lass that Seamus was sweet on and disappeared one day, along with Seamus. What's your name, lass? Something with a B it was. Brenda?" he asked.

"Bridget."

"Bridget. Of course, I should have known; the boat.

"We found Seamus about a mile out on a small outcropping of rock and feared you were on the bottom of the ocean with the _Fand_. But nobody could say for sure that you'd gone out on the boat together that day. Some remembered seeing Seamus go out alone. Others thought you'd gone, left Rathmor, perhaps gone back to America. Still others thought you were doing a bit of sightseeing and you'd soon be back, seeing as you'd still the cottage on rental. It's been a year and here ye are, back in Rathmor with his boat and his clothes," he said, indicating Seamus' sweater with a flick of his hand in her direction. "Well, if there's no tale to tell then I'm not Patrick James McEvoy an' I dare you to tell me I'm not. Here, lass, you come with me to Farrell's," he said as he moved to tie off the stern.

She was fixated on one thing he had said. _We found Seamus about a mile out on a small outcropping of rock._ They must have found Seamus' body. She was glad, at least, that he had been brought home and buried amongst his family. He had shown her the family plot one day, generations of Gwyffuid's living in Rathmor, serving the needs of her ancestors in payment of a debt incurred over two thousand years ago. A debt that was now paid, with his life, but with no one left to whom it would matter. Bridget felt the tears escape and wiped them away. They served no purpose now.

Bridget grabbed a small bag, left the rest of her things on the boat, and stepped onto the quay. Farrell's Folly was situated on the opposite end. She braced herself for what was to come and headed for the pub in the company of Patrick James McEvoy, himself.

Liam Farrell was behind the bar, pouring a pint of Guinness, while Mary was serving plates of a hearty Irish breakfast to the fishermen sitting around the extensive bar. When the door opened and Mary saw a woman enter she said, "Have a seat over by the fire, Miss, and I'll be with you in just a bit."

Patrick, following just behind Bridget, said, "Mary Farrell are ye blind? Do ye not recognize the lass? It's Seamus' Bridget returned to us and the _Fand_ with her," he said, loudly and proudly, knowing his part in the tale - that would be told for years to come - would grow with the telling.

"Now, Bridget, you just come along with me and we'll set you up in a warm spot by the fire, get you a hot cup of tea; maybe a little bit of the Irish in it to drive away the chill. Are you hungry, lass? Mary will fix you up with a bit of breakfast, too. Then it'll be like the old days. A storyteller before the fire and the entire village gathered around to listen to the tale. Ah, it'll be grand, it will. Come, come, Bridget," Patrick said, ushering a slightly dazed Bridget to a centrally located table by the hearth.

Anyone who wasn't in Farrell's when Patrick had brought Bridget in was now in attendance anxiously awaiting the oracle to finish her tea. It was like the day after the storm when everyone from the village gathered for a hearty breakfast before they set to cleaning up the damage and before she and Seamus took his boat out to Inis Stéisse with supplies. If Diarmuid was correct, they would remember the storm, the breakfast, even her helping Mary out in the kitchen and with cleaning up the damage. But, no one would remember them going to Inis Stéisse because, for them, the island never existed.

What would she tell them? They must wonder if she'd killed Seamus, took his boat, his sweater and now boldly returned. And she _had_ killed him, hadn't she. Perhaps she should just say that and let them call the local _Garda_ , haul her off to jail. Bridget fingered the pattern of the Aran sweater, the cable stitches that marked it as belonging to Seamus Gwyffuid.

The conversation in the pub was a loud buzz, energized with anticipation of the story to be told by the woman before the fire. She knew they all had their own stories. Versions they were sure was the real one. Theories on where she'd been, what she'd done, how she'd come to be in possession of Seamus' boat, why she'd returned a year later. Suddenly all conversation stopped. The silence was louder than any other noise could be.

"I don't know which one of you brought her back but I thank ye for it, and for taking such good care of her. I thought she was gone for good. Raise yer hand so I can buy you a pint while we discuss what I owe you for bringing back the _Fand_." While looking over the crowd for some indication of whom to thank, an opening was created as people moved aside. He saw her.

"Bridget."

"Seamus."

Each said the other's name quietly, joy and disbelief equally evident.

No one moved. No one made a sound. Everyone waited. A log on the fire shifted and fell with a resounding crash. Sparks showered and flames flared.

Bridget stood, holding onto the table, unsure her legs would support her.

"I thought you were dead. In my heart I believed, I hoped. But, I saw you die. The sea took you. If I'd known I'd... Oh, Seamus. Do you remember?"

Seamus walked the short distance to where Bridget waited. He held out his arms and she moved inside his welcoming embrace.

"There's much I don't remember, especially about what happened to me. But, I could never forget you. I knew you'd return. We are one, Bridget. We are one."

###

I hope you enjoyed reading Imbolc: Bridget's Return, the first novella in the Celtic Fire Series. Please take a moment to leave a review at your favorite retailer. To learn more about what's next in the series check out the pages that follow.

Thank you for your support,

Leydon Moore
About the Celtic Fire Series

**THE CELTIC FIRE SERIES OF NOVELLAS** take place during each of the four cross-quarter days of the Celtic calendar, represented by the Wheel of the Year.

The Celts celebrated these days with four Fire Festivals marking the transition of the sun throughout the seasons.

**Imbolc** , February 1st and 2nd, celebrated the midpoint between winter and spring. It commemorated the time of rebirth in the cycle of life, the warmth of the late-winter sun and a time for planting the first, early crops. Imbolc is associated with Brighid of the Tuatha Dé Danann and later with the Christian Saint Bridget and Candlemas. Brighid was revered as patroness of the Druids.

_Imbolc: Bridget's Return_ weaves together a pivotal event in the history of the Druids and the Celts at the time of the Roman conquest of Britain with the legendary Brighid of the mythical Tuatha Dé Danann into the story of a romance that has no future until an ancient debt is paid.

**Bealtaine** , May 1st, is the cross-quarter day marking the beginning of summer. This event was celebrated with the lighting of great bonfires and transitioning animals to summer pastures, passing them through the purifying flames. The festivities began at moonrise on Bealtaine Eve and continued until sunrise. It was a time to celebrate light and life, to honor the fertility of the earth and for mating. It was also when the veil between the worlds was down.

_Bealtaine: Eriu's Daughters_ incorporates the Neolithic Beltany Stone Circle and the nearby village of Beltany in Donegal, Ireland into a tale of eternal love that transcends time and space.

An American woman inherits the hillside cottage of the maternal grandmother she never knew. Áine Thornton finds an exquisite perfume vial secreted in her grandmother's bedroom that leads her down a path of discovery and will ultimately take her to the mythic otherworld of the Tuatha Dé Danann, Tir na nÓg.

Available April, 2015.

**Lughnasadh** , August 1st, is the cross-quarter day marking the time of first harvest. The Celtic deity Lugh established this fire feast in honor of his foster mother Tailtiu, Royal Lady of the Fir Bolg.

_Lughnasadh: Lugh's Mountain_ takes you on a journey from Donegal in northwestern Ireland to the legendary Tara in the midlands, traveling through the mists of time.

Former United States Olympian Kaileigh O'Connor will face her greatest challenge against an otherworldly foe. More than her life is at risk.

Available July, 2015.

**Samhain** , October 31st to November 2nd, is the cross-quarter fire festival that marks the time of final harvest before the coming winter. It is considered to commemorate the beginning of the Celtic New Year. It is the time to honor the dead and believed to be a time, like Bealtaine, when the walls between worlds comes down.

_Samhain: Caisleán Aos Sí_ is the tale of Fionn Ó Leathlobhair a Celtic warlord cursed by a Fae centuries ago and trapped between worlds, confined to his castle and visible only during Samhain. At this time he is able to briefly interact with the inhabitants of the nearby village of Caillte. Initially feared and treated as an evil spirit to be appeased with sacrifice Fionn now has a long-established partnership with the prominent O'Lalor family, descendants of his clan and enterprising tourism entrepreneurs.

Katie Dunn pinched her pennies and is finally able to travel to Ireland and see – or hope to see – the mysterious castle in the seaside village of Caillte. Caisleán Aos Sí is touted to be invisible except during the feast of Samhain when it and its dark Faerie lord welcome visitors who sign up for tours organized by O'Lalor Adventures. Branded a foolish dreamer by her family and friends Katie is undaunted and optimistic. Nonetheless, she will get more than she bargained for and find there is more to Caisleán Aos Sí than was touted in the O'Lalor's brochures.

Available October, 2015.

Combined print edition available December, 2015.
About the Celtic Sun Series of Novellas

**THE QUARTER FESTIVALS HAVE THEIR** origins with the ancient Neolithic cultures of Ireland who aligned their monuments with the major solar events – winter solstice, vernal equinox, summer solstice and the autumnal equinox.

The Cross-Quarter Days mark the halfway points between the major solar events – Imbolc, Bealtaine, Lughnasadh and Samhain.

Together they comprise the Celtic calendar, the Wheel of the Year.

The _Celtic Sun Series_ incorporate the ancient solar temples, historical events and characters, myth and legend into contemporary romantic adventures that take place during each of the Quarter Festivals.

The Vernal Equinox Quarter Festival falls between March 20th and March 23rd. Loughcrew is associated with this solar event and is the setting for the first novella in the series. Available March, 2016.

Litha, midsummer, is the Quarter Festival of the Summer Solstice that occurs between June 20th and June 23rd. Carrowkeel, in Sligo, is the setting for the second novella of the series. Available June, 2016.

The Autumnal Equinox Quarter Festival falls between September 20th and the 23rd and is associated with Knowth in the midlands. This is the setting for the third novella of the series. Available September, 2016.

Yule, midwinter, is the Quarter Festival of the Winter Solstice, which falls between December 20th and December 23rd. Newgrange is associated with the winter solstice and is the setting for the fourth novella in the series. Available December, 2016.

Combined print edition available December, 2016.
About the Triskelle Series of Novels

**THE TRISKELLE SERIES WEAVES TOGETHER** historical events, locales and characters of the historical ruling O'Mordha clan of Leix with fictional characters and events associated with the clan. Incorporating Irish legends, mythology and contemporary events the Triskelle series is a romantic saga that spans centuries.

The first novel in the series is Triskelle: Spiral of Life.

Eirinne Moore receives a surprise inheritance following the death of a paternal great aunt she has never met and coincides with the death of her father. The inheritance includes a priceless collection of artifacts and an Irish castle estate. The caveat is she must wear a torque from the collection and spend an entire year at the castle after which she may dispose of the assets as she sees fit. If she does not comply she forfeits everything.

Declan O'Conor arrives for the annual meeting of the Triskelle Association to find the organization's headquarters is under new ownership. Additionally, a promise made to Eirinne Moore's father puts everything at risk, including his hope of ever reuniting with Arianne.

Declan has one year to help Eirinne discover the truth but is forbidden to directly reveal anything to her. If he fails not only will Triskelle's survival be threatened but Arianne may be lost forever.

Available 2016.
About Leydon Moore

Leydon Moore immigrated to the United States in 1967, celebrating her ninth birthday en route aboard the original Queen Elizabeth ocean liner.

A lifetime spent in New England, which she loves, has not diminished the lure of her ancestral home of Ireland.

Inspired by a visit to the ruins of the Rock of Dunamase, the ancient stronghold of the ruling O'Mordha clan of Leix, she started writing stories in her head and eventually decided to put them down on paper.

The Celtic Fire Novella Series will be released throughout 2015. The Celtic Sun Novella Series will be released throughout 2016. And the first novel in the Triskelle Series will be released in 2016.

To learn more go to http://www.LeydonMoore.com

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