BY CONORSOUL e-mail: conorsoul@hotmail.com

LAME DISCLAIMER!!!
I don't own these characters.  I wish I did, 'cause then I could go 
around saying, "Hey, ladies - Conor's MINE, hands off!"  But 
then, who am I to keep adoring fans from their beautiful golden 
prince?  Share and share alike, I always say.  Anyways, don't 
sue me or I'll cry.


>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>DREAMING II *rated R just in case*
   Catlin stretched, yawning.  What a night.  First, she and 
Conor had...stumbled on each other's feelings, and then, just 
wwhen things were getting interesting, a VERY ill-timed Tully 
had interrupted them to say Catlin's mare was foaling.
   Ah, well.  The colt was adorable, anyway.  A tiny, 
spindly-legged thing that boasted a coat of pure white, a stark 
contrast against its walnut-colored sire and honey-colored dam.  
The people of the Sanctuary that followed the Druidic ways 
had regarded the white foal as an omen of something big to 
come.  Catlin, however, was a follower of the Christ 
and did not give the colt's color much import except for the 
fact that it was a rarity.
   Catlin stumbled out of bed, still stretching.  She had fallen 
asleep in her clothes
   (my tunic still smells of Conor)
                       and she felt decidedly rumpled.  She figured a 
good bath would be nice, and she began rummaging about for 
a towel and her bar of soap.  She'd bought it in a nearby 
town whilst she, Conor, Fergus, and Tully were heading 
home from Cathbod a few months ago.  She'd loved the 
wildflower-scented mixture so much she'd bought several 
bars of it.  Gathering her things, she headed outside, where 
she was greeted by a widely grinning Tully.
   (oh what did he see i hope he didn't tell anyone)
   "Good morning, Tully."
   "A VERY good morning, isn't it?"  His smile was 
antagonizingly broad.  
"Conor must think so too."
   Catlin tried to be angry, but found it difficult to 
smother her smile.  "Now, Tully.  Conor and I didn't... I 
mean, we were just..."
   Tully laughed.  "Don't worry, Catlin.  I won't ask what 
happened." He snickered before adding, "It's none of my 
business."
   Catlin couldn't stop a giggle
   (you ARE a little imp aren't you)
                                  from spilling past the hand she tried 
to clap over it.  "I'm going to go bathe.  Not a WORD about 
what you saw, all right?"  Tully nodded, and Catlin headed 
off in the direction of the bathing pools.
   As she disappeared behind the waterfall, Tully wondered 
if he should've warned Catlin that Conor had picked that 
same morning to bathe also...
   Nahhhhh.
   More interesting this way, he decided, and went back to 
his breakfast, smiling secretly.
             *****************************************
   Catlin emerged from the curtain of water to the little cave 
that housed the large pool of sparking water.  She stooped 
behind a rock to untie her boots, putting her soap and towel 
down beside her.  She undressed, tossing her clothes to the floor
   (oh it's cold this morning i hope the water's warmer than this)
                                            and then knelt behind the 
boulder again to gather her soap and towel.
   Wait.
   (what was that)
   Crouching naked behind the boulder, she drew a dagger from 
her pile of clothes
   (romans will they always follow me i thought i was safe here)
            and peered around from her hiding place.
   A man wandered into view, bare and dripping wet.  As Catlin 
watched, the lithe body soared off the stone it stood on and dove 
gracefully into the deep cavern pool.  A moment later, the man 
resurfaced, shaking water from his golden curls,
   (oh it can't be oh please)
                                                 his wet Druidic braid 
smacking against his cheek.
   (oh it is i can't believe it is)
   It was Conor.
   Catlin gasped.
   Conor, unaware he was being watched, climbed from the pool 
to get his soap.  Water poured in little rivulets down his body, 
dripping from his blond locks, running down his shoulders, his back
   (oh he's beautiful you shouldn't be here Catlin)
                                                            and his 
arms.  Catlin flushed, noting with an aching clarity that Conor 
was very well built, lean and muscular.  Water dripped off of 
him, sparkled in little drops on his smooth shoulders and back
   (his back still has marks in it from my fingernails)
                                                          and made him 
shiver as it stole his body heat and evaporated.  He was as perfect 
as if he'd been sculpted
   (like the marble statues in rome he's so beautiful)
                       by the finest artist in the world.  As he tuned 
toward her direction, Catlin got a very good look 
   (oh don't look Catlin don't look)
                                                   at ALL of him.
   (oh)
   Conor was blond.
   Everywhere.
   Catlin's dagger fell forgotten from her fingers to clatter on the 
stone floor.
   Conor jumped in alarm, readying for a fight.  "Who's there?"
   Catlin swallowed hard, clutching to the rock that was her shield, 
and wondering what she would do now...


   Conor drew his sword from where his clothing lay, the steel blade 
flashing in the dim light.  "Who's there?" he demanded, facing the 
concealed Catlin's direction.  "Show yourself!!"
   Catlin was shaking
   (what will i do oh what will i do now)
                      in fear.  She felt the cold stone of the boulder 
against her skin, a harsh reminder of her nakedness.  She considered 
reaching out and grabbing her clothes, but they were a far-flung 
distance from where she crouched, shivering.  There was no way out.
Folding her arms across her breasts modestly, she slowly stood and 
faced the sword-wielding prince.
   He stood there, beautiful and naked. The sharp, deadly steel blade 
was still leveled at her, but it wavered and relaxed as he recognized 
the trembling, fearful-eyed girl that had been spying on him.  Conor's 
jaw dropped.  "Catlin!  What're you...?"
   Catlin flushed.  "It was an accident!  I didn't know you were... 
oh... oh... I'm so sorry!"  She blurted, and, frustrated and 
embarrassed, she burst into tears.
   Conor's sword clattered to the floor and he scurried solicitously 
to her side.  "Cat - Cat, it's all right.  Please don't cry."  He gathered 
her in his arms, buried his face in her hair.
   Catlin sighed
   (he's not angry with me oh thank God he's not angry)
                 and hugged him back, feeling the fear drain from her 
body as his comforting arms held her.  She clutched him tightly, as 
if she was afraid
   (oh Conor what would i do if i didn't have you)
                to let go, feeling his warm, wet skin against hers...
   Skin?
   It suddenly dawned on her that they were both still naked - and 
clinging to each other.  Catlin felt his smooth, muscular back beneath 
her hands,
   (oh i remember last night when i dug my nails into your back)
           his chest against hers, his...
   (oh)
   Catlin pushed Conor away, lost somewhere on the path between 
terror and exhilaration.  
   "What?  What is it, Cat?  Did I do something wrong?"
   Catlin colored, trying not to let her eyes flicker over his 
beautiful, worried face, his wide shoulders, firm chest, narrow hips,
   (oh don't look Catlin don't look)
the patch of golden curls that surrounded his...  
   Conor saw her eyes travel downward over his body, lingering 
upon certain areas of interest.  Absently, he looked down at 
himself, wondering what she could be looking so intently at.
   Ye gods.
   "Oh... I... um... uh..."  Conor was at a loss, stammering as though 
his tongue were made of lead.  Then, desperately: "Why didn't you 
REMIND me!?"
   Catlin giggled in spite of herself, and the words tumbled from her 
lips before she could stop them.  "I was enjoying the view."
   Every square inch of Conor's body blushed.  "Well, I... uh..."  He 
began to squirm, trying in vain to shield himself from her eyes.  He 
considered turning away and putting his clothes on, but he had the 
distinct feeling that she would turn those wide blue eyes upon his 
arse if he did.  So he started to walk backwards.
   This amused Catlin to no end, and she began laughing and couldn't 
stop.  Tears began to run down her face, and she doubled over, 
clutching her stomach.  She recovered long enough to look up at him
   (oh i HAVE to see this one more time oh Conor you ARE a love)
and saw that he'd misjudged the direction for his reversed journey, 
and was about to step backwards into the pool.  "Conor!"
   She rushed towards him to stop him from falling, and, startled, he 
stepped back just as she reached him, and the two fell into the water, 
clutching naked to each other...
   Catlin was lost, drowning.  She couldn't tell which way was up or 
down, and the water had begun to fill her throat, smothering her cries 
of fear.  
   (oh i'm going to die will i die like this)
          Then she felt the strong grip around her body, the protective 
ring that encircled her, warm and comforting.  The ring pulled her 
upward, and she broke the surface of the water, gasping and choking. 
Struggling to rid her lungs of water, she coughed.
   "Are you all right, Cat?"
   Catlin looked up, and found herself safely wrapped in Conor's arms, 
staring up into his worried face.  "I'm...okay...I think..."  She 
coughed again, slowly realizing that the warm, protective force that had 
pulled her to safety was Conor, the strong ring about her body his arms.  
In a surging moment of relief and emotion, she hugged him tightly, her 
fear flowing out in gaspy sobs.  
   Conor held her close and let hysteria run its course.  She had nearly 
drowned, and her mind was just coming to terms with the shock. She 
cried and cried, clinging to his wet body, sobbing against his chest.  
Gently, Conor stroked her sodden hair, whispering soothing words, 
feeling the warmth of her tears on his skin.  
   Finally, she lifted her head, sniffling.  "I'm all right now, Conor.  
I am."  
   Conor raised an eyebrow.  She sounded as though she were trying to 
convince someone.  "Are you sure?  You're trembling."
   Catlin became aware of the chill air, the cool water, the heat of 
Conor beside her.  He had not let go of her yet, and his arms still held 
her pressed full-front to his body, wet and dripping.  "Conor... I... 
I..."  The words fled her, and she stared up at him, their faces inches 
apart, the warmth of the water forming wispy trails of steam that 
drifted upwards and surrounded them like faery revelers.  His breath 
heated her face, a droplet of water dripped off one of his wet curls and 
splashed over her forehead.  She gazed at him, mesmerized by the sheer 
beauty of him and the earnest emotion that flickered in his eyes like 
candle flame.
   Catlin reached up and touched his face, drinking in the sweet honesty 
of his expression, the wet golden curls dripping crystalline tears on 
her, the shuddering heat of his bare skin
   (oh)
                                                    pressed to hers.
"Conor...we're..."
   Conor swallowed, as if repressing some cry of fear.  Slowly, he made 
his eyes meet hers and whispered, "I know."
   Their lips met in a sudden rush, Catlin reaching around Conor to 
clutch at his back, grasping for some foundation in reality.  Conor 
leaned forward, pressing against her, his mouth opening to taste her 
kiss.  She felt him stir against her lower abdomen, his desire becoming 
obvious.  She pulled her kisses down his neck, hearing his breathing 
become jagged and rapid.  She reached up and nibbled at his ear, 
delighting in the soft moan it elicited from him.  Directing her kiss at 
his lips again, in a moment of daring she pressed tightly to him, 
nudging him with her hips.
   Conor, goaded beyond control, pulled Catlin to the edge of the pool 
and the couple spilled onto the bank, limbs entwining, hands caressing, 
lips kissing.  The cool stone beneath Catlin's back provided her with 
much-needed support as Conor's weight lowered down onto her.  
Droplets of water fell from his body to splash over hers, though it 
did little to cool her.  She felt as though she were burning up, the need 
to have him
   (Conor oh Conor)
                          so intense it nearly consumed her...
   Catlin stroked Conor's back, loving the feel of him, coaxing him 
closer, still closer.  She felt as though she were burning alive, 
consumed by passion's flame, an inferno that leapt higher and higher 
with every heated kiss Conor dropped onto her lips.  Catlin cradled him 
with her hips, her long legs wrapping around his, her arms pulling him 
ever closer.
   Conor lowered his kisses to her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, 
marveling at the delicate smoothness of her fair skin. Ye gods, she  was 
soft - like silk.  How could a woman look so tough and invulnerable and 
still be as soft and as tender as THIS?  Catlin had begun to gasp, 
stroking his hair to urge him on.  Conor lowered his kisses still 
further, his lips meeting the soft curves of Catlin's body carefully, 
almost timidly.  He heard her moan softly, and, encouraged, he 
redoubled his efforts, training his kisses to the most sensitive areas 
of her upper body.  This elicited something of a moan from her, and 
she cupped his face in her hands, pulled him close for a kiss.  As their 
lips met, Catlin was flooded with the urgent need to have him,
   (oh please Conor please)
          the force driving her to tighten her legs around him, 
clutching at his back and leaving marks with her fingernails.  
   Conor was gasping now, his heart beating so fast he feared it might 
burst.  He wanted her, and badly.  He centered himself, trying to get 
their bodies aligned, and then stopped, his weight braced on trembling 
arms.  He stayed that way for some time, eyes closed, breathing heavily.
   This confused Catlin.  Did he not want her?  No, obviously, he DID - 
his body made THAT quite clear.  Then what?  Why was he hesitating? 
Then it dawned on her.
   (oh love you're shy you've never done this before have you)
                        This would be his first time.
   Pure, overwhelming love swept through her, and she kissed him with 
every bit of that love, stroking his beloved golden curls, feeling the 
soft blond braid brush her cheek as he leaned over her.  She had never, 
ever felt this way before, had never given herself to anyone willingly.  
Many Roman soldiers had stolen from her, but she had never given to 
them.  She was as pure as Conor was, as unknowing in the ways of love.  
"Conor," she breathed against his cheek, "Conor, I love you."
   Conor stopped and stared at her, his eyes wide and wavering, and 
Catlin wondered if she should have said that...
   Conor blinked at her, his weight still braced at the ready on his 
arms.  "Cat... you... love me?"
   Catlin silently cursed her tongue, wishing she hadn't said anything, 
and seeing no way out.  "I... I do.  Yes."  She looked up at him, and 
was shocked to see his eyes filled with tears.  "Conor!  Conor, I..."
   "Oh, Cat!"  The tears began to run down Conor's face, and he started 
to kiss her.  "I've waited so long..."
   "Waited?"  She was worried now, afraid of what she'd gotten into.
   "To hear you say that!"  The tears had stopped, but the kisses were 
still flowing onto her.  "I love you, Cat.  I never thought I would feel 
this way again - but I do!  I love you!"
   Their lips met eagerly, the flame of passion now consuming both of 
them.  Catlin clutched at him, running her hands down his back and 
caressing his lean buttocks, pressing her body closer.  Conor shifted 
his weight, re-aligning himself with her, gathering courage.  Just as he 
was about to claim her, she stopped him.  "What if someone comes in 
again?  What if we're caught?"
   Conor paused, his mind trying to wade through the passion that 
flooded his head.  "Then we'll go someplace else!"  Before she could 
respond, Conor leapt to his feet and swept her up in his arms.  He ran 
to a narrow tunnel at the back of the cave, carrying a giggling Catlin 
with him.  The tunnel finally ended in a small, closed cave, where a 
small fire burned and furs covered the floor.  
   "What is this?" Catlin asked from her place in Conor's arms.
   Conor grinned lopsidedly at her, his eyes sparkling.  "My hideout."
   She grinned back. "Your what?  You mean nobody else knows about this 
cave?" 
   Conor chuckled softly and kissed her.  "You don't think leaders like 
to be alone every now and then?"
   "You're not alone now."
   Conor lowered her to the furs, the firelight dancing over her 
beautiful face.  "I love you, Cat."
   She reached up and stroked his cheek, committing every detail of this 
very second to memory.  "I love you, Conor."
   Conor lowered his head and kissed her waiting lips, shifting his 
weight onto his arms as he centered himself atop her body.  He rained 
soft, loving kisses over her cheeks, nose, and brow, aligning himself 
with her once again.  
   Catlin wrapped her legs around him, readying herself, kissing him as 
though she'd never stop.  She ran her hands up and down his back, giving 
him courage and comfort.
 Conor kissed her one last time...
   And took her.
  Catlin gasped as her body strained to accomodate him, straining to 
the point of pain.  Conor, seeing her reaction, kissed her over and over 
again apologetically, whispering, "Oh, Cat.  I'm sorry, Cat... forgive 
me if I hurt you?"
   Catlin smiled at him, nodding bravely.  "I'm...fine, Conor... 
Really."
   Trying to ease her discomfort, Conor pulled out a little ways.  This 
left Catlin feeling strangely empty, and she tilted her hips up to him.  
Conor complied with her silent request, sliding back into her again.
   Catlin moaned, but not with pain.
   Seeing this encouraged Conor to repeat the move, pulling out almost 
completely and then entering her again, sheathing himself to the hilt. 
Catlin cried out, digging her nails into his back, her eyes closed in 
ecstasy.
   Again.
   And again.
   Over and over, building a rhythm, Conor and Catlin moved together in 
the ancient dance of creation.  Conor was as deeply in ecstasy as 
Catlin, moaning softly, breathing heavily, his weight braced on his 
arms.  He had never felt anything like this before, had never imagined 
anything could feel so GOOD.  His entire body was enveloped in the arms 
of pleasure, his blood streaming like molten gold through his veins.  
She was hot and eager beneath him, urging him on with whispered words 
and innocent movements of her hips.  Their bodies fit together as 
perfectly as dagger and sheath fashioned for one another, and Conor 
cried out in utter pleasure as she flexed a muscle and tightened around 
him, hot and wet.
   Her hands stroked up and down his back, sometimes caressing softly, 
sometimes leaving long scratch marks.  Conor ran one hand over her 
shoulder and down her side, bracing his weight on the opposite arm and 
one knee.  His gentle fingers tenderly stroked the full curve of her 
left breast, the nipple rising eagerly to meet his touch.  Catlin 
gasped, arching her back and pressing herself to him.  He dropped his 
kisses to her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone - and his lips closed 
around the tender bud his hand had brought to full sensitivity.  Catlin 
shrieked, overwhelmed by the feel of the heat of his mouth upon her 
breast, his lips drawing softly upon the sensitive nipple.  She stroked 
his hair, moaning softly, whispering his name.
   Conor shifted his weight to his arms again, continuing the gentle 
strokes that made Catlin gasp and clutch at his arms and back.  He 
brought his mouth back up to kiss her lips, thrusting into her deeply.
   Again and again.
   Catlin's body cried out in pleasure, and the pressure built and 
built, until the gates broke and she found herself nearly screaming as 
wave after golden wave of ecstasy crashed over her in a shattering tide. 
   The sudden realization that HE had given her that much pleasure sent 
a jolt through the astounded Conor, and his body responded accordingly.  
His breath began coming in short gasps, his heart pounding fiercely, and 
he could no longer control himself...
   Conor lifted his head back, his eyes closed in rapture, his mouth 
fallen open in astonishment.  His cry of pleasure echoed off the walls 
of the small cave for several heartbeats, and then he relaxed, 
collapsing full-weight upon her.
   Loving the feel of his sated body upon her, Catlin crooned softly to 
him, stroking his sweat-dampened curls, caressing his scratched back.  
He lay heavily upon her, panting, his head nestled in the crook of her 
neck and shoulder.  Without raising his head, Conor breathed softly 
against her neck, "I love you, Catlin."
   A tear of an undetermined emotion ran down Catlin's cheek, and she 
hugged him with her whole body, her arms and legs pulling him close. "I 
love you too, Conor."  Another tear slid down her face.  "I love you so 
much."
   Conor raised his head and tenderly kissed the tears from her lovely, 
flushed face.  Then he lowered his head back down to her shoulder, 
exhausted and happy.
   They fell asleep that way, their bodies still joined as one.


                             *******
   A few hours later, Catlin opened her eyes.  She was still wrapped in 
Conor's arms, warm and safe.  The furs that covered them were a bit 
askance, and the fire had died down to glowing embers.  Catlin snuggled 
closer to Conor's warm, bare skin, loath to stop touching him.  "Conor?"
   "Hmmmm?" Conor's sleepy response was little more than a rumbly 
purr.
   "I just thought of something."  She trailed her fingers across his 
chest, delighting in the smooth skin.
   "What?"  
   "We forgot our clothes."
   The couple collapsed into giggles, hugging each other, sprinkling 
kisses onto each other's faces.  Conor chuckled, "We're never going to 
hear the end of this."
   Catlin giggled against his lips.  "Oh well...at least we had fun."
   This amused Conor endlessly, and he began to laugh.  "We did, didn't 
we?  Catlin..."
   "Hmmmm?" She was still giggling.
   "Marry me."
   "What??" Catlin looked up at him, wondering if she'd heard him right.
   "Marry me.  Be my wife."  He removed his arms from around her just 
long enough to pull the silver clan ring from his finger.  Embracing her 
again, he offered it to her.  "Please, Catlin, be my wife."
   A tear ran down Catlin's face
   (i never thought i could love anyone so much)
                                  and she whispered, "Yes."
   Conor slid the ring onto Catlin's finger.  It was way too large, but 
who cared?  The couple embraced each other again, kissing tenderly.  
"Catlin," Conor whispered, "Gramochradie."  The ancient Gaelic word 
rolled off Conor's tongue like water.
   "That's beautiful." Catlin stroked his face. "What does it mean?"
   "My heart's treasure."
   Although the fire in the cave was just embers now, the flame between 
the two lovers had rekindled itself, and they began to kiss again, eager 
to reclaim each other...
**************************************************
Conor's eyes fluttered open and the dream of a rainbow and ten 
goblets faded into nonexistence.  He looked down at Catlin, who was 
still sleeping blissfully, her head pillowed on his shoulder.  Oh, she 
was beautiful, her lovely face the very vision of peace as she dreamt 
happily in her beloved's arms.
   Tenderly, Conor lowered his head and kissed her brow.  She did not 
awaken, and Conor decided it best to let her sleep a bit longer.  He 
carefully disengaged her from his shoulder and laid her gently down upon 
the furs, being cautious not to disturb her sleep.  He stood up and 
stretched languorously, reaching his arms up over his head, his 
fingertips touching the ceiling of the little cave.  He wondered what 
time it was; surely he and Catlin had been...busy...for a few hours or 
more.  He walked towards the mouth of the cave, peering over his 
shoulder at the sleeping Catlin.  She would be safe, he decided, and he 
wouldn't be gone long. 
   He walked down the long, winding tunnel and emerged in the bathing 
cavern.  A small hole in the ceiling of the cave, no bigger than a 
pumpkin, allowed a shimmering shaft of light to stream into the 
otherwise dim cave, reaching for the earth as the sun god tried to 
embrace his children standing on the planet.  Judging by the slant of 
the light shaft, Conor surmised it was late afternoon, somewhere between 
three and four o'clock.  They had missed breakfast, and lunch too.  A 
cocky smile hit his face, and he was powerless to stop it from spreading 
ear to ear.  He and Catlin had been coupling that long?  Ye GODS.  
Wonderful way to spend the morning though...and the afternoon, and early 
evening...
   Chuckling to himself, he turned and walked back down the tunnel and 
into the little cave where Catlin still slept upon the furs.  He lay 
down beside her and kissed her lips softly.  "Catlin?  Catlin, wake up, 
love."
   Catlin's lashes fluttered and she responded to his kisses, wrapping 
her arms around him and pulling him closer.   "Conor...again?"
   Conor felt a blush seeping into his cheeks.  "Wouldn't I love to.  
But we'll be missing dinner soon."
   Catlin's eyes opened, widening as though the words had finally sunk 
in.  "Dinner?  How long have we been gone?"
   "Around six hours, I'd suppose."
   Catlin sat bolt upright, modestly clutching the furs over her 
breasts.  "Six hours?  Oh, they're bound to be looking for us by now!" 
She began smoothing her hair and looking about anxiously.  "I hope we 
haven't worried anyone...and Tully!  Oh, the little imp!  I bet he's the 
only one that knows... He's probably told half the camp by 
now...ohhh...!"
   Conor raised an eyebrow.  "Cat?  What are you talking about?"
   Catlin tried to calm herself.  "Nothing...nothing.  Let's just go to 
dinner, all right?"  She stood up, and the bearskin furs slid from her 
body to pool at her feet.
   Conor flushed, and came very close to tumbling her again, and to hell 
with dinner.
   Catlin hurried towards the mouth of the cave, paused to look over her 
shoulder at Conor, who was still sitting openmouthed on the floor. 
"Conor?  Aren't you coming with me?"
   Conor stood up, his mind finally returning to reality.  "Oh yeah." He 
almost ran to her side, trying to keep his body from mirroring his 
thoughts.  "Let's go."
   The two lovers ran hand in hand down the tunnel, giggling like 
children, joyous in the naughty secretiveness of their affair.  They 
emerged in the bathing cavern, the light reflecting off the water and 
sparkling upon the walls.  Catlin hurried across the empty cave to where 
her clothes lay hidden behind the boulder she'd undressed near. She was 
almost completely dressed, fastening her belt, when she heard Conor's 
voice.
   "Catlin?  Is my tunic over there?"
   Catlin turned to look at him.  There he stood, in boots, breeches, 
and belt, but his chest was bare.  "No, it's not over here; I thought it 
was with your other clothes."
   "No - my sword is missing, too."  He scratched his head, further 
rumpling his already-mussed curls.  "Go on out and see if dinner's on 
yet.  I'll be out in a moment.  I wonder if I put it..."  He trailed 
off, looking around.
   Catlin ran to him and threw her arms around him, and the two kissed 
with the passion of lovers who must be secretive about it.  Who knew how 
long it would be before they could kiss like this again?  Reluctantly, 
Conor broke the kiss and shooed her out the door.
   Catlin walked into the center of the Sanctuary and was greeted by a 
worried-looking Fergus.  "Catlin, lass!  Have ye seen Conor?"  
   His concern was tangible.  Catlin knew it would be unfair to lie and 
say she hadn't seen him, thus worrying poor Fergus MORE, but she also 
was not in too big a hurry to divulge the events of the last six hours, 
either.  "I...uh..."
   Mercifully, Conor emerged from behind the waterfall, still shirtless.  
"Hello, Fergus, Catlin."
   Catlin took this opportunity to slip discreetly away...to see if 
dinner was ready, of course.
   Fergus ran over to Conor and gripped the boy by the shoulders.  
"Conor, lad!  Where in the name of the gods have ye BEEN?  Little Alneya 
came runnin' in three hours ago with your tunic and sword, sayin' you'd 
drowned or somethin'!"
   "So THAT'S what happened to them," Conor mumbled to no one in 
particular, though Fergus heard him.
   "Ye obviously DIDN'T drown though, did ye lad?  What WERE y'up to, 
anyway?"  Seeing Conor blush slightly, he added, "Or don't I want to 
know?"
   Conor hurried away from Fergus, calling over his shoulder, "Is dinner 
almost ready yet?"  From behind him, he heard a sudden burst of 
laughter, then several more as many people joined in.  Confused, he 
turned around to face the laughing crowd, and the people on THAT side of 
the room began to guffaw behind him.  
   Frustrated, he leaned over to Fergus, who was regarding the young 
prince with an enormous, knowing smile.  "What ARE they laughing about, 
Fergus?"
   Fergus grinned a little wider.  "Perhaps it has something to do with 
the scratches crisscrossing your back, lad.  Ye have the look of a lover 
about ye!"
   Conor felt a hot blush burning his fair Eire skin crimson, and he 
began to wish the earth would open up and swallow him whole... 
  Conor knew he was blushing, and badly, but he was powerless to stop 
it or the laughter it caused amongst his followers.  Helplessly, he 
looked to Fergus.  "Ohh...what am I going to DO??"
   Fergus grinned at his young charge.  "There's nothing TO be done 
about it, lad... Everyone's going to believe what they will."
   Conor felt like digging a hole, crawling into it, and staying there 
till the spring thaw.  His face burned with the crimson mark of 
embarrassment; he was surrounded by a VERY large crowd of people who 
were intelligent enough to know what the scratches on his back entailed, 
and they were all laughing at him.  Ye GODS - how had he gotten his 
blessed self into THIS?  He covered his face with both hands in the 
vague hope that if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him.  
"Ohhhh..."
   Fergus chuckled and clapped the younger man on the back.  This stung 
Conor's raked skin, and he jumped, wincing in pain.  This elicited a 
roar of laughter from the assembled crowd, and Conor turned another 
shade redder.  "Conor, lad."  Fergus was obviously trying very hard not 
to laugh.  "Perhaps you should have those scratches looked at by a 
healer."
   Conor was nearly purple.  "I'm FINE, Fergus.  Just give me my tunic, 
will you?"
   Fergus took up the leather vest from where it lay on a nearby stool 
and handed it to Conor, who snatched it and began putting it on, walking 
away.  Fergus ran after him, much to Conor's chagrin.  
   "Conor!"  The laughter was still echoing in the background as Fergus 
called out, and Conor quickened his pace.  He loved his friend and 
mentor dearly, but if he didn't get away from all that jeering, he felt 
he'd die of embarrassment.
   "Leave me alone, Fergus!"  He was nearly in tears, his face ready to 
burn right off his skull.
   Fergus paid no heed and caught up with the young prince in a few long 
strides.  Conor sat down at the base of a large tree, and Fergus knelt 
beside him.  "Conor - tell me honestly... Did you?"
   Conor put his elbows on his knees and rested his face in his hands. 
"Fergus..."
   "No, I'm serious, lad.  If ye did, great, if not, that's fine too - 
just tell me...as a friend."  
   Something in Fergus' tone made Conor look up at him.  Fergus looked 
hurt, and Conor began to realize that the man looked on him as a son, or 
a younger brother, and was indeed upset at being shut out.  A wave of 
guilt washed over Conor, and he gave in.  "All right.  I'll tell you."
   Fergus grinned and sat down, stretching his legs out in front of him 
like a small child.  "That's me boy!  Tell all!"
   Conor smiled sheepishly.  "Well, I... Yes.  I did."
   Fergus' face lit up like a lantern.  "Ye DID!  I knew it!  Who's the 
lucky girl, lad?"
   Conor blinked at him.  "You haven't guessed?"
   The mustache crinkled as a smile appeared beneath it.  "I probably 
have.  But I want t'hear it from YOU."
   The smile was contagious, and Conor grinned back, still looking a bit 
embarrassed.  "Catlin."
   A whoop escaped Fergus, and he clapped Conor's shoulder in 
comeraderie.  "Catlin!  I KNEW it!  The lass has made a man of ye, eh?
And y'couldn't've picked a better girl!  She's PERFECT for ya, lad!"
   Conor flushed again.  "She is, isn't she?"
   Fergus leaned close to his young charge and whispered 
conspiritorically, "So...how was it?  Your first time, eh?"
   Conor's blush deepened still further.  "Aye.  It was."
   Fergus chuckled.  "If your back is any sign, at least she liked it."
   Conor grinned sheepishly, his blush a perfect crimson.  "I did too."
   Fergus let out a bellow of laughter, squeezing the boy's shoulders 
with one arm.  "That's me boy!"  
   This time, Conor laughed too.
   "So tell me," Fergus said, smiling warmly, "What was it like?"
   Words began to pour out of Conor in a rush, like a small child 
recounting some fabulous journey.  "Oh, Fergus, it was PERFECT.  She was 
so beautiful...I almost didn't come to dinner!"  
   Fergus laughed.  "I know how you feel.  Go on."
   "Well...I asked Catlin to marry me."  He held up his hand, showing 
its lack of jewelry.  "I gave her my ring."
   Fergus stood, pulling Conor to his feet.  "Then let's go congratulate 
the bride!"  Dragging a laughing Conor by one arm, he began walking 
towards the dinner hall, where they were witness to a horrible scene...
Meanwhile, "the bride" was having her own difficulties.  Catlin was 
in the dining hall, stirring the huge cauldron of rabbit stew that was 
at the front of the room.  The kitchen cooks had gladly accepted her 
help, as a large number of Druids and their novices had come to visit. 
Catlin was happy to assist in any way she could, and the cooks had asked 
her to keep an eye on the stew.
   So there she stood, stirring the cauldron's contents with a long 
wooden spoon, smiling to herself and gazing happily at the silver clan 
ring on the hand she was stirring with.  She tried not to giggle, 
remembering the way Conor had sat up, the furs draped about his waist, 
and pulled the ring off his own hand to put it on hers.  She remembered 
the warmth of his brown eyes, the single drooping curl that hung in the 
middle of his forehead... Oh, his HAIR!  That golden mass of curls 
rumpled easily, and she recalled the way his locks had tumbled crazily 
when he got up from sleep, the blond ringlets spilling every which way.  
She giggled, picturing.
   "I see SOMEONE thinks this situation is funny."
   Catlin turned to see who had spoken.   It was Molly, dressed in her 
long blue dress, her hair tied back with an azure ribbon.  She was 
standing surprisingly close, and Catlin wondered how she had come in 
unheard.  "Hello, Molly.  Dinner will be ready soon."
   Molly's eyes snapped ice and fire.  "Dinner is the LEAST of my 
worries right now."  She stepped closer, her expression dangerous.  "Is 
it true, Catlin?"
   Catlin tried to exude innocence.  "What?"
   Molly's eyes narrowed.  "Don't play games with me, Cat.  The entire 
Sanctuary is talking about it."
   Catlin blinked, maintaining her innocent expression, though it was 
difficult not to panic.  "I don't understand."  She turned back to the 
stew and continued stirring.
   Molly snatched the wooden spoon out of Catlin's hand, snarling, 
"Don't think I don't know!  You've BEEN with him!"
   Catlin had begun to tremble. "Who?"
   "Conor!"
   Catlin held on to the cauldron stand for support.  She was feeling 
shaky, her knees threatening to give way.  "Molly - I..."
   Molly's eyes narrowed.  "So what will you do now?" she spat, "Marry 
him?"  
   Catlin held up her hand, showing Conor's ring.  "Yes - yes, I will!"  
She said these words with defiant strength.
   Molly's face darkened.  "You don't deserve him."
   Catlin's brows shot up.  "Excuse me?"
   Molly curled her pretty lips into a sneer.  "He deserves someone 
whole and pure and worthy of him - not someone who's been used by every 
Roman soldier on the island!"
   Tears of rage sprang to Catlin's eyes.  "I had no CHOICE!  I was a 
slave!  I didn't ASK them to do that to me!"
   Molly smirked.  "Maybe not - but you didn't STOP them either, did 
you?"
   Catlin's right hand came out of nowhere and slapped Molly squarely 
across the face. "You spiteful BITCH!"  She shrieked in fury.
   Molly reacted quickly and slapped back.  The blow had a lot of force 
behind it, and Catlin's head whipped to the side.  Molly was now crying 
as well, and she spat furiously, "Bitch, maybe - whore like you - 
never!"
   Catlin wasted no time in introducing her fist to Molly's mouth.  The 
young novice cried out in pain, falling to the floor, crimson blood 
running from her finely shaped lip.  Molly leapt to her feet and threw 
herself at Catlin, screaming in fury.  The two women fell to the floor, 
struggling.  Catlin grabbed Molly's hair, pulling her head back and 
eliciting a yelp of pain from the girl.  Molly countered by twisting 
around and clutching at Cat's shirt, ripping the cloth from the sleeve.
   By now, the cooks had run in to see what was going on, along with 
half the population of the Sanctuary.  The men raised mugs of ale, 
cheering for their chosen fighter.  The women called reassurances and 
encouragement, and one ancient crone actually shouted, "Atta girl, 
Catlin!  Pound the high-nosed bitch!  Yea lass!!"  Most of the people 
seemed to side with Catlin, though there were several who took up for 
Molly, screaming their support.
   "I'll never let you have him!"  Molly hissed, her pretty face bruised 
and bleeding, her expression a mask of rage.  She reached out and raked 
her long nails across Cat's cheek, reaping a crop of scarlet rows.
   Catlin cried out in pain, grabbing Molly's hand and twisting her arm 
behind her back.  Molly screamed, for she thought Catlin would break her 
arm for sure.  But Catlin had a much more painful plan in mind.
   Pulling on the arm, she drew Molly back, forcing her to her knees. 
Molly swung around, reaching with her free arm for Catlin's face.  Cat 
avoided the blow and dove in close, grabbing the front of Molly's dress.  
Molly tried to get away, pulling back, and Catlin yanked the cloth, 
tearing the fabric completely and revealing Molly's mysteries to all 
assembled!
   Conor and Fergus ran in at about this point, and saw the commotion. 
First, they saw the crowd.  Then they saw Catlin.  Then - they saw 
Molly.  Fergus flew into a rage, chasing all the people from the room, 
shouting, "What're YOU lookin' at?  She's my DAUGHTER!!"
   Molly gathered the tatters of her dress over her breasts and ran 
crying from the hall, with Fergus following close behind.
   Conor went over to the battered but triumphant Catlin, and asked, 
"What in the name of the gods was THAT all about?"
   Catlin was suddenly ashamed, and she looked down at her hands.
   Oh NO!
   The ring!
   Where was it?
   Frantically, she fell to her knees and began to search the 
rush-strewn floor, crying, "Oh...the ring...where is it...?  Where is 
it?  Ohhh..."   She trailed off, and curled into fetal position on the 
floor, sobbing.
   Conor found the silver ring a few steps away, and brought it to his 
weeping beloved.  Kneeling beside her, he offered it to her.  "Here it 
is, love."   Catlin looked up, tears streaming down her face. She held 
out her hand and he slid the ring onto her finger again.  He smiled at 
her, squeezing her hand tenderly.  "It looks right on you."
   Catlin sniffled a bit, but could not yet smile.  Her face stung from 
the raking Molly had given it, and her eyes burned with tears.
   Conor's expression became one of tremendous concern.  He reached out 
and tilted her face up with his fingertips.  "Cat... Oh, Cat... What's 
happened?"
   Catlin burst into tears, throwing herself into his arms, and cried 
upon his chest as though she'd never stop...