Lara laughed. “An interesting excuse for attempted seduction,” she remarked.

He grinned engagingly at her. “I think I am falling in love with you, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword,” he told her.

“You are a fraud, my lord Vartan, for we have only just met,” Lara reminded him.

“Have you never heard of love at first sight?” he asked her.

“I do not believe in love, my lord,” Lara answered him. “You do not have to cajole me with sweet words, my lord Vartan. If I remain among the Fiacre long enough, and we become friends, then I will gladly share my body with you,” Lara promised him. “But be warned that even half faerie women do not give children to those they do not love.”

“Now,” he said, “I am even more curious to learn your story, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword,” he told her.

“Tonight,” she promised. “We will speak together as the Triad blazes overhead.”

They rode the day long, stopping only briefly to water their horses. Lara dug into her pouch, and pulled out a piece of faerie bread to share with Noss, who was all rosy with blushes from her ride with the Fiacre Liam.

“You are too young to be seduced,” Lara warned Noss. “Do not let his sweet words or stolen kisses overcome your innate common sense.”

“He is very polite,” Noss half whispered.

“Then he is indeed a dangerous man,” Lara cautioned. “Remember that unlike me you can conceive a child in your belly, Noss. Do you desire to be a mother at your young age? Think carefully before you let him insinuate himself between your legs. I should have to leave you behind, and we do not know these people. They are considered savages by those in the City.”

“They do not seem very savage to me,” Noss noted.

“Nay, and I do not believe they are. They simply wish to live their lives in a different manner than those who call themselves Hetarians,” Lara said.

“I like this freedom that they have,” Noss said softly.

“So do I,” Lara agreed, “but I want to know more about the Outlanders, and sheltering with Lord Vartan for a short while is a good way to learn about them.”

They reached the encampment, a small circle of tents. In the center of the circle a fire was prepared, and ready to light. When Vartan looked to Lara she shook her head in the negative. There was no reason to reveal her skills to others right now. She dismounted, noting that her buttocks felt sorer today than they had yesterday.

“How I would love a hot bath,” she said to no one in particular.

“Tomorrow in my house we will bathe together,” Vartan said, coming up next to her. “Come, and I will show you and Noss to my tent. You will sleep there tonight while I sleep outside keeping watch.”

“You need not keep watch,” Lara told him. “I will set Verica, my staff, at the entrance of your tent and he will watch over us.”

“The sword has magic. The staff has magic,” Vartan noted. “What else about you is magic, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword?”

“The horses talk,” she told him, her green eyes dancing with mirth. “None of this is my doing, my lord Vartan, I swear it. These things were given to me by Prince Kaliq and his people to help keep me safe,” Lara finished, almost laughing.

Vartan of the Fiacre did laugh at these admissions. He had not lied when he told her he was falling in love with her. He knew it in his heart from the moment he had laid eyes on her, but he also knew this was a strong woman. But could the lord of the Fiacre follow in the wake of a half faerie woman, even if he loved her? He did not know the answer to these questions. Yet.

They remained the night at the encampment. They did not eat faerie bread, but rather feasted on broiled rabbits the Fiacre clansmen had caught along the way. There was real bread, and cheese, and even wine. And after the others had all gone to bed, Lara and Vartan sat by the fire beneath the Triad and the four silvery moons of Hetar as she told him her tale. He was fascinated, repelled and angered by her recitation.

“How could your father…?” he began, but she hushed him.

“A man must be worthy to be a Crusader Knight,” she said. “I was my father’s only asset.”

“His assets should have been his battle skills, his honesty and his loyalty,” Vartan said.

“It is not the way of Hetar. A man’s appearance is all-important, my lord,” Lara replied. “If he could not look the part, what good his skills and ethics?”

Vartan shrugged. “Indeed,” was all he could think of to reply. He listened again, scorning the foolish futility of the Forest Lords at paying thirty thousand pieces of gold for Lara in the belief she could remove the curse placed upon them by Maeve. “And then they came to Shunnar to reclaim you with a false document? What kind of a magistrate would give them such a parchment?”

“One whom they paid well,” Lara replied. “Commerce is the way of Hetar. If a man does not line his pockets when he can, he will die poor.”

Vartan shook his head. “Wealth is better, I will agree, but a man’s wealth should be gained honestly, not through schemes and trickery.”

“A man thought too honest will be considered a fool,” she replied. And yet his words were giving her pause for thought. Were there other ways than those she had been taught? She suspected she would learn them in her journeying.

Lara finally found her bed, curling up next to Noss, who was sleeping soundly. But her sleep was a restless one, and the dawn came swiftly. She found herself dozing in her saddle as they rode along the next day. When they stopped to water the horses, Dasras scolded her softly in his deep voice.

“What is the matter with you, mistress?”

“I did not sleep well last night,” she told him.

“And you were late to bed as well,” Dasras murmured. “Is it the Fiacre lord who disturbs your rest?”

“Why would Vartan disturb my rest?” Lara muttered. “You had better drink while you can. We’ll be going again very quickly.” She didn’t want to discuss Vartan.

Dasras lowered his head, and drank.

It was almost sunset when they reached the village of Camdene.

“Is there an inn or resting place for travelers?” Lara asked Vartan.

He looked slightly scandalized by her words. “You are my guest, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword,” he said. “My mother keeps my house. She would be very angry with me if I allowed you and Noss to rest your heads elsewhere.”

“You have no wife, no mate?” Lara inquired bluntly.

“I am responsible for my people, and the Fiacre are a large clan. Seven villages belong to us, as well as much land. I have no time for a wife. My younger brother, Adon, took a wife several months ago. Her name is Elin. My mother is Bera.”

To Lara’s surprise the village looked very prosperous. It very much resembled the villages in the Midlands, but it was better kept, to Lara’s eye. Each cottage sat upon a neat square of land with a garden both before it, and behind. The street of shops they traversed showed windows filled with goods. These people did not appear to be savages at all. The men with them dropped away, each going to his own home. At the far end of the village on a gentle green rise sat a large stone house toward which they rode. The house was long, and built to fit into the surrounding landscape. It would have been difficult to distinguish from a distance, it nestled so closely into the land.

They had but reached the house when the front door opened, and a woman stepped forth. “Vartan! What did you find?”

He slid from his horse, and embraced the woman. “Two little girls all alone on the plain, Mother. I brought them home.”

Bera looked Lara and Noss over with a sharp and critical eye. “They do not appear particularly helpless to me, my son,” she said. “Who are they, and from where do they come?” She was a big woman like her son with the same light blue eyes.

“That is not the welcome I would expect for Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, and her companion, Noss, Mother,” Vartan gently chided his parent.

“She is faerie,” Bera said suspiciously.

“Aye, mistress, my mother was indeed faerie,” Lara quickly spoke. “But she did not raise me. I was raised by my father, who was a mercenary, and my grandmother, Ina. While I have some small magic about me, I mean no harm to any. If you would not shelter Noss and me, I will understand, and seek your inn.”

Bera laughed at Lara’s words. “And she is proud. She looks delicate, but she is made of iron I can now see. Welcome, Lara, daughter of Swiftsword, and her companion, Noss. Come in! Come in!” She ushered them into the house, leading them into the Great Hall.

“You handled her well,” Vartan murmured low.

“I can see now why you are not yet wed,” Lara said dryly in low tones.

“I am not wed because until now I had not yet met the woman I wanted for my mate,” he responded, well pleased to see her blush.

“You have arrived just in time for the evening meal,” Bera said. “We eat simply, but there is always plenty.” Immediately servants began entering the hall, bearing steaming bowls and platters. “Sit! Sit!” Bera invited them, noticing that her son put Lara at his right hand. At last, she thought! Was it possible? Dared she to hope? Then she restrained herself. Only time would tell.

Lara’s eyes widened at Bera’s idea of a simple meal. There was fresh broiled salmon with herbs, a roasted goose, a large joint of beef, and a rabbit pie with the flakiest crust she had ever tasted. There were bowls of peas, onions in cream, butter and pepper, tiny carrots in butter and honey dusted with nutmeg. There was bread, a large crock of sweet newly churned butter and a wheel of hard yellow cheese. And when she thought the meal was over, bowls of peaches and sweet cherries were brought to the table along with crisp little sugar wafers. They drank goblets of ale, and it was the best Lara had ever tasted. Again she wondered why Outlanders were called savages.