Standing Stones

by Cristal Keeper

In one of those lonely Orkney Isles
There dwelled a maiden fair.
Her cheeks were pale, her eyes were brown
She had ruddy, curling hair.

Which caught the eye and then the heart
Of one who could never be
The lover of so true a maid
Or fair a form as she.

"You shouldn’t let her go out like that, Father," the boy whined. He wasn’t a boy, truly, but a man just short of his prime and itching to make his way into the world. The only thing keeping him back, besides his own laziness, was his father’s wish to keep all the children at home for just a little while longer.

The young man huffed and threw himself down in a wicker chair made out of thin, supple twigs. The chair creaked ominously, and the father wondered if this would be the time it gave out under the pressure of having a body thrown into it. But the chair held firm once more, as if to say it would survive just a little while longer. The old man felt a stab of kinship with the poor, abused chair at that moment. He sighed and rubbed at his head, the bright hair there now liberally laced with grey until the reddish locks were sparser than the grey ones.

"Gregory," he began, "how many times must I tell you? Your sister may do as she pleases, just as you do. She has every right to enjoy the sunshine and the clean, strong air of the outdoors. You’d do well to follow her example once in a while."

"Father! She’s been riding the colt again." The man grimaced, his hair more strawberry-blond than true red, and his skin pinker than his father’s. "They go racing around the burren at breakneck speed. She’ll never be married at this rate! Do you know what the talk at the village is? They say she’ll never make a fit bride for anyone, no matter what dowry you promise with her!"

"Shut up, Gregory!" a new, younger voice interjected. He had the pale skin of his father and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his turned-up nose, and his hair glittered with red-gold sunshine. "She rides better’n you, and you’re just sour!"

Donncan smiled and held out a hand for his youngest son. The nine year old youngster skipped over to his father and ducked under his arm, snuggling against the old man’s frame. "Dermott," his father chided gently, but with no real malice, "you mustn’t say such things."

The boy shrugged, his amber eyes glinting with merriment. "It’s true." His older brother gnashed his teeth together and glared, but there wasn’t much he could do. Their father was desperately trying to hold in his laughter. He hid a smile beneath his great grey-red beard and coughed to hide the accompanying laughter.

"Now, boys," he started, but he never finished. The back door banged open, and a new figure stepped into the room. The person was tall and slender, but with the unmistakable curves of a woman. She stomped the mud off her boots and pulled a hat off her head, letting a wild tumble of red curls as vibrant as her younger brother’s fall down her back. Her eyes were darker than Dermott’s, a deep, fathomless brown. She grinned at the little boy, who grinned back and ran to help her pull her boots off.

"Good morning, Father," she greeted, ignoring her elder brother who sat watching her with an unmistakable expression of distaste. She sat on the hearth and pulled her second boot off before throwing it on the slate entryway along with its twin. "I trust you slept well?"

Dermott settled in her lap next to the breakfast fire and watched his father with merriment dancing in his odd topaz eyes. The old man sighed tiredly. It was on days like these that he truly felt his age. He was glad his two other sons weren’t awake yet. The five children together sometimes were just too much to handle.

"Lynn," he said, addressing the tall young woman, "Gregory tells me you’ve been riding the colt again."

The woman nodded, unashamed of what she’d done. She ran a hand through her long red curls, smoothing out the snags she’d received during the morning ride.

"That’s what the trainers are for," her father continued. This was one issue he held firm to. He didn’t care what else Maevelyn chose to do in her spare time, but the racing horses were strictly off limits to her. Especially the young ones still being trained. After a moment he added, "and your older brothers."

"I know," Maeve replied, accepting the tea the servant offered her. She blew on the hot, clear brown liquid. "But I get the faster times."

The old man glanced at Gregory, who was watching his boot with the fascination of someone trying desperately to not be noticed. "Greg! Is this true?"

The young man nodded sullenly. Donncan’s eyes flicked back to his only daughter, who shrugged disinterestedly. "You should be at a lady’s finishing school and not playing trainer and midwife to a bunch of horses," he said to the room at large. He knew such a statement would not be taken well.

Maeve snorted her idea of that comment, resisting her impulse to stick a finger down her throat and pretend to gag. Dermott clung to his older sister and shook his head fiercely. "No! Maeve’s not going anywhere!"

The housekeeper bustled in then, with a steaming tray of bannocks and honey. Donncan rolled his eyes and gestured to his two youngest children. "Off with you two! Shoo, off with you! Your old father needs some quiet."

"You’ll never be old, Father," Maeve replied calmly as she stood. She went over and kissed him on the cheek before heading upstairs, Dermott in tow.

"And for heaven’s sake, don’t sit in the hearth like a common scullery!" Gregory called up after her. A glare from the housekeeper was the only answer.

Donncan chuckled fondly. "Whatever am I going to do with her?" he asked, a doting smile still on his withered features. "She is like a breath of fresh air in this big house, and yet I know she cannot stay here forever." He sighed. "She is so much like her mother… Many people doubted the reasons I had for marrying her, Greg. But I loved her so much! She was my light, my freedom, and I was the rock she clung to when she needed stability." He sighed again. "My Maevelyn. What am I to do with her?"

Gregory pulled his chair up closer to his father’s. "Father, I have a friend who lives in the next township over; a friend by the name of Nicholas. He caught sight of Lynn the last time he was here to see the colts. He told me then that when the time came for her to marry, he would gladly pay suit." Gregory’s eyes were bright now, and shining dully. "I do believe he may be the one for her."

The old man shifted uncomfortably. "I must meet him before he can pay suit," he said. "I don’t want anyone pestering my Maeve. He must be willing to accept her as she is, and not try to change her. I would not see her free spirit killed by a life of domesticity, and I gave a solemn promise to her mother that Maevelyn would never marry unless the man was as free as she, and loved her for who she was."

The fire in Greg’s eyes dimmed and he looked disappointed, but he hid the disappointment quickly. "As you wish, Father," he said. "But may I send for Nicholas anyway? Perhaps you shall see things as I do when you meet him."

"By all means," Donncan said, waving his hand. "Now leave me, boy, and tell your lazyboned brothers that if they want breakfast they’d better make it themselves and not pester the cook. The sun’s been up far too long for them to still be a-bed."

*****

"Maeve, why are we going down to the wharves?" Dermott asked as he skipped along beside his sister. They walked in the middle of the path, where wagon wheels had not yet rutted out the dirt and turned it to mud. It hadn’t snowed yet this year, which was strange for the season. It was the middle of December, and still raining with a dull, dead rain that showed no inclination to turn to snow.

But today, at least, the rain had ceased and the sun was out. The road was a mess of mud, but the middle was relatively dry. Dermott scuffed along in the muddy puddles, sending arcs of brown water over the grass alongside the path but careful not to shower his sister in the act.

Maeve grinned indulgently at him. She was dressed in soft deerskin breeches and a loose white shirt, a heavy fawn-colored cloak of wool draped around her shoulders. The hood was lying against her shoulders and her hair gleamed brightly against the slumbering countryside. Dermott shook his head, his hair very straight and fine unlike his sister’s curls.

"We’re to meet a friend of Father’s," Maeve responded. "His father and ours were good friends and trading partners before Father got into horses."

"I don’t remember a time without horses."

"Nor do I. It was long before we were born." Maeve stepped over a puddle and continued walking briskly toward the village.

"Does Gregory?" Dermott flicked his amber eyes up to his sister’s for a moment before sending another spray of scummy water onto the dead brown grass.

"I don’t know and I don’t care," Maeve answered, and that was the end of that. She sighed, her breath clouding the clear air as the darker brown of the village appeared, a smudge on the horizon of dull grass before her.

"Aren’t you excited to go see a friend of Father’s?" Dermott asked.

"You’re full of questions today, aren’t you?" Maeve responded.

"I was just wondering." Dermott shrugged. He’d lost another tooth this morning, and he found that he could whistle from the space it left in his mouth. He whistled now, not loudly, the cold air filling his lungs and numbing them.

Maeve laughed, the sound clear as bells, and ruffled her brother’s hair before continuing on toward the small town.

Across the lake in Sandwick
Dwelled a youth she held most true,
And ever since her infancy
He had watched with eyes so blue.

"Brrr!" The first mate shivered. "I keep forgetting how cold it is up here! Tell me again, Sinbad, exactly why we’re back?"

The captain grinned at his brother’s display of displeasure. "Now now, Doubar, you know why. We’re here to visit our father’s old friend again. Mother was from around here—she was born just across the lake from this village. You shouldn’t mind the weather."

The bigger man just glared at his brother for a moment before burying himself farther into his coarse cloak. "You don’t have some other reason for returning, do you?" he asked, a crafty expression and innocent tone mixing to make Sinbad very uneasy indeed.

"What exactly are you insinuating, brother?" he asked cautiously.

Doubar smirked. "That there is a certain redheaded lass you’ve your eye on!" he cracked. Sinbad blushed deeply but shook his head.

"If you’re talking about the man’s daughter, she’s a skinny, impertinent girl with eyes too big for her face and too much hair for her to know what to do with!"

Doubar continued to grin. "So you’ve noticed her," he remarked. "I thought you might."

Sinbad blushed again. In truth, he had noticed the girl…the very first time he’d laid eyes on her. Those piercing brown eyes of hers, while still young, had stared right through him and he felt as if he were flying. He knew, rather uncomfortably, that every time they came up here he’d been so busy watching her quicksilver grace and fluid movements that he felt sure his host had noticed.

Now, Sinbad thought, she would be fully grown. He hadn’t been back for a few years, and he was more eager to see the girl again than he would like to admit.

*****

The ship glided into the cold, damp harbor an hour before midday, and two cloaked figures were waiting while the sailors disembarked. One was a little boy nearly leaping with excitement, his booted feet soaking wet and his fiery hair gleaming in the bright wintry sunshine. The other figure was tall and cloaked, so no one could tell who it was.

"Sinbad! Sinbad! I remember you!" the boy cried excitedly. Doubar picked him up in a mighty bear hug and set him on his tall shoulders.

"Looks as if you took a swim there," he joked, motioning to the boy’s wet feet. Dermott merely grinned.

"Why didn’t you tell me Sinbad was coming???" Dermott accused the cloaked figure. A clear, sparkling laughter rang out upon the wharves, and the cloak was pulled back to reveal a face that made Sinbad stop moving and nearly fall down in shock.

A tall, aristocratic forehead fell away to reveal those piercing brown eyes, smoky embers hidden in their depths. The lips were full and slightly parted as she breathed in the cold air. Even in the freezing temperatures, her skin remained pale and did not turn red. She smiled, an expression that brightened her face even more than it was before, and inclined her head to them.

"My father bids you welcome, sirs," she said, "and asks that we make haste back to the house so as to get out of the frigid air."

Sinbad was still standing, gaping like a fish at the girl before them. She gave him a funny look as she reached up to pluck Dermott from Doubar’s grasp. "I wanted it to be a surprise, love," she told the little boy, who clapped gleefully and ran over to tug at Sinbad’s sleeve.

"Can I see your ship? Can I? Can I please? With sugar on top?" He gazed up at the sailor with earnest amber eyes that never failed to win people over. That expression finally released the captain from the paralysis Dermott’s sister had cast upon him. Sinbad knew that expression. He used it quite a bit himself.

"Later," he promised the boy. He risked a look at Dermott’s sister. "We have orders from on high to proceed directly to your house."

Doubar gathered Maeve in a big bear hug, lifting her off her feet in his exuberance. "It’s good to see you again, lass!" he exclaimed. Then he set her down again and held her at arm’s length, studying her intently. "You’ve grown," he said. Maeve grinned.

"Aye, to my brothers’ dismay."

Rongar came up and also gave her a hug. She returned it and then stepped away to incline her head to him, a gesture of respect which he reciprocated. "You are looking well, my friend," she said. He nodded and smiled, his dark eyes warm. Then he motioned to the other sailor, a shorter man with hair that looked as if it had never seen a comb.

Sinbad stepped forward. "May I introduce our newest crewmember to you, Maeve," he said. "This is Firouz, a scientist and physician."

Maeve extended her hand and clasped his warmly. "I bid you welcome to Eire, sir," she said. "Have you been here before?"

He shook his head. "It is a pleasure to meet you, my dear," he said. "This truly is a beautiful country," he added, glancing around. Maeve snorted.

"Not right now, it’s not. But when it snows this place is transformed into a rolling plain of diamonds. And in high summer, it is a sea of emeralds. Right now, it’s just dead grass."

Sinbad laughed at that, and gathered Maeve to him for a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him back. His muscles were hard and firm against her body, and she reveled at the feeling. Her father was more sinewy when she hugged him, and the housekeeper was a round, soft woman. She refused to hug her elder brothers.

"I missed you," Sinbad whispered into her ear. She flushed, but smiled.

"Likewise," she returned. He smelled like the deep sea, a scent different from the briny, fishy smell of the docks. She knew they had hugged longer than was properly decent, but still she felt a wave of disappointment as she stepped away from him. Her eyes caught his deep blue ones and stopped. She couldn’t look away. That blue…it was bluer than sapphires, bluer than the ocean at midday under a golden sun. It was bluer than any dye or man-made color could possibly be. Nothing else, she decided, could be that piercingly blue.

Dermott broke the moment by tugging on Maeve’s sleeve this time. "Do we really have to go right now?" he asked pleadingly. "I want to see the ship!"

Maeve laughed again, shaking away the spell Sinbad had cast upon her, and held out a hand for Dermott to take. "Father’s orders," she told him. He sighed disappointedly but took her hand readily before starting back toward the manor.

They hadn’t gone far, and Sinbad had just worked up enough nerve to start a conversation, when a large, lumbering man stepped in front of the group of sailors. He was taller than Doubar and, unlike the jolly sailor, his bulk was purely muscle. Maeve glanced up at his face, and an expression of intense dislike flitted across her delicate features before being schooled away again.

"I’ll thank you to move out of the way, sir," she said. The man snickered.

"An’ what if I don’t?" he asked. "Your brother sent for me hisself. He won’t be too happy to find you in the company of a bunch of vagabond sailors, my pretty miss."

Maeve’s eyes narrowed, and Sinbad recognized the expression that meant the very short fuse of her temper was just about gone. "I’m not your pretty anything!" she hissed, "And furthermore, these sailors are friends of my father’s! You are not, Nicholas O’Toole, and I’ll thank you to stay out of my way from here on out! Do you hear me?"

The man chuckled. "As you say, princess. But Greg has plans, my dear, and they will not be interrupted by the likes of you." He moved out of the road and away into the town, leaving two very angry Celts and four very confused sailors in his wake.

"What was that all about?" Firouz asked cautiously. Maeve sighed and shrugged.

"That’s my eldest brother’s friend, Nicholas O’Toole. He’s been trying to get me to marry him for a while." She wrinkled her nose and snorted. "Not bloody likely. I’m not marrying anyone anytime soon, let alone that stuck up pig."

Dermott giggled. Maeve glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Oh, so you think that’s funny, do you?"

"He’s a pig!" Dermott said, giggling even harder. He laughed so hard tears came to his eyes and he had a hard time remaining on his feet.

Maeve’s eyes gleamed speculatively. "At least one of his parents must have been in order to produce that." She shook distastefully. "Well, Greg’s almost as bad, and he’s our brother so I guess I shouldn’t be so hard on his ancestors."

Firouz looked shocked that she should say such a thing about her brother, but she shrugged off his surprise. "It’s true," she said. "You’ll find, sir, that I do not slander people if they don’t deserve it…but I am not afraid to tell the truth as I see it."

Sinbad chuckled and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, raising an eyebrow at him. He flashed her his famous grin and she shook her head, her red curls flashing in the thin wintry sunlight.

The land runs out into the sea—
It’s a narrow neck of land—
Where weird and grim the Standing Stones
In a circle where they stand.

Three-quarters of the way back to the manor, the path took a sudden turn to the left and ran alongside a dense forest. The trees were mostly bare, and through them the sailors glimpsed a strange sight. A cliff ran out to the sea, the gray ocean crashing against it, and upon this cliff stood a circle of old stones. They were so tall that if Sinbad had stood on Doubar’s shoulders he still would not have been able to reach the top, and they stood in a perfect circle. They were so wide that two people reaching around might or might not be able to reach around their circumference, and they were placed at evenly spaced intervals around the circle.

"Fascinating," Firouz exclaimed. "What is that?"

Maeve glanced over and shuddered almost imperceptibly. "The Standing Stones," she replied simply.

"What is their purpose?" he pressed.

She shrugged, looking almost uncomfortable with the turn the conversation was taking. "A sorcerer came to our village many generations ago, so long ago that no one really knows exactly when, and forced the people living here to build it. I don’t know what it does. Some say it is haunted by the spirits of the people killed during the building of it."

Sinbad squinted as he looked at the circle of stones. They looked like they had sprouted from the green soil itself, like they had stood there so long they no longer remembered where they had been before. "It’s beautiful, in a haunting way. Why haven’t we seen this place before when we came for visits?"

Maeve brushed a strand of red hair away from her face and tightened her grip on Dermott’s hand. "Much of this forest has been cut down since your last visit. It was out of sight from this path before."

A single cloud scudded across the sky, casting a running shadow across the ground. It passed over the group of travelers, and they shivered involuntarily. A breath of wind rustled the bare branches, sending a spray of dewdrops from them across the faces of the group.

"Let’s press on," Sinbad suggested, starting to walk again.

"Aye," Maeve agreed, and even Dermott was silent, pressing up against his sister and gripping her hand tightly.

*****

The manor loomed, white and gleaming, ahead of them and Maeve breathed a sigh that sounded very much like relief. A crackling fire and hot tea would be awaiting them when they entered, and both those things usually wiped away any uneasiness the Standing Stones evoked inside her. She used to play around them as a young child, dancing in and out around their large silence and tracing the strange designs carved upon them until she knew each spiral and whorl by heart. She remembered how her fingers had burned sometimes, upon tracing certain pictures, and she remembered her last visit to the Standing Stones, the visit where she thought she saw something shimmering in the space between the two pillars that had a third stone, like a mantle, on top of them. It looked like water, except she could see through it. She’d stepped closer, fascinated and curious, and it was then that she’d noticed that, though she could see through the space, what she saw wasn’t what lay just beyond the circle. She saw something else, someplace else, and it scared her to no end. She hadn’t returned since.

Barging in the front door, Maeve found herself surrounded by warmth and the comforting smell of cooking food. The sailors stood in the foyer, removing their boots and cloaks.

"Shelly!" Maeve called, and a maid in grey wool came to take the boots away to be cleaned. She was round and smiling, and she brushed a lock of grey-brown hair out of her face.

"Welcome back, Lynn," she said comfortably. "And it’s nice to see you sirs again," she continued, bobbing small curtseys at the sailors. They responded in kind, and allowed themselves to be shooed into the family dining room, a comfortable room far removed from the formal dining room where Donncan put guests he wished to impress. This was a small, pleasant room with a shiny oaken table and comfortable wicker furniture. A warm fire crackled cheerily in the hearth, chasing away shadows and the damp chill that hung over everything out-of-doors. Maeve waved the sailors to chairs before taking her customary place by the hearth, Dermott in her lap.

The housekeeper, a lady about Shelly’s age with bright, snapping eyes bustled in with a tray of scones and tea. "I know it’s early for tea," she said as she hurried in—she was always hurrying everywhere—"But you’ve been out in the cold and damp, and a spot of tea will do you good. And you," she continued, addressing the sailors, "Have probably not had a proper meal since last we saw you." She clucked disapprovingly at them, Sinbad especially, and shook her head. "Well, no matter. I hope you’ll stay long enough for us to put some meat on your bones!" Then she bustled around some more, making sure the curtains were open as wide as they would go, letting clear winter sunlight into the room, and pouring tea into thick clay mugs for the sailors. "I didn’t think you would want those flimsy china things they dare call cups," she remarked as she went. "They don’t hold enough tea to wet your mouth, and they let all the heat escape. Drink up—there’s a good lad. Not too much milk, Dermott, you’ll spoil your lunch."

Maeve watched the whole proceedings with merriment, seeing how the sailors turned into children again under the watchful ministrations of the capable housekeeper. She called Sinbad "lad" and he hadn’t even said anything about it! She hid a grin behind her mug of tea and said nothing.

"Now, Lynn, you know your brother doesn’t like it when you sit on the hearth," the housekeeper said, turning her attention to the redheaded girl. Maeve shrugged.

"I know. That’s why I do it."

The woman laughed, the sound warm and rich, and ruffled Maeve’s curls. "That’s my girl," she beamed before bustling out of the room again, back to the kitchen. "You tell me if you need anything else!" she called back to them before whisking herself out of sight.

Doubar laughed as soon as she left and reached for a scone, the butter on top leaving a melted golden puddle on it. "I love coming here," he commented with his mouth full. Firouz nodded in agreement, spreading elderberry jam on a scone.

Sinbad turned to Maeve. "You don’t want to sit at the table?" he asked. She shook her head.

"I really like sitting here," she said, nestling back against the sandstone of the fireplace. "That my brothers don’t like it is just added incentive."

The sailors chuckled, but any more conversation was cut off by the appearance of Donncan.

"Welcome, my friends!" he greeted enthusiastically. "Long has it been since you last graced our humble house with your presence!" His voice was deep and booming, and Maeve fancied he looked years younger with his friend’s sons sitting at his table once again. She regarded the younger son, Sinbad, from over the rim of her mug. He was a good friend. They hadn’t grown up together, but he’d been an infrequent visitor throughout her childhood and they always got along well. Now, all grown up, she wondered what kind of person he’d turned into. He hadn’t been back since he’d left the Adventurers and struck out on his own, with a ship and his brother by his side. Maeve knew her father felt almost like a father to the brothers, especially Sinbad, since their father was such an old friend, and the sailors’ absence had weighed heavily on her father’s heart. She fancied he thought more of these sailors than he did of his own three older sons sometimes…

Maeve was snapped out of her reverie by those piercing blue eyes locked on hers. She blushed a little and looked away, at her father. He smiled fondly at her and bent to kiss the top of her head. "My Maevelyn," he said, "thank you for bringing our friends to us."

"Aye father," she responded dutifully.

"Perhaps, since the day is not stormy, you would care to give them a small tour of the countryside? Get them reacquainted with Eire?"

Maeve nodded. "If they wish, I would gladly do so," she said.

Donncan raised his grey head to the sailors. "I do apologize, sirs, that my other sons are not here to welcome you as well. I do not know where they have run off to, but they are not here at the moment."

Sinbad inclined his head respectfully. "We thank you for your incredible hospitality, sir, and cannot see any need to do more. Indeed, you have overstepped the bounds of kindness."

"My dear boy," Donncan replied, clapping Sinbad on the back, "there is no need for you to be so proper with me! We are old friends, you and I, and your father before you. The words of poets need not be in your mouth. You are among friends."

"Father," Dermott cut in, splashing his milk-filled tea a bit, "he promised me I could see his ship later!" The boy beamed, his face lit with excitement.

The old man smiled indulgently. "And so you shall, then, my son. Later. Now, let the sailors gather their sea-legs and remember how to walk upon land again!" He inclined his head to the group and departed, leaning only slightly on his walking stick.

Maeve stood, brushing crumbs from her hands into the fire and upsetting Dermott from her lap as she did so. He steadied his milk-and-tea carefully and glared at her for a moment before settling back down in her vacated spot by the fire. A door slammed somewhere off in the manor, and she made an irritated face.

"What was that?" Sinbad asked.

"My brothers are home," she replied, gathering up the empty tray and setting her mug on it. "I’m leaving—I’ve no wish to be around them right now. If any of you care to join me you are most welcome."

Doubar shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "I’m quite content to sit by the fire a bit longer, if you don’t mind. Sour people don’t bother me."

Rongar nodded and motioned that he agreed with Doubar. Dermott jumped into Doubar’s lap and cuddled close. "Tell me a story!" he demanded, his amber eyes sparkling. The big man laughed and acquiesced.

"What do you want to hear?" he asked. Dermott didn’t even have to think.

"Tell me about one of your adventures!" he pleaded. Doubar smiled delightedly and started in immediately.

Firouz and Sinbad nearly jumped from their seats and rushed Maeve out of the room. She laughed as she took the tray down to the kitchen and then went back to the foyer to collect their cloaks and boots. "What’s the matter?" she asked. "You don’t want to hear the story?"

"NO!" Came the adamant answer from both sailors. She had to laugh again as she pulled her boots on and led them around the manor to the stables.

"Beautiful," Firouz said as he studied the horses in the pasture. Maeve opened the sliding door to the main stable and entered, followed by the two sailors. Several horses pricked their ears and looked up, their big brown eyes hopeful. Maeve made a face at them and shooed at them with her hands.

"No treats today," she scolded, and they whuffed, disappointed.

Sinbad was leaning against a stall door. "He’s magnificent," he remarked, gazing at the horse inside.

Maeve was thinking about something else as she watched the sailor, his lean grace and quick movements. "Yes…" she agreed. He turned around quickly, but her eyes were already on the horse as she stepped up beside him.

Sinbad felt his breath begin to come faster as she brushed up against him and leaned against the stall. "He’s our best prospect for the two-year-old races this coming spring." She watched the tall colt, his bright chestnut coat gleaming, his veins standing out against his skin. He flared his nostrils at the scent of the strangers, a breathy neigh escaping from him. Sinbad chuckled.

"He’s a nervy one." He watched the way the colt came up to Maeve and let her pet him. "Do you ride him?"

Maeve laughed. "Yes, though my father wishes otherwise." At his confused look she explained, "I’m not supposed to ride the racing horses. Father thinks it isn’t proper for a young lady." She shrugged. "Most things he doesn’t care about, but he feels differently about his racing stock."

"But you do it anyway?"

Maeve tossed her bright curls back proudly. "I get the faster times."

Sinbad laughed loudly at that, making the colt snort and back away, affronted. A hostler appeared, seemingly from out of nowhere.

"You need something, miss?" he asked. Maeve nodded.

"Three hacks, please," she said. "Nothing too quick, now, we just want a leisurely ride around the countryside."

The hostler nodded. "Aye, it be a good day for a ride," he agreed before hurrying off to get the horses ready.

"So," Firouz began, "are your brothers really as bad as you say?"

Maeve made a face. "Worse! I don’t know what happened with them—if they just happened to get the dregs of the gene pool or what. Gregory’s the worst. The other two just kind of follow him around, and make trouble as they will. They’re forever trying to get me to become a proper lady." She said the last two words as if they were poisonous. "Greg wants to marry me off—I don’t know why. I’m not causing any trouble." She chuckled, an evil glint in her eye. "Well, not much anyway."

Sinbad had to laugh at that, and Maeve raised her eyebrow at his laugh. "What’s so funny, sailor?" she asked. That look made her appear so much like a little girl, so adorable and…and lovable, he thought. Then he turned that thought away before he could examine it any further. She was a good friend, and nothing else.

The hostler brought the horses then, and Maeve thanked him as they mounted and rode out. She set the pace at a gentle trot, the horses’ gaits smooth enough that they were not jarred at all. She pointed out several landmarks to them as they rode along the brown countryside. Sinbad wasn’t really paying attention. He was content to watch Maeve as they rode, the way she let the hood of her cloak down and her hair flashed in the sunlight.

By and by they came to the road they had walked up earlier, though by a considerably more roundabout route. Firouz pointed, and they saw the Standing Stones there, on the other side of the trees. A narrow, brush-choked path led towards them, through the forest. "Maeve?" he asked. "Is it possible to go look at them?"

She didn’t look to happy about this idea, but Maeve nodded and pushed her horse onto the path. She was relieved that he didn’t refuse. Horses were good judges of whether things were safe or not, and if he had refused to travel down the path she would not have gone either.

The silent woods swallowed them, the path twisting and turning through them. Sometimes they could see the Standing Stones, sometimes they couldn’t. It was one of those times that they couldn’t that a lone bird twittered from somewhere nearby and then flew off. Sinbad listened for more birds, but could hear none. The forest dripped all around them, dew and old raindrops falling from branches to the brush below. Sinbad shivered in the dampness and pulled his cloak closer about his body.

The Standing Stones rose before them, in a clear space on the cliff. They rode out from the forest and up to them, dismounting before entering the circle. The horses showed no inclination to run away or enter the circle, instead cropping grass comfortably just outside the stones.

Firouz looked around wide-eyed. He gazed at the carvings on the stones, carvings of stars and water and clouds and strange whorls and spirals that they couldn’t decipher. He wandered off, lost in his own little world of science, leaving the other two to chuckle after him and walk into the circle themselves.

"This place is quiet," Sinbad observed. Maeve nodded.

"I used to come here as a child, when I wanted to get away from my brothers and the children of the village." She raised a hand to touch the cold rock of the megalith, tracing a small spiral etched into the stone with one long, delicate finger. Sinbad watched the smooth skin as it moved against the rough stone and wondered what it would feel like to be that stone at the moment. He caught his breath at the thought, surprised that he was even thinking it, but couldn’t help imagining that the sensation would be very pleasant indeed. His body still remembered how she had felt in his arms down at the dock, warm and comfortable and right somehow, like she belonged there. He felt her breath against his neck again as she whispered the one word, likewise, into his ear.

Surprising himself even further, Sinbad reached out and captured the hand that was tracing spirals on the stone. "You are beautiful," he said, hardly believing he was speaking the thought aloud. Maeve looked up, surprise in the depths of her fathomless brown eyes. She looked into his eyes for a moment, those blue orbs piercing into her soul with frightening intensity.

"So are you," she whispered, the words leaving her tongue before she even realized it. Her eyes widened as her surprise grew, and Sinbad felt he was drowning in great pools of liquid brown. He couldn’t help it—he stepped closer, the hand he captured hers in a moment before traveling up her wrist, her arm, settling on her shoulder. She shivered a little at his touch but remained still and did not move away.

Sinbad stepped in even closer. Her hand was resting in the crook of his elbow, his hand had moved to the back of her neck, playing with the soft hairs there and feeling the smooth, warm skin. Maeve closed her eyes as he leaned close to her, his warm breath on her face. She barely dared to breathe as his lips brushed against hers for an instant, the lightest of touches. He pulled back slightly, just enough to gaze into her eyes, before moving closer to kiss her again. Maeve slid her arms around him as he moved in again, her eyes fluttering closed. They were less than an inch apart when,

"Hey! You’ll never guess what I found!"

The two bounced apart and flushed guiltily, not meeting the other’s eyes as they turned to Firouz. Sinbad gritted his teeth over his friend’s sense of timing.

They walked over to where Firouz had knelt down beside a megalith. Sinbad captured Maeve’s hand as they walked, causing her to look at him again with those deep brown eyes. Their eyes locked again, but Firouz was watching rather curiously and they didn’t dare stop walking. Maeve forced herself to look away, concentrating on the brown grass instead of his oceanic eyes.

"What did you find?" she asked the inventor, schooling her voice so it wouldn’t shake.

He bent down and traced the engravings, which depicted several people and what looked like a miniature structure much like the one they stood within now. The carving was perhaps six inches tall, and it was set at the base of the megalith. Firouz had to push the grass away to see the bottom of the etching. "I couldn’t find any other pictures of animals or people on any of the stones," he said. "This is really quite remarkable. Have you any idea what the engraving is showing?"

Maeve squinted at the picture. "It looks like someone is walking in between the rocks," she said.

"But look," Firouz pressed. "The person entering the circle is dressed differently than the others."

Maeve looked and, sure enough, it was. This person was wearing a tall turban and baggy pants. The others were dressed simply, like people around Eire did. She shrugged. "So he’s dressed like a sultan. So what? Our people used to live where yours do now, many generations ago."

Firouz shrugged. "I just thought it was odd. Perhaps it is nothing."

Maeve glanced up uneasily. As she had feared, this was one of the two stones she had seen a portal open between. She backed up, a wary look on her face. Sinbad, his eyes riveted to her face, noticed the unquiet and touched her shoulder gently.

"What’s wrong?" he asked. Maeve shook her head and swallowed.

"Nothing, Sinbad, just childish fancy," she replied, though her voice belied her words. She turned to leave the circle, Firouz still intently focused on his etchings.

Sinbad stopped her with a gentle hand on her waist. "Maeve." His voice was soft, but also firm. "What is it?"

She shook her head again. "Not now, Sinbad, please," she replied. "We’ll talk later." She cast a glance up at the sky, where the sun was westering. "Somewhere else."

He nodded in agreement when he saw the unease on her face. He reached up slowly, giving her time to move away from him if she wished, and touched her face gently with his knuckle. He traced gently down her silky skin, then buried his fingers in her hair and stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "We will most definitely talk later," he agreed, his voice soft.

Maeve could barely breathe and she swore he could feel her tremble as he touched her. That look in his eyes…she didn’t know exactly what it meant. Plenty of men in the village had cast looks of lust, of wanting, upon her. They made her feel unsettled, and dirty for some reason. The look in Sinbad’s eyes reminded her of those looks, vaguely, but it didn’t end there. There was something other than wanting there, and that something was bigger than the wanting. There was curiosity, yes, but still that wasn’t it. And Sinbad’s gaze didn’t make her feel dirty. It made her feel…treasured. Warm. Comforted. Safe. And more, much more that she couldn’t begin to explain. Emotions she didn’t understand but felt with all her heart welled up inside of her, though she tried desperately to keep them at bay. She didn’t want to feel like this. It made her feel weak, yet strong as wildfire at the same time, and she wasn’t sure she liked that combination. It didn’t feel wrong, though, and that made her feel even more uneasy.

Sinbad didn’t understand what was happening to him. His heart told him he was falling for her, falling fast, but it didn’t quite reach his mind. He couldn’t think. He—Master of the Seven Seas—was struck dumb by this girl. By Maeve. He could see how unsure she was, but he could also see something behind that irresolute front—something that filled him equally with joy and fear. Gods, she was beautiful! Sinbad had seen a lot of women in his time, and had his share of them as well, but over and over his mind kept returning to the tall redhead with the big brown eyes. He didn’t know anyone else with that particular mix of innocence and worldliness that he found completely adorable and was incapable of resisting. He found himself being drawn into her brown eyes, their liquid magic drowning him. He didn’t care. He felt himself leaning closer, his eyes still locked with hers, as if she was truly drawing him in. He felt her breath brush warm against his skin as he lowered his mouth to hers. She didn’t pull away or draw back as his mouth settled over hers. He kissed her gently, sweetly, before pulling away. Her eyes had remained open and he watched as the emotions swam through them, clear as crystal and twice as translucent.

Slowly, as if in a dream, Maeve stepped forward again. She wrapped her arms around his neck and found his settled comfortably around her waist. She brought his head down to hers again, and claimed his willing lips with hers. Sinbad smiled against her softly, nipping at her lower lip until she opened her mouth and allowed his tongue to slide past her lips. She returned his kiss full-force, tightening her arms around him as he drew her body closer to press against his. They stayed that way for long moments, unaware of the scientist who had turned away from the standing stone and seen them. They did not see his shock, nor the smile that slowly spread across his face as he watched the kiss, nor the mischievous gleam that came into his eyes.

They did, however, through the haze that had settled in their brains, hear his laughter. He laughed and he laughed and he laughed, chuckling impishly as they broke away from each other and blinked, both their minds a little fuzzy.

"Firouz!" Sinbad began, but he could think of nothing else to say. He stood there at a loss while the physician rolled on the grass, laughing heartily at his captain’s expense. Maeve, turning from Firouz to Sinbad to Firouz again, finally gave it up and started laughing as well. The sound rang out, clear as sleigh bells in the cold sunshine, until Sinbad had to join in the laughter. The three of them laughed until their stomachs ached and their heads were ringing from lack of oxygen, and then sat on the damp grass and tried to get their breaths back.

"Firouz, I should make you walk the plank," Sinbad said, leaning against one of the large megaliths. The scientist merely chuckled weakly and shook his head. Maeve leaned against Sinbad’s side, his arm around her waist securing her to him.

"Much as I hate to interrupt this," she said, "it’s getting late. We’d best be heading back to the manor."

The sailors nodded and followed her as she stood and walked to the horses again. As they mounted, Sinbad’s voice drifted back to her. "Don’t forget, my lady," he said quietly. She didn’t have to ask what not to forget.

*****

Dinner was nearly ready as they reentered the warm manor house. The sailors sniffed the air appreciatively. "Smells delicious," Firouz told the maid who took their cloaks. She smiled back at him.

"Cook’s gone out of her way tonight," she said. "It isn’t often we have visitors that aren’t here merely to see the horses."

They entered a comfortable parlor a few minutes later, finding Dermott and Rongar hard at work at a game of cards. Rongar and Doubar were trying to teach the boy, who wasn’t catching on very quickly.

"Who says it’s a bad card?" he asked as the others walked in.

Sinbad looked around. The room was comfortable, like all the rooms in this house that were not reserved for making people feel out of place because of the splendor. Table lamps of kerosene lit the place with a warm light, and a cheery fire crackled in a fireplace. This hearth was nicer than the one in the family dining room—it was made of finer stone and the craftsmen had carved creeping vines with leaves and flowers and small berries into the design. The walls of the room were dark, rich wood, and they gleamed in the firelight.

Maeve plopped herself in a tall, cushioned chair and put her feet up on the armrest, leaning back against the other armrest. Dermott giggled and Donncan, who was watching the proceedings, sighed and shook his head. Sinbad inclined his head respectfully to their host before taking a chair near Maeve and relaxing.

"Please my boy, you must be freezing from being outside!" Donncan exclaimed. He poured glasses of sherry for Firouz and Sinbad, offering Maeve as well, who declined with a wrinkle of her nose and a shake of her head.

The housekeeper bustled in then, poking her head around the door to announce, "Dinner will be on the table in a spell. In the family dining room, sir?"

Donncan nodded. "Yes. I have no need to impress my friends, now do I?"

"No sir!" Doubar replied, looking up from the doomed card game. Dermott bounced over to Maeve and proudly told her what he had learned from his ‘uncle’ sailors.

"Nobble the favorite!" he exclaimed, earning a snort of surprise from Maeve and making Sinbad choke on his sherry.

"Doubar!" he rebuked when he could speak again. His face had grown quite red from coughing, and his eyes were watering.

"It’s quite all right, my boy," the old man soothed. "Your brother has not told Dermott anything I object to." He chuckled. "Your father and I have been known to play the tables in our day."

Sinbad only gaped wider, which made Maeve laugh again. "You’re redder than your headband, captain!" she called helpfully to him. He glared at her, which only made her grin more.

"Lynn," Donncan admonished gently, though his eyes were twinkling at her. She desisted, but her father had already seen something pass between his daughter and the sailor-captain, something very interesting that he decided he would have to look into later.

"Yes, Maeve, leave the poor captain alone," Firouz broke in. His eyes were gleaming with mischievous delight. Both Maeve and Sinbad snapped around to watch him. "He had a busy day," Firouz continued, keeping all but the merest hint of a snicker out of his voice. He received two horror-filled glares as Sinbad and Maeve’s eyes widened as they stared at him.

Doubar looked from Maeve to Sinbad to Firouz and then back again. "Little brother? What is he talking about?"

Sinbad swallowed. "I haven’t the faintest idea," he replied, thankful he sounded fairly nonchalant.

"Maeve?"

"Me neither," she said, following Sinbad’s cue. Donncan looked at both of them hard, but didn’t say a word. Firouz chuckled for a moment before dropping the conversation and sipping at his untouched drink.

As the conversation turned to other—safer—topics, Maeve and Sinbad exchanged an intensely grateful look.

*****

Dinner consisted of roasted meat, steamed vegetables, and freshly baked potato bread brought steaming from the oven and slapped onto the table with an oven mitt. There was plenty of everything, though it was simple, and the talk around the table was jolly and light. Doubar fell in love with the mead Donncan served, a hot, spiced honey wine. It was mild enough even Dermott drank some. Maeve’s three elder brothers were, thankfully, silent at the table except for their cursory welcomes to the sailors. Sinbad’s crew ignored them, they ignored the sailors, and that was the end of that.

Toward the end of the meal, Donncan motioned to a servant to extinguish most of the candles. Only one small candelabra remained lit as the cook brought out dessert—a flaming cherries jubilee. The brandy that the dessert swam in burned with a clear blue flame, almost as blue, Maeve thought, as Sinbad’s eyes. They exclaimed over the confection, making the cook blush happily, and waited until all the alcohol had burned down before relighting the candles and serving up the dessert. Steaming hot cherries in a thick, bubbling sauce flowed onto everyone’s plate. Dermott would have licked his plate clean if the housekeeper hadn’t prudently removed it after he finished the last cherry. He scowled at her for a moment, but his frustration was forgotten a moment later when Doubar began telling another story.

Nobody noticed Maeve and Sinbad as they slipped away from the table and out of the room.

The night was crisp and cold, the air almost burning in their lungs as they walked in the blue moonlight. Sinbad shivered, and Maeve steered them towards the stables again. The night was too cold to go walking without cloaks and they had left theirs in the foyer as they snuck out.

They climbed up to the hayloft, dark after the golden light of the stables below. It was warm, however, with the heat of the animals below and well insulated from the hay. They leaned back against a tall hay bale and watched the moon from a window cut in the side of the loft.

"So tell me what you’ve been doing since last we saw you," Maeve said. "And not Doubar’s version, please. I’ve had just about enough fire-breathing monsters and flying harpies."

Sinbad chuckled. "Well, first off, I’m the one that breathes fire, and you didn’t have to listen to the part about the harpies if you didn’t want to."

Maeve elbowed him in the side, which only made him laugh more.

"Okay okay! Well, what can I say? I decided to take up trade like my father did before me…but adventures just seem to pop up unexpectedly. I made a name for myself without even trying to. It got so that I could go to a town and people would know me, even if I’d never been there before." He shrugged uncomfortably. "I don’t know how I feel about it yet. I can walk up to anyone, say ‘I’m Sinbad,’ and they fall over their feet to help me. It helps sometimes, but at other times I kind of wish people waited to judge me until they really knew me." He twisted a piece of straw in his hands as he gazed out the window. "I know that must sound strange—to dislike being famous. But I guess I do. It’s not me; not really."

Maeve nodded. "I think I know what you mean." She leaned against him and he slipped an arm around her comfortably. "When word of your adventures reached this island, people in the village started comparing themselves. They boasted that they’d talked to you, that they’d seen your ship, stuff like that. Father and Dermott and I just laughed at them." She chuckled once. "My older brothers were different, but I don’t count them as family the way I could Dermy and Father."

Sinbad stroked her hair gently. "You love them very much, don’t you."

Maeve nodded again. "Yeah. After our mother died I helped raise Dermott, and Father was never quite the same. My brothers were sad for a while but then got on with their lives. Father never quite did, and Dermott was too young to really remember her."

"I lost my parents before I had a chance to know them, too," Sinbad said softly.

Maeve looked up at him. "I know," she said softly. "I’m sorry."

Sinbad tightened his arm around her and she snuggled into his warmth. "Don’t be. It was a long time ago."

"But you’ll always live with that regret." She took his hand and interlaced their fingers. "I can’t really call it sorrow, I don’t think. What Dermott feels when he thinks about our mother isn’t sorrow. It’s regret."

"That’s right," Sinbad said, nodding. He sighed and squeezed her hand. "When I have children, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure they never have to feel this regret."

Maeve’s eyelids were beginning to droop sleepily. "I think every parent says that at one time or another," she mumbled. "You can’t know what Fate has in store."

Sinbad kissed the top of her head. "That’s true," he admitted. "I mean, look at us. Would you, six years ago, have ever thought that—" He cut himself off, shock at what he was about to say rendering him mute.

Maeve raised her head. "Would I have thought what, Sinbad?" Her eyes gazed into his, smoky brown and piercing blue meeting and locking.

Sinbad reached up with one hand and touched a red curl, softly glowing in the moonlight. When he spoke, his voice was barely that of a whisper. "That I would fall in love with you," he breathed. There. He’d said it, admitted it. He couldn’t believe it, but there it was, hanging between them.

Sinbad searched for emotion in Maeve’s eyes but it was too dark in the hayloft for him to see that much. He saw the outline of her face and the shining of her curls in the moonlight. Her voice came, deep and melodious. "No, Sinbad, I wouldn’t have thought that six years ago." She took a breath, he could hear it. "Would you have ever thought, six years ago, that I would fall in love with you?"

Sinbad froze, joy rising in him. He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "No, I wouldn’t." He moved closer to her. "But I believe it now," he whispered, and captured her breath with a kiss.

Maeve responded to him, her arms wrapping around his neck and her mouth opening to allow him admittance. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and she tilted her head back to give him better access as he explored her mouth. By Allah, he thought, she tasted so good! Breathlessly they broke the kiss, staring into each other’s eyes for a long moment before moving closer for another.

Sinbad pressed Maeve to the floor of the hayloft with another breathtaking kiss and she pulled him with her. He held her face in his hands as hers roamed along his back and shoulders, feeling his muscles ripple beneath his skin as he moved. His lips moved off hers and ran down her face, down to her neck, nibbling gently on the sensitive skin. She moaned softly and pulled his head up to kiss him again. He complied happily, his hands moving to her sides, brushing against the soft fabric of her shirt.

Maeve felt the heat rise inside her, the wanting, and she knew now exactly what she had seen in Sinbad’s eyes earlier that afternoon. It had been love—a fiery passion that burned in his soul and stemmed from her presence. She traced her hands over his chest as he kissed her, pulling his shirt open. He was surprised by this and she used his surprise to her advantage, pushing him over to his back and straddling his stomach. She pulled his shirt completely off and bent to kiss his chest, the very touch of her lips against his skin making him tremble. She could feel his every movement beneath her and she delighted in the sensation. She nibbled on his skin and her tongue flicked out to taste him. Sweat began to bead up on his skin from her insistent touch, and his hands, resting on her thighs, tightened at the sensations of her lips and tongue against his skin. She smiled at the power her simple touch held, knowing full well his touch had the exact same power over her.

She brought her kisses higher, biting gently on his neck before settling her lips against his again. He kissed her deeply, pleadingly, as he rolled them over so she was lying on her back once more. She allowed him to take control again, reveling in the sensations he evoked in her. She wanted him…

A sudden crash from the stables downstairs jerked them out of the haze they were in. Sinbad growled against her skin, but Maeve reluctantly pushed him off of her and sat up. "Who’s there?" she called down, willing her voice not to tremble.

"Miss?" The voice of the head groom floated up to them. "Miss, is Captain Sinbad with you?"

Maeve cursed under her breath. "Yes, Jack. We wanted to see the moon, and it was too cold to walk outside."

He seemed satisfied by that explanation. "Well okay then…your father wants to see the two of you before he retires for the night. May I tell him you’ll be in soon?"

"Yes, thank you," Maeve called back, sighing inwardly. She shot a wry look at Sinbad, who was tucking his shirt in again. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her once more.

"Why do people seem so good at interrupting us?" he asked. She chuckled and kissed him back before standing.

"Because we’re not supposed to be doing what we were just doing," she responded as he stood. She swung onto the ladder and started climbing down.

"And why not?" Sinbad asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes. Maeve laughed.

"I don’t need to answer that one, captain," she said and leaped off the ladder five steps before the bottom to land safely on the ground. Sinbad climbed all the way down and, as they didn’t see anyone in the aisle, pulled her into his arms again.

"Remember when we used to jump from the ladder to see who could jump from the highest rung and not kill themselves?" he asked. Maeve grinned and nodded.

"As I recall, captain, you could never get higher than the sixth rung."

"I also didn’t sprain my ankle when I jumped."

Maeve shrugged. "I didn’t die," was her only word on the matter. Sinbad laughed and kissed her again, tracing her lips with his tongue until she opened her mouth to him. Neither noticed the shadowy figure standing in the door to the tack room, or the look of pure malice in his eyes.

*****

The next morning the entire world was littered with diamonds. They sparkled as they hung in gleaming icicles from every tree and all around the house. They glittered as they stretched as far as anyone could see in all directions around the manor house. Sinbad was nearly blinded by them as he looked from behind the heavily paned window in his comfortable bedroom. He was gazing out at the glittering expanse of white when suddenly a dark shape hurtled past at breakneck speed. He frowned for a moment, then laughed as he saw it was Maeve on the beautiful chestnut colt he’d seen the other day.

Dermott rode behind her on a shaggy gray pony, the pudgy animal incapable of keeping up with the sleek racer. Sinbad chuckled again as he saw Maeve turn the muscular horse and run a circle around her little brother. Dermott cantered on, the leggy pony trudging through the snow. His bigger counterpart kicked snow mixed with mud up as he raced along, neck flattened and Maeve crouched low over his withers.

"Don’t they make a pair?" a voice asked, and Sinbad spun around to see the housekeeper standing in his doorway with a steaming tray. She set it on a small round table and came over to stand next to him.

"Maeve and Dermott?" he asked. "Yes, indeed they do."

The housekeeper chuckled. "The lass’ll be in trouble for riding the colt again, but she doesn’t care. She loves those horses, and she does indeed ride them better though I shouldn’t say so. Those no-good brothers of hers don’t know front from back most of the time. But that’s their lookout, and I just do my job and don’t say anything."

Sinbad grinned. "Tell me about Maeve," he said as he allowed the housekeeper to shoo him away from the window and over to the table. She sat him down and filled a cup with steaming tea for him, removing the covers from dishes of porridge, cream, biscuits, and jam. He set about fixing his breakfast as she talked.

"The lass is the bonniest wee creature ever," she said, smiling at the memory. "Oh, I remember when she was just a little thing, she used to get into all sorts of horrible trouble! Her brothers were never very nice to her…except for Dermott. She about raised that boy, you know. He’s always followed her around like a little redheaded shadow. And she, bless her, never minded a bit. He’s turning into a much nicer, more caring, person than any of his other brothers. Though, mind you, I’ll not say it to their faces. It wouldn’t do at all."

"I can imagine," Sinbad said politely. The housekeeper smiled and made sure he had enough to eat before bustling out again. "Mercy! There’s so much to do!" he heard her mutter to herself as she set off down the hall.

Sinbad leaned against the back of his chair and toyed with his porridge. He was deep in thought when his door opened again and Maeve, breathless from being outside, slipped in.

"You’re up early," she remarked, her eyes snapping with life and her cheeks ruddy from the cold wintry air outside. Sinbad opened his arms and gestured to her, reaching for her with both hands. She laughed, the sound bright and clear, and came closer. He wound his arms around her waist and pulled her down so she was sitting in his lap.

"Brrr!" he shivered. "You’re cold!"

Maeve laughed again. "It’s cold outside, captain." She tried to disentangle herself from his embrace, pulling away from his warmth because she knew she was so cold.

Sinbad kissed her before letting her move away from him. "Good morning," he said, watching her as she seated herself on the hearth and held her hands out to the flames.

"Good morning to you, too," she responded. Then she sighed and shook her head. "My father says to tell you that you won’t be going anywhere until this freeze ends."

Sinbad frowned. "Freeze? I thought snow was common around here."

Maeve rubbed her hands together, the circulation returning to her fingers and making them tingle painfully. "It is, but this isn’t just snow. The cold snap has frozen the harbor solid. You won’t be able to get your ship out until the ice thaws, maybe in a week or so, or you can chop a way out. They say it’s over three feet deep in places. I wouldn’t try to chop your ship free."

Sinbad nodded. "We’ve no place we have to be right away. If your father doesn’t mind us infringing on his hospitality, we would be quite happy to stay."

"Infringing???" Maeve laughed. "You’ve got to be kidding! He adores having you here."

"Good," Sinbad replied, taking a bite of the steaming porridge. "Then I don’t feel too bad about my ulterior motives for staying."

Maeve looked up from her spot at the hearth and raised an eyebrow at him. "Ulterior motives? And just what might they be, captain?" she asked, a smile in her voice.

Sinbad stood and crossed the room to her side, kneeling just behind her. "This!" he responded, grabbing her around the waist and nibbling on her neck, purposefully tickling her sensitive skin.

"Sinbad!" she shrieked, "Sinbad stop!!"

He mumbled something intelligible into her hair and continued tickling. She was twisting and turning, trying to get away from him when the door opened and a very confused Dermott pounded into the room.

"Maeve?" he asked uncertainly. Sinbad looked up and beckoned to the little boy.

"Come here, Derm. Where is your sister most ticklish?"

Dermott grinned and pounced on his sister, tickling her as she shrieked with laughter. "No…fair! Sinbad, you’re gonna…get it!" She squirmed away from them and pulled herself up, leaning against the fireplace as she caught her breath. Dermott was rolling on the ground giggling hysterically. Sinbad shielded him so he wouldn’t accidentally roll into the fire.

"Warmed you up, didn’t it, Maeve?" Sinbad asked evilly. She glared at him for a long moment.

"Just you wait, sailor! You’ll get yours!"

"I can’t wait," he said, a gleam she was beginning to know very well coming into his eyes. She blushed and averted her eyes before scowling again, but there was no real anger in that look and they both knew it.

"Sinbad! Sinbad!" Dermott tugged on the sailor’s sleeve to get his attention. "Sinbad, it’s Christmas Eve!" he said excitedly. "It’s Christmas Eve!"

Maeve chuckled. "Yes, Dermy, it’s Christmas Eve. Now, why don’t you go wake up Doubar and the others, hm?" Dermott jumped up and nodded, his eyes flashing with delight.

"Hey Doubar! Rongar! F’rouz! It’s Christmas Eve!" he shrieked as he ran down the hall. Maeve heard a door bang open, and a startled exclamation as one of the sailors got a lapful of redheaded little boy. She chuckled.

"Why do I not feel sorry for them?" she asked the room at large. Sinbad shrugged and stood, taking her in his arms again. He nuzzled her neck gently and nipped softly at her earlobe.

"No idea," he whispered against her skin. Maeve wrapped her arms around him even as she said,

"Sinbad, this is neither the place nor the time."

He kissed her shoulder. "Why not?"

"It’s morning, Sinbad, the servants are all awake, and so are my father and Dermott."

"So lock the door." Sinbad moved his lips up to hers, nibbling at them until she kissed him. He silenced the objection he knew she was going to give by moving his hands to her waist and holding her close as he kissed her, drinking in her taste, scent, and feel. She broke away a moment later and rested her forehead against his.

"As much as I would like to agree with you, sailor, the door has no locks."

Sinbad gave her a puppy dog look but she shook her head. "No lock, sailor."

He tried to look even more pathetic, making Maeve laugh. "Giving me those pleading faces isn’t going to change the fact that there aren’t any locks on the door, Sinbad!"

He shrugged and kissed her again. "No harm in trying," he said before deepening the kiss with his tongue and silencing any further words.

Small pounding feet came down the hallway again and Maeve broke away from Sinbad just before the door swung all the way back on its hinges and a small redheaded whirlwind blew in again. She kissed him again, quickly, and whispered, "Later, love. I promise. Later."

Sinbad felt warmth flow into him when he heard her call him love. He smiled a foolish smile and stood there, watching Maeve gather Dermott up and walk him out of the room but not really seeing it.

Alone again, he sat down to his breakfast but found that the porridge had gone cold and he really wasn’t that hungry anyway.

*****

Gregory growled as he trudged through the snow, upset at being called away from the warmth of the manor before noon. He was in a surly mood and inclined to glare at anyone and anything he met.

Upon reaching the town, Greg ducked into a dark tavern. The owner looked up disinterestedly and motioned to a serving wench to attend to him. Greg waved her away and approached a table where a tall, burly man was sitting. He sat down on the rickety chair across from him and mumbled something incomprehensible. The other man barely looked up.

"Ye’ve got sailors visiting," he said. It wasn’t a question.

Greg nodded and grimaced. "Family of an old friend of Father’s."

The man looked up. His eyes were a thin, watery blue, and the white sclera was pink and bloodshot. His nose was crooked where it had been broken several times in fights and ended bluntly. His mouth was simply a long line running the width of his face, and did not seem to ever have known how to smile. "The dark-haired one with the red headband."

"Sinbad the sailor," Greg responded. "From his reputation I’d expected him to be bigger or quicker or…I don’t know. Something else, something more than he is."

"Huh." The man took a swig of harsh metheglin from the mug before him. "I was in yer barn last night," he said.

"I said you could sleep there while you’re in town."

"He was there too, with yer sister." The man took another drink.

"So? She’s always in the barn."

"He kissed her."

Gregory sat silently for a moment. "What do you want me to do about it?" he asked finally.

The man grunted and scratched at his chest. "Nothing. I’ll take care of the problem. You just make sure yer ol’ man isn’t standing in my way. I want that girl, and by the gods, I’ll have her!"

Greg shrugged. "You’ve got the ear of the Baron. All I want is your help securing his ear for myself. What you do with her is none of my concern."

"Smart lad," the man said, nodding at Greg. Y’know what a sister’s worth." He bared his teeth. "I’ll tame that wild streak out of her, and she’ll make a good wife. Or at least a pretty one I’ll have no qualms about taming." He chuckled.

Greg shrugged and stood. "Everything’s ready, then. You get rid of the Sinbad problem and get me the ear of the Baron, and you can have my sister." He adjusted his cloak and brushed at his clothes as if some of the filth of the tavern had somehow been ingrained into his clothing. "I think you’re getting the short end of this deal, my friend."

The man put his mug down, his eyes gleaming with a look Greg didn’t want to place. "Not at all, my friend. Not at all."

One bonny moonlight Christmas Eve
They met at that sad place
With her heart in glee and the beams of love
A-shining on her face
When her lover came and he grasped her hand
And what loving words they said
They talked of future’s happy days
As through the stones they strayed.

Shadows were closing in when Brian and Patrick brought the large evergreen tree into the manor house and shook the snow from its dark branches. A shower of green needles hit the slate entryway and the maids sighed and shook their heads. Two stablemen helped Donncan’s sons—minus Gregory, who was conspicuously absent—set the tree upright in the spacious library where the tree had always gone.

"Yay!" Dermott cried. "Now can we decorate? Please? Pretty please with sugar on top?" He jumped up and down with his excitement. The housekeeper put a remonstrating hand on his shoulder.

"Let me pop the corn for garlands first, love," she said, "and then you may string popcorn and tie ribbons to your heart’s content." She hurried away to begin the tedious process of popping corn over a large fire, since the cook had the rest of the night off.

"And don’t eat it all before it gets to the tree this year," Brian said, shaking his head at his younger brother. Patrick merely made a face before they both trudged off to change into dry clothes.

"Well!" Donncan said, beaming. "This truly is a happy Christmas! My family is here, and the family of my great friend as well!" He smiled at Doubar and Sinbad. "We have friends, both old and new, gathered together to celebrate the season!" He waved his walking stick to Sinbad. "It’s not every day we get to host a legend."

Sinbad blushed. "You do me too much credit, sir. I am but a simple sailor."

The old man shook his head. "No, my son. I think you are much more. But come! The night is young and there is much to do in order to get ready for tomorrow!" He set all his children and guests on tasks around the house, decorating and cooking and wrapping presents in preparation for the upcoming holiday.

A comparatively warm wind was blowing outside as the evening deepened into night. The eaves were dripping with water running off the roof and melting icicles. Everywhere the snow was melting in the above-freezing weather, creating a muddy mess of the road and nurturing the dead grass with water.

Sinbad met Maeve in a little pantry off the kitchen, gathering spices for bread. He picked her up and whirled her around, making them both sneeze from the cinnamon powder she’d been holding.

"Sinbad! What are you doing?" she asked, leaning forward to kiss him. He pressed against her with urgency, his mouth both hungry and pleading. She responded in kind, the intensity of his kiss making her drop the small container of cinnamon. It spilled over both their clothes before landing on the floor. The smell of the cinnamon was strong now, almost overpowering.

"Where can we go?" he whispered. "Where won’t they find us?"

Maeve opened her mouth, but was shocked by the words she said. "The Standing Stones," she whispered, though she had no idea why. There were plenty of abandoned rooms in the manor they could use, or the outbuildings… Why had her mind said the stones?

Sinbad gave her a strange look, but he said, "The Standing Stones it is then," and took her hand. They crept out of the pantry and into the empty kitchen. The housekeeper was bustling about in the next room, and they heard her footsteps coming closer. Hurriedly they snatched up their cloaks and slipped out a servant’s door into the garden beyond.

The moon was out, though clouds scudded across the sky at infrequent intervals. The Standing Stones were pearly towers in the moonlight, their carvings etched in stark relief on their smooth surfaces. Maeve didn’t even notice as they stepped into the circle. Her whole being was centered on Sinbad, on his warm body as he stood near her.

"I love you, Maeve," he whispered, his hands on her face. The snow had all melted away here, what little had fallen in the forest, and the grass was merely damp. He brushed away her red curls and gazed into her eyes.

"I know," she breathed, a ribbon of moonlight splashing down to light the grass in silvery brilliance. It illuminated his features, making his eyes gleam silvery-blue. She reached inside his cloak and pulled it away from his body, letting it fall to the grass. He spread it out with his foot, his hands upon her waist. She watched him intently, her eyes never leaving his.

"I want you," he whispered this time, bringing her close. He pulled at the clasp of her cloak, undoing it and letting the thick material slide to the ground. He touched her face, watching her as intently as she watched him.

"I know," she breathed again, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck and claim a kiss. He surrendered fully to her soft touch, wrapping her in his warmth and lifting her off her feet as he kissed her. She smiled against his lips and let him pick her up. He cradled her in his arms gently, as if she were precious and irreplaceable, before setting her down on his cloak, still warm from his body. She gazed up at him, bathed in moonlight, feeling a wave of tenderness wash over her.

He lowered his head and kissed her again, his body warm against hers. Maeve opened her mouth to him and let him take control, knowing he would anyway and relishing the fact. She smiled against him, pulling his shirt away from his body and flinging it somewhere. That won her a smile from Sinbad, who pulled away far enough to look into her eyes.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered softly, brushing away a stray lock of red hair. She shook her head.

"No. You are," she whispered back before reaching up and tangling her fingers in his silky hair, bringing his head down for a kiss. He kissed her, his hands fumbling with her shirt. Maeve sat up and pulled it off herself, making Sinbad laugh again. He stopped laughing, though, when he saw her. He couldn’t even breathe, let alone laugh. By the gods, she was so beautiful! The moonlight washed over her pale skin, bathing her in pearlescent brilliance. He couldn’t help it—he reached out and brushed a hand down her side, the skin sliding like fine silk under his fingers. She was watching him with those big brown eyes—just watching. He bent and kissed her again, trailing a line of kisses from her mouth to her neck and then further down. One of his hands cupped her right breast and she shivered as his skin came in contact with hers. He kissed the hollow of her collarbone, first on the right side, then the left, and trailed his kisses down to her chest. Maeve gasped involuntarily as his warm mouth covered her nipple and began drawing circles around it with his tongue.

Sinbad smiled. He could feel every muscle within her tense as he teased her body. He kissed the hollow between her breasts and moved his hand down to the waistline of her breeches. Even on Christmas Eve she refused to wear a dress. It was one of the things he loved about her; her will. He slid her breeches off her body along with her boots, Maeve lifting her body off the ground to help him. She then pulled his head up to hers and claimed a kiss before pulling away to gaze mischievously into his eyes.

"I think you’re a little overdressed," she told him, smiling wickedly. He grinned back.

"I agree," he whispered, and then he gasped as her hands dipped below his waistline.

"What have we here?" she asked, the mischief still gleaming in her eyes. He made a face and pinned her arms above her head, kissing her deeply. Maeve chuckled and rolled them over, straddling his waist and bending to kiss his chest. She slid his boots off and returned her attention to his body, sliding her hands delicately over the sensitive area along his sides as she used her lips and tongue to tease his skin. She didn’t get to play long, however, for Sinbad turned them over again and kissed her hard. His mouth descended to her chest and lingered there for a while, his hands and lips and tongue teasing her body until Maeve was beyond reason. She freed him of his pants and he kissed her again, his mouth demanding all of her and at the same time giving as good as he got. He kissed her deeply, all his being poured into the display of passion.

When he entered her, Sinbad felt at once as if he’d found the one thing he’d been searching for his entire life. Maeve reached up to kiss him, and as his lips met hers he realized that here, with her, he’d found the one place where he could simply be a man, nothing else, and be accepted for who he was. He didn’t need to be the master of the seven seas or the savior of mankind with Maeve. All he needed to be was Sinbad.

She began to move with him, both of them slick with sweat and trembling at the embers of passion that had been stoked into a roaring fire within them. Just as they both felt sure they would burst, that they couldn’t take any more, a blinding rush of ecstasy ran through them. Sinbad collapsed in Maeve’s arms, both of them spent and exhausted, their hearts still racing as one. She wrapped her arms around him as he leaned against her, feeling his body tremble against hers.

"I love you," they both breathed at the same time, but they were too spent to laugh.

After a spell Maeve slowly sat up, wrapping her cloak around her body to ward off the night’s chill. Sinbad followed suit, pulling her into his arms as soon as his cloak was wrapped around him. She snuggled close to him and closed her eyes, yawning slightly. Neither wanted to break the peaceful silence that had fallen upon the clearing in the center of the Standing Stones.

Sinbad waited until the night air grew uncomfortably cold before speaking. "The others will be looking for us," he said, though he didn’t sound worried in the least.

"Yes," Maeve replied, just as untroubled.

"We should probably go back," he suggested, making no move to get up.

"Yes," she said again, in the same tone. Sinbad kissed the top of her head.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, watching her carefully.

"Yes," she said once more, the same tone as before. Then she turned to him, and he could tell by the expression on her face and the love shining in her eyes that she really did mean it. He set his forehead against hers.

"You have just made me the happiest man in the world," he breathed, and Maeve smiled. He nipped at her lips gently before she turned away to gather up her clothing.

"How will we explain where we’ve been?" she asked, pulling her shirt over her head. Sinbad wrapped his red sash around his waist again as he thought.

"It might be easier if they didn’t know we were together," he said. "I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you go back to the manor alone? I wanted to check on the Nomad anyway and make sure she’s all right. If you can think up an excuse for being gone, I can say I went to check the ship, which is true, and then we won’t walk in together."

"Works for me," Maeve said, pulling on her second boot and adjusting her cloak around her shoulders. Her skin was cold from the air, but she was filled with an exhilarating warmth caused by her tryst with Sinbad.

He wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close, holding her tightly for what seemed like eternity. Maeve closed her eyes and leaned tiredly against him, letting her mind wander and her senses drink in the scent and feel that was uniquely his.

They walked toward the lovers’ stone
And through it passed their hands
They plighted there a constant troth
Sealed by love’s steadfast bands
He kissed his maid and then he watched her
That lonely bridge go o’er
For little, little did he think
He wouldn’t see his darling more.

"I’ll see you soon, then," Maeve said as she broke away, her eyes lingering on his. He smiled and kissed her lips gently, a soft, sweet touch. He took her hand as they walked out of the circle, between the two stones that held another betwixt them. Maeve felt the air electrify for a moment, like the snap of static, but then it passed as they stepped out of the circle and she relaxed.

Sinbad kissed her again, and placed a kiss slowly and gently in the palm of her hand. He closed the palm carefully and held her eyes with his. "I’ll be counting the minutes," he said. "When do you plan to tell your father?"

"Tomorrow morning," Maeve replied. "He’s been trying to marry me off for a while—this’ll be a good Christmas present for him."

Sinbad chuckled. "I can’t see anyone wanting to get rid of you."

"Well," Maeve said, glancing down the moonlit road, "I’d best get rid of you now, else you won’t make it back before tomorrow!"

"I’ll be back soon," he said, and started down the path toward the village. Maeve watched him for a moment before turning around and heading toward the manor. She was walking already when Sinbad turned to watch her, a look of absolute rapture on his face. "I love you, Maeve," he whispered before turning back to the path.

He turned his face toward his home
That home he did never see
And you shall have the story
As it was told to me
When a form upon him sprang
With dagger gleaming bright
It pierced his heart, his dying screams
Disturbed the silent night.

A shadow detached itself from a nearby tree and stood in front of Sinbad. The sailor looked up into the face of a very tall, very muscular man.

"Something I can do for you?" he asked calmly, his hand unobtrusively straying to his dagger. His sword was in the manor, and he cursed himself for leaving without it.

"You can die!" the man growled before leaping. Sinbad ducked out of the way, turning to face the man with his own dagger out in front of him.

"Now wait a minute! What have I done to you?"

"She is mine, sailor! Mine! Do you hear me?" The man lunged again, and this time Sinbad received a cut on the arm. Warm blood gushed from the wound, but, Sinbad figured, at least he was alive.

For now.

"Maeve?" he asked uncertainly. Then suddenly, everything clicked. The man in the street who had stopped Maeve. Gregory’s dark looks his way. This ambush… Sinbad’s eyes flashed. "She’s not yours! She doesn’t belong to anybody! She is free to make her own choices…"

The man chuckled, cutting Sinbad short. "Yes, yes, she may make her own choices. After I dispose of you, of course. Can’t have you around messing with her emotions, now can I?" He reached for Sinbad, but the sailor was too quick and slipped away again.

"That’s what this is all about?" Sinbad asked incredulously. "Look, I’m sorry if you had feelings for her, but she didn’t seem to reciprocate and—"

"Shut up!" And Nicholas O’Toole shut Sinbad up without waiting for the sailor to do it on his own. He let the captain fall to the ground, blood flowing freely from a fatal wound in his chest. Sinbad gasped from the pain. It was remarkably hard for him to force his lungs to work…he couldn’t seem to get enough breath. A strange floating sensation took hold of him. He couldn’t stay inside his body…there was too much pain. He didn’t want to.

The man fled, away down to the village. His feet left tracks in the mud, though the tracks were darker than the mud around them. With his last conscious thought, Sinbad realized it was snowing.

The maid had nearly reached her home
When she was startled by a cry
She turned to look around her
And her love was standing by
His hand was pointing to the stars
And his eyes gazed at the light
And with a smiling countenance
He vanished from her sight.

The warm golden lights of the manor made Maeve smile as she walked along. They were beautiful. She wondered what Dermott would think about her marrying Sinbad. She smiled softly. He’d probably be thrilled that Sinbad was his brother.

A soft noise behind her made Maeve turn suspiciously, her hand on her dagger’s hilt. She gasped a little as she realized the person standing behind her was Sinbad. At first she started to ask him why he was following her and not going back to the Nomad, but the words died on her lips. Was it the moonlight playing tricks on her? He looked thin and wavering, almost translucent in the moonshine.

Sinbad stepped up to her, a sad, wistful smile playing on his features. He reached out to touch her face, but stopped before his hand reached her skin.

"Sinbad," she pleaded, growing scared, "Sinbad, what’s wrong? What happened?"

He smiled, trying to look more reassuring but failing miserably. He pointed to the sky, where thick flakes of soft, silent snow were falling now. They fell right through him. He gazed into her eyes, the light of love burning strongly there, before vanishing completely.

Maeve stood stock-still for a moment, then turn and ran at breakneck speed down the hill, away from the manor. The shade of Sinbad had left no footprints. All she had to go on was the path down to the Standing Stones and, farther along, the village.

She followed her dark footprints in the quickly falling snow until she saw the turnoff for the stones. Then she followed his, quickly being swallowed up by the flurry of snowflakes falling to the ground.

A flash of red in the bright moonlight caught her eye. Maeve stifled a scream as she saw him, lying still as stone in the quickly-piling snow. He wasn’t breathing. The flow of blood from his wounds had slowed to a slowly oozing trickle—most of his blood was lying around him in a steaming puddle anyway.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "No. Nooooo!!!" she screamed at the sky. She touched him hesitantly. He was still warm, but he had no pulse. His heart had stilled.

"No, damn you!" she screamed. "Don’t you dare leave me like this Sinbad! Sinbad!"

A breath of wind brushed by her, turning her tears to ice even as they fell.

Standing Stones of the Orkney Isles
Gazing out to sea
Standing Stones of the Orkney Isles
Bring my love to me.

Maeve took a deep breath. She couldn’t stay out here on the road like this, not out in the open. She knew she couldn’t drag his body all the way back to the manor by herself, and she refused to leave him to go fetch help. So she decided to try to take his body back to the Standing Stones, back to the place where he had both told her and showed her how much he loved her. It wasn’t a decision so much as her body mechanically lifting his and half-dragging half-carrying him to the turnoff and down the brush-choked path. The quickly falling snow would erase any tracks she made. By the time her mind came back to her, she was halfway to the stones and it seemed pointless to stop walking just because she didn’t understand why she was taking him there.

She quickly turned and home she ran
Not a word of this was said
For well she knew at seeing his form
That her faithful love was dead.

Maeve stood, numb with shock, as she stared at Sinbad’s dead body by the Standing Stones. Her mind was screaming at her, loud, strange sounds she didn’t understand. There were no words in that scream—it was all resonating notes reverberating off each other. She felt her consciousness clawing at the sides of her mind, and sliding away as if clawing against smooth, curved glass. She couldn’t get a hold on it.

Hot tears slid down her cheeks and turned to ice almost immediately as they spilled from her eyes. She blinked, and some of the tears stuck and held to her long lashes. She was shivering now with the cold, but it wasn’t cold from the flurrying snow or the howling wind that had sprung up.

"No! No, damn you Sinbad, don’t you dare do this to me!" she sobbed into the wind in a voice she barely recognized as hers. It was too wild, too high-pitched, too strange and foreign to be hers. A tiny part of her mind jerked back in horror at that feral sound. Her throat felt raw, and all of a sudden she realized she’d been screaming. Sobs racked her frame, tearing from her throat painfully. She leaned over his body, cold now, and wrapped an arm around him. The snow drifted in piles around them as she clung to his lifeless frame, sobbing into the night.

Time passed in a kind of hazy dream for Maeve. Long minutes advanced and receded, and in the end it was only her mind returning to her body and realizing just how cold she was that made Maeve sit up again. Slowly, as if waking from a dream, she pulled away from the still form and sat up, the snow swirling in little flurries around her. Maeve turned her face away from Sinbad’s body to gaze at the silent Stones as they stood fixed in their places. "He’s dead," she told them dully. "Goddess, he’s dead!" The tears continued to fall, but the wild look had faded from her brown eyes. So had the embers. Her eyes, if she could have seen them, looked even more dead than Sinbad’s.

"My love," she whispered, tracing the line of his lips with gentle fingertips. She didn’t even notice the snow clinging to her cloak and hair and skin.

A sudden noise to her left made Maeve whirl around. Two shadowy figures emerged from the forested trail—two figures she recognized as soon as they came closer.

"Gregory," she breathed, venom in her voice. "How dare you bring him here!" Her eyes shot blazing brown sparks at the other figure. "Nicholas O’Toole, I’ve told you more times than I care to recount: Leave me alone!"

His eyes gleamed at her, their pale, watery depths unreadable. "Now that ye’ve ceased that womanish caterwauling, p’raps ye’re ready to listen to me." He reached out a hand for her arm, but Maeve twisted away and stood. She stood stiller than death, poised in a fighter’s crouch as if guarding Sinbad’s body from her brother and his accomplice.

"If you try to touch me again, you heathen pig, I’ll make sure you’re the last of your line to ever walk this earth!" she spat at him.

Nicholas’ face darkened like a thundercloud at her threat. He took two steps forward and grasped her upper arm firmly. Maeve winced as his fist closed around her arm, but she matched him glare for glare as he pulled her up to her full height and brought her within inches of his face.

"Now you listen here, my girl," he rumbled, his voice hoarse and raspy, "your brother has promised me your hand…" he cleared his throat loudly as his eyes roved over her body, "…so to speak, in return for a favor. You didn’t honestly think I’d let that puny sailor get in my way, now did you?" He chuckled, the sound catching in his throat, and he coughed involuntarily. "Not when the prize was such a pretty one…" He touched her hair with his other hand, but Maeve jerked her head away.

"My father will never allow it," she said firmly. Nicholas O’Toole only laughed.

"Your father don’t have no say in it, my girl. ‘Twas your brother who orchestrated the deal, see, and he’s fixed it so the old man won’t know what’s happened."

Maeve glared at him for a moment, then smiled with deceptive sweetness. "What about your father, Nicholas O’Toole?" she asked, her voice syrupy sweet. "Or, do you even know who your father is? Tell me, O’Toole, does he know you’ve been out kissing pigs while you were supposed to be working the farm?"

He slapped her hard, and released her arm at the same moment. Maeve crumpled to the ground with the force of the blow, then, lightning quick, lashed out with a foot and caught him in the knee. He buckled, uttering curses as he half-fell in the snow. Maeve stood straight again and jammed a bent elbow into the small of his back. He dropped like a rock, uttering a short, sharp cry as he fell to the snow to lie beside Sinbad’s lifeless body.

Maeve chuckled, but her triumph was short-lived however, as Gregory, whom she’d forgotten, ran up behind her and twisted her arms around, pinning them behind her back. She muttered an oath and brought her heel down on his toe, making him bite back an exclamation of pain. He twisted away to shield his leather-clad feet, loosening his hold on her arms as he did so. Maeve got enough distance between their bodies to twist around so her side was pressed against his front and adeptly flipped him over her hip. He landed heavily in the snow, his body making a solid thud! as it hit the ground.

Nicholas was up by this time, and his eyes gleamed with anger. He reached for her, but she skittered away. Her eyes watched him warily, never leaving his form. She was waiting for him to make the first move.

"Bitch!" he growled. "It will be fun taming you."

Maeve laughed, a sound completely devoid of mirth.

"You know," her attacker went on, almost conversationally, "you’ve held out longer than your sailor there did. He wasn’t worthy of you, Maeve. He died. He let me kill him." His eyes gleamed with an insane humor. "There isn’t a person on the island that hasn’t laughed at the O’Tooles and the way they play court to the Baron! But none of them has ever dared to pit themselves against a legend like Sinbad," he chuckled again, "and now none ever will."

Maeve’s eyes widened in horror as what he was saying sunk in. "You killed him," she breathed, her voice completely fleeing. "You killed him!"

He smiled, proud. "I did."

"Bastard!" Maeve screeched, and lost her composure again. She darted in, not quite sure of what she was doing, intent only upon causing as much pain as possible. Nicholas deflected her unplanned attack easily and slammed her back up against one of the Standing Stones, knocking the wind completely out of her.

Maeve gasped for breath. It felt as if her lungs had completely caved in on themselves. She was going to suffocate…

Her momentary weakness made Nicholas think she was submitting, and he lowered his mouth to press roughly against hers. Maeve’s mind was roiling. She couldn’t think properly. This man had killed Sinbad…if she wasn’t careful, she might be next.

His tongue forced her lips open and he deepened the kiss. The stench of rough whiskey invaded Maeve’s senses, and she did the only thing she could think of under the circumstances.

She bit him.

Nicholas broke away from her completely, howling. He spat, a thin stream of dark wetness landing on the ground. Maeve could taste the bitter blood on her own tongue and smiled grimly. "I told you not to touch me again, O’Toole," she said. Her lungs filled with air once again and she breathed in deeply.

"Whore!" He stumbled over Greg, who was still lying on the ground and whimpering. "You’ll be mine yet! I will not be bested by a woman!" He turned around and his eyes flashed with both hatred and lust. "You wouldn’t act so smart if I had hold of someone you cared about," he said. "I’d best watch out, missie, or maybe you’ll find yourself the youngest child in your family once again."

Maeve’s eyes widened in horror. "You wouldn’t dare," she breathed. He chuckled.

"Just you try me, girl, and see. I don’t care what it takes; I get what I want."

Maeve glared at him. "You dare touch my brother and I’ll kill you." Her voice was soft and deadly.

Nicholas spat again and advanced towards her. "Don’t tell me what to do, whore. You’ve no call to be telling a man what he can do." He stepped closer. Maeve clenched her fists tight to keep from rushing forward and hitting him. She bided her time, waiting.

Nicholas stepped up to her and took her chin roughly in his grasp. He jerked her head up to look at him. "Oh, but you’re a pretty one," he chuckled. "Many a man laughed when I said I had aspirations for the daughter of Donncan the horse trainer. They said you would marry the baron’s son, or a rich trader," he chuckled and glanced over at Sinbad’s body. "Or even a legend."

He was close enough now. Maeve kicked him solidly and he doubled over, a groan of pain escaping from his lips as he lay on the ground, unable to move. She smirked as she towered over him.

"I know I shouldn’t tell a man what to do," she said. She leaned over him and whispered in his ear, "But you’re no man—especially not now." That smirk played over her features again. "I warned you that if you messed with me you’d be the last of your line." She wrinkled her nose. "Not that there’s any real loss in that."

Standing Stones of the Orkney Isles
Gazing out to sea
Standing Stones of the Orkney Isles
Bring my love to me.

Maeve broke away from him and stood straight, panting slightly. Her breath clouded in the flurry of snow that suddenly sprang up, and she blinked. Her vision was whirling slightly and she had to concentrate on focusing it. At first she thought she saw a group of people—tall ones—more attackers, and she slid into a fighter’s stance, ready to fight them to the death. She stood straight again a moment later, as she realized the dark shadows weren’t people at all, but the Stones.

The Stones stood, pearly in the moonlight with little caps of snow on top of them. She paused for a second, just staring at them. Then, slowly, she released her tension and stepped closer to the stones that formed an arch. She found the spiral with her fingers by feel, the spiral that had scared her so long ago by doing something she didn’t understand. Now she willfully placed her fingertips on the engraving and began to trace it.

Over and over she traced the figure, over and over until her hands burned from moving too quickly over the rock. The friction gave off heat, and she didn’t know whether it was heat from her body or heat from the rock anymore.

"Work, damn you!" she cried, tears running down her face and freezing in the cold wind. She didn’t care anymore. Her mind wasn’t working properly. She saw herself, almost as if in slow motion, tracing the spiraling engraving on the tall stone and willing it to do something. She didn’t know what. At that point she really didn’t care.

And from that day she pined away
Not a smile seen on her face
Till with outstretched arms she went to meet him
In a brighter place.

"Whore!"

The cry shook her concentration, and Maeve turned her head irritably to see Nicholas on his feet and staring at her with his eyes flashing hatred. She shook with exhaustion and a sense of failure. The effort of pulling Sinbad’s body to the Stones, and then her fight with Nicholas and her brother, had weakened her. Now that the initial rush of adrenaline was gone, she knew she couldn’t hold her own against this man. Not now. But she swore he would not win.

Nicholas advanced on her, a strange triumph shining in his eyes. He knew he had won. He knew she was too weak to fight him much longer.

"You just don’t know when to quit, do you?" Maeve asked in frustration. Her eyes darted back and forth, from Sinbad’s lifeless form to Nicholas’ advancing one.

"I know when not to lose, my girl. There’s a difference." He smiled, and the effect was not one Maeve would call pleasant. Her eyes roved around for something, anything, to get her out of this mess.

Her eyes alighted on Greg’s dagger, forgotten and discarded in the snow. A strange sense of calm invaded her being and, unbelievably, incredibly, she smiled.

Nicholas frowned. "What are you smiling about?" he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. Maeve darted to the side and scooped up her brother’s dagger, the cold iron burning her skin.

"I won’t let you win," she said, brandishing the knife at him. He stopped moving toward her for a moment, but he chuckled.

"You honestly think that little thing will keep me away?" he asked, a morbid amusement in his voice.

Maeve smiled again. "No." She gazed at the blade for a moment, shining unnaturally bright in the snowstorm. "But I also know you won’t win." She stood up straight again. "You shall never possess me, Nicholas O’Toole. Not my body, nor my life." And with those words, she turned the dagger toward herself and slit her left wrist quickly and efficiently. She never felt it.

Nicholas let out a strangled cry as the bright crimson blood flowed onto the snow, its warm wetness making the icy snow steam as it fell. Maeve shifted the dagger to her other hand and slit her right wrist, the stream of blood flowing forth. She lifted remarkably calm eyes to her would-be attacker.

"Like I said—you shall never possess me."

Maeve stepped over to the Stones. She could feel it; feel the life flowing out of her and soaking into the frozen earth. She hoped a bed of flowers might be nurtured by the minerals in her lifeblood and grow there. She put out a hand and set bloodstained fingers against the Stone. In her strange reality, she could feel a strange, pleasant buzzing in the marrow of her bones. As she placed her fingers, wet with her blood, on the Stone, that buzz she felt in her bones became a ringing, almost as if someone were singing very low and very high at the same time. She traced the engraving once, trice, thrice; the ringing intensified each time.

Nicholas started toward her—Maeve never noticed.

The strange buzzing noise filled all Maeve’s senses, a buzz that turned into a ringing hum. She continued to trace the design, but she watched the space between the stones carefully. All at once it flashed and again she saw that strange quality, as if it were water. She stopped her tracing and rushed to Sinbad’s cold body, dragging him up to the entrance. There she stopped, her mind screaming at her that this defied all logic and everything she knew. I don’t care anymore, she told it firmly. I am going to die. Why not answer my questions about this place that has haunted my childhood?

With that she dragged him through the portal, and abruptly lost her footing on the other side. She was swimming…or was it flying? She couldn’t feel Sinbad anymore…he wasn’t with her. But wasn’t he dead? Should he be with her if he was dead? But what if she were dying too? What if that portal was an entry into the underworld? She didn’t care. She’d endure Hell itself if it meant that she could be with Sinbad.

A shadow fell across her, and Maeve looked up to see a watery apparition above her. The shadow was Nicholas. She flinched away from his lust-filled eyes as she floated in the nothingness. He stepped through the portal, and a screeching cry ripped from his throat as he tumbled down…down…

Maeve felt the air rush past her. She opened her eyes and looked all around her. She was flying through the stars on wings of pure light…and below her stretched the wild moonlit sea. She almost smiled. Nicholas O’Toole was nowhere to be found, and she knew from the sudden disappearance of his menacing presence that he was dead. Strangely, she didn’t feel afraid. She knew that whatever had made these Stones and linked them with this strange place that wasn’t a place would not hurt her. Then she thought of another, someone whose eyes were even wilder, even more beautiful than the vast expanse of ocean she now flew over. Her mind dragged her down deep into despair again, and she searched avidly for him. He was not with her.

Standing Stones of the Orkney Isles
Gazing out to sea

"Maeve."

She jerked around at the sound of the voice. Her heart flew into her throat—it was Sinbad! She reached out with a tentative hand and traced the contours of his face. He looked as if he were in intense pain, but he closed his eyes as if savoring her touch and yearning for more. He felt warm and solid and real under her fingers.

As her hand dropped away Sinbad opened his eyes. Those blue orbs burned into Maeve’s very soul. She couldn’t speak.

"You came after me. You followed me into death."

She smiled through sudden tears. "Aye, I did, Captain." She reached out and took his hand, feeling his fingers press firmly against hers. She raised her eyes to his, the love burning in those sapphires taking her breath away and filling her with a wonderful, terrible glee. "Now," she breathed, "will you follow me into life?"

An endless moment passed as Maeve felt sure he would decline the offer, whether because he could not follow her or he did not want to return to the world. But then he smiled, the gesture lighting up his whole face.

"If not you, no one," he breathed. "You are my guardian angel, Maeve."

She laughed through her tears at that and squeezed his hand. She knew instinctively where to go. "Come on then, Sinbad. Let’s go home."

Standing Stones of the Orkney Isles
Bring my love to me

Maeve landed with a thump on the grass within the protective circle of the Standing Stones. She raised her head, which was spinning and making her feel sick to her stomach, and saw Sinbad’s body lying a little ways away. She crawled through the thick snow to his side…

He was breathing. By the gods, he was breathing! Maeve brushed the bloodstained flap of his shirt away, but try as she might she could not find a wound. There was plenty of blood staining his skin and his clothes, but there was no wound at all on his chest or his arm, which was also bloody.

"Thank you," she whispered to the stones, tears in her eyes and her voice. "Thank you."

Sinbad stirred at the sound of her voice and his eyes opened. He blinked at the snow, and tried to sit up. "What happened?" he asked, his voice weak. "I had the strangest dream…" He gazed into Maeve’s grave face for a long moment. "No. No I didn’t. I was dead…"

And then Maeve was in his arms, supporting him and keeping him still. "Hushhhh, it’s okay," she whispered, tears of gladness streaming down her cheeks. "Everything’s okay now."

He hugged her tightly, receiving comfort from her presence in his arms. "Then why are you crying?" he asked worriedly. "Angels should never cry."

Maeve laughed through her tears. "I’m hardly an angel," she said.

"Oh but you are." He smiled, brushing the tears off her cheeks. "You brought me back. I was so far away…I wanted to come to you…but I couldn’t. You brought me back."

Maeve shook her head. "It was the Standing Stones that did it," she said. "Thank them, not me."

Sinbad hugged her again. "I don’t care who it was," he decided. "I’m just glad to be back." Then he smiled down at her and stood shakily. They crossed to the archway, which now looked normal again. Maeve knelt and brushed the snow and grass away from one of the supporting stones. On it was the picture Firouz had found, of the man walking through the portal. She switched to the other supporting stone and brushed the snow away from it’s base as well. Sure enough another picture was engraved there. This one was the picture of the same man being drawn through the stones on a stretcher. He was, quite obviously, dead.

Sinbad leaned against Maeve as much for warmth as for the physical support. "So Firouz only found half of the riddle," he said, chuckling a little. Maeve smiled and wiped away a tear.

"Don’t you ever scare me like that again, sailor, do you understand me?"

Sinbad drew her up to her full height and pressed his lips against hers. "Completely," he said, and he meant it.

They traveled to the end of the turnoff, where it met up with the main roadway. Both pointedly avoided looking at the spot caked with drying blood. Sinbad took Maeve’s hand.

"If you’ll have me, my lady," he whispered, "I’ll accompany you home this time."

Maeve pressed her forehead to his. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

*****

The next morning dawned fair and clear, with a world of soft, snowy whiteness outside. Dermott was up with the sun, waking everyone up.

Greg had mysteriously disappeared.

Maeve shrugged when questioned about her disappearance the night before and said no more about it.

"Maeve! Maeve, look!" Dermott squealed, holding up a little toy boat. It was a perfect miniature of the Nomad. "My very own ship!" he exclaimed, looking at the tiny sails and skinny mast. "Sinbad, can I be captain? Can I please? With sugar on top???" He looked up at the captain with his gleaming amber eyes, pleading. Sinbad laughed and swung the boy to his shoulders.

"Of course you can!" He spun Dermott around, who laughed with delight. "Everyone’s got to be captain of their own ship, whatever it may be." He grinned over at Maeve, who was sitting on the heart as usual and sipping tea. She raised an eyebrow at him speculatively, then returned her attention to her tea.

"Thank you Sinbad!" Dermott said, cradling the ship carefully in his arm. "I promise, I’ll take real good care of it!"

Sinbad shook a finger at him. "Make sure you do," he said solemnly. Dermott nodded.

"I promise."

Donncan laughed and held out an arm for his youngest son, who came bounding over. "Dermott, can you think of a happier Christmas?" he asked. The fire-haired boy shook his head.

"Sir," Sinbad said, kneeling beside Donncan’s chair, "I have a favor to ask you this day."

Donncan smiled. "Anything within my power to give, my boy," he said. "You are family, Sinbad."

The captain smiled. "Then, sir, will you grant me the honor of marrying your daughter?" Sinbad’s blue eyes were sincere as he watched the older man carefully.

"Ah, Sinbad, my Maevelyn’s heart is one thing I cannot give," the old man said sadly. He beckoned to his daughter, who stepped over to the chair. "Her heart is her own, to bestow when and where she will."

Maeve laughed. "It is already given, Father," she said. "Though I would fain have your blessing as well."

Donncan kissed her forehead and clapped Sinbad on the shoulder. "You have it, dearest ones! Lynn, you don’t know how happy you have made me this day!" He sighed happily. "Sinbad, you truly are part of the family now, aren’t you?"

Sinbad laughed. "I always felt it," he replied. Then he drew Maeve close to him and kissed the side of her head gently. "Now it’s final."

She rolled her eyes and chuckled. "Your crew is gaping, Sinbad."

Sinbad glanced over. Sure enough, Doubar, Rongar, and Firouz were all standing and staring at them, gaping like fishes. He looked at Maeve again with the teasing gleam back in his eyes. "Should we give them something to gape at?" he asked. She grinned in response and wrapped her arms around him as his mouth claimed hers, earning a gasp of surprise from the sailors and a delighted little giggle from Dermott.

Sinbad broke the kiss and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you back, sailor," she responded, right before their laps were invaded by an armful of excited little boy.

"Sinbad’s gonna be my brother!" he exclaimed excitedly. "And Doubar too!" He hugged his future brother-in-law and then ran over to Doubar. "Tell me another story, Doubar!" he demanded. The entire group groaned and covered their ears.

*****

Later, curled up together on the hearth, Sinbad turned his head to whisper in Maeve’s ear. "What do you think about getting married at the Standing Stones?" he asked. Maeve smiled.

"You read my mind," she accused. They watched Dermott, who had become better at cards, patiently "teaching" his father how to play. "I guess you’ll be teaching me how to sail now," Maeve commented absently. She leaned back into his arm and relaxed, the scent and feel of him making her feel more at ease than she could ever remember being before.

"Oh yeah," he breathed, tucking her head under his chin. "You’ll make a good sailor."

She laughed. "Why do you say that?" she asked.

He flashed her that annoyingly cocky grin. "Because you’ll have the best teacher!"

She made a face. "We’ll see about that."

He continued to grin. "So you really don’t mind leaving this place to sail?" he asked. Maeve shook her head and curled closer to him.

"We’ll visit like you do anyway," she replied, "And I wanted to see the world. This island is only a very small part of it, you know."

"I know," Sinbad smiled. "There’s a whole wide world out there…"

"And a whole mess of new adventures for Doubar to return and tell Dermott about…"

"And I don’t plan to miss one!" they both finished. Then Sinbad smiled again, a gentle smile, and wrapped a fiery lock of her hair around his finger.

"You know, Maeve, even with all the adventures I’ve had so far, I think being married will be the biggest."

Maeve flicked her eyes up to his. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a little smile as she watched him. "Oh really? Why is that, Sinbad?"

He grinned and kissed her, his lips lingering against hers. "Because I am certain it will be the best."

The End