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insubstantial as cobweb. Theirbodies moved, at first slowly, with sensuous delight in everymoment of their concourse, then more quickly as urgency overtook them, until their hearts surely shared the same desperate drumbeat. It was the oldest dance of all, beautiful, powerful, over all too quickly, leaving forest woman and druid lying together on the grass-stained linen, bodies sheened with sweat, chests rising and falling fast as the pounding heartbeat slowed and the fierce breath calmed.A cloud darkened the sun; a shadow passed over the little grove. The vision dissipated and was gone.
    Broichan drew his hands away from Tuala’s. There was a silence as each returned slowly to the shadowy chamber. A practiced seer allowed such a vision to release its hold gradually. To hasten the process led to dizziness, nausea, and distress. Tuala blinked, moving her fingers, stretching her arms.Broichan reached for the dark cloth that had lain on a shelf beside the scrying bowl and draped it over to conceal the water. When he spoke, his voice was tight with constraint and decidedly chilly.
    “I cannot imagine why you would wish to view such images in my company,” he said. “This was unseemly. Distasteful. I had thought us almost friends, Tuala. I had come to believe we trusted each other;to think my first assessment of you, long ago, was incorrect. I believed you dangerous: to me, to Bridei, to all you touched. This makes me suspect I was right.”
    Tuala felt his words like a blow. For a moment she could not speak. Then she reminded herself that she was queen of Fortriu and that, as Derelei’s mother and Bridei’s wife, she had power over the king’s druid whether he liked it or not.It didn’t help much; she was amazed at how her heart shrank before his repudiation.
    “Please go now,” Broichan said, walking to the door and holding it open.
    “If that is your preference, of course. I’ll ask you a question first.”
    He waited, eyes cold and remote.
    “I don’t imagine such events occur often. Very likely, a man experiences them only once in his life, and therefore may have an excellentrecall of when they happened. I must tell you that when I saw this before, the vision was far briefer; I did not expect such… I did not call this up to shame you, Broichan. The goddess showed far more than I anticipated.”
    “Please leave now, Tuala.”
    “It was springtime, wasn’t it, at the feast of Balance? Was that the spring before my own arrival at Pitnochie? Was the winter after those eventsthe one when unknown hands delivered me to your doorstep as a newborn babe?”
    “I will not discuss this.” His voice was hard as iron. “I will answer no questions.”
    “There’s no need to answer them,” said Tuala, walking past him and out into the passageway. “All I request is that you give them consideration. The idea must have occurred to you. Or is the possibility that I might be your daughterso painful to contemplate that you have closed your mind to it and thrown away the key?”
    He shut the door in her face. Tuala stood outside, working on her breathing, willing back tears, slowing the painful thudding of her heart. She had known Broichan a long time. Part of her had anticipated this rejection, this refusal to acknowledge any error. And yet, the wave of sorrow that swept throughher was so profound that for long moments it paralyzed her there on his doorstep. Her father. Her own father. How wonderful it would have been if he had offered a little, a wary trust, a tentative recognition of that bond. She realized that, in her heart, she had hoped for more: an embrace; words of affection; perhaps a guarded apology. That had been foolish. Even if he had been prepared to acknowledgethe possibility of blood kinship, the closest Broichan ever came to an expression of feelings was a wintry smile or approving nod of the head. Only with Bridei,his foster son, had he ever come close to revealing what was in his heart. And with Derelei