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they
come from that they did not understand the Pictish tongue?
    Aurelia repeated her questions in the Gaelic
of the Scots and that of the Irish, then in the Briton of the
south, finally in the Norse tongue of her father. All to no avail.
Even the Latin of the cursed priests earned no response.
    “ What the hell is she
saying?” the man with the bald pate asked.
    The tall man shrugged, his perceptive gaze
unwavering from Aurelia’s own. “I have no idea. Maybe she’s
cold.”
    A twinkle danced within Aurelia’s mind and
she felt the power of the first gift granted at her naming surge to
life. For years, she had trained and honed this ability, and now
the dividends were her own. She silently thanked the great
priestess who had paid her homage with this gift.
    For Aurelia had been granted, as a babe, the
gift of tongues.
    It was fitting for the daughter of a great
sorceress to be endowed with such a magical gift and useful, as
well. Aurelia habitually translated messages from afar at her
father’s court, for she had only to hear a language to not only
have an understanding of it, but to be able to converse in it.
    That did not mean she understood all of the
words within that language, particularly when parallel words did
not exist within her own mother tongue. The second man’s next
speech made that tellingly clear.
    He scratched his forehead. “She must be a
vagrant - just look at her clothes! - who somehow has gotten into
this place to sleep. We can’t afford to have this kind of PR
liability connected with the resort before we even open.” He rolled
his eyes and shuddered. “I can’t believe you touched her without
having any idea where she’s been! What were you thinking?”
    The tall man’s expression turned grim, but
he did not respond. Even Aurelia could see that he did not intend
to defend his actions.
    He was obviously the leader, this priest his
advisor. Her father had often said not to trust a man who put too
much faith in the soothsaying of priests of any faith and she
admired that this one questioned his counsel.
    But precisely how had he touched her?
Aurelia licked her lips nervously and found a taste upon them that
was not her own.
    What manner of man kissed a sleeping
stranger?
    The priest sighed. “Look, let’s take her
into town and…”
    “ And what?” the tall man
demanded impatiently. “Toss her out in the street? How is that good
PR?”
    He waved off whatever the priest would have
said, his green gaze fixing on Aurelia once more. “Have we met?” he
asked in a far more gentle tone than he had used with his
priest.
    “ No.”
    Something flickered in the depths of those
eyes, as though he did not quite believe her. “Are you lost? Do you
live near here?”
    “ I live here!” Aurelia
almost laughed at the foolishness of his question, but a shadow
crossed the warrior’s eyes.
    Why was he troubled by that claim? It was
perfectly true. Aurelia frowned, sensing there was something
critical she should remember, but the memory shimmered elusively
just beyond her grasp.
    The priest sighed, a sure sign that his
course of action was getting short shrift to his mind. “Look,
Baird, I don’t know what’s going on here, but sentimentality has no
place…”
    Bard! Aurelia straightened with a shock she
could not hide.
    This was Bard, son of Erc!
    Aurelia had never met the cursed dog, but
certainly had not imagined he would be so handsome. There was an
air about him that tempted one to trust him, a characteristic all
the more foul given what Aurelia knew of his deceitfulness.
    Memories tumbled into her mind like a river
unleashed from a dam. Bard’s ships had arrived at Dunhelm this very
morning! And Aurelia had killed the first of Bard’s own men.
    And now Bard, son of Erc, stood boldly
before her, his progress unobstructed. Her father would never have
allowed this.
    If Hekod had had a choice.
    A trickle of dread slithered down Aurelia’s
spine. She thought frantically, but she could not