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hadn’t. Perhaps she’d loved her Ross, but her love had not been returned. A man who truly loved didn’t put his beloved at such risk. He didn’t abandon her for another species of romance, a quest for glory in an unknown country.
    Sir Ross of Tintagos had jumped off a cliff, all right—but for himself.
    The boat emerged from the mist rowed by its muscled female crew and steered by its fierce-looking, tattooed boatman. “Here’s Velyn,” she said to the infant. “You’ll be home soon.”
    The boatman strode to the bow of the craft and extended his hand. Igraine steadied herself on his strong forearm and settled in with the baby on the centermost bench. The boat set out to the open Severn Sea and into the mist.
    Igraine had never loved, but she’d spent the past summer in an extended tryst with Velyn. He’d awakened her to the promise of love’s delights, and she liked him still, but their desire for each other had abruptly died with the bonfires of Nos Kalan Gwav , the eve of the first day of winter.
    Silent, he stood behind her and guided the boat through the mist. She remembered his muscle and sweat and hands and tongue and the shimmering heat they’d made together. All wonderful and exciting and somehow necessary, but the passion of it was over. She would likely seek his touch again, just for the pleasure and release of it, no romantic notions involved. But Velyn would never ride off a cliff for her—and neither would she for him.
    The baby fussed, and Igraine rocked her. “We’ll have a wet nurse for you soon, dear one.” Perhaps one day she’d tell the baron’s son he had a daughter alive in the world. Perhaps not. At all events, it was likely that Sir Ross would never return to Dumnos.
    “You are a daughter of the high gods, and your name is Lowenwyn,” Igraine said. And she would ensure the girl’s life embodied the name’s meaning— shining joy . 
    Within the hour, the mist parted and the boat entered the calm lagoon of the lush island. Avalos, the sacred home of the wyrd. As usual, the evening sky was clear and the early stars twinkled cheerfully. Igraine felt certain later tonight she’d see the northern lights.
    She thanked Velyn and set off for the island’s center on the path past the freshwater lake and the sword in the stone. She headed directly for the holy sanctum. There would be no begging, no need to implore the abbess to take in the child. A daughter of the high gods was always welcome at Avalos.
    As Igraine well knew. 

« Chapter 3 »
Wandering Aengus
    21st Century. The cliffs near Tintagos Castle
    L ILITH BAUSINEY STOOD at the cliff above Tintagos Bay and scanned the Severn Sea’s mist-obscured horizon. It’s there, I know it is.
    But she didn’t know, did she? She only believed.
    She sighed and leaned against the tree at the cliff’s edge. “Where is the island, Igdrasil?” she said aloud. “You could tell me if you wanted to.”
    But Igdrasil no longer spoke to her.
    The world tree was completely healed from being cleft down the middle—some said by lightning; some said by the high gods themselves. That was nearly a year ago, and for a while Lilith had believed she too was healed. The two spirits who’d tried to possess her and Cade had been set free. The dreams which had called her to Dumnos in the first place had ended.
    She’d come for a vacation, to get away from a bad relationship gone very bad, and she’d been transformed.
    No longer Lilith Evergreen, insurance adjustor from Indio, California. She was now Lilith Bausiney, Lady Dumnos, a countess in a real world fairy tale, married to the love of her life. A wonderful husband, practically perfect in every way. Except that he was late for lunch.
    Her Mini stood alone in the parking lot— car park —and there were but a few vehicles on the Ring road, none his that she could tell. No surprise; the day was lousy for a picnic. But she and Cade didn’t care about that. They’d just wanted to get away for an