“Damned Saxon invaders,” she muttered.
“You’ve been hanging with the indigenous folks too long. Remember, the Saxons are supposed to take over the island after the Romans left.”
“Yes, but not like this. The incursion seems to be happening far quicker than the archeology I’ve seen would indicate. The Roman influences that overlaid the Celtic base culture should have time to fade. If the Saxons aren’t halted soon, the world we come from won’t get a chance to develop. I’ve been starting to believe that maybe I’d transported into one of those alternate worlds the theorists worry about.”
“I didn’t think you were your team historian.”
“They brought me along for my visions. History’s just a hobby. I’m an Anglophile.”
“Me, I go where I’m sent and do what I’m told to do. Speaking of that, how did you end up as the local priestess?”
She glanced down sheepishly, before looking him in the eye again. “I know direct involvement with the locals is against the rules, but I was stuck here and I wanted to survive. I’m lucky that the holy spring’s point of origin is in the woods behind the shrine and that’s the nexus where I came through. The Romans channeled the spring into the sanctuary pool when they built the villa. So it was easier for the inhabitants to believe that I was the only survivor of a band of pilgrims attacked by bandits when I wandered bloody and burned out of the woods than it would have been if I’d appeared out of a blaze of light in the fountain.”
“So, you decided to save yourself instead of searching for the rest of your team?”
She pulled her hands from his. “How would I look for the others? I don’t have any computer equipment. I’m too high level on the psi chart for any implant but the wrist chip.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“I’ve tried scrying to hunt for them, but I’ve never seen them, much less their locations.”
“Makes sense. Seers don’t see things connected with themselves.”
“At least not often. I thought about striking out on my own to hunt for them after the locals nursed me back to health, but it was the dead of winter. This isn’t the best of times for a woman to play tourist, between the bandits and barbarians massing outside Lord Ched’s rather flimsy walls. Since this was the only safe place I knew about, I set about proving my usefulness so I could stay. The sanctuary hadn’t had a resident seer for a long time. I used my scrying abilities and got the job. Having a real fortune teller at the holy spring increases the prestige and fame of the place. Which means a larger gathering of pilgrims bringing rich offerings for the goddess, and greater wealth for Lord Ched, at this year’s fertility festival. Unfortunately, he’s decided that the fertility part of the festivities needs a bit of rearranging, and that’s where you come in.”
Bern thought about what he knew of the local customs, politics, and religious practices, and concluded, “The chieftain wants a warrior to challenge the Year King at tonight’s ceremony.”
She nodded.
He grimaced. “Ah, crap, he wants me to kill some kid for the right to screw his daughter.”
“Exactly. And become the local war leader. He wants you to stop the Saxons.” Ginger cleared her throat. “This is my fault, really—I told him I saw you in the water when he asked who would be the next Year King.”
Bern shot to his feet. “Oh, for crying out loud, woman!”
She jumped up to face him. “Hey, I just report what the water shows me. How was I supposed to know you were a time traveler sent to rescue me?”
“You couldn’t lie sometimes?”
“It’s not like I knew who you were when I saw you. It’s not my fault the water says you’re fated to be king! And sleep with Morga,” she added.
He heard the jealousy in her voice, and he liked it. He noticed that they’d moved close together while they argued, and that arguing with her was arousing him all over again. The attraction between them was strong and hot, and driving him crazy. Being crazy was no way to run an op. Knowing that didn’t stop him from putting his hands on her hips.
“There you are!” Lord Ched’s voice boomed out behind them before he could pull Ginger into his arms.
They turned to face the chieftain, and the trio of men that followed him into the bathhouse. Ched had a smile plastered on his face, but there was anger in his eyes. His hand was on the pommel of a dagger on his belt. Bern had been prepared to tell the man he had no interest in his game of kings and priestesses, but decided this might not be the right time to assert his opinion.