Free Spirit of the Mist by Janeen O'Kerry

was.  
    “Have you never touched a man’s face, Lady Muriel?” he asked, peering up at her, his eyes bright with laughter.  
    She froze. “I have not,” she whispered and started to take her hand away. But he caught hold of it lightly, gently, and brought it close.  
    “I am glad to know this,” he said and bowed his head to touch his lips to the backs of her fingers.  
    The world around her seemed to grow misty and disappear. She saw only his closed eyes and gentle face, felt only the heat and surprising softness of his mouth as he caressed her fingers.  
    In the distance, far below near the gates of the dun, came the faint sound of galloping hoof beats. It seemed of no consequence to Muriel, who found she was no longer capable of moving; her entire body had gone warm and soft. But Brendan opened his eyes and looked up past her shoulder.  
    He sat back. Muriel blinked, for the light of day intruded on her once again. But as she watched him stand up and take a step toward the fast-approaching hoof beats, she knew without having to look that King Murrough’s riders had returned from Dun Bochna.  
     
    Brendan raced down the path, finally having to let go of Muriel’s hand, for she could not bring herself to move any faster than a walk. She found herself terribly sad. He ran for the open gates and dashed across the lawn, in and around the houses, and quickly disappeared from Muriel’s sight.  
    She hurried a little to catch up to him—and found him standing with his hand against the wall of one of the houses, staring at the closed doors of the King’s Hall. Seven horses were being led away as Muriel walked up to stand beside him.  
    “They’re already in the hall, waiting for the king,”  
    Brendan said, still watching the doors. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to them.”  
    Muriel swallowed. “Did any of the men from Dun Bochna come with them?”  
    “That they did! I saw Darragh and Killian, two of the best fighters of Dun Bochna, and two of my closest friends!” He grinned down at her. “Nothing but the best for me; isn’t that true, Lady Muriel?”  
    She closed her eyes. “You say you know them—but even the lowest slave at Dun Bochna would know who they were. Here is my question for you, Brendan: did they know you?”  
    He stared at her. “Of course they will know me. They have come all this way just for me.”  
    Muriel glanced at his face and stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder. “Then I must ask you—where are they? Surely they would have been quite excited to see you, and even now should be talking to you and laughing with you—”  
    “They have not yet seen me. They were taken directly into the hall.” He tried to smile. “I did not think I should shout out to them when they were on their way to see your king.”  
    “I see.” She drew a deep breath. “So, whether they saw you or not, they have not yet recognized you.”  
    He frowned, confusion evident on his face. “As I told you, they have not yet seen me. And when they do, they will know me, just as I said they would.” His face brightened. “Ah, now I think I understand why you are so gloomy! You fear that if they don’t know me, I’ll be proved a grand liar—and if they do, then I will have to return to my home and leave you here.”  
    Her eyes widened as she stared up at him, feeling something like shock at hearing Brendan put her thoughts into words. She looked away, toward the hall, and squared her shoulders.  
    “Either way, Brendan, you will be gone from my life. You will vanish into a life of servitude, working with the slaves and the lowest of the servants, or you will return to your fortress very far away and become the king you claim to be. Have you forgotten that?”  
    There was the lightest of touches at her fingers. She glanced down to see a little bunch of white blackberry blossoms being offered to her—when had he picked them? “Do you see these flowers? They too have