 
"I'm seeking a wise man. A Druid."
At the big Celt's scowl, Clara clutched the blanket more firmly to her breasts. "I was told he lived in this valley, but the storm turned me around. Do you know of him? If you show me the path to his door, I'll be gone as soon as my clothes are dry."
Her reluctant host raised his brows. He had the look of a warrior about him, his broad chest stretching his animal skin shirt to the extremity of its rough seams. Clara stared at the corded muscles in his forearms.
"Ye'll nay be going far, lass," he said. "Not half-frozen as ye are. Your feet willna bear even your slight weight, not for a day, at least."
As if to underscore his assessment, a shiver overtook her. Her body was ice cold, as if winter raged inside. She barely felt the fire in the hearth, though beads of sweat stood out on the Celt's forehead. The musk of his perspiration reached her nostrils.
It was an intimate smell, one that caused her to shift away.
"The old Druid," she persisted. "He's a Seer. He can find things that are lost or stolen. Surely you know of him. Does he live nearby?"
To her surprise, her companion stood abruptly and gave her his back. "There be few Druids left alive," he said without turning. "Your army has done a fine job of putting them to the sword."
Clara stared at the back of his head. Again he spoke the truth and again she had no answer. But she had no choice--she had to gain his cooperation. She had to find the Seer, and it was likely this man could lead her to him.
"I mean the Wise One no harm. Nor will I tell a soul of his hiding place."
"Ye are Roman," he said, as if that were an answer.
"Yes, of course," she replied to his broad shoulders. Words began tumbling from her lips, as they always did when her blood pounded in her ears. "But I have no reason to alert the authorities. Just the opposite. I was directed to the Seer by an old Celt slav--friend," she amended hastily. "He told me the Wise One's heart is kind and true. I'm in sore need of his magic." She inhaled. "Please. Will you take me to him?"
The Celt was silent for several long heartbeats. Finally, he turned, eyeing her, clearly deciding whether she was worth the trouble of an honest answer. She resisted the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.
At last he spoke. "And who is this friend ..." He said the word harshly, as if spitting out the uglier syllable she'd almost uttered. "...who told ye tales of a Druid?"
"A Celt elder. An old man who lived in these hills, before..."
Her voice trailed off in the face of his scowl. She wondered, not for the first time, if she'd lost her wits completely to embark on this wild quest, even with Aiden's encouragement. A knot of fear tightened in her stomach. But then she thought of Father huddled in his sickbed.
She stiffened her spine. "My friend lived in these hills before he came to dwell in the city."
"Before Sempronius Gracchus and the Second Legion enslaved the last of the free Celts, ye mean."
Clara fought to control her expression as the Celt spat out her father's name. "Yes," she said.
"Where are your companions?" Venom laced his tone. "A wealthy woman such as ye would travel with an escort. Were there soldiers? Did ye lose them in the storm?"
"I came alone."
The Celt's piercing blue gaze bored into her. "If that be true, then ye are surely mad."
Her fingers twisted the edge of the fur blanket. "No doubt you're right. But I had no choice. Please. If you know the Wise One, take me to him."
A veil dropped over his eyes, blanking their expression. She went still. "You know where he is."
He hesitated, and she thought perhaps he would deny it. But a moment later, he nodded once. "I ken the one ye speak of. But I wouldna name him wise. Nor kind."
"It matters not what you would call him. Only that you take me to him."
His gaze sought the fire, where it lingered moodily. Finally, he sighed. "Ye've found him already, lass."
"I don't understand."
He gave her a pointed look, brows lifted.
Several seconds passed before she grasped his meaning. When it did, her breath left her. No. It wasn't possible. She sought an old man. An elder.
Didn't she?
"You?"
The corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. "Ye look a bit green about the gills, lass. Am I nay what ye expected?"
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» Travel to Scotland with Joy. Joy shares her experience traveling while to Scotland, where many of her books take place. See photos and more on her blog... The following include research that ties into The Grail King.
Day 6: Doune Castle
Day 9: Caerleon aka Isca Silurnam
Day 11: Glastonbury and Cheddar Gorge
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