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"To London."

"I never cared for London myself," Fergus said mildly.

I don't like it either, Ronan thought, wondering what had possessed him to think of going there. He remembered the stench of the crowded streets, the noise...and all the musicians, some quite gifted and all with two good hands, competing for a place at court. Once he had no need to fear them, but now...

"I am afraid I canna lift this," Fergus said, startling him from his thoughts. "Will ye be so kind as to carry it inside? Or if ye canna manage it, we could take it together."

Ronan flushed, seeing Fergus staring at his hand. "I can do it," he said, bending.

"Just in here," Fergus said, gesturing toward an opening in the hillside.

Ronan looked at the cave's entrance and froze. He had always hated caves. Though his friends had liked nothing better than to explore the caverns winding through the cliffs of Donegal, Ronan had always refused to join them.

Why anyone would willingly venture into such a terrible place, he had never known. Just thinking of it made his stomach clench. All his worst nightmares were of being trapped inside the earth with no way out.

Fergus was watching him closely, eyes hooded and unreadable. If this was some sort of test—and Ronan felt certain that it was—he did not need to prove himself. He could just refuse and walk away. There was no need to do as Fergus asked, no matter how simple it might be.

Yet Ronan had the uneasy feeling that Fergus' request was not simple at all. Strongly and without reason he feared that once he walked inside, he would not walk out again unchanged. But would that be such a terrible thing? God knew he could use a change, for he was sick to death of himself, his entire pointless life, and the bleak future stretching endlessly before him.

Was Fergus offering him a new beginning? Or was this some sort of trap? Of course, there is another possibility, Ronan told himself, one far more likely. The man could simply want his wine.

He hesitated, heart thumping wildly in his breast, and despite the breeze, sweat broke out upon his brow.

"Go on, lad," Fergus said gently. "There is no harm to ye in there."

Ronan swallowed hard, thinking that Fergus must find him ridiculous. God knew he found himself both contemptible and absurd. It was only a cave! But still he could not force himself to move. At last he looked at Fergus.

"Truly?"

"Aye, truly. I'll never lie to ye, Ronan. There will be no room for lies between us."

Ronan studied the sky, so clear and blue, and the road winding down the mountainside toward London. He turned his face up to the sun and felt it warm his skin as the fresh breeze stirred his hair. Then he looked again at the opening in the hillside, black against gray stone. It would be cold in there, he thought, dank and foul, filled with terrifying visions.

"You seemed to be waiting for me," he said, stalling for time. "Did you know that I was coming?"

Fergus smiled. "Oh, aye. Or to be quite truthful, I knew someone was coming. I only hoped that it was you."

"How can that be?" Ronan demanded angrily. "You do not even know me."

"Oh, child," Fergus said, putting one hand on his shoulder. "I know ye well, though before today I did not ken your name. I've been waiting for ye a long, long time."

Ronan glanced at him, surprised, and Fergus nodded, as though answering a question Ronan had not quite dared to ask. His dark eyes were very kind beneath the tangle of white brows.

"Then I—I suppose I could come in. For a bit."

"Unpack your horse and stable it in the shed," Fergus said briskly, turning back to the cave. "'Twill be snow ere nightfall."

Ronan obeyed. At the threshold he hesitated, took the harp from his shoulder and ran his fingers across its strings, his face taut with concentration as the rippling notes danced in the cool fresh air.

At last he nodded. "If you say so," he murmured, stroking the polished wood. Then he squared his shoulders, bracing himself against whatever dark mysteries lay within, and pushed back the hide stretched across the cave's entrance. He took one wary step and stopped short, staring.

His wondering gaze moved over glittering crystals piled on the shelves, neat rows of parchments, quills and inkpots, bunches of herbs suspended from the ceiling. Half a dozen candles shed a warm light over the homely scene and the scent of fresh-baked bread set his mouth to watering.

"Well, don't just stand there letting in the cold," Fergus said prosaically, looking up from a small table where he was slicing bread and cheese. "Come in and sit."

Ronan laughed and let the hide fall into place behind him as he stepped inside, hands outstretched to catch the fire's warmth.

-The End-