The Eternity Ring free porn video

****Please Read This First****

Let's get this clear. There is no, repeat no, BDSM or any sort in this story. Nor, for that matter, is there more than a smattering of sex in it. Certainly no more than in the average chick lit, nowadays. At it's heart it's a Butch/Femme lesbian love story but, that's it, nothing more. So,if you're looking for hot girl-on-girl action with lots on n/c D/s play, sorry, not this time.

So, having said all that, why am I posting it at the BDSM Library when it's not a BDSM story. Well, that's because this is where I post and this is where my fans, such as they are, know where to find my work. You never know, you might just like it even without the BDSM ;-).

And, please, when it comes to time to write a review – and I urge everyone to review all the stories they read – don't mark me down because there was insufficient sex. You were warned.

As ever, my gratitude goes out to Estragon, my esteemed editor,  OneWhoAdores for plot advice, and MartiniMan who also provided valuable assistance. Thanks guys!

On with the story....

Chapter one – in which they find the ring.

"Ah, Rhonda, I'd like you to meet Jessica. She'll be joining the team as your assistant and I'd like you to show her the ropes."

Rhonda looked up from the collection of Aztec artefacts she was busy labelling to see Malcolm, the museum director, standing at the door to the room. He was accompanied by a tall, leggy blonde and, immediately, Rhonda's hackles went up. For months, even with working insane hours, she had been struggling to meet deadlines and, time after time, her pleas for an assistant had been turned down with the limited budget cited as the reason. And now, without one iota of consultation she was having this... clotheshorse... foisted on her.  She knew she was being unfair, she knew she was letting her prejudices get the better of her, but from the stiletto heels to the Barbie pink hairgrip in her strawberry blonde hair, this woman had ‘bimbo’ written right the way though her like Blackpool rock. What was worse was the way in which Rhonda hadn't been brought into any part of the selection procedures. What was Malcolm thinking of?

"I thought we hadn't got any money in the budget for new staff," Rhonda stated testily.

"Ah, yes, well, err...," Malcolm was obviously flustered, "perhaps if I could have a private word. Jessica, if you would be so kind as to just wait here for a moment." He took Rhonda by the arm and led her to a quiet corner.

"Yes, there's no money in the budget and, yes, I've turned down every staff request you've made but that's why I thought you'd be glad of a little help."

"Help? Yeah, I could do with help but who the hell ever heard of an archaeologist in four-inch heels, a micro skirt and a boob tube? Who is she and why has she been chosen when there are so many good candidates crying out for work?"

"She's Jessica Poulton, sole daughter of Lord Poulton, the CEO of MegaCorp. Lord Poulton has just made a very generous donation to the facility, very generous indeed, and, whilst employing his daughter wasn't exactly a precondition of the donation, he did make it clear that he would be upset if we couldn't find a way to accommodate her."

"OK, OK. I get the message," Rhonda said with a sigh. "Money talks, as always. So, the bimbo, does she know anything about our work?"

"Please, Rhonda, she's not a bimbo. I wouldn't have countenanced accepting her is she wasn't properly qualified. Of course she has a degree in archaeology. She graduated from East Wessex last year; only a lower third, I'll admit, but it is a degree."

"And did East Wessex also get a 'generous donation' around about the same time?"

"I really couldn't say, although, come to think of it, their new library complex was only opened recently."

"And what about fieldwork? Has she done anything practical?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"So, let me put all this together. Daddy's little girl comes of age and for some daft reason she thinks she's Lara Croft or something. God knows why, archaeology is hardly a common fantasy job. Anyway, her indulgent father then starts pulling strings, makes lots of tax-deductible 'generous donations' and she ends up here. Heaven help us when she finds out that this is the real world and not Tomb Raider."

"Rhonda, you're so cynical, but, yes, that's about it, I suppose."

"Fabulous. And, having accepted your thirty pieces of silver, you chose muggings here to babysit her." Rhonda's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Come along, don't be like that. She may not be the brightest star in the firmament but at least she wants to work here."

"Unlike all the highly qualified postgrad students whose job prospects currently involve flipping burgers or stacking shelves at Tesco, I suppose."

"Rhonda, please, if you knew how hard it is to raise funds in this day and age.... With her father's money in the bank we might even be able to afford to keep this place open. And, if he can be persuaded to make another donation, we would be able, at long last, to think about some fieldwork. If we had some money in the bank we could, dare I say it, manage an expedition to Peru next year and, if such an expedition were to go ahead, I'm sure we'd give due consideration to those who had made the effort to assist in fund raising."

"Look after her for a year, get her to persuade daddy to pony up some more wonga, and, in return, I get to go to Peru; is that what you're saying?"

"I wouldn't start packing your suitcase quite yet but, put it this way, without her father's money, none of us are going anywhere. Anyway, it won't be forever. As you say, she must have some Tomb Raider fantasy; I'm sure she'll get bored rigid when she finds out what the job really involves. Look after her for me, maybe even butter her up a bit, and, when she goes, I'll see what I can do."

Rhonda looked across at the blonde and sighed deeply. For all her misgivings she understood the realpolitik of fundraising in the current financial climate. If employing this bimbo was what was needed to keep the research institute alive and, with it, the promise of her dream trip to Peru, then so be it. Rhonda pushed her misgivings to one side and, together, they went back to where Jessica was waiting and started the induction process.

"It's not as if she's got two brain cells to rub together," Rhonda complained to her friend, Chris, as, that evening, they shared a quiet pint or two together in the saloon bar of the Golden Ball.

"Never mind her brain, what about the bod? Is she pretty? Does she make you hot? Do you dream of introducing her to illicit Sapphic pleasures? Would you shag her?"

"Sex, sex, sex, that's all you gay boys think about. Would I shag her? Nah, not my type. Ok, so I'll admit that she's certainly eye candy and she has got the cutest little tush, but I want someone I can talk to afterwards."

It said a great deal about Rhonda and Chris's relationship that they could have this conversation at all. Rhonda was an out lesbian and had been since the age of fourteen. Whilst she wasn't exactly a separatist, she was bored and exasperated by the way most men seemed fascinated by her sexuality and would focus on nothing else. Chris, an equally out gay, made a refreshing change from all this. They had been thrown together when they had shared student digs as freshers and now, nearly a decade later, they were still firm friends. He, at least, was free of the clich?d responses; he didn't want to "watch" nor was he convinced that she could "cured" by meeting a "real man", a viewpoint she had heard far too often and found deeply insulting. It wasn't just the clich?s, her real bug-bear were those who thought that being a lesbian was all she was, who never went past that to see her as a human being.

Anyway, even if she did secretly fancy Jessica a little bit, her gaydar hadn't detected the slightest sign of any interest. Rhonda was not one of those who got off on seducing straight girls; she knew from bitter experience all about those who dabbled, those who played at being 'bi-curious', those who just wanted to 'try it once' or fool around with other girls so as to make themselves more alluring to men. No, there were plenty of other fish in the sea without getting involved where she wasn't wanted.

The next few weeks confirmed Rhonda's worst fears. Jessica was, indeed, a total airhead. Her knowledge of archaeology was sketchy at best and, without her father pulling strings in the background, she'd struggle to get a job on the checkout counter at the local supermarket, let alone a university research facility. Her main topic of conversation seemed to be her boyfriend, Jeremy, and what they did at the weekends. From Monday to Wednesday she'd rehash the previous weekend's activities, while Thursday and Friday were spent anticipating the next. Rhonda found Jessica's endless wittering about West End wine bars, hooray Henries, and all night parties tiring in the extreme. Worse still was the way that Jessica seemed to worship Jeremy and was, forever, singing his praises. It seemed that he was some hotshot in the world of banking and well on his way to being a millionaire. Other than that her main occupation was avidly reading 'Hello' and 'OK' magazines and she would comment endlessly on the comings and goings of the celebrities portrayed within.

But, to Rhonda's mind, far worse than her mindless gossip, were Jessica's limited aspirations. All Jessica's dreams seemed to revolve around Jeremy and Jessica seemed to think that the most important thing she could do was to be his wife and helpmeet, or, it would seem, personal slave. Even Jessica's quite genuine, if rather amateur, interest in archaeology was secondary to this. Jessica explained that, once they were married, she would be far too busy being his wife to keep up a career of her own. Just as with her magazines, Jessica seemed unable to define herself except through the comings and goings of other people.

So, driven to distraction by her wittering, Rhonda assigned Jessica to the easy, if repetitive, jobs, the ones she could be left to do on her own, and by doing so, she was able to free up more time for her to spend on the real work.

And then, one day, it all changed. Jessica had settled in and, despite her limitations, she could be relied upon to do the slow and steady job of cataloguing. With this in mind Rhonda set her the task of sorting out an old bequest. A local bigwig, Lord Breck, had died back in the sixties and, as part of dealing with his estate, the contents of his attic had been donated to the museum in lieu of death duties. Rhonda suspected that the museum staff had known at the time that this was a stitch-up because, for all those decades, the collection of tea chests had been left in a corner in the basement without so much as a formal inventory. Now the space was needed for a new x-ray machine and, rather than just chuck the whole lot in the skip, Rhonda tasked Jessica with making a comprehensive list, of sorting the wheat from the chaff. Together they went down to the basement and removed the dustsheets that had covered the collection for so long. What they found was a long row of tea chests, each bulging with odds and sods, the most obvious being a set of golf clubs standing proud above the rest. Together they hauled them out into the centre of the room.

"But it's all just junk!" Jessica complained.

"Did you think you were going to get Tutankhamen's tomb from the get-go?" Rhonda replied quite crossly.

"No, but this... this is just rubbish!"

"How do you know? Have you sorted through it all? Have you examined each piece and assessed whether it's rubbish or not? No? Well, that's what I'm asking you to do. No, that's what I'm telling you to do."

"But I really thought...."

"I don't care what you really thought. I don't care about your schoolgirl fantasies. This is where it gets real. It's not Tomb Raider and you're not Laura Croft. Real archaeology is the hard graft of sorting through rubbish looking for the good bits. If you don't want to do it, then I know plenty of PhD students who give their right arm to be in your place.?

"Please, Rhonda...," Jessica had tears in her eyes.

"Oh, just get on with it." And with that Rhonda stormed off.

Two hours later Rhonda's temper had subsided. She had been a little harsh. The poor girl had been right, it was all just rubbish and Rhonda had been mean and unsympathetic and now she was beginning to feel guilty about it. On a more practical level, an upset Jessica would end up crying to daddy who, in turn, would withdraw his funding and that would put paid to any chance of Peru. As such it was incumbent upon her, both as a decent human being and for the sake of her career, to go and make peace. She went back down to the basement and over to where Jessica was still working away.

As Rhonda approached she could see that Jessica was actually doing a decent job. She had cleared some space on the table and was making a number of distinct piles. Jessica looked up with her puppy-dog eyes, and Rhonda felt even guiltier at her earlier outburst.

"My, you have done well," she said, turning to the first pile and looking through it. "You were right, of course, it probably is all rubbish but you never know."

"No, you were right. It's not all rubbish, even if most of it is. I did find one or two bits that might be interesting," Jessica admitted. "There's this jewellery box, for example."

Jessica picked up a black lacquer box with an intricate inlaid mother-of-pearl design and handed it to Rhonda who opened it up and looked inside where it was equally elaborate and well crafted.

"This is nice, isn't it? If I had to guess I'd say eighteenth century and from the Far East. Of course, I'm no expert on this sort of thing; we'll have to take it to Mark and see what he makes of it. It doesn't really fit with the rest of the museum's collection so we'll probably end up selling it but, even so, it's a useful find and the money will come in handy for the institute. Was it empty when you found it?"

"No, it was full of this jewellery." Jessica pointed to one of the piles on the table. "I've had a look through and it's all costume, nothing of any value and, trust me, I do know this one." She looked at Rhonda and they exchanged a smile, each acknowledging that this was one area where Jessica did have some expertise. Perhaps the earlier row had cleared the air a bit.

"But there is one piece that doesn't quite fit with the rest," Jessica went on. "This," she picked up a golden ring with a dark stone that she had placed aside from the main pile and showed it to Rhonda, "it's not like the others, it's far better made, for one thing. What's more, I don't recognise the stone. At first I thought it was an opal but it's weird. I mean, every time I look at it it's a different colour. Do you remember those "mood" rings you used to get when we were kids?"

"I was never much into rings," Rhonda replied.

"No, I guess not," Jessica continued. "And then, there's the setting. It looks a bit like gold but there are no hallmarks or anything. Here, have a close look."

She held the ring under the big magnifying lamp and, together, they examined it. Rhonda reached out and took it from Jessica and, as she did so, the tips of their fingers touched. Suddenly Rhonda wasn't looking at the ring anymore but at Jessica's fingers, so slim, so elegant, so manicured, so pretty. What they really needed was... and, before she knew what she was doing, she had slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of Jessica's left hand.

For a moment the two woman just stood there in silence, quite shocked at what Rhonda had done. They were still effectively holding hands under the lamp and Rhonda was suddenly aware of the heat it gave off.

"You silly thing," Jessica said with a giggle. "What did you do that for?"

"I don't know... look... I mean... I... sorry... I... I didn't mean to. You had best take it off," Rhonda said, flustered.

"It does look nice," Jessica said, turning her hand under the magnifying light, enjoying the way the colours shimmered. "Oh well, I suppose I have to." She held the ring with the fingers of her right hand and pulled. However, the ring refused to budge. "That's funny, it's stuck."

"Stop messing around. It went on easy enough; it must come off just as easy."

"I'm not messing around, it's stuck."

"Here, let me." Rhonda reached for Jessica's hand and pulled on the ring. Jessica hadn't been messing around, it really was stuck.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Rhonda said as she once again tugged at the ring.

"Ow, you're hurting me!"

"Sorry. Look, I'm not good with rings. What do you suggest?"

"Soap sometimes works. I'll go to the loos and see what I can do."

When Jessica hadn't returned fifteen minutes later Rhonda went to find her. She was holding her hand under the cold tap and, yes, the ring was still on her finger.

"I've tried just about everything," Jessica said as Rhonda approached. "Hot water, cold water, I've used half the soap in the dispenser and it really won't shift."

"Let me have another look."

But, however much Rhonda and Jessica worked at it the ring was going nowhere.

"Look," Rhonda said at last. "We've wasted enough time over this. It's obviously stuck; we'll have to leave it for a while. Are you OK with that?"

"What about... well, it's not mine."

"Yeah, I know but... no one's going to miss it. When you finally get it off then you can give it back. In the meanwhile, it looks like you're stuck with it, literally."

"Thanks, Rhonda," Jessica gushed.

"I'm not giving it to you. It's just that the only options are cutting the ring or amputating your finger off and I don't think we're ready for either of those yet. Now, we've wasted enough time on this; let's see what else you've unearthed."

And the two women returned to the basement and carried on documenting the collection.

When Jessica came in to work the next day, and the day after, still wearing the ring, Rhonda began to write it off as one of those things. Not so easy to write off was the strange way that she suddenly found herself becoming more aware of Jessica, where she was and how she was feeling. It was nothing she could pin down but, for example, she just 'knew' when Jessica arrived for work in the morning. Rhonda's rational and scientific mind put this down to her hearing, albeit subconsciously, the distinctive sound of the exhaust from Jessica's Audi TTS. But then, at the Friday staff meeting, she suddenly had the unmistakable sensation that her shoes were too tight, that they were pinching. As Rhonda wore her "old faithful" pair of cherry red fourteen hole Doc Martens this didn't make sense. However, she could feel Jessica squirm beside her and, when Rhonda glanced down, she saw Jessica slip off her shoes and wriggle her toes. Rhonda had to stop herself from sighing at the sense of relief as the shoes slipped off. This was crazy, it wasn't her toes that were free, it was Jessica's but, before she could follow this line of thought, she was distracted by Malcolm asking her a about progress on her latest project.

And then, far more disturbing, was the dream.  On Sunday evening Rhonda had been to the pub and, to be fair, had sunk a few pints before returning to her flat around eleven at night. She had shucked off her clothes, given herself a quick wash, checked the alarm was set and collapsed into bed. Within moments she was drifting off into a deep sleep.

...please don't be angry... please don't be angry at me... you've had too much to drink... please! Please!... Ow! She recoils in horror as the fist strikes her temple and knocks her back onto the bed... half stunned she just lies there as he unbuttons himself, pushing his trousers to his knees revealing his rock hard penis... he's coming for her... he grabs her by the ankles and rolls her over... he's on the bed crawling towards her... his hands pin down her shoulders  and he collapses on top of her... the reek of whisky from his breath... his hand groping at her panties... pulling them viciously aside... please... please... not there... please... his prick pushing against her backside, pushing, pushing... the pain as it breaks through, as he forces himself inside her, thrusting, invading, forcing himself inside... scream, bitch, scream, he snarls... she won't... she won't... she won't... aaargh!!!  Aargh!!! Please! Jeremy! Please! Stop... stop... stop... stop...

Drenched in sweat Rhonda shuddered awake. God, what a nightmare, and it had seemed so real. Even now, now that she was awake, she could still feel the throbs of pain where, in the dream, her anus had been violated. She stumbled from the bed and, staggering partially from the after effects of the beer but more from the after effects of the dream, grabbed her dressing gown from the back of the door. Switching on every light she could find, she made her way to the kitchen. She fetched a pint glass from the cupboard and filled it with water from the cold tap; as much for the sake of doing something as anything else. For a long, long while she just sat at the kitchen table, sipping at the water trying to calm down. It had seemed so real, so vivid. At one point she went to the bathroom and examined her face, looking for signs of where her assailant had hit her. Not surprisingly there was none. She even looked, as far as she could, at her backside but that, too, was clear of any sign of the violation she had felt so clearly in the dream. Dazed, she returned to the kitchen. She ought to go back to bed but the thought of facing that again was too much. In the end she wrapped the dressing gown around herself and lay down on the sofa. And that's how she found herself, still tired and with an awful crick in her neck, when she came to early the next morning.

Partially to wake herself up, and partially to wash away the memories of the dream, she spent longer than usual in the shower that morning. Even so she was not at her best when she arrived at the institute. Half an hour later she had that feeling she was beginning to get used to and, glancing out of the window, she saw Jessica's Audi TTS pulling into the car park. When she got to the office Jessica too, seemed a little subdued but maybe that was just Monday morning blues. She came over to Rhonda's desk and held out her left hand.

"I'm sorry, Rhonda, I really tried everything but that damn ring wont come off. I've completely run out of ideas as to what to try next."

"Don't worry; I'm sure you did your best. Now..." Rhonda looked up at Jessica and was suddenly speechless. There, just above Jessica's right eye, was a bruise, right in the place where she had been struck in the dream. Jessica had tried to cover it with make up but the bruising was clear enough.

"What have you done to your eye?" Rhonda asked.

"I... I banged my head. I walked into a door. Wasn't that silly of me," Jessica replied.

"Walked into a door?" Rhonda stood up and looked closer. "Ooh, that looks nasty. Here, may I..." Rhonda reached up and brushed the bruise with her fingers. As she did so she heard Jessica voice, quite clearly, saying 'please don't ask, please don't ask'. Rhonda removed her hand and the voice went quiet.

"What did you say?" Rhonda asked.

"I didn't say anything," Jessica replied.

Rhonda was shaken, she could have sworn she'd heard Jessica speak. More than that, she had felt a twinge of pain from her own temple, a twinge that came from exactly the same spot. She looked at Jessica and saw the fear in her eyes. She ached to do something about it but the voice had pleaded otherwise.

"It's OK, I won't ask but, if you need someone to talk to..."

"I just walked into a door," Jessica repeated firmly.

And, with that, the subject was closed but, even so, Rhonda still had a number of questions running around her head. She resolved to keep a close eye on Jessica and noticed her wince as she sat down. This was crazy. Just because there were similarities between last night's dream and the bump on Jessica's head didn't mean she should jump to wild conclusions. Rhonda was well versed in the scientific method and had scant regard for silly superstition or belief in the supernatural.

Even so, Jessica, and thoughts of Jessica, occupied more and more of her time. This woman, whom she had thought of as just a nuisance, did have something about her, even if Rhonda couldn't quite pin down what it was. Despite the way she had dismissed Jessica's attractiveness when talking to Chris, she was finding that she would end up staring at her and, quite frankly, lusting after her. Of course, for all the reasons she had explained to Chris, she wouldn't dream of doing anything about it. Jessica wasn't her type, Jessica wasn't lesbian, and Rhonda had strict rules about not dating girls from work, three good reasons to keep away, but none of them stopped her looking.

The next day Malcolm arrived with a list of the pieces from the Brock bequest and asked to be shown through them. Rhonda called Jessica over and the three of them trooped down to the cellar. Rhonda had always been keen that praise should go to the one who had done the work and, in this case, she really wanted to ensure that Malcolm knew that it was Jessica who had put in most of the effort. Therefore, when they got to the cellar, she pushed Jessica forward and let her do the explaining. As she did so she heard Jessica and Malcolm discussing the finds but she also heard something else, almost as if there were a radio in the back of her head.

'OMG! I can't do this, I'll end up looking stupid again. I really don't know what half this stuff is. I'll start with the china... don't drop it, don't drop it, don't drop it... The teapot. I looked that up, what was it? Wedgwood? Doulton? Spode, that's it, Spode... Oh, thank god I... That piece, green Chinese bowl...I don't know, I don't know,  it's on the list, where on the list, I can't find it, I can't find it, I can't... ah here it is. Oh god, he's staring at my tits. I hope this blouse isn't too revealing, I wish Jeremy wasn't so keen on push up bras. It's easy for him; he's not the one who has to wear them all day long. Please, Malcolm, I'm up here, yes, they're tits, every woman has them, hello, hello....'

And, as Rhonda looked on, there was no doubt that Malcolm was, unashamedly, staring at Jessica's breasts. Her only surprise was that Jessica was surprised. Surely she knew when she displayed such cleavage that she'd have every man around her drooling. But maybe she didn't. And then Malcolm was enthusing over Jessica's hard work and diligence. Sure Rhonda had wanted her to take the credit but this was ridiculous. In the end she felt she had to step in and bring the conversation back to the collection.

"Do you see," Malcolm said afterwards. "I told you she'd be a valuable addition to the team."

"She's certainly more useful than I thought at first," Rhonda conceded.

"And such a pretty girl..." Malcolm mused.

"And such a pretty girl who happens to be engaged to be married," Rhonda pointed out.

"I can look, can't I?" Malcolm joshed.

"Make sure look it’s all you do. You are a married man, you know." Rhonda wondered if she were overstepping the mark by telling her boss off like this but her protective spirit had come to the fore and if this old letch thought that....

"I know, I know, just saying, that's all," Malcolm replied taking the criticism in good stead.

And Rhonda found that, more and more, she had this urge to protect Jessica from all the predatory men around her. It was as if she had been blind before but now she was noticing how often Jessica was the victim of unwelcome attention. It came to a head as they rode up in the lift to a meeting on the top floor. The lift was crowded so they were all crushed together. Rhonda and Jessica were tucked into a corner and, simply by being in the lift, they were touching. That seemed to make the 'radio' clearer and, although she couldn't make out the words, she could feel how uncomfortable Jessica was with the situation. And then, as plain as day, she felt a hand cupping her buttock, squeezing it. She reached down and there was nothing there, nothing at all but it was so clear, she could feel the fingers, she could feel the hem of her skirt....

Skirt, she wasn't wearing a skirt, nor had she since she was a little girl. She glanced across at Jessica who was looking distinctly uncomfortable and, more pertinently, the 'butter wouldn't melt' expression of James, from Asian antiquities, who was standing next to her and whose arm was suspiciously out of sight.

"Get your hands off her!" Rhonda snarled into James's face.

"I'm not... I'm not...," James stuttered but his crimson face told another story.

"Don't you lie to me! Sexual harassment is a sacking offence and you know it."

"I'm sorry, I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do, you pervert, groping Jessica's buttocks. Don't you try to deny it."

"I can assure you..." James started but, with that, the lift arrived at the top floor and they all started to troop out.

"I haven't finished with you," Rhonda said to James, but the rest got lost as they found their seats around the conference table.

Some time later they were returning to their office, James made a point of taking the stairs.

"Thank you," Jessica said.

"For what?"

"For... for... for telling James off."

Rhonda remembered the creepy feeling; it had been as real as if it had been her backside that James had been groping.

"You don't have to put up with it, you know."

"But... but... they're only being playful. That's what Jeremy says."

"Playful or not, never let anyone touch you like that unless you want it."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It is that simple."

"For you, maybe. You're strong, you're tough, no one messes with you."

Rhonda reached out and took Jessica by the arm and, as she did so, she distinctly heard Jessica say 'she doesn't understand, it's so easy for her. I wish I could be so sure of myself'. Shocked at how clear the voice was, Rhonda withdrew her hand and it went quiet again. Once more she reached out only to hear 'what's going on, why is Rhonda looking like that?' Again and again Rhonda put her hand on Jessica's arm and removed it. Each time it was like switching a radio on and off again. Jessica just looked on as if she had gone crazy.

"Why... why are you poking me like that?" she asked.

"Jessica... look... I need to test something. Can we go into...?" Rhonda tried to think of a place where they could chat without interruption and ended up finding a quiet corner in the staff canteen. At lunchtime the room had been crowded but now, at mid afternoon, there was no one else around. Rhonda led Jessica to a table and motioned and they sat down facing each other.

"Please, Jessica, this is going to sound crazy but I want to try something, test something out. Just bear with me, will you?"

"Err... OK."

"Please, let me hold your hand."

"You what?"

"Please, just let me hold your hand for a moment. I promise I won't do anything you don't want."

Jessica held out her hand and Rhonda took it in hers. As she did so she was taken by how delicate it looked and was overwhelmed by a desire to protect, to nurture. The ring was still there on her fourth finger; the stone dark, almost black. What's more, taking Jessica's hand had turned on the 'radio' and she was now fully aware of Jessica's anxiety.

'What's she doing? What's all this about?'

"Please, Jessica, think of a colour, will you? Don't tell me what it is."

'A colour, why does she want me to think of a colour. I don't know, cerise, I suppose.'

"Cerise, that's what you thought about, isn't it?"

"How... how did you do that?"

Rhonda didn't want to answer, not yet, anyway. She looked down at Jessica's hand. The stone in the ring had changed and was now a deep red, burgundy perhaps.

"Please, Jessica," Rhonda urged, "just bear with me for a while. This time think of, oh, I don't know, an animal, think of an animal."

"An animal? What sort of animal?"

"Anything, anything at all, just don't say it out loud."

'I wish I knew what this was all about. Animal, well there's Popsy,' an image of an Irish setter came to Rhonda's mind, 'or Truffles,' this time it was a pony at an expensive stables.

"You're thinking of Popsy, your dog and Truffles, your pony, aren't you?" Rhonda stated.

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" Jessica jerked her hand back and, as she did so, Rhonda saw that the ring was now a flaming orange. 'You're scaring me!"

"Jessica, sorry, I didn't mean to upset you but... well, I know it sounds strange, but it's as if I can hear your thoughts. No, that's stupid, I'll be believing in magic next, but that's what it looks like and I think it's got something to do with the ring. I see you're still wearing it."

"What do you mean, hear my thoughts?"

"I don't know, exactly but, sometimes, I can tell what you're thinking and, well, it's stronger when we're touching. That's why I asked if we could hold hands."

"Do you know what I'm thinking now?"

"No, but I can see that you're pretty upset."

"Try now...." Jessica reached across and grabbed Rhonda's hand

'Get out of my head, I don't like it, it's creepy, really creepy. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! Get out, you weirdo! Get out! Get Out!'

As Jessica snatched her hand away Rhonda saw a flash of electric blue from the ring.

"Please, Jessica," Rhonda began.

"Leave me alone, I'm going home." And, with that, Jessica stormed off. Rhonda, stunned, just watched her go.

Five minutes later Rhonda was at her desk when Malcolm arrived.

"What on earth have you been up to?"

"I don't know. What's up?"

"What's up? You tell me. One moment I have Jessica storming out in tears and refusing to tell me what's the matter except that you started it. The next I have James telling me that you've been making unfounded accusations of sexual harassment in front of other staff members. I know you can be outspoken, it's something I admire about you, but if you go round upsetting people then I will have to take steps. James, well, I dare say you were right about that one but don't go making accusations without evidence. Jessica, what on earth were you thinking of? I want that one patched up. I want her back here, so happy with her work that she's just begging daddy to make another donation. Understood?"

"Yes, I understand. I'm sorry."

"Sort it out and sort it out soonest."

And, for the second time that afternoon, Rhonda watched the back of someone storming off in anger. This was really a mess. Oh, James, she wasn't bothered about that little twerp, but Jessica, that was a problem. She had been really upset and, quite frankly, Rhonda could understand why. And it wasn't just the job thing that was the problem, Rhonda was actually getting to like her, to understand her and that made her want to reach out and protect her. Now Jessica thought that she was, what was the word she had used, a weirdo... Still, there was nothing she could do about it now, she'd have to wait and see what tomorrow would bring.

Chapter two – in which they find each other.

Rhonda was at her wits' end. When you're a trained scientist and the only rational explanation to an observed phenomenon involves such nonsense as "magic rings" then the world has turned upside-down, and nothing makes sense any more. What's more, there was no one in the facility she could discuss it with. They had enough trouble as it was with "New Age" nutters ascribing mystical powers to ancient artefacts and, if she went to Malcolm or any of the other staff members with tales of telepathy and magic rings then, once they had stopped laughing, her professional credibility would be destroyed in perpetuity. No, she would have to keep quiet, have to keep it to herself until she had hard evidence, something incontrovertible, something that even the most convinced skeptic couldn't deny.

On the other hand, if keeping this from her colleagues was essential, not telling anyone was also not an option. This was too mind-bending, too huge to keep locked inside and she had to tell someone, if only to convince herself of her own sanity. Choosing who that someone would be wasn't hard. As ever, when in times of trouble, the someone she turned to was Chris. Not only was he a close friend but, in addition, his degree in psychology might help throw some light on the matter. She called him up and they agreed to meet in the Golden Ball for eight o'clock. When she got there Chris was already seated at a table with a pint of beer in front of him. She bought one for herself and went over to join him.

"OK, let me guess, the big bad Rhonda has fallen for the bimbo and now she doesn't know what to do about it," Chris said as she sat down.

"No, it's not like that at all," Rhonda replied firmly. "Well, maybe it's a bit like that but... OK, smartarse, what makes you think it's the bimbo? Her name is Jessica, by the way."

"Well, there's a big give-away, right there. Only a few short weeks ago she was the spawn of Satan, abusing her father's power and influence to deprive poor postgrads from their rightful employ. Now you're giving me a hard time because I can't remember her name. There is only one possible reason for this change of heart: Rhonda is smitten. I seem to remember you summing her up as 'cute arse but no conversation'. Do I gather that, nowadays, you'd forgo the conversation for a little taste of that cute arse?"

"No, that's not it. Please, this is serious. If I tell you something will you promise not to laugh?"

"Well, I can't promise that, but I will promise to take you seriously."

"I can hear her thoughts," Rhonda said quietly.

There was a pause while Chris wondered if he had misheard.

"Say that again."

"I can hear her thoughts," Rhonda repeated.

"How do you mean, hear her thoughts?" Chris asked, slowly and carefully. He certainly wasn't going to laugh but this sounded crazy.

"I mean that I can hear what she is thinking, sometimes as clearly as if she were saying it out loud."

"So, you're saying that you're telepathic." The disbelief was clear in Chris's voice

"That's it."

"And yet no one has ever successfully demonstrated telepathy under laboratory conditions," Chris insisted.

"You don't believe me." Rhonda couldn't hide her disappointment.

"I don't disbelieve you either. I do believe you think you can hear her thoughts but I'm a fan of Carl Sagan. Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence."

"Well, that's where we get to the hard part. It took a while to work out what was going on and, when I did, I wanted to try some basic tests, set up some parameters, see what I could find out about what makes it work. For a start it looks like it's far more effective when we're touching. I wanted to see whether that is just a proximity thing or whether it needs to be skin on skin. Maybe there's some sort of induction or something like that. Anyway, as soon as I started testing, she freaked out. Last time I saw her she was storming out of the office calling me creepy and a weirdo."

"So, you tell the bimbo, OK, OK," Chris held his hands up at Rhonda's obvious anger, "I get it, she's not a bimbo. Anyway, you tell Jessica that you can hear her thoughts and immediately start pawing her to see if it's affected by touch. The next thing you know she's storming out in a strop. I don't suppose for one moment that it crossed your mind to think about it from her point of view. First you tell her you can read her intimate secrets, then you treat her like a lab rat. No wonder she was upset."

"But I have to find out what's going on. I have to know what's what," Rhonda insisted.

"And what about Jessica? Does she need to know what's what? How does she feel about all this? Have you asked? Did you even think to ask?"

"I...." Rhonda was quite taken aback at this onslaught.

"You didn't, did you? I might have guessed as much. That's why you've got yourself in a pickle and want me to sort it out for you. Let's start at the beginning. When did you first think that you could 'hear' her thoughts'?"

There were few people from whom Rhonda would have taken such an admonition, but Chris was more than just her oldest friend, he was her closest as well. What's more, if he had come to her with such a tale, she would have equally skeptical. She marshalled her thoughts. "It all began when I gave her the task of going through the Breck Bequest," she started.

Slowly and carefully, she led Chris through the sequence of events. How Jessica had found the ring, how she had 'accidentally' put it on her finger and, having done so, how it was apparently stuck there. She explained how neither had thought that much of it at the time but slowly, increasingly, she had found herself aware of what Jessica was thinking. She ended by telling about the incident in the lift and the brief experiments she had tried afterwards. But, for all her candid honesty, she did keep quiet about the dream; she wasn't ready to talk about that just yet, even to Chris.

"I know it sounds crazy," Rhonda concluded, "and, if I were you, I wouldn't believe it either, but, especially when we touch, it's so real, so clear. Physically it's as if I'm experiencing what she's experiencing. I told you about the shoes being too tight and, that time in the lift, that was so real it was as if it was my arse that the old perv was fondling. Ugh! I still shudder at the memory. Bastard!"

Chris listened sympathetically. As to what he really made of all this, well, for the moment he'd reserve judgement. Whilst there was no doubting his friend's sincerity, he was all too aware of the tricks the mind can play and the self-delusions which can lead any of us astray.  However, he could see that, whatever the truth of the situation, Rhonda was finding it disturbing and frustrating, and,  for her sake, he kept his doubts to himself.

"OK, let's put the mind reading bit to one side for a moment," he said, once Rhonda had run out of steam. "How do you feel about Jessica? I mean, if what you say is true then you're pretty much in this together, whether you like it or not. I seem to recall you weren't exactly best pleased when she first arrived. Do I gather your attitude has softened a bit?"

"If what I say is true...." Rhonda wasn't that surprised that she hadn't completely convinced her friend. She addressed herself to his questions. How did she feel? "Well, I'd still prefer it if the post had gone to someone with real skills but she's not too bad," she conceded.  "As long as I don't ask too much of her she's conscientious and reliable. After all, she did make a decent fist of cataloguing the Breck bequest and, well, she's a lot better than no assistant at all."

"I don't mean that, I mean what do you think about her as a person? If I remember correctly you thought she was a brainless airhead whose mindless wittering was driving you to distraction. Is that still the case?"

"She's not Einstein, never will be, but, once you get to know her...."

"So you do fancy her?"

"I do not!"

"We'll see, we'll see. Anyway, when do I get to meet her?"

"Meet her?"

"Yeah, I want to see what sort of girl has stolen my best friend's heart. Bring her down here one night."

"She has not, repeat not, stolen my heart. As for inviting her here...." Rhonda had been about to dismiss the idea out of hand but the more she thought about it the more her knee jerk reaction seemed churlish. There were all sorts of reasons why she should get to know Jessica better and bringing her down to the Golden Ball for a drink with Chris would be easier than going out as a couple. On a purely cynical level, if they were to become friends then Daddy was more likely to open his chequebook and increase her chances of getting to Peru. On other levels, well, Chris was wrong to say she was smitten but there was no harm in being friends, was there?

The next day Rhonda was sitting at her desk working through her emails when Jessica arrived at looking rather sheepish. She came over and Rhonda looked up. Even before she had said a word Rhonda could feel Jessica's nerves. The poor girl was scared of her, no that wasn't quite right, the poor girl was scared of upsetting her.

"About yesterday... I'm sorry... I...," Jessica started.

"No, please, Jessica, I'm the one who should be sorry. I was brusque and intrusive and didn't take your feelings into account," Rhonda replied.

"Thank you. I'm sorry I freaked out. It's just this mind reading stuff. The thought that you could... the thought that anyone could... it's really scary, like I was naked or something. I mean I like you, I really like you but," Jessica gave a little blush, "the mind reading stuff is a bit much. However you're doing it, can you stop, please?"

"I'm not sure if I can stop," Rhonda felt the wave of anxiety, "but I'll try. I promise I'll try." Rhonda looked at Jessica and could tell that she wasn't just hurt but also conflicted. It was as if Jessica felt that she had failed somehow and let Rhonda down. That was crazy and Rhonda had to put a stop to it.

"Look, Jessica," said, getting up out of her chair, "I don't know what this thing between us is, or even if it is a thing, but I want us to stay working together as a team, you and me, so, whether it's a thing or not, let's try and work round it. Will you do that with me?"

"A team? You and me?" Jessica asked and Rhonda could feel the hope in her chest.

"Yes, you and me, together," Rhonda reassured her.

"Oh, Rhonda, thank you," Jessica gushed, "I've been so worried, worried I'd upset you, worried you wouldn't want me as your assistant any more."

Rhonda looked at Jessica and she could feel the wave of relief coming from her hit like a tsunami. She knew Jessica was insecure, but surely not that insecure.

"Why on earth would I want that?" Rhonda said gently, pushing to one side all the reasons that would have been so valid not so long ago. She quickly thought of reasons to praise Jessica. "You've been really useful since you came on board. Look at all that work you did with the Breck bequest."

"Useful... Thanks, boss."

"No, I mean it, thank you. Now, it's gone nine, and we should be getting on."

As Rhonda worked away she pondered over how this was going to work. How she could pretend that all was normal when it so blatantly wasn't. However, Jessica had come to her that morning like a little lost puppy and it would be cruel to hurt her, cruel not to try and act as if there were nothing abnormal going on. This, of course, didn't stop her curiosity as to what was behind it, what was causing it all. The only clue she had was that it all seemed to be tied in with the ring but the scientist in Rhonda argued that, just because it had started when she had put the ring on Jessica, that didn't absolutely prove they were linked. Maybe, if she could just get Jessica to take the ring off, then that would at least settle that question and, maybe, resolve the entire issue. But that was easier said than done. They had already tried many times simply taking it off and the ring wasn't going anywhere. No, there was no way around it. If the ring would not come off without cutting it then it would have to be cut. Much as damaging a potential exhibit went against every grain in her body, that's what they were going to have to do. She went over to where Jessica was working.

"Jessica, there is one thing," she said as she approached.

"What's that, boss?"

"I know this sounds stupid but I think it might help if you weren't wearing that ring."

"But I can't get it off. Seriously, I've tried everything."

"I know you've tried everything and that's why I think the time has come to cut it off."

"Cut it! You can't do that! You can't! You can't!" Jessica was visibly upset by the suggestion.

"Please, Jessica, calm down. We have tools down in the labs which will do the very minimum of damage and, afterwards, it can be repaired."

"You'll hurt it." Jessica sounded like a petulant child.

"We'll be really careful. I'm no keener on damaging the ring than you are, honestly."

"It doesn't want to be cut. It likes it on my finger."

"Jessica, listen to yourself. How can a ring have feelings? I know you're fond of it but, believe me, it's for the best."

"It just does, I know it does," Jessica protested.

"Now you're just being silly."

"Am I? So, it's not silly when you talk about mind reading but when I know, know in my heart, that the ring has feelings, that's somehow different?"

Rhonda had to admit that she hadn't got an answer to that one. "Please, Jessica, we'll be as gentle as possible and, once it's off, we'll get it repaired so nobody will notice. I know you're fond of it but I shouldn't have put it on you in the first place and...." How could Rhonda explain her fears about the ring without going into the whole mind reading thing, "... well, it is the museum's after all."

Rhonda nearly relented, such was the roil of hurt and confusion coming from Jessica. Surely she hadn't got that worked up over such a tiny thing as the ring; but apparently she had. Then, cutting across the hurt, Rhonda felt a resolve come from deep inside Jessica, that she wanted to do what Rhonda wanted, whatever the cost.

"OK, you're right. Let's do it," Jessica said with a certain amount of grim determination.

So, together, they went down to the labs where there were various tools for cleaning and restoring the exhibits and, amongst them, a set of specialist cutters.

"OK," Rhonda said. "Hold out your hand."

Jessica was shaking like a leaf as she did so and, even before they touched, Rhonda was well aware of the conflict inside her. The stone in the ring was a deep burgundy and, until you looked closely the patterns seemed to be moving. As soon as Rhonda took Jessica's hand the floodgates were opened and the full extent of Jessica's disquiet was evident.

'She'll hurt it, she'll hurt it, please, please, you have to stop, but we can't, she's right, it's not yours and, if she says it has to come off... but she'll hurt it, she doesn't understand, she thinks it's just a ring, she....'

"Hey, it's OK," Rhonda said soothingly. "I'll be really careful and ever so gentle."

As Rhonda picked up the cutters the intensity of Jessica's thoughts increased. The words were now indistinct, little more than a blur of worry. Meanwhile the stone in the ring had now turned bright crimson. Rhonda was determined to go through with this so she turned Jessica's hand over, exposing her palm and the narrow part of the ring which she was where she was going to make the cut. As she picked up the cutters the noise in her head became deafening but she was resolute. She rested Jessica's hand against the bench to steady it and slowly, with infinite care, approached with the cutters.

"Ow! Jesus! Fuck!"

As soon as the cutters had touched the ring a bolt of pain had seared up Rhonda's arm causing her to jerk away. Her arm still tingled as if she had had an electric shock. However, this just made her more determined and, after all, she'd know better this time. She steeled herself, this time she would be ready. Ignoring the storm of worry coming from Jessica she once again approached the ring with the cutters. She was ready for the bolt of pain but this time but, when the cutters touched the ring, there was no shock, nothing. Maybe whatever it was had happened and wouldn't happen again. She adjusted the blades so they would do least damage and....

This time the jolt wasn't just through her arm but through her whole body. She was thrown back against a workbench and the cutters went flying across the room, skidding to a halt in a far corner. She somehow knew, with absolute certainty, that, if there were a next time, it would be worse still and, shaken to the core, she just stood there, panting.

"Are you OK?" Jessica asked tentatively.

"Yeah, I guess so," Rhonda replied.

"I think... I think it's kind of protecting itself."

"That's..." Rhonda was about to say 'that's crazy' but, to be fair to Jessica, it was no more crazy than anything else that was going on. Jessica turned her hand over and, as she did so, Rhonda could see that the stone in the ring was now a vivid orange, almost as if it were on fire. Rhonda reached out to take Jessica's hand and, once again, the connection opened.

'Please don't try again, please, please, Rhonda, please don't try again. It will do anything it needs to do to protect itself. If you try again It will hurt you, really hurt you, I know it will, I just know it will.'

Rhonda let Jessica's hand drop.

"Maybe you're right, maybe the ring is protecting itself. Look!" Rhonda pointed to the stone in the ring, which, as the two women watched, died back from the fiery orange and returned to a deep burgundy. "Whether it is or not, I'm not going to try cutting it again until we know a lot more about it. There's too much I don't understand, there's too much neither of us understands."

"I know you think I'm silly but it's as if the ring talks to me."

"I don't think you're silly, well, maybe I used to but I don't anymore. As for the ring, well, it looks like you're stuck with it. I don't know what it just did or how it did it but I'm not going near it with the cutters again."

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Now, come along, let's get back to work."

Over the next few days Rhonda tried her best to keep her contact with Jessica down to a minimum. The shock she had received when trying to cut the ring had hit her in more ways than one. Firstly, physically, she had been hit quite hard and her arm muscles still felt shaky. Secondly, and far more importantly, her normally rock solid confidence had been shaken. The idea that the ring might have supernatural powers, the idea that the ring could have supernatural powers, had shaken her belief system to the core. She was a scientist, a rationalist, an atheist and had the deepest disdain for believers in what she dismissed as 'woo'. It genuinely pained her when ancient artefacts where deemed to have 'mystical powers' and yet, that was exactly what she was forced to ascribe to the ring.

And, again, there was the whole telepathy thing. She was one of those who decried psychics as charlatans who preyed on the weak and gullible and yet, here she was demonstrating similar powers. At least she wasn't ascribing them to spirit guides; that would be the last straw. She knew she was ignoring it in the hope that it would go away, which also went against her nature. As long as she kept away from Jessica the effects weren't too bad and she could manage. However she was finding that, as long as they were within a hundred yards or so, she always knew exactly where Jessica was and what sort of mood she was in. If they happened to be in the same room then this empathy was stronger. Malcolm had called them to his office to discuss the issue with James, and Rhonda had almost squirmed with the embarrassment that she was picking up from Jessica.

And then, as they were working together in the labs, Malcolm came down to see them.

"Ah, Rhonda, Jessica, I'm glad I've found you both. I need someone to run up to Inverness. Can I interest the two of you?"

"Inverness, is that the Lairg dig? The one Zoe Williams is running?" Rhonda asked.

"That's the one. They've unearthed something rather interesting, something that needs to get put in a preservation tank as soon as possible. No, I'm not going to tell you what, Zoe wants to keep it a surprise. Now, they're a bit short staffed at the moment and we need this done soon as, so I wondered if you would spin up there for me. Maybe you could take Jessica, get her out of the office for a couple of days, show her that it's not all dull book work."

Rhonda hardly needed to think this over. If she were being sent all that way then it must be important and the thought of a couple of days out of the office was very appealing. As for travelling with Jessica, well, she was managing the telepathy thing, wasn't she?

"Yeah, I fancy a run out," she replied. "Blow away some of the cobwebs and see how Zoe is getting on." Rhonda glanced across at Jessica. She could feel waves of anxiety coming from her. "What about you, Jessica, fancy a trip to the Highlands?"

"I'm not sure if Jeremy...."

"Oh, to hell with Jeremy," Rhonda said. "Come up to Bonnie Scotland with me, we'll have some fun."

"Jeremy doesn't like me.... He likes me to.... He's not that happy that I'm working here anyway."

Both Rhonda and Malcolm were somewhat shocked by this admission.

"But you'd like to come, wouldn't you?"

"Oh, yes! Visit a real dig! Oh, I'd love to."

"Well, that's settled then," Rhonda said firmly. "Tell Jeremy you've been ordered by your boss and, if he doesn't like it, that's just tough."

Jessica just smiled but she couldn't look Rhonda in the eye and Rhonda could feel how conflicted she was.

"Well, it's too late for you to be leaving today," Malcolm said. "If you were to set of at, say, seven o'clock tomorrow morning that would be fine. Jessica, why don't you discuss this with your young man this evening and tomorrow, if you want to go, that will be fine and if you don't, well, we'll understand."

"And now you're whisking her away for a night of sin and depravity in the Highlands," Chris said as he and Rhonda shared a pint in the Golden Ball.

"I am not!" Rhonda replied. "I just think that it will do the girl good to get out and see some real archaeology."

"This will be the girl whose inane wittering was driving you crazy just s few short weeks ago. And now you're prepared, nay eager, to spend two whole days in her company. Smitten, that's what you are."

"I told you before, I am not smitten."

"And I didn't believe you then. How's the mind reading going?" Chris asked.

"I can live with it."

"Can you? What about Jessica? Can she live with it?"

"We're both pretending it's not an issue. Well, we have to. I told you what happened when I tried to cut the ring off."

"You have to? Pretending it's not an issue is the best response you can come up with? Really!"

"Please, Chris, I can't even talk to her about it. What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know but there must be something better than ignoring it and hoping it will go away."

"Well, if you can come up with anything please let me know," Rhonda said crossly.

"OK, calm down, keep your knickers on. Seriously, Rhonda, I'm worried. Whatever this is, it sounds batshit crazy and now you're going to lock yourself away with her in the front seat of a van all the way to the far side of Inverness and back."

"I can cope. It's just a drive out and it will do us good to get to know each other a little better."

"And while you're away you'll have your wicked way with her..."

"No I won't. She's straight and has a fianc?e. She's off limits on both counts."

"We shall see, we shall see. Now, I brought the last round, this one is yours. Pint of Pride, please."

With the long drive and early start ahead of her, Rhonda was back home in good time and was pottering around the kitchen, tidying up before going to bed. The blast, when it hit her, caught her completely off balance and she fell to the floor, her side one huge ball of pain.

'Slag! What do you want to go to Scotland for?' She heard the words as plain as day. Then, even before she could get to her feet she felt her wrist being grabbed, she felt herself being dragged, thrown across the sofa, she felt her skirt being ripped from her, the heavy weight holding her down, the intruder thrusting between her thighs. She felt herself opening up, not in welcome but in a desperate attempt to minimise the pain, the pain as, again and again, she was invaded, violated. Fortunately he didn't last long and, fully sated he collapsed on top of her, his face next to hers, his whisky breath reeking as he got his breath back. 'Fuck off to Scotland then, see if I care,' he snarled. Again, the voice was as clear as a bell.

Seriously shaken, Rhonda picked herself up off the floor. It was just like the dream. Indeed, she would swear her violator was the same man, but, this time, she had been wide awake. She felt her side. The area between her right hip and her ribs still ached, although there wasn't the slightest sign of any damage and, as for between her thighs, she almost vomited from the recollection. She picked herself up off the floor and went to the bathroom. The face that stared back from the mirror over the sink was gaunt and drawn. It was going to take a while to get to sleep that night.

"'Morning, Boss!" Jessica said chirpily when she arrived at work at six thirty the next morning. "Looks like I can go after all. I've packed my case; it's in the boot of the car. What time are we leaving?"

"As soon as possible. We've quite a way to go. Have you ever driven a van before?"

"No... I thought you would be doing the driving. Oh... I'm not sure..." You didn't need to be a mind reader to pick up on Jessica's lack of confidence.

"It's over five hundred miles so I'd appreciate it if you'd do some of it. Come on, it's just like a car. Anyway, I'll do the first stretch; you can have ago when we get off the motorway."

Well before seven o'clock they had gone to Malcolm's, picked up the keys for one of the institute's vans, and were heading out for the motorway. While Rhonda concentrated on the driving Jessica sat beside her, chatting away merrily even though the conversation was a bit one sided. Rhonda smiled to herself. Chris was right, a few weeks ago this would have driven her to dementia, now, well, she wasn't really listening, but she could tell that Jessica was happy and that made her happy.

"You're very cheerful today," Rhonda commented when she could finally get a word in edgeways.

"It's like we're going on holiday, isn't it?" Jessica replied. "And a bit of an adventure, off to Scotland and all."

"I wouldn't exactly describe it as a holiday. We're doing an important job here."

"Yeah, but, well, we're out of that stuffy old office and, well, it's just the two of us. The team. I love it when we work together like this."

Rhonda glanced across at Jessica and could tell that she was completely sincere. "Yeah, OK, a team, I guess."

"But you said so the other day. You said that we're a team and that I'd been really useful since I came on board."

Again Rhonda glanced across at Jessica. Although, without touching, she couldn't read Jessica's thoughts, she could feel the sense of pride at being called 'useful'.

"Yeah, well, you have been useful," Rhonda said gruffly and, as she did so, the warm glow of satisfaction coming from the passenger seat made her feel mellow. "Really useful."

And, as the van ate up the miles, as the M6 turned into the M74, then the wiggle through the central lowlands and, finally, the M9, heading for the Highlands, Rhonda found herself pondering what it must be like to be Jessica. After all, most would envy her life. She was undeniably pretty, and rich, and would want for little and yet, here she was, hanging onto a throw-away remark about being 'useful' as if it were the most important thing of all. Part of Rhonda reacted in anger, anger at Jessica for allowing herself to become so browbeaten that it would be like this but she couldn't express this anger. Jessica was so like a puppy, so keen and eager and so desperately seeking approval. Being angry with her would be unkind and unfair.

Once they were north of Stirling the motorway ended and Rhonda, exhausted from all the driving, deemed the traffic on the A9 light enough to let Jessica have a go. She pulled into a lay-by and stopped the engine of the van.

"OK, I've done more than my fair share. We're well over half way. It's time you took over."

"But I've never driven a van before."

"It's just like a car, only bigger. Anyway, you won't know whether you can or not until you try it."

They swapped places and Rhonda ran Jessica through the controls. She was pointing out the indicators when they touched briefly and Rhonda 'heard' a quick burst of 'I'll never do it, I'll never do it, I'll crash, I'll never do it'.

"You'll be fine," Rhonda reassured her, "really you will. I have every confidence in you."

And that was enough to calm Jessica down. She was still nervous, though, as she edged the van out of the lay-by and onto the road. Rhonda tried to relax but the waves of anxiety coming across the front seat of the van were making her almost as nervous as Jessica was.  And then, slowly at first, Jessica started to settle down. She'd gone maybe five miles when she shifted in her seat, sitting up straighter and relaxing a bit.

"It's not that hard," she commented. "Not once you're used to it."

"Easier than you thought, eh? And you thought you'd never manage and look at you now. You've yet to try reversing which can be a bit of a bind but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. I might take a nap, if you don't mind."

"No! Sorry, I didn't mean to shout. It's just that... well, I'm still a bit nervous. Can we chat for a bit?"

"OK," Rhonda desperately tried to think of a topic of conversation and came up blank. "Err... What made you think that driving a van would be hard? When you look at some of the people who do it for a living, well, if they can manage then a capable woman like you...."

Rhonda felt the warm glow radiate from Jessica as she was described as 'capable'.

"I never thought of it that way," Jessica replied. "But Jeremy, he says that women aren't good at driving large cars. Something about special awareness, he says. He keeps saying he can't believe I haven't crashed the Audi. He won't let me drive his Merc, well, not normally. The only time he lets me is when he wants to get drunk."

"I think you mean spatial awareness and that's a load of old bollocks. Women are just as good at driving as men and the size of the car has nothing to do with it."

For a while they just drove in silence. Rhonda could tell that Jessica was conflicted, that she was torn between her loyalty to Jeremy and her growing friendship with Rhonda. After a while she simply shoved it to one side and returned to chatting about this and that and nothing at all.

Even with the early start it was mid afternoon before they arrived in Lairg. Using the sat-nav they made their way to the dig and parked up. Zoe and her team were busy working away but they looked up at the sound of the van and Zoe waved them over. Rhonda jumped out of the van and strode through the heather to where the tarpaulins covered the excavation ditches. She and Zoe had known each other for many years and, in the past, had even had a brief fling.

"Wothcha!" Zoe called out. "Have you come to collect the body? I do hope you've got the preservation tank in the back of that thing."

"Body? Yes, I've brought the tank but Malcolm was pretty cagey about what we were collecting. He said he wanted it to be a surprise."

"You'll be surprised, all right. Have a look at this." Zoe turned back one of the tarpaulins and, beneath that, removed a plastic covering to reveal a dark brown corpse which was still more than half buried in the peat.

"Oh my god, he's perfect!" Rhonda exclaimed.

"He's a she and, at first glance, she's as well preserved as Lindow II, possibly more so."

"You lucky cow. A bog man, err woman! That's fantastic."

"Isn't it just. That's why I needed the preservation tank. I didn't want to excavate any further until we had it to hand. I want this little baby hermetically sealed as soon as possible."

"Yeah, we'll need to bring the van over and then we can start to...."

"Who the fuck is that?"

As they had looked up Zoe had seen Jessica making her way towards them. Her unsuitable shoes, mini skirt, halter top and bolero jacket could not have been more out of place. Rhonda had got used to Jessica's dress sense and had forgotten how strange she would appear to Zoe. As they watched Jessica tripped over, again, landing on her backside in the soft heather. Rhonda went over and helped her to her feet. As their hands touched the gateway opened.

'I look such a fool. Why did I have to dress like this? Why don't I have a pair of boots like Rhonda? Oh, god, I wish I'd never come. They'll only laugh at me.'

"Jessica, Jessica, you've got to come and look at this. Zoe's found a bog man!" Rhonda's excitement overrode any other thoughts.

With Rhonda helping, Jessica made it over to the excavation and together they peered down at the body.

"Zoe, this is Jessica, my assistant. Jessica, this is Zoe, an old friend and the luckiest cow alive. And this," Rhonda pointed at the body, "is a genuine bog man."

"I've... I've seen the one in the British Museum, you know, Pete Marsh," Jessica started. "Is this the same sort of thing? Do you know how old it is?"

Both Rhonda and Zoe smiled at hearing Lindow II described as 'Pete Marsh', the name used by the popular press but seldom in academic circles.

"Well, it's early days yet but most of the peat bodies that have been found are Iron Age and the artefacts we've already excavated seem to confirm that sort of date range. We'll start radio carbon dating once we get her back to the lab," Zoe explained.

"Her?"

"Yeah, he's a she. My very own bog lady." Zoe's pride was evident. "Now, if you've got the preservation tank then, the sooner we put this little lady to bed the better."

Jessica was left, staring at the body as Rhonda and Zoe wandered back to the van discussing the details of how they were going to manoeuvre the body into the tank without doing any damage. As she stared Jessica got the strangest feeling, as if, somehow, she recognised the body. This was crazy. Only the smallest part was exposed and there was no way she could possibly know anything, anything at all. The ring on her finger itched and, when she looked down, she saw that the stone was an electric blue. It almost seemed to shine in the late afternoon sunshine.

"So, is she your latest fling?" Zoe asked once she and Rhonda were back at the van and Jessica would not be able to hear.

"She's my assistant, honestly," Rhonda replied.

"Assistant! Bollocks to that and the train it rode in on."

"No, seriously, she's my new assistant. Malcolm hired her and I'm kind of stuck with her."

"Serious or not, I still don't believe you. She's the first archaeologist I've seen who wears heels and a mini skirt to a dig. I don't expect she'll be much use helping us getting the body into the tank. She'll be too scared of chipping a fingernail."

"She's not that bad," Rhonda protested. "OK, so she's only here because of daddy's money but she's keen, even if she doesn't know much."

"So, if she's not your new flame, you'll be wanting separate rooms at the digs tonight." Zoe was still expecting the answer 'no'.

"Yes please."

"Hmm... well, I wasn't expecting you to be accompanied so only booked for one but Edna's a real sweetie and we can sort it out when we get there. Now, If you'll drive the van down the track and park up next to the Land Rover, that's about as close as we can get."

"Edna?"

"Edna Sutherland, sole proprietress and owner of the Loch Shin boarding house. It's not exactly the Hilton but it's clean, it's warm, the food is fantastic and it's cheap enough to keep the budget down. Anyway, you'll find out soon enough."

Even with everyone, including Jessica, helping it took over two hours to dig out a large enough block of peat to completely include the body. This then had to be manoeuvred into the tank and the whole thing put back into the van. Then the cooling system was switched on and Zoe fussed over it until she was satisfied that the temperature was stable and the body would neither cook nor freeze. It was almost dark by the time they were finished and, together, they drove in convoy along the narrow highland road that led to the farmhouse where they were all staying. Making sure the van was securely locked, they trooped inside.

"Edna! Edna!" Zoe called out. "I've got another guest for you."

A middle-aged lady came out from the back of the house wiping her hands on a tea towel.

"Edna, this is Rhonda, who I told you about but she's brought a friend, Jessica. I said that there would be no problem putting them both up."

"Well, normally there wouldn't be," Edna replied, "but I've just booked in a party of walkers and that's my last room gone." She looked over at Jessica who was making herself look small at the back of the crowd. "And are you the wee lassie who wasn't expected?"

Jessica just nodded in reply.

"Well, we can't have a bonnie wee thing like you left out in the cold. I'll tell you what, I've got an old put-you-up, and, if you two lassies don't mind doubling up, then we'll have it set up for you in no time."

"I'm fine with that," Rhonda replied.

"Err... yes... I'm so sorry to be a nuisance," Jessica added.

"Och, you're no nuisance at all. We'll have you sorted in two shakes of a lamb's tail. Hamish!" she called out and a male voice answered from the back of the house. "Be a love and bring the put-you-up up to room seven, will you?"

Edna led the two women up to the room and showed them where to find the rather basic facilities. There was no en-suite, just a sink and a mirror with a full bathroom down the hall, but the room was warm and comfortable and, once Hamish had brought the extra bed, more than good enough for one night.

"Dinner's at seven. There's shepherd's pie followed by blueberry flan and ice-cream. Shall I leave you girls too it?"

"Yes, thank you, we're fine," Rhonda replied for the two of them.

Dinner that night was a crowded affair. The people from the dig were all buoyant from the luck of having found the bog woman and their high spirits were infectious so the walkers joined in. Rhonda could tell that the only one not having a good time was Jessica, who felt awkward and out of place. She felt embarrassed by her trendy clothes because they marked her out as different and she had a desperate need to fit in. She was quiet and withdrawn, so Rhonda tried to include her in the conversations but even there Rhonda could tell that Jessica felt intellectually inferior, or, as she would put it, a thicko. After the meal, Zoe suggested that they all pile into the Land Rover and head for the pub. The walkers were invited as well and, although the number of people crammed in the back was almost certainly well above the legal limit it added to the air of bonhomie.

Jessica tried to cry off the pub trip but Rhonda insisted and, packed inside the back of the Land Rover, Jessica, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, ended up sat on Rhonda's lap. The track from the boarding house to the main road was deeply rutted and, to stop Jessica being thrown about,  Rhonda wrapped her arms around her and hugged her close. Jessica rather liked this and, rested her head on Rhonda's shoulder. For a moment it felt as if it were just the two of them, cuddled together, until a particularly deep rut caused one of the others to fall across them, much to the amusement of all. None of these things went unnoticed by Zoe who smiled to herself as she remembered her friend's insistence that Jessica was 'just an assistant'.

In the pub those who were not drinking McEwans' Heavy were making inroads into the bottle of Glenmorangie behind the bar and, as the alcohol loosened tongues the party got into full swing. Jessica, still feeling herself the outsider, sat quietly beside Rhonda and sipped at a vodka and Coke. Rhonda tried to include her but she was so busy catching up with her friends from the dig that she barely noticed when Zoe, eager to know about this girl who Rhonda had dragged half way across the country, sat down on the other side of Jessica and started to chat.

At first Jessica was shy and reticent but Zoe put on the charm and she soon loosened up. Somewhat to Zoe's surprise Jessica was genuinely interested in the bog woman and asked lots of questions, most of which Zoe had to answer with 'we don't know yet'. However, Zoe wasn't to be deflected and, bit by bit, she wormed out of Jessica the full story of what she was doing there. As Jessica relaxed so too could Rhonda relax and, as the third and fourth pints of heavy slipped down, she became very relaxed, indeed.

It was quite late by the time they returned to the digs and, as Rhonda and Jessica retired to their room, they realised they hadn't decided who was sleeping where. Jessica assumed that, as junior partner, she would take the inferior put-you-up bed. Rhonda, for reasons she didn't quite understand, assumed it would be the other way around.

"Please, boss," Jessica said. "We wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for me. It's only fair that I get the put-you-up."

Rhonda was too tipsy to argue. She could tell from the noise coming from the corridor outside that there was quite a queue for the bathroom so she took off her Doc Martens and lay back on the bed to wait. As she did so Jessica started to get undressed. Rhonda watched with a certain amount of lust. While she was confused about how she actually felt about her assistant, she wouldn't be her if she didn't enjoy watching a pretty girl undressing. Jessica had taken off her skirt and was removing her halter top when she realised she was being watched and she turned to Rhonda.

"Please, you're making me feel embarrassed," Jessica blushed.

"Sorry, it's just that...."

"You're as bad as the boys, you know that?"

"Sorry, you're right; I shouldn't be... what's that?" Rhonda pointed to Jessica's midriff, the area just above the right hip, which was now exposed and showed signs of extensive bruising.

"Oh that," Jessica glanced down, "I banged myself. Silly old me."

"Come here, let me have a look."

"It's OK, really. It's just a bruise...."

"Let me have a look." Maybe it was the beer but Rhonda wasn't going to be brushed off this time. The bruising was exactly where she had felt the blow the previous evening and she had a strong suspicion she knew exactly where it had come from.

Jessica reluctantly came over and stood next to the bed where Rhonda was lying. Rhonda rolled over, reached out and lifted the side of Jessica's top, exposing the full extent of the bruising.

"That's looks really nasty. Does it hurt much?" Rhonda gently ran the tips of her fingers across the edge of the bruise. As soon as they touched she could feel her own midriff twinge as if it too were bruised. Gently tenderly she traced the outline of the swelling.

'Please don't ask, I don't want to talk about it, really I don't so please don't ask, please don't, please don't.'

Rhonda looked up and their eyes met. There was an understanding between the two of them, a knowledge that sometimes there are things that are best left unsaid. But other, more powerful, forces were in play. Rhonda, looking at Jessica, felt this overwhelming urge to protect her, to comfort her, to make her realise just how desirable she was. She knew she had resolved not to do this, she knew there were many reasons to stop but, for the life of her she couldn't so, with their eyes still locked together Rhonda continued to stroke, continued to caress and, gradually, Jessica's fears subsided.

'We shouldn't... I don't want to... Oh... but... your hand, it's so gentle, no one has ever touched me like that, no one, no one. Please, Rhonda, we ought to stop... oh, don't stop that, oh, that's nice, really nice, oh, it's so nice when you touch me like that, I like it when... yes please... ooh, that's really nice... ooh, please, please, my belly button, I like that, please tickle my belly button.'

With just the trace of a smile, Rhonda trailed her fingers along the waistband of Jessica's panties and up into her belly button. The little squeal of pleasure, thought rather than said, was more than sufficient reward. However, lying on her side and reaching out like this was awkward, not least in that one hand was fully employed holding up Jessica's top. Rhonda stopped stroking for a moment, sat up and turned so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed facing Jessica. Again their eyes locked. Jessica seemed almost mesmerised, as if she were held there by forces she didn't understand. Without saying a word Rhonda put her hands either side of Jessica's waist and slid them up, lifting the top as she did so. As Rhonda's hands were at either side of Jessica's rib cage she stopped.

'Please, yes please,' came the answer to the unspoken question.

Rhonda pushed her hands higher and, as she did so, Jessica raised her arms. In one smooth movement, Rhonda stood up and, as she did so, she pushed the top right up and over Jessica's head.  Standing there in just her bra and panties Jessica looked small and fragile, the bruise a vile spoliation of an otherwise perfect form. A tumble of conflicting emotions was coming from Jessica, matching Rhonda's own inner confusion. She knew they had both had one drink too many, they both might regret this in the morning but still the desire to protect, to cherish, to shelter this fragile thing from all the hurts of the world, was, along with some rather darker appetites, overcoming the myriad doubts that otherwise might have held Rhonda back. She tossed the top onto the unused put-you-up and, cupping Jessica's face in her hands kissed her long and hard.

'Oh! Oh! Oh yes! Take me! Take me! Please, please, take me!'

Rhonda reached round behind Jessica and undid the clasp of her bra. Without breaking the kiss for one moment she removed the offending garment and tossed it onto the put-you-up along with the discarded top. She gathered Jessica in, wrapping her strong arms around her, holding her close and near.

But kissing, fine as it was, was not all that Rhonda wanted. Indeed, she didn't need telepathy to know it was not all that Jessica wanted either. Rhonda reached down behind her and pulled back the covers from the bed. Then, as gently as if she were handling the finest porcelain, she turned the two of them round and eased Jessica back and down, lying her along the bed. As Rhonda tore at the buttons of her shirt, at her belt buckle, at her jeans, at all the obstacles between her and nakedness, Jessica, with a shy smile, slipped under the covers. There was some scrabbling from beneath and, a few moments later, Jessica's hand emerged holding the her lacy pink panties which she tossed onto the put-you-up along with the rest of her discarded clothes. Naked at last, Rhonda slid beneath the covers next to the waiting Jessica.

"Are you sure...?" Rhonda asked gently.

"I thought you could read my mind," Jessica replied before kissing Rhonda on the tip of her nose.

Rhonda kissed her right back and yes, she could read her mind, she could read, along with a few background doubts, the desire, the need, the urgency, the hunger. Rhonda, still concerned about how much Jessica really wanted this, was gentle at first but Jessica wanted more than that, she had an appetite within her that would not be sated by gentleness.

Furthermore, Rhonda had been expecting to find Jessica a pillow princess, that she would take far more than she would give but, as the last vestiges of reluctance were washed away, she responded with passion and enthusiasm, and, despite her innocence in Sapphic love, she showed a desire to learn, a desire to please and be pleased. Time and again they pleasured each other until, at last completely stated and exhausted, they drifted off to sleep wrapped in each other's arms.

Later, much later, Rhonda rose from the bed to answer the call of nature. When she returned she looked at her bedmate, her blonde tresses flowing across the pillow.

"What have you done, Rhonda, what have you done?" she said to herself but, for the moment, she had no other option than to rejoin Jessica under the covers.

And, outside, in the sealed tank in the back of the van, lay the body of a witch, released from her prison of two thousand years.

Chapter three – in which they find an ending

Parp, parp, parp, parp... Rhonda's digital alarm clock would not be denied and, despite the overwhelming desire just to roll over and go back to sleep, she reached out her hand to hit the off button, pushed back the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed. There, beside her, like a guilty conscience, was Jessica, still nine tenths asleep. Rhonda reached down and pulled back a lock of hair that was obscuring Jessica's face. No one had a right to look that good first thing in the morning. Jessica opened one eye and smiled. There was too much to say, too much to explain and, whilst Rhonda wasn't badly hungover she had had one or two too many pints last night and was now paying the price. Above all else she needed the bathroom. She stood up, grabbed her dressing gown from the back of the door where she had hung it, and set off down the corridor. As she did so she bumped into Zoe, who  was also only just awake. They smiled at each other in greeting. That was more than enough conversation for this time of a morning.

As Rhonda did her morning ablutions, she thought over what was waiting for her back in the room. This wouldn't be the first time she had made an ill-advised conquest after a few too many drinks but, on this occasion, the embarrassment factor was going to be at its highest. After all, usually there was the well-worn ritual of exchanged telephone numbers and empty promises about staying in touch, followed by a merciful gap to regroup and rethink. This time they had no such luxury; they were going to have to share the cab of the van for the long, long drive back south. Still, she couldn't put it off forever so, pinning on a smile, she returned to the room.

"Good morning! Is the bathroom free? I could do with a quick shower before breakfast." To Rhonda's amazement Jessica was not only awake, but disarmingly cheerful for such an early hour. She was wearing a satin dressing gown, which barely came to mid thigh and, the sight of her made Rhonda's heart race, even in her befuddled state.

"Ooh, who's a grumpy one in the mornings," Jessica continued as she came over and gave Rhonda a little kiss. "Still, if we're going to be on the road by seven thirty we'll need to get a move on."

Jessica grabbed her towel and waltzed off down the corridor in search of the bathroom. Rhonda sat on the edge of the bed and wondered what had hit her. She had been expecting, if dreading, one of those "about last night" conversations and, instead, had been met by Little Miss Exuberance. Still, the world would look better after a large mug of coffee and breakfast was waiting downstairs. She put on some clothes and set off to find the dining room.

Rhonda was first one down and was losing the battle against Edna's insistence that she have a full Scottish breakfast when Zoe appeared.

"She won't take no for an answer, will you, Edna," Zoe laughed. "Ooh, please tell me that there's tea in that pot."

"There's a cup or two in that one and I'll bring you a fresh pot in a minute. Now, you'll be having the full breakfast as well, young lady."

"Thanks, Edna, you're a darling."

Rhonda and Zoe were half way through their breakfasts when Jessica arrived. She greeted the two of them, sat down, and poured herself a cup of tea.

"Good morning. I didn't expect to see you up so early," she said to Zoe.

"Oh, I'm coming with you," Zoe replied. "The little lady in the back of your van, she's my find and I'm looking after her. I'm not letting her out of my sight for a minute. Andy can stay here and run things until I get back."

"You're coming with us? Oh, that'll be fun. It will be nice to have someone else to chat to. Old grumpy-graws hardly said a word on the way up."

Rhonda, knowing that the nickname of 'grumpy-graws' was going to stick, just looked up at Jessica and shook her head. Then Edna arrived with a fresh pot of tea, and more coffee for Rhonda, and, as she was busy discussing the breakfast choices with Jessica, that put an end to conversation for a while.

With Zoe's keen desire to get the bog woman back down to the lab as soon as possible, the three women, stuffed to the gills with Edna's full Scottish breakfast, went out to the van well before seven thirty. Zoe couldn't help but check the back, make sure that the preservation tank was secure, its cooling system fully functional and its precious cargo safe and sound. Zoe also insisted on taking first turn at the wheel, suggesting that Rhonda could take the opportunity to sleep off the rest of her hangover. Jessica sat in the middle so as to be able to chat.

"So, tell me more about the bog lady?" Jessica asked Zoe once they had driven a mile or so.

"As I said last night, we really don't know much, yet," Zoe replied. "That's what makes this find so exciting. Although eighteen hundred or so bog bodies have been found over the years only fifty have survived excavation. It's only recently we've learnt the techniques for preserving them. That's why we had to rush the tank up here, as soon as they're exposed to the air they start to decay. All in all we don't know that much about them and each new specimen, especially one as well preserved as Bridie, gives a new opportunity to find out so much more."

"Bridie? Why do you call her that?"

"Well, you've got to call her something and, as Bridie is an old Gaelic name, it seemed appropriate."

"But she looks so... so perfect. Well, the bits that you can see, anyway. It's the water in the bog that does that, isn't it?"

"That's the one. The concentrations of organic acids and aldehydes along with the anaerobic conditions make it perfect for preservation, she's almost as good as the day she went in. Our job now is to make sure she stays that way, that she doesn't decay now that we've lifted her."

Jessica had some trouble following the technical aspects but Zoe's enthusiasm was infectious and Jessica was enough of an archaeologist to appreciate the magnitude of the find. More than that, ever since she had first caught sight of the body, there was something about this that called to her. She wanted to know as much as she could; somehow it was important. And so she kept asking questions until, come late morning, they were approaching Stirling and the top of the M9. It would be motorway all the way home from here. By then Jessica had learnt quite a bit about bog people, and Zoe was rapidly reassessing her earlier preconceptions. They pulled into some services for a well-needed break.

"Come on, grumble-graws," Zoe said to Rhonda, who had opened one eye. "Time for some coffee and then you can take over."

Rhonda was less than amused, but not surprised, that Zoe had picked up the 'grumble-graws' nickname but the need for coffee and the restrooms was paramount. Shaking off the last remnants of sleep, she followed Zoe and Jessica into the services.  It would have been nice to make a proper stop of it but, with many hundred miles still ahead of them, they just had time to stretch their legs and have a quick cup of coffee before it was time to get back on the road.

For the next section of the drive Rhonda took over behind the wheel. Jessica continued to chat with Zoe, who, flattered by her interest in the bog woman, was quite happy to reciprocate. Rhonda felt left out of things and was more than a little jealous. She struggled to understand why she felt this way; after all, there was nothing special between them, the previous night had been a drunken mistake, hadn't it, and Zoe and Jessica were just talking. In fact Rhonda was struggling to determine just how she did feel about Jessica. Her first impressions had been so wide of the mark and, now that she was getting to know her, getting to understand her, there was more to respect, more to, dare she say it, admire.

And then, last night, it had all felt so right. Making love had never felt so natural. Of course, the telepathy thing had made a huge difference but it wasn't just the mechanics, their moods had been  perfectly synchronised; it hadn't been so much a matter of give and take as much as share and share. But, wonderful as it had been, it surely had to be a one off. Much as she was growing to appreciate Jessica as a person, the thought of them as a couple just didn't work. Anyway, Jessica was straight and devoted to that bastard Jeremy. One mercy was that she was pretty sure that Jessica wouldn't use last night as stimulating pillow talk. Rhonda had known quite a few straight girls who had been 'bi-curious' merely to make themselves more alluring to their boyfriends.

The M6 past Stoke was its usual nightmare and it was late in the day when they finally returned to the institute. Even so, Zoe wasn't going to be happy until Bridie, safe in her preservation tank, was properly stowed away in the labs and the cooling system was safely plugged into the mains supply rather than running off the van's batteries. So it was the thick end of eight o'clock when the three women, exhausted after a long day, made their way out to the car park.

"Could either of you guys give me a lift home?" Zoe asked. "I'm a bit stuck without my car."

"Not unless you have a spare crash helmet," Rhonda replied. "I'm on the bike." She indicated her Moto Guzzi, looking red and mean in its parking place.

"I can take you," Jessica offered. "There's room in the Alpha."

"Thanks, you're a doll."

As Rhonda put on her helmet she watched Zoe and Jessica laughing together as they went over to Jessica's Alpha. This time the jealousy really did hurt. It was as if last night had never happened, as if it meant nothing to Jessica. Whilst Rhonda knew that, in the long term, that was how it should be, she was devastated that Jessica appeared to have forgotten her so quickly. And then, once Jessica had got Zoe settled in the passenger seat of the Alpha, she rushed over and rapped her knuckles on Rhonda's crash helmet. Rhonda turned and lifted the visor.

"What," she said, somewhat churlishly.

"Take your helmet off," Jessica replied.

For a moment Rhonda felt like refusing but, well, it was Jessica and it would be too like smacking a puppy. She undid the straps and pulled the helmet off. As soon as she did so Jessica kissed her lightly on the lips.

"Thank you, thank you so much, I had a lovely time, all of it."

"About last night," Rhonda started.

"As I said, I had a lovely time. Thank you." And, with that, Jessica was off, over to the Alpha and her waiting passenger. As Rhonda watched she could see Zoe sitting in the passenger seat. She must have seen everything. But, dammit, her lips were still tingling from the kiss. That would do for now.

It was so inevitable that Rhonda was just waiting for it. Even so, the initial smack came as a shock as the entire left hand side of her face erupted in pain. The force threw her back into the sofa where she was sitting and, as she fell, her leg kicked out, knocking over the coffee table.

'You're a slag, you know that?'

'Please, Jeremy, please don't be like this.'

'Like what, cunt?'

'Please, don't call me those words, I'm not like that, I'm not what you say I am.'

'You're a cheap little slut. Look at the way you're dressed, just begging for it, just begging for cock. Go on, show me how you beg.'

Rhonda felt her hair yanked back and, as her mouth flew open she felt it filled with Jeremy's rigid prick.

'Go on, slut, beg, beg.'

'Mmmff mmmfmaaa ugh, ugh, uurghhh!'

Rhonda felt herself start to retch as the sperm was pumped down her throat. There was another wrench to her hair and she ended up sprawled on the floor. She felt cheapened, violated, dirty, used, wretched and, above all, sick to her stomach.

Wearily Rhonda took herself off to bed but sleep did not come easily. She knew she really shouldn't get involved, that doing so would be more trouble than it was worth but wasn't she already involved? First of all there was the whole thing with the ring and, secondly, well, when they had slept together it had been more, much more, than casual sex between strangers. Above all else Rhonda just wanted to sweep Jessica up in her arms and protect her, shield her from all the bad things in the world, to care for her, and, in this particular case, to rip that bastard's balls from his body and shove them down his throat.

But what could she do? For all their growing bond Jessica had made it quite clear that she didn't want to talk about Jeremy. A friend who had worked at a battered women’s shelter had talked about the amazing levels of denial involved and now, it seemed, Rhonda was witnessing that denial at first hand.

The next day, at work, there didn't seem to be the opportunity to really talk to Jessica and, as the next day turned into the next, and then the one after that, it seemed easiest to just let it go. However, Rhonda was finding that a number of things had changed since the trip north. Jessica was becoming increasingly affectionate and would bring Rhonda little gifts; some cup-cakes she had baked with, as she put it, more love than skill, and a gay pride badge she had picked up at the market. One morning, Rhonda found, to her amazement, that Jessica had come in before her and left a vase of primula on her desk. For her part, Rhonda was increasingly protective; heaven help any man who didn't show Jessica the respect that Rhonda felt she was due. From time to time they would touch, and even, if they were sure they were alone, kiss. Rhonda could tell that the intensity of Jessica's desire matched her own but both were concerned that acting on it would break everything. It was as if their time in Scotland were too sacred, too precious, to spoil with something as sordid as an affair. On the other hand neither was ready to take the step to the place where Jessica would leave Jeremy for Rhonda, even if Rhonda wished Jessica would leave Jeremy anyway.

For Jessica's relationship with Jeremy was getting increasingly strained. Firstly Jessica was putting in more and more hours at the institute. It wasn't that Rhonda was working her harder, rather Jessica was fascinated by Bridie and the whole process surrounding her preservation. Her presence in the lab had been at first tolerated, then accepted and finally welcomed. Zoe made free use of her services and, despite little twinges of jealousy, Rhonda was happy to encourage this because of the way that Jessica's self confidence was blossoming. Neither the extra unpaid hours, nor the increased self-confidence were seen as positive changes by Jeremy and, more than once, Rhonda was all too aware that he was taking his frustration out on Jessica. Once, when Jessica came into work with a bruise over her eye, Rhonda went as far as to start to suggest that she do something about it. However, as Rhonda hugged her tight and the tears flowed down, she could tell that pushing her on this was only causing her more pain.

And then, late one evening, Rhonda was just packing up after a long session in the lab when Jessica appeared at the door.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Rhonda asked. "It's gone nine thirty. Come on, it's home time."

"Rhonda, she's not called Bridie, she's called Mebh," Jessica said urgently.

"May? What are you talking about?"

"Not May, Mebh, like Maeve Binchy who writes those books," Jessica corrected. "Please, Rhonda, come with me. Please."

Rhonda followed Jessica down into the basement lab where Bridie still rested in the preservation tank. Pretty soon they would have to start the freeze-drying process that was now the accepted method of preventing further decay but, for the moment, cooling and a carefully controlled atmosphere were deemed enough. Jessica led Rhonda up to the tank. Now that it was in regular use the tank had been fitted with built in gloves so that the body could be manipulated without breaking the seal. Jessica told Rhonda to put her right hand in one of the gloves. Jessica then put her left hand in the other and, standing side by side, they joined their free hands.

'She's not called Bridie, she's called Mebh. She told me that, clear as day. She told me to bring you down here. This is really important. We have to do this; we have to do it together. Lay your hand on her body, yes, like that, next to mine.'

Rhonda had never 'heard' Jessica so clearly or so forcefully. Without questioning, she did as she was told.

'Close your eyes, let her speak to you,' Jessica urged.

Rhonda closed her eyes. She could feel the room growing colder, there was a smell of heather, and, suddenly, she could see again.

"Come, this way, there are plenty over here," Freyja called out. Mebh looked over. Freyja had strayed a bit and was farther away than Mebh was happy with. She was, after all, supposed to be guarding her. She strode across the heather until she was standing next to her.

Ever since Mebh had reached womanhood she had been marked out as an outsider, a stranger, an oddity in a clan that valued tradition. It didn't help that she was as tough as any man and could hold her own in the wrestling matches with the clan warriors. In the end, they had accepted that she was never going to make a wife and, reluctantly, she had been left to her own devices. Morag, the wise woman, had taken her in and given her a place to sleep. Here Mebh's fighting skills were tempered with Morag's healing skills with the wild herbs and curative mosses and, when the village women came with their aches and pains, the problems they would never tell the men about, Mebh would act as Morag's apprentice.

It had all changed with the arrival of Freyja. After many moons of careful diplomacy, and a few cattle raids in-between, peace had been agreed between the clan and their neighbours from the next glen and, to seal it, there had been an exchange of both cattle and wives. Ceitidh had been sent to live with the neighbouring clan and, in return, they, or rather the laird, had received Freyja. Mebh would never forget the day she had arrived. Wild and untamed, with her long blonde tresses and strange name betraying her Norse ancestry, she had fought all the way. Five times in the first few moons she had tried to run away, five times she had been brought back and soundly whipped for her impertinence. As to whether she was the laird's wife, slave or concubine, no one really knew but, as the days turned to months and the seasons rolled around, she gradually accepted her place in the clan.

Mebh had first met her after one of the whippings. The laird, in his anger, had struck hard and the flesh was flayed. Even the laird accepted that, this time, there was a need for treatment and, reluctantly, he had called on Morag and her potions.

As Morag had bathed the battered flesh, Mebh had held Freyja's hand and, even then, there had been a spark. Mebh was powerless to act against the laird or the clan but she swore then that she would do everything in her power to protect Freyja, to ward away whatever dangers she could.

Slowly they had become friends. There was little reason for them to meet in the normal order of things. The laird, in general, kept her away from the rest of the clan and Mebh was never one for the women's gossip circles. However, from time to time, Freyja would need Morag's help and, when Artair was born, Mebh and Morag had helped both Freyja and the child survive a difficult birth.

Now, five summers later, Freyja was trusted enough to be allowed out, foraging in the glen, gathering the dark blue berries that would sweeten their world. The laird had insisted she be accompanied and, after a row that all the clan had heard, he had, despite his loudly voiced objections, compromised on letting Mebh be the one to guard her.

"I don't know why you're here," Freyja said. "As if I couldn't look after myself. But, seeing as how you are here, make yourself useful and carry the basket."

Mebh just smiled in response, but she also reached out and took the basket. Mebh loved it here, high up in the glen. The world was fresh and new and any dangers could be seen and assessed long before they struck. Not that she was expecting much. Sure, there were plenty of wolves in the forests but they seldom attacked people and, if they did, then Mebh had her spear ready and it wouldn't be the first wolf she had slain. Her fur cloak was testament to that.

Satisfied that she had stripped every possible berry from the bush she was working on, Freyja stood up to move on to the next one. As she approached a grouse, startled from its nest, flew up out of the heather and, in her surprise, Freyja slipped and fell.

"Are you OK?" Mebh said as she strode across to help.

"I'm fine, well, except my ankle which, ow! hurts," Freyja replied.

"Let me look." Mebh knelt down and took the ankle in her hands. She could tell that there wasn't too much wrong, no bones were broken, for example, but she wasn't going to let it go without a thorough check. At first she was just methodical. This was just another ankle to be examined and, if necessary bound and massaged back to health. But this wasn't any ankle, it was Freyja's, so fine so slender, so beautiful. With all the tenderness she could muster, Mebh massaged it, trying to ease away the pain. Without even thinking about it, Mebh pushed up the hem of Freyja’s skirt to above her knee and included her calf in the massage.

Freyja lay back in the heather, and, as she did so, the hem of her skirt slid down her thigh. Intoxicated, Mebh leant forward and kissed Freyja's knee cap.

"You're very bold for a guardsman," Freyja laughed.

"If you were not the wife of the laird, I'd be a lot more bold," Mebh replied, carrying on the joke.

"Wife!" Freyja spat the word. "I'm no wife to that lout. Slave, maybe, whore, perhaps. But wife, never! I rue the day I was captured from my homeland and I doubly rue the day I was brought here.  Night after night I suffer his filthy appetites, knowing full well that to him I am nought but a possession, a trophy to parade before his warriors and a heifer to bear his children. If all that is holding you back is thoughts of the laird then hold back no more, be as bold as you wish."

And Mebh was very bold indeed.

Some time later Mebh was lying on her back watching a red kite hunting along the glen. With only the slightest movement of its wing tip it would soar and swoop as it searched the heather for prey. Rhonda, as she watched, felt as if her soul, too, was floating effortlessly on the wind, soaring and swooping through the clear sky.

"Do you wish, sometimes, that we could float away, just us two, just float away, to be as free as that kite?" she asked.

"Always, that is my dream. But where would we go? There's no life outside the clan," Freyja replied.

"One day, one day, just the two of us, that's a promise."

"But now we must be getting back. My lord and master will be wondering where his chattel has got to. Come along." Freyja stood up, smoothed off her clothes and, limping slightly, started to make her way back down the glen.

The seasons turned, as seasons are wont to do, and Mebh and Freyja lived out their lives, stealing away whenever possible, although that was far from as often as they would have liked. Freyja was kept busy with her ever-growing brood of bairns. Mebh was busy assisting Morag who was growing older, and Mebh was having to take more and more of the tasks from her. She would never, quite, be the mistress of the herbs that Morag was, but her skill at massage and expertise at childbirth had already surpassed her teacher. Then, one day, Mebh was working with the men, rounding up the cattle, when Freyja came over and called out to her.

"Mebh, come quick, come quick! Morag is asking for you."

After a mere glance at the men to make sure they had heard, Mebh rushed off to Morag's cottage on the outskirts of the clan village. The inside was, as ever, dark with the smell of peat smoke and the infusions that bubbled over the small fire.

"Come in, come in, the pair of you," Morag croaked. To Mebh's dismay she was still lying on the pallet of skins that made up her bed. Surely she should be up and about by now.

"I'm dying, girls. I have seen more than fifty summers and I will not see another. Indeed, I will be lucky to see the next full moon," Morag continued.

"You cannot be dying," Mebh protested, "you cannot, I won't allow it."

"Hark at her. She won't allow it. Have you grown so wise you have power over life and death?"

"No, of course not. I wouldn't presume...." Mebh replied.

"Then don't. Now, I didn't bring you here to gossip. Mebh, look under my bedding and you'll find a box. Fetch it out, will you?"

Mebh got down on her knees and searched under the various skins until she found a wooden box. She handed it over to Morag who opened it and took out a small leather pouch.

"I won't be able to watch over you two when I'm gone and, if my scrying is to be believed, you two are in some danger. This may help. Take it, Mebh, take it from me."

Mebh took the pouch from Morag and opened it up. Inside was a ring of extraordinary workmanship. She looked at it closely and the stone, of a type she had never seen before, seemed to shimmer in the half-light. She held it out and showed it to Freyja.

"It's beautiful," Freyja said. "I have never seen anything so fine. What is it? What does it mean?"

"It's the feeling ring. It binds lovers together. Whoever gives this ring to another will be forever in their heart and, in return, they get the knowledge of how their lover feels."

"But you've just given it to me," Mebh protested.

"Don't be stupid, girl. I just passed it to you. It was passed to me many seasons back but I never had the strength to wear it. Now, I pass it to you, to do with what you will."

"Why then am I here?" Freyja asked. "What is it to do with me?"

Morag laughed so hard she ended in a coughing fit and Mebh and Freyja were quite concerned for her. Eventually she recovered.

"What is it to do with you? I know you two are lovers, oh, you think you hide it but it's as plain as the nose on my face. Sneaking off together and those looks you keep giving each other. You think no one else notices but they do. This ring is my gift, not to Mebh alone but to both of you, my apprentice and her lover. Have a care, should you chose to accept it, for once it has been put on it is hard to take it off again."

Mebh and Freyja looked at each other again and reached out and clasped hands. No words were necessary, they were in complete agreement.

"You know what to do. Go on, do it," Morag urged.

And Mebh did know what to do. Still holding Freyja's right hand she took her left and held it in front of her. Although not a word was passed between the two women there was total agreement that this was right and proper. Taking the ring, Mebh slipped it over Freyja's fourth finger and, as she did so, the air seemed to shimmer. Overcome with emotion, Freyja reached for Mebh and they hugged and hugged and hugged.

When at last they broke from the embrace Freyja held out her hand in front of her, admiring the way the stone seemed to shine.

"What will I tell the laird? Surely he will ask where something as fine as this has come from," she commented.

"He will not even notice. The ring hides itself from those who do not need to know. Now, have a care, the two of you. I wish I could foretell a long and happy life together but the runes tell otherwise. I will not be here to help so you must watch out for each other. Now, I am tired and have to sleep. Go, both of you, and have a care."

It was only two days later that Mebh, looking for help with some herbs, found that Morag's prophecy had come true. Her body lay stiff and cold in her bed. The laird, declaring that Morag was a witch, decreed that her body should be cast down the cliffs to feed the crows. However, by the time they went, mob handed, to fetch the body, it had gone, taken by Mebh to the high moors where she built a pyre. Whatever the laird might say, Mebh knew the honours due and was determined to observe them. As the flames leapt to the skies Freyja, who was unable to escape from the village, saw the flickering on the hills and knew in her heart that right had been done.

It just seemed proper that, with Morag gone, Mebh should assume her role as the village witch, or wise woman, depending on your viewpoint. Although she was shunned and despised by the men, none could stand against her and, on the rare occasions when Freyja was allowed to roam, Mebh, and Mebh alone, was chosen as her guard. This only added to the resentment that grew within the laird's breast but, although she was feared and distrusted by many, there was an understanding that her medicines were the only ones which worked and, when it came to the mysteries of childbirth, or the care of the very young, she alone was the one the mothers could turn to. Often Freyja, who was, by now, a mother of five, would use the ailments of her brood, whether real or contrived, as an excuse to visit and, whilst these meetings had to be circumspect, simply sitting together was better than being apart.

But, even when apart, they seemed to know, to understand, what the other was doing or thinking. The ring provided a very real link and, despite the paucity of physical contact, they grew together in a very real sense. Together or apart, they shared their ups, their downs, their joys and their pains.

It was only a short while after the exchange of the ring that Mebh found exactly how much she would share the pains. Now that the novelty of owning one such as Freyja had long worn off the laird was increasingly frustrated by the way she refused to obey his every whim. He felt that, as laird, his voice was the law, and disobedience to him was disobedience to the clan. He had had to use the whip, the rod and his fists to tame this wild woman in the first instance and, in his eyes, from time to time she would still need a reminder of her place in life. He was overly fond of the mead and, once he was in his cups, it wouldn't take much to spark his anger and, once roused, there was no containing him.

Mebh had already seen the after affects. She had often enough bathed Freyja's bruises after a particularly brutal session. Now, however, because of the ring, she would feel every blow, suffer every abuse, and cry every tear along with the one she loved. Was this a price worth paying? Surely, and she would pay it again and again if necessary, but that didn't make it any easier and, although she would stand up to most, were she to face down the laird, the whole clan would turn against her and being expelled would be the best she could hope for.

Things almost came to a head when the laird suffered a discharge from his manhood. His stubborn refusal to do anything about it was almost his undoing but, in the end, he turned up at Mebh's door looking for help. Mebh was not expecting much in the way of gratitude but, somehow, he seemed to feel that it was her fault, that she had bewitched him in some fashion. He made it more than clear that he hated being beholden to her, and, if her position of clan medicine woman hadn't made her essential, she might well have been expelled or worse. Even more than before, she made a point of keeping out of his way, as far as was possible, within the confines of the clan.

And then, one night, when Freyja was heavily pregnant with her sixth child, one of the other bairns, suffering from teething pains, wouldn't stop greeting. The laird, who had been drinking with his men, came home the worse for wear and told her roughly to keep the baby quiet. Freyja, who was already at her wits' end, told him simply that she couldn't. "Keep him quiet or I will," the laird roared and, to protect the child, Freyja had to stand between them. The laird lashed out again and again until, exhausted, he collapsed in a drunken stupor. Freyja crawled away, trying to get as far away as possible. Still the bairns wouldn't stop greeting but she cuddled them close and did the best she could. And then she felt the sticky feeling on her thighs. She reached up, under her skirts and, even in the dim firelight she could see the red on her hand.

'What do I do? What do I do?' the thoughts screamed from her mind.

'Come to me. Don't wait, come to me, now!' came the reply, as clear as a bell.

Getting one of the maids to look after the bairns, Freyja, bent double with the pain, made her way over to Mebh's cottage. Mebh was waiting at the door and, already, on the hearth, Freyja could see one of Mebh's special potions warming through.

"Lie down, lie on the bed. Let me tend to you," Mebh urged.

Mebh lifted Freyja's skirts and, for the first time, the true extent of the damage became clear. The material was sodden with blood and more was flowing. Mebh knew immediately that it wasn't a matter of saving the unborn baby as much as saving Freyja, and she knew also that her skills were woefully inadequate. Time and time again Freyja's body was wracked with pain, pain that Mebh felt just as sharply. In vain she brewed her strongest willow bark potion but even that was inadequate to deal with this.

By dawn Freyja was fading fast. She had lost too much blood and could do little but lie there on the edge of consciousness. Mebh mopped her brow, as much to provide companionship as to provide succour.

"I'm dying, am I not?" Freyja croaked.

"Of course not!" Mebh replied.

"You know you can't lie to me, not now, not ever," Freyja even managed half a smile. "Listen, this is important. When I die they will burn my body, that is your custom, is it not? However, they must not burn The ring. When I die you must take it from me. Keep it close by for, by keeping the ring you will keep a part of me."

"But it won't come off. We both know that."

"It will when it's time. You'll know when."

"Don't talk silly," Mebh bluffed but the both knew that Freyja was anything but silly.

"I love you, I always have and always will, take care of the bairns?take care?" Freyja could barely get the words out.

"I love you too," Mebh replied but whether Freyja heard or not Mebh could not tell. Freyja's body went limp and she breathed no more.

For some time Mebh just knelt next to the bed, holding the body of her lover but eventually she knew she had to move; that there were things to do. She reached for Freyja's left hand and took the ring. As Freyja had prophesied, it slid off easily and, as Mebh held it to the light, the stone was dark and lifeless. She slipped it into her pocket and started to wash down the body of her lover.

And then the door was kicked off its hinges and the cottage was full. The laird and four of his biggest warriors stood there.

"Do you see, my laird, do you see how the witch has murdered your wife?"

"Murder indeed," the laird snarled. "Look at her foul potions. It's no wonder our cattle sicken with one like this in our midst and this time the witch has gone too far. She has taken from me the love of my life, the mother of my children."

"Me! Freyja did not die by my hand. I am not the one who struck her! How dare you.. mmf", Mebh started to protest but many hands grabbed her and one was clamped across her mouth.

"We must hold a clan council, let the whole clan know of her crimes," one of the men urged.

The laird thought this over. He knew that, among the men, his word would be taken over Mebh's but, among the women, she seemed to have earned some strange respect. If it came to a clan council, although things would go his way in the end, he'd make sure of that, his position would be weakened. She would have to be allowed to speak  and who knows how many might actually believe her. No, he dare not let this go to council.

"No, we have no need of council," he replied. "Her guilt is plain enough. Even now her poisons lie all about and, in their midst, lies the body of my beloved that she has stolen from me. This demands justice, and I will brook no delay. Take her to the marshes. She, and her evil influence, must be stricken from the clan at once. Down in the marshes there is punishment fit for one such as this.

Although Mebh struggled she was outnumbered and, kicking and screaming, she was forcibly dragged down to the causeway across the marshes.

"Strip her, strip her naked," the laird ordered and, as the clothes were ripped from Mebh's body, the ring fell out and onto the ground.

"What's this? What is this that she has dropped? Hand it to me," the laird ordered.

One of the men picked up the ring and handed it to the laird.

"And yet another crime to add to the heap of ignomy," he said triumphantly. He looked at the ring, turning it over and over. Although he had never seen it before it had a certain familiarity. "This ring, it was my beloved's," he said, though he knew he lied. "She must have stolen it from her." He turned it, and watched it glint in the sunlight. He went to put it on but it was too small for his fingers. "I will keep it safe. It will adorn the hand of every laird's wife from now on. Now, is the crone ready?"

"One moment, my laird," the men replied. The last shreds of clothing were ripped away and Mebh's hands were pulled behind her back and tied with twine. The knots were so tight that it cut into her flesh.

"Well, witch, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

The hand that was clamped over Mebh's mouth was removed.

"There is only one here who is a thief and a murderer and you know it isn't me. You kill me out of fear, out of spite, out of hatred. Do not pretend that you kill me out of justice. But, have a care, my laird," she spat the word, "For you may kill my body, that is of little account now that my love is dead, but you will never kill my soul, and, with my dying breath, I curse you and I curse the ring. One day I will reclaim it, be sure of that."

"Reclaim it! Where you're going you will reclaim nothing. And, as for your curses, they are of little account to me" the laird replied, although Mebh knew he was rattled. He turned to his men. "Now, we've wasted enough time. Get on with it."

With no further ceremony, she was taken to the edge of the causeway and thrown, face forward, into the marsh. Immediately she twisted around but, without the use of her hands, her struggles only worked to push her under and keeping her head above water was getting harder and harder. The laird himself went to the edge of the causeway, stepped down onto a clump of reeds, and, reaching out with his foot, he put the sole of his boot against her face and forced her under. For as long as she could she held her breath but it couldn't be forever and, with a final vision of a red kite, floating high, high in the sky above the marshes, she passed away.

Slowly, as if emerging from a dream, Rhonda and Jessica came back to the present day.

"It's hers, the ring is hers," Jessica said breathlessly.

Rhonda looked between Jessica and the body in the tank. Jessica was surely right but she knew now that giving it back would mean the end of... but anything other than giving it back wouldn't be right and, whatever her inner desires, she had to do the right thing. They both removed their hands from the gloves in the side of the tank and Rhonda reached for Jessica's hand and took hold of the ring. As with Freyja, the time was right and it slid off without a problem. Rhonda turned to the tank. The cover was sealed but, feverishly, Rhonda worked at the catches and Jessica helped. At last it was free and, together, they lifted the lid.

"You must give it to her, not me, you," Rhonda urged and she held out the ring to Jessica who took it. Rhonda reached down and lifted the leathery left hand of the body and Jessica slipped the ring onto the fourth finger. It was little more than a sigh but both women clearly heard the words, 'at last, at last'. And then the ring just seemed to fade away. One moment it was there and the next it wasn't. Without saying a word Rhonda and Jessica closed the cover of the tank and refastened the catches.

"That was... that was..." Rhonda started.

"Shh. If we talk about it we'll ruin it," Jessica replied.

For a long, long time the two women just stood there holding hands. Rhonda, who had got so used to 'hearing' Jessica that is was part of her world, was now having to get used to silence. Jessica felt an infatuation fall from her eyes. Rhonda was fine, strong, honest and the best friend she would ever have but a spark that was never really there had just died.

"I think... I think it's about time we went home. It must be very late." Rhonda said at last. She glanced down at her watch. "Good grief, it's five thirty in the morning; we've been here all night. Will you be OK, I mean, your Jeremy...."

"I'm not going back to Jeremy, not tonight, not ever. He didn't love me and I was a fool to love him. I can see that now." That was another thing that had just come clear.

"So where will you go? I mean, you're welcome to come and stay with me...."

"Thank you, really, thank you but, no, it wouldn't work. I'll go home, home to my parents' house, well, at least until I find somewhere on my own." There was a pause while Jessica gathered the right words. "Rhonda, you're the best thing that ever happened to me and I'll love you forever but I'll love you as a friend. I can't love you any other way, I wish I could but I can't. Our time together, especially our time in Scotland, will always be precious but, well, I'm not like you, you know I'm not like you and, in the end, it wouldn't work. I'm sorry, I don't want to hurt you but I have to be honest."

"I understand, and thank you for being honest," Rhonda's emotions were in turmoil. It should have been her who made that speech, not Jessica, but at least this way they would stay friends. She could live with that. "Now, come along, we really ought to get going," she said, breaking the mood forever.

Five minutes later they emerged into the car park.

"Look! Look! They're beautiful! I've never seen anything like that before. What are they, eagles?" Jessica pointed up in the sky.

"Close but they're not eagles, they're red kites. Two females by the look of them. You don't normally get them around here. They are beautiful, aren't they?"

And, as the two women watched, two red kites soared and wheeled in the early morning sunshine.

Epilogue - six months later.

"So, the big bad dyke got her heart broken by the straight girl, just as I predicted," Chris said as he put down the pints in front of them.

"It wasn't like that at all," Rhonda replied, "and if you hadn't buggered off to the States for all those months you would have known that."

"You could have phoned, or emailed," Chris protested.

"Nah, some things are best done face to face. As for Jessica and I, well, it was never really a runner."

"Too much the bimbo?" Chris joked.

"Too much the straight girl. And she's not a bimbo. Ever since the Bridie thing she's come into her own. She's on secondment to Zoe's team nowadays and is more than pulling her weight."

"And what about the mind reading?"

"Would you believe mystical rings and Iron Age witches?" Rhonda said with a laugh.

"Not really," Chris admitted.

"Then we'll have to put it down as one of those things. Anyway, it's stopped now."

"How so?" Chris was intrigued.

"It just has, OK?"

And, for the moment, Chris had to settle for that. He knew Rhonda well enough to know that he wasn't going to get any more out of her this time.

"So, what's all this about the Poulton Endowment. Do I gather that the institute has found a fairy godfather?" Chris asked, changing the subject.

"Well, I told you about Jessica being seconded onto Zoe team and her involvement with the whole Mebh, err, Bridie thing. Well, she's busy making herself the UK's number one expert on bog bodies. She's really flowered. She spends all day, every day down in the labs and, at weekends she goes home and persuades daddy to cough up a couple more million for the institute. Apart from anything else, it's helped stave off the British Museum. They were insisting that they were the only organisation with the resources to look after Bridie but, since we got the endowment, we can tell them to stuff it. Bridie is staying here for at least the immediate future and we're rapidly becoming the number one go-to organisation for bog body preservation. I gather one or two noses are out of joint down in Bloomsbury but it's about time we provincials got a crack at the whip."

"So, if everything in the garden is rosy why did you get me down here? When you called me you said you had something important to show me."

"Isn't catching up with you after all this time important," Rhonda replied.

"But you've got more up your sleeve than that. Even if you hadn't told me I can see it written all over your face," Chris protested.

"OK, well, I will admit there is something, something I wanted to show you but you'll have to wait a while," Rhonda admitted.

"I'm agog. Tell me more."

"I said you'll have to wait and I'm sticking by that. In the meanwhile did you have a fabulous time in the States? Were there lots and lots of lovely gay men to fall in love with?"

Chris started to tell Rhonda all about his trip stateside and was well into the story when, ten minutes later, he saw three people peering around the pub as if looking for someone. One was a long legged blonde who was holding hands with a rather academic looking young man. Next to them was a young woman wearing jeans and a tee shirt. As soon as he saw her Chris's gaydar pinged and, when he saw that her tee shirt boasted the interlocking Venus symbols his suspicions were all but confirmed.

"I think your surprise has just arrived," he said pointing over to where they stood.

Rhonda looked over and, as she did so, her face lit up. She stood up and waved, at which point they noticed her and came on over.

"Chris, this is Jessica, who I've already told you about, and this is Jonathan, who you may have met at the institute knees-up last Christmas. Jonathan is doing a PhD on Iron Age studies although he seems to have become rather distracted lately." This caused a certain amount of good-natured laughter. "And this," Rhonda continued, "is Sally who joined the institute at the start of the month to take up that open position in Oriental Ceramics. It turns out she's keen on motorbikes so I took her out for a spin on the Moto Guzzi and, it seems that she enjoyed it so much she wants to do it again." She turned to Sally and Chris could just see the electricity between them.

"Yeah, she gave me quite a ride," Sally joked but, although she was speaking to Chris, her eyes were firmly on Rhonda.

"Look at old Grumble-graws, totally besotted," Jessica laughed.

"Grumble-graws?" Chris queried.

"It's Jessica's nickname for me. One which you are not, repeat not, to use." Rhonda replied.

"OK, Grumble-graws, I won't. Now, come on, you lot are dry. What are we all drinking?"

And, as Chris and Jonathan stood at the bar waiting to get served, Chris looked back, watching Rhonda and Sally. There was something about them, something about the way they went together that meant that Chris knew for certain that his best friend would never be lonely again.