One
Norah
The small shuttle bus bumps and jostles over the rocks and roots covering the ground as it drives us deeper into the mist-draped Irish forest. I press my forehead to the window, taking in the towering spruce trees, the moss-covered rocks, the way the mist seems to hang in the air like fairy dust. It looks ethereal. Otherwordly. And that excites me, this feeling that I can touch the past. Touch something beyond what we know of our world.
The shuttle bus comes to a stop and the door squeaks open. For a moment, I’m slightly disoriented. I keep forgetting that the driver’s on the right. I’m from Canada, and last fall, I moved to the UK to start my masters in archaeology at Cambridge University. It’s been an adjustment, but a thrilling one, filled with new friends, challenging academics, and a raging crush on my ridiculously hot professor, who also happens to be supervising my masters thesis.
Who also happens to be in charge of this dig. My very first.
Maybe it’s nerdy—okay, fine, no maybe about it—but I’m excited to get my hands dirty. My research is focused on ancientDruidic cultures, and this dig is an exciting opportunity to learn and maybe even discover something.
It’s also an opportunity to ogle Professor Vale. Respectfully, of course. But yes. There will be ogling.
I grab my duffel bag and step off the shuttle bus along with a few other masters and doctoral students also participating in the dig. We’re surrounded by misty forest on all sides, making it feel as though we’re a million miles away from civilization, even though there’s a town of 20,000 people only a thirty minute shuttle bus ride away.
The air around me is still and fresh, smelling of forest loam and greenery. I pace several steps away from the shuttle, my bag swinging against my hip as I walk, and I try to picture the Druidic village that was, according to our research, situated here 2000 years ago. The research has actually been there for some time, but it’s taken a decade for Professor Vale to get full permission from the local authorities to conduct a proper archaeological dig.
What we’re doing over the next few days isn’t even a full dig. We’ll be mapping the site, doing bits of excavation to see if we find anything, and then we’ll be publishing the results of what we find as part of our research, asking for further permits, and designing a full-scale dig.
An overwhelming rush of excitement charges through me as I move further into the forest, following the sounds of voices. This is everything I’ve ever wanted to do. I’ve always been drawn to history, to mythology, to understanding our past. And sure, things like battles and royalty and discovering new lands are exciting, but that’s not what thrills me. I’m interested in the mundane. In the day to day life of communities, families, societies. Finding commonalities feels like a bridge connecting the past to the present, reminding us of our place in the grand scope of humanity.
So, um. Yeah. I’m excited. Excited to participate, to learn, to spend time with Professor Vale…all of it.
I catch sight of the camp, nestled in a copse of trees up ahead. This area isn’t officially part of the dig site, as we don’t want to alter the landscape. There are several camping tents clustered together, as well as a transparent geodesic tent where sensitive equipment like computers and cameras are housed. A couple of picnic tables sit nestled in between the research tent and the sleeping tents, and a portable grill is set up off to the side. Several locked coolers are tucked under the picnic tables.
“Hey,” says one of the grad students already on site. Her name’s Jill, and she’s a doctoral student, tall with a nose ring and pink-tipped blond hair that seems at odds with her posh accent. “These three tents are already claimed, but the others are free. Pick an empty one, dump your stuff, and then take some time to check out the site.”
I nod, heading towards the tents she indicated. As I do, I catch site of another, slightly larger tent set up away from the cluster. My breath catches in my chest as Professor Vale emerges from the tent. He’s not wearing his usual tailored pants and posh sweater. Today, he’s wearing beat up boots, dirty jeans, and a navy fleece with the Cambridge logo on the breast. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, revealing corded forearms. I swallow hard as I watch him from across the campsite, taking him in. Just looking at him feels like drinking cool water on a hot day, like the sight of him is refreshing me, nourishing me somehow.
Professor Vale is tall, probably 6’3, and thick everywhere—broad shoulders, wide chest, heavy arms, tree trunk-like thighs, deliciously round ass. He has curly hair that grazes the collar of his shirt, and his curls are even more pronounced in the misty air, ringlets brushing his fleece. His hair is brown, a lovely, deep shade, with gray threading through his temples. I don’tknow how much time I’ve spent trying to come up with how to describe the colour of his eyes. Bluish-grey doesn’t do them justice. They’re like a storm over an ocean. Like moonlight.
He has a full mouth, a clean-shaven jaw that could cut glass, and a dimple in his left cheek when he smiles. His teeth are perfect and white, except for one eye tooth, just slightly misaligned with the others.
And his voice…oh my god, his voice. It’s deep and resonant, and combined with his British accent, I get tingly listening to him talk about the dullest of topics.
Did I mention that I have a crush on this man? Crush feels like too small of a word, honestly. I’m attracted to him, physically. I think anyone with eyeballs would notice that he’s a ridiculously handsome man. But for me, it’s more than that. I love his obvious passion for his work, his intelligence, his wit, his patience.
I mean, he’s my professor and probably more than twenty years older than me, so nothing will ever, ever happen between us, but it’s fun to fantasize about. Which I do. A lot.
I’m openly staring as Professor Vale paces a few steps away from his tent, his attention on the tablet in his hands. A soft breeze blows through the forest, stirring up the loamy scent, making a tingle dance down my spine. Professor Vale looks up from his tablet, his gaze colliding with mine, and the tingle intensifies.
He tucks the tablet under his arm and begins to cross the campsite to me. “Norah, hello,” he says in that deep, accented voice, and I melt a little inside. “Glad you made it. Were the accommodations alright?”
I swallow and nod. We’d flown over to Belfast yesterday, then taken a bus down to Sligo, where we spent the night in a bed and breakfast run by a talkative plump woman and her silent, ruddy-faced husband.
I nod again, wishing my tongue would unglue itself from the roof of my mouth. “Yes,” I finally say after a moment. “Everything was fine.”
“Good.” Our eyes meet, linger. A small smile pulls at hips gorgeous lips, and heat blooms in my chest. “I’m glad you’re here. Your assistance in compiling the initial research was immensely helpful.” A pause. He rocks on his heels. “And your paper last term on reassessing the significance of Druid altars in Bronze Age Ireland was very insightful, and directly relevant to this preliminary dig.”
I blush furiously at his compliment. “Thank you,” I manage, a bit breathlessly.
He nods. “You’re welcome.” He looks as though he’s about to say more when a woman I hadn’t noticed before strides over. She’s petite and red-headed, and looks to be in her late forties or early fifties. Her fiery hair is loose, falling around her shoulders, and her face is angular, with a thin mouth, high cheekbones, and pointed chin.
“Ah,” says Professor Vale. “Maeve. Glad you made it.” He turns to me. “Maeve O’Clery is the director of the local historical society and will be supervising our activities while we’re here. She happens to live not far from our dig site.” He turns to Maeve. “This is Norah Marlowe, one of my best students.”
My blush re-ignites at his praise. Feeling as though my face is on fire, I extend my hand to Maeve. When she clasps my hand in hers, she lets out a heavy sigh and looks around.
“Reclaiming our Druidic heritage is very important to many in the area. I wish you success, and I’ll check in…” She trails off, looking around, as if basking in the forest itself. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”
