When she got the job on the dig, a contract that would last at least six months, Tara had found a two-bedroom detached house half an hour’s drive from the site. It would have made sense to share, but with the old place a few kilometres outside an already out-of-the-way little village, the rent was so low she could afford the luxury of keeping it to herself. She now thanked her lucky stars for this happy coincidence. With no curious neighbours around, she could take more time and care unloading the man than she had done loading him.

Whether it was the lack of fear-spiked adrenaline, her already tired state or just the more awkward job of getting the man out of, rather than into, her car, it proved much more difficult. She managed, at last, to heave him into her sitting room and lay him down on the carpet. Exhausted, Tara sank down on to the floor beside him, her back against a stuffed chair. He still shivered, but she simply had to catch her breath before she could try to do anything about that.

It looked, now that the rain had washed some of the dirt away, as if he was blond. His hair, plastered to his skull and streaked with mud, was probably shoulder length. Tara’s gaze slid down to his exposed torso. She swallowed. Whatever her mystery man had done in his former life, it must have involved a fair amount of exercise. The muscles of his dirt-mottled chest, covered with skin as pale as milk, were well developed. And lower down.

His eyelids flickered, opened. He looked to his left, then to his right and saw her. As if it was a huge effort, he rolled his head to see her better. Tara froze. For long moments, they stared at each other. Then the man mumbled something.

Tara leaned forwards. «I couldn’t hear you. Please, speak again.» Damn, she hadn’t even considered that he might not speak English.

He closed his eyes; she thought he’d fallen asleep again. Then his lips moved, and she had to lean right over him to hear his whisper. «Ye are very beautiful, lass.»

Warmth blossomed in her heart. She smiled. «Thank you.»

A spasm of shivers shook his body. «Broth. Warm broth.»

«Of course.» She’d have said bath, warm bath would take precedence when you’re hypothermal, but she knew little of bringing the dead back to life and would rather go with whatever he said he needed. Broth. Did she still have some of that soup her mother had made in the freezer? It was quite chunky, but if she put it through the blender, it would probably work as well.

Tara first fetched an old sheet from the cupboard in the spare room, which she spread over her man. After that, she took the duvet from the spare bed and covered him with that, too. Shivering herself now in her wet clothes, she stole to her bedroom, whipped off the wet stuff and changed into her bathrobe. Then it was off to the kitchen. Twenty minutes later, she had a steaming saucepan of thin soup ready.

Tara knelt at the man’s side. She reached out to touch his cheek, to gently roll his head up so he could drink the broth, but stopped herself. Would she feel his feelings again? He still shivered. She braced herself and put her hand on his cheek.

He was so cold. Bristle and grit rubbed against her palm, but she felt no emotions other than her own. And her own emotions puzzled her. Under the excitement, fear, wonder, anxiety and curiosity, was something like tenderness. Concern. Why had she taken this man from the dig? She lived for archaeology, had worked many years to get her degree and the work experience she wanted. Why risk it all?

She stroked the man’s cheek. «Hello. Are you awake? Can you hear me?» No reaction. Would he choke if she dripped soup into his mouth while he slept? Yet she had done so with the tea earlier, and he had swallowed automatically. She decided to take the risk.

Drip-drip-drip. She watched anxiously, and yes, he swallowed the soup. Satisfied, Tara fed him some more. The bowl was soon empty, and she noticed his shivers had subsided. What else could she do for him? Would he ever wake up completely, or was this as conscious as he’d get? He was the find of the century, a man who’d come back to life after being buried for who knows how long.

Realization struck her then, and Tara felt herself pale. Yes, she’d made the find of the century, but she would never be able to prove it. Even the photos would not be enough, not considering the claim she’d be making about him. What an idiot she’d been!

Then she let her gaze rest on his muddy face and her regrets faded. She thought of him lying in a laboratory, being poked, prodded, sliced and inspected. No way. Minutes slipped by as Tara stared at him. He was shivering again.

Her phone beeped, and she checked the text message on the screen. No work today. That was to be expected. Had they inspected her squares yet? Was Dullaghan on his way right now, perhaps with the Gardai? Or no, this dig was just across the border, in Northern Ireland — it would be the police accompanying him.

«Lass.» Tara started at the sound of the hoarse whisper. The man’s eyes were open. «Broth. Warm broth.»

This time, when she fed him the soup, he was awake. He kept those light green eyes focused on her face. It was almost embarrassing. She had to look a sight, probably as dirty as he was, and she didn’t have the excuse of having been dead and buried for years.

Ye are very beautiful. Tara’s cheeks warmed.

When the bowl was empty, he still stared at her. «Thank ye, fair lass.»

«Is there anything else I can do for you?»

«Aye. I am very cold.»

«I wish I could get you into a hot bath, it would be just the ticket to warm you.»

He smiled. «Ye need not drag me into yon bath, lass. I think I can move to it with yer aid.»

Tara nodded. «I’ll run a bath first, then I’ll come help you to it.»

She filled the tub with steaming water, added a dash of jasmine-scented bath oil. When she returned to the sitting room, her man was sitting up on the floor, his back against her couch. «What is yer name, lass?» he asked.

«Tara.» She smiled, awkward. «And yours?»

«I am Ulick.»

«Ah. Pleased to meet you. The bath is ready. Can you stand?»

«Nay, lass, not without yer aid.»

How was she going to do this? Ulick made the question superfluous when he struggled to pull himself up on to the couch. She hurried to his side, grasped his arm and helped. He soon slumped on her couch, breathing hard, eyes closed, as if he’d run a mile. She sat down beside him, suppressed the urge to stroke his forehead with her fingers, the even greater urge to stare at his crotch. Minutes passed before he opened his eyes again.

«Ready?» Tara asked.

«Aye.»

She slid her hand behind his back, then dragged him with her into a standing position. He leaned heavily on her, and Tara thanked her lucky stars she only had to get him to the bathroom. Step by staggering step they made their way down the short passage. Holding him this close, she could still feel him shivering. Wouldn’t it be nice to feel this firm body warm against her?

He crumpled in a heap on to the mat when they made it, one hand grasping the rim of the bath.

Her mobile phone rang.

«Damn. Just wait here.» She sprinted down the passage to the sitting room, grabbed the thing just in time. It was Dullaghan. She forced words from a suddenly dry mouth. «Good morning, Doctor D. How are you?»

«I’m grand, thank you. Thomas found your note, but you were nowhere to be seen.»

«Yeah, it started raining cats and dogs, so I left. It was still early, I didn’t want to wake him up.»

«Great. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, did it?»

Oh, God, he knew. «No, nothing. I scraped away another layer before I left, but nothing came up.»

«Okay. Well, as long as you’re all right.»

«I am. Just a bit muddy. I was about to get in the bath.» She screwed her eyes shut and bit her lip. That had been a mistake. He’d wonder why she was only going to wash now. «I had to wait for the boiler to heat.»

«Mmm. I find a shower usually does it for me. So you found nothing so far?»

«Nothing.»

«Well then. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy your bath.»

Tara ended the call, nothing but a nauseous hollow where her stomach used to be. He suspected something was amiss, she was sure. There was nothing she could do about it now, though. She just had to remember to fix those wires at the fence as soon as possible. Right now, she had to focus on Ulick. She plonked the phone on the coffee table, dashed back to the bathroom and froze.

Ulick sat naked on the floor, hanging on to the side of the bath, eyes closed. An unexpected heat flushed her skin. She stared at him for long seconds before she realized what she was doing and quickly closed the door. Damn! This was really awkward. She was sure he’d need help getting in the bath, but.

«Lass. Do not be shy, I need yer aid.»

Tara tried to swallow away the dryness in her mouth and pushed the door open again. Ulick looked up at her, unashamed. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. His body was lean, muscles sculpted but not gym-bunny over-perfect.

«A hand, lass.» He reached out to her, and Tara stepped closer without hesitation. She helped him up, and he half climbed, half fell into the bath. For long moments, he simply lay in the water, soaking up the heat, eyes closed.

When he lifted his head, she noticed a difference in the movement. It didn’t look like a terrible effort any more. «I need to bring word to the King. He is in great danger.»

Tara’s heart ached. «I hate to break this to you, but whatever message you had to deliver is a little late. Very late, actually.»

He rested his head against the bath again, a determined set to his firm lips. «Nay. It is not too late.»

«What year do you think it is?» she asked.

«I do not know what year I find myself in now. The year I was last conscious. I know not what year that was, either. I had stepped.» He closed his eyes and sighed. «How did ye find me?»

«I work on an archaeological dig. You were buried, two feet under the surface.»

«And ye knew the resurrection ritual?»

She shook her head. «No. I’m an archaeologist, not a magician. I have no idea how I managed to wake you up.»

Ulick opened his eyes, a flash of sharp interest in them. «Ye did not know the ritual, but ye resurrected me?»

Tara nodded. «Aye. I mean, yes. I have no idea how that happened.» She braced herself. «Are you human?»

Ulick smiled. «Nay, lass. I am of the old race, the Tuatha Dé Danaan.»

She suppressed the urge to snort a laugh. «You’re a fairy?»

«Aye. I am of the Fae.» He opened his mouth as if to say more, then closed it as if deciding not to. «I must get to the King. He is in grave danger. Will ye take me to him?»

«Ulick.» How would she put this? «You’ve been buried a long time. Whatever king you needed to give a message to is long dead.»

«Nay. He lives. He lives and rules. By the grace of Rónán Tiarna an Ama I will not be too late.»

She’d break it to him gently, when he was stronger. The last thing she wanted to do was crush the spirit that shone in his eyes. «Do you want some soap? Shampoo?»

He frowned, uncertain. «Pray tell, what is sham-pooh?»

It took three baths for Ulick to finally be clean. Tara had a spare toothbrush and Ulick seemed to know what to do with it, though toothpaste was strange to him. Tara threw some clothes on, dirty as she was, and used the time he was in the bath to drive to Newry and buy two pairs of tracksuit pants and three T-shirts she hoped would fit him.

He emerged from the bathroom minutes after she got back, only a towel wrapped around his waist. Tara forgot to breathe. An unfamiliar tightness gripped her lower belly.

«My clothes?» he asked, sheepish.

«You were buried long enough for your clothes to decay. There was nothing left but a belt buckle.»

Tara watched him take in that bit of information. Ulick shrugged, unperturbed. «What do men wear in this time?»

«I put some clothes on the bed in the spare room for you, down the passage there. Right now, I’m quite desperate for a bath myself.»

Half an hour later, clean and fresh, Tara padded back into her sitting room on bare feet. Ulick was fully dressed and fast asleep on the couch, but he woke up when she came near. For a moment, Tara was at a loss for words.

Ulick met her stare. «I am very hungry,» he said, his voice a near physical touch to her cheek.