14
Ireland
December 2006
“Hello,” said a soft male voice.
From her huddled sitting position, under the wings of an angel hovering over a tomb, Laetitia started.
A man was standing in front of her. She hadn’t seen or heard him approaching.
“What are you doing here?”
She raised her chin. “I could ask the same of you. This is private ground.”
“I know.” He threw back his hood. Under the moonlight, his curly hair was like gold, in hues Laetitia had never imagined. His eyes were blue with a navy-blue rim; his skin, perfect. A cleft in his chin made him look younger than his thirty-two years and gave him a mischievous air. “I came here to join your peace.”
Tall and lean, he was dressed in the handmade costume of the brotherhood: a black organic-cotton cloak over a simple black organic-co
