’ he gave her a stern look pulled her dress further, shook his head and said: ‘no dress for my slave.’He saw her inner struggle of resistance an... obedience in her face, and just as resistance seemed to win the battle he asked: ‘whip slave or no dress?’‘No whip.’ her voice whispered almost breathless.‘No dress, no whip!’ he promised.‘Yes, Sir. No … dress.’ She lowered her eyes again and blushed.He let go of her to watch her slowly slide her torn garment of her shoulders and down over her hips. ..All of us wide eyed and open mouthed in front of a roaring fire everyChristmas Eve believing every single one of my grandmother's many Celticand Gaelic fairy tales and stories of the wee folk, gleefully told in ahushed voice to make sure that only we in the room could ever hear and no-one else.Secret stories she'd said sternly, constantly wagging a warning fingerthat had been passed on down to her by her mother and grandmother ofstrange and inexplicable happenings, rituals and occasional. More

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