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She bit her lip and made no answer, for he was right. But now, even knowing all she knew of him, she could not accept it as the truth. How many nights had she stared with aching eyes into the darkness, reliving every detail of her Beltane dream? How many days had she clutched its memory against her as she went about her work, the marks of Brodie's hand upon her skin?

And all that time he had been a living man, warm and strong and real, not a dream and never hers at all.

"Well, I have neither hawk nor hound—nor lady fair-o, for that matter," he said with a wry twist of his lips. "Perhaps 'tis not time yet."

"How can you jest about it?" she asked in a horrified whisper.

"How can I not?" he answered with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "I've known since spring they boded me no good."

"The lady—in the song—she must have known the knight was dead if she took another mate so quickly."

"Murdered by his lady's will," Alistair said thoughtfully. "And the man who made the song—'twas he who did the deed, no doubt. Weel, then, I'll just have to steer clear of taking a wife who'd like to see me dead."

Deirdre wrapped her arms about herself and shivered. "Don't say that," she whispered. "You mustn't joke of it."

"I'm sorry," he said at once. "I didna mean to worry you."

"You did that just by walking in here tonight."

"Dinna fear, lady," he answered with a grin. "I'm not the kind of fool who goes about babbling his every dream."

"It was my dream."

He laughed, his eyes lighting with amusement. Such beautiful eyes he had, the very color of the morning mist in Donegal. And his voice was beautiful, as well. The Scottish accent she had thought so harsh and ugly fell softly from his tongue. She dragged her gaze from his and glanced about nervously. "I cannot stay—"

"Aye, I know," he said gently, and now his eyes were dark with confusion and regret. "God go with ye, lady."

When Deirdre reached the passageway, she looked back to see Brodie holding forth in one part of the room, surrounded by a crowd of men. His fleshy face was red with ale and the excitement of the coming battle. He is Maeve's father, she reminded herself sternly. My husband. With a little shudder she slipped through the door.

CHAPTER 6

Deirdre heard the sounds of her daughter's screams before she reached the chamber. Maeve had been a delicate child from birth, prone to sudden fevers, and this last one had left her with a terrible pain in her ear.

When Deirdre hurried into the room, she found Anice, the nurse, spinning by the fire as Maeve screamed in her bed.

"How long has she been crying?" Deirdre demanded, scooping the child into her arms.

"Not long," Anice answered stolidly. "If ye but leave her lady, she'll settle back to sleep."

"Hush, wee one," Deirdre crooned, smoothing the damp tendrils of black hair from the baby's flushed cheeks. "Hush, now. Have you given her the onion I left?" she added to Anice.

The servant snorted. "Onions! Yer haverin', lady."

Deirdre didn't bother answering. She quickly sliced the onion and wrapped it in a bit of cheesecloth, then bound it tightly against Maeve's ear.

"There, sweeting," she said. "Soon it won't pain you at all. Have courage."

She paced back and forth before the hearth, then walked to the window and flung the shutter wide. "See?" she said. "All the stars are shining tonight."

Maeve drew a hitching breath and lifted her head to follow her mother's pointing finger.

"Look, sweeting, see how bright the stars are?"

Maeve began to let out another wail, then broke off to yawn.

"There's the dog star," Deirdre went on quietly. "A fine faithful hound he is. But instead of chasing rabbits, he chases the comets through the sky. And when he's lucky, he'll catch one by the tail and swallow it down whole. He has the whole sky to run through...and when the chase is done he lies down to sleep at his master's feet."

Maeve's head drooped against her shoulder and the child yawned again.