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"I met your family," I reminded him.

"You stood atop a cliff for five minutes and exchanged a grand total of four words with my father," he said in exasperation. "And it was years ago. Come now." He waved one arm around at the woods. "You've shared every part of your life with me. Is it asking so much of you to let me share a little piece of mine?"

"No," I murmured.

"So you'll come?"

I sighed. "I will."

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHT

I expected my mother to speak against the visit to Innisclan, but she didn't. "You'll pass the night there?" was all she asked.

"Aye," I said. "I promised Cillian I'd stay for supper, and it will be too late to return afterward." I hesitated. "I won't go if you'd rather I didn't."

"No, no." She shook her head. "Whatever life you choose for yourself, you need to choose out of knowledge, not ignorance. Go."

So I did.

Cillian wanted to dress me in borrowed finery, but I refused. "Let them meet me as I am," I said to him. "If they reckon I'm not good enough to sit at Lord Tiernan's table, no amount of lace and baubles will change their minds."

He blew out his breath. "Gods, but you're as stubborn as your mother!"

"And rude, too," I reminded him.

"Aye." He grinned. "But oh, so very, very sweet in other ways."

It was afternoon when we rode into Innisclan, me behind Cillian on his long-legged gelding. It had been five years since the pilgrimage to Clunderry, and it felt strange to leave the untamed spaces to which I was accustomed. Cattle grazed in meadows marked by low stone fences. Here and there, we saw people who called out greetings to Cillian. When they saw me, they stared, curious. It made my skin prickle and I fought the urge to summon the twilight and conceal myself from their prying gazes.

At the top of a rise, we halted and regarded the green hollow below.

"Innisclan," Cillian said in satisfaction.

It was a vast stone hall surrounded by outlying buildings. Cillian pointed out the mill and the smithy and the Academy founded by Eamonn mac Grainne and his Skaldic bride. In an adjacent field, a group of young men played a vigorous game involving sticks and a ball. When we drew near, they hailed him with shouts.

"Cillian, lad!"

"Come, give us a hand!"

And then they saw me and went quiet.

"That's the witch's daughter," someone murmured. Aye.

"'I'd fancy a piece o' that," another voice declared boldly.

There was heat in their eyes. I could feel it on my skin—an itch of a different sort. It set the wings to fluttering in my belly in an unthinking response, but it made me nervous, too. There was no care in their regard, only hunger. I was glad when Cillian shook his head at them and kept riding.

Desire, I thought, could be a dangerous gift.

At the stable, Cillian dismounted and helped me down. The freckled lad to whom he gave the chestnut's reins stared at me with frank awe.

"Witch-girl." Cillian kissed my lips. "Come. Meet my family."

I went with him.

The doors to the hall of Innisclan were tall. Wood, bound with steel. One of Lord Tiernan's men inclined his head to Cillian, doing his best not to stare at me. The tall doors swung open. Despite the brightness of the day, it was dark inside. I hesitated on the lintel, curling my toes on the cool stone. I'd never been inside a man-made dwelling.

"There's naught to harm you here, Moirin," Cillian said softly. "I swear it."

"Moirin!" A young woman hurried toward us, her arms extended. She caught my hands in hers and squeezed them, her eyes bright. "You've come at last."

"This is Aislinn," Cillian said. "My sister the heir."

She hadn't been at the meeting atop the cliff, but I would have known who she was without him telling me. They both had a look of their father.

"Well met." Aislinn kissed me on both cheeks. Still holding my hands in hers, she regarded me. "Dagda Mor! Cillian, she's a vision to be sure, but could you not at least have offered the lass the loan of a decent gown and a pair of shoes?"