Holder of Lightning

Gianna’s face was grim when Jenna finished. "Tell me where this man and I will have him fetched here for you," she said. "There’s no need for you to expose yourself to danger, Jenna-and the Tanaise Rig will be upset if you are injured while you remain with us."

Jenna shook her head. "Banrion, I will have Lamh Shabhala to protect me Your gardai will be there only as a precaution. I want to do this myself- I want to see his face and hear his voice."

"Jenna-"

"Please, Banrion. I don’t know any longer who I can trust. I can only trust myself."

Jenna saw Cianna gather herself for another argument, but the Banrion finally dropped her shoulders. She coughed softly a few times, rising from her chair. Servants appeared as if summoned by the rustling of fabric, and the Banrion waved them away. "Come, then," she said. "We should give our farewell to your future husband, and pretend that none of us is plot-ting anything."

"I need four to stay out here and make certain that no one leaves until I’m finished." Jenna gestured to Labras, a tall, burly man with hair so red it almost seemed to burn and eyes as gray as storm clouds. She wasn’t sure she liked the man at all; he seemed to radiate violence, and the abundant scars on his face spoke to his familiarity with it. Yet if the Banrion trusted him… or maybe her reaction to him was only the haze of the anduilleaf. She’d taken two mugs of the brew before they’d left the Keep, knowing she might well be using the cloch, and the herb was like a fog over her mind that wouldn’t quite clear. "Labras, bring someone with you and follow me."

She touched Lamh Shabhala once as the three of them strode toward the door of the small, two-story house. She could feel O’Deoradhain, could feel the pattern of his energy motionless on the second floor. She could sense no fear or apprehension in him.

She decided that would soon change.

An elderly woman came scurrying from the kitchen as they opened the door, stopping suddenly and gaping with an open, toothless mouth at Jenna and the armed men behind her. There were two elderly men in the front parlor, huddled over a

ficheall board and staring with frightened yes at the intruders: Labras with a drawn sword, his companion holding a nocked and ready crossbow. "You have nothing to fear if you stay where you are," Jenna told them. "Widow Murrin, you have a man here named Ennis O'Deoradhain."

"First door to the left at the top of the stairs," the woman said hurriedly pointing, then hopping back as Jenna and the gardai pushed past her and up the stairs. Jenna heard the click of a door shutting as she reached the landing; in the expanded awareness of the cloch, she could feel O'Deoradhain's presence: still and quiet, even though she knew he must have heard the commotion below, the pounding of feet on the stairs and the jingling of the mail over the gardai's tunics. She could sense no danger in him, though, as she had with the assassin. He seemed to be waiting, calm. She started toward the door, but Labras shook his head. "He may have a bow or sword, ready to strike the first person through," he whis-pered. "Let me go in first." He seemed almost eager to do so.

"You needn't worry," Jenna said firmly. "He has a dagger, and it is in its sheath."

"How-?" Labras began, then saw her white-patterned hand touch the stone around her neck. An eyebrow interrupted by the pale line of a scar lifted and fell again. "So he has a dagger. You can see with that?"

"Aye," she told him. She pushed the door open. O'Deoradhain was leaning against a table on the far side of the room, arms folded across his chest.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to find me," he said. His gaze went past Jenna to the two gardai crowding the doorway. "You don't need them."

"No?" Jenna answered. "Strange. I expected you to be running like a frightened rabbit again, as you did the last time I saw you."

"If I were a 'frightened rabbit,' I wouldn't have come to Lar Bhaile at all," O'Deoradhain responded easily. "I wouldn't have made certain you saw me at du Val's. I wouldn't have made it so easy for that handsome, stupid boy with the golden throat to track me down."

His remark caused anger to flare in Jenna. She

grasped Lamh Shabhala, opening it slightly with her mind so that the cold, blue-white power filled her hand. "You knew where I was," she spat. "If you wanted to speak to me, you didn’t need this charade."