I back away from Sean and do my best to show a nasty snarl of protest. No one pays attention except the youngest and newest member of this wolf pack, a smooth-face lad who is out to gain favor and make his mark. He bumps his body against mine as I slink away, knocking me out of the circle, and growling threats, then he looks around proudly to see if anyone noticed. They are all too busy closing in on the unfortunate poet. Humiliated and angry, I distance myself from the men and sit with as much dignity as I can gather but stay close enough to hear what they may be planning.

Hiding under my hood, intent on inventing some plans of my own, I don't see or hear Baine beside me until I feel her arms around me.

"Baine, sweet Baine, I must leave here," I sigh and point a finger at the ring of men who have now built themselves a fire to roast meat and enjoy the rare entertainment of a poet - while he lasts. "That poet has been looking for me. He has a message from my home."

In the dark, I can't see her face. She stays silent. Her arms still encircle me. Maybe she is waiting for me to say more.

"Sean says the poet will be hostage for a ransom. Maybe he will use me as hostage too. I'm sorry but I must go. Will you come with me, back to Cruachu?"

There's no answer. When I saw her earlier today, she was upset but there was no chance to talk. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Now it's Baine's turn to sigh. She starts to speak just as Sean bellows like a prize bull in a meadow of heifers. "Outlaws of Magh Croimor!" He is reciting something like a poet himself. It brings me to my feet. After all, I am one of them yet.

"Imbolc rites and a bit of winter fun?" Baine echoes his words. "Tara? Well, that's good because Winter Mist -"

"I've got an idea!" I interrupt her. "I will offer myself as lure. What they really want is the princess Moriath herself, after they rob her of all she owns. Imagine the amount of ransom that would be paid, not for a poet, not for a vagabond mercencary, but for a princess!"

Baine's smile flashes in the night. Then, like a shooting star, it fades. "It might be dangerous," she says slowly. The words hang in the air between us before we both burst out laughing.

"Dangerous? What are we, pale princesses who've never seen the outside of their keep?" I giggle madly. The weight of worry flies away from me as Baine shares in the laughter.

"We are the women of Magh Croimor!" she cackles, flapping her cloak like raven's wings.

"Shhh! You'll give out my secret!" I hush her. "So we're all going to Tara."

"Yes, all of us," Baine answers with a touch of sadness, "including Ciara and Aidean's baby, who is really not their baby. Winter Mist will be taking him back to where he came from..."

I listen to her chilling story, made all the more horrifying as we sit outside the merry circle of firelight.