Verica seems truly pleased with my gift to her, but even more pleased with the attention she gets from those assembled in the house. Her new title, 'Ambassador to the NiaFer", rests on her like a fine new cloak. She is a proud woman, sometimes almost too proud, raised with many fine things and the adulation which comes of being the chieftains daughter. Some of that, she will still have here. Old habits die hard. However, I wonder if it will be enough to satisfy her needs. I see how some of the warriors look upon her, when she primps and preens and struts about. There is a hunger in their eyes which is not reflected in her own. She seems to be comparing each with the great fire-haired War Chief of the NiaFer, and finding they do not measure up to her new-set standards. I will do what I can... what I must... to maintain the peace between her and the rest. My warriors have great respect for Dobhar, and will not do anything to lessen his respect for them. I will speak to them, just to make certain that they do nothing foolish.

After the meeting, I see Galan and Huctia help Verctissa to her feet. She is nearing her time, and has some trouble getting about. I was surprised that the Bard MacMorna did not come with us. However, he has his duties to the clan. I had no special gift for her, but the Bard had sent treasures of his own. Clothing and adornments, she has in plenty. And, there is the gift she carries within her. When she returns to Inver Colpa at Beltaine, she will take that gift back to him.

Most everyone has left the meeting house. An old man comes in to tend the fire. I take my own Barita by the hand and walk back to our own house. The leavings from our supper have been cleared away and our bed has been made ready by the women who look after my lady. Our son already sleeps in his cozy nook. Barita turns to snuff out the remaining oil lamps, but I stay her hand. Reaching into my bag, I pull out the gift I had saved for her. "From the Queen of the NiaFer to the Queen of the Cruithni," I say, handing her the heavy golden torque. She turns it in her hands, admiring the shape and the designs chased into the surface. From the smile on her face, I am thinking she likes it. She tries it on, then places it in a box with her other treasures. She goes about, darkening the place, and we crawl into bed. It is good to be home.