I dismount with the others when we reach the camp. We could see their fire from the road. I smell the bog. This must be on the Laigin border. That could be why they don't care about hiding.

The archer and his wife end up reining in almost right beside me. I have to have another look at her, she's so strange. The archer misunderstands my fascination and tries to step between us, defending his rights to her. Numb-legged from the long ride, his feet tangle and he falls, taking her with him. Choking back a laugh, I go to catch up with the rest of this strange group, who are all heading towards the camp fire.

Hadaig must sense that I am after him. Maybe he knows I'm onto his bull-thieving ways. Either that or he's jealous of the lusty looks I am getting from his baneful Baine. Daringly, I plant myself next to her. He glares at me while she flashes her eyelashes at me and licks her lips. Then the leader of the Laigin men, Datho, draws Hadaig into a gushy greeting, pulling him into their circle.

That's when I see Morann. My worst nightmares come to life. My throat strangles with a shuddering, drowning breath, remembering. I tremble all over. I want to take my sword and slash him down. I'm quick, I could do it before anyone else has a chance to strike me. My heart hammers in my chest. I can't move.

My feet tread slowly backwards while the rest of me shivers so hard my teeth rattle. I melt away from the light, the heat, the fire and Morann. The more distance between us, the better I feel.

When I can breathe again, it is with huge gasping sobs. I lean against my horse and hang on its neck. I don't have the strength to mount and ride off. It was a horrible shock, coming so suddenly face to face with the man who tried to kill me. Ever since then I have dreamed and schemed of how it would be if our paths ever crossed again. I don't think he recognized me. He wouldn't expect to see me, even if I was not wearing a guise. He's quite sure that my body is feeding the fishes in the lough. What is he doing here? With Samhain so near, it must be that a sacrifice will be offered. Morann is especially trained for that, some say he has a gift for it. It takes a certain kind of man.

He must die. I steady myself against my horse, absently stroking its neck and thinking mad, wild thoughts. If a sacrifice is needed, does it matter who? Once I was meant to be sacrificed. A gift to the gods, he said and sneered. What better gift to the gods than a high ranking druid?