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lord's presence, but were instead as still as sleeping mice. "These men have brought me here because they believe I have a geis. They think I am destined to marry a young lady from this cottage, and that is why we have come here at this strange hour. " Trevallyan watched the woman for a reaction but could find none behind the many wrinkles on her face.
    "I know why ye have come," she said, her voice dispassionate, or perhaps disconsolate.
    "The reverend told you?"
    "He did not."
    "But you know of our business here tonight?"
    The crone smiled at him, a strangely sad smile, one that showed her only two remaining teeth. "I am Grania, a seer, Lord Trevallyan. I know many things that others do not. "
    Trevallyan gave the priest a discreet look of disbelief, but Father Nolan was staring at Grania as if he were in awe of her every word.
    "Come sit down to the fire. " The crone waved to the only chair in the small keeping room. It was a sturdy, oak, three-legged chair black with age and smoke.
    Trevallyan refused. "Your hospitality is generous, Mistress Grania, but we won't be staying long. "
    "This business will not take ye long, I wager. " Grania looked at him, studying his face with the same fervor as she might inspect a golden chalice. "Ye be a growed man now, Lord Trevallyan. And ye've come here to seek a bride. "
    "I've come to indulge my elders, " he corrected, his expression lean and rational even in the distorting shadows. "I don't believe in the Trevallyan geis. "
    Grania nodded, as if she understood. "And yet ye are here. And ye want to meet her. "
    "They tell me you have a daughter. "
    "Brilliana was conceived of magic. The faeries took hold of my womb and gave me a child when all reason said I was too old to have one. "
    Trevallyan gave Father Nolan another glance of incredulity. This time the father saw it, and he shifted his feet as if suddenly uncomfortable.
    "How old is Brilliana?" he asked, wanting fervently to quit this business with all expediency.
    "Brilliana turned twenty a month before. "
    "Is she here?" Trevallyan's gaze wandered to a moldering curtain that divided the hovel.
    Grania took his hand in her own twisted one. He was surprised that it felt gentle and warm despite its knobs and calluses.
    "My Lord Trevallyan, let me show ye my daughter. I want ye to see her beauty. "
    There were tears in the hag's eyes as she spoke.
    Niall's expression grew sober. "Introduce me to your daughter, old woman, but don't harbor false hopes in your breast, for I cannot promise to marry her. I'll only marry a woman I love. "
    The crone smiled. "Have they told ye the fourth part of the geis, my lord?"
    Trevallyan shook his head.
    " 'Tis not ye who have the choice of love. No, the fourth part of the geis states that ye must win her love. Whether ye love her or not, 'tis a cruelty for ye alone to bear. " Her smile widened. She held his hand tight as she led him through the curtain.
    One lone candle sputtered in a pool of wax, keeping a weak vigil in the dark bedroom. There was a pile of rotting rags in one corner, the stench of the chamberpot, and a small rope bed shoved into the corner with a woman lying upon it.
    "Here is my daughter, Lord Trevallyan. Take the candle and judge her beauty for yeself. " Grania handed him the pewter candleholder.
    For some strange reason, Niall was hesitant to go forth. The firelight from the keeping room flickered behind him, and he knew the old men had opened the curtain to watch this hallowed meeting. He studied the supine figure on the bed, uncomfortable with the notion that Grania was offering up her daughter for his perusal while she lay sleeping.
    Distaste twisted his features. He was not in the habit of disturbing a young woman's slumber, nor to look upon her as if she were a common Belfast prostitute. Not in Lir. He wanted to refuse, but to do so would only prolong this hysteria. And the old crone's hope of a match between him and her daughter.
    He stepped toward the girl. She slept