Justin's stomach rumbled loudly, bringing his attention back to his present miserable situation. He was so hungry that he could have eaten the nag beneath him, if there had been any more to it than skin and bone. It took a considerable amount of sustenance to keep his six-foot, two-inch, well muscled and very active body at its best. He had had nothing but a mug of ale and a cold scone all day. No wonder his stomach was making its displeasure felt! And he was getting colder by the minute. It was impossible for him to get any wetter the rain showed not the slightest sign of slacking off.

By the time he had crested the rise that brought him within sight of Maam's Cross Court, it had been dark for a full two hours. There was no moon, so it was impossible to see any of the surrounding countryside, which would in any case have been obscured by the relentless rain, but he knew the way well enough and was in no danger of slipping into one of the treacherous bogs with which the area abounded. As he drew close to the house, at last, Justin was surprised to see that the place was ablaze with light. Perhaps Stanton had managed to advise the Donovans of his impending arrival, and they were waiting to welcome him?

There was no one in the stables to receive his horse. Annoyed, he unsaddled the beast himself, rubbing it down, clapping a feedbag to its nose. Lord he was hungry. Striding toward the house, he promised himself that Megan's weren't the only ears due for a blistering. O'Bannon, who had charge of the stables, would certainly hear about this tomorrow!

As he mounted the shallow flight of stairs that led up to the front door of the three-storied stone house, he was astounded to hear music. Irish music. Wailing. Primitive. Lonely.