I walk as quickly as I can through the busy dún in search of Valeria and SummerIsle, careful not to alarm anyone with my hastiness. First I find Valeria talking to the new smith. Not wanting to interrupt their conversation I play with his wolf, who responds well to the natural affinity our clan has with his ilk. At an opportune moment I deliver Briar's message to the brave lady warrior who helped to rescue me and my sisters from the sidhe wolves and excuse myself to continue searching for the seannachie.

I cross paths with him part way between the kitchen and Briar's bower and can only assume he's sniffing about for Siofra. Fascinated to learn what it is she sees in him, I greet him with my sweetest sing-song voice and entice him to speak with me a while. Perhaps he will even find a coin in my curls, or make a silken ribbon appear.

"Ah, there you are!" I chant in deliberately warm honeyed tones. "Briar wishes you and Valeria to escort her to the feis."

"It will be an honour!" he says a tad too enthusiastically while shifting from one foot to another, then slyly asks after Siofra. Men! I look him up and down playfully and decide to toy with him a while before answering.

"Siofra? Hmmm...last I saw her she was attending Briar, but she may have returned to the kitchen to prepare the Counsel meal," I say with a tap of my foot and a twinkle in my eye.

As SummerIsle blathers on anxiously about Siofra, Briar, Valeria and the Counsel, I wonder if I've taken my teasing too far. Just as I'm about to console him with the truth of her whereabouts, Amlaidh bursts upon the scene scowling protectively like the leader of the pack. We both jump at the sudden intrusion and SummerIsle excuses himself to continue his search for Siofra.

Whether or not he knows it I cannot say, but the fierce scowl on Amlaidh's face makes him all the more attractive. I quickly push aside such thoughts, for he is too much an older brother to me. I notice the cruit-shaped object wrapt in what looks like a mála cruite made of speckled white kid skin he's hiding under his brat. Curious, I move closer to sneak a peek, but he waves me away.

"Go tend to your business little Una," he growls in a stern fatherly tone.

I hang my head in shame at my foolishness and excuse myself. As I hurry along the path to Briar's, the wind whispers encouraging words in my ear, "And you shall be generously rewarded mo lonrach méar."

Did I imagine it, or did my toiseach really say "Shining Fingers?"

___

mála cruite - a harp-bag for a master harper