Conn gasped in a breath. The boy's jerkin had fallen open. The linen shirt clung to the hills and valleys of the heaving chest between Conn's thighs like a second skin. He cursed softly, staring at breasts that were small but well-shaped and undeniably feminine. The volatile child subdued beneath him was a girl, not a lad. The Fiannic oath promising gentleness to all women echoed through his mind, eliciting both anger and shame.

His body relaxed as he felt the girl's muscles yield. Her face dissolved in a paroxysm of grief, and the tears flowed, tracing a grimy path between her eyes and ears. Conn gently wiped her cheek with the back of his hand, wondering how he could have been so blind as to mistake her for a boy. He moved off her and gathered her up in his arms. Her body slumped as he stroked her short-cropped hair.

Her voice was muffled into his shoulder as she spoke three hoarse words. "Where is he?"

Conn spoke softly even as his hands tightened their grip. "If you speak of the one who was with you, he's dead."

As Conn gazed toward the brightening horizon, he hoped his words were true. He doubted any mortal could have survived such a wound. He briefly considered returning to the hills surrounding the cave to search for the lad's body, but he did not want to drag the girl along with him, nor did he dare leave her alone. She had stiffened at his words and he instinctively checked to make sure the dagger was still lying in the mud a few feet away.

"Please let me go," she said, lifting her head from his shoulder but avoiding his gaze.

"Why?" Conn asked. "So you can ambush me up the trail a few leagues from here?" He shook his h...