Lake of Sorrows

She took it, knowing that, whatever happened, she would never let it go. She would carry it with her always, that hopeful pledge, unspoken. She pulled him down beside her and they lay in the tall grass, limbs tangled together, gazing up into the fairy tree’s wild profusion. She thought of what faced each of them in the days to come—an opportunity to look death in the face, to find out more about themselves and the people they loved than they ever wished to know. She would be far from this sanctuary. She knew it was just an illusion, that there was no real protection here, no place of safety, and yet she felt it more strongly than in any other place she’d ever been.

As if he’d been reading her thoughts, Cormac turned to her and said, “There’s just one thing… I don’t want you to go around thinking you’re invincible, now that you have that.” He reached out and fingered the hazel knot. “It may be powerful, but it doesn’t mean you can throw caution to the wind. Please be careful, Nora.”

She hadn’t told him the real reason she was going home. How would she have explained it—that she hoped to prevent her sister’s killer from claiming any new victims? But at that moment she realized that Cormac knew why she had to go and that, even if he feared for her, he understood.

The sun hung just above the western horizon, a bright orange disc in the dark haze of churned-up peat dust. She thought once again of Mide, the middle province, and felt Cormac close beside her. If she left now, it was possible that they would never find their way back to this place. Would she remember this spot as a sanctuary, or as a place of sacrifice? Perhaps the ancients had been right in their belief that those things were one and the same.

Keeping Cormac’s hand tightly clasped in her own, Nora sat up and faced out toward Loughnabrone, Lake of Sorrows, thinking of the ancient people who had named this place. What sacrifices, what sorrows, what infinite griefs had they borne here? What riddles had they tried to answer about the beginning of life and its end? She held very still and watched a solitary heron wading slowly, elegantly through the shallows until a passing flash of silver caught its downcast eye.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

M any thanks to the people who helped with research for this book: Barry Raftery, for help with all things archaeological, and for his wonderful book Pagan Celtic Ireland; archaeologists Jane Whitaker and Ellen O’Carroll, who answered hundreds of questions, and allowed me access to their bog excavations; Conor McDermott, Cathy Moore, and Cara Murray, of the Irish Archaeological Wetland Unit, whose knowledge of bog archaeology could fill volumes; Dr. John Harbison, Ireland’s state pathologist, for sharing his vast experience of crime scenes; Heather Gill-Robinson, for sharing her expertise on bog preservation; Kevin Barry, for showing me where he found the body in the bog, and his wife, Betty, for her hospitality; Eamon Dooley, for his fascinating history of Bord na Mona at Boora; Paul Riordan, Boora Bog general manager; Boora workshop foreman Cormac Carroll, and all the men at the workshop; Eddie O’Sullivan, of the Federation of Irish Beekeeping Associations, and John Donoghue, who let me tag along around his apiary one soggy afternoon; retired Garda Siochana officer Patrick J. Cleary, for continuing advice and information on police procedure; Daithi Sproule, for helping once again with Irish translations; and finally all the wonderful musicians who have inspired the music in this book. Thanks also to my remarkable editors, Susanne Kirk at Scribner and Carolyn Caughey at Hodder & Stoughton; to Sarah Knight at Scribner, for her invaluable support; and to my incomparable agent, Sally Wofford-Girand. To all who offered encouragement, most especially my writers’ group, my family, and my wonderful husband, go raibh mile maith agaibh.

Also by Erin Hart

HAUNTED GROUND

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Pocket Star Book published by POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

Copyright (c) 2004 by Erin Hart

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ISBN: 1-4165-3192-0

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