Darragh pondered that thought as he watched Rónán approach the cradle rocking gently in the center of the room that was somehow different from before. The room was no longer warm or candlelit. It was dark and the walls were glistening in the moonlight seeping through a sliver in the closed curtains. There was no sign of the nurse. Darragh wondered if she'd run away or if her fate had been the same as everyone else who'd approached this nightmare. He watched Rónán step up to the cradle and stop to study it for a moment. The oak cradle was carved with elaborate Celtic knotwork, inlaid with softly glowing mother-of-pearl, just is it always was, but even from his vantage here in the shadows, he could see the mother-of-pearl was smeared with something that smelled like fresh blood. Dear God, is he really going to do this? Am I going to allow it? Am I going to stand back and do nothing while he kills my children? Rónán glanced down at the blade he carried. Darragh wondered if it would be enough.
