CHAPTER ONE<br >IF THERE WAS ANY correlation between bad luck with<br >men and a poor sense of direction， Kate Neeson<br >thought it might explain a whole lot about her life.<br > She was lost. Again. She turned off the ignition and<br >peered gloomily through the window of the rented<br >Peugeot at the unfamiliar Irish countryside. Isolated<br >cottages， stunted windswept trees and stone walls.<br >Endless stone walls. Around the twists and turns of<br >the road， she d caught glimpses of pale ocean merg-<br >ing into pale sky. Before the road started climbing<br >again， she d heard the low roar of waves breaking.<br >On the coast， obviously， but in Ireland that wasn t<br >much help.<br > With a sigh， she reached for the map and spread it<br >out over the passenger seat. Cragg s Head， the village<br >where she d arranged to meet a local reporter， was<br >barely more than a dot on Connemara s ragged coast.<br >She d set up the meeting before she left the States，<br >but had forgotten to ask him for directions. Jet-lagged<br >and cold， she rubbed her eyes. On the map， the area<br >looked like a piece of china， picked up and hurled to<br >the ground in a tantrum.<br > Momadh had fallen from Connemara s steep cliffs<br >nearly a year ago. Kate tucked her hands under her<br >arms， chilled by the damp air seeping into the car.<br >Moruadh， the young Irish folksinger whose songs of<br >