Looking up and down the table, and around the members of the household as they ate and drank and chattered among themselves, I wondered how many of them really thought me a threat. For they were, for the most part, good folk, hardworking, honest people who valued their simple, orderly life. Red provided well for them, they lived safe and secure, and in return they gave their labor and their loyalty. My presence there was like a small but constant disturbance in a still pond; the ripples spread and spread and upset the balance of things. Someone had cared enough about this to act against me. So far, only small things; but there was a deep unease in me, for small things could lead to larger ones, I had seen this all too well when Lady Oonagh came to Sevenwaters. And I was so close to the end of my task, closer all the time. Liam, Diarmid, Cormack, Conor. Finbar whose starwort shirt was growing fast, for I was working long and hard, shrugging off the pain. Soon there would be but one shirt to make, and then the spell would be broken, and I would go home. As long as I could finish the task. Briefly, I thought of going to Lady Anne, telling her what had happened to the dog, for I knew she would stamp hard on such mischievous behavior in her household, whatever she might think of me. But telling her was to add fuel to the argument for me to be sent to Northwoods, and that prospect struck a deep fear into me. There was something evil about Red’s uncle, a menace in his eyes and in his clever words that turned me cold in his presence. Sooner than go to his home, I would leave this place on my own, I would fend for myself again. I decided not to tell anyone about what had been done to Alys. Pretend I did not care. After all, what could anyone do about it?

I reckoned without Red. That was a mistake. That evening I was sewing in my room by lamplight, and there was a knock on the outer door. I could not call out “Who’s there?” and after everything, I would not open it blindly. Then I heard his voice.

“Open the door, Jenny.”

I went to the door with my work in my hands, and slipped the bolt. What was he doing there anyway? It was supposed to be Ben’s night on guard duty.

“Come out,” said Red. “I want to see your face.” For I had my back to the lamp. Leaving the door open, I stepped out into the garden, where the moon spread a soft, cool light over the blue-gray foliage of lavender and wormwood.

“Now look at me,” he said. “Look at me properly.”

I met his gaze, thinking he seemed tired; they had been long days in the fields, but the grooves around nose and mouth showed something more than the good weariness of the body after labor, and he looked thinner.