“The Briton won’t get far,” said Donal sourly. “Not in the state he was in. Not in this forest. Hardly worth going after him.”

On the second day, Eilis and her retinue left for home, with their own six men and two of ours as escort. The weather was turning; gusts of cool wind whipped the skirts of the ladies and the cloaks of their men-at-arms, and scudding clouds raced across the sun. Conor, as the eldest son still home and therefore de facto master of the house, bid Eilis a formal farewell and invited her to return when things settled down. Eilis thanked him prettily for the hospitality, though in my eyes it had been somewhat lacking. I wondered how long she’d have to wait to see Liam again, and whether she minded very much. Then I forgot her, for Finbar appeared at supper the next night, as if he’d never been away. Padriac, absorbed in his own pursuits, had hardly noticed his brother’s absence; Conor made no comment. I stared at Finbar across the table, but his thoughts were concealed from me and his eyes were intent on his plate. His hands breaking bread, lifting a goblet, were steady and controlled. I waited restlessly until the meal was over, and Conor stood, signaling permission to leave. I followed Finbar outside, slipping behind him like a smaller shadow, and confronted him in the long walk under the willows.

“What happened? Where were you?”

“Where do you think?”

“Taking that boy somewhere, that’s what I think. But where?”

He was quiet for a bit, probably working out how little he could get away with telling me.

“Somewhere safe. It’s best if you don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I meant what I said before. From Father’s point of view, or Liam’s, what we have done is an act of base treachery, and should incur the harshest of penalties. It would matter little, in the end, that we are our father’s own children.”

“All we did was save someone from being hurt,” I said, knowing there was far more to it than that.

“In its simplest terms, maybe. But it is, at the same time, a betrayal. We have stabbed our own kin in the back; set free a spy. To them it’s all black and white, Sorcha.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“There are no sides, not really. It’s more a case of where you come from. Don’t the Britons come here to seize our lands, learn our secrets, destroy our way of life? To help them is to go against kinship and brotherhood and all that’s sacred. That’s the way most people see it. Maybe it’s the way we should see it.”

After a long time I said, “But life is sacred, isn’t it?”

Finbar chuckled. “You should have been a brithem, Sorcha. You always find the argument I can’t answer.”

I raised my brows at him. I, with my bare feet and straggly hair, a maker of judgments? I found it hard enough to tell the difference between right and wrong sometimes.