I frowned. “You almost make it sound as if Conor should one day be head of the family,” I said. “But what about Liam? He’s always been our leader, ever since Mother told him he had to be; and he’s the eldest.”

“There are leaders, and leaders. Don’t underestimate any of your brothers, Sorcha,” said Father Brien. “Now eat, the two of you, for today’s work is by no means over.”

But we had no appetite, and the bread and cheese were still barely touched when Finbar said his farewells and with some reluctance turned his pony’s head in the direction of home. His parting shot to me was not spoken aloud.

I still don’t trust your Briton. You’d better give him a message from me. Tell him, if he lays a finger on you again, he’ll have not just me but the six of us to answer to. Make sure you tell him that.

I refused to take this seriously. Finbar, threatening violence? Hardly.

I’ll tell him no such thing. You’re starting to sound just like your big brothers. Now get going, and leave me to deal with this. And don’t worry about me, Finbar. I’ll be fine.

“Hm,” he said aloud in a very brotherly way. “Where have I heard that before? Maybe it was just before you climbed the fence to pat the prize bull; or perhaps it was the time you were so sure you could jump across that creek just as well as Padriac could, even with your short legs? Remember what happened then?”

“Be off with you!” I retorted, giving the pony a sharp smack on the rump, and he was away. In the cave, the dog began to bark. It was time to get back to work.

Chapter Three

Some broken things you can’t mend. Some you have to put together very slowly, piece by fragile piece, waiting until the last bit of work is strong enough before you try the next. It takes a lot of patience.

It was thus with Simon. Finbar’s visit had set us back a good deal, and I had first to repair that damage before starting again on the long process of healing. Simon had made a bargain with me, and it seemed he was a man of his word. Therefore, though he was often in the blackest state of mind, with little will for survival in his damaged body, he would always grit his teeth and follow my orders.

Six or seven days went by, and we moved on with painful slowness. Nighttime was the worst. Because Simon would not tolerate Father Brien’s help, it was I who must attend his every need, though the good father assisted me as subtly as he could by making sure cloths and salves were close at hand, by keeping linen fresh and providing food and drink, as if by magic, whenever I might find myself free to partake of it. I wondered, sometimes, at the ready supply of such items here in his isolated dwelling. It came to me that Simon might not be the first fugitive to pass this way, and be offered healing and sustenance in this quiet sanctuary. And who better to maintain a steady provision of life’s necessities than the silent Finbar, who traversed the woodland as unobtrusively as if he, himself, were a creature of the wild? Despite Father Brien’s support, I was tired, with a bone-deep weariness I had never known before. I used the goldenwood as sparingly as I could. With its help, Simon slept for a short span before the nightmares began, and I learned to fall asleep the instant he did, since for me too this was the only time of respite.