She was fair. Cormack had been right. Her hair was a curtain of dark fire, and her skin the white of new milk. It was the eyes that gave her away. When she glanced at my father, all merry sweetness, they were innocent and loving. But gaze right into their mulberry depths, as I did, and you would quail at what you saw there. Their message to me was plain: I am here now. There can be no place for you.

Her voice tinkled like bells. “Your daughter, Colum? Oh, how sweet! And what is your name, my dear?” I stared at her mutely as the steam began to rise from my clothing.

“Sorcha, you are not fit to be seen!” said Father curtly, and in fact he was right. “You shame me, appearing before your mother in such a state of dishevelment. Be off, tidy yourself, and then return here. You do me no credit.”

I looked at him. Mother?

The lady Oonagh broke the awkward silence with a peal of laughter. “Oh, nonsense, Colum, you are too hard on the child! See, you have hurt her feelings! Come, my dear, let us take off this wet cloak, and you must warm yourself by the fire. Where on earth have you been? Colum, I cannot believe you let her go off by herself like this—she could catch her death of cold. That’s better, little one—why, you’re shivering. Later we’ll have a talk, just you and me—I have brought some pretty things with me, and it will be such fun picking out something lovely for you to wear at the wedding feast. Green, I think. I fear your wardrobe has been sadly neglected.” She ran an appraising eye over my homespun gown, my well-worn overtunic which bore many old stains: tincture of elderberry, rosemary oil. And blood.

I opened my mouth to speak, but the words refused to form themselves, and instead I felt a great weariness overwhelm me. My mouth stretched into a huge yawn and my legs turned to jelly under me.

“Sorcha!” Father reprimanded. “This is too much! Can you not—” But she overruled him again, all solicitude.

“My poor girl, what have you been up to?” Her arm around me was an icy fetter. “Come now, you must rest—time enough for talk later. Your brother can see you to your room, for you are dead on your feet—Diarmid, my dear?”

And it was only then I realized my second brother had been there all the time, in the shadows behind the lady Oonagh’s chair. He came forward, eager to assist, his dimples showing as he gave her a sidelong look, then took my arm to escort me away. She glanced at him under her lashes.

Diarmid babbled on at me all the way to my bedchamber. How wonderful she was, how vibrant and youthful, how amazing it was that such a beauteous creature had agreed to marry Father who was, after all, getting on in years and not so virile anymore.