“Perhaps wealth and power had something to do with it.” I ventured to interrupt the flow of my brother’s words.

“Now, now, Sorcha,” Diarmid chided me as we made our way up the broad stone steps. “Do I detect a note of jealousy here? You weren’t happy about Liam’s betrothal, I recall. Perhaps you prefer to be the only lady of the house, is that it?”

I turned on him angrily. “Do you know me so little? At least Eilis is—is harmless. This woman is dangerous; I don’t know why she is here, but she will destroy our family if we let her. You are beguiled by her, as Father is. You don’t see her—you see some sort of—of ideal, a phantom.”

Diarmid laughed at me. “What would you know? You’re only a child. And besides, you have barely met her. She’s a wonderful woman, little sister. Perhaps now she is here, you can learn to grow up a lady.”

I stared at him, deeply wounded by his words. Already the pattern of our existence was beginning to break up around me. We had teased one another endlessly, had joked and quarreled as brothers and sisters do. But we had never been cruel to one another. The fact that he couldn’t see it just made it worse. And I could not talk to him, for he no longer heard me. We reached my room, and Diarmid was quickly gone, all eagerness to attend again on his newfound goddess.

I dismissed the serving woman who was hovering, and undressed myself. A fire had been lit, and I sat before it with a blanket around me and stared into the flames. Despite my exhaustion, sleep was slow to come, for my mind was crowded with thoughts and images. Perhaps I was being foolish, maybe she was just a well meaning gentlewoman who had fallen for our father’s so-called charms. But something felt wrong. I thought of what Cormack had said. Conor doesn’t like her. I had seen the message in the lady Oonagh’s eyes, for all her honeyed words to me. There was something deeply unsettling about Diarmid’s fawning admiration, and my father’s readiness to be overruled by his lady. And the way servants were scurrying about nervously, as if afraid of taking a wrong step.

And what of Simon? It was still afternoon; he would be waiting alone for Father Brien’s return. No teller of tales to fill his silent day, to blot out his visions. No friend to banter with, not even the loyal dog, unquestioning companion in the darkest times. I imagined him watching as the sun moved overhead and down below the trees, waiting for the sound of cartwheels up the track. At least he would not be alone after nightfall.

Finally I lay down and slept. The fire burned away to embers, but my candle flickered on, so that when I woke suddenly some time later, the room was alive with shadows. For a few moments I was back in the cave, and I jumped up wide-eyed, ready to confront the nightmare. But this time there was no screaming; the stone walls were heavily silent, the unicorn and owl on my single tapestry moved slightly in the draft. I lay down again, but Simon was in my thoughts, perhaps even then wrestling with his demons, and I told an old story, silently in my head, until I fell asleep once more.