“Why does a Briton leave such a token?” he said finally. “Does he seek to place you at risk, should it be found? What could his purpose be? I have no doubt it reveals his identity, in some way unknown to us. You should destroy it.”

I snatched the little token back from him. “I will not.”

Finbar regarded me levelly. “Don’t get sentimental, Sorcha. This is war, remember—and you and I have broken the rules well and truly. We may have saved this boy’s life, and we may not. But don’t expect him to thank us for it. Campaigners don’t leave tracks behind them unless they want to be found. Or unless there is an ambush ready.”

“I will keep it safe,” I said. “I can hide it. And I know the risks.”

“I’m not sure you do, Sorcha,” said my brother. “The lady Oonagh is waiting, just waiting, to find any weak spot. Then, like the wolf at night, she’ll move in for the kill. You’re not very good at hiding your feelings, or at concealing the truth. She would have no mercy on you; and Father, once she told him, would exact full retribution from us both. And think what would happen to Conor, if his part in this were known. I regret ever telling you the full story. You’d have been better just to help me on that night and never know anymore.”

This brotherly remark was hardly worth commenting on. Besides, my mind was on other things.

“He can’t survive, can he?” I said bluntly.

“You know his chances better than I do,” said Finbar, frowning. “A fit man, in these conditions, with the wherewithal to make a fire and hunt game, might make his way across country and keep out of sight. You’d need to know where you were going.”

“It’s just such a waste!” I could not really express how I felt, but Finbar read my thoughts clearly enough—he was always good at getting past any shield I might try to put up.

“Let go of it, Sorcha,” he said. “Father Brien was right, there’s nothing any of us can do. If he’s gone, he’s gone. I suppose his chances of making his way to safety were never great.”

“So why do it? Why take such a risk?”

“Wouldn’t you rather die free?” he said.

I spent some time on my own in the stillroom, mostly just thinking, the slight weight of Simon’s carving a constant reminder of my bad news; it was well enough concealed in the small bag I wore at my belt, though a safer hiding place would be needed soon. I made up an elderberry salve, and swept the floor. Later, I went out, deciding that after all I was hungry. Fat Janis’s honey cake had not gone very far. Supper was not an attractive prospect, for on this important day the whole family would be expected to put in an appearance. Maybe a miracle would happen, and Father Brien would persuade my father to put off the wedding. Maybe.