‘He asked me to make you a protective talisman. Something to carry with you. I told him I’d need a piece of cloth from one of your mother’s garments, if there are any, and something of his too. I thought he’d be back down to visit you and would bring them.’ There had been no sign of Tóla since he’d left his daughter at Winterfalls for the second time. As fathers went, I considered him a pretty poor one, for all his protestations that he loved his daughter. He might be a landholder and busy, but he was the only father Cara had. And he’d known how unhappy she was to be sent away.

I became aware of how long Cara had been silent. When I glanced at her, she was leaning against the yew’s trunk with her eyes closed. Not asleep; not so quickly. I waited.

‘You could go up to Wolf Glen and ask him,’ she said eventually, opening her eyes and lifting her head. ‘It would be a perfect excuse. You could find out how things are going with the heartwood house. And you could visit Grim.’

‘Your father would be angry. He’d think I was being a busybody.’

‘Not if you reminded him about the talisman and needing the things. Aunt Della would find them for you.’

‘He might be angry that I’ve left it so long to remind him. Left you unprotected, as he would see it. He certainly would be if he knew what really happened the night you were missing.’

Cara went pale. ‘Don’t tell him! Not about those voices! He’d shut me away forever if he knew. Make me go to a nunnery or something.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of telling.’

‘Anyway,’ Cara said, ‘I’m not unprotected. Not now. I made my own talisman.’ She tugged at a cord around her neck and drew out from under her gown a bunch of feathers tied together with a length of green silk cord, the latter perhaps obtained from Mhairi’s embroidery supplies.

The thing was beautiful. I could feel the good magic in it without the need to touch. She had chosen only small feathers, so the talisman would lie flat against her chest, invisible beneath her clothing. The cord was elaborately knotted around them; I was fairly sure the knots themselves held a protective power. ‘That’s remarkable,’ I said. ‘Where did the feathers come from?’

‘Gifts,’ Cara said simply. ‘Some I find; some the birds bring to me. There are nine here. Nightjar, chiffchaff, bunting, goldcrest, warbler, thrush, jay, redpoll and siskin.’ She touched each gently as she reeled off the names.

My skin prickled. There was something odd about that list. Where had I heard it before – in an old rhyme?