‘You tell me. I’ve got no idea who she visits down there. That’s her work, and right now, building your heartwood house is my work.’

‘What did you say to her earlier? What did you talk about?’

Anger’s bubbling up, getting near the surface. ‘This and that,’ I say, trying to stay calm. ‘Nothing much.’ Couldn’t say what I wanted, could I, with everyone so close there was no privacy at all? Why’s he asking, anyway?

‘I hope that is true,’ Tóla says. Jaw’s tight, eyes cold. ‘When you took on this job, you agreed to my conditions. No gossip. No spreading of tales, whether you believe them to be truth or wild rumour. No talking about my daughter.’

I can’t help myself. ‘That’d be the daughter Gormán and me rescued out in the forest that night, yes? The one we saved from down that hole?’

‘Watch your words!’ He’s losing his temper now, and I’m holding on to mine, just. ‘I have not forgotten that you brought Cara home. I gave you thanks at the time, along with an appropriate reward. I’m aware that your friend visited Wolf Glen today only because certain items had to be fetched for a . . .’

‘A luck charm,’ I say. ‘Yes, she told me.’

Tóla scowls. Looks like he doesn’t want anyone knowing about anything. Not without his personal say-so. ‘Then she should learn to keep her mouth shut,’ he says. ‘That’s nobody’s business but mine.’

‘And your daughter’s,’ I say, quiet-like. I want to say, if she really is your daughter, and I come a hair’s-breadth from doing it, but I hold the words back.

‘Are you deaf? Don’t speak of her!’ He’s on his feet now, fists balled. The two farm lads take a step closer. Eyes on me. Looking more nervous than anything, like they’d rather run away than try to fight me. Fair enough. If I was them I’d be feeling the same.

‘Maybe what you should be doing is talking to Cara,’ I say. ‘Lot of secrets in this place, don’t speak of this, don’t speak of that. I’ve done what you wanted so far. Not because I need the work. Not because I want your bags of silver. I’ve stayed because I don’t like seeing a man mistreated. I don’t like seeing a man who’s addled in his wits and can’t use his hands left to look after himself in a cold, leaky old hut. I don’t like seeing a man kept on for his skills but treated like dirt –’

‘Shut your mouth!’