She told Mhairi she was going to bed. Master Oisin said he would walk over to the cottages with her. But they both went to his lodging. If someone happened to see her, Cara would say she was seeking spiritual counselling. Aunt Della would have thought it more proper for Mistress Blackthorn to be present, no doubt. But Cara didn’t want anyone else to hear. The story might be anything. She needed to do this on her own, with nobody watching her. She could pass on the tale to Mistress Blackthorn in the morning, when she’d had time to think about it. Time to cry without anyone knowing, if it came to that. Except this druid, who would not judge her.

Master Oisin kindled the fire that was laid ready on his little hearth. He was so quick and tidy that she did not offer to help. He filled a kettle and put it on to heat.

‘There now,’ he said. ‘Shall I tell the tale straight away, and we can have a brew when it’s finished?’

‘Mm,’ Cara murmured, nervous now.

‘Could you tell me, perhaps, why this is of such intense interest?’

‘My father is building a heartwood house. Or rather, he’s having someone build it for him. It seems very important to him. So important he’s . . . he’s behaving oddly. He did try to have it done once before, when I was a baby. And it didn’t get finished. My mother died soon after, and my father thinks if he’d built the heartwood house earlier, she would have lived.’

‘Oh,’ said Master Oisin softly. ‘That is sad, my dear. How hard for you to bear. Your father knows this old tale, then. Have you not asked him to tell it?’

‘I don’t think he really knows it, not properly. Only that the heartwood house brings good luck if it’s made the right way. He doesn’t talk about it. At least, not to me. It makes him too sad. And now that it’s being built again, he’s sent me away.’

‘If he does not know the tale, how can he know the right way to build?’

‘There’s a . . . a man who does know. A man who’s telling the builders what to do.’

‘I see.’

How could he see, if he did not know Bardán’s story? Part of her wanted to tell him everything. Druids were wise. They knew about the fey, they knew all the old lore, they even had uncanny powers. But she should hear the story first. It might have nothing to do with the strange way Father was acting, or with Blackthorn’s theories. ‘Will you tell it now, please?’