‘If we don’t leave very soon we won’t reach the place in time. You agreed to leave before midday. That is already stretching things. We don’t want to push the horses beyond their endurance.’

I fell into step beside him as we walked back to the cottage. I willed Grim to be home. I told myself, stupidly, that if I saw exactly three of something on the way back – blue flowers, white stones, birch trees, small clouds in the sky – he would be there by the time the cottage came in sight. But I didn’t, and he wasn’t. I almost cried. There had been a clear picture in my mind of how it would be, his horse tied up by the steps, his familiar figure in the doorway, almost filling it, his eyes brightening as he saw me, the sweet smile lighting up his plain features. ‘Brew?’ he’d say, and in that one word would be wrapped up everything that our friendship was. But the only man there was Cúan, my other minder, adjusting the harness on the mare they had brought for me to ride. The other two horses were cropping grass beside the vegetable patch. Ready to go.

‘We should be off,’ Cúan said, glancing at the sky. ‘Cutting it fine as it is.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Cionnaola. ‘But we can’t wait for Grim any longer.’

A wave washed over me, disappointment, sorrow, anger too, that they had timed this so tightly. But the fact was, they had already waited most of the morning at my request. And most likely the planning for this mission had not been the work of either of these two, but of Ségán or of some leader above him. Who knew, even Prince Oran or his father, the king of Dalriada.

‘All right,’ I said, feeling like a betrayer. ‘If we have to go, we should go. I will leave a note for Grim.’ I couldn’t go without doing that.

‘No,’ Cionnaola and Cúan said together. ‘You must leave no record of where you have gone or for what purpose,’ Cionnaola went on. ‘You understand why, I am sure.’

‘What if he comes just after we’ve left and doesn’t know where I am? After getting a note that he’s needed urgently?’ He would be beside himself with worry.

‘Prince Oran’s folk will deal with that if and when it happens. Best close up the cottage now, and we’ll be on our – ah. Perhaps Grim has reached us in time after all.’ For there was the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats coming our way, fast. Not from the prince’s holdings, but from the other direction. From Wolf Glen.