The horse came into view, a fine grey galloping at full tilt, and on its back not Grim but a much slighter figure with a cloud of brown hair streaming out behind her. A crow flew alongside. Cara. Cara looking as if she had demons on her heels. Cara so white and shocked that I forgot to be disappointed that she was not Grim. She managed to halt the sweating mare and half-jumped, half-fell from the saddle next to us.

‘Father – I went – he hit my father – I think he might do something – something terrible – he said, he said – you have to come –’ She had her hands on my shoulders, gripping hard. She was wild-eyed, shaking.

‘Slow down, Cara. Take a breath.’

‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ Cúan said. ‘We –’

‘Wait!’ Too sharp. I made myself speak more calmly. ‘I’ll keep this as quick as I can, I promise.’

The men did mutter a little, but they turned their attention to the distressed mare, and I drew Cara inside, made her sit down, bade her wait until she had her breath back before telling her story.

‘I’m guessing that you rode up to Wolf Glen on your own, ignoring what I’d told you, and spoke to your father,’ I said. ‘And that he was angry, so you turned around and rode back again. Yes?’

She didn’t speak now, just stared at me.

‘If I sound a little short, it’s because I was just about to leave, and I have no time to spare. Now tell me what’s happened. Calmly and clearly.’

To her credit, she gathered herself and got the story out, even though Cionnaola came to stand in the doorway when she was halfway through, all but tapping his foot with impatience. It seemed she had walked into a scene between Tóla and Bardán; the implication was that Bardán had learned the truth, and that meant Grim must have told him. And now, Cara said on a sob, Bardán was being locked up and so was Grim, and she thought her father – Tóla, that was – might hurt them, hurt them badly, because he had been beside himself with rage. He had hit Bardán. And he had shouted at her.

‘How did you get away?’

‘I . . .’ She glanced at Cionnaola, then lowered her voice. ‘I . . . sort of made myself invisible. I think. At any rate, just for a little, Father couldn’t seem to see me. I took his horse – the crow helped me – and I rode here as fast as I could. I should have done something. I should have helped them. Only I wasn’t brave enough. If he hurts them it’ll be my fault.’