Grim was quivering with fury. His grip on my hand hurt. It told me he was using all his strength to keep still and hold his tongue.

‘Good,’ I said in a whisper. ‘I have to speak. You know that.’

He gasped in a breath. Nodded.

‘I prefer to do so without broken fingers.’

He slackened his grip. Then lifted my hand and touched it to his lips. ‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Go on, Lady. Do it for all of us.’

Oran beckoned me forward. Asked me if I preferred to be seated while I gave my account. I said no. Mathuin was there, standing between his guards. I was here, no more than four strides away. I would face him on equal ground. I drew one long, steady breath.

‘My name is Blackthorn. I am a wise woman and healer,’ I said. There was Grim, watching me with burning eyes. There was Conmael, cool as ever. Cionnaola stood by the rear door. Cúan was a couple of paces from me, watching Mathuin with a look that said, Make one move, friend. Just try it. Kings and chieftains stood quiet and attentive, waiting. ‘But once my name was Saorla,’ I went on, my voice strong and sure now, ‘and I was wife to a scribe and scholar named Cass, dwelling in the region of Laois . . .’

Chapter Forty-eight: Blackthorn

48

~Blackthorn~

It was over. The whole gruelling account. I had wept as I told of the fire that took Cass and Brennan from me, and the cruel hands of Mathuin’s men, holding me back as the screams of my dear ones tore me apart. My voice had shaken with rage as I told of that year of hell in the lockup. When I told the tales of the abused women, I had spoken calmly, holding Mathuin’s gaze. Hoping to see some flicker of remorse, some small sign of understanding there. But there was nothing. We were scum. He was a chieftain. He could treat us any way he pleased. He was entitled.

For a little, after I finished, the chamber was completely silent. Perhaps Mathuin understood that another outburst would lose him the right to respond.

‘Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn,’ said Oran. ‘You may step down. I commend your courage. That cannot have been easy.’

‘Wait a moment.’ Mathuin spoke now. ‘Don’t I get the right to question her? What kind of joke is this?’

‘You will have the opportunity to speak,’ Oran said. ‘And to ask questions. A limited number of questions. It may be wiser if Master Bress speaks on your behalf. I will give you a little time to confer with him now.’ He turned to me again. ‘Step down, Mistress Blackthorn.’