My lands extended far beyond the walls of the home acreage, of course; several villages, the small farms around them, Dreamer’s Wood and the wild lands beyond were all part of my holding, and under Dalriadan law there was a give and take requirement between my tenants and me. I provided assistance as required; I helped them in times of flood, fire or other hardship and I arbitrated over their disputes at a monthly open council. The people had been accustomed to my riding down from Cahercorcan for these councils, staying a day or two, then riding home again. Now that I was established here permanently, the whole thing was much easier, since folk could reach me quickly if they needed me.

In the presence of my father and his councillors I had always felt I was only playing at being a prince; that people regarded me as a pale shadow of my father. My visits to Winterfalls for the councils had felt like a sham, though I had done my best to find just and fair solutions to the problems my people brought before me and they had generally seemed satisfied. Now I could be out among them, seeing the problems for myself, perhaps helping resolve them before there was any need for a formal hearing. I could meet folk as soon as they moved into the district, like that fellow Grim, the ill-tempered thatcher. I had yet to meet the healer, Blackthorn, who had opened her house to Flidais on the day of the unfortunate accident at Dreamer’s Pool. That day, my mind had been all on bringing my beloved safely home. And, of course, arranging a burial for the girl who’d drowned. A sad arrival and a sadder farewell. Flidais had been too distraught to attend the ritual we’d held for her maid.

We had a burial ground beyond our grazing land, and we’d interred the girl there. It was in a quiet area near a copse of elders. I walked to the spot now, thinking to say a silent prayer or two. It was a sad thing to die so far from home and be laid to rest in a place your loved ones would likely never visit.