‘Please, Donagan. Sleep in the antechamber or in the men’s quarters, whichever you prefer. Keep your distance from Lady Flidais if that makes it easier. But please stay to see me through the councils. And . . .’

He waited while I struggled to find the right words.

‘I believe I’m right. This goes deeper than the obvious. It must. There must be a way out.’

‘Unless you mean to accuse the lady publicly of not meeting up to your expectations, I can’t think what that way out could be. Oran, you would show strength by accepting this and making the best you can of it. You were born to kingship. You cannot let this disappointment prevent you from being the leader you should be. Then you would indeed be seen as weak, not only by me, but by your household, your community and, in time, your kingdom.’

What was there to say? I had asked him to be honest.

‘If you believe it will help,’ Donagan said more gently, ‘then I will stay until the second council is over. I’ll give you what support I can. And then I’ll go.’

I rose to my feet. ‘Thank you,’ I said, but my heart was heavy. I could be strong. I could be a leader. In time, I could be a king. It seemed I could not also be happy.

And yet, as we walked back to the house, my old friend and I, with the little dog stopping here and there to investigate an exciting smell or an enticing rustle in the undergrowth, I found I had not lost my belief that something more was at play here, something beyond the obvious explanation. You are a fool, Oran, I told myself. Even after this, even after everything, still you are ruled by your dreams. But your dreams cannot help you.

20 Blackthorn

20

~BLACKTHORN~

Grim came in with the second kerchief in his hands, still wet from the wash.

‘You know your letters,’ he said. ‘What does this say?’

He spread the square of red linen out on the table, and I saw that, unlike mine, this kerchief was a lovers’ token. Within the trailing leaf-and-flower border, the maker had embroidered a little heart, and on either side of it a letter. A loves N.

‘This is the letter A,’ I told Grim, putting my finger on it to show him. ‘That stands for someone’s name – Aine, for instance, or Aedan. And this is N for Niall, or Niamh, or Ness.’ I felt suddenly cold, though I was not sure why. ‘The heart means love. This is something a man might give his sweetheart. Who makes these kerchiefs, Grim? Do lots of folk have them?’ Apart from the heart and the letters, this one was twin to my own; the same hand might have embroidered both.