Donagan ushered them out. I sent for Lochlan, my head guard, and set the situation before him, knowing he could be trusted to arrange protection for Branoc’s premises and men to conduct an orderly search of the district. I sent for Aedan, and asked him to ensure those who cared for Ness had the wherewithal to provide for her through what might be a lengthy recovery. I had not asked Blackthorn if the abused girl was with child; I hoped very much that she was not. I called Brid and asked her to spread word that the Silverlake bakery would not be in business for the foreseeable future. There would be more work for Deaman and his assistants.

When that was done, all I wanted was to escape out of doors, stride around the farm and work off the confusion of feelings that had come over me when Blackthorn told the story. At first, disbelief. Then horror. Then fury that any man would do so base a thing. Then guilt, that I had not known; that of my whole community, the folk whose leader and exemplar I was supposed to be, only Emer, a girl of fifteen or so, had stood up for her friend and refused to be silenced. Even Flidais had dismissed her concerns. Flidais, who would one day be queen.

And because I would one day be king, I did not head out across the fields, but went to find her.

‘Flidais. A word with you in private.’

I had broken a household rule and come right into the women’s quarters to find my betrothed. The attendants laid aside their embroidery and vanished away like mist under morning sun, leaving the two of us alone in the chamber where they had been gathered. Aunt Sochla hesitated in the doorway; Bramble waited by her skirts. I’d have liked my aunt to stay. With her present, Flidais would not be able to end an awkward conversation by twining herself around me and inviting me to intimacy. That did often seem to be her solution to a disagreement. But what I had to say was best not shared with anyone else.

‘Thank you, Aunt,’ I said. ‘I’m sure Bramble would like a stroll in the garden.’

‘As would I. My eyes are getting too old for fine work. Come, dog!’

I waited until the door closed behind her before moving over to the table where Flidais was standing. She had her embroidery clutched against her breast as if she were a child expecting a reprimand; did I really look so angry? The sun through the tall windows bathed my betrothed in soft autumn light. Her gown was red, her lips redder; her skin was smooth and perfect. Her long-lashed eyes regarded me with such trepidation that a small part of me was tempted to enfold her in an embrace and suggest the two of us might start again, forgetting what was past. I hardened my heart.