‘There was a time . . . a moment . . . when I . . .’

‘Never mind that.’ She’s reading the letter. The look on her face says she’s interested now.

‘Long walk for a little dog,’ I say to the prince, to fill in the silence.

He manages a smile. ‘Bramble loves her walks. My aunt says that is typical of terriers.’ Bramble lifts her head and takes a good look at me. Pretty little thing. I go over and squat down beside the prince. Could be useful to find out if Bramble’s a biter, or if the only person she snaps at is Lady Flidais. When the dog doesn’t growl, I reach out a hand, slowly, and she gives my fingers a good sniff. I tickle her behind the ears. She pushes her head against my hand, almost like a cat.

‘Seems friendly enough.’

Prince Oran nods. ‘To those whom she trusts, yes.’

‘My lord,’ says Blackthorn, with the letter in her hands, ‘you know I’ll have to talk to Lady Flidais. And to her women. And to many other folk in your household. Any reasonable person will be asking questions about why I’m in and out of your house every day, even if I say I’m trying to find a cure for the lady’s headaches. Besides, that’s not going to work if Lady Flidais doesn’t want me tending to her.’

‘Ah,’ said the prince. ‘But won’t the two of you be looking for somewhere to stay while your cottage is being rebuilt? I understand the arrangement with Fraoch is only for the short term. I can accommodate you here; it would be an appropriate gesture of thanks. And if you are here, in the house, you’ll be perfectly placed to . . .’

‘Spy?’ Blackthorn sounds the way I feel, very uncomfortable with this idea. Though it makes sense.

‘To talk, in a natural way, with those others you mentioned, Flidais’s waiting women, my own folk. That should give you time to win Flidais’s trust.’

‘Just over a turning of the moon, I think you said.’ Blackthorn’s frowning. ‘You expect a lot of us.’

‘It would not be necessary for Grim to be here all the time; he could continue his work on the cottage. Even stay elsewhere, if you prefer.’ Prince Oran gives me a glance, and looks a bit surprised. What I’m thinking must be written all over my face. If I’m not with her, I won’t sleep. If I can’t sleep how can I do a good job on the cottage? Anyway, I’d worry about her, is she all right, who’s looking out for her and so on. Not that I want to stay here either. But it’s not for me to say yes or no.