Season doesn’t help. Rain, wind, sometimes snow. Have to grab the bits in between, when it’s dryish. Need to work in a hurry. Not the way I like doing things. Plenty of helpers, but it’s hard to get them when I need them. The other jobs, the ones for Scannal or Deaman or one of the farmers, mostly need doing in dry weather too. Doesn’t leave much time for spying. By the time I’m sitting with the fellows of an evening, I’m not at my best.

There’s sleeping quarters with pallets against the walls, and there’s another place with a long table and benches, where they go after supper. Guards clean their weapons, fletch arrows, sharpen knives and so on. The fellows from the house talk, sit around, drink ale. Grooms and farmhands have got their own quarters out near the barn. Sometimes they drop in for a drink with this lot. Don’t see much of Donagan. He’ll come and sit with us for a bit, then he’s off to bed. Odd that he sleeps in here. Would’ve thought he’d have a bedchamber of his own. Not something I can ask about.

First few days I’m trying to sort them all out. Who knew Lady Flidais before she came here, who didn’t. Who’s likely to talk to me and who isn’t. It’s not like the village in here, not at all. Folk that belong in the house are friendly enough. Grooms aren’t bad either. But the men-at-arms . . . something wrong there, can’t quite put my finger on it. Even when they’re all drinking and laughing, nobody’s at ease.

Doesn’t help that I’m awake all night. Wishing I’d never agreed to this, knowing I have to do it, for Blackthorn. Be easier if there was a light in the sleeping quarters, a lamp that could burn till dawn. But no. Aedan comes around, same time every night, and puts the lamps out, then goes off with his candle. He’s married, got private quarters. And once he’s left, it’s pitch dark.

First few nights I get through all right. But each night it’s harder. Comes a time when it’s too much. I hold the blanket over my mouth and whisper the words into it. I make myself hold still though I’ve got aches and pains all over. But the whisper’s building up, getting louder and louder. I have to move. I have to get outside before it grows into a scream. I stand up, quiet as I can, and head for the door. Or where I guess the door is. Blunder into one or two things on the way. Fellows grumble and swear. I manage to slip the bolt and go out into the yard, and it’s not black dark anymore. There are lights by the main entry.