It’s funny. Me belting that fellow Seanan’s head on the table hasn’t made the men-at-arms hate me more. It’s earned me respect. Overnight, like magic. Since that morning I’ve tried harder to be friendly, but not over-friendly. Had no trouble with the men. I’ve joined in their talk when I could. I’ve done my share of the work. The one time they got onto the subject of women, I glared and bunched up my fists and they went quiet. Nobody’s even mentioned Blackthorn. Which is just as well, because if they speak ill of her I’ll do it again, and this time I won’t be so quick to stop.

So here I am at the supper table, glad they didn’t send me packing but worried too. Time’s running out and between night watch and mending the cottage I’ve hardly had a chance to say a word to Blackthorn. Looks like tonight will be no different. If she’s up at the high table with Lady Flidais, she’ll most likely have to stay in the hall after they finish supper, and I’m on duty.

Seanan passes me the salt. I make myself say thanks. Domnall has his eye on us, and I see him nod. So far, so good. Be glad when we get out of here, though. The thatching’s all done now, thanks to those two lads from the brewery, and there’s only inside work to finish, jobs we can work on even in bad weather. Want to tell Blackthorn we might be in there before winter after all. That’ll make her happy. Be good to see a smile on her face. Even bigger smile, of course, if we solve Prince Oran’s mystery first. Have to say I don’t like our chances.

32 Blackthorn

32

~BLACKTHORN~

At this table I was a figure of fun, a scarecrow in a group of beautifully embroidered dolls. It was a relief to find that Master Oisin was of the friendly variety of druid. He began a conversation about the terrain around Winterfalls and what kind of herbs I had been able to gather. Over the soup I found myself discussing teas brewed from holly leaves, and how best to render them palatable without losing their efficacy.