Flidais would conceive a child without my assistance; she was young and healthy, and so was the prince. And if I stayed here in a misguided attempt to support her, I would be hard-pressed to keep up the pretence that nothing had changed. Surely, the very next time I met Oran, the look in my eyes must give me away.

Around me, the women were quiet again. I lay on my back staring up at nothing and making a plan. A simple plan that I would enact at first light. Forget Conmael. Forget the season. Forget the long miles to Laois. I had travelled in wind and rain and cold before and I could do it again. I had set out for Winterfalls with nothing but the rags on my back. I would leave the place with little more. For the one thing that really mattered, all I needed was my rage.

33 Oran

33

~ORAN~

The morning after I helped Oisin tell his transformation story, I took Bramble for a long walk around the farm, hoping the exertion would set my thoughts in order. Blackthorn had told me to wait; not to press her for news. But as the day of the hand-fasting drew ever closer, I was struggling to make pretence that nothing was amiss. I could not play the eager betrothed with Flidais. I could barely manage to be civil with her. And Blackthorn’s were not the only pair of sharp eyes in the household. My folk knew me well. They had observed my falling-out with Donagan. They felt the unrest that had engulfed us all. When Donagan was not avoiding me altogether, he watched me, and I saw on his face that he was judging me. Aunt Sochla frequently asked me if all was quite well; she had known me since the day I was born, and not much escaped her. Aedan, Lochlan, Niall, even Eochu seemed careful of me, as if I might be about to expire from some disease. This was not the healthiest way to view an impending marriage. If Blackthorn did not come up with something soon, I feared my private business would become public knowledge.

The walk did nothing but stir up my anxiety. I decided to seek out Blackthorn as soon as I got back to the house, and never mind that it still lacked an hour or two until breakfast time. I strode down to the kitchen with Bramble trotting behind. With luck, the wise woman would already be at work in her makeshift stillroom, and I’d be able to speak to her without drawing undue attention.

Brid was preparing the day’s loaves for the oven. As I greeted her, I glanced toward the stillroom and saw that the door was closed.

‘If you’re looking for Mistress Blackthorn, my lord, she’s already gone out. Went off very early.’