‘Hah! If you believe that’s possible, you’ll believe anything. I want it chopped off close to the scalp. So no disappearing, all right?’

‘If you say so.’

It was only later, when we had banked up the fire and settled ourselves to rest a discreet distance apart, that he came out with it. ‘Lady?’

‘You mean Blackthorn.’

‘Sorry.’

‘What, then?’

‘It’s just . . . it’s just, I’ve got nowhere else to go. I thought . . . I did think . . .’

I opened my mouth to retort, Then you thought wrong. But the clouds parted for a moment, admitting watery moonlight, and a bird called, deep in the woods, and I realised that if I had spoken those words aloud, I would have added another year to the seven I owed Conmael, and lost one of my five chances. This was a cry for help if ever I heard one. A pox on the man, how dare he do this to me? With an effort, I spoke in calm, even tones. ‘What did you think, Grim?’

‘Thought you’d say no. But wondered if you’d surprise me. Hoped you might let me come with you, and . . . and keep guard. Keep an eye out for trouble.’ After a moment he added, ‘There’s a few things I can do. Handy things.’ And a little later, ‘But you wouldn’t be wanting someone like me around. I understand that.’

And suddenly my mind was awash with contradictions, too many of them to make sense of in the middle of the night. One thing was certain; I was going to be stuck with a travelling companion, for now at least. ‘We’ll see,’ was my inadequate response. ‘In the morning, we’ll see.’

5 Grim

5

~GRIM~

Turns out she doesn’t know the way. Just walking north by whatever tracks she finds and hoping she’ll end up in Dalriada. Which maybe she would, but not as quick as with me helping.

The first morning, she makes me cut her hair. Makes me toss the pieces of it in the fire. That’s hard. But, in a way, funny; her hair always was like flames. In that place, I’d look across and see it all glowing red, and I’d think of the things a fire gives you: warmth, light, a feeling like being home.

It’s good sitting by our campfire at night, out in the woods or in a cave or wherever Blackthorn, as she calls herself now, decides to stop. Just the two of us all quiet, and the crackle of the flames. Our little patch of brightness in the big dark. It’s good being free, and it’s good being with her, and it’s even better having a job to do. Seems like she does think I can be useful to her. Even though they called me Bonehead, meaning stupid.