And as for Grim, why in the name of all that was holy hadn’t he stayed with those people at the farm? I’d seen the way they looked at him. How often did folk meet a man with the strength of a giant? He’d have been given work there, sure as sure, if only he’d asked them. Work, a home, money in his pockets. Wasn’t that what he wanted, a job, a purpose? I wasn’t offering either.

But he came on with me, a big lump dogging my footsteps, and I couldn’t send him away because I’d made my promise to wretched Conmael. Besides, it seemed Grim really did know the way to Dalriada – how, I couldn’t imagine and wasn’t planning to ask, since I’d learned long ago that his past was under the same sort of lock and key as mine. And while I could fend for myself perfectly well, there was no disputing that Grim could do some things a lot more quickly and easily than I could. Gathering firewood, for instance, or building a shelter. If we’d been attacked on the road or in our camp, I could have defended myself up to a point. But his presence meant nobody was even going to try. And he could pay his way, more or less. After that first time, with the cart, he found plenty more opportunities to earn a few coppers or a fat hen or a loaf of fresh bread.

It was more difficult for me. Often enough, we passed farms or settlements where a healer was needed. It might be a woman straining to give birth to a babe set awry in the womb, or an old man rattling and wheezing in his death throes. Conmael’s agreement had turned me into a coward. I feared to offer help, lest folk take advantage. I knew quite well how one request for aid could turn into many. Oh, please help my child, he’s struggling to catch his breath. So herbs were steamed in a pot, and a poultice was applied to the chest, and common-sense advice was given about keeping the little boy warm and clean and feeding him light, nourishing fare. Next thing it would be, Couldn’t you stay one more day, just to be sure? Or, My neighbour’s little girl has the same sickness, you’ll look at her too, won’t you? And by the way, the old fellow down the road is poorly as well . . . And so it would go on. If a person had promised never to say no to such requests, she might find herself trapped somewhere for life, unable to keep the rest of the bargain, which was to go to this place called Winterfalls.