That made our ride through the settlement slow-paced. Folk came out to greet us, to ask questions, to congratulate me on the forthcoming betrothal, for everyone knew Lady Flidais was on her way north. The women, in particular, seemed almost as excited about this as I was. Many expressed delight that the ritual was to take place here at Winterfalls, not at court. I realised I would need to arrange things so the folk of the settlement and the farms could be present, if not for the ceremony itself, then most certainly for the celebrations that would follow. A bonfire, I thought, and dancing. I spoke to Fraoch the smith, who was accustomed to exercising his well-muscled arms not only in the crafting of iron goods, but also in playing the bodhran at weddings, fairs and festival days. He knew which musicians were the most skilful and the most reliable; he knew which dances folk would like best for such an event. I spoke to Iobhar the brewer, Deaman the baker and Scannal the miller. Iobhar gave us mead, Deaman gave us a wheaten loaf, and Scannal asked me to have a word with his grandmother. She told me a wise woman had moved into the old cottage out by Dreamer’s Wood, and that folk said she’d a sour temper on her, but could give a body a cure for anything.

This was something of a surprise. The wise woman must be a very recent arrival, or someone in my own household would have made mention of her. There was a physician at Cahercorcan, of course, with several skilled assistants. But Cahercorcan was a good twenty miles away. There was no healer at Winterfalls, either in my own household or in the village. There had not been for a while. I remembered the cottage as damp and deserted, its previous inhabitant dead and gone so long ago that only the very oldest folk remembered her name.

We thanked the people for their gifts, wished them good day and rode on, letting our mounts have their heads once we were clear of the settlement. On our own we were not master and servant, but simply friends. The day was fair, the air clear, the sun warm. With my body stretched and my mind occupied, I felt at ease for the first time in many days.

‘Black Crow save us,’ remarked Donagan, pulling up his horse as we crested a rise some time later and looked down toward Dreamer’s Wood. ‘Someone’s wrought a minor miracle.’

I rode up beside him and saw that this was true, and that the someone was in plain view, tying down thatch on the refurbished roof of the old cottage. A big man. A very big man, moving about with the ease of a lad.

‘Who is that?’ I asked, not recognising the fellow.