“The one you were singing last night, about a handsome young man. Did you find a rhyme for tangled and wild?”

“I thought you were asleep, or I’d never have sung it out loud,” I said, embarrassed. “And yes, I found a rhyme, but you wouldn’t like it.”

“Try me,” Cathal said.

“It’s too personal,” I told him.

“Go on, Clodagh. I want to hear it.”

At least he was sounding more cheerful. I sang:

“Where have you wandered, my dear one, my own
Where have you wandered, my handsome young man
I’ve strayed in a wilderness tangled and wild
I’ve raved like a madman and wept like a child
And still I can’t find my way home
I still cannot find my way home.”

“You think me handsome?” queried Cathal.

“It’s a traditional ballad,” I told him. “The young men in such verses are always handsome.”

“Ah, that explains it. I never thought, when you and Aidan played music together in your father’s hall, that one day you would make a song about me.”

“The word handsome is not adequate to describe you, Cathal. You are unlike anyone else: a rare creature. I put this in the form of a ballad because that makes a sad story easier to set down.” I must not go down that track now. What we both needed was something to give us heart. “Cathal, what was Aidan like as a boy, when the two of you were growing up? Did he love music even then?” Talk about him, I willed him. Talk about the good times, the happy times.

“He liked to sing, just as you do, Clodagh. When we were out fishing or trapping he’d suddenly get an idea and start whistling or burst into song. It’s no wonder we didn’t catch much. We spent a lot of time out of doors. Built a tree house; camped overnight; had adventures in boats. Lord Murtagh didn’t expect us to act like miniature noblemen. He let us run free when we needed to. But we had tutors as well, some to teach us our letters, others to make sure we could ride and shoot and use weapons. Aidan didn’t like being second best at that. He didn’t realize he had talents I could never match.”

“Like music, you mean?” Between us, the baby had fallen asleep; his slight form took up so little space that I could feel Cathal’s thigh against mine, a disturbing sensation.

“That, and the ability to charm folk with his warmth and good humor. He was well loved. Because of that, people accepted me despite my . . .” His voice trailed away.

“Oddity?” I suggested.