“Now that little boy was very special to his father, for obvious reasons. But that didn’t make him any less precious to Firinne, and she vowed to herself that she would do everything in her power to stop Mac Dara from taking him. She swore she would not let his father turn the boy into another like himself, a man with no awareness of right and wrong. So she took the green glass ring, the gift of her unusual ancestor, and she strung it on a cord and tied it around her baby’s neck. Then she went up to the stronghold of Lord Murtagh, who ruled in those parts wisely and well, and offered herself as wet nurse to his own newborn son. And when she offered, she told Lord Murtagh something of her story, but not everything, and persuaded him to take little Cathal into his household and keep him safe while he grew to be a man. She made his lordship promise to teach her son that he must never, ever go abroad without the green glass ring around his neck or carried somewhere in his clothing. Lord Murtagh was an exceptional chieftain and an exceptional man; still is. He promised to do as she asked, and offered Firinne a permanent place in his household, but she said no. Better, she thought, if she had as little to do with her son as possible, for it would be through her that his father would try to track him down.”

“That must have hurt her terribly,” I said, remembering how it had felt to give up Becan, who had only been mine for a few days. “Cathal thought his mother didn’t care about him.”

“It was an act of selfless love,” said Willow, nodding. “She knew she should go away, leave Whiteshore forever, to put Mac Dara right off the scent. But she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She lived for the little glimpses of her boy that she got from time to time: fishing in the river with his friend, riding through the village with Lord Murtagh and his family, and sometimes walking all by himself along the shore, staring at the waves. She tried to ensure he didn’t see her watching. She thought it best if he forgot her. His new family was kind to him; she could see they treated him as they did their own sons, almost. Sometimes the best place to hide something is right under the seeker’s nose, Firinne thought. When Mac Dara passed that way again, she would tell him his son was dead.