By the stables something stirred. I squinted against the sun, trying to make it out. What was that by the door to the harness room, a shadow against the silver-gray of the weathered wood . . . a figure in a hooded cloak? A chill ran through me, deep in the marrow. Mac Dara couldn’t be here, not so soon, surely. The Lord of the Oak was subtle, a plotter. If he came back in a fresh attempt to harm me or to lure Cathal—when he came—he would plan his mission with care. I looked again. Now there were several men there, Inis Eala warriors leading horses out to the yard. One man wore a gray cloak, but the hood was down, revealing close-cropped hair and facial tattoos. The others were in tunics and trousers. A false alarm. Probably. Later, I would tell Cathal. And I would tell Father. Mac Dara must not be given an opportunity to use my family as leverage again. And I would die before I let him take Cathal.

“Clodagh?”

I whirled around.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” Gareth said. He was standing right behind me. “I’ve been sent to fetch you. Cathal’s ready to talk to Lord Sean now.”

So he hadn’t slept either. “Of course,” I said. “Where are they?”

“I’ll take you.”

I fell into step beside him. After the fright I’d just given myself, an armed escort was very welcome even in my own house. We made our way back through the kitchen, along a hallway, up a narrow flight of steps and along a gallery toward a row of storage chambers. Father had evidently taken steps to ensure this meeting took place well out of the view of his visitors.

“Gareth?” I ventured after looking around to make sure there was nobody in sight.

“Yes, Clodagh?”

“Has there been any more talk about the succession, now that Finbar’s safe? Has Father formally named his heir?”

Gareth gave a little smile. “Not yet,” he said. “Johnny tells me that if the treaty is signed, Lord Sean plans to end the council by making a public declaration. They have the details worked out.”

I decided to be bold, since I was going to be living on the island, where codes of behavior were somewhat less constrained than in the halls of chieftains. “Cathal told me about you and Johnny,” I said quietly. “I hope whatever Father says about the succession won’t make you unhappy, Gareth.”

“One learns compromise,” Gareth said. “What is offered me I rejoice in. What is beyond my reach I don’t waste time regretting. Inis Eala is a good place. You’ll be welcome there, Clodagh.”

“Thank you,” I said as we came up to the door of an unobtrusive chamber, where Gareth gave three sharp knocks, waited to a count of five, then rapped out the triple knock again.

“Come in.” It was my father’s voice.