“And you were always the neat and tidy one. How did you get those cuts on your face?” She found the soap and a scoop, rolled up the sleeves of her fine gown and set to work.

As she lathered and scrubbed, I gave her a brief version of the story. I said I was sorry I had not let her into my mind when she wanted to speak to me; I reminded her that she was the one who had first decided we should stop that form of communication. When my hair was clean, Deirdre wrapped a towel around my head, helped me out of the bath and into a nightrobe, then sat me in front of the mirror, in which she gazed at me critically.

“If you’re getting married, you’ll be wanting something to help these cuts heal and fade as soon as possible,” she said. “I can’t believe Father agreed to it. A man who is only half human . . . You’re the last person I would expect to choose someone so—so unusual.”

“Father hasn’t agreed, but he will. As for the cuts, Muirrin gave me a salve. I’ll dab it on while you comb my hair. That’s if you don’t mind doing it for me.”

Deirdre picked up the comb. She was much calmer now. “I can’t believe it,” she muttered, half to herself. “It might all be over today, this whole nightmare between Father and Illann . . . Illann’s quite proud, Clodagh. Being under such suspicion has really tested him. And the southern chieftains seem all too ready to make the whole thing an excuse for stirring up more trouble. Until Illann started to confide in me, I never realized how complicated it all is. Don’t look so surprised. I am married to the man. I’ve tried my best to learn about that part of being a chieftain’s wife, just as you once suggested I should. I thought I was doing quite well. But this . . . it’s been awful. I hate to see Illann so unhappy.”

It seemed I had underestimated my own twin. “Then let’s hope that he and Father sort it all out today, and that everyone learns from the experience,” I said. “I’ve missed you, Deirdre. I’m truly sorry I shut you out. I won’t do that again. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

“Me, too,” said Deirdre. “Clodagh . . . Mac Dara. You actually met him in that place. It’s so strange. I mean, he’s a figure in stories; it’s hard to think of him as a real person.”

He was real all right; as real as a nightmare and as close as the nearest shadow. “Are you nearly finished?” I asked her. “I can hardly keep my eyes open.”