Father smiled, but I could see the anxiety in his eyes. “You might check on that in the kitchen,” he said. “There’s still time; we have to give Gareth some final instructions. Thank you, Clodagh.”

A restless unease lingered over Sevenwaters after the riders’ departure. When I went up to see Mother I found that she had been bleeding. I sat with her awhile, trying not to look worried, though her pallor shocked me. I explained what was happening downstairs, emphasizing how reliable Gareth was and telling her Eoin would surely be mollified by an invitation to a council. But my mother was not really listening. Her gaze was turned inward. It seemed to me that every bit of her energy was centered on the tiny life within her. Every scrap of her will was focused on helping that little heart to go on beating until it was strong enough to manage without her. After I left her chamber I had to stand alone outside the door until I was calm enough to go downstairs and face the rest of my family.

Father was unusually quiet at supper. With the question of Eoin hanging over him, not to speak of Mother’s doubtful health, I was sure he would want to dispense with any entertainment tonight and send the household off to bed early. But when Willow stood up after supper and walked over, leaning on her staff, to stand before the family table, I saw that she was expecting to tell the first of her stories now. She turned her shrewdly assessing gaze on each of our family in turn, and I wondered what she was seeing as she considered us. Could she tell that Sibeal was a mystic in whose small head tumbled visions of the strange and uncanny? Could she see Johnny’s inner goodness, Father’s stoical strength, or the irrepressible, joyous energy that was so much a part of Eilis’s being? Did she read the uncertainty beneath what I hoped was my air of calm competence? Perhaps it was all too clear to her that each of us walked under a cloud of dark possibilities.

“Lord Sean,” the crone said, “I thank you for the hospitality of this great house. I bring you the goodwill of the traveling folk and the respectful greetings of Dan Walker himself.”

Father nodded gravely. “Dan’s kin are always welcome here,” he said. “My daughter tells me you are a storyteller. We would welcome a tale to divert us tonight.”