“I see Aidan’s talked himself back into your favor.”

I started. I had wandered over to a corner with my cup of mead, so deep in thought that I hadn’t even seen Cathal there. “He was honest with me,” I said, looking over my shoulder to see if anyone was within earshot. Aidan had gone to put his harp away; Sibeal, Eilis and Coll were all sitting at Willow’s feet, asking questions. The men were engaged in conversation around the hearth. “It’s true, isn’t it, that Rathnait is a child of twelve?”

Cathal nodded, saying nothing.

“And it’s true that the betrothal agreement is only a verbal one, made casually years ago between the two fathers?”

“I know nothing of that,” Cathal said. He wasn’t exactly putting himself out to support his friend’s cause. After that conversation in the stables, this surprised me. “You’re quick to forgive, Clodagh,” he added. “Only today he offers his explanation, such as it is, and already you’re letting him make up songs about you.”

I felt my cheeks flush. “I didn’t ask him to make up the song. And I could hardly storm out just because there was a red-haired woman in it. What’s your objection, anyway? Am I so very unsuitable for him?” Curse it, why had I said that? Posing such a question was asking for a catalogue of my faults, with being boring right at the top. “Forget I said that,” I muttered, staring at my feet.

“No,” Cathal said. “He’s unsuitable for you.”

“What?” He really had my attention now. “A chieftain’s son, a skilled warrior, young, nice-looking and a musician to boot?”

Cathal looked uncomfortable. The supercilious air had disappeared. “On the face of it,” he said, “my friend would be a good match for any woman. All the same, you shouldn’t rush into this.”

“Not that it’s any business of yours,” I said, astonished that he would take it into his head to give me such advice, “but he did convince me today that the agreement between his father and Rathnait’s could be undone with no hurt to anyone. But it doesn’t matter anyway. It would be inappropriate for me to encourage any suitor. My mother’s about to have a child. She’s not well. I’ll be needed at home.” I had not intended to speak so openly of this, but perhaps, if he heard it, Cathal would stop trying to interfere in my personal life.

“You’re doing a pretty poor job of being discouraging,” Cathal said flatly. “Of course, you can’t see the way you look at him. Just don’t blame me if it all goes wrong.”

“I won’t,” I said after a moment. His tone had been neither flippant nor arrogant, but as serious as if he were warning me of some real and imminent danger. “Cathal?”

“What?”