A hush fell over the household. Whatever occurred, this would be a night of change for all of us. Our serving people were discreet, making regular appearances with jugs of ale or platters of food, vanishing from the hall when not required. From time to time one of the women would come down with a request from Muirrin—fresh linen, hot water, provisions for the childbed attendants. I went in and out of the kitchen making sure these supplies were provided promptly. Nobody went to bed. People who did not know her well might think that our mother, with her brisk manner and her insistence on everything being just so, would not be well loved by her serving folk. This was quite wrong. She had married Father when she was only sixteen, and the people of Sevenwaters had been witness to every joy and sorrow of her life since then. The sturdiest washerwoman and the dourest man-at-arms had tears in their eyes tonight. I reminded myself that I was the lady of the house, if only temporarily, and that I must be strong.

Sibeal and Eilis had both refused to go to bed. They had settled themselves by the fire with a blanket apiece, and now Aidan was cross-legged on the flagstones beside them, teaching them tricks with dice. Father kept getting up and sitting down again, lifting his cup of ale and putting it back on the tray untasted. Johnny was trying to engage him in conversation, but he might as well have been talking to a storm-tossed oak.

I didn’t give a thought to Cathal until I sat down much later, on Johnny’s orders, to have some food and drink. I looked over toward the main door, now closed against the cold, and realized I had not seen Cathal since our conversation in the yard. Watching Father as he paced, observing the furrow on his brow and the tight set of his jaw, I knew now was no time to pass on the crazy theory about Illann. “Is Cathal on duty tonight, Johnny?” I asked my cousin.

“I gave him the rest of the night off. If he’s got any sense he’ll be asleep. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” I said, thinking that if this was true, Cathal must be the only person in the whole household who was not spending the night in edgy vigil. I was about to frame a question to Aidan about his childhood when a serving woman came running down the stairs and into the hall. Her words tumbled out. “My lord, the child’s born! You have a son!”

Father turned white. “Aisling,” he whispered. Before the woman could speak again, Muirrin appeared behind her with a tiny bundle in her arms, a little blanket wrapped around something no bigger than a doll.