“I wanted to thank you, Clodagh. This is the first day I’ve felt strong enough to do much more than lie here and let Muirrin look after me, I’m afraid. It feels so wrong. When you girls were born I was up and about again within a day or two. Maybe boys are different. And I’m older, of course, as everyone keeps reminding me.”

“Thank me? For what?” I was heartened, for her manner had something of its old spirit, and the waxy, wan look was almost gone from her face. Maybe, finally, I could allow the possibility of happy endings into my mind.

“For handling the household arrangements so capably while I’ve been indisposed. Everyone tells me how much energy you’ve put into keeping everything the way I like it to be. I know how much work it is. With Deirdre gone there is really nobody to share the load. Your father is deeply concerned over this trouble with the northern chieftains, although he’s good at hiding how much these things worry him. It helps very much, my dear, that you have been able to spare him the need to think about domestic issues during this time. You’ll make someone a fine wife when your turn comes.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Her words warmed me even as I thought how sad it would be if this was the best anyone would ever be able to say about me. “It’s no trouble.”

“Despite what you may have believed, I had noticed how tired and anxious you were becoming. You’re doing a wonderful job, Clodagh. Your father and I are both proud of you.”

Tears flooded my eyes. My mother did not often praise me. Her standards were high; she assumed other folk’s were the same. “I’ll keep trying my best,” I said shakily. “He’s a lovely baby, Mother. You should have seen the look in Father’s eyes when he first held him. He didn’t expect—I mean—”

“The gods have been kind,” Mother said quietly, stroking Finbar’s thatch of dark hair with her free hand as he continued to suckle. “It’s more than I deserve.”

“You deserve every bit of happiness, Mother,” I told her. “It’s going to be interesting having a little boy growing up at Sevenwaters after all of us girls. I wonder if he’ll be like Coll?”

Mother’s eyes went distant. “I shouldn’t think so,” she said, and I remembered that she had never entirely approved of Bran of Harrowfield, father of both Coll and Johnny. The question of inheritance was like a dim shadow in my mind, something that would remain there until the issue was resolved one way or the other. Maybe Finbar was only a tiny scrap right now, but nobody would be able to put aside what he might one day become.