‘This scoundrel is no Ambrosio,’ William says, ‘and he would have been your very gravedigger had I not intervened.’

‘I am leaving,’ …

‘I am leaving,’ Alannah says.

‘Pull us milk when you are out,’ Raghnailt says, stooped over the hay she is clearing out. ‘I’m sure no one will mind. The bucket is by the forge.’

‘No, I am going home.’

Alannah is standing in the doorway, looking out at the street. A new life, for her, will begin. It is unexpected but welcome, like the second roses of the year. Though restless, she controls her excitement by concentrating on the stillness of her body and the small town that contains it, the listless green vista opening up before her.

Some end is approaching, but she does not mind. One place is very like another; she has left behind, and been left behind before. Even the pain of separation grows weaker with each new rent, becomes familiar. She wonders if she has grown foreign to her own family, if she is more like a Norman than she would have ever imagined.

‘I am only telling you this because I am fond of you. You have been good company to me, kind.’

Raghnailt leans her broom against the wall. ‘You cannot,’ she says. ‘You are married to him; that is a sticking vow. God has joined you two together.’

‘I do not believe in that thing,’ she says.

She does not look back at her mother-in-law.

‘Do not say that,’ Raghnailt says, sitting down on the bed. ‘I was almost happy, but a few moments ago. Do not leave me.’

A butterfly flutters into the room, the colour of cream. It is so thin that Alannah can see the light shining through it. It does not take long for the butterfly to become entrapped by the webs. I would free it, Alannah thinks, but I am not tall enough. It is very beautiful.

‘I once had a boy, a love, you know,’ Alannah says. ‘I was not fond of it, though: love. It was a smouldering tumour, big in the breast, a black carcass strapped across the back. He was sweet, sang songs for me, brought me little animals to play with. He would even pull their fangs before he gave them to me for fear they would damage my skin, which he loved. How do you take it when someone thinks so much of you; of your safety and your happiness? You are in a different part of the land and their thoughts are with you, a second being shadowing your body.’

‘I do not remember,’ Raghnailt says. ‘I know, though, that our family will change its shape now, for the better.’

Raghnailt’s hands feel the pillow, come into contact with a few strands of Alannah’s hair that remain there, and the fear rises in her chest once more.