I stood up, thinking the occasion demanded it, and found I was trembling. Clutching my hands together, I gave an account of what I had experienced—the sudden waking, knowing something was wrong; coming through the doorway to see the shadowy figures locked in struggle; the realization that Knut was trying to kill Ardal. Felix. I would have to get used to that. I told of my attempt to intervene, and Knut flinging me to the floor. I did not speak of what I had felt: the two men’s tumult of dark emotions. “I . . . created a distraction, with the fire. Knut lost his grip on Ardal. Then I—I spoke to Knut, I accused him . . . He said no, I was mistaken. He was angry. I thought he was about to hurt one of us, perhaps both of us.” My voice shook.

“Take your time, Sibeal,” Johnny said.

I drew a steadying breath and went on. “Ardal moved in front of me and Knut slashed at him.” I would never forget that. In the face of Knut’s knife and his murderous eyes, Ardal had used his body to shield mine without a second thought. So quick. So brave. He would have died for me.

“And then Gull came in,” I said. “I didn’t see the next part, I was helping Ardal—Felix—but Gull hit Knut, and Knut fell. Gull told me to bring the rope and go for help, and I did.”

“Thank you, Sibeal. Please sit down.” Johnny turned to Gull. “Is that an accurate account, Gull?”