I was not sure whether to be amused or insulted. One of the things folk most often commented on, when speaking of me, was my composure.

“You’ve had a shock.” Gull had seen the look on my face. “This will keep away bad dreams.”

I swallowed my pride, which had no place here. Gull was not Ciarán. But he was wise in his own way, and I could learn from him while I was on the island. I turned my attention back to the man on the pallet. “You’re safe here,” I said, in a voice intended for his ears only. “You’re among friends. We’ll look after you.” Gods, his breathing must be like fire in his chest. The rasp of it was hard to listen to; each inward breath tensed his whole body. “It hurts, I know,” I whispered. “But you’ll get better. Manannán chose to release you. That must be for a purpose.” He was watching me, conscious of my presence even if he could not understand my words. His half-open eyes were of an unusual dark blue. One long-fingered hand lay atop the bedding, and something about it caught my attention. “He has blisters, like that other man,” I said in a different tone.

“They must have been rowing for their lives,” said Evan.

“Wouldn’t a ship’s crew be rowing every day? I didn’t think of it before, but their hands would be tough and calloused. This man’s skin looks more like mine might after a day’s hard rowing.”

“What do you think it means, Sibeal?” asked Muirrin.

“Knut did say there were passengers. Perhaps this man was one of them. But surely the crew would have done the rowing, even in a storm.” Those eyes still watched me, and it seemed to me there was understanding in them. “I hope you’ll let us help you,” I murmured, thinking of Svala.

By the time Gull had brewed his concoction, Johnny had come in with Knut and Kalev. At their feet followed Fang, looking smug. I moved away when the men approached the pallet, but not before I saw the patient close his eyes.

Knut looked down at him. His expression was grave. He spoke, and Kalev rendered it into accented Irish. “He looks very sick. Near death. Has he spoken to you?”

“Not a word,” Evan said. “Can you tell us who he is, Knut?”

“Not a crewman. He was with those others. The three of them going together to the Orcades. I know nothing of their purpose. Will this man die?”

“Not if we can keep him alive.” The blunt nature of Knut’s question, which Kalev’s translation did nothing to soften, had clearly surprised Muirrin. “My husband and I, and his father here, are all skilled healers. We’ll do our best to help him.”