“You will stay for the music, Sibeal?” It was Alba, her hair tied back in a ribbon, her fiddle and bow in her hands. She glanced sideways as she waited for my reply, and one of the Connacht men, a handsome, red-haired fellow, smiled as if he had been waiting for her to notice him. Alba grinned, showing her dimples. Behind her, Niall was plucking notes on his harp, frowning, tightening a peg or two.

I had been about to plead exhaustion and make my escape. “Of course,” I said. “I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Alba and her brother were expert musicians. They were joined by a deft-fingered fellow on the whistle and two very fine drummers. I could see that people were itching to dance, but holding back out of respect for Knut and the recent losses. It seemed to me that Knut would have been up and dancing himself, with or without his wife—he was tapping his foot—if anyone had suggested it. On another occasion I would have enjoyed the music. Tonight, I could only wait until I might leave without offending anyone.

“May I introduce myself and my friend here?” A courteous voice: the warrior standing in front of me was one of the visitors, not Alba’s redhead but a shorter man with a genial smile and a head of dark curls. “I’m Brendan, son of Marcán, and he’s Fergus. Both of us from the district of Long Hill, originally. That was a fine tale.”

“Thank you. I am Sibeal, daughter of Lord Sean of Sevenwaters, as you know. Johnny’s cousin. A druid, or on the way to becoming one.”

“May we sit here, Sibeal?”

I nodded; I could hardly say no. Then I had one of them on either side of me, and the music playing on, and all I could think about was Ardal lying awake in the infirmary, like a little boy waiting for his mother to come and tuck him in. Though, of course, it was nothing like the same.

“. . . and my father’s land stretches from the west coast across to Hidden Lake,” one of the men was saying.

“Mm,” I murmured, considering whether I might amuse Ardal with a story, should he still be awake when I finally got there.

“. . . hoping to end it, once and for all. Fursa Uí Conchobhair has long had his eye on Curnán’s holdings; if we don’t put a stop to it now, it’ll soon go much further than cattle raids . . . ”

“Mm.”