The merriment in the room disappears as quickly as it began. Even the priest stills his tongue.

‘Mark my words,’ I go on. ‘The seeing was a warning. The crannog is under threat.’

‘We know this,’ Prince Brynach waves his hand dismissively in an attempt to dampen any panic that might be kindling among the gathering. ‘There are ever those who want what we have and would take it from us. We live with war as our cousin and our neighbor, who may visit us without invitation. These are not peaceful times.’

‘You may float your palace on the water,’ I say, ‘and you may build your barricades and man them with guards with swords of iron, and, yes, that will keep your enemies at bay.’ I take two strides forward with such urgency that a guard draws his sword, but the prince raises his hand in a signal for him to stay back. I lean toward my noble ruler until my face is but a hand’s breadth from his own. He meets my icy gaze. He is one of the few who is able to do so. I keep my voice low and level. ‘But nothing you can build will save you from the danger that comes from within.’

His eyes widen but he does not move nor look away. ‘You say I have an enemy … inside my camp?’

‘The vision was strong, the message clear. You are in a nest of vipers, my Prince, and they wish you dead!’

Chapter 3

3

TILDA

Tilda feeds another log into the Rayburn in the kitchen and is yet again thankful for a solid fuel stove. Having spent a candlelit night at the cottage, she was surprised to find she did not miss the television, the radio, or even her music, but was content to read until the daylight and candle were insufficient for the print of her chosen novel. The memory of Mat attempting to convert her to an e-reader prompted a wry smile. Why not go to bed when the sun did? She was an early riser anyway, preferring to run with the dawn.

Early to bed, early to rise. Who needs watches to tell us when to do something, or lights to stop us going to sleep?