The riders get closer. After a bit, some of the king’s guards appear down below, heading out to meet them. They’re armed too, taking no chances. Though folk don’t attack a place like this with a force of nine or ten, and that’s all this lady’s got. Yes, it is a lady; she’s pushed back her hood and made that plain. Sitting straight in the saddle, head held high, got a proud look about her. Youngish. Hair the color of ripe corn, all done up in plaits.

Both parties halt. The lady says something. Waves her hands around a bit as if she’s upset. The fellow heading the king’s guards answers, and after a bit the guards escort the visitors in. “Must be a friend,” I say. A lady who’s ridden to Cahercorcan with her own men-at-arms isn’t here to see Blackthorn or me. But I get a funny feeling all the same. I’m thinking this could be the start of whatever it is I’ve been waiting for.

• • •

Not sure why I go down to the courtyard then. But I do. So I’m there when the lady’s party rides up to the steps. Someone’s told the prince he’s got visitors, and he’s all ready to welcome them. The lady gets down from her mount, not looking as stiff as you’d expect after a long ride. Groom takes hold of the bridle. Prince Oran walks forward, but before he gets a word out the lady’s thrown herself at his feet, clutching onto his leg and babbling like she’s crazy. I move forward quick, thinking she might be up to no good. Prince’s guards get there before me, grab the lady’s arms, lift her up, pull her away. Prince looks a bit white, as well he might. The lady’s men-at-arms draw their weapons. It’s not looking good.

“I need your help!” The lady’s sobbing. “Oh, please, please listen! I have nobody else to turn to!” She goes on like this for a bit. Face all wet with tears, cheeks flushed red, hair tumbling down. The prince tells his guards to let her go, and they do.

“Please compose yourself,” says Prince Oran. “Whatever has happened, I give you my promise that you will be safe here. Come, this is best discussed in private. First you need rest and refreshment.”

He gives some orders, the grooms lead the horses away, the guards sheathe their blades and one or two waiting women, the ones that haven’t gone south with the queen, help the lady indoors. She’s still crying and carrying on, but she’s quietened down a bit. I’m wondering what it’s all about. But I’ve got no real business following them, so I go off to talk to Blackthorn instead.

Turns out this visitor doesn’t want to wait for rest and refreshment before she tells the prince her story. Blackthorn and me are sitting in the stillroom enjoying a brew when there’s a knock at the door and there’s Deirdre, Lady Flidais’s handmaid. Looks a bit flustered.