He meant the run-down house; Ana’s exhaustion. But it was a long ride, and Geiléis kept her retainers on a tight rein. “Ana trusts you; she relies on you. That much is plain. If her husband could see what you are doing for her, I’m sure it would make him happy. Donncha, I can’t promise to speak to the monks myself—I’m not only a woman, I’m a wise woman, and I don’t imagine Father Tomas and the brethren would be inclined to do me any favors. But I can make sure a message reaches them on Midsummer Day or thereabouts, letting them know about Ana.” Just how I was going to manage that—ensuring a message was delivered after I had left Bann—I could not think. Maybe a pigeon could carry it. Grim would know. But he was the one person I could not ask.

“Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn.”

“You took a risk today. Letting me in on your secret, not knowing if I’d rush straight back and tell Geiléis everything. I’d never dreamed before this afternoon that any of you had a life beyond being her loyal retainers.”

“That is our life,” said Donncha, and there was a sad acceptance in his voice that jolted my heart.

“But it need not be, surely.” I found myself unable to let the argument go. The men-at-arms in the royal household, and those in Prince Oran’s establishment at Winterfalls, had their wives and children living with them. They went out into the community, both on and off duty; they were not forbidden to make friends.

Donncha was spared the need to reply, for we turned a corner and found our path blocked by a huge mound of stones and earth. The run-off from the earlier storm had brought down part of the hillside; there was no way around. Some malign spirit had decided I was not going to be present when Flannan divulged the contents of his manuscript.

I uttered a curse foul enough to make Donncha glance at me, brows raised.

“No way forward,” he said. “Our best choice will be to go back to the last fork in the path and take a route downhill toward the river. It’s easy enough for the horses and not a great deal longer than this one. I’m sorry, Mistress Blackthorn. It does look as if we’ll be late. But surely they will wait for you.”

Geiléis wouldn’t wait, I thought as we turned the horses and headed back the way we had come. Perhaps it was unfair of me, but I was starting to think the Lady of Bann cared only for herself. She had come to Cahercorcan full of tears and woe on behalf of her poor beleaguered people, yet she made no effort to help those very people when they were in need. She didn’t like her men going to visit them and she didn’t seem to visit them herself. Instead she stayed in her house, often in her chamber, doing nothing much that I could see. She must have resources, or she would not be able to keep her household going—St. Olcan’s might be helping with food, but it surely wasn’t providing fodder for ten or eleven horses as well. So why didn’t she make an effort to do what a leader was supposed to do? Did the curse work on her mind in such a way that she could not act as a chieftain should? Or was the curse just a convenient excuse for being lazy and irresponsible?