They rode out in the early morning. Cahercorcan had provided horses for Blackthorn and her two men.

“I should have explained, perhaps,” Geiléis said to the healer, “that when we stop along the way—the journey takes almost five days—we do not seek out the hospitality of chieftains or princes. My men carry rudimentary supplies for camping. We sleep under the trees. We wait until the horses can go on.”

“That’s fine with Grim and me,” Blackthorn said. “What about you, Flannan? You may be more accustomed to sleeping with a roof over your head.”

“Not at all,” said the scholar, who was riding close to Blackthorn. “A great deal of my life is spent traveling. Provided I can keep my writing materials dry—and they are well wrapped against possible damage—I have no objection to a few nights in the open, Lady Geiléis.”

“Call me Geiléis, please, Master Flannan.” She favored him with a smile. “You must do the same, Mistress Blackthorn. On the road we may dispense with convention, surely.”

“If you say so.” Blackthorn glanced over her shoulder. The men-at-arms were in their usual formation, three at the head of the group, three at the rear, one on either flank and one free to move about as required. The healer’s man, Grim, was riding with those at the back of the party. “That goes for Grim too, I take it?”

“If you wish.” What was the fellow to her? Not a lover, surely—there seemed nothing of passion or tenderness in either of them. Indeed, they appeared singularly ill-suited to each other. Even a beaten-about sort of woman like Blackthorn could surely do better than that slow-witted lump of a man. But perhaps she liked her pleasure quick and rough, with no sentiment attached. “We’ll ride as far as Cormac’s Crossing today, all being well. My men will set up shelters, cook a meal, provide all that is required.”

“Mm-hm.”

“A long ride for you,” Geiléis said.

“We’ll cope. And as for the camping, we’re used to managing with very little. No need to apologize for the lack of amenities. Cormac’s Crossing. Who is, or was, Cormac?”

“It’s an old name; I know nothing of its origins. You’ll find the spot perfectly suitable for an overnight camp. I thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, for agreeing to do this. Your courage is exemplary.”

“More curiosity than courage. Grim and I like a mystery. Yours is particularly challenging.”

Geiléis would have said more; would, perhaps, have ventured a question or two about where Blackthorn had been before she came to Dalriada. But the healer let her horse drop back and the opportunity was lost. There was a story behind the woman’s combative eyes and sharp manner. There was a story behind her unlikely friendship with her hulking protector. Not that it mattered, unless it got in the way of the task ahead. She’d watch them carefully, and set others to do so when she could not. Make sure her guests saw what she needed them to and nothing else. Make sure they heard only what was required to ensure the fulfillment of the task.