“And the fellow, Grim?”

“I don’t believe such a man can present any threat, save in his devotion to the woman. I doubt the fellow will observe anything that the healer misses. Let him trail along behind her until we near the end.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Mistress Blackthorn has expressed a wish to observe the activity of the birds at the tower; I cannot imagine why. She can be admitted to my chamber at dawn, if she insists, but not at dusk. You might instead offer to take her and the man up the hill to a spot with a clear view. Make sure she does not see anything else, Senach. No activity on the ground. Nothing untoward in the woods. Make sure the word goes out.”

“I will attend to it, my lady.” Her steward paused; cleared his throat. “I hope you will take a little of the supper. It will give you strength.”

“That will be all for tonight.” She waved a hand toward the door.

“Yes, my lady.”

• • •

Alone once more, Geiléis used her lamp to light a candle. Then, step by careful step, she climbed to the upper level. Never mind that dusk had fallen some while ago. She must keep faith. Her folk believed in her. They still had hope, even after so long. Senach was right; Midsummer Eve was drawing ever closer. Perhaps, against all odds, this time she would succeed. Perhaps this healer with her shock of flaming hair and her prickly ways would be the answer she needed. Perhaps, perhaps . . . And in the meantime, although he slept, the story must be told . . .

Lily slept little that night. Her mind was alive with Ash: the way he had looked at her, the brief touch of his hand, the whisper of his breath against her cheek. His words: You are a lamp in the dark, a fair flower in the shadows. Nobody had ever spoken to her like that, and it made her feel quite odd. Why had she left him in the tower all alone? Why had she not run to her father or to the household steward, explained the situation and asked for help? Yes, that would have meant confessing she had been out in the woods without any companions, and that would have led, without doubt, to her being prevented from going back, and that meant, almost certainly, that she would never see Ash again. But what if she returned to the tower tomorrow and he was lying dead, when she could have saved him?

Next morning she endured an hour of embroidery, an hour of practicing the harp, an hour of exercising the lapdogs in the courtyard and kitchen garden, where they dug a deep hole while she sat on a bench and dreamed of Ash. She returned the dogs, filthy but in good spirits, to her mother. She went to the larder and helped herself to a slice of mutton pie, two apples and, on further consideration, a small bag of sweetmeats. All this she smuggled to her bedchamber. It helped that her maid, Muiríol, was fond of one of the grooms, and welcomed any excuse to make a trip out to the stables or to the field where the horses were exercised. But it startled Lily to discover her own talent as a dissembler and thief.