Nessa shivered. It was as she had thought. This ashen-faced girl, sitting proud and straight in her thick gray cloak, was Ulf’s widow. This was perilous indeed. I will split their bodies like pigs on a spit…

“Very well, Margaret. I am a priestess of the women’s mysteries here in the Light Isles. You must tell me what you need. The girl said it is to do with a man.” She would not let slip she knew the name’s significance. Perhaps there was more than one Margaret among them. “Your husband? Your lover? Or one you wish might be so?”

“I–I don’t think I can do this after all,” Margaret said tightly. “I don’t think I can say it.”

Nessa waited in silence. The clouds built overhead; the air smelled of a storm to come. Kinart would be guarding the western path, Ferach the other. It was just as well these unexpected visitors had arrived before she got here, and brought their horses right in. But how would they get out? Curse the woman, how could she be so foolish? Desperation must have driven her.

“It is…it is not a love potion I seek. I thought, once, this man might be capable of love, though he has known little of it himself. He was kind to me. He made time for me. My husband did not have a great deal of time; his vision drove him hard.” She bit her lip, and looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap.

“So, this man is not your husband?” Nessa asked cautiously.

“I–I don’t think I can tell you. You might be a spy. I was expecting an old woman. I can’t tell you.”

“Then why have you come here, Margaret? You need have no concern about secrets. This is the women’s place, sacred to the deep powers of the earth. Confidences are safe here. Now tell me.”

“I am a widow. My husband died. He was a good man, a fine man, who strove to do what he believed was right. A true leader. I tried to be the kind of wife he needed. But…but there was so much for him to do, too much…He was consumed by the will to achieve his goal, to make his vision reality before…If he had lived, there might have been time for the two of us. But his life was cut short. He expected that, I believe.”

“He is gone, then. What of this other man?”

Margaret’s eyes changed; a shadow entered them. “There were such possibilities for him, when we came here,” she said in a voice no more than a whisper. “For him, for all of us. This is a man who has followed a lonely road, a man to whom the gods have not been kind. Because of that, he cannot readily give of himself. He lives behind high walls of his own making; he trusts no one. Perhaps that is not quite true. There was one he trusted, besides myself. But he is—he is very much alone. I thought…I thought it would change things for him, coming here. I thought he could forget the wrongs he has suffered.”