“But this did not come to be?”

“He has changed,” Margaret said wearily. “He has not come to himself, but moved farther away. I thought…I thought he might put aside the terrible jealousy that consumed him, might find his own right path. But even after his brother died, he flayed himself with his failure to be his brother’s equal; to have what my husband had. I have tried to put it right. I have tried to reach him. But…”

Somerled. She meant Somerled. By all the powers, how could this be? Ulf’s own brother: that man, that hideous man with his cold eyes and his little crooked smile.

“But what, Margaret?” Nessa asked gently as her flesh crawled with horror.

“I think some darkness has fallen on him,” she whispered. “He looks at me now and does not see me. His mind is set one way only, on his own path. And it is an ill path. This is a man who will never be content. When he gets what he wants, he soon tires of it, and sets his goal higher.”

“Did you lie with him?” Nessa asked her. “With your husband’s brother?”

A flush rose to Margaret’s pale cheeks. “That’s none of your concern!” she snapped.

“Perhaps not; still, you did seek my advice. Has this man tired of you? Do you indeed want only a love philter, to rekindle the dying fires of his passion? That could be had from any old woman of the cottages, lady. There was no need to come to me. I am a priestess of the Folk. My work is in the high mysteries, the dark and secret ways of our people. I do not dabble in such tricks.”

“They say the Folk are finished.” Margaret’s tone was flat. “So much for Ulf’s bright vision. It lasted no longer than he did.”

Anger flared in Nessa. She rose to her feet. “You dismiss us easily,” she said. “Yet you come to me for help. Why should I help you?”

“Because you are a woman, and so am I,” said Margaret quietly, standing to look Nessa straight in the eye. “And I told you, I do not want a love potion. If a man cannot love me of himself, then his love is not worth much. You despise me, I can see that. You misjudge me. I was never unfaithful to my husband. I did not lie with this other man, even though he said he loved me and begged me to be with him. I did not lie with him until…until after…” Margaret drew a deep breath; Nessa could see the way she summoned the will from deep within her, a core of iron strength. “And it was only once. I thought to comfort him; his brother’s death was a cruel blow to him. It was then that I knew—that I realized he was not the man I had thought him to be. He was…he was less than gentle with me. And afterward, disdainful, as if the gift I had given him was no more than his due. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, I don’t even know you.”