It was necessary to find a pretext for going out, for walking with Ferach down to the shore and keeping both him and Kinart distracted while the women took their horses and made their escape. Just as well it was nearly dark; the traces the animals left would otherwise be clearly visible. They lingered on the shore until after the sun set, looking up and down the water’s edge for something Nessa said she had seen, a man’s body perhaps, a stricken seal, or a mysterious bundle. When she could be quite sure Margaret and her attendant were safely away, and rain was starting to fall in a fine, drenching mist, Nessa told the two men perhaps she had been mistaken: a trick of the light. They must return to their watch, and she to her place of ritual. The rain grew heavier; by morning, hoof marks and other signs of passage would be all but obliterated.

It was pouring. Clutching her cloak around her, Nessa made a dash for the cottage, thrusting the door open with one hand, stumbling in, reaching to push her dripping hair out of her eyes. The fire glowed warm; there was a savory smell of supper cooking. Rona stirred a pot, humming tunelessly to herself. On the other side of the hearth stood a tall man with butter-yellow hair. He was pouring water from a pot to a cup; this was an exercise in discipline, that was clear from his expression of extreme concentration. His hands shook a little, but not much. As Nessa stood mute, he set the pot down, turning his summer-blue gaze on her.

“You came back,” he said softly. “I didn’t think you would come back.”

Nessa was quite lost for words. She only knew the drumming of her heart, the warmth in her cheeks had nothing to do with fear.

“You’ve shaved off your beard,” she said. “You look younger.”

“Get out of that wet cloak!” Rona snapped. “Foolish girl. Sit close to the fire; drink that tea. Give her the tea,” she ordered, and made a series of signs with her hands, pass, drink, shiver, cold. Eyvind put the cup between Nessa’s frozen fingers; the warmth of his hand, brushing against hers for the merest instant, seemed to go deep inside her.

“Thank you,” she said. “I thought you would be gone. I was sure you would be gone. Back to the others, or…”

“I could not leave the old woman on her own, unprotected,” he said.

“You see?” Rona put in. “The fellow’s still here. Loves my cooking. Can’t get enough of it. In fact, he’s not without his uses. Knows how to fish, even in this weather. Quite canny with a hand line.”

“Fish?” Nessa swung from relief to terror. “You let him go out, down to the rocks? He cannot do that, my uncle’s men could see him, they would finish him—”

“What’s wrong?” Eyvind asked. “What are you saying?”