“I don’t think I can tell you. I don’t know much about the law, but I do know one should not accuse a man without evidence. I have had doubts, increasing doubts as time passed. There is nothing that can be proven. I am his one true friend. If I were to turn against him, he would again be quite alone. That is a terrible thing, Nessa, to be alone. I know that now. After the…after what happened at Ramsbeck, I wandered a long time in a place where nobody else could reach me. Until you came.”

“I have felt the same,” she whispered. “I miss my sisters so much, though when they were here I often thought they did not understand me. I miss my mother. I talk to her and she does not hear me. Eyvi, you must not rely on me. My people need me, they are in terrible danger. I cannot—I should not—”

“I understand. You still can’t trust me. That is no more than I deserve. I hoped…no, that is foolish. Do you have a comb?”

“What?”

“Your hair’s still wet. You’ll catch a chill if you spend the night down in that chamber with wet hair.”

He was telling her she looked a mess, just as Kinart might do. Nessa was annoyed to feel a blush rising to her cheeks. She fished in her bag, found the little bone comb with seals on it, and unfastened the damp ribbon on the end of her long plait. A pox on the man. How did he manage to make her feel like this, confused and upset and happy all at the same time? Was she not a wise woman?

“No,” he said, taking the comb from her hand. “I’ll do it. Practice for me. I’ve been trying to use my hands for different tasks. I even brought some driftwood up from the beach for the old woman. I cleaned the fish I caught. When I concentrate I can keep them almost steady. Sit still, now. That’s it.”

This was something mothers and sisters did, not some young warrior one hardly knew. Ridiculous man. He’d simply knelt down behind her and started drawing the comb through her wet hair without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Ouch!”

“I did say, sit still. Is that better?”

“Yes, but—”

“You can trust me to perform this small service, at least. I missed you, Nessa.”

“Soon enough I will be gone again. Eventually you will go back to him, to Somerled. It is not possible that we—that we…” The steady movement of the comb was soothing; it made her feel warm and content. She could not bring herself to tell him to stop, though this was entirely inappropriate. “You could be a spy,” she went on. “You are Somerled’s friend, after all. He could have sent you here, set the whole thing up to trap me. He could have been pretending when he said…when he said he thought you were dead.”