“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save it.”

Rona muttered something and gestured with her hands. The house; her possessions. A sweep of the arms: all gone. She cupped her hands to her heart, tapped her fingers to her head, and gave her gapped and crooked smile. He thought he understood her. It’s all in the heart and the head, lad. That’s what matters.

After the burning, it was clear neither of them could stay there. They sheltered in the howe as night fell. Shadow stayed outside, perhaps knowing that now a constant watch must be maintained. Eyvind tried to explain to Rona what he had heard. It seemed vitally important.

“Nessa,” he said, knowing this name, at least, they had in common. He used his hands. “Men come—not for me, not for you—men come for Nessa. Somerled—find Nessa. Why? Why does he want her, Rona? Tell me.”

But like many old folk, the wise woman chose her own times to be helpful and her times to stay silent. She shrugged and said nothing.

“Please,” begged Eyvind, knowing he was talking to himself. Rona lay down on the ground with Nessa’s cloak over her for warmth. It was not a kind bed for an old woman. “Please tell me. I love her, I can’t let him hurt her. I understand what she is, and what I am. I know the best I can do is try to stand between her and danger, to help her as I promised. All I’m trying to do is put it together so I can understand: so I can know what to do next.”

It was pointless. Rona’s eyes were closed; she snored peacefully. As soon as the sky began to brighten, he’d have to wake her, and they’d have to go…where? A fugitive, whose own folk thought him a ghost, an ancient crone and a very large hunting dog: the three of them could surely not travel far, unobserved. He did not like to think of Rona in Somerled’s hands. Somerled’s treatment of the cat woman all those years ago had shown what he thought of priestesses. Where could they go? Where could he take her? To the Folk, he was the enemy, a butcher who had slaughtered their sons. And what about Somerled? Every moment that passed seemed likely to put Nessa and her people in greater danger. If only she were here by his side; if only it were that first night again, when he had woken from his long nightmare to see her there in the shadows, with all the mystery and gravity and wonder of the islands written on her delicate features. No wonder he had thought her a goddess, a spirit. No wonder he had sat close by her, with her body warm against his own, as if there were nothing untoward about it. That night had not been part of ordinary time; it was its own time. Where was Nessa now? Did she think of him at all? Did she wonder if he had begun to fulfill the quest she had given him, or had she forgotten him the moment she’d turned and run from him, back to her own people? Eyvind put his fingers up to touch the place where she had kissed him, and, knowing himself foolish beyond belief, he whispered his good-night words to her. “Rest sweetly, my Bright Star. Walk safely. My hand in yours.” He closed his eyes and slept.