have news, Sorcha,’ said Liam, stooping to come in, and removing his wet cloak at the same time. Over the field armour he still wore his battle tunic, with the symbol of Sevenwaters on the breast. Two torcs interlocked; the outer world, and the inner. This world and the Otherworld. For in the life of the lake and the forest the two were inextricably entwined. ‘You must come home with us straight away,’ he went on. ‘There are changes afoot, and Father requires your presence. He was displeased to learn that you had stayed here so long, whatever the need of your skills in herbalism.’
‘Father?’ I asked sceptically. ‘I’m surprised he showed the least interest in my whereabouts. Hasn’t he better things to occupy his attention?’
Cormack was talking to the dog, getting her to calm down, bringing her inside. Her whole body wriggled and she gave small whines of excitement, as if she could barely contain herself.
‘He made no objection to your spending some time learning from Father Brien,’ said Finbar pointedly, ‘or sharing your skills with him. He has your marriage prospects in mind, maybe – it is a useful craft for a woman. But now –’ he broke off, and I detected a note of deep unease in his voice.
‘Now what?’ There was something none of them was telling me.
Liam picked up a beeswax candle from the table, rolling it between his fingers. Cormack sat down on the edge of the bed, and the dog jumped up beside him, sniffing at the bedding. I watched her; she had her eyes on the doorway, expectant. Was there anything here that might give us away – a pair of boots, a bloodstained bandage? There had been so little time. I looked up at Finbar; something more than the risk that Simon would be found was troubling him.
‘Father has returned,’ said Liam heavily, ‘and with an intended bride. She comes from northern parts, and he will wed her a few days hence. It was sudden, and unexpected. He wants all his children there for the wedding feast.’
‘A bride?’ After what Father Brien had told us, this seemed nigh-on impossible.
‘It’s true,’ said Cormack. ‘Who’d have thought he had it in him? What’s more, she’s young, beautiful and charming with it. New lease of life for the old man. You should see Diarmid. Follows her around all day making calf’s-eyes.’
Liam frowned at him. ‘It is not so simple,’ he said. ‘We know next to nothing about this woman, the lady Oonagh is her name, save that he met her when we were quartered with Lord Eamonn of the Marshes, and she was a guest in that house. Of her own folk she has said little, I believe – or he has chosen not to share it with us.’
‘I can’t believe that he would marry again,’ I said, relief that they had not come for Simon mixed with shocked incredulity, ‘he is so – so –’
‘Impervious?’ said Finbar. ‘Not to her. She is – different; as glittering and dangerous as some exotic snake. You will know when you see her, why he has done this.’
‘Conor doesn’t like her,’ said Cormack.
Liam stood up. ‘We must return, Sorcha,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry Father Brien was from home, for I had hoped to speak with him in private of these matters. No doubt Father will send for him again, to perform the ceremony. Meanwhile the house is in uproar, and you are needed. Fetch your things now; you can ride down behind me.’
Leave now, straight away? Leave Simon alone, without even saying goodbye, without telling him what was happening? I sent a desperate message to Finbar. I can’t leave now, not like this, he’s not ready yet, at least let me –
‘You go on ahead, Liam,’ said Finbar. ‘I’ll help Sorcha pack up, and she can come with me.’
‘Are you sure?’ Liam was keen to go, already donning his cloak. ‘Don’t be too long, then. There is much to be done. Come on, Cormack, that foolish hound of yours will doubtless be glad to be away home.’
But she was not. The two of them swung up into the saddle, and at first she circled Cormack’s horse, all enthusiasm. But when they rode off down the track, the finality of it struck her suddenly and she paused, then padded back up towards us. She looked around her, sniffing, hesitating. The rain began to come down heavily.
‘Linn! Come!’ Cormack called her, his horse held in check just where the path entered the forest. ‘Come!’
She turned and walked slowly towards him; stopped and looked back again.
‘Go on, Linn,’ I said, fighting back tears for her, for me, for Simon. ‘Go home!’
Cormack whistled, and this time she went to him, but the keenness was gone from her step. They disappeared under the trees.
‘Be quick,’ said Finbar. ‘Where are your things? I’ll pack, you talk to him, then we’re going.’ I did not ask him when I would be able to come back; there was a dreadful finality about all of it. Silently I indicated my bundle, my cloak, my small pots and jars; then I fled back through the rain to the cottage door; but it was barred from inside. True to his word, he had done as I asked.
‘Simon!’ I yelled over the roar of the downpour. ‘It’s me, let me in!’
There must have been enough urgency in my voice to conquer his distrust, for the bolts were drawn and the door opened quickly. He had the knife in his hand, but he made no move to touch me, instead retreating to the far end of the room as I stumbled in and slammed the door behind me.
There was no way to do this kindly.
‘I have to go, now, straight away. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to be this way. But my brothers are waiting.’
He stared at me blankly.
‘It’s too soon, I know, but I have no choice. Father Brien will be back tonight, he will look after you as well as I could –’ I was babbling, my distress obvious. Simon put the knife down on the table. His voice was a mere shadow of a sound.
‘You promised,’ he said.
I could not look at him.
‘There is no choice,’ I said again, and this time tears began to spill, and I brushed them angrily away. This was helping neither of us. But I could see the long nights ahead for him, and I dared not look up to see the emptiness returning to his eyes.
There was silence, and he did not move, and after a while Finbar called from outside, ‘Sorcha! Are you ready?’
Simon’s hand grabbed for the knife, and quick as a flash mine shot out and caught him by the wrist.
‘I cannot keep my promise,’ I said shakily, ‘but I hold you to yours. Hold on for today; then let Father Brien help you. Finish the story the way I would have you do it. You owe me this, if no more. I trust you, Simon. Don’t fail me.’
I released his wrist and he took up the knife, raising it close to my face so that I was forced to look up. The cornflower-blue eyes gazed straight into mine, and there was a wildness in them that told me his nightmare was right there in front of him. His face was chalk white.
‘Don’t leave me,’ he whispered like a small child afraid of the dark.
‘I must.’ It was the hardest thing I had ever said.
‘Sorcha!’ Finbar called again.
There was a quick movement of the blade, and Simon held a long, curling strand of my hair in his fingers. With the other hand he offered me the knife, hilt first.
‘Here,’ he said. Then he turned his back on me, waiting. And I opened the door and went out into the rain.
The lady Oonagh. I felt her presence before ever I saw her. I sensed it in Finbar’s silence as we rode home under a thunderous sky. I knew it from the cold wind that whipped tree branches into prostrate surrender as we passed, from the churning turbulence of the lake waters, from the scream of a gull harried on its flight by needles of frozen sleet. I felt it in the heaviness of my own heart, every step of the way. She was there and her hand was on all