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believe Lord MacQuinn would adopt Allenach’s daughter! His enemy! What was he thinking?”

      “She fooled him. That’s the only explanation.”

      There was a crash, as if something had accidentally overturned, followed by an exasperated curse. I heard footsteps draw close, and I rushed back down the corridor, leather satchel banging against my leg, through the muddy antechamber, and out the door.

      I didn’t cry, although my eyes smarted as I hurried back to the castle.

      What had I thought? That Jourdain’s people would like me at once? That I would fit into the weavings of a place that had suffered while I had flourished on the other side of the channel?

      As I stepped into the castle courtyard, I began to wonder if it would be better for me to return to Valenia.

      I began to believe that perhaps I truly didn’t belong here.

      

       Lord Morgane’s Territory, Castle Brígh

       Cartier

      I woke with a start, a crick in my neck, my hands aching from the cold. I was slumped against the wall, and morning light was pooling on the floor, illuminating the dust on my boots. A few yards away was my wool blanket, wrinkled and empty. I blinked, gradually gaining my bearings.

      I was in my parents’ bedchamber. And it was freezing.

      Rushing my hands over my face, I heard the distant pounding on the front doors. The echo of life moved through the castle like a heart remembering its pattern.

      I stumbled to my feet, wondering if Tomas had snuck away in the night, rethinking his offer to stay here. Halfway down the broken stairwell, I heard the lad’s voice.

      “Are you here to see Lord Aodhan?”

      I halted. There, in the crook of the front doors, was Tomas balanced on one foot, speaking to a man standing on the threshold. The light was too bright for me to wholly discern the visitor, but I couldn’t breathe in that moment.

      “He’s sleeping. You’ll have to come back later,” Tomas stated and began to close the doors, which would not have done much good with how they hung from the hinges.

      “I’m here, Tomas,” I said, my voice almost unrecognizable. I descended the remainder of the stairs, taking care on the shattered stones.

      Tomas begrudgingly relented, swinging the doors wider so that they banged against the wall.

      An older man stood in the sun, his white hair knotted in a braid, his face deeply lined, and his clothes ragged. As soon as he met my gaze, astonishment shone in his eyes.

      “Seamus Morgane,” I said. I knew who he was. He had once held me as a child; he had once knelt before me as he swore his fealty to me. My father had told me of him countless times, this man who had been his most trusted of thanes.

      “My lord Aodhan.” He knelt before me, among the weeds.

      “No, no.” I took Seamus’s hands, guiding him back to his feet. I embraced him, forgoing formality. I felt the tears rack his body as he clung to me.

      “Welcome home, Seamus,” I said with a smile.

      Seamus composed himself and leaned back, his fingers on my arms as he stared up at me, somewhat agape, like he still could not believe I was standing before him. “I cannot … I cannot believe it,” he rasped, tightening his hold on me.

      “Would you like to come in? I fear I do not have any food or drink, or I would offer you some refreshments.”

      Before Seamus could respond, there was a cry from the courtyard. I glanced up to see a slim woman, also older, with curly silver hair that rested on her shoulders like a cloud, standing by a wagon overflowing with supplies. She had a corner of her patchwork apron pressed to her mouth, as if she was also trying to wrestle back a sob at the sight of me.

      “My lord,” Seamus said, shuffling to stand beside me, to hold his hand out to the woman. “This is my wife, Aileen.”

      “Gods above, look at you! How you’ve grown!” Aileen burst, dabbing her eyes with her apron. She extended her hands to me, and I crossed the distance, to embrace her. She hardly reached my shoulder in height, and yet she took hold of my arms and gave me a gentle shake, and I could only laugh.

      Aileen nudged me back, to peer up at my face, memorizing it.

      “Ah, yes,” she said, sniffing. “You have Kane’s build. But look, Seamus! He has Líle’s coloring, Líle’s eyes!”

      “Yes, love. He is their son,” Seamus responded, and Aileen swatted him.

      “Aye, I know. And he’s the most handsome lad I’ve ever seen.”

      I felt my face warm, embarrassed by all the fuss. I was grateful to be saved by Seamus, who directed the conversation to more practical matters. “Are we the first to arrive, my lord?”

      I nodded, the crick in my neck protesting. “Yes. I’ve sent out a call to my people, to return as soon as they are able. But I fear the castle is much worse than I anticipated. I have no food. No blankets. No water. I have nothing to give.”

      “We didn’t expect that you would,” Aileen said, indicating the wagon. “This is a gift from Lord Burke. We were made to serve him during the dark years. Thankfully, he was good to us, to your people.”

      I walked to the wagon, to hide the tangle of my emotions. There were bundles of blankets and yarn, fresh sets of clothing, cast iron to cook in, casks of ale and cider, wheels of cheese, bushels of apples, dried shanks of meat. There was also a collection of buckets to draw water from the well, and paper and ink for letters.

      “I owe Lord Burke a great debt, then,” I said.

      “No, my lord,” Seamus spoke, laying a hand on my shoulder. “This is the beginning of Lord Burke’s payment, for remaining silent when he should have spoken.”

      I stared at Seamus, not knowing what to say.

      “Come! Let’s carry the goods inside and we can begin to tidy the place,” Aileen declared, seeming to sense the sorrow of my thoughts.

      The three of us began to carry the casks and baskets into the kitchens, and that was when I realized Tomas had disappeared again. I almost called for him when there came another knock on the front doors.

      “Lord Aodhan!” A dark-haired young man with a freckled face, whose arms were nearly the size of my waist, greeted me with a broad smile. “I am Derry, your stonemason.”

      And that was how the morning continued to progress.

      As the light strengthened, more of my people returned, bearing whatever gifts they could bring. Two more of my thanes and their wives arrived, followed by the millers, the chandlers, the weavers, the healers, the gardeners, the brewmen, the cooks, the masons, the coopers, the yeomen … They returned to me laughing and weeping. Some I had never seen before; others I instantly recognized as the men- and women-at-arms who had rallied to fight with me days ago on the castle green. Only now they brought their families, their children, their grandparents, their livestock. And my mind swelled with their names, and my arms became sore from carrying so many bundles of provisions to the storerooms.

      By late afternoon, the women had busied themselves with cleaning and straightening the hall, and the men had begun to clear the weeds and vines from the courtyard, to sweep out the broken glass and splintered furniture from the rooms.

      I was carrying out the remains of a chair when I saw Derry standing with his back to me in the courtyard, staring down at the stone bearing Declan’s name. Before I could think of something to say, the mason took an iron wedge and viciously

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