She made no reply, simply waited until I should summon the wit to grasp her meaning.When I did so I felt cold.
“You’re not telling me I should have let Cillian carry me away, trussed up with a gag over my mouth?You, a woman, think I should have accepted that?”
“At least that man wants you,” she said quietly.
Cold fury took hold of me. “I can’t believe you would condone what Cillian did yesterday. That sickens me. I understand your argument about Anluan, and I regret tiring him. I will be more careful in the future. But I’m not leaving Whistling Tor, Muirne; not until I finish the job I was hired for. I don’t believe my presence is dangerous to anyone.”
“Scribing is one thing.” She was angry too, but it showed only in her eyes. “I have some admiration for a woman who can do it with sufficient skill to earn her living. But you seek to do far more here than the transcription of a few documents.”
I had no answer to this, since she was right. I had made an undertaking to the host. I had promised to look for a counterspell. And what about Anluan, with his odd little smile, like a sudden burst of sunlight in a place full of shadows? This could not be neatly finished by the end of summer.
“You stirred up the host,” Muirne said, folding her arms. “The host is dangerous. Eventually, inevitably, it will turn against you.”
“How can you say that when you are part of the host yourself?” I asked, not caring whether I had overstepped the mark. “As for that little girl . . .” My fingers stroked the damaged cloth of the violet gown. “She’s too young to be fully responsible for her actions.”
Muirne’s eyes were cold. “You’re wrong,” she said. “You expose all of us to danger. Do your work if you must; write your copies. But Anluan should have nothing to do with the documents.Tell him you do not want his help.” She turned on her heel and was gone before I could say any more.
My mind was spinning. For a moment I could not remember why I was in the yard. I thought of Anluan, so relaxed, so happy after his success with the pen. I remembered the feeling of his body against mine as I guided his hand; the curious sense of loss as I stepped away, setting space between us. It was not the first time touching him had sent a flood of warmth through my body. Muirne had been right to warn me. I was letting myself feel too much. I was allowing natural sympathy to grow into something else, something with the power to cause real harm.
With a sigh, I finished rinsing the dishes, then poured out the washing water by the kitchen steps. Muirne had said Anluan should have nothing to do with the documents. But Anluan had hired me to translate the Latin so he could find out what Nechtan had written. He wanted to read the documents. Why was this dangerous? I could think of no reason but the one I had already considered myself: that Anluan might be inspired to attempt the same kind of work his great-grandfather had tried to such disastrous effect. He might believe that the only way the host could be banished was by sorcery. In walking down that path, he risked becoming Nechtan all over again. Muirne, who loved him, was quite reasonably taking steps to avoid what she knew would be catastrophic.
Back in the kitchen, I dried the dishes and set them in their places. I found myself wiping down the tabletop for the third time. I gathered Emer’s gown and went up to my quarters, expecting the worst. The door was ajar but nothing seemed to be out of place except for Róise. I had put her away in the storage chest this morning, but she was on the bed now, propped against my pillow with her torn skirt spread out around her.The child had ripped out far more of the silken hair than I had realized: one side of the doll’s head was almost completely bald.
I took a few deep breaths. There was work to be done; Nechtan’s documents awaited me in the library. But the encounter with Muirne had unsettled me, and the knowledge that someone had been in this chamber, tampering with my belongings even as I sat with Anluan in the library, set unease in my bones. Before I went back to work, I needed to put right the damaged memories of family.
I assembled my sewing materials and rolled Róise up in Emer’s gown. I stepped out of the bedchamber and almost walked into the young man in the bloody shirt. I gasped in shock; he took a step back as if equally disturbed.
“Oh—forgive me—” I fumbled for the right words.
“I mean no harm—I wish only to—”
