“Cormac’s doing better,” her father said, then caught himself. “Oh, but of course, you wouldn’t know. He had an accident at the tannery. Hurt his shoulder. Riona says he can take the sling off in the next few days.”
Aoife’s stomach lurched. Would Halverton connect the dots? Of course he wouldn’t. In his mind, he’d shot a bear, not a man.
“Who is Cormac?” he asked, turning his head to her father, his hand tightening around her thigh.
“No one,” Aoife said quickly. She laid her hand over his, and he released his grip.
“Her best friend,” Eoin said at the same time.
Halverton’s eyes flicked between them. “So, which is it? No one, or your best friend?”
Aoife forced a smile. “No one. He was a friend. A good one. But I haven’t thought of him since I came here.”
“That’s not true,” Maire said indignantly. “You said you’d always be friends. That’s why you still wear his bracelet.”
Aoife froze. She tried to pull down her sleeve, but Halverton’s hand shot out and caught her wrist. He pushed her sleeve back, revealing the braided leather against her skin.
“This was a gift from him?”
“You’re hurting me,” she said.
He released her at once. “Take it off.”
With clumsy fingers, she fumbled to untie the knot. Aoife handed it to him, and Halverton crossed the room in silence. Hestopped in front of the fireplace. The fire was out; the grate was cold. Without a word, he turned and walked out.
Maire frowned. “What’s he doing?”
Her father hushed her.
“But why did he take Aoife’s bracelet?”
“Because he’s jealous,” Eoin said matter-of-factly. “Like you are when Nessa plays with Vivi.”
Maire nodded gravely. “Because Vivi’s my best friend.”
“Exactly.”
“Oh,” Maire said. “Then he must like you very much.”
Aoife managed a smile. “That’s all right for children,” she said. “But not for adults. People aren’t possessions, Maire. No one gets to decide who you’re allowed to care about.”
Her father looked at her with quiet pride. Eoin and Maire seemed puzzled but nodded anyway.
Down the corridor, behind a closed door, a hearth poker clattered as it was replaced against the marble.
Aoife sat still, her wrist strangely bare, as if a part of her had been scraped away. She kept her hands folded in her lap to hide their trembling. The bracelet lay behind that closed door, burnt to ash. Cormac had tied it for her only weeks ago. The memory of his fingers brushing her skin hit her with unexpected force, sharp as a bruise.
Her father must have seen the pain in her face because he spoke quickly, leaning forward with exaggerated interest.
“Ah—Aoife, did you hear about the gossip from the village?” he said, loud enough to drown the echo of metal she knew he’d heard too. “Old Fergal swears he saw a black hound near the crossroads yesterday.”
Aoife let out a tight breath, grateful for his clumsy kindness, grateful not to be asked how she felt or whether she was all right. “Did it bark?” she asked.
“Only once before Fergal turned tail and ran,” her father went on, warming to the distraction.
She nodded, even though her throat was tight. She focused on his voice, not on the hollow ache circling her wrist.
Maire was practically bouncing in her seat. “What does it mean?”
