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Ragnall MacNamara has been killed and I will be making an announcement at Poulnabrone at twelve noon.’
    ‘Yes,’ he said, his eyes refusing to meet hers. ‘The news came a while ago. My father has already gone up to Poulnabrone.’
    So Maeve’s mission was unnecessary, thought Mara. Or perhaps it was more to tell her young lover that no awkward questions had been asked by the Brehon. She wondered how to deal with this young man. Perhaps being direct would be the best method.
    ‘I saw you with Ragnall’s daughter, Maeve, at Noughaval market, yesterday,’ she said rapidly.
    His face paled slightly, but then he nodded.
    ‘I understand that Ragnall had refused permission for any betrothal between you and Maeve,’ she continued. ‘So what happened when he turned up at Noughaval yesterday? That would have been a surprise to you; you would have expected him to be on the road all day and I suppose so he would have been if the fog had not been so dense. He must have decided to turn back when he reached the sea.’
    Donal said nothing, but a spark of anger smouldered in his eyes. Was it anger against her or against Ragnall? Mara wondered.
    ‘So what happened when he arrived?’ she asked abruptly.
    He licked his lips, thought for a moment and then explained hurriedly: ‘Nothing happened. When we saw him, Maeve and I went away. I took her home to Shesmore and then I came back here.’

    ‘What time did you arrive home?’
    ‘Mid-afternoon,’ he said, after a moment’s pause for thought. That would be about right if he had done what he said, thought Mara. Either he was telling the truth or he was quick-witted enough to tell a plausible lie.
    ‘Did anyone see you arrive home?’
    He licked his lips again. His dark eyes were wary. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No one was about. Everyone was either at the market or else out in the fields. I went up to my room and I stayed there until suppertime.’
    That would be fairly unlikely, thought Mara. An active young man, and a beautiful afternoon with the golden September sun warming the fields … Surely he would have gone out with his dogs and his horse if he had no tasks. However, it might be possible. The boy was obviously very much in love and miserable at the denial of his request by the father of his sweetheart. Perhaps he did lie on his bed and brood. Or perhaps he did come back and then go out again She decided rapidly on her course of action. It would be best to surprise the truth out of him now, if possible, before he had time to think up a story.
    ‘You lost your brooch,’ she said, delving into her pouch and producing it.
    He held his hand out instantly.
    ‘It is yours?’ she asked, still retaining it in her own hand, but angling it so that he could see the three tiny lions enamelled in red.
    He hesitated then, and a look of fear came into his eyes.
    ‘It is yours, isn’t it?’ she persisted.
    He made no move to take it from her now. His dark eyes
were hooded by a fan of downcast black lashes, so she could not read their expression, but his mouth was tight.
    ‘Any of your servants will know whether it is your brooch or not,’ she told him bluntly.
    ‘Where did you find it?’ he asked. He was looking at her now, but his expression was guarded. His young face looked suddenly aged and wary.
    ‘Where did you lose it?’ she countered sharply.
    He shifted his position so that his face was no longer lit by the sun but was shadowed. The wariness had intensified.
    ‘I lost it somewhere,’ he said hesitantly. ‘I don’t know where I lost it, exactly. We were hunting … myself and the three O’Lochlainn lads … We were hunting foxes with a pack of dogs. We took the dogs and we went out after foxes.’
    ‘And did the O’Lochlainns help you to search for your brooch?’ she asked with an air of concern which rang to her ears as showing a satisfactory degree of friendly interest.
    ‘No.’ He replied to this promptly as if he had guessed that the question would be