Still, it was possible the old fellow had forgotten the arrangements he’d made, just as he’d forgotten to tell her about them. Lately, he forgot a great many things, including that her mother was dead. He would spend ages wandering the keep, looking for her, calling her name.

«Rest, ye say? But, I just got up,» the old fellow grumbled in protest. «Did I not, Siobhan?» Nowadays, he could never be sure.

After the old man had been settled comfortably before the hearth with his drinking cup — the hollowed skull of one of his enemies, polished and set with precious jewels — in one fist, and a wineskin within easy reach of the other, Aislinn drew Siobhan aside.

«What are you going to do when Lord Colm returns, my lady? You’ll have to marry him then. You won’t be able to keep putting him off. He won’t let you, not that one.» Aislinn would love to see her mistress given her comeuppance by Colm mac Connor.

«No,» said Siobhan with a rueful smile. The back of her hand still tingled from his farewell kiss. She shivered. «He won’t.»

«Then whatever shall ye do?»

«I don’t know.» Siobhan sighed. «I suppose I must cross that bridge when I come to it.»

Siobhan fretted and worried about Colm mac Connor for the next three days. She could not sleep a wink for thinking of him! And with every passing moment, she came to love him just a little bit more, although she had known him only a short while.

She had heard it was possible to fall in love with a man at first sight, but had not believed it — until now. Now, she thought it was quite possible, quite possible indeed.

She dreamed of Colm, too, when she finally fell into a fitful sleep. Dreamed of how it had felt to lie beneath him in the forest, his weight heavy on her. Of the taste of his mouth, and the scent of his skin. Aye, and she burned for him, ached for him, as she lay in her bed, alone.

She pretended the soft fur of her coverlet was his passionate embrace, its heavy weight his powerful arms enfolding her. And she wept with longing.

By the fourth day, she was sick with worry. Had she sent Colm to his death? Would he be attacked by a giant wolf that had not been seen on her father’s lands for at least a half-decade or more? Would he and his party be set upon by murdering brigands, or attacked by a ferocious wild boar? Would they all be killed because of this wild goose — wild wolf — chase she’d invented?

«It is no use! I cannot just sit here and wait, Aislinn!» she wailed. «I am grown ill with worry for my dearest lord. I must see with my own eyes that he is well.»

«Hmph. Ye should have thought of that before you sent him away, I’m thinking,» the serving wench muttered.

«What? What was that?» Siobhan demanded, sharply yanking one of Aislinn’s tawny braids. «Tell me, or I’ll pinch you!»

«Ouch! Nothing, my lady. Nothing. I was just humming a jig. The one Lord Colm’s cousin, Finn, played at your betrothal, remember?» But then she saw what Siobhan was up to. «Oh, no, mistress! You’re not going to do it again?»

But she was.

«On wings of white / Pray, let me fly!» Siobhan chanted softly, her green eyes gleaming in the rushlight. «Mistress of / The azure sky! / By the magic / In my blood / Change me!» As it did whenever Siobhan cast her shape-shifting spells, the air grew very still. It was as if the bower was holding its breath.

Aislinn held her breath, too.

The fire on the hearthstone ceased snapping and crackling.

The shadows on the walls leaped up, became dragons, giants, wizards and other monstrous creatures.

Aislinn heard tinkling in the distance, like fairy laughter, or the chiming of tiny bells. Sounds that came from the Otherworld.

The fine hairs rose on the back of her neck as light streamed from Siobhan’s fingertips. Eyes closed now, like a priestess of the Moon, lost in a trance, Siobhan beckoned the light to come to her, to surround her.

And it came.

The golden aura slowly expanded, until it limned Siobhan from head to toe.

A second later, she melted into the deep shadows and was gone!

Straightway, Aislinn heard a fierce whirring of wings. Something heavy — something alive — landed on Aislinn’s shoulder. She screamed, and tried to bat it off her with her fists.

«Stop!» she heard Siobhan’s sharp command in her head. «Stop, Aislinn, else I’ll change you into a mouse and eat you!»

Aislinn stopped flailing, although the snowy hawk’s sharp talons dug painfully into her flesh.

She had no fondness for birds. Nor did she like the way this one perched on her shoulder, peering at her right eyeball with its own beady ones as if selecting a tasty morsel for its supper.

Aislinn jerked her head to one side, as far from the hawk’s beak as she could get. «As you will, my lady. Oh, there’s a bloody mark upon your. your wing!»

«Enough! Carry me outside where I may fly free!»

The sun was setting in the west when Aislinn went out into the courtyard, carrying the heavy white hawk on her wrist.

«You must tell everyone I am sick with heartache that my lord has gone. Tell them I have taken to my bed,» Siobhan instructed, «and cannot be comforted.»

«How long will you be gone?» Aislinn wondered aloud, imagining the merry times she could have with her friends while her mistress was away.

«As long as it takes. And while I’m gone, you can busy yourself sorting and hanging the herbs we gathered. Take the acorns to the mill for grinding into flour. Oh, and spread fresh rushes in my bower, too. Now, what was that about a red mark on my wing?»

«Nothing, my lady. Will there be anything else, my lady?» Aislinn asked, tight-lipped. There was a rebellious edge to her tone.

«No. I don’t think so. Just do whatever needs doing. And there’s to be no gossiping and silliness with those wretched serving wenches while I’m gone!»

Beady golden eyes looking down her cruel curved beak, Siobhan gave her servant a fierce glare.

With those parting words, the white hawk rose up on her talons and spread her snowy wings. She flapped, beating the air, nearly putting out Aislinn’s eye as she lifted off from the girl’s wrist.

Up, up, up, Siobhan climbed, a shrill cry of peeeeeewhit! peeeeeewhit! bursting from her hawk’s throat as she soared.

She rose higher and higher into the streaming orange, red and charcoal sunset until it seemed her snowy feathers were gilded by fire.

«Fare thee well and good riddance, my lady!» Aislinn muttered. She rudely stuck out her tongue. «Pray, take your time. Don’t hurry back on my account!»

Five

Siobhan passed the night in a round stone tower. It rose from a grassy headland that faced seaward. The tall conical tower, called St Kieran’s Tower by the local people, was her favourite place. She went there whenever she wanted to be alone.

Monks had built the tower over a hundred years ago to keep out the Viking invaders who came to steal their religious treasures. To date, it had served them well. Glenkilly had not been sacked, razed or robbed.

Ousting a startled barn owl, Siobhan took up her perch with her head tucked under her wing. Exhausted, she quickly fell asleep, only to dream of mice and voles and rabbits.

She awoke as the sun was rising, lighting a shimmering trough of silver across the glassy grey of St George’s Channel.

Spreading her wings, she soared up into the pearly pink-and-lemon washed dawn, wheeled once over Glenkilly Bay, where the seals and sea otters were playing, and flew north.

Below her, she could see fishermen, already hard at work, mending their nets and patching their coracles despite the early hour and the sharp nip in the air. Then, with a shrill cry, she headed deeper into the mountains, beyond which lay the Viking stronghold of Dublin. It was the direction Colm had taken.

It had been only four days since he rode forth from her father’s keep, yet already she ached for the sight of him.

I love him, she thought with a sense of wonder. I truly love him — yet my love will prove his undoing!

Riding the wind, she glided on, wheeling and stooping through the heavens as if she had been born a she-hawk, rather than a mortal woman bound to the earth.

Never had she enjoyed her shape-shifter’s powers more than she did in that moment. To soar above land and sea, riding the four winds, with the valleys and mountains an ever-changing tapestry of colours and textures far below was a wondrous gift; one that ordinary mortals were not blessed to enjoy.

The land that was Eire spread out beneath her in green and unending beauty.

To the east, dense forests of oaks and firs clustered between gently rounded mountains and beautiful little valleys, like Glenkilly. Tiny villages of wattle and daub, or cottages of dark grey stone thatched with straw were scattered between them, as were larger farmhouses, with the flocks and herds that had survived the autumn cull grazing in the pastures.

Several small monasteries and miniscule churches of grey stone, and ornate stone crosses etched with ancient spiral patterns, showed that the old gods, the pagan gods she followed, such as Lady Moon, and the Tuatha Dé Danaan who lived beneath the ground, were losing their followers, one soul at a time, to the Christian God.

Was her betrothed a pagan or a Christian?

She did not know.

Would he care that she followed the old gods? Or that she possessed powers that came from the Otherworld? Again, she did not know.

Rivers twisted and turned between the stubbled fields like shining ribbons. Lakes gleamed like looking glasses of polished silver. And, bordering it all, to the east, lay St George’s Channel.

Once, Siobhan thought she glimpsed dark vessels on the hazy lavender horizon — vessels that looked much like Viking drakkars, or dragon ships. Their dreadful serpent prows reared high above the water, screaming defiance at the evil spirits of storm and sea. Their sails of red-and-white striped wadmal splashed a vivid threat across the horizon.

But, when she looked again, the ominous vessels had vanished as if they had dropped off the edge of the world.

She must have imagined them, she decided. Or perhaps what she’d seen had been a small flotilla of merchant vessels, bound for Waterford to the south. After all, it had been many years since the first Vikings had sailed up the east-coast inlets to attack Irish ports, or places with wealthy monasteries, like Glenkilly.

Those early invaders had stayed, married Irish women, or brought their Norse kinswomen over the sea from Denmark and Norway to marry Irish men. Norse and Irish now lived side by side, in peace and harmony.

It was not until the next day that she caught sight of Colm and his two cousins, camped by a lake. Of the remainder of his company — horses, hounds and servants — there was no sign.

She drifted lower and lower, riding upon the air currents, until she found a perch in an oak tree close to Colm’s campfire.

From her perch, she eavesdropped as Colm talked with his cousins, Fergus and Finn.

Six

«The beast is twice the size of Bram,» Colm was saying. Bram was the shaggy wolfhound that followed him more faithfully than his own shadow. «Or bigger.»

«Aye, and ’tis a she-wolf,» Finn said. «I expected Airgead to be a male, from what the shepherds told us.»

«A bitch is more deadly,» Fergus observed. «This one has a litter of whelps to feed. That snare about her throat makes hunting no easy task. ’Tis why she’s killing the late lambs. They are easy prey.»

Colm nodded. The three of them had tracked Airgead, an enormous silver wolf, to a farmer’s pasture less than a half-league from their camp. The wolf had been crouched over the carcass of a dead lamb, its jaws stained crimson with blood.

Turning to face them, the wolf’s baleful yellow eyes had ignited, glowing like embers, challenging the hunters to draw closer at their own risk. Baring her pointed fangs, she snarled deep in her throat.

They had fallen back, allowing Airgead to take the dead lamb in her jaws, and flee unharmed towards the mountains with her prize.

Colm, Fergus and Finn had continued on alone, tracking the huge wolf’s paw prints to a cave in the foothills of the Wicklow mountains. Inside were five cubs. To Colm’s eyes, they had appeared half-starved.

The hungry whelps had fallen eagerly on the meat their mother provided, growling and yelping as they devoured the lamb’s carcass.