Ciaran started, shocked at his father’s rudeness, but then he saw it - blue ink curling up the woman’s wrist and vanishing into her sleeve.
“My kind?” the woman asked.
“We don’t serve the holy men in this house,” Eoghan said.
“I am no holy man - just a traveler looking to have some warmth for the night.” The woman sounded amused.
“You wear blue,” Eoghan said.
“Some days I wear red,” the woman said.
Eoghan shook his head. “Please leave.”
The woman inclined her head beneath the cloak. “As you wish.”
Ciaran swore that as she left, she looked at him.
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