I watched him, finding the haunted look on his face and the furious intensity in his eyes so disturbing that I could hardly begin to absorb the remarkable speech he had just made: not a declaration of love, but more than an expression of physical desire, surely. Whatever it was, it had lit a shining lamp within me. It seemed wrong that, at the same time, I could feel the raw sorrow of Aidan’s death and this warm glow of hope.

“Cathal,” I said, “you say them. But who? An ordinary man couldn’t alter his appearance like that, to make himself look almost exactly like you. You say these people. You mean folk of the Otherworld? The Tuatha De?” I shivered, cold with the knowledge that at dusk today I would be standing in front of just such folk to plead for my brother’s release. I hesitated, then added, “I’ve seen someone a little like that man before. In the forest, the very first day I met you. A person in a gray cloak, watching me from under the trees. It scared me, but I came around to thinking I’d imagined the whole thing. But then, on the night before Deirdre’s wedding, I saw him again. Out in the courtyard, where you were.”

Cathal’s long fingers stilled, a miniature cross made from rowan wood held between them. It was bound with green thread. “Thus confirming your suspicion that I was up to no good. But you didn’t report it to your father.”

“It was only that, a suspicion. I could have imagined it. I did tell him later, after Glencarnagh was attacked. I’m sorry, Cathal. I thought . . .”

“You did what seemed right. I should have been honest from the first, I suppose. I feel a revulsion for this so-called talent I have inherited.” He waved a hand in the general direction of the pond. “That has made me shy away from anything hinting at the uncanny. Far easier to keep well clear of such things, I thought. Yes, I believe there was someone there in the courtyard that night. Watching me. Keeping an eye on which friend was close to me, which girl my eyes fell on most often, how I might be twisted and turned.”

“Who would do this? And why?”

“That I cannot say, save that they are not human forces. They have dogged me a long time, Clodagh, since I was around twelve years old. Not all the time; they choose their moments. At Whiteshore it was happening more and more often—tricks to separate me from my companions, ploys to lure me off the track. Shadowy forms; mysterious voices. Their presence gave me even stronger reason to accompany Aidan”—his voice cracked as he spoke his friend’s name—“to Inis Eala. It should be far enough away from Whiteshore, I thought, to put me beyond the reach of those mischievous forces.”