“And you were,” I said softly. “It doesn’t matter that you were on the run or that he had been sent to hunt you down. I saw his face as he watched us disappear on the raft. He wasn’t resentful that you’d escaped him. He was sad to be saying goodbye, and pleased that you wouldn’t be brought back to face charges that were based on lies.” And jealous, I thought, but did not say it. “He argued your case to the last. But he was dutiful as well—that’s a lesson a chieftain’s son or daughter learns early. Johnny threatened to send him away from Inis Eala if he didn’t obey the order to go after you. He had to do it.”

“Perhaps I was not such a bad influence as I thought. He never learned to enjoy breaking rules.” His hand came across and curled around mine. “You’re such a wise person, Clodagh,” he said.

“Actually, I make it up as I go along most of the time,” I said, blushing. “Cathal, can you hear something?” My ears had picked up a soft rustling, a steady beat as of horses’ hooves, a faint jingling beyond the safe confines of the thorn hedge. I sat up slowly, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant, and Cathal did the same.

Someone was approaching. Beyond the hedge I could see lights and movement, and I could hear voices, high and strange, calling and laughing as they neared our sanctuary. Cathal put his finger to his lips, signalling silence. I gathered up the baby and we rose cautiously to our feet. The light had begun to fade. In keeping with the oddities of time in the Otherworld, dusk was coming fast.

The gate creaked open, then banged shut. A small figure came across the grass toward us, silver mask before its face. Behind it were two others. One had something of the look of a mossy stone, the eyes round patches of lichen, the mouth a chink; the other was of indeterminate shape, changing each time I looked at it. It put me in mind of water.

“Oh dear,” said Dog Mask, halting a few paces from us. Beyond the hedge, a procession was passing now, though I could not see it clearly through the tangle of thorn. There were lanterns; stately folk on horseback; a shimmer of sumptuous, sparkling fabrics; and the voices again, speaking almost as human folk would, save for a note whose strangeness jarred even as its beauty enticed. A harp rang out, its music surpassing in loveliness any tune my own world could hold, and behind it I could hear something crying, desperate, bereft.

“What do you mean, oh dear?” I challenged. For all the defiant words, a chill apprehension was creeping into my bones. I held Becan close. “You told us to be ready at dusk. We’re ready.” At least this would soon be over.