I held Finbar cradled in my left arm. I put up my right hand and laid it against Cathal’s wan cheek. I looked into his eyes. His face was wet with tears. “I love you,” I whispered. “I’m coming back for you, I swear it. I’ll find a way.”

He put his hand over mine, holding it against his face, then brought my fingers to his lips. “Beloved,” he whispered, and let go. “Goodbye.”

I walked away. It was the hardest thing I had ever done. I left the pavilion. The guards were no longer standing by the entry but lay bruised and bloodied on the ground outside. The courage drained from me; grief and shock flooded in. My moment of strength was over. A violent trembling seized my body. I clutched Finbar closer, fearful of more cruel tricks and traps.

As I moved further away, I heard Mac Dara speaking inside the pavilion. “She won’t come,” he said. “Once she gets home she’ll realize the utter folly of such an idea. Human women are not cut out to be heroes. All your Clodagh wants is a child of her own, and any man can put that in her belly.”

And Cathal’s voice, my dear one’s voice, raised in a ragged, furious challenge: “Don’t sully her name with your filthy lying tongue!”

The sound of a blow. “Restrain him,” Mac Dara said coolly. I imagined those ranks of fey warriors closing in. Cathal was a superb fighter, but there would be no point in putting those skills to use, not if the Lord of the Oak was as powerful in magic as he had claimed. I heard Mac Dara add, “As for her name, my son, you’ll soon have forgotten it. You’ll be amazed how quickly the memory will fade.”