A long time passed. My body was strung so tight with need that it drove everything else from my mind. I tried to breathe slowly, to relax, to work out a number of plans according to what happened next, but I could not. There was only me and Cathal and the aching distance between us.

And then, much later, the glow from the mirror dimmed, and dimmed further, and went out, and the flickering candles were the only light in the little chamber. Cathal took two strides toward me. As I rose, his arms came around me, holding me so hard I struggled for breath.

“Clodagh,” he whispered against my hair. “Clodagh, you’re really here, you came back at last, oh gods, it’s been so long . . .”

I had no words. All I could do was press close, wind my arms around his neck, surrender to a kiss that was deep and hard and searching, feel his body against mine and know, without a doubt, that what Mac Dara had said about him was quite wrong, for it was plain as a pikestaff that Cathal wanted me as desperately as I wanted him. We fell to the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and garments, our breath coming fast and unsteady, our hands urgent, our bodies hungry. The mirror stayed dark; it seemed Mac Dara had found our long vigil poor entertainment. I fumbled with the fastenings of Cathal’s shirt. His knee was between my thighs, his hand pushing up the fabric of my gown.

From outside, a harsh, derisive cawing assaulted our ears; Fiacha, without a doubt.

“No!” I said, suddenly still in Cathal’s arms. “We mustn’t, not even if there’s time, not even if we want it more than anything in the world!”

“What?” Cathal was struggling to comprehend; his breathing was ragged. He sat up, adjusting his clothing.

“Cathal! We have to go! We have to get out of here right away! You heard what I said, he’s made me promise to be with him tomorrow if you can’t—”

“This makes no sense,” he said, but he was getting up and putting on his boots even as he spoke.

“Trust me,” I said, doing up the clasps of my gown with shaking hands. “I shouldn’t have forgotten myself even for a moment. Saying I wanted your child was just a ruse to get me in here, I never expected him to—that is, of course I want your child, Cathal, but—never mind, I’ll explain it all later. Did I guess right? Does the mirror show you whether he’s watching?”

“More or less.” He slipped the copper disc into a bag, scooped in a few other items from his worktable, threw on a cloak and looked at me with his brows up. “Is there a plan?” he asked.