Don’t panic, don’t panic, babbled a voice inside my head. The ring was your protection, yes. That doesn’t mean you should turn to a jelly now it’s gone. Cathal needs you. Breathe. Use your wits. But against that last spark of reason was the iron-strong grip on my arm, the purposeful tread of my captor’s feet as he dragged me to the riverbank, the terror his last words had awakened in me. No screams now. I could not summon so much as a terrified squeak.

“We’re here,” said the Lord of the Oak, halting with me held before him, both of us facing the river. “See, I’m giving you a chance to get back home safe and sound. Let nobody say the Fair Folk are ungenerous. Just walk across the bridge and you’ll be there.”

The bridge was a single tree trunk, the remains of a forest giant. It spanned the breadth of the flow and lay a handspan under the swift-moving water. In the deceptive light, I would be lucky to advance three steps onto it before I slipped and went under. To cross would be a challenge even to a man with superb physical skills, Johnny for instance.

“Off you go, then,” Mac Dara said, releasing my arms and giving me a little push. “And don’t try to run away; I might be forced to do something you wouldn’t like.”

“I can’t—” I began, and staggered as the little push became a stronger one, and I was forced down the bank and out onto the submerged bridge. “Please,” I begged, stretching out both arms to keep my balance. The water tugged at my skirt; there had been no time to tuck it up before I was forced onto the log. The wood was slippery from long immersion. My boots could not get safe purchase on it. My heart was knocking about in my chest. “Please . . .” I stood there, wobbling, an arm’s length out from the bank.

Mac Dara raised his hand and pointed it in my direction. I did not hear him speak the words of a charm, but fire flared suddenly between me and the safety of the riverbank, scorching, deadly, and I shrank away from it, moving further out along the bridge. My knees buckled; I forced them to hold. Now I couldn’t even see the log bridge under the dark water. One more step and I’d be gone, swept away to oblivion. All for want of a handhold, or a shorter skirt, or a little more courage. Cathal, said a tiny voice inside me. I love you. I’m sorry.

Something hurtled toward me, arrow swift and dark as midnight. I ducked, screwing up my eyes in anticipation of attack. A sudden weight on my shoulder; claws digging in. As I straightened, a dangerous beak came around at eye level, holding a little item that glinted green in the moonlight. The ring. Fiacha had brought me the ring. And as I took it and slipped it on my finger, a familiar, beloved voice from further along the bank said, “Clodagh. Catch.”