She marched ahead, her spine ramrod straight. She didn’t glance at me as she passed. When she reached Aifric and his goons, he patted her hand. ‘My condolences on the passing of your father.’

For the briefest moment, her eyes widened. Realising that she was on the verge of smacking the Steward in the face, I intervened. ‘You’ve got Tipsy for your son. The MacQuarries will stay here and stay quiet. I will come with you and participate in whatever bullshit farce you’ve got planned.’ My mouth flattened. ‘You win.’

Aifric examined me like I was a bug under a microscope. There was an odd light behind his eyes. ‘Not quite,’ he said eventually. ‘I’m still not convinced I know everything that you’re capable of and I want to make sure you’re not going to stray from my plan.’

‘You’ve got what you came for.’ I stepped forward, holding my hands in front of me. ‘Go ahead. Tie me up. I’ll be good, I promise.’

Aifric held up a finger. ‘I’m not sure you will be.’ He beckoned and the nearest machine-gun toting goon peeled off, striding over to stand next to me.

‘What do you call a man holding a machine gun?’ I asked. He gazed back at me impassively. ‘Sir.’ I managed a smile. ‘See? I’m not going to do anything stupid.’ I glanced at Aifric.

He smirked. ‘I know.’ He raised a second finger. This time it wasn’t pointing at me, it was pointing at Taylor.

Panic overtook me. ‘No, wait!’ I dug down into myself, drawing on all the available magic I had left preparing to use it in one go, even if I didn’t know how it would work. It was too late. The goon next to me raised his gun and brought it down on my skull just as there was a short burst of gunfire. I heard Taylor scream in agony and the world slid to black.

Chapter Thirteen

My mouth felt like sawdust. Every bone, muscle and sinew in my body was screaming out in agony and it felt like there was a duck-egg sized lump on the back of my head. I moaned and opened my eyes. Even though the light here was dim, it was still painful.

‘You’re okay,’ rumbled a gruff voice.

I winced and slowly turned round. Candy. ‘Are we at the Cru…’ realising that once I’d begun, I could barely speak.

‘No, we’re being moved somewhere.’

I sat up and everything swam until I felt like I was on the verge of passing out again. I lay down again hastily, pressing my palms against the large metal bars underneath me for balance. The room continued to sway.

‘Boat,’ I whispered. Candy grunted in affirmation. We had to be on our way to the Isle of Muck. Everything came flooding back to me in a rush of images. Taylor’s scream reverberated round my head. No. Just … no.

‘I’ve been told to tell you,’ Candy said, ‘that the old man is alive.’ His voice was flat; he was apparently repeating the words verbatim. ‘But he is wounded and requires medical attention. In order to ensure that you do as you are told, he will remain in that condition until after that wedding.’