The guard unlocked the cage door and beckoned. ‘Come on, then. This isn’t summer camp. Get the hell out, scum!’

Scum? ‘Surely you can come up with better invective than that,’ I said, acting cheerful to throw him off his game. He glowered at me dumbly. ‘Use your imagination,’ I suggested, in a bid to help him along. He still didn’t answer. Oh. ‘A better insult,’ I amended. ‘Surely you can come up with a better insult.’

‘Adair witch! Get the fuck out!’

Hmm. Not really better. I shrugged and shuffled forward. There were parts of my body which hurt that I hadn’t realised existed before now. I supposed I could at least be certain that I wasn’t dead.

‘Hey!’ Candy yelled. ‘What about me?’

The guard ignored him. Damn it, I wanted Candy with me as much for my sake as for his. Safety in numbers. ‘He needs to come too.’

The guard reached forward, grabbing me painfully by the shoulder in a bid to shove me along the corridor. Behind us, Candy gripped the bars of the cage. This wasn’t the Cruaich dungeon – these bars were reinforced and no match even for a Wild Man. All the same, the metal creaked and shuddered. ‘Let me out!’ he roared.

‘Look,’ I said, biting my lip to take my mind off the rest of my pain. ‘Tipsania Scrymgeour won’t go ahead with the wedding until she sees him. You’ll only have to come back later. It makes sense to bring him along now.’

The guard didn’t pay me any attention but propelled me at speed through a maze of dark wooden corridors. I could still hear Candy shouting; it wasn’t until I was dragged up a set of shaky stairs and taken out onto the deck that his voice finally faded away.

As good as it felt to get some fresh air into my lungs, I remained rigid with tension. Although the boat was busy with deckhands, the sky was still dark. Not just that, there was a fair wind gusting and repeatedly making my loose hair fly into my face. Cuffed as I was, I couldn’t brush it away so, effectively blinded, I tripped and stumbled my way along.

I stretched out my senses. There had to be useful magic here that I could steal. The guy holding me was definitely Sidhe. I concentrated on pulling on the thready tendrils of his Gift but it was no use. It refused to come. Another strain of violent magic, then. With Morna dead, the MacQuarries corralled and Taylor seriously injured, maybe sticking to my pacifist guns wasn’t such a good idea.

I was forced to stop, the guard’s heavy hands pushing me downwards until I was on my knees. The good thing was that I was more sheltered from the wind and could see again; the bad thing was that I was eye-level with his groin.

He cupped himself. ‘You like what you see? Right now, you’re in the perfect position. We’ve got time. The Steward won’t mind if I enjoy myself a bit first.’