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"Alistair, are you all right?" Deirdre asked, concerned.

"Aye," he said, leaning back against her, feeling the warmth of her through his sodden tunic. "Just hold me."

"The corbies were for your own good," Ian said. "That tower in your vision, Alistair—that was a real place, as ye should know. 'Twas where ye had been living since Darnley struck me down. I sent the corbies to watch over you, to guide you..."

"Where?" Alistair mumbled.

"To Deirdre! When ye met her in the forest, they were there, weren't they? And ye decided to go with her, did ye no'? And why? Because ye saw that life is all too short to waste. You needed to see that, Alistair, and I couldna rest until ye did. How do ye think I felt, watching ye pine and suffer for a thing that was my fault, not yours. I had to do something!"

Alistair simply looked at him.

"'Twas a good plan," Ian said defensively. "As far as it went. But I'm afraid those damned corbies caused all sorts of trouble. They set your mind in a certain pattern—I haven't the words to explain properly, but once you got it in your head you were about to die, everything shifted a bit—not only you but all around ye. Thoughts are verra real," he added. "I didna ken how powerful they can be."

"Another half-baked plan," Alistair muttered. "Typical!"

Deirdre tightened her arms around him. "Ronan, we must stop. He can't go on like this—he's out of his senses—"

"'Tis not entirely my fault," Ian said, stung. "If not for your fears and your thrice-damned sense of honor, you would have wed Deirdre long ago. But no, you would never do anything so simple! You always have to twist things up into such a muddle, even you canna make sense of it!"

"Alistair," Ronan said. "Look at me. Can you hear me?"

Fitzgerald looked terrible, Alistair thought, dark hair plastered around his ashen face, one eye swollen almost shut and a long gash across his brow.

"Aye, Fitzgerald. I hear ye."

"Who are you talking to?"

"Ian," Alistair said. "Ye canna see him. But he is there."

"Oh, dear God," Deirdre breathed. "Ronan, we cannot go on, we have to stop right now."

"'Tis all right," Ronan said unexpectedly. "There is something there—look at the dog!"

Finn was walking stiff-legged beside Deirdre's horse, staring at Ian with hackles raised.

"Off with ye, hound!" Ian cried suddenly, waving his arms. The dog yelped, then ran to the other side of Ronan's horse. Ian laughed.

"Holy St. Brighid, what is it?" Deirdre whispered, clutching Alistair tightly against her as she stared wide-eyed at the space beside her horse.

"'Tis Ian," Alistair said, shooting Ian a withering glance. "Thinks he's amusing."

"Don't worry, Dee," Ronan said. "If Alistair says to keep going, that's what we must do."

"Not a bad sort, Fitzgerald," Ian said. "Young, but he'll get over that. As for your Deirdre—" He sighed dramatically. "If only I were still alive... But then again, perhaps 'tis just as well. 'Twould seem her heart is set."

Alistair gathered all his courage into a single question. "Will I see my child?"

Behind him, Deirdre stiffened and leaned forward to look into his face. Alistair tried to smile reassuringly, but from the expression on her face, he didn't think he'd managed very well. "Hold on, lass," he whispered. "Nearly there."

Ian frowned, staring up into the rain. "I would tell ye if I could. But that knowledge has not been given to me. Ye may have fifty years or ye may be dead by sunset. All I know is that if Jemmy walks into that chapel..."

"What?" Alistair asked. "What will happen?"

"This thing between Darnley and Kirallen—'tis old, Alistair, older than either of our families, something that has always been here, waiting... It takes men—aye, and women, too—and turns them to its purpose. We've all been touched by it, me and you and my poor father—all but Jemmy. He saw it when he was a bairn and ran like hell. Verra sensible of him, too," he said approvingly. "Now for some reason it canna get ahold of him. Not like us. D'ye ken what I am saying?" he asked, peering sharply into Alistair's face.

"Aye. Vengeance."

"Aye," Ian said. "'Tis an evil thing. Jemmy doesna feel it as we do. And that lady he wed—she's a bonny thing, is she no'? Seen from here, she burns like fire. The two of them together are a powerful force, and today, should they be vanquished—" He shuddered. "The evil will be free again, stronger than before. What happened after Stephen died will seem like naught compared to what will happen now. Malcolm will try, but he will no' be able to stand long. 'Twill go on for years and years, until the last Kirallen is dead. And then it will find others."