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He looked into Alistair's face. "'Tis a heavy burden, Alistair, I ken that, but there's no help for it. You are the only one to stop it. Jemmy canna rule without ye."

Alistair groaned aloud. "Enough," he said. "I canna think any more."

Deirdre halted the horse. "Aye, 'tis is enough," she said. "Ronan, help me get him down—"

"Nay!" Alistair said firmly. "Go on."

"Just one thing more," Ian said. "I'll no' have another chance. If ye make it through today, ye must let Darnley go. He'll be taken care of. Dinna fash yourself about him." He frowned, then added, "Unless...ye may still have part to play in that. Should a woman come to you and ask something in my name, then you must do it. Will ye remember that?"

Alistair sagged forward, saved from falling only by the strength of Deirdre's arms.

"Hold on," he tried to say, but his lips were too numb to form the syllables. He tried again and this time the words were clearer. "Hurry. Get me home."

Alistair fell full length on the cobblestones when he dismounted. At his order, Deirdre and Ronan hauled him up and they walked together toward the chapel.

Ian was gone, if indeed he had ever been there. Alistair wasn't sure of anything any more. He only knew he had to reach the chapel. But halfway across the courtyard, he staggered and went down.

"Pick him up, Dee," Ronan urged. "Hurry."

"No! I will not do this. He's mad, Ronan, he's been raving all the way back here—why do you insist on acting as though he's making sense?"

"Because something is wrong, and he's the only one who knows what it is. Now lift him up and put him on his feet."

Alistair heard their voices from a great distance, felt them dragging his weightless body to its feet. And then all at once, Alistair was standing on the other side of the drawbridge, a chill wind whipping in his face. Mist was rising from the hollows of the ground, and Ian sat on his own horse, looking down at him with a grin.

"I canna waste the morning waiting about for you! You can catch us—and hurry, man, 'tis late enough already."

"Wait!" Alistair cried. "Don't go!"

He began to run, and then he was in the forest again, Ian racing along the path ahead. "Wait!" he cried, his voice no more than a whisper. "Don't go. 'Tis a trap."

He rounded the corner of the path and skidded to a stop. The forest was gone. The corridor of Ravenspur stretched before him, an endless expanse of gray walls and flagstone. At the far end a group of people walked slowly toward the chapel. The door began to open and a sliver of golden light spilled from within. A cloud of incense rolled into the corridor and the plainsong of the priests drifted eerily down its shadowed length. At the head of the procession, a dark head rose above the rest.

"Ian—" Alistair began, then stopped and pressed his hands against his temples. Past and present stood side by side, clashed and mingled and became one terrible moment that seemed to stretch into eternity.

Deirdre came breathless to Alistair's side, fearing he had reached the limit of his strength. But even as she reached for him, his hands dropped from his head and he started forward at a run.

"Jemmy, wait!" he shouted. "Don't go in there! 'Tis a trap!"

Jemmy looked back over his shoulder, eyes narrowed as he took in Alistair's muddy, blood-smeared, dripping form and burning eyes.

"Move," Alistair said in a harsh whisper that only Deirdre, just beside him, heard. "Oh, God, not again—Jemmy, move!"

He is mad, Deirdre thought, and it is my fault, I brought him here—

Jemmy dropped into a wary crouch, one hand sweeping the dagger from his belt as with the other arm he pushed Alyson behind him.

The line of mourners was thrown into confusion as Jemmy shouted for his guard. Alistair turned to one of the men. "Your sword," he ordered, and when the man hesitated, he struck him down and tore the weapon from his hand with the terrible strength of madness. Deirdre ran after him, calling to Ronan over her shoulder.

"Ronan, help me—stop him—"

Just as they drew even with Alistair, the chapel door flew open and crashed against the wall.

Men rushed screaming from the chapel, weapons drawn. Jemmy had his sword out now, was slashing furiously as he tried to get Alyson to safety. Then Sir Donal was there, his brother just beside him, while the others jostled the panic-stricken men and ladies out of the way.

Deirdre hit the wall hard as Jemmy's guard rushed past her. But they were cut off from him, and he was trapped on the far end of the passageway with only a handful of his closest men.

Alistair walked steadily through the screaming and confusion, looking neither right nor left. A man rushed at him from the right and Alistair cut him down without pausing. Deirdre watched him, hands pressed against her mouth, as he went on, step after relentless step, making straight for Jemmy.