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The silence seemed to draw around them, cutting them off from the familiar world. Slowly Alistair held up his hand and after a moment Deirdre, moving as if in a dream, placed her own against it, palm to palm. A shock ran through her at the touch, and when she heard his sharply indrawn breath, she knew that he had felt it, too.

"You can trust me," he said, his voice little more than a whisper.

She nodded, her eyes fixed on his. "I know."

"Deirdre, I—"

"Goodnight," she interrupted hastily, taking a step back. "I hope one day you find your way home again."

With that she turned and fled. Alistair watched her go, every muscle tensed as he fought the temptation to run after her. When she was gone, he lay back on the hard ground and stared into the dark water of the pond.

From the trees came the cawing of the corbies.

When Deirdre lay down beside her daughter, she was sure she would not sleep. Yet no sooner had she closed her eyes than she plunged into deep slumber that lasted for an hour.

Then the dream began.

It started with a sound; harsh, insistent, echoing strangely through a swirling mist. The corbies, Deirdre thought, an icy dread striking to her heart.

The croaking seemed to come from first one direction, then another. Deirdre wanted to run, but she was paralyzed by fear.

The mist lifted and the dark water of forest the pool rippled before her eyes. The sound grew louder, closer, and all at once she realized it was not a bird at all, but a heavy form crashing through the undergrowth. 'Tis Brodie, she thought. He's awake, the potion didn't work. I cannot let him find me here.

"Deirdre!"

Snap. The sound of leather on leather was one Deirdre had heard many times before, when Brodie drew off his belt, doubled it over brought the two pieces together. Snap. Deirdre's paralysis broke and she ran blindly through the forest, the sound of her own breathing harsh in her ears. In the distance she heard soft music and made for the sound, racing headlong down the path.

She came breathless to a clearing and there was Ronan Fitzgerald, as dear and familiar as her own twin, sitting cross-legged on a boulder. His raven head was bent over the harp in his hands.

He gazed up at her with sorrowful green eyes. "Ah, Dee, how came you here? Why do you seek me now? I would have given you all the world, but 'twas not enough."

"Deirdre!" Brodie roared from the forest behind her. "Dinna think to hide from me."

"Ronan, help me!" she cried, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

"Who is that?" Ronan said sharply, standing and gazing over her shoulder. "Not your...? God's blood, Dee, what kind of trouble are you in?"

She shook her head wordlessly and turned to flee.

"Wait!" Ronan called. "Tell me--"

But Deirdre could not stay to answer. She was running for her life now, and with every step she could hear Brodie gaining. She chanced a quick glance over her shoulder and saw him just behind her, his face flushed with rage. He reached out his hand and she screamed, then ran headlong into something solid.

"Here, now," Alistair Kirallen said, catching her in his arms. She buried her face against his chest with an incoherent cry. "Dinna fear, lady," he said soothingly. "No harm will come to ye."

She lifted her head and he smiled down at her, one lock of golden hair falling across his brow. With a careless motion he waved one hand and the mist descended like a curtain, hiding Brodie from her sight.

"I can summon the mist as I will," Alistair said. "Bid it come or go at my command. Ye can trust me, lady, 'twas written long ago. Do ye not know that?"

"Aye, I do," she whispered. "I do know that."

He bent to her and she wound her arms around his neck...

"Mam!"

Deirdre shook her head, clinging to her dream, even as it dissolved like sea foam on the sand. With a sigh she rolled over and opened her eyes to find herself staring into Maeve's face.

"Hungry, Mam! Hungry!"