They rode out along the coast, under the moonlight, until they came to a strange and mystical place, where the water crept up to a coastline of towering, angular rock pillars, rising and falling like giant maniacal staircases. Emery descended from Liath Macha, and Cullen did likewise from Dub Saingleand. Then they left the horses secured and walked down a bit toward the water, watching their steps on the rocky earth. Mist had risen from the waters, up over the dark geometric rocks along the bottom, making it appear as if the land itself descended into a cloud bank. Faint multi-colored lights flitted about in that creamy fog, just out of reach, unless one wanted to risk falling into the ocean in attempt to catch them. The night air was cold, but the ride had warmed Emery, who stood looking out across the mist and distant water.

Cullen came to her side, stood with her for some moments, both of them content for the time being, but Emery broke the calm eventually by reminding him why they'd come. "There's no one for miles," she began, her eyes attempting to discern the source of the twinkling within the mist. "Just me and you and those birds overhead--and this." She fingered the twig at her neck. "But he can't do anything, even if he hears everything."

Furrowing his brow, Cullen looked at the talisman. "I'll kill him the moment I'm able."

Somehow, his comment bothered more than pleased Emery, but she said nothing.

He was troubled by her silence. "Emery, I . . ."

She wrapped her hand around the necklace, turned away from the mist and sea to Cullen, struggled to contain her emotion. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry--for everything. For letting them do this to me."

He immediately softened and embraced her, and she allowed him to, desirous only of being near him. "You have done nothing wrong. It is wrong that has been done to you. But we will rectify it."

"What if we can't?" Emery kept her head against him, looked out at the black water beyond.

"We will."

While she admired his certainty, she didn't feel so sure, and she knew if Charlie were listening, he was laughing or smirking. Pulling away, Emery gazed up into Cullen's face, fair against the night, a fitting addition to the stone around them with its strong lines. "I'll need to know everything Mug Ruith said to you, at Tara. I still don't remember anything about that night. I've remembered so many other things, though. Meeting you, at the river . . ." She flushed, recalling their encounters. "You were a little mischievous," she added.

Cullen studied her in some wonder, a faint smile hinting at his lips. "As were you, Lady," he returned.

Emery absently toyed with the brooch at his shoulder. "I remembered all the way to when you met Forgall, and you said you'd come take me away, but not . . . nothing after that, yet." She bowed her chin, almost abashed.

"And how have you remembered these things?" Cullen asked in concern, placing a hand on her cheek, raising her face so she had to look at him.

"I . . ."

"You will make no more evil bargains with him, Emery. Promise me."

Her temper flared, even though she knew he was right. She attempted to push away from him, but Cullen caught her and pulled her back.

"Promise it, Emery. I beg you."

"I'm not sure I could keep that promise, and I don't want to make it if I can't."

"He's hurt you--"

"But he won't hurt me now, because you're here, and because I'm getting stronger. He's my prisoner, now." Emery caught a disturbance flutter across Cullen's face and calmed the sudden thrill that had entered her voice. "I want to remember Tara," she diverted. "There may be things we've missed, clues that might help me understand everything. And--and there are other reasons I want to remember it, too."

She looked up demurely and saw it was Cullen's turn to blush. Knowing she could have that effect on him--who was belligerent and obstinate and stolid--was exhilarating. "Come, walk with me," he said, taking her hand and leading her down toward the mist.

A slight fear played at Emery; the strange lights within that cloud hinted at otherworldliness, and her encounters with the aos sí had been enough for her. But Cullen was wary of the fae folk, as well; he surely wouldn't lead her into danger. Nevertheless, down they stepped, careful on the rock, until the mists rose around them in hazy wisps, and once they were within the cloud, it was as if a new clarity was granted; Emery saw pebbles beneath their feet as the rock transitioned into a beach of coarse sand and moss, and she heard water softly lapping at the coastline some distance away. The mists now obscured the cliffs from which they'd descended, and all around though never close enough to quite see were the colored lights, winking out over the water.

"What are the lights?" she asked.

"I couldn't say," he returned, standing behind her as she stepped a little closer to the water in hopes of seeing them more clearly.

A lightheartedness came over her, a fragment of the Emer of her memories. "Are they like stars? Can we wish on them?" She paused, clasped her hands, then spun back toward Cullen. "There! I've made a wish." She put her arms behind her back and swayed a little, teasingly. "And you'll never know what it was." She stepped gingerly toward him. "Go on. It's your turn. Make a wish!"

But Cullen made no move to go look at the lights. His green eyes were only on her, and they were particularly radiant at the moment. Emery's confidence cooled, somewhat. Why was he looking at her so seriously?

"What?" She searched him for some hint at what he thought. "You aren't going to make a wish?"

His chest rose and fell noticeably. "I wish only to make love to you."

Emery's breath caught at his frankness, but then she sighed knowingly, took his hand and turned it, played with his fingers. "Is that the only thing you wish for?"

"In this moment," he replied, not looking away, "it is."

She lifted his palm to her lips; her eyes turned up to meet his. "Then I think we can grant each other's wishes."

Cullen didn't wait for any more invitation. He took hold of her and bent to kiss as much of her bare skin as he could find, and when he could find no more, he sought to remedy the fact. As Emery allowed the intoxication of his touch, of his ardor to consume her, she fleetingly considered removing the talisman from her neck, but the dark seed within her throbbed, recalling Bres's words: Hurt him. Hurt all of them.

The hours felt terribly long. So, so long. Emer sat at her window in great anxiety, sure something terrible had happened to Setanta. Forgall had found out and attacked him, or he'd fallen from his horse, or bandits had murdered him, or he'd been spirited away by the aos sí or . . . the possibilities ran through her mind endlessly. She couldn't bear the images that tormented her, made vivid by the imminent escape he'd promised and her impatience at waiting for him, every moment that passed making her sure that horrible druidess would return for her before Setanta did.

At last, she decided she could wait no longer and determined to ride out to meet him. Dressing in her easiest riding breeches and a comfortable tunic over which she threw only a simple cloak, Emer forwent any cumbersome decoration and slipped out of her tower chamber. All was quiet, though Luglochta Loga was usually quiet, and the torches glowing along the stairs and outside Forgall's chambers indicated he was still awake, no doubt awaiting the druidess. His watchfulness did not bode well, but she was not deterred. Without hindrance, she snuck out of the tower and into the arms house—a small building attached to the main structure but accessible only from the outside. The walls surrounding the fortress made everything inside safe enough, and who would've attacked Luglochta Loga anyhow? It wasn't particularly wealthy or renowned. So the arms house wasn't ever guarded.

Emer had had some practice with a sword before Forgall had forbidden it, and she knew exactly which weapon she preferred: it was called Great Fury, and it had its sibling in a smaller dagger, Little Fury. Each was a dark metal with a garnet stone in its hilt. Emer managed to secure both on her body well enough, and then she went back outside, resolved to get her horse, though she had no idea how she'd get him through the gates without causing too much of a stir.

But the stir began before she even reached the stable door; fortunately, she wasn't the one who caused it. The fifteen or so guards and men of the fort were suddenly rushing to the gates, looking ill-prepared for any sort of encounter, as if they'd all just rolled out of bed. Some had weapons drawn, and some were headed to the arms house, but none paid a speck of attention to her, which Emer found quite a relief . . . until she realized what it meant—a commotion at the gate!

Forgetting her horse, Emer hurried after the men only to find them engaging in battle with a figure who was surely Setanta, come at last! The lit torches around the flat expanse between the gates and the tower gave scant light to see by, but from what Emer could see, the man Forgall's soldiers were fighting cut them down like blades of grass. She'd never even seen him swing a sword, and the terrifying man she saw now could surely have been the war hero she'd heard of in her serving woman's tales, capable of defeating an entire army on his own. Pride and terror mingled in equal portion within her; with each sound of metal meeting bone or squelching into flesh, Emer became more unsteady on her feet. What she'd learned, how to hold and swing and thrust, had been theoretical--the reality was horrifying.

Too stunned to move, Emer was easy prey for Forgall, who crept up from behind and grabbed hold of her, dragged her through the tower door. She screamed for Setanta, who'd whittled the guards down to two or three men, and as soon as he was able, he followed them into the tower and up the stairs, to her chamber at the very top. The moment he entered the room, Setanta paused. Forgall stood at the one window which, though not huge, was certainly large enough to pitch a person through. He had his arm up under Emer's throat, and though she tried to get free of him, Forgall was surprisingly strong in contradiction with his tall, gaunt, almost sickly frame.

"You come closer, and I'll throw her out myself!"

Emer was astonished at her foster father's words. She'd never felt much affection for or from him, but to think he'd kill her just because he was angry was too much.

"You gave her to me! What right have you to take her, as well?" the man continued.

Setanta surveyed the situation, seemed to make a decision and, rather than attempt to engage in any conversation, quick as lightning drew a dagger and threw it directly at his foe's head. True to his sly nature, Forgall dodged the dagger, but in doing so, he released his daughter, and Setanta, seeing his advantage, leapt forward and kicked the older man in the gut, sending him out the very opening through which he'd threatened to throw his daughter.

Emer stared at the window momentarily, then turned to look at Setanta. He was breathing heavily and covered in blood, yet she'd never found him more attractive. Rushing to him, the girl took his hand, but there was no time for talk. The two hurried down and out of the tower. Emer thought to go to the stables, but Setanta stopped her, saying only, "We must make haste. Ride with me," to which she readily agreed. They avoided searching for Forgall's body--Emer because she didn't want to see it, and Setanta because there was no time--and went to his horse. He helped Emer atop the towering black stallion before climbing up himself and, taking the reins, sent the creature galloping at top speed away from Luglochta Loga, leaving the tower and its dead to fall into darkness behind them.

They rode for some while, accompanied only by the wind that rushed past, and when they were at a distance that felt safe enough, Setanta allowed the horse and themselves to rest. Both he and Emer dismounted. They were on the bank of a small pond, from which the horse drank quietly while Setanta brushed the sweat off the animal's coat. Emer stood some ways apart, heart and thoughts racing, though she was still. She did not doubt that she'd done the right thing in leaving Forgall; the man was going to sell her to a druidess! But she was surprisingly shy with Setanta, suddenly, being alone with him, and not just being alone but being with him--she'd agreed to wed him. Seeing him kill those men back at Luglochta Loga reminded her that she knew very little of him. Their trysts in the forest and out riding had been fun and playful, with always an undercurrent of being something more, but at the end of each encounter, Emer had returned to the comfort of her dull existence. It'd been as if her meetings with Setanta were a story she was listening to, one she could put aside and come back to with no danger of losing herself in it, but now here she was, entirely consumed.

Setanta noticed her quiet and turned to her, approached in all his stoicism. He attempted to discern her thoughts, watched her with his gleaming green eyes. Uncertainty hovered over his features. "Emer, do you regret what's happened?"

She met him with a searching look of her own, everything turmoil inside. But she couldn't bear the worry on his strong face, especially knowing she was the cause of it. Lifting a hand to his cheek, allowing him to lean into it, she replied, "I regret nothing, Lord Cuchulain."

He smiled gently. "It was my mother who named me Setanta. I did not misspeak. Cuchulain was put upon me by others. But you, Lady--you may call me what you wish, so long as you are mine."

Anxiety crossed Emer's face. "The druidess," she said, withdrawing her hand.

"What druidess?"

"Forgall met with her yesterday afternoon. She said--she said it is not our fate to be together, that we have interfered with the Gods' plans for us, and . . . and the Gods will not be denied." Emer put a trembling hand to her lips. "What if we've angered them?"

"Lady, I cannot imagine the Gods would deny us our happiness, unless it be that they are jealous of it."

Glancing about, as if the answer lay in some shadow around her, Emer made up her mind. "We will go directly to them, then. I will confront them."

Setanta shook his head in some uncertainty. "Emer . . . we . . ."

"I was fated as a sacrifice! I would not live our lives in fear of their vengeance. I will ask them what they want of me, and I will tell them all I want is you, whatever it may cost me. I will defy them if I must."

Impressed with her determination, Setanta took hold of her, gazed deeply into her eyes so she felt he read her very heart. "Then we will to Tara, Lady. And we will have our handfasting right before them, so sacred as this love is, and if we are damned for our defiance, then so be it."

"So be it," Emer agreed in all her ferocity, pulling him down to meet her lips.