Air, light, soft rain falling. No wolfhounds. No huntsmen. Just birds fluttering and squawking as Merry and James stepped from the water.

They bent over, arms braced on their legs, sucking in air till their breathing slowed to normal. Then they straightened, looked at each other. They saw every detail of faces they had known for almost all of their lives. Every freckle, every cut, every scratch.

‘D’you smell it?’ asked Merry.

‘What?’ asked James.

‘Petrol fumes. The faintest whiff.’ Merry smiled, stepped towards James, pulled him into a hug. ‘We’re home,’ she said, her breath warm on his neck. ‘We made it!’

James pulled back from her, looked at her face, so full of life and of something else, some new kind of light. Then he drew her to him and he kissed her. Not on her cheek, on her lips.

Merry hesitated, just for a moment. All the fears, all the what ifs, everything else was irrelevant. Nothing else mattered save the here and the now. Save this time. Their time. She kissed James back as the water flowed around them.

There was a sudden wild thrashing behind them. They pulled apart, wheeled around, ready to face whatever had followed them from the sixteenth century.

But all that came out from under the waterfall was the Arab stallion.

Merry gave a laugh of delight. She held out her palm. ‘Come on, boy. You’re safe now. Here. With us.’

James put his arm around Merry’s shoulder.

‘Looks like you might not have to sell your mare after all . . . ’ he said.