Mary took just a moment to compose herself again, then returned to the kitchens to continue her discussions with Margaret. Cora found herself wandering out into the courtyard to get some fresh air and give some thought to what she had just learned about herself, her past incarnation, and the world she was now living in. The full scale of the tragedy was impossible to comprehend. How many women had been terrorized like this? How many innocent people whose only crime was noticing that a certain herb helped heal wounds had been tortured to death in cells like the one she kept dreaming of? She found her thoughts turning again and again to Audrina’s collection of remedies in the tower. What would the Inquisitors think if they found that? Heresy, of course. Witchcraft. It wasn’t witchcraft to turn metal dug from the ground into useful things like weapons for an army, of course — not when men did it. But let a woman use the fruit of the Earth to help ease pain, or heal sickness, and suddenly the accusations of witchcraft came out. It was so unjust, so transparently misogynistic, that Cora found herself grinding her teeth in frustration. Men didn’t like power that they weren’t in control of, that was all — so rather than show some humility and educate themselves as to the natural workings of the herbs, they just burned the people who wielded that power so that they wouldn’t have to think about it anymore.

She was striding around the courtyard, furious, hoping that if she kicked enough rocks or uprooted enough tufts of weed that somehow her rage would abate. But she knew it wasn’t anger that was the problem, not really — the anger and frustration were hiding the fear that was at the heart of her feelings. She’d always been a competent, strong, independent woman in the twenty-first century — but now, in these times, she was beginning to realize just how little power she had in the face of structures like the Church.

Not that the modern Church was free of problems, of course — there was a reason she had distanced herself a little from organized religion, though her faith remained as strong as ever. But here — now — this was seriously frightening. A group of grooms walked past toward the stable, and one of them caught her eye as he looked over his shoulder at her. Mary’s words echoed in her head — the Inquisition had spies everywhere, it would only take one…but surely she was safe here, in the courtyard of Castle MacClaran? But Audrina hadn’t been safe here, had she? They had come for her anyway…and from her account, it had been a narrow escape.

“I hate this,” Cora whispered to herself. She walked into the stables, disconsolate, and found the stall where Ian’s favorite gelding was kept. He was in there, head down and drowsing slightly, but when he saw her coming he made a soft sound of welcome and thrust his head into her hands. She inhaled the scent of horse, letting it calm her as it always had, letting a few tears of frustration be soaked up by his mane and the soft hair on his neck. Seeming to sense her need, he stayed very still, comforting him with the warmth of her body.

“Good boy,” she murmured after a while. “You’re not a spy, are you?”

He shook his mane and lipped gently at her shoulder.

Cora laughed. “I’ll take that as a no.”

She left him with his nose buried in his pail of oats, and walked back toward the castle. She was still scared, and frustrated, and angry — she felt confused and powerless, full of a restless energy that she didn’t know what to do with. She needed to talk to someone — be with someone who would understand, but not ask too much of her. Audrina, perhaps? She’d always been a good listener when she needed to be...

But it wasn’t Audrina’s chambers that she found herself wandering to — it wasn’t Audrina’s door that she knocked on, almost without realizing how she’d gotten there. It was Ian MacClaran’s, and he tilted his head to the side when he opened the door, a little confused to see her.

“Ian,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

He stood back to let her in, a cautious look in his eye — but a muted pleasure, too. He was glad to see her. Well, she was glad to see him, too. She stood in the middle of his room (unmade bed, she noted with wry amusement, and a sea of plates and cups left in an untidy heap on the table.)

“I wasn’t expecting —”

“No, I know. I’m sorry to disturb you. I just — needed to see you.”

“Was there something you needed to talk to me about?” he asked, and she could tell he was trying to sound nonchalant, but there was a shaking in his voice that gave him away.

A smile crossed her face. “No. I’m not here to talk.”

Ian opened his mouth and closed it again, looking nonplussed.

Don’t overthink it, Cora. She stepped closer to him, closer again — until she was right up against his chest. He didn’t break eye contact, though she could see the confusion his eyes beginning to give way to hope.

“Cora —” he started.

She stood on her tiptoes to grab the back of his head and pull him into a fierce kiss. It was stronger than the gentle kiss they’d shared on the battlements — she wanted to make it absolutely clear what she wanted from him, what she needed. He responded readily, deepened the kiss, carefully put his arms around her, squeezing her tighter as she pressed her body encouragingly against his. They broke apart after a moment, and she was pleased to note that he was breathing harder than he had been. He blinked a few times, shook his head as though trying to clear it.

“Are you — is this — what you want?” he asked, a little breathless, clearly fighting down his desire for her.

“No,” she replied, voice dripping with sarcasm and fondness. “I thought I’d just come to your chambers and seduce you for a practical joke. Pretty funny, right?”

A grin broke out across his face — he had such a beautiful smile. “Cruel of ye.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she challenged.

He needed no further encouragement after that. They crashed into each other like waves, the tension that had been building since their kiss on the battlements finally finding its release. It had been longer than that, though, she thought as he kissed a line down her throat, making her gasp — there had been a spark and an energy between them the first night they’d met, even in the dark, with him covered in mud and swearing up a storm, her wearing strange clothes from another time and still at a complete loss as to where she was. Well, she knew where she was now — she was in Castle MacClaran, being undressed with some urgency by a handsome Scottish warrior with the most beautiful hazel eyes she’d ever seen.

His shirt was easy enough to drag off his shoulders and toss across the room — she ran an admiring hand across his muscular torso, broad and powerful, densely packed with the muscle needed to wield the broadsword that was leaning against the wall by the door. She pulled him down onto his bed on top of her, heedless of the tangle of blankets beneath them, pressed his naked torso to hers and lost herself to the heat and intensity of his kiss. Pausing briefly to caress his muscular back, her hands stole across his midsection and down to the belt of his kilt — where she encountered some difficulties.

“How — on Earth — does this thing work?” she demanded breathlessly, breaking away from the kiss to yank fruitlessly at the fabric. He chuckled, an unbelievably arousing sound that buzzed against her ear.

“Not so clever now, are you?”

“Take it off,” she demanded, yanking at it again.

He shrugged, teasing her. “Well, if you’re going to give up that easily, you mustn’t really want me...”

“Ian!”

He grinned, covering her throat in kisses until she was writhing beneath him, hands roaming frantically across the fastenings of the kilt. Briefly, she tried to press against his length through the kilt itself — but the fabric was too thick to allow her to feel anything, and besides, she couldn’t do what she really wanted to do until they were both naked. He had already pulled her skirt from her legs, and she was almost naked beneath him, only her underclothes remaining as a barrier between them.

“This isn’t fair,” she whined, drumming her fists petulantly against his back as he continued the line of kisses down her neck and across her bare chest. Ever so lightly, he flicked his tongue across her nipple, and she arched her back, uttering a moan that made her clap her hand over her mouth.

He chuckled against her ample bosom. “Stone walls, lassie. Nobody will hear us.”

“Good,” she breathed, squirming as his lips continued their voyage downwards — he traced a careful line along her hipbone and she whimpered, bucking her hips up toward him as he hovered teasingly a few inches from the area still covered by her underpants. She reached down to pull them off for him, but he blocked her hand, glancing up at her and raising an eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t be fair,” he murmured, deliberately close, and she moaned at the sensation of his hot breath through the fabric. “For you to be naked, and me still dressed —”

“So undress!” she growled, bucking her hips up toward him again — and he grinned, and held her legs down, and gently kissed her hipbone again, moved down to the crease of her thigh. He teased her for what felt like days, never quite reaching the place she so desperately needed him to — until she cracked, and begged, and arched her back coquettishly so her breasts were on full display. It was her most effective trick, and it worked. With a low sound of need, he pulled her underpants off and tossed them aside, kissed a fiery line up the side of her leg and finally, finally — she almost screamed as his tongue parted her folds and traced an electrifying circle around her clitoris. Cora buried her hands in his hair as he continued to trace gentle patterns across the most sensitive part of her, arching her back as he brought her inexorably closer and closer to the edge. God, it had been a long time since she’d been with a lover — and never one this skilled —

Just as she was sure she was about to come, her hands fisted tightly in his hair, he slowed his pace — whimpering a protest, she looked down at him to realize that without her even noticing, he’d removed the kilt that had given her such trouble. He moved up the bed toward her now, and she felt the full length of him drag and press against her thigh.

“God,” she murmured, taking in the sight of him for a moment. “You’re — you’re incredible.”

“I could say the same to you, Cora Wilcox,” he replied softly, gazing down at her.

“Go on, then,” she rejoined, grinning, and he laughed, shifted her hips beneath him, and slid his length inside her with a groan that he buried against her neck. They moved together, breathing hard, and he’d teased her so thoroughly and brought her so incredibly close to the edge of climax that it wasn’t long before she felt that familiar feeling building low and taut in her belly. She clenched her fists against his back, pulling him to her with new urgency, and he obeyed her wordless instruction, thrusting harder and faster until she felt herself build, build, build — and crash over the edge with a scream loud enough to disturb the whole castle. He wasn’t far behind her, and she realized dizzily that he’d been holding himself back from the edge, waiting until she was satisfied to allow himself to climax too.

He rolled to the side and they lay together in a tangle of sweaty limbs and pounding hearts, her head pillowed on his chest and his arm curled around her shoulders. After a long and blissful few minutes, he shifted a little, glanced down at her with a tiny smile playing around his lips.

“What?”

“Been in Scotland a week and still no idea how a kilt works. For shame, lassie.”