It was later that evening, right before supper, that Ronan came to them with the news.

Brice and Parlan were missing; they’d not returned to their homes. Sorcha had been found, beaten and unconscious in the woods near the village. She was alive but severely injured and unable to speak, currently recovering in her mother’s cottage.

Fiona pressed her hand to her mouth with a horrified look, and Eadan set his own fury and grief aside to wrap his arms around her, giving Ronan a silent nod to leave them.

Fiona pressed her face into the crook of his neck and wept.

“We’ll find out who did this, and they’ll be punished,” Eadan whispered, stroking her hair.

“It’s my fault,” Fiona said, pulling back and looking at him with tear-filled eyes. “I’m the one who made Sorcha tell me what was happening. If I’d never come to this time, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Ye doonae ken that,” he said gently. “We both ken who’s at fault here. Dughall.”

Fiona didn’t look comforted by this, guilt infusing her expression. He reached up to cup her face. There was nothing he wanted to do more than to comfort her, to hold her in his arms and keep her close, but he needed to put her safety—her life—above his own needs.

“I’m going tae handle this. Now that I ken he's attacked—and killed my servants—” he broke off, his voice shaking with raw grief and anger. “There’s no telling what else Dughall will do. I need tae send ye back tae your own time.”

“No,” Fiona said, shaking her head. “I can still help. Dughall and Magaidh—”

“—Have proven they’ll resort tae violence. Please, Fiona. 'Tis dangerous for ye here.”

“Eadan Macleay,” Fiona said in a firm tone, stepping back and drawing her shoulders rigid, “if I was determined to help you before, I’m even more determined now. Sorcha—” her voice grew husky with grief, but she continued, “—Sorcha didn’t deserve to be beaten. She was frightened and only tried to do the right thing. I won’t let you send me away until you’ve brought Dughall to justice. And for that, we still need proof.”

A surge of emotion filled Eadan at the ferocity in her eyes and his heart swelled. This passionate and fierce woman had his heart. He knew he should insist that she go, but her expression broached no argument.

“Then ye’ll stay in yer chamber—for now,” he said, at the flare of renewed defiance in her eyes. “And I'm giving ye a dagger tae use; hide it away in yer bodice. I’m also putting men on yer door.”

“But I want to help.”

“For now, the best way tae help is staying out of harm’s way. I’m going tae gather my trusted men and tell them what we ken, then I’m calling a meeting of the nobles. I’ve at least one servant I can use as proof against Dughall," he said, thinking of Maon. He'd hesitated to use Maon as evidence against Dughall, fearful that his men wouldn't trust his word when Maon revealed he'd spied for Dughall. But now he had no choice. "I cannae risk Dughall harming any more of my servants--or anyone. This ends now.”

“Wait—” Fiona said, as he started toward the door. “Maybe there’s something else you can try.”

Eadan regarded her warily.

“What?”

* * *

This is madness, Eadan thought, gritting his teeth as he leaned forward on his horse, kicking the sides of his flank.

He was on his way to see Magaidh. It was Fiona’s idea; she’d insisted that Magaidh indeed had feelings for him—or at least she once had—and perhaps he could use her former feelings to appeal to her humanity, to have her own up to what she and her father had done. At the very least, she could slip and provide him with information he could use.

Eadan didn’t think this would work; Magaidh had already proven how cruel she was. But if there was the smallest chance he could prevent all-out war between their clans and simply bring Dughall to justice, it was worth a try.

So he’d left Fiona with two of his trusted men on her door. He’d brought Ronan with him, who also thought this was a mad idea. Eadan glanced over at his cousin, who rode his horse alongside him, his mouth set in a grim line. Ronan gave him a wary look that said: This had better work.

His spies had informed him that Dughall was away from his manor, so he knew it was safe for a brief visit. As Eadan dismounted from his horse, he had to quell the urge to set Dughall’s manor ablaze. This was the man who’d poisoned his father, harmed and killed his servants. It would be difficult to maintain a polite façade with his daughter, a willing participant in his schemes.

The servant who answered the door looked startled and paled at the sight of him, but she led him and Ronan to the drawing room where Magaidh sat alone, working on her embroidery. He turned to wave Ronan away before stepping inside.

“Eadan,” she said, dropping her embroidery in surprise and shooting to her feet. She forced a smile, though it was tight and didn’t reach her eyes. “I didnae expect ye.”

Eadan took a breath, trying to school his expression to one of neutrality, though another surge of fury had seized him. She was the picture of innocence with her embroidery, a snake in disguise. She’d helped Dughall arrange the poisoning of his father.

“I’m here tae apologize,” he lied, forcing the words past his lips. “I—I ken I’ve been distant and—and not warm toward ye since our betrothal was arranged.”

Something flickered in Magaidh’s eyes—a brief moment of raw emotion—before it vanished.

“Ye’ve been kind and treated me fairly,” she said stiffly. “There’s no need tae apologize, m’laird.”

“I—I ken ye cared for me once. Perhaps when we were younger, and I never noticed,” he said cautiously. This time, the look of vulnerability in Magaidh’s eyes was unmistakable, and she lowered her gaze. “I know ye no longer care for me, and I understand. But—but if ye did care for me once, ye can help me now.”

“How?” Magaidh asked, her voice tight with suspicion.

“Ye can help our clans avoid bloodshed. I just need ye tae be honest with me.”

Magaidh’s eyes darkened and she straightened.

“Aye,” she said. “I did once care for ye. But I could tell ye felt nothing for me. Ye never looked at me the way ye look at that Sassenach,” she bit out, hatred filling her eyes at the mention of Fiona.

“Magaidh, my attentions have only been on my clan. If I caused ye hurt—”

“Don’t give me yer false sympathy. I ken ye’re bedding the lass. No matter. What’s done is done. We’ll be wed regardless. Ye’ll have your whore, and I’ll have my lovers. But,” she continued, her expression filling with lethal coldness, “we ken she’s lying about something. I think she’s a spy, perhaps for the English—or wherever she’s truly from. My father willnae let ye’re whore leave ’til we question her more. Her lies will be discovered and she’ll hang. But father is merciful. He’ll give her a quick death the French way. By the sword.”

Panic filled him at her words. I should’ve sent Fiona away. I should’ve insisted. But a cold hard fury seared his veins, quelling his panic. He wouldn’t let them come near Fiona. He’d die first.

He glowered at Magaidh, revulsion filling him at her assumption that they would still wed. Dughall had declared war the moment he’d proposed this betrothal, the moment he’d poisoned his father and came after his servants. There was no more need for pretense.

He stepped forward, and Magaidh flinched at the look of fierce anger in his eyes.

“Don’t ye ever threaten the woman I love again,” he growled. There was a flash of pain in Magaidh’s eyes at his statement, then fury, as he continued, “And yes, I’m bedding her. I want her tae be my wife for the rest of my life. Ye want tae ken why I never cared for ye, Magaidh? Because of yer cruelty. Ye’re full of spite and hatred. Fiona’s nothing but kindness, and that’s one reason she has my heart. What ye and yer father are doing, it ends today.”

He turned and stormed from the room before she could reply, fury still flowing through him. Ronan stood right outside the parlor; he’d been eavesdropping. He gave Eadan an impressed nod.

“So much for peace, aye?”

“Aye,” Eadan said, as they headed out of the manor house to mount their horses. “We need tae call a meeting with the nobles once we’re at the castle. Our truce with Clan Acheson is over.”

As he rode back to the castle, his heart hammering against his ribcage, Eadan realized that his confession to Magaidh was the first time he’d admitted to anyone—including himself—that he loved Fiona. And he did. The bonnie lass who’d crashed into his life from the future had his heart, his body, his soul. For the first time in his life, there was something else that meant as much—more—to him than his clan. She’d forced him to open his heart, to let love in. To let her in. He wanted nothing more than to make her his wife in truth, to share his life with her.

But he needed to protect her. As long as Dughall was alive and after his clan, Fiona wouldn’t be safe in this time.