“Ah, Fiona,” Una breathed, taking her in. “Ye look bonnie.”

Fiona turned to take in her reflection in the mirror Una had brought in to her chamber. Wearing white for weddings was still centuries away, so she’d chosen a gown made of blue silk that Una had ordered from a seamstress in Edinburgh. At Eadan’s request, she wore her hair loose around her shoulders.

She smiled at her reflection, a rush of joy filling her chest. Today was the day she officially married Eadan.

The events of the past month had gone by in a blur. The members of the Acheson clan who’d confessed to taking part in Dughall’s plot had been exiled or imprisoned; the men who murdered Naoghas were sentenced to death by Eadan and his nobles. The servants who’d served poisoned dishes to Bran—Brice and Parlan—were found in a nearby village; they’d fled out of fear. Eadan pardoned them when they returned to the castle for questioning; they’d acted under duress since Dughall had threatened to kill their families if they didn’t follow his orders.

Eadan had learned through the various confessions from members of Clan Acheson that his instincts were right; Dughall intended to have Magaidh kill him after they were wed and inherit his lands. Dughall then planned to marry her off to one of his men, essentially giving Clan Acheson dominion over Clan Macleay. Members of the clan who were cleared in involvement for the plot had sworn an oath of fealty to Clan Macleay. Bran had officially stepped down as chief, Eadan was now chief of the clan. Eadan told her he believed that with Dughall gone, the two clans had finally found peace.

While Eadan was dealing with these clan matters, Fiona had visited Sorcha in the village on a daily basis. Eadan had arranged for a healer to tend to her daily, and she fully recovered from her injuries after two weeks. During Fiona’s last visit, Sorcha told her with happy tears in her eyes that Taran had proposed marriage, and they would wed at month’s end.

After leaving Sorcha’s cottage, she’d written Isabelle a long letter, one she hoped would reach her in the present. Fiona didn’t want to risk delivering it herself, she was still unsure how time travel worked. She feared that if she went through the portal again, she’d not be able to return to this time—to Eadan. And that wasn’t a risk she was willing to take. She planned to leave the letter in the portal, hoping that it would reach Isabelle in the future via the next person who stumbled upon Tairseach. In the letter, she’d told Isabelle not to worry, that she was happy and to not look for her. She purposefully kept it vague; there was no way she could tell Isabelle she was in the fourteenth century without Isabelle assuming she’d lost her mind. She also hoped that Isabelle wouldn’t think it was too odd that her letter was written on parchment. But it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

Together, Fiona and Eadan had traveled to Tairseach to deliver the letter. As they approached the castle, Fiona had heard the sound of wind—the portal. She made Eadan hold her hand as she made her way to the ruined cellar to drop off the letter, fearful that the portal would pull her through time. But nothing happened, there was no tug on her body like before. Still, she hurried out of the cellar with Eadan, tightly clutching his hand.

When they returned to Tairseach the next day, the letter had vanished. Relief filled her, and she prayed that it had been sent through time, that some other wandering tourist would find the letter and send it to Isabelle’s Chicago address.

As she and Eadan left Tairseach for the final time, she thought about that mysterious woman who’d followed her in her own time. She suspected she was indeed a stiuireadh, one of the rumored druid witches Eadan and Una had spoken of. Eadan told her no one knew much detail about their magic, so she could only guess how she’d factored in to Fiona’s arrival here. Maybe she was a guidepost, leading travelers like her to the past. After all, if Fiona hadn’t seen her in the ruins of the castle, she’d never have entered them.

But that didn’t explain Fiona’s urge to take a right on the forked road that led her to Tairseach in her own time. She’d finally accepted that she’d probably never know how this all worked. Now, she could only feel gratitude; she was right where she belonged.

Going forward, she would help Eadan run the castle, continue painting, and even train young would-be artists from the village. She looked forward to her life here.

“I want tae wed ye, formally,” Eadan had told her, when they returned to the castle. “I want everyone in the castle, the village—in Scotland, tae know ye’re my bride.”

Fiona grinned, joy washing over her at the love in Eadan’s eyes.

“All right,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him. “I just have once request.”

He’d thought her request was odd, but he’d granted it. She wanted to marry him in the cellar where she’d first arrived. It was a meaningful location for them—it was where she’d first arrived in this time, where she’d first heard his voice, where she’d taken the first steps toward her fate of being with him. Una and the other servants had spent the past two weeks transforming the cellar into a celebratory space, and she couldn’t wait to see what they’d done with it.

Now, Una squeezed her hands, pulling her back to the present.

“Are ye ready, m’lady?” she asked, beaming.

Giving her a wide smile, Fiona nodded, and she trailed Una down to the cellar.

As Fiona entered, she gasped. It had been completely transformed. There were no more sacks of barley or jugs of ale and wine. Instead, white flowers decorated several long tables that were set up along the walls. A multitude of candles illuminated the space, giving it a hazy, romantic glow. Bran, Ronan, Sorcha, Taran and a dozen other nobles and servants alike were gathered. Bran gave her a kind smile as she entered, and she returned it. She’d feared that Bran would want a suitable noble Scottish bride for his son, but Bran had told her that all he wanted was Eadan’s happiness—and Fiona made him more joyful than he’d ever seen.

Fiona’s gaze found Eadan, standing in the center of the cellar next to a priest. Her breath caught in her throat; he looked achingly handsome in his dark tunic and belted plaid kilt. He may have been laird of Macleay Castle, chief of Clan Macleay, but in this moment, he was simply the man she loved. The man she couldn’t wait to start her life with.

His blue eyes lit up at the sight of her, and everyone else in the room faded away as she approached him. Their eyes remained locked as they spoke their vows, and when the priest announced they were wed, Eadan cupped her face with his hands, his eyes filling with emotion. He leaned forward to claim her mouth with his, sealing their future with a kiss.