The woman’s lovely brown eyes widened, and her mouth fell open with astonishment. Eadan’s heart hammered in his chest as he studied her; the idea had come to him out of nowhere. He’d just realized how much it would help him to have her pose as his bride. Her appearance couldn’t have come at a more perfect moment. He’d been trying to think of a way—any way—to postpone or call off the marriage to Magaidh. He needed time to figure out what Dughall and his clan were up to. And now a solution had fallen into his lap, though he wasn’t yet certain how his plan would work.

At the first sight of her, rage had filled him at the thought of one of Dughall’s spies sneaking into the castle. But something else had also seized him; an unwanted rush of lust. Her long, wavy hair, the color of chestnuts, was tousled about her shoulders, as if she’d just stumbled from bed. Her features were soft and feminine, her mouth full and sensual, her deep brown eyes framed by thick lashes. She wore a gown that left nothing to the imagination; he could see the hard peaks of her nipples straining against its thin fabric.

Eadan gritted his teeth against another surge of desire. Now was not the time to think about bedding the bonnie lass, though he’d been quelling his desire ever since he swung her up into his arms and carried her to his chamber, with her lush curves pressed against his body.

“What—I don’t know—no—that’s—” she sputtered, pulling him back to the present. “You’re insane. This is insane. I’m calling the cops as soon as I leave!”

Her eyes scanned the chamber as she shouted these last words, and he frowned, his suspicions again aroused. Why did she keep looking around? Perhaps she was one of Dughall’s spies, and he’d already played into her hands.

But something told him this wasn’t the case. As soon as she’d spouted that ridiculous story about being a fallen woman and going to a nunnery, he knew she couldn’t be a spy. No spy would come up with such a weak story. They’d be more composed, more prepared.

“I’m not marrying you!” she spat. “I just want to get back to my car!”

Eadan frowned. He didn’t know of this “car” she kept speaking of, but he could only assume he was missing something through her strange accent, and she meant to say “carriage”. His suspicions about her spying for Dughall vanished; her confusion and fluster seemed genuine.

“I ken ye’re lying about who ye are, lass, but I doonae care. Ye’re not leaving this castle without my help. I just need tae end—or postpone—a betrothal. The best way tae do that is with a bride. I’ll say we wed in the past, and we thought it was annulled,” he said, thinking aloud. “It’ll give me some time, then I’ll help ye tae the nunnery—or wherever ye’re off tae.”

Horror infused her expression, and she pressed her hand to her mouth. Tears filled her eyes, and his heart filled with both sympathy and annoyance. Was the idea of posing as his bride so abominable?

“I doonae wish tae harm ye. Look, lass, I assume ye have no money,” he continued, eyeing her thin gown with skepticism. “The village is a ways, and there’ve been raids by bandits—’tis not safe out there. Even if I tried tae let ye go, my father would want ye held until it's confirmed ye’re not a spy—from the English or another clan. Believe it or not, I’m offering ye help.”

“I can’t stay here,” she whispered, her face draining of color. “Please—can you end this reenactment? I won’t go to the cops; I want to go home.”

“I doonae ken what ‘reenactment’ ye’re speaking of,” he said, shaking his head. “Or ‘cops.’ Ye’re an intruder in my castle, but I can help ye. I just need yer help in return.”

She remained pale, taking several deep breaths, before meeting his eyes.

“May—may I ask you something?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“What—what year is it?”

He studied her, dread coiling around his spine. Perhaps she wasn’t right in the head—given her rants and ravings, it would make sense. Perhaps a healer needed to examine her.

She was looking at him with a wild, frightened look, like a rabbit ensnared in a trap. He felt an odd need to comfort her, and reached out to take her hand, and warmth filled him at her touch. He led her to a chair in the corner of the chamber where he sat her down.

“What’s yer name?” he asked gently.

“Fiona,” she whispered.

Fiona. It was a lovely name; it suited her.

“Fiona,” he said, “’tis the year of our Lord, 1390.”

“Oh my God,” she breathed.

She searched his eyes as if trying to determine his words were true. He evenly held her gaze. Fiona let out a curse that even the most lowborn of his male servants wouldn’t use, before her eyes went hazy and she fainted, falling forward into his arms.

* * *

“Ye cannae tell me ye think tae keep her here,” Ronan said in a terse whisper.

Fiona was now lying in his bed, still asleep from her dead faint. He thought of waking her, but after confirming that she still breathed, he determined that she needed her rest. And he needed to put his plans in motion—if she agreed to pose as his bride.

“Not forever. I need her tae pose as my bride for a brief time, 'til I can figure out what Clan Acheson is up tae.”

Ronan looked at him in disbelief.

“Are ye mad, Eadan?” he roared, and Eadan gestured for him to lower his voice. “This betrothal’s the only thing that’s stopped our clans from—”

“I cannae marry Magaidh. They’re planning tae destroy us.”

“And what proof do ye have? Is it that ye doonae want tae marry Magaidh? Is this a way of—”

“No,” Eadan said, though it was true; he had no desire to marry the cruel Magaidh. “If I thought Dughall’s intentions were honorable, I’d marry the lass. Ye ken my duty is tae Clan Macleay and nothing else.”

He held Ronan’s eyes. Ronan’s expression softened, and he heaved a sigh.

“Just give me a few days, Ronan,” Eadan continued. “I wouldn’t put the clan in danger if I didnae think something was awry. I’m doing this for all of us. I need time. Please.”

“Fine,” Ronan muttered, after a pause. “But then ye’re marrying Magaidh and letting this poor lass leave.”

“Thank ye.” His gaze strayed to the beautiful intruder who still lay sprawled on his bed. “Now I just have tae convince her.”

Ronan followed his gaze, his mouth tightening.

“What do ye plan tae do? Tell everyone yer bride just happened tae appear? One with strange clothes and an odd tongue?”

“I’ve a plan,” Eadan said, his eyes still on Fiona’s sleeping form. He only hoped it would work.