When gloaming reached its pink-purple fingers out over the sky, beckoning the night to fall, they stopped along the River Ruel to make camp. The temperatures during the day had been warm, though not overly so. The sky had been clear, cloudless, the blue matching the color of Lilias’s gown. The night promised much of the same. Stars peeked out against the nightscape, and the moon shone huge and silver.

The men set up the tents, and rather than feeling useless, Lilias encouraged Fenella to help her prepare a meal from the provisions that had been offered from Fyne’s Tavern. Cold hunks of meat, bannock cakes, and cheese. A gentle breeze blew, and nighttime animal sounds filled the air. ’Twould be beautiful, tranquil, if only they weren’t headed to Bute and a devastating future.

“This time tomorrow, ye will be with your betrothed,” Fenella said, settling beside Lilias on a patch of soft grass.

Lilias glanced down at the bannock in her hands, tearing off a tiny piece and putting it to her lips. “Aye,” she said softly, biting the tiny crumb. Lady Fenella had avoided her while they spent their time at the inn, and at first when Lilias realized, which was shamefully not until they were leaving, she had wondered if the woman was ashamed of her. Their chambers were adjacent to each other, the walls quite thin. Lady Fenella would have heard everything, or most of it anyway. But she didn’t appear to be holding judgment over Lilias at all. Surprisingly.

In fact, if anything, she looked somber about the eyes for having to relay this bit of reality. “Do ye have any questions?”

Lilias swallowed the bite of bannock, the dryness of it scratching her tight throat. Questions… she had four thousand, but none of them would be answered satisfactorily. So, she kept them to herself. “Nay, my lady.”

Fenella let out soft, disappointed sigh.

Lilias glanced across the camp where Dirk marched back and forth in an agitated state. She could tell by the tense line of his shoulders, the way his muscles bunched more than usual that he was fighting something. Was it too much to hope they were fighting the same thing? The last two days with him had been amazing. More than amazing. They’d been a waking dream.

For a few hours in time, she’d forgotten all about the attack in the forest, and about Olafsson. Dirk had filled her mind, her dreams. And then reality had come crashing back in a crushing blow.

Fenella followed her glance, her lips in a flat line, her eyes drooped with melancholy. Could she see how Lilias felt about Dirk? Was it obvious?

Did she know that they’d kissed? More than once? That she’d begged him to keep her instead of sending her away? That being in his presence had been some of the most glorious and intoxicating moments of Lilias’s life? That she’d wanted to kiss him so badly again her lips burned with wanting it?

That warm feeling returned, the one she now knew was love. It pounded in her chest, swelled in her veins, demanding to be heard and heeded.

Leaving him when they reached Olafsson was going to be awful, heartbreaking, devastating.

“When Lady Elle and I went on our journey to find a bride, we were able to speak to your mother,” Lady Fenella said. “She admired ye much, lass.”

Tears stung Lilias’s eyes. “I miss my mother,” she whispered, feeling her heart break all over again. What she wouldn’t give to have her mother with her right then and there. To breathe in her lavender scent and feel her strong arms wrapped around her. To ask her what she should do. Or how she could stop loving Dirk so that it wouldn’t hurt so much to leave him behind. Mama would give her the strength she needed to persevere. She could hear her mother now, whispering: Ye need only reach inside yourself, love. Ye alone have the strength to endure. All will be well. And things always were when Mama said they’d be.

“She is with ye always, my dear.” Fenella was silent a moment chewing on her piece of venison jerky. “’Tis funny, when we were choosing the best of brides, both Elle and I thought of a woman my son would admire. He is so particular, ye see,” she hurried to explain. “And if we could find a lass that was perfect for him, certainly Olafsson would admire her, too.”

’Twas not funny at all. Only made it harder to know firsthand they were meant for each other.

A crushing pain centered in Lilias’s chest. Sorrow. Despair.

Why hadn’t she realized before how ardently she loved Dirk? Wished to run away with him right now. Would give up everything she knew for him. But was instead doomed to marry the elusive Olafsson. Life seemed so unfair right at that moment. She knew she wasn’t the only one to suffer such a fate, and that to want otherwise was selfish, but want she did all the same.

A life absent of Dirk was no life at all.

“Seems unfair, does it not?” Lady Fenella said, almost offhandedly, as though she were talking about a horse that wasn’t going to be shoed. Unfair. Unfortunate. Those were not the words Lilias would have used.

Tragic.

Deplorable.

Unlivable.

Absently, she said, “What?”

“That the two of ye should find a fondness for each other, and yet here we are, still on this journey.”

If Lilias had been lying there with a hundred horses trampling her, she didn’t think her breath would have left in as much a whoosh as it did now. Lady Fenella had read her mind. Knew her deepest thoughts. Was taunting her with them. Lilias cleared her throat, certain she’d rather scale a wall without a rope than be sitting here having this conversation. Snapping her spine straight, she worked to force the words off her tongue. “Any affection is irrelevant. I’ve no choice but to marry Olafsson.” Lilias couldn’t believe that she’d said the words aloud, but they were necessary. And the truth, it would seem, since Dirk was now actively avoiding her once more. Putting distance between them that was wholly necessary. If they were to forget one another.

Fenella laughed. “That reminds me of something I’ve often heard Lady Elle say. Someone once told her life is really only filled with the appearances of choice, the rest is simply our response. But she refuses to believe she’s walking through this life waiting for things to happen to her. She calls herself the ripple. That everyone can make a choice, their own ripples, and wait for the world to respond in kind.”

Lilias tore off another piece of bannock, crumbling it into a ball with her thumb and forefinger. “What does that mean?” Was it too much to hope that Lady Fenella, like the seer, was telling her to go for her dreams? To make a different choice? To be a ripple?

“I’m not certain.” She let out a light laugh as if she hadn’t just told Lilias possibly the most important thing of her life. “Ye just reminded me of it.” Her gaze was on her son. Eyes shining in the prideful, loving way mothers had for their children.

Lilias did not believe her for a moment. Lady Fenella wanted Lilias to make her own interpretation.

Dirk kept surreptitiously glancing at Lilias over his shoulder as he worked with the horses. And every time their eyes met, she felt a jolt in her belly. He unsaddled her horse with ease and perfection, rubbing a wide hand over the mare’s mane and flank. Gentle, yet strong. She knew what those hands felt like. Wanted them on her again.

If Lilias were to do as Lady Fenella hinted, then she’d have to be under the belief that she had a choice. That marrying Olafsson did not have to be her future. That Dirk could and should be. Notions she’d been fighting with, and losing.

A flash of Dirk and herself together before a hearth, her belly round with child assaulted her. Losing wasn’t an option. And yet, what choice did she truly have? She couldn’t force him. Dirk was a man of honor, even if he wanted her desperately, he’d not break a treatise and put his people at risk to have her.

All her tears and anger hadn’t worked when she’d tried.

From across the camp, Dirk glanced toward her, his stance stiff and his face brooding, as though he could read her thoughts and hoped to deter her in some way.

“I am tired. I bid ye goodnight.” Lady Fenella rose and went to her tent, suddenly leaving Lilias to her thoughts.

’Twas when Dirk approached her, hesitancy in his steps that she realized the sudden departure of Lady Fenella. The matron’s disappearance was oddly perfect timing. Or perhaps, not odd at all. He reached his hand down to her. Without question, she placed her hand in his, the sheer size engulfing her. She swallowed hard, tamping down her longing and pain. How could he be so chivalrous, and so distant at the same time?

“Ye should go to bed, my lady. Tomorrow will prove an exhausting day.”

Lilias nodded numbly, allowing him to lead her toward her tent. Once there, she opened her mouth to tell him how she felt, what she’d discovered. But he gently lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss that felt like a goodbye, to her knuckles. Heat swirled on that spot, leaving her stunned and speechless. Panic welled in her belly.

“Good night, my lady.” He’d not said her name. He was reverting to formal address when they were quite alone. He’d made his choice, and saints preserve her but it hurt to know it.

Well, she wasn’t going to let that stop her from sharing her feelings with him once more. There might never be another chance. Knowing he could possibly break her heart wasn’t reason enough to keep quiet. If she never told him, she’d regret it for the rest of her life, for that one tiny possibility that it might make a difference.

“I dinna want to sleep,” she whispered. “For the sooner I sleep, the sooner tomorrow comes.”

A fleeting expression of devastation crossed Dirk’s face. “We canna be, beag calman. ’Tis forbidden.”

He’d called her by his pet name for her… That was a good sign; at least he was letting pretenses drop. Hope soared.

“How can love be forbidden?” she whispered, opening up her heart completely.

Dirk’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed to lose command of his composure. The frown on his lips flattened out as he struggled to keep himself serious. “Is love worth the price of war?” He choked out the words, shook his head, squeezed her fingers. He spoke fast and quiet as though he were afraid some invisible force would cut off his tongue. He brought her hands to his lips and she could have sobbed at the warmth and tenderness in that simple kiss. “I am certain that I will never find another woman like ye for all the days of my life. I know this.” He pressed her hand to his chest where she could feel his heart beating. “Ye will be in my heart always.”

“Find him another bride. Say there is a delay,” she begged, clutching his shirt.

Dirk wouldn’t meet her eyes, rather shifting his gaze to the crown of her head. “The papers have been signed by your brother. The treaty drawn up and signed by Olafsson. Ye’re as good as married already.” With those words, he untangled her fingers from his shirt and let her hands fall from his. He turned away from her, storming through the trees.

Lilias desperately wanted to run after him, to remind him that Olafsson had yet to sign the marriage contract, but she’d only make a fool of herself. She’d laid her heart out in the open, bared her soul, begged him to make her his.

And he’d given her his answer.

Dirk didn’t want her. If he did, he would have found a way and not left her standing in a sea of pain.

Though he didn’t sleep, morning still arrived much too quickly for Dirk.

Love. She’d spoken of love. And at the utterance from her lips, his heart had kicked up a notch. Aye, he loved her. It was killing him that today he’d have to deliver her to another. Maybe he’d feign illness and have Gunnar do it instead.

But even that was a like taking a battle-axe to his chest. Gutting him wide, and ripping his bleeding heart out.

Why couldn’t he take her back home to Dunstaffnage? Tear up the betrothal document? Burn it? Nay, hack it to death with that same bloody ax and then toss it in the fire.

He could send another bride in her place. And make Lilias his.

But that wouldn’t do, either. He could not rightly send any woman to the vicious Olafsson. And that begged—nay demanded—an answer, so why was he sending his heart, his joy, the one woman he was certain completed his soul?

They readied their horses, packing up the somber camp, dousing the fires. He had no appetite and shook his head when his mother offered him a hunk of jerky. Fenella eyed him, kissed him on the cheek, and made certain that he saw her hinted gaze in Lili’s direction. She squeezed his hand, offering comfort but said nothing. She’d always wanted him to make his own decisions.

Even if he knew this was a plan put in motion by her and his grandmother. What were they thinking?

For her part, Lady Lilias ignored him, not meeting his gaze as they readied to leave, and asking only Gunnar to accompany her as escort when she sought privacy.

’Twas no less than Dirk deserved. When she’d offered him her heart, he’d shut her down. Walked away. Denied her feelings. Told her he was going to give her to a tyrant. If it had been an agonizing pain for him to do such a thing, it must have been one hundred times worse for her.

Dirk was at a loss for what to do. If he followed his heart, he would start a war. But to not follow his heart would leave him, and her, forever in misery. Not to mention a war inside himself that he could never heal from.

The torment of what to do continued in his mind for several hours until they reached a wooded rise overlooking a ravine and the Kyles of Bute. The choppy waters slapped against the shore. An ominous sign that nature did not want Lilias to sail away this day.

Across the waterway, Dirk could make out a dozen of Olafsson’s warriors milling about at a makeshift camp. They waited for the MacDougall caravan and then they’d sail across the channel to make the exchange. There was no sight of Olafsson himself, and truly, Dirk was not surprised. The bastard couldn’t even come to collect his own bride.

’Twould be hours before they reached the water, possibly longer if they made camp for the night. They’d have to pick their way down the ridge and circle round the ravine, toward the bank. From where they stood, the Norsemen had yet to spot them.

Dirk ground his teeth. He glanced around at his men who patiently waited.

Instead of signaling for the beginning of their descent, he hesitated. Wanted to hear what his scouts had to say. A half hour later one of them rode into their party, panting.

“My laird.” He flicked his gaze to Lilias. “May I have a word in private?”

Dirk nodded, dismounting and signaling his scout to do the same. They walked some twenty paces away from the party, but he kept his eyes on the woman he loved. “What is it?”

“Heard the men talking. Olafsson has plans for his future bride.”

At that, Dirk snapped to attention.

The scout shook his head, grimacing. “They are not honorable, my laird.”

“What are they?” he growled, hands on his hips instead of on the lad’s shoulders shaking the news from him.

The lad gritted his teeth, coloring in the cheeks. “Says that once she’s given him a son, he’s going to pass her off to one of his men, or more. Discard her. That he’d never trust a—” He clamped his mouth shut, cheeks going scarlet.

Dirk gritted his teeth. “Trust a what?”

“I’d rather not say. ’Twas rather unpleasant and demeaning. In essence, he’d not trust a woman ye chose, and one bargained for such a treaty.”

Dirk glowered fiercely. How dare that bastard say something so repulsive and offensive about his beloved that the lad could not bear to repeat it. Lilias was a gem of her gender. There was no way in hell he was going to pass her off. No way in hell he’d give any woman to Olafsson. But especially not the woman he loved.

Love may not be the answer to preventing every war, but for the love of his woman, he was willing to wage a thousand battles.

“Ye’ve done well, lad. Mount up.”

Dirk stomped back toward his horse, unable to look at anyone, anger blinding him, swirling in burning rivulets throughout his body. Damnation, but he needed to pummel someone. And he knew he’d not get the chance right now to thrash the man who was the cause of his ire.

Leaping onto his mount, he swiveled in his saddle, and regarded Lilias. She sat her horse with a straight spine, her hands folded in her lap and her head demurely bowed. Grief marred every line of her face, even when she tried to hide it. Sensing him looking at her, she glanced up, solemn eyes meeting his. Sorrow kicked at his heart and he knew without a doubt, he could not continue on this journey. Why the hell had it taken him so damn long?

“My lady,” he said to her. “Might I have a word?”

Lili regarded him with apprehension, nodding slowly, her gaze sliding to the men below.

Dirk urged his horse beside her, their knees brushing, and he grabbed her hands, small and cold. He leaned in close enough that no one could hear what he had to say. “I would run away with ye, beag calman. I would have ye for my own, for my heart beats a different tune when ye’re near and when ye’re far.” He took hold of her hand. “Every moment I’ve spent trying to avoid ye has been a torment. I canna live without ye. And yes, my love, my darling, your love is worth waging a war. I was a fool to not say so before. Not to tell ye at every chance. I will spend the rest of my days begging ye for forgiveness.”

As he spoke, tears gathered in her eyes, and her hands trembled in his grasp. “Ye need beg nothing of me, Dirk. Tell me plainly, what are ye saying?” She was breathless, color flushing her cheeks. Hope filled her eyes.

“I am forever your servant, Lili.”

“I dinna need anymore servants.” Although her voice quivered, a slight smile curved her lips.

Dirk cleared his throat glancing back at the Olafsson men below and the channel that would take her away from him forever. “I am giving ye the choice that no one else has. Go with them now, to the future your country demanded of ye, or take my hand and come away with me. Be my wife. Wage a war with me.”

Her delicate throat bobbed, and tears sprang to her eyes. “But—”

“No buts, love. I would fight every one of those men for ye if ye wanted me to. Right now. I would go to the ends of the earth to see ye safe and happy. And I would gladly die a thousand deaths if that is what ye wished.”

Lili shook her head, squeezing his hands tighter. “This is a dream come true. I could never wish ye dead. I want to be the ripple. I want to go with ye. I want ye to be my husband.”

The ripple… His grin widened. She was definitely meant for him if she could quote his grandmother’s life motto. “Ye’ll be my wife?”

“Aye. Aye!” She threw her arms around him, and he lifted her from her saddle onto his lap, pressing his forehead to hers.

Soft whistles of approval went up from his men, all of them seeming to know that silence was of the utmost importance given those who dwelled below the rise. A glance at his mother showed her wide grin of approval.

“Of your own free will?” he asked, just to be certain.

“Aye. “ Lili laughed and then pressed her lips to his, claiming him in that one, very public move.

He savored the sweet honey taste of her and could have bathed in her familiar, floral scent. Not giving a fig who was watching, he kissed her with all the passion and love he felt. Put his apology and his gratitude into the press of his lips on hers. This was his woman. His love. His beag calman.

When they parted, she clutched his hand to her heart. “Take me away, my love.”

Dirk felt his chest swell near to bursting. “With pleasure, my heart.”