Ciaran could no longer deny it to himself. He craved the lass. And not just her body, though images of her curves filled his dreams at night. He craved the sound of her laughter, which reminded him of tinkling bells, her smile, which shone with incandescence and filled him with joy of his own, even the gentle hum of her voice.

And given what Gabhran had told him about Tairseach, he couldn’t believe that the kind and thoughtful lass he was coming to know would tell him such an elaborate lie. But his lingering uncertainty about the notion of a person traveling through time was in constant battle with his tentative belief in her tale. He decided to ignore his inner turmoil, instead choosing to focus on the pleasure of her company.

He continued to receive periodic updates from Gabhran about his men; they were in place at his castle and in contact with Lachaid, but they’d learned nothing of use.

“I ken ’tis hard,” Gabhran told him. “But ’tis best we wait till they uncover something. My men are good. Have faith, Ciaran. They will find something that can help.”

It was hard putting his complete trust into others to help him, but he tried to abide by Gabhran’s words.

And while he could have patience for updates from Gabhran’s men, he could no longer practice patience when it came to his desire for Isabelle.

He thought their daily walks would satisfy him, but it wasn't enough. He desired Isabelle with a ferocity that seized every part of him. He needed more. And he suspected she felt the same, by the way her eyes sometimes lingered on his lips, or how her gaze trailed up and down his body.

They'd been at the manor for over a fortnight when he asked her to take a walk with him after dinner. He saw the surprise that flared in her lovely eyes when he didn't lead her out to the garden, but to her guest chamber.

"Isabelle," he whispered. “Ye must ken by now that I want ye. But I'll not bring dishonor tae ye if ye doonae feel the same.”

He waited for her response, his heart thundering in his ears. Isabelle lowered her eyes, and he feared she would refuse him. But she stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his.

"Please," she murmured. "Dishonor me, Ciaran."

He let out a strangled moan at the seductive invitation in her voice, and swung her up into his arms. Isabelle laughed with surprise and delight as he stepped into her chamber, kicking the door shut behind them. He carried her to the bed as she lowered her hand to the hardness that swelled beneath his kilt, stroking him.

"Christ, lass," he moaned, lowering her to the bed and stripping her of her clothing with such roughness he feared he would tear her fine gown. But there was no quelling the desire that rushed through him with the force of a raging river. He could no longer contain himself around her.

Isabelle helped him undress, her breathing ragged as she stripped him of his tunic and kilt.

“Ciaran,” she whispered, pressing her hands to his muscular abdomen, leaning forward to place kisses along the expanse of his torso. The feel of her lips against his skin filled him with an ache, and he groaned, capturing her hands with his and lowering her back to the bed.

"No, lass," he said gently, surveying the lovely curves of her body before leaning down to capture her lips with his own. "'I need tae touch ye first.”

He kissed her slowly, leisurely, until she was whimpering beneath him, before dragging his lips down to the flesh of her throat, where he nibbled at the soft skin there. He continued to pepper kisses down to her breasts, looking up to meet her eyes as he captured one nipple in his mouth, suckling at it until she threw her head back and moaned.

He seized her other nipple with his mouth, kneading the free breast with his hand, relishing in the feel of it in his hand as he suckled.

Isabelle’s body quivered when he released her breasts from his hands and mouth. He kissed down her abdomen to the tops of her thighs where he wedged her legs open with his broad shoulders.

He looked up as her blue eyes locked with his, hazy with desire. He kept his eyes trained on hers as he kissed the inside of her left thigh, then her right, before clamping his mouth onto her sweet center.

"Oh, God," Isabelle cried as he tasted her, his tongue delving into her sweetness. She began to writhe, and he reached up to grip her breasts as he continued to feast, moaning out his pleasure at the taste of her on his tongue.

He could have feasted on her forever, but his own hardness was becoming painful, and he reached down to stroke himself as Isabelle's release claimed her. She cried out as her orgasm tore through her, spilling her delectable juices into his mouth. He continued to lick her sweetness as her quivering slowed and came to a stop before reluctantly lifting his head.

"Ciaran," she said on a moan, her eyes closed. “Please . . .”

"I ken, lass," he whispered, lifting himself above her, taking in the beauty of her nude form. "Look at me," he ordered, with a sudden possessiveness that surprised him. He needed her to know exactly who was claiming her, who was giving her pleasure.

She opened her eyes, training them on him, and the heady desire in them was so stark that he let out a pleasured groan as he sank his cock into her.

Isabelle gasped, throwing her head back in ecstasy. Ciaran held himself still, allowing her to adjust to his size, but it was difficult—she felt like heaven clenched around him, and he wanted nothing more than to thrust her beautiful body into the bed with the force of his desire.

Finally, he began to move, slow and steady, letting out a groan between clenched teeth. Isabelle whimpered, wrapping her legs around him to pull him deeper inside her. He lost control then, increasing the force of his thrusts until he was pounding her into the bed. He suckled at her throat as they moved together, then her lips, then her breasts, unable to keep himself from tasting her as he claimed her in the most intimate way.

He didn't know how long they moved together, the bed shaking beneath them as he thrust into her, but soon sweat soaked their heated bodies, and he could feel the force of his release start to spiral deep within his belly. But he wanted to wait; he could tell from Isabelle's moans and trembling form that she was close to another release. So he held back, gritting his teeth with effort as he continued to pound her into the bed.

"Come for me, Isabelle," he whispered. "Come for me, my beauty."

"Ciaran," she gasped. "Oh, God—Ciaran!"

She reached up to grip his shoulders as her release claimed her, her body trembling beneath him, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. Ciaran could no longer hold his own release at bay. He reached down to hold her body close to his as his orgasm claimed him, and he came with a ragged cry, burying his face in her neck as he spilled his cum inside her.

They remained locked together for several moments, their ragged breathing the only sound in the room, until he reluctantly disengaged himself from Isabelle's body. But he continued to hold her close, reaching out to stroke the damp strands of her hair back from her face.

"I cannae get enough of ye, lass," he whispered. "Do ye have any notion of how desirable ye are?"

Isabelle flushed in response, giving him a shy smile.

"I've wanted you ever since I saw you washing in that stream," she confessed.

"Aye?" he asked with a grin. "Well, I was thinking of ye as I washed, all dirty and frightened in those man’s clothes ye were wearing. Had ye come a moment later, ye may have seen me stroking myself."

Isabelle's eyes widened in surprise, and her flush deepened.

"I've wanted ye since I first saw ye, Isabelle," he continued. "I was so entangled in my troubles . . . and then ye came intae my life. Now ye're all I can think about. All I desire.”

Isabelle leaned forward to press a kiss to his lips. But her smile faded as she studied him.

"What?"

"You want me . . . even though you think I'm lying to you? About being from the future?"

"I doonae think ye're lying tae me,” he said, after a brief pause. “But ye must understand . . . 'tis hard to believe. I doonae ken how ’tis possible."

"Neither do I," Isabelle said, shaking her head with frustration. "But it is, because I'm here."

He studied her desperate and imploring expression, recalling the strange clothes she wore when he first met her, her odd manner of speech. Her asking him what year it was when they'd first met. The truth in her words when she spoke about her life before she’d stumbled across him in that forest. And Gabhran’s story about Tairseach, which had lingered in the back of his mind.

She wasn’t like any lass he’d ever met. As impossible as it was . . . it made sense that she was from another time.

Perhaps he’d known deep down she was telling the truth. Perhaps he’d held onto his denial because he knew that if she was from another time . . . she would one day return to it.

“I believe ye, lass,” he murmured, though his heart tightened at the realization that she didn’t belong here.