Isabelle paced restlessly in her guest chamber. Ciaran and most of the men had left after first light to confront Walrick. She’d wanted to come along, but Ciaran had summarily refused. Unlike the castle rescue, of which she’d been a vital part, he and the others insisted she would only get in the way.

"And I'd just want tae protect ye, lass, when I need tae focus," Ciaran had insisted.

So he'd left her behind with several burly Highlanders as her guards. Ciaran had given them strict instructions to return her to Tairseach should anything go awry, ignoring her protests.

She expelled a sigh, looking around her large, dank guest chamber. She hated feeling useless. Even her search for Fiona had come to a standstill; there was nothing she could do to resume that search until she had access to another messenger. Ciaran had assured her that once he had his title returned, he'd do everything in his power to help her locate Fiona.

Isabelle moved to the window, looking out for the millionth time. She didn’t know exactly how long it had been since they'd all left, but midday had come and gone, and she’d barely eaten the two small meals of bread and stew a guard brought to her chamber. She had no appetite; she wouldn't be able to eat a single bite until she knew Ciaran was safe.

Isabelle stilled when she heard the rumble of horses approaching the manor. She whirled, hurrying out of the chamber to make her way downstairs. She ignored the cautioning shouts of one of the guards as she threw open the front door.

Her chest filled with relief at the sight of Ciara riding alongside Gabhran, Lachaid and the others. A scowling red-haired man and two other men with similar features rode with them: she assumed this was Walrick and his sons.

She stepped forward as the men dismounted. Gabhran and his men kept hold of Walrick and his two sons, marching with them into the manor.

"What happened?" Isabelle asked, once she reached Ciaran.

"They came with not much of a fight, but it will be difficult tae get Walrick tae work with us," Ciaran said.

"And if he does?"

"We're arranging tae meet with Ramsey, a noble from my clan who still holds me in high regard. If Walrick tells him what Tavish has done, Ramsey will inform the other nobles."

"Then your name will be cleared?"

"If all goes well," Ciaran said, but he didn't look so certain.

He's right to be cautious, Isabelle thought, with a sliver of unease. So many things could still go wrong. Walrick could turn on him. This other noble from his clan could turn on him. Or Tavish's men could storm the manor at any moment and capture them all.

"Doonae worry yerself with all this, lass," Ciaran said, studying her strained features. "'Tis not yer concern. If anything should happen, ye return tae where ’tis safe."

His eyes held hers, and Isabelle understood his meaning. She bit her lip, frustration roiling through her gut. She thought she'd been clear when she told him she wasn't leaving until she helped clear his name and located Fiona. But it seemed like her words had fallen on deaf ears.

Before she could raise any objection to his words, he raised her hand to his lips in a quick kiss before leaving to deal with Walrick.

She trailed after him, only to nearly collide with Lachaid. She apologized and started to move past him, but his words stopped her.

"May I ask ye something, lass?"

"Of course," Isabelle said, though she stiffened with wary caution. She'd told Lachaid the same backstory she'd told everyone else, but she feared he'd ask her for more details.

"Why are ye doing so much tae help Ciaran?"

Isabelle flushed, swallowing hard. Now she wished he'd asked her for details about where she was from. Anything besides having to discuss her love for Ciaran.

"Ye could have been safe in England," Lachaid continued, his dark eyes probing hers. "Instead, ye risked yer life tae come back and rescue him."

"I owe him my life for saving me from those bandits," Isabelle said stiffly.

Lachaid gave her a look that was half skepticism, half disbelief.

"Ciaran hasnae had a lass in his life before ye," Lachaid said, after a long pause. "He's had mistresses, aye, and before this mess with Tavish, the nobles were pressuring him tae marry. And he would have done so for the sake of his clan."

Isabelle's heart clenched; she had to suppress the jealousy that coursed through her at his words. Why had she not considered this before? Ciaran was a fourteenth-century Highland laird. Wouldn't he be required to marry the daughter of a fellow Scottish noble? A time-traveling high school English teacher hardly fit the bill of a suitable bride.

"But," Lachaid continued, "he wouldnae have been happy. I've watched him around ye. I've never seen such light in his eyes. He's suffered since Eoin's death . . . 'tis as if ye've brought him back tae life. I ken Ciaran, and he's a man of honor. He may try tae push ye away because of this business with his brother. I say . . . doonae let him."

Lachaid gave her a kind smile before leaving her alone to ponder his words. Did he somehow sense her true feelings for Ciaran? And if he had, could that mean Ciaran suspected her feelings as well?

* * *

That evening, she found Ciaran in her guest chamber, looking out the window.

"I doonae think Walrick will cooperate," Ciaran said, turning to face her as she entered.

"Isabelle . . .” He hesitated, his eyes shadowing. "I may continue tae be an outlaw for some time. How long are ye willing tae stay in this time tae help me?"

Lachaid was right, Isabelle thought, impressed by his foresight that Ciaran would try to push her away. But then again, it was what she'd expected. Hadn't Ciaran already forced her to return to her own time?

"As long as it takes," she said firmly. She couldn't fathom going back to the future and leaving Ciaran to an uncertain fate. During the brief time she'd been back in the present she'd felt adrift, like a sailor far away from any shore. She suspected that was how she’d always feel in a time without Ciaran.

Ciaran stiffened for a moment before his expression softened.

“My Isabelle," he murmured, his eyes filling with admiration. "What did I do tae deserve such a lass? Do ye ken . . . I've had fantasies of how I would've courted ye had we met under different circumstances."

"Really?" she asked, delight rippling through her. He would have courted her, even though she wasn't the daughter of a noble? "How would you have courted me?"

"First," he said, pulling her into his arms as he turned back to the window, pressing her back against the hard line of his chest, "I would've had ye come tae the castle for a feast. I would've had the cook make ye my favorite meal—roasted pork with a sweet wine. And then I would've taken ye on a walk around the castle grounds . . . shown ye the garden my mother planted. I would’ve then called on ye every day, taken ye on rides in the forest that lay just beyond the castle and around the surrounding moors. I would've taken ye on more long walks, not just around the castle, but around the nearby loch and the forests, and have ye tell me details of all yer favorite tales."

"And then?" Isabelle pressed, closing her eyes as she imagined this glorious alternate timeline.

Ciaran turned her around to face him. She opened her eyes, and heat spiraled around her at the intense look in his hazel eyes.

"Then I would've asked for yer hand," he whispered.

Isabelle wasn't prepared for the surge of joy that filled her at his words. She knew she would have said yes to such a proposal in a heartbeat and given up her life in the present to stay with Ciaran.

"And only then," he whispered, pulling her even closer, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "Would I have taken ye tae my bed and worshipped yer lovely body as it is meant tae be worshipped."

She gasped as he swung her up into his arms.

"None of those things can happen while I'm an outlaw," he murmured. "Except for the worship. And that I intend tae do as much as possible."

Desire seeped into every part of her, and she pressed her mouth to his as he carried her to the bed, where he thoroughly fulfilled his promise.