Early the next morning, Ciaran stood in the small chamber where they were holding Walrick, glaring at the man he’d once considered a friend. Walrick, who sat tied up in a chair, returned his glare, his gray eyes filled with hatred.

Ciaran expelled a breath, frustration filling him. If only he'd seen Walrick's greed, his self-serving nature, when they were friends. He'd shared many hunting trips and feasts with him, and he’d considered Walrick a jovial and kindhearted man. But he’d helped Tavish get away with Eoin’s murder—all for the sake of extra land.

He clenched his fists at his sides to quell his anger. He allowed his thoughts to drift to the one person who calmed him: Isabelle. After making love the night before, they lay entwined in each other's arms, speaking of their hopes for the future he'd painted. He'd feared his confession of wanting to wed her would have frightened her, but he only saw delight in her eyes at his words.

Isabelle was the only light that had emerged from the darkness of his brother’s betrayal. There was a time he would have never considered marrying a lass not allied with his clan. The marriages of lairds were often arranged among high-ranking families; it was important to keep lands and properties consolidated. Even his parents' marriage had been arranged by their families; they’d eventually come to love each other on their own. Ciaran always assumed he’d have an arranged marriage, and he never would have expected to fall in love with his bride. Not the way he’d fallen in love with his Isabelle.

"Treacherous bastard."

Walrick's words pulled Ciaran back to the present, and his anger returned. He'd tried to reason with Walrick. While it had been relatively easy to surround and capture Walrick while he was out on his hunt, Walrick nor his two sons had been cooperative, and he doubted Walrick would tell the visiting noble Ramsey of Tavish's treachery. But Ciaran had no other option; he had to convince Walrick to work with him.

“Ye speak of yerself when ye use the word treacherous,” Ciaran growled. He knew that Walrick just wanted to cause him ire, but his words still had their intended effect. "Was it easy for ye tae betray me for lands? To conspire in a murder?"

"I do what I must for my family—for my sons," Walrick returned. "I couldnae turn down what Tavish offered."

Ciaran tensed, aching to reach for his sword and sink his blade into Walrick's chest. This man's actions had allowed Eoin's death to go unpunished. Ciaran had to force his rage to subside before continuing.

“Ramsey, a noble from our clan who ye ken, is coming here. Ye need tae tell him about yer dealings with Tavish. All ye have tae do is tell him the truth, and then ye'll go free."

"Or ye'll do what?" Walrick hissed, glowering at him. "We both ken ye're no murderer, Ciaran. Yer honor has always been yer downfall."

Ciaran gritted his teeth, but Walrick was right. Gabhran and the others had wanted to threaten Walrick with the death of his sons to get him to talk, but Ciaran refused. Despite what Tavish had done, Ciaran couldn't bring himself to commit murder, even to clear his own name.

But Walrick didn't need to know that.

"Ye doonae ken what I'm capable of," Ciaran snapped, taking a threatening step forward. "Just tell Ramsey the truth, and ye'll go free."

Ciaran turned to leave, but Walrick's next words stopped him cold.

"'Tis a fine lassie ye have stowed away here," Walrick purred. "I could've sworn I heard her moans last night. Are her services just for ye, or do ye share her with yer men?"

Ciaran couldn’t control the hot fury that struck him at Walrick’s words. He withdrew his sword and crossed the chamber in three long strides, grabbing Walrick by the collar and raising his blade.

"Ciaran!"

A restraining hand was placed on his arm, pulling him back. Ciaran turned, his teeth clenched and his breathing ragged. Gabhran stood directly behind him.

"What are ye doing?" Gabhran snapped. "We need him alive."

"I asked about the services of his whore," Walrick said recklessly, and Ciaran charged at him again. But Gabhran kept his hand firmly around Ciaran's arms, dragging him out of the chamber.

"He's trying tae goad ye, and ye're letting him," Gabhran hissed, when they were out in the hallway.

Ciaran closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths as his anger subsided. He knew Walrick’s intention, but it didn't change the state of his fury.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Doonae go near him until Ramsey arrives," Gabhran said with a scowl. His expression softened as he continued, “We’re trying tae clear yer name. The men here are risking their lives tae help ye. Doonae let his goading make ye lose sight of that.”

Guilt filled him at Gabhran’s words, and he gave him a sharp nod.

Still, he had to walk around the grounds that surrounded the manor to calm himself, cursing himself for his temper. He usually fared well when calming himself, but when it came to threats against his Isabelle . . . calm was difficult to maintain.

Isabelle found him while he walked, taking his hand and walking with him in companionable silence. If she wondered about his state of agitation, she said nothing about it, allowing him to further calm down before he spoke.

"I'm on edge about Ramsey's visit," Ciaran finally said. She didn’t need to know about Walrick’s foul words. "I ken I doonae have much choice, but if Walrick continues tae not cooperate—”

"Don't worry about that now," Isabelle urged. "There's nothing you can do until he arrives."

She pointedly changed the subject, asking him about his connection to the men who were here. He knew she was trying to distract him from his troubles, and it worked as he told her about his long-term friendship with Lachaid, and how he knew some of the men who'd come to his aid.

By the time they'd finished their walk and returned to the manor, he'd fully calmed down and was ready for Ramsey's visit.

"Ye need tae go tae yer chamber during Ramsey's visit," he told Isabelle. "Please, for yer safety. I doonae want ye near in case things go awry."

Isabelle looked torn, but she gave him a jerky nod. He walked her to her chamber, making certain she went inside and two men stood outside her door.

Ramsey arrived moments later, his horse riding up to the manor. Ciaran held himself stiffly as Ramsey dismounted and approached.

Ramsey ducked his head in a respectful bow at the sight of him.

"My laird," Ramsey said. "'Tis good tae see ye."

Surprise filled him; he'd expected subtle hostility and distrust from his former noble.

"I believe in yer innocence, and I'm not the only one," Ramsey said, at Ciaran's look of surprise. “All we need is proof."

"And I hope tae give it tae ye," Ciaran said. “Come.”

He led Ramsey into the drawing room where two of their men held Walrick between them in a firm grip.

"I understand ye have something ye want tae tell me about Tavish,” Ramsey said.

The silence in the room stretched as Walrick held Ramsey’s gaze, before his cold eyes slid to Ciaran.

"This treacherous bastard is holding me and my sons against my will,” Walrick bit out. “They want me tae tell ye something that isnae true. He murdered his brother and wants tae—”

"Ye bastard!" Ciaran snarled, his calm shattered as he charged toward Walrick. This time it took both Gabhran and Lachaid to hold him back.

"Look at that temper!” Walrick shouted. “Is that why ye killed Eoin? Did he say or do something tae anger ye? Or maybe ye just wanted tae hold on tae power?"

"Get him out of here!" Gabhran hissed, and the men hauled the sneering Walrick from the room.

Ciaran closed his eyes as Lachaid and Gabhran released him, defeat settling over him like a great weight. How foolish he’d been to assume Walrick would help him, even for lands. The bastard had shown him nothing but hostility ever since they’d captured him. It had been a desperate and risky plan; he should have better anticipated this outcome.

"I was hoping he would tell me something I could tell the other nobles," Ramsey said, giving Ciaran a sorrowful look. "Ye should ken—Tavish is searching high and low for ye. He intends tae hang not just ye, but all who have helped ye as well."

Ciaran's chest tightened. He knew this, but hearing the words out loud still filled him with fear. He thought of Gabhran, of Lachaid, of the brave men who'd helped him.

But most of all, he thought of his love. His Isabelle. He would do anything to keep her safe—even if it meant giving up his life. Even if it meant Eoin’s death would go unavenged.

"I understand. I thank ye, Ramsey,” Ciaran said quietly.

“If there's anything more I can do tae help, just send me a message,” Ramsey said, before taking his leave. “I ken it doesnae seem like it, but ye still have friends at the castle.”

Everyone gathered in the drawing room after Ramsey left; Isabelle joined them as well. As soon as she met his eyes, Isabelle crossed the room to him.

“Gabhran just told me what happened," she whispered. "I'm so sorry, Ciaran."

"We'll not give up," Lachaid said, from across the room. "There are others who can help. It may take time, but—”

"No," Ciaran interrupted.

Everyone fell silent, looking at him with concern. At his side, Isabelle stiffened.

He took a breath and swallowed. He wouldn't let Isabelle or his friends come to harm because of him. Walrick had been his last hope. It was time to end this.

"I've a different plan, one many of ye willnae like."

Isabelle took a step back, already looking as if she were on the verge of protest.

Ciaran forced his gaze away from her, making himself say the difficult words.

"I'm going tae get my brother tae confess tae his crimes, but it will take a sacrifice. Me."