Icy dread coursed through Isabelle’s veins as Ciaran told them his plan.

“I’ll meet Tavish under the guise of being alone,” he said. “I’ll goad him till he reveals what he’s done. We’ll arrange tae have the other clan nobles listening in, out of sight. I can have him arrested once he makes his crimes ken.”

Isabelle looked at him in disbelief, and the other men in the room fell silent. They looked just as shocked as she felt. After several long moments, the men all burst into a chorus of protests.

“Yer brother will never confess tae murdering Eoin!” Lachaid cried.

“And how do ye even propose we get inside the castle without being seen?” Gabhran demanded.

“Tavish has men everywhere—how are we tae get the other nobles to listen in?” another man by the name of Kelan demanded.

But Isabelle couldn’t find words of her own, she was too flabbergasted. His plan was reckless and dangerous. Was he trying to get himself killed?

Ciaran settled his hazel eyes on her, as if waiting for her to speak. When she remained quiet, he held up his hands for silence.

“I’ll discuss this with ye all later,” he said, addressing the men but looking at Isabelle. “I need a moment alone with Isabelle.”

The men obliged with grumbles of protest. Once she and Ciaran were alone, Isabelle finally found her voice.

“Are you mad, Ciaran?” she demanded. “Do you know what your brother will do as soon as you’re in his sights? You’ll be on the scaffold before you can even speak!”

“Isabelle—"

“Ciaran . . . I love you."

A look of astonishment flashed across Ciaran’s face. She’d not wanted to confess her feelings for him like this, in a time of desperation. But given that he was on the verge of risking his life with a foolish plan, she had nothing to lose.

“Isabelle . . ." he repeated, his eyes filling with emotion as he stepped toward her.

“Let me finish. You don’t know what it did to me, to see you on that scaffold with a noose tied around your neck,” Isabelle continued, her voice wavering at the memory. “It—it nearly broke me, Ciaran. Don’t you understand? I came back through time not just to rescue you and find Fiona—but to be with you. I love you, and I can’t watch you risk your life.”

Tears blurred her vision as fear seized her; fear at the thought of losing Ciaran. Ciaran reached out to pull her within the circle of his arms.

“Doonae weep, lass. I cannae bear tae see ye in pain.”

“Then tell me you’re not going to do this."

She looked at him with pleading eyes, but Ciaran’s expression remained firm—and apologetic. Isabelle closed her eyes, her heart splintering in her chest. He wasn’t going to back down.

“I love ye, Isabelle.”

Isabelle’s eyes flew open. Ciaran was looking at her with utter sincerity—with love. It was the words she'd hoped he'd say to her. Even when he mentioned wanting to wed her, he'd not spoken of love. Under different circumstances, an overwhelming joy would have filled her at his words. Instead, her anguish only increased.

Why couldn’t they have met in the future, when everything was far safer? Why couldn’t they exist in a time and place where they could just . . . be?

“I ken what ye’re thinking, lass,” Ciaran said gently, reaching up to wipe a tear from her face. “And ’tis why I need tae do what I must tae clear my name, no matter how great the risk. ’Tis the only way we can be together.”

“What if we left Scotland?” Isabelle asked, her desperation increasing. “Start a life somewhere new. I could still keep searching for Fiona, and you can keep thinking of ways to clear—”

“No,” he said firmly. “I’ll not take the coward’s path and live a life on the run. My brother will never stop hunting me. And if we flee, he’ll go after Gabhran, Lachaid, their families. I must end this. Isabelle,” he continued, his voice softening, “I want ye tae be mine, to be my bride, to be at my side for always. I want tae give ye the life ye deserve. As lady of Aitharne Castle, wife of the laird. Not as the bride of an outlaw.”

Isabelle bit her lip, divided. She wanted to be with Ciaran, more than anything. But not at the cost of his life. How could he not see how reckless his plan was, especially after what just happened with Walrick? There were so many things that could go wrong.

“I ken how foolish my plan seems—but I ken my brother. I didnae want tae see how dark he was, what he was capable of, but I do now. I ken how tae goad him, tae get him tae react and say what I need him tae say,” Ciaran said.

“And if you fail?” Isabelle bit out. “If he captures you as soon as you set foot in that castle and has you killed?”

“Then ye return to yer own time,” Ciaran said without hesitation, and anguish filled her. “Ye go back tae yer life and ye live a long one. Ye find a man who—" his voice caught, and he seemed to force himself to continue, “who loves ye and will give ye the life ye deserve.”

He left before she could protest further. Isabelle closed her eyes, blinking back tears.

It took several moments to calm down and pull herself from the haze of panic. When she finally did, she joined Ciaran and the others in the second drawing room. She hovered in the background, listening as they reviewed Ciaran’s plan.

Ciaran planned to return to Aitharne Castle the next night, in the middle of the night to avoid detection. Ramsey and some trusted contacts would help them get into the castle and alert two other nobles they trusted.

Isabelle watched Gabhran and Lachaid closely as Ciaran spoke, hoping they would try to talk him out of it. Yet by the look of resignation on their faces, she knew they’d agreed to his plan.

Isabelle took a shuddering deep breath. She’d just have to accept it as well.

As the meeting ended, and the men scattered, Ciaran approached her.

“I’m not going to try to change your mind,” Isabelle said, at the look of wariness on his face. “But I’m coming with you tomorrow night.”

“No,” Ciaran said swiftly. “’Tis dangerous, and I’ll not—"

“I’m coming,” she repeated. “And if you put a guard on my door to stop me, I’ll climb out the window and follow you anyway. Understood?”

She braced herself for more protests, but after a long stretch of silence, Ciaran smiled. He took her hand, lifting it to his lips in a kiss.

“I ken now not tae try tae sway yer mind, lass," he murmured. “Will ye dine with me alone tonight for supper? I’ve asked one of my men tae bring our meals tae my guest chamber.”

Isabelle started to accept, but stopped herself. Was this some sort of last meal? A final stay before execution?

“As long as you promise it’s not our last supper together,” she whispered, her throat going dry.

“I cannae do that,” he said, his eyes darkening with sadness. “But ye have my word I'll do everything I can tae ensure it isnae so."

* * *

When Isabelle came to his chamber for supper that evening, she let out a soft gasp. He’d taken care to make their meal romantic, setting up extra candles in the chamber. The soft illumination of the candlelight cast Ciaran in an almost ethereal glow; he looked even more handsome in his partially opened white tunic and red plaid kilt. His multicolored eyes filled with desire as they traveled over her body from head to toe. He crossed the room to her, taking her hands in his.

“I’m almost of a mind tae skip the meal altogether, lass,” he said huskily. “In the candlelight, ye look like something out of a dream.”

He kissed her, pulling her body close to his and probing her mouth with his tongue. Isabelle clung to him, not wanting to let him go, wishing she could prolong this moment.

But they reluctantly broke apart, sitting down to their simple meal of vegetable stew. They kept their conversation light; Ciaran seemed to go out of his way to avoid discussing his looming confrontation with Tavish. Instead, he asked her what her favorite books were, why she’d chosen to become a teacher, and for more details about the future. She giggled as his eyes went wide when she described hot showers in detail.

"And ye'd be willing tae give up such wonders tae stay in this time? With me?" he asked with a teasing smile.

Isabelle took his hand and leaned forward.

"Yes," she whispered. "All of it."

Warmth filled his expression, and he stood.

“Close yer eyes, lass,” he murmured. "I want tae tell ye of another fantasy."

Intrigued, Isabelle did as she asked.

“Imagine . . . that we’re wed and ye’ve just become my bride.”

An explosion of joy filled her at the thought. She heard Ciaran move behind her, his large hands lowering to grip her shoulders. Her breath hitched as he reached down to lower the sleeves of her gown, revealing her shoulders. He gently kissed the exposed skin.

“We’ve returned tae our chamber after the festivities.”

Isabelle held her breath as he tugged her to her feet. She remained stock-still as he slowly stripped her of her gown, her tunic, and her underdress, until she stood naked before him.

“And we’ve hungered for each other all day,” he whispered.

He turned her to face him. She wanted to open her eyes, but kept them dutifully shut as he peppered kisses from her throat to her chest.

“I’ve been hard for ye, and ye wet for me . . .”

Isabelle gasped as his mouth closed around one of her aching nipples, and his fingers dipped into her center.

“Ciaran,” she whispered. “Please . . . can I open my eyes?”

“Not yet, my Isabelle,” he returned. She yelped as he swung her up in his arms, and heat filled her when she realized that he must have disrobed as well; she could feel his naked flesh pressed against hers.

He lowered her to the bed, and she whimpered as he lowered himself to kiss her legs.

“And once I have ye in my bed, I begin tae devour ye,” he growled. Isabelle clenched her fists, moaning as his lips moved up her legs to the juncture of her thighs. His tongue dipped into her center; he moaned. “And ye taste like heaven.”

“Ciaran,” she gasped, writhing beneath his mouth as her eyes flew open.

“Eyes closed,” he said gently, nipping at her thigh, and she obliged with a moan of disappointment.

Sparks of pleasure rippled through her as Ciaran continued to feast on her until she could no longer hold off her release. As she cried out from the force of her orgasm, Ciaran kissed up the expanse of her abdomen, seizing each of her breasts in his mouth as he suckled her.

“Ciaran, please,” she begged. “I want to see you.”

“Then look at me, lass,” he murmured. Her eyes flew open. He hovered above her, his hazel eyes infused with need. “Look at the man who loves ye . . . who would give his life for ye.”

Her breath came out in a whoosh as he sank his hard length inside her. He began to move, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, keeping her eyes locked with his, wanting to memorize every moment of his lovemaking, praying that this time wouldn't be their last.