“We’ll need tae be on our way,” Ciaran said, not looking at Isabelle as he addressed her. “And ye'll need tae come up with another story besides being from six centuries ahead. My friends are kind, but ye’ll only make them suspicious with a tale like that.”

It was early the next morning, just after first light, and he'd entered the cave to speak to Isabelle. He'd barely been able to sleep after kissing her, the memory of her warm curves pressed against his body, and her soft lips opening to his, haunting his mind.

But guilt filled him over his lustful thoughts. He had no right to desire, to pleasure, while his innocent brother rotted in the ground and his murderer roamed free.

The thought hardened his resolve, and he finally looked at Isabelle. She looked even lovelier than she had the night before in the soft firelight of the cave; the loose tunic she wore had slipped, revealing the seductive curve of her shoulders. Damn me, he thought with frustration. The lass gets bonnier by the day.

“Fine. Even though I am telling the truth,” Isabelle said with a stubborn jut of her lovely chin. “I'll just say that I was traveling through the Highlands and then set upon by bandits. You rescued me. That part is true.”

“Good,” he said, though he gritted his teeth at her stubborn insistence of her false tale. “I'm certain Gabhran will be happy tae help ye arrange transport tae this village ye speak of.”

“Your friends—are they familiar with surrounding villages? Do they know other clans?" Isabelle asked suddenly. At his questioning look, she continued, "I'm hoping that they've maybe heard word of my friend Fiona."

“Aye. But doonae wear much on their kindness," Ciaran cautioned, giving her a wary look. "'Tis enough that I’m showing my face on their property.”

“Why?” Isabelle asked with a puzzled frown. “I thought you were their friend.”

Ciaran stilled; he’d said too much. She didn’t know he was an outlaw, a former laird and chieftain accused of murdering his brother. A sudden tightness gripped his chest. How would she look at him if she knew? Would she be disgusted by the knowledge that she'd allowed an outlaw to kiss her?

“I just doonae wish tae hindrance them. I'm arriving unannounced," he said shortly. "We need tae leave," he added, before she could question him further.

To his relief she didn't press him, and moments later they were riding out of the forest and back toward the countryside. As they rode, he had to force himself to concentrate on the landscape ahead, to distract himself from the feel of her body against his and her natural sweet scent that filled his nostrils. She was too much of a temptation; once she was on her way, he'd have his bearings again.

Gabhran's manor was located in the western Highlands, and they rode for some time to get there. Whenever he spotted a lone horse or carriage on a distant road, he slowed down the pace of his horse to avoid any interception. He could tell that this drew Isabelle’s curiosity every time he did this, as she cast curious glances over her shoulder at him.

"I'm not certain if they're bandits," he said by explanation, after the third time he'd slowed down the pace of his horse. She gave him a nod, but by the lingering look she gave him, he knew she remained suspicious.

Frustration coursed through him; he hated having to live like this. He'd only known life as a respectable man, as a well-liked laird and chief of his clan. But until he cleared his name, this was how his life would have to be.

It was midday when they reached Gabhran's lands; his stone manor loomed in the distance like a comforting beacon, and Ciaran’s tension ebbed away. But his calm was short-lived; his brother knew Gabhran was a close and loyal friend to Ciaran. How did he know his brother hadn’t already sent men here?

He surveyed the grounds around the manor, looking for any hint of Tavish or his men as they approached the courtyard. But no one looked menacing or suspicious; the few servants who milled about the grounds only cast him and Isabelle looks of mild curiosity.

It was Gabhran himself who emerged from the front doors of the manor, and relief filled him at the sight of Gabhran’s full and stout frame, his auburn hair, his kind brown eyes. His wife Donella trailed out after Gabhran, and she gave Ciaran a wide smile.

But their looks of welcoming faltered when their gazes strayed to Isabelle. Ciaran turned to face her, a look of warning in his eyes. She was not to tell her friends her strange tale. Seeming to understand his meaning, she jerked her head in a nod.

As he dismounted, helping Isabelle down, Gabhran approached.

“Ciaran. This is a surprise. What brings ye here?”

“There’s much I need tae tell ye,” Ciaran said, lowering his voice. Gabhran frowned with concern, as Ciaran continued, “Let us talk inside."

* * *

“Christ,” Gabhran whispered, taking a large swig of ale, handing a second cup to Ciaran, which he took with gratitude.

They were in his study, Isabelle having gone with Donella to wash up and change into more appropriate clothing. Ciaran had told him everything that happened from the time of his arrest until now.

“The bastard,” Gabhran continued, shaking his head. “I always knew there was something dark about yer brother, but I never thought . . .”

Relief swept over Ciaran; he’d feared Gabhran may have thought he was guilty. Gabhran seemed to read his thoughts, giving him a dark scowl.

“If ye think for a moment I thought ye capable of murdering yer own flesh and blood, I'll take a swing at ye," Gabhran growled. “Ye’ve not a murderous bone in yer body, and the nobles in yer clan are fools for nae seeing what yer brother is doing.”

“He has witnesses,” Ciaran muttered. “Witnesses I’ve no doubt he bribed.”

Gabhran swore a violent curse, slamming his ale down onto the table.

“What can I do tae help?”

“First, I’ll have ye ken—I’m not staying here. ’Tis only a matter of time before my brother sends his men here, and I’ll not make ye and yer family a target.”

“I’m not afeared of yer brother; he’s always been afeared of me,” Gabhran returned. “Ye're staying here until we clear yer name and return ye tae yer castle.”

“Gabhran—”

“Yer staying here or I’ll report ye tae yer brother myself,” Gabhran said firmly, and Ciaran couldn’t help but smile. He was just as stubborn—and loyal—as Lachaid.

“Aye,” Ciaran said. “But if I get any hint that my presence has put ye in danger . . ."

“Do ye have a plan?” Gabhran asked, waving off his words.

“I need allies. Spies tae go back tae the castle and get evidence of my brother’s treachery. And I need his witnesses to recant their false testimonies.”

As he spoke the words aloud, Ciaran realized how difficult this would be, and a sudden uncertainty pierced him.

“But Tavish will be closely watching anyone loyal tae me,” Ciaran continued with frustration, raking his hand through his hair.

“That’s why ye have me. I’m out of yer brother’s reach. I’m loyal tae ye, and my men are loyal tae ye. They’ll help,” Gabhran said. “I’ll call a meeting with the ones I trust the most.”

A rush of gratitude filled Ciaran, and he gave his friend a nod of thanks. Like Lachaid, he'd known Gabhran since he was a bairn. He and Lachaid were the only two who'd shown him true friendship or kindness since Tavish had him thrown in the dungeons of his own castle.

“Now,” Gabhran said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Are ye going tae tell me about the lass ye came here with? Is she a Sassenach? Never heard one who speaks the way she does.”

“Aye,” Ciaran said. He had his suspicions about Isabelle’s strange accent as well. He recalled her insistent words back in the forest. I’m not from this time. But he pushed away the thought.

“She was traveling through these parts tae visit family and was separated from her escort. Bandits set upon her, I helped her get away from them.”

He hoped Gabhran wouldn’t ask more questions about her, but he continued to study Ciaran, cocking his head to the side.

“She’s quite a bonnie lass,” he said with a sly look.

“I did what any honorable man would do. I helped her,” Ciaran said shortly. And tasted her. The memory of Isabelle’s soft moan as he kissed her filled his mind, and he looked away from Gabhran's discerning gaze. “I mentioned tae ye earlier that she'll need transport. She wants tae go tae a village by the name of Tairseach. Have ye heard of it?”

Gabhran stilled at the mention of Tairseach, the playful look in his eyes vanishing.

“Tairseach?” he echoed.

“Aye,” Ciaran said, studying him closely. “What is it, Gabhran? Have ye heard of it?”

“’Tis just an abandoned village from what I’ve heard,” Gabhran said. “I doonae ken why she’d want tae go there.”

Ciaran eyed him. Gabhran was hiding something. And if Tairseach was an abandoned village, why would Isabelle want to go there? But he shook his head; it was none of his concern.

“I doonae ken. But I told the lass ye may be able tae help. Can ye arrange transport?”

“I can have a trusted rider escort her north,” Gabhran said. After a pause, his face lit up with a mischievous grin. “Why are ye so eager tae rid yerself of the bonnie lass?"

“I’ve enough tae handle without a wayward lass on my hands,” Ciaran said, ignoring the odd sense of loss that filled him at the thought of Isabelle's departure. “Now tell me more about these men of yers who’ll help me clear my name."