Tristan attempted to concentrate, but the thought of the previous night with Hannah made it difficult. He sat opposite Walter and John, rubbing his head as he listened to their argument. He hadn’t the heart for the familiar talk of Sutherland and the truce. He’d left Hannah’s room soon after making his rash declaration. She hadn’t answered him, but it was just as well. The answer would be one he’d not like. Tristan knew she would never agree to stay without knowing the fate of her sisters. But even without them, he reminded himself, she had another life, in another time.

And yet the thought of Saxford Castle without her . . .

“My lord,” John said, interrupting his thoughts. “If we do not at least attempt to speak to Sutherland—”

“The time for talk is long over, John,” Tristan said. “Sutherland has made it clear he will not honor the conditions of the treaty once it expires. His own warden is powerless to stop him. No one wants war—”

“Sutherland does.”

Tristan shot Walter a look. He was on his side, and the blasted man didn’t even realize it. The merest whisper of words like “talk” or “peace” would throw Walter into a fit of anger.

They sat in Tristan’s solar, a room designed for this very type of meeting. Adjacent to his bedchamber, it had a high window that flooded the room with light. Just now, Tristan wished he could climb out of it and away from this discussion.

And it had nothing to do with him wanting to see Hannah.

“Once blood is shed, the only way forward will be more blood,” John said. “Our allies are well-meaning—”

“But only Saxford stands directly in Sutherland’s path,” Tristan finished for him. It was a refrain he’d heard many times. “I am here for one purpose,” he said, ending the discussion. “To keep Clan Sutherland at bay. Kenton has given us leave to deal with him as we choose. We can call on his men when they are needed. But on this, I agree with Walter.”

John muttered a curse under his breath. “So we sit and wait. For the inevitable.”

Tristan understood the man’s frustration, but any attempt to make peace with Sutherland would merely make them look weak. The lord had made his position known. “We prepare, as we’ve done.”

“Extra men in the village, patrols . . .” John sighed.

Again, Tristan agreed it was not ideal. But it was Sutherland who’d insisted on this course, not them.

He stood. “Aye, and so we wait.”

Walter and John stood with him and took his cue. After they left, Tristan walked toward the window, its wooden shutters opened wide. He watched the sea below for a few moments, remembering the first time he’d taken in this very view. He’d had so much to prove back then. And whether the people of Saxford had mocked him in the beginning, or if he’d only imagined it so, Tristan would never be sure. He only knew that he’d wasted too much time questioning himself—a mistake he would not make again.

Striding from the room, Tristan went off in search of Hannah. Of course, it would not take long to find the woman who would stand out in any crowd. He left the main keep and squinted against the bright midday sun as he stepped through the arched stone entranceway and began to descend the stairs. Voices at the bottom reached him, slowing his steps.

“Nay, my lady. I will not have you—”

“Listen to me, Cook. I understand you are not accustomed to this . . .”

He knew he should either continue down the stone stairway or turn around, but Tristan did neither. He listened to Hannah’s conversation with the ornery cook, in awe at how authoritatively she spoke to him. None before her, other than Tristan himself and perhaps Gerard, had ever dared to do so.

“I’ve been usin’ bread to thicken sauces for longer than you’ve been alive.”

Although his words were harsh, his tone anything but kind, Hannah laughed.

“And how did the squeeze of lemon turn out? That is to say, the sauce last eve—”

“But flour? Beggin’ your pardon, my lady . . .”

Begging your pardon? Had that truly come from Cook’s mouth? Tristan took one more step down, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. So the rumors were, in fact, true?

“Aye, flour.”

She sounded less like an American, as she called herself, each day.

“If it was good enough for the Romans, it’s good enough for you. Do you have any idea how much time this will save you?”

“Ach, girl. I’ll try it this once.” Cook did not sound pleased by the prospect.

“And you will not be disappointed. Here, give it to me—”

“You’ll be telling me what to do and doin’ it yourself? Nay . . .”

He could not hear the rest of Cook’s grumbling, but it seemed a good time to make his presence known. Tristan walked down the remainder of the stairs and was about to turn the corner to enter the kitchen when Hannah saw him. He gestured for her to join him. After disappearing for a moment, she reappeared and made her way up the stairs.

They walked out of the entranceway and into the bailey. Tristan’s heartbeat quickened, as it did every time they stood this close.

“Do you have time for a walk?”

He had gone to sleep last eve thinking of being inside her. Had woken up thinking of it too. And now, standing so close he could smell the scent that was uniquely Hannah . . .

A walk on the beach had seemed like a good idea when he was alone looking out the window. Now Tristan wasn’t so sure

“I never did ask how you’ve begun to bring the grumpiest man in all of Saxford to your side . . .”

Her sideways glance made him chuckle.

“I’m speaking of Cook, not me. In fact, some say I am downright jovial.”

Tristan’s chest swelled at the sound of Hannah’s laughter. “That’s not the word I’d use to describe you.”

As they made their way down the path that led away from the castle, Tristan found himself looking toward the spot where he’d first seen Hannah. Resisting the urge to ask which words she would use, he nodded toward the stretch of sand.

“What is the first thing you remember?”

Hannah frowned. “Feeling dizzy. At first I thought I was back home. When I saw your men . . .” She shook her head. “I didn’t know what to think.”

Tristan turned as they reached the spot, trying to look back at the castle from a newcomer’s eyes.

“You must have been scared.”

“Scared, confused . . . I really did think your men were reenactors.” She’d explained the concept to him days ago, and he’d had a laugh over everything they’d gotten wrong. The clothing was much less practical, table manners much more enlightened. If the twenty-first-century vision of the middle ages was accurate in some ways, in others, it was downright the opposite of the truth. “If I ever do get back . . .”

She stopped and looked up at him through her thick lashes. “I should not have said that.”

“Your decisions are your own. But I do want you to know—”

“Tristan, please.”

“Just listen.”

He took her hands in his, the sound of soft lapping of water behind him. The soothing sound and her big green eyes lulled him into a gentleness he hadn’t known he possessed.

“I want you to understand,” he started. “When I told you to stay—”

Hannah shook her head. The stubborn woman simply would not listen.

So he kissed her. He pressed his lips against hers, his tongue demanding entry. She opened for him, her sweet taste fanning the fire inside him into an inferno.

He couldn’t get enough of her. His hands found the mounds that pressed against them, his desire to feel them against his skin restrained only by the unfortunate cut of her gown. He groaned when her hands lowered from his back to his buttocks, a saucy squeeze followed by her pressing him closer. She was forward, but no more so than he. She met his passion with her own at each turn, and Tristan didn’t know how long he could last without claiming the ultimate prize.

He released her as a defense against his own impulses. Before they went any further, he needed her to understand . . .

“My men should be back any day, and before they return, you should know what I’m asking of you, Hannah. When I asked you to stay, I meant as my wife.”

Her eyes widened.

“Before I met you, I didn’t think much of the institution of marriage. I had seen too many husbands break their vows at The Swan. But you have opened my eyes, Hannah, and when I look to the future, it seems empty without you in it.”

He stopped short of saying the one thing he’d never thought to say to a woman. But if love meant caring for someone more than you did yourself, then he was in love with Hannah Sutton. Because he wanted Hannah to stay more than anything, but if faced with the choice of her staying or finding her beloved sisters, he would gladly give her up.

Tristan saw Gerard riding toward them before he heard him. The sound of the sea drowned out his steward’s shouted words, but something was clearly wrong. Hannah must have seen it in his eyes, because she turned back toward the path leading to the castle.

“My lord!”

Tristan watched as the hooves of Gerard’s horse kicked up sand all around him.

“You’re needed immediately at the castle.”

“What is it?”

“Reivers,” Gerard said. “Three of them. They say Sutherland has already told his men the truce is over, that any Scot found guilty of reiving Saxford land will be rewarded rather than brought to the warden for justice. Take my horse. You’re needed back at the castle.”

“That bastard.” He glanced at Hannah. “We must—”

“Go,” she said. “Go ahead. I will follow you.”

Gerard was already dismounting.

Tristan took the reins, and with a final quick glance at his best friend and the woman he loved, he made his way toward the keep.

Hannah sat at the front of the hall for the midday meal, looking toward the entrance each time she heard new voices. Neither Tristan nor Gerard had yet made an appearance, and she feared the worst.

The largest meal of the day, dinner typically consisted of multiple courses and boasted a hall filled to capacity with retainers, servants and sometimes, it seemed, just about every person who lived and worked at Saxford.

But not today.

Fewer people, less chatter, and the worst . . . the dour looks those that did remain seemed to be giving each other.

A very different feel had descended on the castle since Gerard had brought news of the reivers, and Hannah couldn’t help but wonder if she was half-crazed to even consider staying here. Danger was coming, that much was clear. And she felt she was betraying her sisters and her parents’ memory by even considering Tristan’s plea. And yet she had thought of nothing else . . .

“More ale, my lady?”

Hannah tried to smile at the servant as she spotted Durwin, who’d just entered the hall and was making his way toward her.

“No, thank you.”

They drank ale like water around here, and though it tasted very different and was clearly not as potent as beer, she still could not get used to the idea of drinking it all day long.

“Pardon, my lady.”

The squire had reached the dais and, after a quick bow, said, “My lord sent me to inform you he’ll not be at the meal.”

Despite the fact that she’d been looking up every two minutes, Hannah had already guessed as much.

“Thank you for informing me, Durwin.”

The squire’s eyes darted away from her to the side of the hall, where two female maids stood giggling. Hannah assumed he might be looking at them in a coming-of-age-type way until he frowned.

“Is all well?” she asked.

“’Tis not my place, my lady. But Gerard is with my lord and . . .” He shrugged.

“What is it?” Something was clearly troubling him.

One of the girls motioned to the cupbearer, who seemed to be practically running through the hall in an effort to fill each person’s mug.

“They should be helping,” he said. Then, shaking his head, Durwin apologized. “As I said, ’tis not my place. Pardon, my lady.”

With that, the squire left, but Hannah continued to watch the two maids. Not only were they not doing their jobs, but the two young ladies appeared to be teasing the cupbearer as he did the work of all three of them. Apparently mean girls were not a twenty-first-century phenomenon.

If it wasn’t Durwin’s place to intervene, it certainly wasn’t hers. But tolerating inefficiency had never been one of her strong suits. By the end of the meal, Hannah had had enough. She stood and made her way toward them.

Neither girl paid her any attention until she was practically standing on top of them.

“Good day,” she said through a forced smile.

Both girls presented a slight bow and mumbled a greeting. Hannah followed their gaze to the cupbearer.

“How lucky he is,” she said, watching him work, “to be singled out by the lord in such a way.”

Certainly the social structure she’d found here at Saxford was very different, but people were people. No matter when and where they came from. And one thing had not changed in hundreds of years. Some people would not work hard without added motivation.

“Singled out? I don’t understand,” the blonde one said, exchanging a wide-eyed look with her friend.

“My lord has noticed how hard he works and is planning something special to thank him for his efforts.”

What that something special might be . . . well, Tristan could figure it out.

“Good day,” she said, quitting while she was ahead.

One conversation would certainly not change their behavior for good. But it was a start.

She made her way from the hall toward the kitchen to compliment Cook on another fine meal. The man was certainly ornery, but she liked him despite it. Or maybe because of it.

Hannah stopped as two men on horseback rode toward the stable. Their demeanor was quite serious. Likely it had something to do with Sutherland’s decree. The man really did sound like the bastard Tristan had accused him of being. On the other hand, if the feud really had been going on for generations, he probably felt like there was no other path forward. Even in her time people confused aggression for leadership. In reality, there were so many different ways to be strong. Sometimes, her father had said, being strong meant compromising with others.

Hannah wasn’t the only one in her family to have won an award recognizing excellence in business—she had learned from the best. A flower shop in Maine, an event planning partnership in Boston, and a castle in Saxford. All had one thing in common. People.

People, she realized suddenly, who were at risk. Including herself. Hannah should be more scared, but instead she worried for her sisters.

She had to find them.

Nothing else matters. Not even him.

If she kept repeating the phrase to herself, perhaps it would become true.