Hannah had to seek news of her sisters.

Unfortunately, she hardly had a chance to discuss the matter with Tristan. Mere moments after they’d learned her sisters had come through the falls, Tristan had been informed of an attack.

Sutherland had made good on his threats, and worse, new rumors warned of an imminent attack on the village. Tristan had left, telling her he would return the next night. When the following evening came and went, Hannah began to worry. Had something happened to him? Why would he stay in the village, without protection, rather than behind the walls of the castle where it was safe?

The preparations had taken on a furious pace, leaving Hannah to twiddle her thumbs in the meantime. She’d learned from Gerard that no one was to leave the castle walls. It felt as if danger lurked on every side.

She had just decided to see if Cook needed help when she heard a familiar voice addressing her. “There you are.”

Turning, Hannah’s heart lurched at the sight of him. This was neither a bawd’s son nor an armorer’s apprentice. He may have been both, once, but the man who stood in front of her now was an English lord from head to foot . . . a medieval knight if she’d ever seen one. He wore a surcoat of green and gold, Saxford colors, his sword hanging so casually by his side that Hannah could almost forget it was a weapon in truth and not a showpiece.

The sun shone behind him, and Hannah had to hold up her hand to shield her eyes. She had not seen him since the day they’d learned about the legend of the falls.

“I came to tell you that I’m leaving,” he said. This man, the lord, had no extra words or loving whispers for her today. He was all business.

“Oh,” she said. Despite how much she’d longed to speak with him, to discuss the scouts’ findings with him, words suddenly failed her.

“The latest rumors proved false . . . all is well. For now. But I cannot stay here and wait for the next threat to come from Sutherland. He’s agreed to a meeting, and I ride out immediately.”

He reached out then and grabbed her by the arm, the movement so sudden Hannah hardly had time to react before he moved them to an opening between the main keep and the eastern wall of the kitchen.

“We have not had a chance to talk—”

“You have more important matters to address,” she said, knowing it was true but wanting to speak about what had happened anyway.

“You are important,” he said, and Hannah’s heart soared. “As soon as this is over, we will travel to Edinburgh ourselves,” he said. “We will find your sisters.”

“Tristan,” she began, “I don’t know what’s happening. You left so quickly, and Gerard . . .” She shrugged. “He doesn’t tell me much.”

“What do you want to know?” To his credit, Tristan looked genuinely confused.

“I want to know what is happening. Why you were gone for two nights? What is Sutherland planning and how are you going to counter him? I want to know if we’re safe. If I were to consider staying . . .

His eyes widened.

“I need to know. Everything.”

Tristan took her hands, engulfing them with his own. “If your sisters are truly here . . .”

He didn’t finish, and Hannah understood what he meant. He thought she would find a way to leave with them. She couldn’t say it aloud herself, but she’d thought of little else. She’d even made up a mental pros and cons list—reasons to stay or go.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Everything is so different now.”

When he squeezed her hands, all of her “reasons to go” list fell by the wayside. Medicine, refrigeration, beer that actually tasted like beer . . . none of it mattered.

Except for one problem, something that had stood out to her these last lonely days.

“Things are different in your time, relationships are different. If we were together in the twenty-first century, I would know as much as you do about this truce and the implications of it falling apart. We’d have discussed it, and possible solutions, including the most obvious one.”

The poor guy looked as confused as ever.

“Peace,” she said. “You haven’t once mentioned the possibility of forming a peace accord with Sutherland. Of ending this feud—”

“Ending it?” Tristan’s laugh was forced. Bitter.

He dropped her hands.

“He has no interest in ending the feud. I go to set terms for battle. Sutherland has already proven—”

“That he is capable of some restraint. He honored the treaty until now.”

Tristan’s eyes had narrowed, and he looked at her with a combination of shock and disdain. Though he seemed to respect her, he wasn’t showing much respect for her opinion in this. His hatred of the man had blinded him.

“He is a bastard, one intent on revenge for what happened ten years ago.”

“But have you or Lord Kenton even tried? Remember when I told you about that feud in my time—”

“Hannah, this is not your time,” he said, more harshly than she would have liked.

“I know very well it isn’t,” she said.

“As for the rest of it, I have a marshal to worry about our safety. And a steward to care for the castle. You need only—”

“Sit in my bedchamber learning to embroider?” She very nearly spat out the words.

“My lord,” Walter called, peering beyond the wall at them. “All is ready.”

“I will be but a moment,” Tristan said.

Though he looked curious—perhaps he’d heard her last words—Walter merely nodded to her and walked away. As soon as he was gone, Tristan turned back to her. “Hannah, I must go.”

He reached for her, but Hannah pulled away. It would do no good to pretend all was well. “Then go,” she said, knowing she was being cross.

He clearly didn’t want to leave. And truth be told, she didn’t want him to go like this either. But maybe it was for the best. In his own way, he seemed to agree with Kenton about how a woman should be treated—and where a woman’s place was. The home.

“If you’re worried for your safety,” he said, “do not be. Saxford has been heavily fortified in recent years.”

She was less concerned for her safety than she was for her pride, but Hannah remained quiet.

“Go,” she repeated.

And please come back safely so that I might give you a proper goodbye.

With a bow, Tristan left.

Tristan handed the two hares he’d snared to one of his men, ignoring Walter’s disapproving glance. The marshal didn’t take the hint.

“How can I protect you, my lord, if you insist on leaving camp?”

“I can protect myself,” he insisted.

Walter’s indisposition came down to his fervent dislike of anything resembling diplomacy with Sutherland. Two of the Scotsman’s own men had ridden to the village to invite him to a meeting with their master. The chief knew, as he did, a new era would begin, one of constant battles and reiving on both sides of the border. He’d proposed the meeting so they could set the terms of their feud. Walter worried it was a trap, but Tristan did not. Sutherland, though a bastard, was an honorable one.

Their disagreement had put Walter in a foul mood, and his argument with Hannah had done the same for him. In all, it had been a miserable journey with the next day promising more of the same.

“We should have brought more than twenty men,” Walter grumbled, unhappy with the size of their retinue as well. Tristan looked around at their makeshift camp as the marshal continued to scowl at him.

“I thought you said we never should have come.”

The observation deepened his marshal’s scowl. Tristan glanced toward the fire, where John stood among the men. If it were not for his captain, Tristan might have been inclined to agree. And then, of course, there was Hannah.

He had not forgotten their talk. It had physically pained him to part from her that way, especially after the revelation about her sisters.

“Something else is wrong,” Walter said.

Of course, he was right.

“Tomorrow,” he tried to pacify him, “Saxford’s future will be—”

“Nay, something else.”

Tristan remained silent, watching the men as they jested with one another while they ate.

“The woman.”

Tristan folded his arms. “She has a name.”

“Hannah. A most unusual name for a woman.”

“Aye, but not for a man?” he jested.

Walter did not laugh. “You know more than you are telling us,” he said. It was a fact, not an accusation.

Tristan sighed. “I would tell you if I could. But on this, you will just have to trust me.”

The older man grunted and bent down to pick up a stick. He pulled out his knife and began to cut thin pieces of it away. He’d seen his marshal do that same thing hundreds of times before. Walter had difficulty remaining still for long.

“Will you marry her?”

No other question would have surprised him more.

“Maybe,” he answered honestly. Though it was likely she would not have him, his wishes had not changed. “She’s accustomed to . . . other places. Not staying in one place for long.” It was as close to the truth as he could get.

“She is unlike other women,” the marshal said. “But I like her. She . . . knows things.”

Walter had managed to surprise him. He liked few people, and trusted even fewer. It seemed Cook was not the only person at Saxford to see what he had, to understand Hannah was unlike any other.

“As do I.”

In fact, he loved her. Tristan loved everything about Hannah Sutton. She was beautiful, of course, but also passionate and kind. And intelligent. He smiled. She’d make an excellent steward. If she were lady of Saxford, she and Gerard would get along well. She did know things, as Walter said, though he could not tell him how.

Tristan froze.

He’d dismissed her. Though she had proven herself capable in so many ways—from dealing with Cook to acclimating herself to an entirely different century—Tristan had not listened to her advice about Sutherland.

She was not a woman of his time, which was one of the things he loved most about her, and yet he’d treated her as he would a simpering lady. But could he really do as she asked? He had spent the last ten years proving his strength to everyone around him. Could he really put himself, and his people, in such a position of weakness?

How much do you really value her advice?

He looked at Walter, who seemed to sense Tristan was about to say something he would not like. And he was right. Tristan knew what he had to do.