Hannah was going to Edinburgh.

She would track down the woman who somehow knew about them, and she would find her sisters. As for Tristan . . . Hannah tried not to think about him. Or the hole that was left where her heart used to be. Or the feel of his arms around her . . . or the way their bodies melded perfectly together.

No! Stop it, Hannah!

She’d thought about it from every angle these past two days, and as much as she loved him, Hannah simply could not stay here. Too many differences stood between them—roughly six hundred years’ worth.

Hannah entered the hall, pleased to see how much brighter it looked after all of the tapestries had been taken down, beaten, and replaced. Coupled with a good wall washing with lye soap, it was a much-needed improvement. Though she made the suggestion, Hannah was not sure it would be well-received.

“Good den, my lady.” The greeting came from one of the two formerly negligent maids. Though the two were not completely reformed, Hannah was pleased to see they were at least doing the job they’d been given—sprinkling the new rushes with chamomile and mint.

As she made her way to the head table, every head turned toward the entrance. When she sat on the dais, she caught sight of what—or rather who—commanded their attention. Cook rarely left the kitchen. Even during celebrations, when Gerard had apparently begged the man to give over his duties and be celebrated in the hall for his culinary excellence, he elected to remain “where he belonged.”

Yet here he was, carrying the roasted duck he’d bragged about that morn on a large wooden tray. Hannah smiled, and when Cook placed the tray on the table in front of her, she was sure to let him know how much she appreciated his effort.

“You have made my day,” she said. The silence had broken at last, and the people of Saxford had begun to whisper to each other as they stared at Cook.

“They are surprised is all,” she said, wanting to encourage his foray out from the kitchen. “And you have made me the merriest woman in the world.”

He repeated the quote she’d shared with him the day before. “‘If more of us valued food and cheer and song—’”

“‘Above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world,’” she finished, smiling. Tolkien wouldn’t write those words for many, many years, but she had thought the sentiment a fitting encouragement for Cook, who, for all of his bluster, did not seem to recognize his value to Saxford.

A quick glance at Gerard, who stood off to the side, confirmed that he was pleased by Cook’s efforts.

“A wise and beautiful woman,” Cook said with a bow. “My lady.”

He left as quickly as he’d come. His gesture had put a smile on her face, but that smile slowly faded as she realized she would be leaving him too—and just when he was starting to come out of what had surely been a deep depression. After a respectable amount of time passed, she stood and left the hall, stricken with the fact that she would be abandoning someone who needed her.

She contemplated the problem as she roamed through the keep. Perhaps Gerard could take over where she’d left off?

Hannah stopped walking, surprised to see the great big door in front of her. How had she come to be here? When she’d left the hall, Hannah had not paid much attention to where she was going, but an empty bedchamber belonging to the Lord of Saxford was certainly not her destination. Curious, she pushed open the door and entered the room. No fire had been lit since Tristan was not expected back yet. The only illumination was a single torch, and it was so dark she could barely see anything beyond the outlines of furniture. Still, she could not bring herself to leave. Hannah thought of the time she’d attempted to explain the concept of dating to Tristan. And of how he’d arranged the date at the tavern as a surprise for her.

A date with a medieval knight.

She laughed aloud at the absurdity of it.

“First I find you lying on the shore as if you’d washed up from the North Sea—”

It couldn’t be . . .

“—and now I find you in my bedchamber, laughing into the darkness.”

Tristan.

He had thought she had left.

Tristan had pushed his men so they would return by nightfall. When the sun set, unrelenting, he pushed them further. Desperate to get back to Saxford . . . to Hannah. By the time they rode through the gates, his marshal was not the only one questioning his soundness of mind.

When he entered the great hall and saw the empty head table, Tristan did not stop to ask questions. He made his way to her chamber, doubt beginning to nag at him. When he opened the door and saw the room empty, Tristan feared he was too late. Good sense prevailed then, and he questioned the first servants he could find and was informed Hannah had been at the meal just moments earlier.

If there had been any doubt before, Tristan knew in those brief but excruciating moments that he did, indeed, love her.

He wanted to marry her.

The sight of her in his room had filled him with an intoxicating blend of relief and joy. Tristan did not waste a moment before going to her. He did not even give her time to turn around. He placed the lantern he’d taken from the hall on the table beside him and went to her. Grabbing a handful of her hair and moving it to the side, Tristan breathed in the faint scent of mint that now suffused his hall. He’d noticed the changes there—change Hannah had undoubtedly prompted—and took it as yet another sign that she was destined to run Saxford with him.

“Tristan,” she whispered, her voice soothing his very soul. “What are you doing?”

He brought his hands around to her front and cupped both of her breasts with his hands.

“Isn’t it obvious?” This time, he did squeeze, though gently. He let his thumbs dip inside the top of her gown.

“When you left—”

“I was a fool,” he said, rubbing the tips of his thumbs back and forth, the soft flesh teasing him. And so he teased back. He brought his lips closer to her ear. “I should have listened to you. I’ve always loved women—”

“Now hardly seems the time to remind me.”

“Admired them for their beauty,” he continued. “And known they were much cleverer than me.”

He paused, but only to kiss the tender spot just under her ear. “And you, the cleverest of all.”

Another kiss, but a bit harder this time. He began to move his hands as well, needing to reassure himself that she was here, that he might yet convince her to stay with him.

“You told me to speak to Sutherland, but I dismissed the idea, not wanting to appear weak.”

“Weakness has nothing to do with—”

“Allow me to finish.”

He pressed her closer to him.

“I was wrong,” he said against her neck. “But you were as well. This is not your time, but it can be. Saxford needs you. I need you. I believe in things I never thought I would. Finding a true love was once as fantastical to me as magic, but I believe in both now. We were made for each other.” Hannah turned and looked up at him then, her eyes full of emotion. “You spent your life creating one thing. Stay with me and create another. A life. With me.”

Hannah opened her mouth to answer, but he still had one thing to tell her first.

“The treaty has been extended.”

Joy bubbled inside him as he watched her eyes widen in understanding.

“Extended?”

He nodded. “Aye. I heeded your advice, though Walter and I nearly came to blows over it. I surprised Sutherland, and myself, with an offer. To re-sign the treaty on behalf of Kenton and acknowledge our share of the blame for past events. I may have wounded the pride of some of my men, especially those who have spent their lives hating Clan Sutherland. But nothing, most especially pride, is worth the loss of life.”

Once Tristan was confident Hannah fully understood how much he needed her, valued her, he asked the question once again.

“Hannah Sutton . . . will you stay here with me? Love me as I love you?” He took a deep breath. “Will you agree to become my wife when we find your sisters?”

It was a lifetime later when she finally answered.

“No.”