Christ.

Tristan had never backed down from a challenge, and he sure as hell was not going to start tonight.

As Tristan reached for her, Hannah leaned in toward him. He had only a brief glimpse at her face, the lips he so desperately wanted to feel against his own, and then he was clasping her cheeks in his hands.

He touched his lips to hers, and she immediately opened to him.

Her kiss was no innocent virgin’s touch; nor was it the measured caress of a courtesan. As her tongue reached out to meet his own, Tristan took advantage. He tried to be gentle, but her response wouldn’t allow it. She hungrily took what he offered and gave the same in return. His rough hands moved from her face to the back of her head, grabbing her silky hair with both fists.

When she groaned, he pressed harder, moved faster, desperate to taste her. No kiss had inflamed him so quickly, and when she pulled back, he silently thanked every saint at once.

That would not have ended well. It would already be difficult to let her go—no need to make it harder.

“I take it back.”

Tristan could not help but smile. She looked exactly as she should, a woman properly kissed. He wouldn’t be surprised if he looked much the same. That kiss had taken him more by surprise than the day King Richard had turned an armorer’s apprentice into a lord with one deft stroke.

“Our times are not so different.” Hannah licked her lips one last time before stepping away from him.

Aye, Hannah, they are. No woman here has made me feel that way before.

Apparently they were going to act as if the kiss had not happened.

Very well.

He leaned down to grab a log from the pile. Either they had been lucky to find dry wood in the cave, or they’d unknowingly commandeered someone else’s lodging. It was getting late, but he did not discount that the reivers may return.

“Are they not so different?” he finally asked. With an adequate fire, he turned his attention to the bedrolls.

“That was . . .”

He paused, looking up at his beautiful traveler, waiting for her response.

“Like a regular kiss.”

It had been anything but.

She must have read the look on his face, because she hastened to say, “I mean . . . not regular. Actually, not at all. But maybe I thought it would be different somehow.”

Once he’d prepared the makeshift beds, Tristan sat on his. Having changed his position, he could no longer see the valley below them, but he’d exchanged it for a much more pleasant view. She stood in the exact spot where they’d kissed.

“Do you know what I mean?”

“No,” he said. “I do not.”

Though he should be insulted by her casual declaration that his kiss was quite ordinary, Tristan found himself amused instead.

“Perhaps you should explain.” He had a feeling she could not, but he looked forward to her attempt.

“It was regular,” she said, “in that it was the same kind of kiss a man would . . .”

His eyes narrowed.

“Never mind.”

She lifted her gown, moved toward the bags, and pulled something out.

“I’m going to change.”

He didn’t realize at first what she meant, but when Tristan saw what she carried in her arms, he snapped, “No, you are not.”

She appeared as if she would like nothing better than to throttle him. But he paid her no mind. She was not going to wear those “shorts” again.

“Yes,” she said turning, “I am.”

He stood, raising his brows at the stream of colorful language she spouted as he followed her—words like “ass” and “brute.”

“If anyone sees you—”

Hannah spun around. “Anyone? There is no one here to see me. Only you. I don’t understand why you’re so opposed to my clothing.”

Surely she jested.

“No respectable woman—”

“Don’t you dare.”

He ignored her flash of anger. “This is not Maine, Hannah. Do you not understand? It is dangerous out here.”

“And who exactly am I in danger from?” She turned to look toward the road and then back at him. “I see no one here except for you. And I am not from fourteenth-century England. I already told you, this is what we wear. And it’s perfectly acceptable. Bare legs are not an invitation. Anyway”—she tugged at the low neckline of her gown—“how is this any better? Talk about a double standard.”

Tristan wasn’t sure how to answer, so he did not.

“I get it. I need to play by your rules. That’s why I’ve worn Joan’s ridiculous dresses for more than twenty-four hours now. But there is no one else here, and I refuse to sleep in this thing.”

“Your shift—”

“Is much more decent than these.” She lifted up the shorts and hoodie in her hands. “But you know what? This isn’t about clothes. It’s about the fact that you don’t believe me. If you did—”

“I do,” he said.

“But not totally. And you know what? If I were in your shoes, I’d think I was crazy too. But I’m not. I’m just a New England girl who is terrified the waterfall my sisters and I jumped into yesterday will have no answers for me.”

Tristan reached for her, but Hannah pulled away.

“You’re scared.”

“Damn right I’m scared. I’m more than scared, I’m terrified. What if I never see my sisters again, Tristan? What if I can’t get back?”

It was the question that had hung between them since the start of their journey—or at least since Tristan had begun to believe her. When he reached for her this time, she did not resist, and he smoothed her hair back away from her face as she began to cry. It was not the first time he’d comforted a woman, but never before had he been this eager to do so.

Hannah was unlike anyone he’d ever met, rightly so given her circumstances, and she faced impossibly high stakes. If for some reason they did not find the answers she needed tomorrow, she would be alone in a world that was not her own.

He pulled her more tightly against him.

“If you can’t get back,” he said, struggling to find the right words, “you will stay with me.”

If you can’t get back, you will stay with me.

She didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe he really meant it, or maybe he’d only made the offer because he felt sorry for her.

How embarrassing.

Hannah couldn’t remember a time when she’d cried in a man’s arms. Literally. The wrenching sadness seemed to have come out of nowhere. She’d actually been feeling much better this evening, talking with Tristan and teasing him.

Kissing him.

How could she have said it was like a “regular” kiss? When his lips had touched hers, she’d felt . . . consumed. Utterly and completely filled with a longing to be near him, to memorize every inch of him for when she was back home. She’d wanted nothing more than to get closer to him, as close as possible, and that had scared the spit out of her. Scared her enough to pull away. To lash out. To distance herself.

Good job on that front.

But her self-protection strategy had utterly failed, because she now stood wrapped in this virtual stranger’s arms so tightly that anyone who saw them would swear they’d known each other for—maybe more than one day?

She sniffled, and though she’d stopped crying, Hannah did not move. Whenever she cried, her face became a blotchy mess. It had nothing to do with how good his arms felt around her. She resisted the urge to move her hands just a few inches to see if those arms were as muscled as she thought they might be. The man would think her out of her mind. Crying one minute, putting moves on him the next.

“Are you feeling better?”

She sighed, aware he was going to get a good look at her face at some point. She pulled back, wiping away the last remnants of her ridiculous outburst.

“Much,” she lied.

He didn’t let go of her, and Hannah really didn’t want him to.

“I don’t cry,” she announced.

Tristan raised his brows.

“Not like that.”

He still looked skeptical.

“I’m the strong one,” she announced. It was true. And somehow, even though her sisters weren’t here with her, it mattered now more than ever.

Tristan leaned down and placed a soft kiss on the tip of her nose.

“Of course, my lady.”

He stepped back and bowed.

“Your wardrobe room awaits,” he said, pointing to a thicket of trees just next to them.

Hannah hugged the clothes against her chest.

“I am no lady,” she said. “At least, not in the way you mean it.”

“And how is that?”

And just like that, it was over. They’d so quickly reverted back to their easy banter that Hannah could almost forget the kiss and the moment of weakness she’d spent in his arms.

Almost.

“Nobility,” she said.

“Of course, there is no such thing in your time.”

“Not in America at least.”

In the end she decided not to comment on what he’d said about her staying. She didn’t want it to matter. If it did, that meant they would discover nothing at the falls, and that was simply unacceptable. As she’d done since waking up on that beach, Hannah pushed thoughts of her sisters away. She concentrated instead on getting out of her constricting gown. Luckily Joan had thought of the trip she would be taking, and aside from the snag she left in the ties at her side, it was easier to manage than she’d feared.

Judging from the maid’s scandalized expression when she’d helped her prepare for the journey, it was highly unusual for an unattached man and woman to travel alone together. Luckily, Hannah couldn’t care less about her reputation since she would not be going back to Saxford.

And if you don’t find a way home?

She pushed the negative talk away since such thoughts were completely useless. She would see her sisters again. She would go home.

What she would not do was see Tristan again after tomorrow. A thought she refused to dwell on since there was nothing she could do to change that.

She’d just folded the borrowed garments as neatly as possible into a pile, placing the traveling gown on top, when the sound of twigs cracking turned her attention to where she’d left Tristan.

He appeared from nowhere, sword in hand.

His eyes widened—she was buck naked—and then he was gone.

What the hell was that?

Hannah could hear him running in the opposite direction, toward the road. She got dressed as quickly as humanly possible and gathered up her belongings. Now what? Go back to their camp or follow him?

The distant sound of a man’s scream made the decision for her. Hannah ran toward their shelter as fast as her legs would carry her. She tossed the bag with her things out of the way and threw the pile of clothes on top. The cave was more like an overhang, but Hannah slid as far back as she could. Heart hammering against her chest, she watched little bits of ash float above the fire and dance away. She couldn’t hear a thing, and for the first time since yesterday, she thought of what would happen to her without Tristan. She’d felt perfectly safe, even when he’d told her how dangerous it was here, but only because of him. The man was a certifiable knight, a warrior if she’d ever seen one.

And yet he was not infallible . . . what if something happened to him? What if he was already dead?

Just like he had earlier, Tristan appeared out of nowhere.

She jumped up from her spot and ran to him. “You’re alive!”

Hannah nearly threw her arms around him but came to her senses just in time.

Tristan looked her up and down, his gaze resting on her legs, which were getting cold despite the fact that it was July. She pulled her hoodie tighter to fend off the sudden chill.

“You’re dressed.”

When she met his eyes, the pupils dilated with desire, Hannah’s pulse raced. He wanted her, and she very much wanted him. She looked away, down to the sword he carried in his hand, and gasped.

“There’s blood all over that.”

While he stood there appraising her as calm as could be, his massive sword—a broadsword, according to what one of the tour guides had told them—dripped blood as he held it next to him. This was not the shiny sword that might be displayed at a museum. It was worn, well-used, and freaking bloody.

The same panic that had made her shed every stitch of clothing that time she’d cut her foot took over. She reached out and turned him, inspecting everywhere. No blood. He played along and allowed her to turn him back around.

“You’re not hurt.”

“Nay,” he said, “but I do need to clean this.”

“What happened?

His lips pursed just slightly and his eyes . . . he could hypnotize someone with that look.

“I heard a noise and came to check on you—”

“I know that,” she said, impatient to learn the rest of it. “And then?”

“And then I encountered the same two men who had come through earlier. Whether they’d planned all along to come back or—”

“The blood, Tristan?” How could he stand there talking to her so calmly when something catastrophic had clearly happened?

“And then one of them attacked me. Which leads me to believe—”

“Tristan! You’re sure you’re okay?”

The look he gave her in response to that question turned her on more than anything else ever had in her entire lifetime. It was so assured, so damn confident—as if he were incapable of losing a fight, and the mere suggestion of it was so insulting that he appeared unable, or unwilling, to answer.

“Is he okay?” she asked instead, dreading the answer.

“Does it matter?”

Her mouth dropped open. Had he just killed a man?

He moved away from her then, pulling out his sword and walking toward the foot of the cave.

She turned and watched in fascination as he pulled a cloth from the saddlebag and began to wipe the blood away. Was she really watching this?

“It matters to me,” she said at last.

Finished, he tossed the cloth into the fire and placed his sword on the ground next to one of the bedrolls in the mouth of the cave.

“No,” he said finally. “I did not kill him.”

He sat and nodded toward the empty bedroll next to him. “We’ll be leaving at first light.”

Oh my God. For real? He was just going to go to sleep after that?

“Tristan,” she said, attempting to remain calm. “What happened?”

She made her way toward him slowly, cautiously. Not that she was afraid of him. It was just . . . she’d only seen two men fight, really fight, once in her life. During her senior year of college, some jerk catcalled her right in front of her boyfriend in a nightclub. Without saying a word, her boyfriend hauled back and punched the guy in the face, the sound one she could still remember. They were promptly tossed out of the bar.

Sure, she hadn’t seen anything happen this time, but she’d seen the outcome on his sword. She sat and waited, staring at him expectantly.

“A shoulder wound,” Tristan said. “It was enough of a warning, and at least I’ll be able to sleep now.”

“What do you mean?”

“They knew we were here, so I planned to stay awake to be sure they didn’t return. Most likely they’d only planned to steal the horse—”

“But how did you hear them? I couldn’t hear a sound. Well, I barely could anyway, even when you were down there.”

Hannah pulled a blanket over her legs. Though it was a scratchy wool one, at least it would keep her warm.

For the first time since he returned, Tristan smiled. And while his bedroom eyes had been something to contend with, this was much, much worse.

“I have many skills, my lady, that you’re not yet aware of.”