As Ronan rode away from the castle, he tried not to think of his golden goddess. Her soft skin against his as he made love to her, the pain in her eyes when he urged her to go back to her time.

It was first light the next morning, and he’d slipped out of their bed as she slept, unable to bear saying a final goodbye to her. He’d done that with his body and mouth the night before, trying to show her how much he loved her, how much she’d affected him.

’Tis for the best, he told himself. She needed to return to her own time, free of clan conflicts and the threat of Tarag.

He’d come close to telling her he loved her the night before. But he’d kept the words to himself. If he told her how he felt, she may have considered staying in a dangerous time she didn’t belong.

“Yer thinking of Kara,” Eadan observed, pulling him from the tumult of his thoughts.

Ronan glanced over at his cousin who rode along his side. A small contingent of men rode behind them as they made their way north.

“I’m always thinking of her. I’ll always think of her,” Ronan said, keeping his voice low so that the men around them couldn’t hear. “But it doesnae matter. She’s returning tae her own time. I donnae ken how ye convinced Fiona tae stay, but I’ll not do that tae her.”

“I told Fiona tae go back as well. She refused. Ye should’ve told the lass how ye feel.”

“She doesnae belong in this time. ’Tis not safe,” Ronan replied, shuttering his pain away. “She’s going tae Tairseach today and returning tae her time.”

Eadan fell silent. Ronan was grateful his cousin didn’t press the matter. But still, thoughts of Kara remained during their journey north, and it wasn’t until they reached the outskirts of their northern lands that he forced her image from his mind, stiffening at the sight of Tarag and his men.

He counted roughly one hundred men gathered with Tarag; only slightly more than their contingent of seventy men. They weren’t as outnumbered as he’d feared, but unease still darted through him at the sight of Tarag’s men, who'd dismounted from their horses and stood posed for battle. Ronan had fought before, in small skirmishes during other clan conflicts, and he’d fought Dughall’s men alongside Eadan, but this battled seemed more ominous.

Because it's the first battle ye've spearheaded, he realized. When he'd fought in the past, it had been at the behest of Eadan or some other clan noble. This was the first time his leadership had called for fighting. He could only pray that the men who'd followed him and Eadan into battle would emerge victorious.

As they drew closer, Ronan froze. A dead man lay sprawled across the flank of Tarag’s horse.

Keeping his gaze on Ronan, Tarag mounted the horse and rode across the broad field to meet them. The dead man was James, the same man Kara had flirted with for information.

Dread filling his gut, he and Eadan rode ahead to meet Tarag in the center of the field. When they reached Tarag, he shoved James’ body to the ground.

“Ye didnae think I would figure out who revealed our secrets?” Tarag demanded with a sneer, his focus on Ronan. “But I have tae admit . . . ’twas clever getting yer whore to ply my man for information. Donnae fret, after my men take out yers, the punishment I have in mind for yer Kara is a pleasurable one.”

Rage surged through Ronan, and he had to restrain himself from charging forward and spearing Tarag through with his sword. Eadan seemed to sense Ronan’s anger and gave him a look of caution before he spoke.

“My cousin has told me what’s happened in my absence. Despite yer treachery, I offer ye one last chance tae resolve this off the battlefield,” Eadan said.

Tarag laughed, withdrawing his sword.

“I offer ye this last chance to get off the lands we’ve claimed. We’ve paid off the farmers who toil these lands. They’re happy tae have us here, not absentee landlords like ye and yer clan from the south. Ye’re the ones who choose bloodshed. Or,” he added with a wicked smile, his eyes glittering as he once again focused on Ronan, “my offer from ye’re first visit stands. My Elspeth recently had an . . . accident, leaving me a widower and my bed cold.”

Ronan froze, horror snaking through him. He doubted Elspeth had met an accident. Tarag had gotten the information he needed from her about Clan Macleay and killed her. The bastard was evil, down to his bones.

“Give me that delicious golden-haired whore of yers tae enjoy,” Tarag continued, his eyes burning into Ronan’s, “and perhaps all will be forgiven.”

This time, Ronan couldn’t quell his rage. He unsheathed his sword. His action was a signal to the other men the battle had begun, and Eadan shouted for their men to charge.

Ronan’s focus was only on Tarag. He leapt from his horse and darted toward Tarag. Their swords clashed in midair as they began to fight.

Around him, men from both sides clashed in battle, swords clanging, blades spearing through flesh, grunts and cries of fury and pain surrounding them.

Tarag met each of Ronan’s sword clashes with his own. He suddenly reached out to kick Ronan, sending him sprawling to the ground.

Ronan landed with such force the pain seared his insides. He scrambled for his sword as Tarag stepped forward, raising his sword, his face contorted with murderous fury.

Ronan’s sword was just out of reach; he didn’t have time to ward off the blow. The only emotion that filled his chest was a painful, burning regret; regret that he would never see his Kara again, regret that he’d never told her how he much he loved her. I love ye, my Kara, he thought, as Tarag’s sword careened toward his heart.

But all at once the sword was gone. Ronan looked up, startled. Eadan had knocked Tarag to the ground. He helped Ronan to his feet, handing him his sword as they charged at Tarag together.

But one of Tarag’s men intercepted Eadan’s path, and Ronan was once again alone with Tarag, a surge of renewed strength flowing through him. He wanted to survive—not just for his clan and their lands. But for Kara.

His momentary brush with death had forced him to realize that he needed to get back to Kara, to tell her that he loved her and wanted her by his side. For all of his days.

Tarag growled, charging forward. Ronan dodged his blow, using the opportunity to kick out at Tarag’s knees. Tarag fell hard, but angled his sword toward Ronan’s chest. Ronan caught the sword with his bare hand, ignoring the scorching pain as his skin tore and bled.

Holding Tarag’s sword with his bare hand, he raised his sword and sank it into Tarag’s chest. Tarag let out a pained roar, falling back onto the ground as Ronan removed the sword. Ronan stared down at the dying man, not looking away until the light left his eyes.

He took no pleasure in taking another man's life, even a man such as Tarag, but a sense of relief filled him as Tarag drew his last breath. His death meant he couldn't hurt anyone—including his Kara—again.

Ronan turned to join Eadan as he fought one of Tarag’s men, but many of Tarag’s men had seen their leader fall, and it turned the tide of the battle. Some continued to fight while others fled.

It did not take long to defeat the rest of Tarag's men; the men of Clan Macleay were emboldened by Tarag's death, and soon the battle was over.

A powerful surge of relief filled his chest; there would be matters to tend to in the aftermath, but the battle with Tarag was over. Only one person dominated his thoughts now. Kara.

She may have already gone to Tairseach, back to her own time and from him, because he'd been too much of a fool to tell her he loved her.

One thing was certain now, a certainty that filled him ever since Tarag's sword had careened toward his heart—his life was not worth living without his Kara. And he needed to tell her. If there was still time.

He turned, on the verge of telling his cousin he was going to Tairseach, when a horse suddenly charged onto the field. He whirled to face it, his sword at the ready.

But Ronan stilled. He recognized the rider—it was a messenger from the castle. Panic gripped him and he raced forward.

“Tarag’s men," the messenger said, out of breath. "They waited ’til ye and Eadan were away. They’ve set fire tae our lands.”