The name settled heavily between them, carrying with it everything they had already begun to suspect.
“That possibility has crossed my mind.” Lachlan gritted his teeth. If Kerr were before him right then and there, he’d put the man in the ground for all he’d betrayed them.
Isabel stood up straight then, as if she were aligning her spine to the stone walls around them. “We will draw Kerr out.”
“We”— he gestured between them— “will do no such thing.”
Her eyes flashed defiant. “Why no’?”
“Because ye are no’ bait. Ye will remain safely in your chamber with your maid and let the men handle this.”
“And ye are no’ my commander.” Her chin lifted as she said it, and he watched as her fingers toyed with the sleeve of her dress where he knew she kept a dagger hidden. Feisty lass.
No matter her threat to him, she would not win this battle.
“I’m no’ some naïve lass, MacLeod,” she said, leaning closer to him, her voice gaining force, “There is a reason my uncle sent me here with ye. There is a reason Kerr has followed us. He wants me for some reason.”
“And acknowledging that truth does no’ mean I’ll allow ye to walk into a trap. Your uncle named me your guardian, and as such, I am your commander.”
“My uncle also bid ye as Guardian of Scotland to weed out the rat. At the end of the day, I’m one person. There are hundreds of thousands at risk. Use me.”
Lachlan moved toward her, the tips of his boots hitting the toes of her slippers, he closed the distance in a way that left no doubt of his intent. “No.”
“Lachlan—”
“I will not risk ye.”
Her frustration broke through fully then, her voice tightening with it. “Ye canna protect me from everything.”
“I can try. And I will. ’Tis my duty.”
“I dinna want ye to try,” she said. “I want ye to trust me.”
The words struck harder than he expected.
Before he could stop himself, he reached for her, his hand closing around her arm as she turned away. She spun back toward him instantly, and the space between them vanished. The heat of her body sank into his chest, and every muscle within him tightened.
“Ye are the most stubborn woman I have ever met,” he muttered.
“And ye are the most infuriating man I have ever known,” she returned.
The anger between them burned hot, but it was not the only thing burning. His hand slid from her arm to her waist almost without thought, drawing her flush to him before he could stop himself.
Isabel did not resist, if anything she leaned into him, her gaze hot on his.
The kiss came fast, fierce, driven by everything neither of them had been willing to say aloud. There was no hesitation, no careful restraint—only the intense and overwhelming release of tension that had been building since the moment they had first looked at one another and understood something neither had been prepared for.
Her fingers gripped his leine, pulling him closer even as he pressed the backs of her thighs against the table. The maps scattered beneath them slipped to the floor, forgotten entirely, and the world beyond the room seemed to fall away beneath the force of it. Zounds, he wanted her. Needed her.
The intoxicating passion that gripped him did not last.
It might have, in another world, one without war pressing in from every side, without betrayal threading through loyalties, without the constant awareness that everything he cared for was being stripped from him. But this was not another world, and Lachlan knew it. Even as Isabel’s arms wove around his neck and her warmth pressed against him, reality forced its way back in, unwelcome but undeniable. The ships on the horizon, the quiet fracture of alliances, the name Kerr still echoing in his mind—none of it allowed for carelessness.
And she was no longer simply a woman he desired. She was something else he could lose. The realization cut through the desire with a ragged blow like a sword on a fallen limb.
He tore himself away from her, not for lack of want, but necessity. The moment shattered between them before either of them could fully claim it, leaving behind only the ache of what had almost been. Cold air rushed into the space where her warmth had lingered, and suddenly he was painfully aware of everything he could not allow himself to forget—who he was, what waited beyond these walls, how quickly happiness could be stolen from a man foolish enough to reach for it.
Yet when Isabel looked at him, her eyes searching his with breathless confusion and something far more perilous beneath it, his resolve faltered. God help him, but walking into battle felt easier than stepping back from her.
