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“He is coming for his greed,” he countered. “He is coming for the power he thinks he is owed and for the niece he thinks belongs to him. It is time he was taught a lesson.”

“Alisdair, he is ruthless. He willnae stop.”

“I will stop him.”

Isla felt the knot of fear rise in her stomach, lodge in her throat, and then dissolve in tears. She saw it in her mind: the castle on fire, Lady Moira dragged away, Ewan dead, all the people she cared for tortured or captured. All because of her.

Her hands went cold, and the room suddenly felt smaller. She felt a tear roll down her cheek and shook her head, trying to drive the dark thoughts away, but they refused to release their grip on her.

“Alisdair,” she said, stepping into his warmth. “I am scared.”

“Isla, listen to me,” he murmured. “This war had been raging on long since before ye showed up at me gates, bold and reckless. And it would have come, whether I married ye or nae.”

Isla nodded, another tear rolling down her cheek.

“If anythin’,” Alisdair continued with a triumphant smile, “now I ken what to expect thanks to ye.”

“If anythin’ happens to our people, to ye,” Isla breathed out, “it will be me fault.”

Alisdair tightened his hold on her arms. Not to control her, but to ground her. For a moment, the darkness crowding her mind seemed to retreat before the sheer strength of him.

“I will end this war, Isla. I will end it, and I will free ye from him. Do ye trust me on this?”

Isla exhaled deeply, as if something inside her finally gave. She couldn’t find her words, so she just nodded and moved closer. She needed to feel him, needed to feel his strength, for she was exhausted. She rested her forehead against his chest and breathed deeply.

For a few moments, Alisdair stood so still that she thought she had overstepped. She was about to pull back when his arm rose and wrapped around her waist.

She gasped softly at the contact. And then she exhaled quietly. Her eyes closed, an emotion she hadn’t felt in years welling up inside her—safety.

So, this is how it felt to be held.

Isla couldn’t help but look up at him again. They stood very close, as if cocooned in a bubble. She braced for it to break, for his rough voice to order her out, for his walls to slam back up.

Instead, he looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. It was as if he was trying to commit her face to memory, not fish out her lies.

For one brief moment, his eyes flicked to her lips, and the air between them thickened. Then, slowly, they lifted back to hers, slightly dark, the heat in them stealing the breath from her lungs.

“Alisdair,” she whispered. “Ye…”

“Aye, Isla. Me.”

Her fingers fisted in the soft fabric of his shirt, feeling the hard chest beneath. It was not enough.

She slid her hand up his neck, and his eyes darkened further. Her heart was pounding so hard in her ears that even if he told her to stop, she wouldn’t have heard him. Slowly, deliberately, her fingers traced his jaw.

“Isla,” he rumbled.

The sound vibrated against her fingertips.

Taking a deep breath, she slid them to his lips. One finger traced his lower lip, and his eyes flashed, a warning and an encouragement.

“Ye’re playin’ with fire, Isla,” he rasped.

“Too late,” she breathed. “I am burning already.”

“What are ye doin’ to me?” he murmured. “Do ye even ken?”

Isla leaned in, their faces mere inches away.