Page 70 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
"I ken who he is," she whispered against his skin. "He's the man who sees me—nae just as a MacAlpin, but as meself."
His arms tightened around her, and in that embrace, Isolde felt safer than castle walls could ever make her. Whatever uncertain future awaited them, this moment of perfect understanding was real and true.
"When all this is done," he murmured into her hair, "when Rhona is safe and Wallace no longer threatens your clan, then we can build something of our own. Something that honors the old ways, while forging a path forward. Taegether. Ye need tae trust me."
The promise in those words, in the way his hands cradled her as though she were precious beyond measure, filled the cracks thatfear and loss had carved into her heart. For the first time since her mother's death, since watching her clan's slow decline, hope bloomed within her. It was fragile but persistent .
They came together again, this time slower until the first tentative light of dawn crept through the window, painting the chamber in pale watercolors. Ciaran stood beside the bed, pulling on his clothing, his expression torn between duty and desire as he looked down at Isolde.
"Aileen will come soon," he said softly, reluctance evident in every line of his body. "I must be gone before the household wakes."
Isolde rose, the sheet wrapped around her as she moved to stand before him. The night's intimacy still clung to her skin, his scent entwined with hers in a way that made this parting feel like tearing a wound.
"How long?" she asked, her fingers straightening his collar in a gesture so domestic it made her heart ache with longing for a thousand such mornings.
"A fortnight. Nae more." His hands captured hers, bringing them to his lips. "By then, I'll have me council's answer—or I'll have found a way around their objections."
"And Rhona?"
"Me men won't stop searching. I swear it on me honor."
She nodded, believing him despite years of learning that promises often shattered against reality. Something about Ciaran MacCraith demanded trust, even from a woman who had learned early that trust was a luxury rarely afforded to daughters of failing clans.
There was a soft scratch at the door. Aileen's signal. Their time had run out.
Ciaran pulled Isolde into a final embrace, his kiss fierce and tender at once, as though trying to imprint the memory of her upon his very soul. "Wait fer me," he whispered against her lips.
"I've waited fer ye two years already," she reminded him with a sad smile. "What's a fortnight more?"
CHAPTER TWENTY
The room still held Ciaran's presence, like a ghost lingering in the morning light. Isolde pressed her palm against the hidden door through which he'd disappeared. Her body ached pleasantly, bearing invisible marks of a night she would carry within her always.
A soft knock at the main door broke her reverie. Aileen slipped inside, her young face flushed with the excitement of conspiracy.
"Did ye manage tae speak with him?" she asked, but the knowing gleam in her sister's gaze suggested she suspected far more than mere conversation had transpired.
"Aye," Isolde replied, turning from the hidden passage to face her sister. "We spoke at length."
Aileen's eyes drifted to the rumpled bedsheets, the candle burned to a nub, the unmistakable flush on Isolde's cheeks.A small smile played at her lips. "I see ye... reached an understanding."
Heat crept up Isolde's neck. "Ye're too young fer such insinuations."
"I'm sixteen," Aileen countered, setting a fresh dress on the chair. "Old enough tae recognize when me sister glows like she's swallowed the sun."
Before Isolde could formulate a suitably sharp response, the door opened again as Lorna and Isla entered, each carrying elements of Isolde's "recovery" disguise.
"Ye’ve look remarkably well fer someone at death's door these past days," Lorna observed dryly, setting down a tray with thin broth and bread—an invalid's breakfast. "Though the shadows beneath yer eyes suggest ye found little sleep."
"Daes he snore?" Isla asked with characteristic directness, earning her a scandalized gasp from Aileen and an exasperated sigh from Lorna.
"We discussed Rhona," Isolde said firmly, though she couldn't quite meet her sisters' eyes. "And Wallace. And what comes next."
"What daes come next?" Lorna asked, all business as she helped Isolde into the simple linen shift that would support theirstory of her gradual recovery. "Beyond stolen meetings in secret passages."
Isolde winced at the hint of disapproval in her practical sister's voice. "He returns to MacCraith lands today. He'll speak with his council, seek support fer an alliance."
"Between our clans?" Isla's romantic soul couldn't hide her excitement. "A political alliance, or something more personal?"
