Page 83 of The Laird's Dangerous Prize
"Ciaran, I—" she began, but he closed the distance between them in two swift strides.
His hands cupped her face, and when their lips met, it was with all the desperate relief of two people who'd feared they might never see each other again. She melted against him, her fingers clutching at his jerkin as if to convince herself he was real.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.
"I wasnae sure ye'd come in time," she whispered.
"I made a promise tae ye. Naething could have kept me away," he said fiercely. "Naething. When I heard about Wallace's attacks..."
She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "I'm so tired, Ciaran. There are so many people depending on me, and I dinnae know if I'm strong enough?—"
"Ye are," he said firmly. "What I saw in that courtyard—the way ye're holding everything together, caring for your people—ye're the strongest person I know. But ye dinnae have tae carry this weight alone anymore."
"Me faither will want guarantees, terms fer any alliance."
"Let me worry about yer faither. I brought fifty men, but I can summon more. Whatever ye need. Food, supplies, fighting men—it's yers."
Relief flooded her features, followed quickly by something that looked almost like shame. "I hate that ye're seeing us like this. Broken."
"I see people worth fighting fer," he interrupted. "I see the woman I love daeing everything in her power tae protect them."
Before she could respond, rapid footsteps echoed in the corridor. A scout burst around the corner, his face grim with urgency.
"Lady Isolde! Our lookouts have spotted Wallace's main force. They're moving toward the castle in battle formation."
Isolde's face went pale. "How long dae we have?"
"They'll be at our gates by dawn, me lady. Maybe sooner if they push through the night."
The moment of tender reunion shattered like glass. Around them, the castle seemed to hold its breath, waiting for whatever horror the morning would bring.
Ciaran's hand found Isolde's, squeezing tight. "Then we'd better prepare fer war. But first, take me tae yer faither. There's something I need tae dae."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
"Take me tae yer faither," Ciaran said, his voice carrying a formality that made Isolde's heart skip. "I have something tae speak with him of."
The way he said it sent a flutter of anticipation through her chest. She'd dreamed of this moment, feared it, hoped for it, but now that it was here, her mouth felt suddenly dry.
"Of course," she managed, though her voice came out smaller than intended. "He'll be in the great hall, likely going over our defenses with Tavish."
As they walked through the corridors, Isolde found herself acutely aware of every detail—the sound of their footsteps on stone, the way Ciaran's jaw was set with determination, the nervous energy radiating from his frame. She wanted to ask what exactly he planned to say, but something in his manner warned her this was not the time for questions.
Her father looked up as they entered the hall, his weathered face creased with worry lines that seemed to have deepened overnight.
"Laird MacAlpin," Ciaran said, inclining his head formally. "I would like tae speak with ye privately, if I may."
Alistair's eyes flicked between Ciaran and Isolde, and she could tell he was already guessing the nature of this conversation.
"Isolde, ye may stay if ye please," her father said quietly.
Isolde felt her heart hammering against her ribs. This was the moment that would determine not just her future, but potentially the survival of her entire clan.
"Sit," Alistair gestured to the chairs before the hearth. "Both of ye."
Ciaran remained standing. "With respect, Laird MacAlpin, this matter requires me tae stand." He drew himself up to his full height, every inch the clan laird despite the dirt and weariness of the road. "I've come tae formally request yer daughter's hand in marriage."
The words hung in the air like a thrown gauntlet. Isolde kept her face carefully composed, though inside she felt as if she might fly apart with nervous energy. Her father's expression gave away nothing.
