Chapter 15

O h, yes, it felt just as good as the first time. Better, in fact, than when she’d kissed him yesterday. Because this time, as Magnus’s lips touched hers, there was no hesitation from him—only raw desire and need.

Everything Izzy had kept pent up inside since that moment yesterday, all the frustration, the confusion, the longing, came rushing out. Before she knew what she was doing, she was tangling her fingers in his thick curls and pulling him down to her.

Magnus’s kiss was not gentle. It was hard and insistent, his grip around her waist possessive. Izzy welcomed it all, the fierce intensity matching the need that burned through her like fire. She responded in kind, her own hands threading through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots and drawing a low growl from him that sent a shiver across her skin.

His lips moved over hers with an urgency that made her dizzy, or maybe that was just Magnus’s hand sliding up to cup the nape of her neck, tilting her head back as he delved deeper into the kiss.

She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, matching her own rapid heartbeat. He pulled back for a moment, the look in his eyes intense, filled with desire and something more profound that she couldn’t quite name. And then his lips were back on hers, the kiss deeper and somehow softer as he continued to explore her mouth with a hunger she returned in kind .

Her hands left his hair to trace the lines of tension in his broad shoulders before skimming lower, feeling the solid warmth of his skin through his tunic. Her fingers sought out the edge of the fabric, slipping underneath to find the ridges of muscle that flexed beneath her touch. Magnus’s breath hitched as her fingers explored the expanse of his chest, but he did not break the kiss.

Suddenly, Magnus’s strong arms lifted her off the ground and she wound her legs around his waist as he carried her over to the bed and laid her gently on it, following her down onto the soft blankets.

Izzy’s hands moved to the hem of his tunic, and with a swift motion, she pulled it over his head, revealing the man beneath. Magnus’s muscled body was crisscrossed with scars, each mark telling a story of the life he’d lived. She traced them gently with her fingers, feeling him shudder beneath her touch.

Who was this man who sent her senses into such a tempest? He was a man marked by violence and struggle, a man whose body stood testament to the living of a life that was so far removed from her own that she ought to be terrified. But she wasn’t. There was such life in him, such raw vibrancy and strength, that it lit something inside her that had never been lit before. He made her feel...she didn’t know how he made her feel. Reckless? Spontaneous? Daring? He made her feel everything she’d always believed she wasn’t. Brave. Adventurous. Strong. He made her feel alive.

Izzy felt a rush of daring and bent her head to plant a series of soft kisses along the lines of his scars. Magnus let out a low groan, his hands digging into the soft blankets beneath them. She held such power over him—this strong, fierce warrior who had faced countless battles, yet was undone by something as simple as a kiss.

Feeling emboldened, she drifted lower, tracing the hard planes of his stomach with her lips. Magnus shifted beneath her, a soft sound of surprise escaping him. Izzy glanced up at him through her lashes, taking in his expression—eyes dark with desire, lips slightly parted in anticipation.

She saw a question in his eyes, and her answer was in her own—yes, she was sure. She wanted this, wanted him.

Magnus pushed himself up, capturing her lips once more in a searing kiss. His hands moved to the bodice of her dress, tugging at the laces there with an uncharacteristic urgency that made Izzy’s heart race even faster.

Once the laces were undone, she lifted her hips slightly and wriggled out of the cumbersome garment, and then they were skin on skin, a tangle of breathless sighs and heat. Magnus’s hands roamed her body, mapping out each curve and hollow. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs flicking over the sensitive peaks, causing Izzy to gasp and arch her back. He bent his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking gently while his hand stroked the other breast. A moan ripped from Izzy’s throat and she tangled her fingers in his hair, urging him on.

He trailed his way down her stomach, leaving a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses in his wake that made Izzy squirm with anticipation. His hand moved lower too, finding its way to the apex of her thighs. Her body arched instinctively towards him as his fingers began to explore her with a skill that left her breathless .

The world went hazy and indistinct, her entire existence narrowed down to Magnus and the electric thrum of desire he was evoking inside her. Her hands reached out blindly, fingers fisting into the blankets. What was he doing to her? Oh god. Oh god.

Izzy felt his lips curl into a smile against the skin of her stomach, pleased at her reaction. He pressed another kiss there before moving back up to capture her mouth with his own. His fingers never stilled, continuing their slow, languid exploration.

Izzy’s heart pounded in her chest as he parted her legs wider, his fingers dipping into the moist heat of her. She moaned against his lips as he continued to tease, his thumb circling over her sensitive nub. This was too much. Too much. His hand was between her legs, his lips were on her lips, his tongue was sliding gently into her mouth. How was she supposed to deal with such sensations? She couldn’t.

Her eyes slid closed as she began to come apart at the seams. Magnus’s free hand came up to cup her chin, his grip strong and sure.

“Look at me Isabelle,” he ordered softly. “I want to see it in yer eyes.”

Obliging, she opened heavy lids to find his ocean-blue gaze only inches from hers. She could lose herself in that gaze. She could lose herself in him . And she was about to do just that.

Her breath hitched as Magnus increased the tempo of his fingers, applying just the right amount of pressure to send her spiraling towards the edge. He watched her, his eyes burning as she succumbed to the pleasure he was eliciting. The feeling was too intense, too overwhelming, and Izzy could do nothing but surrender to it.

Feeling her body tighten around his fingers, Izzy gasped out Magnus’s name and then surrendered to the wave of pleasure that had been building inside her. Ecstasy swept her away, obliterating all thought, all awareness, except for the exquisite sensations that washed through her.

She didn’t know how long it took for her to come back to herself and regain a measure of composure, but when she did, she found Magnus lying on the bed next to her, propped on one elbow. He was watching her with a hunger that made her pulse hammer all over again.

With the sight of him, dark hair tousled as it framed his face, blue eyes dark and intense as he watched her, rippling muscles immersed in shadows and highlights, she wondered if she’d strayed into a dream. Was she really here, right now, doing...this with Magnus? Or had she fallen asleep and none of this was real, just her deepest longings made manifest?

But then Magnus leaned forward and kissed her and she knew it was all very, very real.

“Isabelle,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck. “My Isabelle.”

“Magnus,” she murmured, rolling towards him so they were face-to-face. She placed her palms flat against his sculpted chest, her hands small against his large body. She felt the heat emanating from him, burning like a forge-fire. He was real, gloriously, wonderfully real.

“Magnus,” Izzy whispered again, the only word she seemed able to form .

Her fingers slid over his chest, tracing the patterns of his muscles as though committing them to memory. She watched the play of emotions in his intense eyes, saw how they softened when her fingertips brushed over his sensitive nipples. His breath hitched slightly and she smiled at having such power over him.

She slid her hands lower to rest over the bulge in his britches. She could see the clear imprint of his manhood straining against the material. Reaching out, she gently caressed the length of him through the fabric. Magnus gasped and Izzy could feel his arousal burning through the fabric, could see his struggle for control mirrored in his eyes.

It was time to tip the scales.

With a small smile playing on her lips, Izzy pushed Magnus onto his back and began to undo the lacing of his britches. Her fingers were surprisingly steady as they worked through the knots, until finally, she released the whole glorious length of him.

The sigh that escaped him as Izzy wrapped her hand around him was guttural, almost animalistic. She loved that sound, loved how it made her feel: powerful, strong, able to unravel this fearsome warrior, just as he had done to her.

Magnus’s eyes never left hers as she began to stroke him slowly. His full lips were parted slightly, his breaths coming in shallow, rushed gasps. One of his hands found its way into her hair, tangling into the silky strands while his other hand rested on her hip, his fingers digging slightly into her flesh.

Removing her hand from him momentarily, Izzy carefully leaned over him and looped her loose hair behind her ear to keep it from distracting her. She lowered her head towards him, pressing a soft kiss at the base of his arousal.

Magnus let out a startled gasp, his hand automatically tightening in her hair while the other one fisted into the bedsheets. Izzy smiled against his skin before taking him into her mouth, his sharp intake of breath ringing in her ears. She moved slowly, savoring the taste of him as she swirled her tongue around his length, drawing out a low groan from Magnus. His free hand moved from the bedsheets to cup the back of her head, fingers tangling in her dark tresses.

He was hard and hot, tasting salty and slightly sweet on her tongue. She heard him curse under his breath as she increased her pace, her mouth working in rhythm.

“Isabelle,” he breathed, his voice nearly unrecognizable with desire. She glanced up at him through her lashes, meeting his gaze. The sight of him—eyes half-lidded with passion, lips parted and panting heavily—made her heart race and something warm flutter in her belly. “I need to be inside ye.”

The urgency in his voice was a raw, primal thing that sent a thrill shooting through her. She released him from her mouth with one last lingering lick and climbed back up his body until she was straddling him. His eyes were dark with need, the blue of them almost black.

She leaned down to capture his lips with hers again, soft and sweet, the complete opposite of the urgency burning through her body. Magnus’s hands roamed over her back as they kissed, warm and big and grounding.

“Are ye ready for me, lass?” he asked against her lips, his voice husky .

Izzy nodded, biting her lower lip, unable to form coherent words. With a low, animal growl, he rolled, pushing her off him and then pinning her beneath him on the bed. Now he was the one in control, so much bigger than her, so much more powerful.

And yet, he hesitated.

“Is this...is this what ye want?” he asked, his Scottish brogue rolling off his tongue like the sweetest whisky. “I...I dinna wish to hurt ye.”

“You won’t,” she replied, kissing the tip of his nose. “You won’t.”

“Are ye certain, Isabelle?” he asked, looking at her with a depth of emotion that made her heart flutter in her chest. “Once we cross this line, there’ll be no turning back.”

“I know, Magnus,” she whispered. “And I don’t want to turn back. I want you. All of you.”

The tension in his body relaxed ever so slightly and he placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Then ye shall have me.”

Magnus lowered himself onto her. Izzy’s hands roved along the expanse of his back, feeling the flex and give of his muscles beneath her fingertips. She felt the innate strength in him, the power contained within his body.

Magnus thrust his hips and Izzy gasped as she felt his length slide into her, hard and aching.

“Oh god, Magnus,” she breathed as he buried himself fully inside her. Her fingers sought solace in his hair, tugging slightly as he began to move.

Each thrust was deep and deliberate, designed to stoke the fire brewing inside her. Izzy arched her back, pressing herself against him, trying to draw him in even deeper as pleasure began to build.

She loved the weight of him, the feel of him moving inside her. Every time he hit that sweet spot within her, she moaned, fingers clinging to his back as sweet sensation rippled through her.

“Isabelle,” he groaned, burying his face into the crook of her neck. He nipped at her skin, before soothing it with his tongue. The sensation sent sparks skittering across her body.

Magnus quickened his pace, his rhythm becoming more urgent as his own pleasure began to take him. Izzy clutched at him, digging her nails into his back, her body moving in time with his as the bed slammed into the wall and the floorboards creaked.

He was everywhere, consuming her senses with his scent, the feel of his skin against hers, the taste of his kisses. Their bodies moved together like two pieces of a well-fitting puzzle, synchronizing in a dance that was as natural as breathing, as eternal as the tide kissing the shore.

The heat was intense, spiraling inside her stomach and seeping into her veins. She could feel herself nearing the edge and her movements became frantic under Magnus.

“Isabelle...my Isabelle,” Magnus breathed into her ear. His body tensed above her and she knew he was close too.

Izzy tightened her legs around him. “Please...Magnus...” she whimpered.

With a powerful thrust, Magnus slammed into her one last time before groaning out her name as he reached his climax. At the same time, Izzy broke apart, her own peak flooding through her and washing her away .

He shuddered above her, his strong body trembling from exertion. “Gods...Isabelle,” he panted, his eyes squeezed shut and his forehead pressed against hers.

Izzy blinked, coming back to herself slowly. She ran her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair and kissed him gently on the tip of his nose, tasting the salty tang of their mingled sweat. His body relaxed gradually atop hers and after a moment, he rolled off her and onto his back, pulling her along with him so that she was sprawled across his chest. His hand absently stroked her hair as he stared up at the ceiling.

Izzy said nothing. Speaking still seemed beyond her and all she could do was lay her head on his chest and listen to the sound of his heartbeat slowly begin to recover from the rapid pace of their lovemaking.

It had been...unreal. She was no virgin, but never had she known anything like what she’d just experienced with Magnus. What he’d been able to do to her... What he’d been able to make her feel...

“Did I hurt ye?” he asked, his voice husky in the quiet room. His hand moved down to her shoulder, where he lightly traced her collarbone with his fingers.

She shook her head against his chest. “No,” she said softly, voice hardly above a whisper. “You were perfect.”

A breath left him, relieved. “Good,” he murmured, his fingers resuming their dance through her tangled hair.

“Magnus?”

“Hmm?”

“Did I... did I hurt you ?” Her nails had raked his back in the throes of passion .

Magnus chuckled, a sound that was low and warm, reverberating through his chest. He kissed the crown of her head before replying, “Nay, love. Quite the contrary. That was... exquisite.”

His words made her stomach flutter. “Yes,” she murmured, pressing herself closer to his body. “Exquisite. That’s a good word.” She felt her eyelids drooping, drowsy contentment beginning to pull her down.

“Rest, love,” Magnus rumbled. “I’ll be here when ye wake up.”

“You’d better be,” she mumbled. She didn’t want to ever be apart from him.

Izzy snuggled deeper into Magnus’s embrace, letting out a soft sigh of satisfaction when she found the perfect spot nestled against his side. She fell asleep to the sound of his soft breathing.

MAGNUS DIDN’T SLEEP , nor have any desire to. His body thrummed with awareness, as though he’d come alive, truly alive, for the first time.

He stared at the ceiling, at the firelight that danced across it, but his gaze was unfocused. His mind was filled with her , and everything else paled in comparison.

With her head on his chest and her arm flung loosely across his stomach, he could feel the soft rise and fall of her as she slept. Slowly, he turned his head to look at her. Her hair was a mess, curling damply on her forehead and sticking to her cheek. Yet she was beautiful .

He ran his fingers lightly over her back, tracing the line of her spine. He marveled at how perfectly they fit together, how their lovemaking had felt so...so right. He had been with women before, but none had ever made him feel like this — complete in a way he hadn’t known he was missing.

He kissed the top of her head gently, his heart swelling with tenderness for the woman sleeping so trustingly in his arms. His Isabelle.

His eyes slowly closed as he succumbed to the comfort of Isabelle’s warmth. He felt himself floating on the edge of consciousness, not quite asleep, not quite awake, when a sudden sound made his eyes fly open. He couldn’t quite place what the sound was or where it had come from. As he lay still, listening hard, it did not come again. Even so, his senses were suddenly on edge, instincts telling him that something wasn’t right.

He eased himself out from beneath Isabelle, careful not to wake her, and stood up. He cocked his head to one side, straining to make out the tiniest sound. Nothing.

He glanced over at Isabelle, curled up on the bed of fur and wool, her chest rising and falling softly. The fire danced shadows across her peaceful face as she dreamed. Magnus found himself hoping she dreamed of him.

But for him there would be no sleep tonight. Instead, he gathered his clothes, quietly began dressing, then padded over to the window and looked out. Nothing moved in the darkness beyond, not even a cat. And yet, a shiver walked over his skin.

He pressed himself into the shadows at the side of the window and waited. Finally, he saw it—quick furtive movement in the stable yard outside, and the flash of steel. His stomach tightened with sudden dread. Moving silently, he walked over to Isabelle and shook her awake.

“What—?” she began sleepily.

He pressed a finger against her lips and leaned close. “Get dressed,” he murmured. “We’re in danger.”

Her eyes widened, and all sleepiness left her gaze. Without a word, she climbed out of bed and began hurriedly dressing. Magnus had left his weapons in his own room—for which he silently cursed himself as an idiot—so he picked up the poker from the fireplace and crept to the door. He put his hand on the door handle—and it burst open with a crash.

A body slammed into Magnus, knocking him back a step, and then shrouded figures came flooding into the room, steel glinting red in the light from the embers of the fire.

Magnus reacted with swift precision, swinging the poker with brutal force. It hit the first intruder in the stomach, doubling him over and winding him. A second man lunged at him with a knife, but Magnus was quicker, pivoting on his heel and bringing the poker crashing down hard onto his attacker’s skull. The man crumpled to the floor.

The room became a storm of movement as Magnus fought off the attackers one by one. A searing pain shot through his shoulder as a blade found its mark, but he pushed the pain aside. He couldn’t afford to falter now. He could hear Isabelle moving behind him, her own breaths coming in short, panic-filled gasps.

There was not enough room to move in the confines of the room, not if he wanted to keep himself between the attackers and Isabelle. He heard a low, throaty growl from the hallway. And then, bursting through the doorway came a fury of snarls and barks.

Snaffles launched himself at one of the intruders, who let out an agonized shriek as the dog clamped down on his forearm. Teeth sank deep into flesh and tugged, ripping away skin and cloth alike. The man went down, screaming and whimpering.

Drawing strength from the unexpected ally, Magnus swung out once more with his makeshift weapon, catching another man in the chest with enough force to send him crashing back into the wall.

Snaffles, snarling, tried to get to Isabelle, but a boot came out of nowhere and caught the dog squarely in the ribs. With a startled yelp, Snaffles was sent clattering into the wall. The dog tried to get up, but his legs wobbled and gave out under him, sending him collapsing onto the floor. He lay there, silent and unmoving.

“Snaffles!” Isabelle screamed.

Magnus roared in defiance and fury, the sound echoing around the room like thunder. Then he was swinging again, driving back another attacker with a well-aimed strike to the knee. The man screamed and crumpled to the ground.

Behind him, he heard Isabelle’s startled sob. She threw herself towards the fallen dog, ignoring the danger. Magnus spun, arm out towards her, but too late. A man darted out from the ring that surrounded Magnus, and lunged at her.

With a cry, Isabelle danced back, out of his reach, and then aimed a savage kick at his shin that had him hopping on one foot. She reached Snaffles and went down on her knees at the dog’s side, but a moment later, the man grabbed her by the hair, hauled her to her feet, and pressed a knife against her throat.

Magnus froze, the poker still raised. He stared at the man who held Isabelle, his pulse roaring in his ears. The world seemed to lurch sideways as he watched the man sneer at him, Isabelle’s terrified eyes locked onto his.

“Drop it,” the man growled, blade pressing dangerously against Isabelle’s exposed skin. “Or I swear she’ll be the first to die.”

“Get your hands off me!” Isabelle cried. “You hurt my dog, you bastard!” She tried to struggle, but the blade so close to her throat kept her pinned.

Magnus hesitated, every instinct screaming at him not to let go of his weapon. But with a choked sound, he let the poker clatter to the floor.

The man’s smile widened. “Wise move.”

Magnus took a step closer. His shoulders hunched, his fingers itched with the need to close around the man’s throat and squeeze. “What do ye want with us?”

“Me?” replied the man. “I want nothing. I just follow orders. But the man who gives those orders would like to talk to ye. Come quietly and neither of ye will be hurt.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Isabelle snarled, her eyes swiveling to fix on Snaffles who lay unmoving. “Let me go!”

“She’s a spirited one isnae she?” the man said. “I can see why ye like her.”

“Shut yer mouth,” Magnus growled, fury seeping into his voice. “If ye harm her—”

“Ye’ll what?” The man interrupted, his laughter echoing off the walls. “Make no mistake, ye are in no position to be making threats.” His eyes drifted to Isabelle. “I advise ye to keep quiet, lass. We wouldnae want to make this worse than it needs to be.”

Isabelle’s jaw set stubbornly, but she didn’t attempt to speak again.

“All right,” Magnus breathed, holding up his hands to show he was unarmed. “I’ll come with ye, but let her go.”

“Do ye think I’m stupid?” the man asked. “The second I released her, ye’d be at my throat. Nay, I think she’ll come along with us to ensure yer cooperation. And besides, my master wants to see both of ye.”

“Fine,” Magnus said, his voice steady despite the icy fear that gripped him. “We’ll come with ye. But ye harm her, and I swear to God I’ll rip yer throat out.”

The man laughed again, his hold on Isabelle’s hair tightening. She winced but held Magnus’s gaze, her fear replaced with a fierce determination that made his heart clench in his chest. How could this woman have ever thought herself weak? She shamed him with her bravery.

The man gestured towards the door, and Magnus took a reluctant step forward. He willed himself to keep his gaze on the man’s face, and not on the small crimson line that was beginning to appear on Isabelle’s throat.

Behind him, he could hear footsteps as the remaining intruders picked themselves up from the floor. Some of them threw harsh glances in his direction, while others muttered curses under their breaths. Their weapons clinked ominously as they fell into step behind him but nobody tried anything .

The night was cold and still as they were led out the back door of the boarding house and through the quiet streets of Torloch to a group of horsemen waiting on the outskirts of town. The horses were a hulking presence in the dimness, their silhouettes stark against the backdrop of darkened cottages and skeletal trees. Each breath Magnus took tasted of cold metal and approaching danger.

Isabelle was hauled onto a horse, the man’s hands lingering on her waist in a way that made Magnus want to brain him. She cast a glare over her shoulder at the man as she settled onto the saddle, her spine straight and haughty as a queen’s. Even now, she had the courage of a warrior.

Magnus was given a rough shove towards another horse, a huge roan-colored creature that stared at him with disinterested eyes. The animal snorted as he mounted, its hot breath condensing in the chilly night air.

No further words were exchanged as they rode out of Torloch and into the expansive wilderness that lay just beyond its borders, their route illuminated only by the ephemeral glow of the moonlight. Behind them, the town grew smaller and smaller until it became no more than an indistinguishable cluster of silhouettes against the inky blackness of the night.

The silence was oppressive, the only sound the repetitive clop of hooves against the frozen ground and the distant hoot of an owl. The chill wind bit through Magnus’s plaid, but he paid it little mind. His thoughts were consumed by the situation they found themselves in. Isabelle had been placed in such peril because of him. And Snaffles... Guilt gnawed at his insides like a rat caught in a barrel .

He knew from the position of the stars that they were heading north. This did not surprise him. Since the moment they’d set out, he knew where they were heading, and he recognized the landscape they were passing through. After all, it had been the playground of his youth.

After less than an hour of traveling in tense silence, Magnus spotted their destination ahead. Rising tall out of the barren scrubland surrounding it, there was no missing it. A squat, conical tower, surrounded by buildings encircled by a curtain wall and a defensive ditch, Dun Crogan could never be mistaken for anything else. It was an ancient broch, built in the distant past by the peoples who had first trod this land then taken over by its current resident and turned into a formidable fortress.

Magnus’s chest tightened. A confusing swirl of emotions roiled through him and he couldn’t quite place what they were. Anger? Guilt? Regret? Aye, all of these. But something else as well: a deep, aching sadness. Sadness at what had once been. Sadness at what was lost. Sadness at what he could never have again.

He glanced over at Isabelle. She sat straight-backed, staring ahead, with tears tracking down her cheeks. Magnus’s heart ached at the sight of it and he knew she was thinking of Snaffles. He longed to take her in his arms and tell her that everything was going to be all right but couldn’t. Their captors were careful to keep them apart, and besides, he couldn’t lie to her. Things were most definitely not going to be all right.

As they drew closer, Magnus could make out the broch’s grim details: high walls of stone stacked mercilessly upon each other and weathered by centuries, the surrounding ring fort and the smaller buildings inside, their solid walls a testament to the battles fought and the lives won and lost within. If walls could talk, Dun Crogan would no doubt have a long and bloody tale to tell.

They reached the broch and rode through the gates without stopping, entering the ring fort that circled around the tower itself. Magnus got the uneasy impression that he was coming full circle, coming back to where it all started. First the monastery, now Dun Crogan. Where would his past failures lead him before the end?

Magnus dismounted, took an automatic step towards Isabelle, and then stopped as one of their captors rested his sword-point against his chest.

“Stay there.”

Grinding his teeth, Magnus complied. Isabelle glared at the man who tried to lift her down and then dismounted herself, sliding from the saddle and staggering a little as her boots hit the ground.

“Where are we?” she demanded.

“Why dinna ye ask him?” the man replied with a smirk, looking at Magnus. “After all, he knows this place pretty well.”

Isabelle’s gaze found Magnus’s, a question in her eyes.

“This,” Magnus finally replied, his voice almost a growl as he looked at the towering structure before them, “is Dun Crogan.”

The captors laughed at his words, knowing nothing of the pain behind them. One of the men shoved him forward. “ Move,” he grunted and Magnus complied, taking slow steps towards the broch.

Isabelle fell into step beside him, the earlier distance between them closed by their captors’ indifference. He could feel her gaze on him, but he kept his eyes on the path ahead, his throat feeling too tight to speak.

It had been years since Magnus had set foot in Dun Crogan. The memories attached to it were too painful, too raw even after all these years, and he found his chest constricting and his stomach clenching with the weight of dread.

Inside the broch, things were just as he remembered. The entrance passage was narrow and dark, the only light coming from a few flickering torches along the walls. As they walked further in, Magnus could see the familiar stone rooms branching off from the main passage, and the stone steps that wound between the inner and outer walls of the broch and gave access to the upper levels. It was as austere as it had always been, a reflection of the man who ruled it.

At the end of the passage, they stepped into the tower’s main room, a circular, windowless hall. It was lit by firelight flickering from an enormous hearth on one side, casting long and ghostly shadows across the stone floor. The air was smoky and warm, thick with the smell of peat and roasted meat.

A man sat at a table by the fire, his wiry form hunched over an open ledger, a quill darting between his fingers as he wrote. His focus was such that he did not look up as they were paraded into the room but the heavy wooden chair creaked under his weight each time he shifted, which he did often, as though trying to find a more comfortable position .

One of their captors cleared their throat. “Lord McRae? We’ve brought Kerr as ye requested.”

The quill stopped its scratching. For a moment, the man stared at the page in front of him, unmoving. Then he turned slowly and Magnus forced his expression to remain impassive, even though his pulse ratcheted up a notch at the sight of the familiar lined face, the familiar intelligent eyes, the familiar messy, thinning blond hair.

“So ye have,” the man said, his voice deep and resonant, a voice used to command. Those icy blue eyes fixed on Magnus, and he gave a sad smile. “Hello, Magnus. It’s been too long.”

Magnus lifted his chin. “What do ye want?”

The man tutted. “That’s a little rude isnae it? Is that any way for a son to greet his father?”

Beside him, Isabelle gasped and Magnus felt her gaze spring to him but he didn’t look at her.

“I’ll ask one more time,” he growled. “What do ye want?”

Lord McRae looked away, instead fixing his gaze on Isabelle. “My son’s manners seem to have deserted him so I’ll have to be the one to make introductions. I’m Eamon. Delighted to meet ye, my dear.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened as the import of the words sank in. “Eamon?” she gasped, looking between Magnus and McRae. “You’re Eamon?”

“I can see Magnus has told ye about me,” he replied with a grin. “Aye, I’m Eamon McRae, the man who raised Magnus after his parents died. ”

“But...but...” Isabelle stammered. “You’re...you’re dead. You...died.”

“Did I?” he replied, his eyebrows rising. “I think not. As ye can see, my dear, I am quite alive. My death is just another in the long line of lies that Magnus has told ye.”

“That’s enough!” Magnus snapped. He stepped forward but one of McRae’s men drew his sword and blocked the way.

“Enough is it?” McRae said. “I beg to differ. I think Isabelle deserves to know the truth.”

“What are you talking about?” Isabelle demanded, eyes darting between the two men. “What truth? Why have you brought us here?”

“To keep ye safe, my dear,” McRae answered. “I’ve brought ye here for yer own protection.”

“My own protection? From what?”

“From him,” McRae replied, pointing a finger at Magnus. “He isnae the man he claims to be, my dear. Ye canna trust him. When I got wind of his schemes and heard he’d dragged an innocent woman into them, I had to act.”

“Ye are a liar!” Magnus growled.

“Am I? I think not. Ye hurt those around ye, Magnus, and ye will hurt Isabelle as well.”

“That isnae true,” Magnus protested, clenching his fists. “I would never hurt Isabelle.”

“Wouldnae ye?” McRae challenged. “I of all people know the lie of that.”

He braced his hands on the arms of his chair and struggled to stand, waving off one of the men who moved to assist him. “I can manage. ”

Pain flashed across his face briefly as he straightened, revealing a hunched posture that spoke of old injuries poorly healed. He turned to face them fully now, the quill falling forgotten onto the ledger. His hands found the edge of the table and gripped it tight.

Magnus’s jaw clenched as he caught sight of the huge scar that bisected McRae’s head, from the crown to the nape of his neck where it disappeared under his tunic. It was a vicious slash, healed long ago but the scar tissue was still an angry, puckered red. Magnus had seen that wound before many times, in his memories. It was the wound that had changed everything.

“I think ye know that I of all people know what ye are capable of. I also think ye remember this scar well enough,” McRae said, a dark glint in his eyes as he ran a bony finger along the length of the disfigurement. “After all, ye gave it to me, Magnus.”

Isabelle sucked in a sharp breath beside him. Magnus didn’t dare look at her.

“Oh, aye,” McRae said, turning his attention on her. “Did Magnus tell ye I was dead? Perhaps he was right. Perhaps I did die. But if I did, Magnus was the one who killed me.”