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Men stopped fighting and looked at him.

“Three against one, who’s in?” Ian continued.

Mayhap, he was a savage after all, because this brought him relief, throwing all that tension, all that misery into a direction that would be useful. Three men stepped forward, including Frangean.

“Arrrgh!” the lad cried and launched at Ian with his claymore raised high above his head.

The other two followed, and Ian took his position. Their swords at the ready, they attacked. Ian deflected them, spun, whirled, ducked. He breathed through the pain that was tearing his chest and leg apart.

Damnation. He was slower, much slower than he used to be. But he’d already fought through the wounds many times, and he knew how to spare his strength and use his body economically.

“Stop this at once!” a woman cried.

The voice was so painfully familiar it brought the immediate image of the bonnie blonde he was breathing for.

The men froze and Ian stopped as well. Panting, he turned around and almost dropped his sword.

It was her.

She stood by the Dundail house in a warm woolen cloak with a hood on. A big, full bag lay by her feet. Her golden hair shone under the hood. She looked thinner but just as bonnie, her blue eyes shining with anger.

Ian’s heart must have stopped. He must have ceased to exist for a split moment. The ground shifted under his feet, and he stopped feeling his body.

“Kate…” he said, and it came out like a whisper, like a secret prayer.

She walked to him with broad, angry strides and stopped in front of him.

“What are you doing, Ian? Are you insane? First of all, you’re clearly still recovering from your wounds.” She pointed at the ugly red scar on his chest. “Second of all, it’s September, for God’s sake! And you’re shirtless. Do you want to die of pneumonia, too? I just came back. I won’t let you die on me.”

She left his proximity, to Ian’s disappointment, walked to where his tunic was lying forgotten in the mud, picked it up, and came back to him. She shoved it into his hands. Speechless, he put the tunic back on.

“Did ye come to berate me?” he rasped. “Had I kent ’twas how to summon ye, I’d have walked shirtless every day since ye left.”

She smiled. A small, bonnie smile that she hid by pursing her lips.

“You were the one who told me to go,” she said.

“Dinna listen to me. I was a fool.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “We can agree on that.”

Her hand went under the cloak and produced a square sheet of paper. On it was some sort of a drawing. Something square with letters and numbers.

“Will you build me a stove?” Kate asked.

Ian took the sheet and studied it. It was a rectangular construction of stone with an opening for a fire like in the bread oven, but flat on top and with two round plates on the surface. There was also a tube, probably for venting out the smoke.

“Whatever it is, I’ll build it for ye. I’ll build ye a castle if ye stay,” Ian said.

“I don’t need a castle. All I need is you. And a better kitchen.”

She stared at him with her bottomless, sparkling eyes, and he couldn’t believe his ears and eyes.

“Lord,” Frangean said, “’tis where ye kiss the lass.”

Kate arched one brow. Ian wrapped his arms around her, so precious and smelling like something sweet and delicious that he wanted to devour in one bite.

“I didna think I’d ever see ye again, lass,” he said.