CHAPTER 79: THE LAST KISS
CHAPTER 79: THE LAST KISS
The door slammed shut behind them, sealing them in the quiet.
The chamber was dim, lit only by the flicker of a single candle on the table. Shadows rippled across the stone walls. It was a private room—secluded, forgotten, heavy with the scent of dust and time.
Lachlan stood with his back to the door, chest heaving. Isla faced him, her pulse echoing in her ears.
“Why did you run?” he demanded. “Why humiliate me like that? Before our kin, before the lords of the realm?”
Her laugh was hollow. “Humiliation? I think we passed that when you took another woman to our bed.”
His jaw tightened. “You know nothing of what happened in that forest. You don’t know what I saw.”
“Then tell me,” she challenged, stepping closer. “Because the men who returned—they told me what they saw. They said I walked among them, whispering lies, leading them to their deaths. They came home calling me a witch. And you believed them.”
He froze.
“I was thrown into the dungeon for over a week,” she continued, her voice trembling. “While you were out there, waging war against shadows, I was rotting in a cell. Accused of witchcraft in my own home.”
Her eyes shimmered, fierce with tears. “You don’t know what it’s like to be called a curse. To have every kindness you show twisted into suspicion.”
Lachlan’s voice lowered. “In the forest… I saw you.”
Her breath caught.
He took a step forward, his tone rough, haunted. “You came to me through the fog. Your eyes—empty. You said my name, then disappeared into the mist. When I found my men, they were dead, their throats marked by fire. How was I supposed to think it wasn’t you?”
“Because you knew me,” she whispered. “Because you should have known the difference between the woman you loved and a phantom born of fear.”
He shook his head, guilt and confusion warring across his face. “I thought I did.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence pressed down, suffocating, broken only by the crackle of the candle flame.
“I came back,” she said softly, “and I fixed what I could. I helped the villagers rebuild their homes. I fed the children whose fathers didn’t return. I gave what I had left, Lachlan. And still, I was not enough.”
He stared at her, truly seeing her for the first time in months—the faint hollows of her cheeks, the strength in her trembling hands.
“I didn’t know,” he said hoarsely. “No one told me.”
“Would it have mattered?” Isla asked. “Would it have changed the way you looked at me?”
He moved closer, something desperate in his eyes. “Aye. It would have changed everything.”
Her breath hitched as he reached for her. His hand brushed her cheek, rough thumb tracing the faint trail of tears. She should have pulled away—but she didn’t.
“Why now?” she whispered.
“Because I see you,” he murmured. “Without the bond. Without the hum. I feel it still. You’re here, Isla. You’ve always been here.”
He kissed her.
It started soft—an apology, a confession, a plea. But then months of silence, hurt, and longing poured out through that touch. His hands framed her face; hers found the fabric of his tunic, clutching it as though afraid he’d vanish.
The kiss deepened—familiar and wild all at once. The ache that had been caged inside both of them burned free.
His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. The warmth of him, the smell of smoke and pine—it was almost enough to undo her entirely.
Almost.
“Lachlan,” she breathed, pressing a trembling hand to his chest. “Stop.”
He froze.
“This… this can’t happen,” she said, voice breaking. “It’s not love anymore. It’s memory. It’s what we wish we still had.”
He took a step back, eyes dark and conflicted.
“Maybe,” he said softly. “Or maybe it’s what we were meant to have all along, before everything went wrong.”
She shook her head, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe in another life.”
He stood there for a moment longer, studying her—the woman who had once been his world, now untouchable.
Then, quietly, he said, “You’re right. It’s late.”
He turned and opened the door, the candlelight catching the lines of his face—regret carved deep in every one.
When the door closed behind him, Isla felt the weight of silence return. Her pulse was still wild, her lips tingling with the ghost of his kiss.
She sank to the floor, breath shaky. The candle flickered, and her gaze wandered across the room.
Something about this place felt… familiar.
She stood, scanning the walls. Then it struck her—this was the same room she had seen months ago, during the masquerade ball. The one with the ornate carvings, the hidden alcove.
Her eyes darted to the door. The faint glint of light caught her attention—something small, metallic wedged in a crack along the frame.
She bent down, prying it free.
An emerald ring.
The air rushed from her lungs.
It had been here all along. The same ring she had seen in her dream, the same ring that bound two souls across time.
Her hands shook as she held it, the gem catching the candlelight in a hundred fractured reflections.
Later that night, in her chamber, Isla sat at her desk. A blank sheet of parchment lay before her.
She dipped her quill into ink, her hand steady despite the tremor in her heart.
Lachlan,
By the time you read this, I will be gone. Not from this world perhaps, but from this time. I was not born here, nor meant to stay. I came from a world beyond yours — a place where magic is story and love is choice. I don’t know if you’ll ever understand that, but I hope one day you’ll believe it.
You once told me that time was like the tide — it pulls and retreats but always returns. Perhaps, when the tide turns again, we will meet once more. Different time. Different life.
Until then, hold this ring close. It was always meant to find you.
—Isla.
She sealed the letter with wax, pressed the ring atop it, and whispered, “Maybe one day, you’ll come find me.”
The candle flickered out, leaving only the glow of the dying fire—and the promise of another time.