I was relegated to watching her from across the plane, my constant fantasies keeping me awake through the overnight flight. Even the few moments to speak as we passed in the galley raised the tension higher, her few words “are you feeling as impulsive as I am?” leaving little doubt that we would not be heading home after touch down. As I exited the plane I saw her, waiting, leaning casually against the wall in the terminal at the top of the ramp. I approached her. “Wait,” she said, “Let the plane empty.” As the last passengers disappeared up the corridor, I reached for her and touched her face. Our lips met and her tongue probed deep in my mouth, circling and circling. My hands smoothed the outline that I had watched across the plane. Fingers running over the fine threads of her top, feeling the contours of her skin underneath. She pressed against me and we both could feel the desire in us mounting. We walked up the corridor, every five yards kissing and reaching under each other's. I stared back into them, trying desperately to remember that he loved me and he still wanted to marry me even though he knew I wasn’t of his time. He still loved me. Unconditional love. He was trying to get me out of here so I wasn’t going to be killed. But right that moment, with his eyes as cold as a winter sky, it was hard to remember. It was cold hate shinning in his eyes, and for the briefest of moments, I thought it was directed at me. That cold, hard hate. But something poked through, a glimpse of warmth underneath. I almost smiled, almost. Instead I dropped my head down and started crying again. ‘Why does the bitch cry?’ Cien looked back at him and shrugged. ‘Mayhap she knows she is going to die. Mayhap it is because she knows she will never be the Laird Frasers wife.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows.’ Alex continued to watch him carefully. Cien sighed and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I canna be more sorry for not believing ye than I am right now, Alex. Ye tried to save me.
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