Ronan's Captive: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 2)

  Ronan's Captive

  Highlander Fate Book Two

  Stella Knight

  Copyright © 2018 by Stella Knight

  All rights reserved.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Stay in touch!

  Pronunciation Guide

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Stay in touch!

  A Message from the Author

  Ciaran’s Bond

  About the Author

  Stay in touch!

  Stay in touch and join Stella Knight’s newsletter. You'll receive exclusive deals and special offers, and be the first to know about new releases. You’ll also receive a copy of Her Highlander Fate as a welcome gift! You can unsubscribe at any time.

  Pronunciation Guide

  Ronan - ROE-nan

  Eadan - AE-dan

  Beathan - BEH-un

  Suibhne - SOOEE-nyuh

  Luag - LOO-ak

  Moireach - MOE-ruch

  Tarag - TA-ruhg

  Uallas - WAL-us

  Neasan - NES-an

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  Syracuse, New York

  Kara entered the dusty old attic and took it in. This was her grandmother Alice's domain when she was still alive, with the stacks of books and old boxes arranged just the way she preferred. Kara had avoided the attic while she was growing up, finding the endless stacks of books overwhelming.

  Taking it in now, Kara could almost see Alice huddled in the corner chair, poring intently over one of her books about medieval history, straightening to give Kara a kind smile.

  But Alice, as her grandmother insisted she call her by her first name, died two weeks ago, and as her only granddaughter and sole heir, it was up to Kara to sort through all of her belongings. She’d cleaned out Alice’s Craftsman-style home every day for the past two weeks and purposefully avoided the attic until now. It held too many memories; Alice’s presence infused every book, every box, every corner of the attic she’d spent so much time in.

  Kara expelled a breath and stepped into the attic, squatting down on her haunches to begin the arduous task of clearing it out. The distant relatives who’d come to Alice’s funeral offered their help in clearing out Alice’s home, but Kara had refused. In a way, these were her final moments with her grandmother; so much of Alice lingered in this house even after her death.

  Kara smiled as she picked up an old photo album, cringing as she flipped open to an old photo of herself. In the photo, she was fourteen, gangly and awkward, her braces visible as she smiled at the camera.

  Kara placed the photo album into the “KEEP” box. Sentimental to a fault, she suspected Alice kept every single embarrassing photo of Kara’s embarrassing adolescent years.

  Alice had stepped in to raise Kara after her mother’s death from cancer; Kara was eight at the time, an only child who'd never known her father. Alice was a young grandmother, only in her later forties when Kara came to live with her. She'd never married nor had children of her own. Alice often told Kara she believed fate brought Kara to her; she loved her as if she were her own child.

  “I miss you, Alice,” Kara whispered, blinking back a wave of tears as she picked up a framed photo that lay beneath the photo album. It was one of Alice from her younger years; her blonde hair long and flowing, free of the gray that would eventually wind through it, the green eyes Kara had inherited bright and vivid, her lips turned up in that familiar half-smile she often wore.

  Alice had been ill for some time with a heart condition, but her death still hit Kara hard, adding more misery to a decidedly crappy year. The magazine where she’d worked had laid her off from her job as an investigative reporter, a dying gig in an increasingly dying industry. Kara loved her job and was a full-fledged workaholic, throwing herself into every aspect of her job to the fault of everything else—including relationships. But Alice never criticized how much her granddaughter worked, even when such work caused her visits to decrease. Alice simply told her one Thanksgiving that there would come a day when work wouldn’t seem so important. Kara had tried not to roll her eyes, assuming Alice was referring to the magical moment when she’d meet her future husband—something Kara didn’t think would ever happen. Kara was twenty-nine and hadn't yet met anyone who piqued her interest as much as her job; her last boyfriend told her he felt as if she was cheating on him with her job, and it would always come first. Deep down, Kara suspected he was right.

  Kara fanned herself with an old book, expelling a sigh. She’d only been out of work for a month but it seemed like ages. She couldn’t wait to find another job to throw herself into, something to distract herself from her grief.

  Taking out her phone, Kara scrolled to an upbeat playlist to listen to while she continued to sort through Alice’s things. She made good progress for the next two hours, sorting stacks of books, journals and photo albums into the “KEEP” and “DO NOT KEEP” boxes until she reached the back corner of the attic.

  There, she spotted a wooden chest sealed shut with a combination lock. Tucked away beneath several other boxes, it looked as if someone had tried to hide it away. Kara studied it, baffled. She may not have spent much time in the attic, but she didn’t recognize it at all.

  Kara pulled the chest out of the corner, noticing a small note affixed to the top.

  For my granddaughter Kara Forrester’s eyes only.

  Her confusion deepened. Alice had mentioned nothing about this chest during her last few visits, and if anything valuable was inside, she hadn't included it her will.

  Kara reached down to tear the note off the chest, flipping it around. Alice had scrawled another message.

  Care Bear, if you’re reading this use the special password.

  Kara couldn’t help but smile at her grandmother’s use of her childhood nickname, one she continued to use well into Kara’s teen years. As a teen, Kara hated the nickname, but now a wave of painful nostalgia washed over her. She'd do anything to hear Alice call her “Care Bear” again.

  She looked down at the combination lock. She knew exactly what password Alice referred to. It was the date she’d come to live with Alice, a date Alice said had changed her life for the better.

  June 12th, 1996. 6121996.

  Kara turned the combination lock to the corresponding numbers of the date. As she spun the dial to the final number, it gave away and she opened the chest.

  Surprise filled her as she gazed inside the chest; only an envelope and garment bag were nestled th
ere. Her brow furrowing, Kara reached for the envelope.

  She tore it open, removing a letter that was at least ten pages long. Kara leaned back against the wall to read.

  Care Bear,

  I’ve been investigating a historical family mystery for some time; something I uncovered while researching our genealogy. In the spring of 1390, records indicate a fire occurred in the middle of the night during a clan conflict in the Scottish Highlands. A separate branch of our family died in this fire. I’ve only been able to find scant records about it, but it looks like the fire was purposeful and killed many; the perpetrators were never found. Our distant ancestors were just innocent bystanders.

  Kara lowered the letter, rubbing her eyes. While this was tragic, she didn’t know how this letter warranted Alice locking it away with a note telling her it was for her eyes only.

  She kept reading.

  You know I can’t resist a good mystery—just like you, Care Bear. I began investigating this particular region in the Scottish Highlands around the time of this fire, and there were rumors of people vanishing—and appearing out of nowhere.

  Kara stilled, but made herself keep reading.

  I think I know the reason for those disappearances. Stay with me, sweetheart, because this is going to sound crazy. I believe time travel is real. And . . . I can’t tell you how I know this, but I believe you have the ability to travel through time.

  Kara’s hands shook as she reread this part of the letter several times.

  “Oh, Alice,” Kara whispered, lowering the letter and pressing her hand to her mouth. Alice had been logical to a fault; she didn’t believe in anything without hard evidence. She hated science fiction and anything under the fantasy umbrella.

  Unease swirled through Kara’s gut. Alice’s mind had been clear to the very end; the doctors told her she was in no way cognitively impaired. It looked like the doctors were wrong.

  Kara swallowed, forcing herself to keep reading.

  I know what you’re thinking, Care Bear. That your grandmother has lost her marbles. Now, all I have as proof is hearsay and rumors. But I always trust my gut instinct and I want you to humor me. There are coordinates at the bottom of this letter; they’re in Scotland. In the garment bag there’s a dress that will suit where you’re going.

  And if I’m not crazy and you are indeed pulled back through time—I’d like you to put those investigative skills of yours to use. I want you to solve this mystery and save the lives of our distant ancestors—and the countless others who died that spring.

  Chapter 2

  1390

  Macleay Manor

  “She was here,” Beathan insisted, turning to face Ronan. “The lass. I swear it.”

  Ronan met the desperate eyes of his steward, his mouth tight. He’d left his cousin Eadan’s wedding early to return to his manor after his servant Gavin had fetched him. Beathan had sent for Ronan after seeing a strange lass wandering the grounds. A lass who supposedly vanished before his eyes.

  But they’d spent the entire evening checking every section of the manor’s expansive grounds, from the stables to the back gardens, even patches of the surrounding forest, but there was no sign of a wandering lass.

  “I know it sounds mad,” Beathan continued, at Ronan’s wary look, “but the lass vanished. I saw it. I—I think ’twas one of the stiuireadh.”

  Ronan stiffened. It seemed like he and Eadan were the only ones who didn’t believe in the stiuireadh, druid witches who supposedly made people disappear.

  Beathan kept his imploring gaze trained on him. Disappointment coursed through Ronan as he met Beathan's dark eyes. In his fiftieth year, with a kindly round face and paternal manner, Beathan was one of the most rational men he knew; it was one of the reasons he’d hired him to oversee his manor.

  “’Tis likely a lass who got lost and made her way back to the castle—or the village,” Ronan said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The castle’s not far; it may be a wedding guest who lost her way.”

  Beathan didn't look convinced, but Ronan turned to make his way back to the manor. Earlier, he had every intention of returning to the castle after searching for this mysterious lass, but the fruitless search lasted longer than he’d thought and the wedding festivities had likely ceased by now. Eadan would have long since taken his new bride, Fiona, to their marital bed.

  Eadan and Fiona were heading to one of the Macleay properties deep in the Highlands for some time alone after the wedding; they had a turbulent few weeks dealing with the scheming of a rival clan leader, Dughall of Clan Acheson. Eadan had told Ronan he wanted time alone with his new bride before stepping into his role as chieftain of Clan Macleay. While Eadan was away, he’d entrusted Ronan with leadership duties of the castle and the clan. The next day Ronan would officially take over Eadan’s leadership duties. Anxiety filled his chest at the thought.

  While Ronan held high rank in the clan and had a manor of his own, Eadan was the one who'd always shouldered much of the leadership responsibilities of the clan. Ronan was not a direct heir and didn’t have the same pressures as Eadan; he’d spent most of his life enjoying his leisure with lasses, drink, and sport. But deep down Ronan envied his cousin for his admirable leadership skills; Ronan didn’t believe he possessed the same talents.

  As Ronan entered his empty chamber, stripping out of his kilt and tunic, a wave of envy swept over him as he thought of Eadan’s newfound happiness with Fiona. This envy had first pierced him during their wedding and continued to linger, which irritated him. He’d never desired a bride of his own, relieved that the pressure was all on Eadan to produce an heir for the clan.

  He realized that he'd not bedded a lass in weeks with his attentions focused on the conflict with Clan Acheson. He’d just have to find a bonnie lass to sate his lust soon. Once he quelled his restless loins, this odd longing of his would cease.

  At first light the next morning, Ronan made his way on horseback to Macleay Castle. Tension gripped him as he arrived, entering the great hall. A dozen yeoman, tenants, and landholders had already gathered; all eyes fell on him as he made his way to the head table.

  On a daily basis, Eadan heard their grievances and issued resolutions. If he couldn’t come up with a resolution on his own, he'd hold a meeting with the other clan nobles. Ronan was glad to not have this duty, but in Eadan's absence this was now Ronan's role.

  For the rest of the morning, he listened to the concerns of each man. Thankfully, they were minor disputes over land and crop yields, and Ronan issued what he hoped were fair resolutions.

  Relief filled him as the crowd began to thin, though his eyes widened in surprise at the raven-haired woman who stepped forward, the last visitor of the day. Elspeth Graeme. The widow of a high-ranking noble of Clan Macleay, she’d also been a sympathizer and close ally of Clan Acheson. Eadan and his men hadn’t found her guilty of any wrongdoing in the days after the battle with Dughall, but she was still not without suspicion. Eadan had ordered her to remain under watch by his men, and her movements beyond clan lands were restricted.

  “Mistress Graeme,” he said politely, though his body had gone rigid with tension. “Do ye have a grievance I can assist ye with?”

  Elspeth paused before speaking, giving him a seductive look with her dark eyes. Elspeth was a frequent guest at suppers at the castle; during one such drunken supper Ronan had kissed her. He’d not gone further than that; while she was quite bonnie, she didn't stir desire in his belly and he hadn’t tried to bed her. But by the surreptitious glances she cast him whenever she was around, he knew she desired more.

  “I’ve come tae request ownership of lands in the south owed to my late husband, Artagan Graeme. My request has been under consideration for some time, since before the battle with Dughall and his men.”

  “I’ll review Eadan’s land deeds, but I may need tae wait for my cousin’s return.”

  Elspeth’s mouth tightened and she clasped her hands before her.

  “Aye,” Elspeth
murmured. “I understand, m’laird. But I hope it doesnae take much longer, I am owed those lands. I’d be grateful if ye could send me notice when the lands will be signed over. Or . . . ye could pay me a visit at Graeme House.”

  Her words were polite but heavy with meaning. She smiled, her gaze lingering on his. Ronan averted his eyes, trying to keep his expression stoic. It was foolish of him to ever kiss the lass and give her false ideas.

  “I will send word when I can,” he said. “I thank ye for coming tae the castle.”

  Elspeth’s face fell with disappointment but she gave him a respectful nod and left the hall, trailed by a female servant.

  “Yer cousin doesnae want tae grant Mistress Graham those lands; she's still not trusted."

  Ronan looked up at the new steward of Castle Macleay, Moireach, who’d sat silently at his side all morning. Now Moireach glowered at him with a look of disapproval.

  “I made no promises,” Ronan stiffly replied. “As I told her, I’ll wait for the laird’s return.”

  Moireach gave him a curt nod, getting to his feet.

  “There're deeds and rents tae be looked over in the laird’s study. Come,” Moireach said, not waiting for Ronan as he headed out of the hall.

  Ronan glared after him. Moireach had replaced Eadan’s former steward Naoghas, a kind man Ronan had known since he was a bairn. Dughall had Naoghas killed weeks ago; Ronan, Eadan and many in the clan missed him greatly. Moireach came recommended from the household of another clan noble, and while he proved to be more than competent, he was already acting like an overbearing father, one who didn’t respect Ronan’s temporary leadership.