Ronan's Captive: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 2) Page 10

  But instinct told her that wasn’t the case. Alice was a detailed historical researcher; she wouldn’t have had Kara go back in time with faulty information.

  When Kara wasn’t buried in land deeds, she found that she’d settled into the fourteenth-century with surprising ease. She usually hated wearing dresses—her go-to outfit in her own time was jeans and a comfortable T-shirt, but now she found herself enjoying the comfortable loose tunics and gowns she wore on a daily basis. The food didn't taste as bland as Alice had described; while it wasn’t as rich, it was still flavorful, and one of her favorite meals became one the cook served often: vegetable stew thickened with bread, roasted chicken with a sweet wine imported from France.

  She also grew used to the relative peace, quiet, and beauty of the Scottish Highlands, a panacea to modern New York City’s constant hubbub. She even came to enjoy the manor, which at first seemed unnecessarily large and imposing, and spent a lot of time in the drawing room sitting by the fire on cool evening nights.

  And she did live better in this time than she had in her own. A tiny apartment in Brooklyn didn’t compare to a Scottish manor full of servants and your own personal chambermaid . . . not to mention a handsome laird.

  Despite the relative luxury of her surroundings, she had to admit that it was Ronan’s presence that helped her settle into this time most of all. But it was her growing feelings for him that caused her the most conflict.

  She missed Ronan while he worked at the castle; she’d rush to the window at the sound of his horse’s hooves approaching the manor, a ripple of joy coursing through her at the sight of him. She relished their suppers together in the dining room; as soon as the conversation shifted from Tarag and Ronan’s investigation, they discussed Kara’s job in the present day, Alice, and snippets of how life was in the future, as Ronan didn’t want to know too much. Ronan would tell her details of growing up with Eadan, the trouble they’d get themselves into, the feasts at the castle, the silly disputes he’d gotten into with fellow clan members during his younger years before he’d matured.

  She avoided acknowledging the true depths of her feelings for Ronan until one rainy afternoon. She’d been at the manor for almost a month, weeks since they’d met with Tarag, and she was making her way past the kitchens to Ronan’s study when she overheard her name on Aislin’s lips.

  “—’Tis the longest the laird has kept a mistress here,” Aislin said.

  “He’ll not marry her,” the voice replied; Kara recognized it as the voice of the cook, Greer.

  “And how do ye ken?” Aislin asked. “I like the mistress. She’s kind.”

  “I’m sure she is. But I overheard him talking with Luag. He told him he’s keeping her around because ’tis a novel experience, the experience between the thighs of a foreign lass.”

  “Ye ken ye shouldnae speak of the lady in such a manner!” Aislin snapped, sounding genuinely offended on her behalf.

  Kara hurried away, entering Ronan’s study and closing the door behind her, tears stinging her eyes. Ronan could have told Luag those things in order to maintain the façade that she was just a mistress he didn’t care much for. Or he could have meant every word, she thought bitterly.

  Even if he did mean what he’d said—what did it matter? It wasn’t like she'd stay in this time and marry him. Once they handled this business with Tarag they’d go their separate ways.

  The pain that gripped her chest at the thought was so severe for a moment Kara couldn’t breathe. She imagined living her days in the present, Ronan long dead, the memory of him soon fading into nothing but an impression. She thought of his tawny eyes, the low rumble of his laughter, the warmth of his embrace, his determination to take on the mantle of leadership in his cousin’s absence. And the realization struck her.

  She loved Ronan. It was a foreign feeling—she’d never been in love before, not even close—but if this was what all those love songs had described, she felt it in spades. That rush that went through her every time she laid eyes on him. The warmth that lingered in every part of her after they made love. The need to know his every thought, to mean more to him than just a body he desired. The yawning chasm of emptiness that filled her heart when she thought of her life without him in the future.

  Kara swallowed, and a multitude of emotions surged through her: guilt, panic, anxiety. She was here to save the lives of her ancestors, to fulfill Alice’s wish—not to fall in love. And she’d still not made any significant progress on that task, other than locating the man likely responsible for their murder. All she’d done in this time was fall in love with a man, one who didn’t even exist in her own time, one who didn’t share her feelings.

  “Are ye all right, lass?”

  Kara whirled, blinking back tears as Ronan stepped into the study, his brow furrowed with concern. He looked handsome as always; his chestnut hair dampened by the rain, his beautiful eyes trained on hers with worry.

  “I’m—fine,” she hedged, forcing a smile. I just realized I’m in love with you, fourteenth-century Highlander. No big deal.

  “I donnae think that’s true, Kara,” he said gently, crossing the room until he stood only a hair’s breadth away from her.

  “I’m—just frustrated by my lack of progress,” she said, hoping a half-truth would satisfy him. There was no way she'd confess her love for him. Ronan was a playboy, probably used to his mistresses falling in love with him; she doubted she was the first. She needed to return to her twenty-first century self, the Kara who focused only on the job. That Kara would have never allowed herself to fall in love on the job, unlike this misty-eyed, lovestruck Kara. She could push these feelings aside, bury them while she solved Alice’s mystery, and when she returned to her own time, they would dissipate. They would.

  “There’s something else that’s bothering ye,” Ronan pressed. “Yer eyes betray ye, lass.”

  He already knew her too well. Perhaps that was one of the reason she loved him—he read her better than any other man could.

  “I overheard the servants gossiping,” she said, deciding to bite the bullet. “About how you’re only keeping me around because . . . because of the experience you have in between my thighs.”

  “Ah,” Ronan said after a pause, his mouth twitching in amusement. “I remember saying that.”

  “I didn’t realize it was so funny,” Kara said stiffly.

  “Kara, I told him that tae make it seem like ye’re not important tae me,” Ronan said with slight exasperation. “’Tis the same thing I wanted Tarag tae believe. And a part of it is true.”

  Kara scowled, hurt pricking at her spine, but Ronan stepped forward to cup her face in his.

  “A part,” Ronan insisted. “Ye must ken I care for ye, lass.”

  Care. Did she really expect him to confess his love? Kara forced a smile.

  “All right,” she said. “Not that it matters.”

  “Aye?” he asked. “If it didnae matter, then why did ye seem upset?”

  “Pride,” she lied. “And it doesn’t matter because I’m only here temporarily. Soon I’ll be back in my own time.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, and his amusement faded.

  “Ye’re right,” he said, but he kept her face cupped in his hands. “I ken ye’re only here briefly, but with all that’s been happening . . . I’ve missed ye. I will miss ye.”

  His eyes darkened with desire, and Kara’s mouth went dry. She should tell him they needed to stop making love, that they needed to focus on their mutual goal.

  “I’ve been in your bed many nights,” she said instead, lowering her gaze as heat stained her cheeks.

  “Not enough, lass,” he returned. “Not nearly enough.”

  She was powerless to stop the rush of love and desire that flowed through her as his lips crashed onto hers. He swung her up into his arms to carry her to his chamber. She may not have a future with him, but she could enjoy the time she did have.

  So she allowed herself to live in the moment, to let
her body express the words she wouldn’t say, stripping him of his kilt and tunic.

  He watched her, breathless, as she pushed him down to the bed and took him in her mouth, licking and stroking the length of him with her tongue until he came with a shudder. She swallowed his release, keeping her eyes locked on his burning ones.

  “Christ, Kara,” he groaned, rolling her beneath him and burying himself inside her with a pleasured moan.

  He began to thrust, leaning down to seize her breasts with his mouth, laving them with his tongue. From her chest to her core, desire spiraled through her.

  “Come for me, witch,” Ronan panted. “Come for me, my Kara.”

  The pleasure in Kara’s body climbed to a climax, and she obliged, her body shaking and trembling as he continued to thrust, burying his face in her neck as he cried out his own release.

  Kara wound her hands through his hair as he stilled, keeping her eyes closed, as if preventing him from seeing her love in their depths.

  I love you, Ronan.

  The next day, Kara entered Ronan’s study just after first light, determined to put her game face back on and shove her feelings for Ronan aside.

  But after reading the millionth deed, she set down the parchment and rubbed her bleary eyes, tired of not making any progress.

  When one path isn’t working, take another path. It was a personal motto she’d recited whenever she couldn’t solve a problem for a story she was working on. Her reviewing land deeds, Ronan sending his spies to follow Tarag—none of it was working. They needed to try something else before it was too late.

  She stilled as an idea seized her. It was risky and dangerous, but it was something. And it couldn’t wait. She needed to tell Ronan, now.

  She headed downstairs to find Luag to escort her to the castle. But as soon as she stepped into the entryway, the door flew open, and she stumbled back with a yelp.

  Three Highlanders entered, glaring down at her. Both Beathan and Luag darted out of the drawing room and hurried to her side, Luag shoving her behind him.

  “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, glaring at the men. “Does Ronan ken ye’re here?”

  “He doesnae need tae know,” one of the men growled, advancing toward her.

  She stumbled back as Luag took a challenging step forward. The man ignored him, keeping his dark gaze trained on Kara.

  “Ye’re going tae tell us who ye really are, lass. Without Ronan here tae protect ye.”

  Chapter 19

  Ronan gazed out the window at the bustling castle grounds. The sky was gray, the air thick with the promise of a storm. The weather was fitting; the relative peace they’d experienced over the past few weeks seemed like the calm before the storm.

  There had been no incidents, no acts of aggression toward Clan Macleay since his and Kara’s visit to Tarag. Though he’d received word from one of his spies that Tarag had wed Elspeth, the man himself had not left the grounds of his castle, nor were there any suspicious movements from Tarag’s men.

  But none of this eased Ronan’s anxiety. Each day he feared receiving word that someone had burned more of their lands—or worse, that people had been killed, just as Kara’s letter from her grandmother had spelled out.

  And then there was the matter of his witch, his Kara, who occupied every corner of his mind. Kara wasn’t like other lasses, and not just because she was from the future. There was her beauty—her luscious body that fit so perfectly to his own as he explored her in his bed. But there was also her fierce mind, her determination, and even her damned stubbornness that he admired. His heart ached at the loss it would suffer when she left this time. When she left him.

  He tried not to dwell on her eventual departure from his life. He would savor his time with Kara, as scarce as it was these days.

  “M’laird.”

  Ronan turned. Moireach stood at his doorway, his face tight with tension. Ronan stiffened, waiting for Moireach to scold him about some castle business he'd handled incorrectly in Eadan's absence.

  But no such admonishment came.

  “I thought ye'd want tae ken—McFadden and two other nobles have gone tae yer manor. They intend tae question yer . . . guest. I overheard them discussing it.”

  Fear clawed its way through Ronan’s chest. He gave Moireach a grateful nod and rushed out of the study.

  Luag is with her, he reassured himself moments later, as he raced away from the castle at a frantic pace, tightening his grip on the reins. He’ll not let them harm her.

  He raced back to the manor, urging his horse to gallop faster than he’d ever made him go, dread coiling around him at the thought of the nobles interrogating Kara without him there. Kara was smart and capable, but what if they threatened her? What if they ordered her imprisoned until Eadan returned?

  He arrived at the manor to find the door open, and as he stumbled inside he heard raised voices coming from the drawing room. One of them was Kara's.

  He darted into the dining room, his hand already flying to the hilt of his sword.

  Kara stood opposite McFadden, Uallas and Neasan, glaring at them while Beathan and Luag stood protectively before her. They all turned as he entered, and Kara’s face filled with stark relief.

  "What are ye doing in my manor?" Ronan growled, moving to stand next to Luag, shielding Kara from their gazes. "If ye're threatening a lass that belongs tae me—”

  “If yer lass is a spy, we've every right tae question her," McFadden returned. "Ye've let her bewitch ye. We've another clan after us, and we need tae—”

  “My cousin left me in charge while he's away; ye take yer orders from me. And I ordered ye tae leave her be,” Ronan snapped.

  “It’s all right.”

  He turned with surprise at Kara’s calm voice. She hadn't attempted a Scottish accent this time, and the nobles' eyes widened. She gave Ronan a shaky but reassuring smile, stepping past him and Luag.

  "Kara—” Ronan began.

  “There's no need to fight among ourselves when there's an actual enemy out there, and I don't want to be the cause. I can assuage their fears by answering their questions.”

  Moments later, Ronan stood at Kara's side as she sat at the dining room table opposite the suspicious clan nobles. He’d dismissed Beathan and Luag; it was just the five of them now.

  She’d told them the same story she’d initially told him; she was here on her grandmother’s behest seeking out her family. She did add that she was a relative of Fiona’s, which Ronan thought was wise, given the similarity of their accents.

  Ronan told them he’d offered her his manor to stay while she searched. His eyes flashed with challenge when McFadden tried to inquire about the details of their personal relationship.

  “’Tis not yer business. We’ve told ye what ye want tae ken,” Ronan snapped.

  "How do we ken ye speak the truth?" Uallas asked, eyes narrowed, turning his focus to Kara. "That ye're not trying to seduce the laird tae help Clan Sudrach?”

  "You don't," Kara said calmly. “I want to help because my family lives somewhere on your clan’s lands. You’re just going to have to trust me. Before you barged in here, I’d just come up with a plan. A plan I think will help prove Tarag is the one working against your clan.”

  “Even if we believe ye're not working against us, that doesnae mean we'll include ye in clan business," McFadden snapped.

  "I gave her permission tae help. It was her suggestion tae keep looking for allies Dughall may have had," Ronan spoke up.

  "'Tis not acceptable," Uallas growled, shaking his head. "A lass isnae fit tae give advice tae—”

  "You listen to me," Kara interrupted, leaning forward to glare at him. "Your clan is in danger. At this point, you should take good advice from wherever you can get it."

  "And what is this advice?" Neasan demanded.

  "That we go directly to the enemy to find out what they're planning. They know your men are watching them. That’s why they're not doing anything incriminating,” Kara said
.

  “We tried that,” Ronan interjected with a frown.

  “Not Tarag himself,” Kara said. “One of his men. One of his susceptible men. And you shouldn’t use one of your spies to uncover this information. You use a woman. Me. I can find out information in ways that only a woman can."

  The room fell silent as her meaning settled in. The nobles looked both scandalized and intrigued while a dark wave of disbelief and jealousy swept over Ronan.

  “No,” he barked. “This meeting’s over.”

  “Ronan—” Kara began.

  “This meeting is over,” he repeated. "Ye've questioned her, and I assume her answers have satisfied ye. Now go."

  "The lass may be on tae something," Uallas hedged. "If she—”

  "Get out of my manor. That's an order," Ronan hissed.

  The nobles obliged with great reluctance, casting Kara looks of growing admiration before they left.

  “Are ye mad?” he asked, turning to Kara when they were alone. “Tae even suggest—do ye ken how dangerous that would be? What they’d do tae ye if ye were found out? Tarag kens how important ye are tae me. I willnae allow it."

  “I wouldn’t actually sleep with one of his men," Kara said with a look of revulsion. Relief filled him, his jealousy abating. "I’ve done other things to get men to open up when working on a story in my own time. Flirt. Seduce in other ways."

  “Flirt? Seduce?” Ronan roared, his jealousy returning. “Ye didnae tell me this profession of yers entailed behaving like a harlot.”

  “Flirting is harmless,” Kara said through gritted teeth. “And when the stakes are this high—when lives are at stake—”

  “No,” Ronan barked, advancing toward her. “I’ll not allow ye tae give yer body tae another.”