Ciaran's Bond: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 3) Page 11

  "Do you know him?" Isabelle asked, holding his gaze.

  "Aye," he said grimly. "I do. He provided false testimony that helped convict me of my brother’s murder.”

  “Then this is proof,” Isabelle said, her eyes widening. “Proof that you can use.”

  “I’d need some record of the deed which may prove difficult. But aye,” he said, getting to his feet. “If I can get it—and get it to the other nobles of my clan—it would help me.”

  Moments later, he and Isabelle went downstairs to greet the men who'd rescued him. Some he recognized from his clan; low-born men who tilled the fields of Aitharne lands; they'd remained loyal to him as he'd always been fair with the rents he collected. Others were Gabhran's men; they'd come to his aid on Gabhran's word alone.

  He thanked them all before pulling Gabhran and Lachaid aside to privately express his gratitude. Relief filled Ciaran when Gabhran told him he’d sent Donella and their daughter to relatives who lived in Edinburgh; they’d be safe there while he was away.

  After he told them what he'd learned about Walrick, they both went pale.

  "That scheming bastard," Gabhran hissed. “Smiling tae yer face, pretending tae be yer friend, all the while plotting against ye.”

  "It fills me with rage what he did, but we can use this,” Ciaran said. "I cannae get tae the other nobles my brother paid off in the castle. But I can get tae Walrick. I'll offer him more lands when I regain my title if he tells the nobles of my clan what Tavish did."

  “Admitting to his own guilt?” Isabelle interjected with a frown. “Why would he do that?”

  “The lass is right,” Gabhran said. “He’s proven he cannae be trusted. How do ye ken he'll not just turn ye in?"

  "Because I can offer him more lands than my brother can, and that's all he cares about. 'Tis the best chance I have of clearing my name," Ciaran said.

  “Even if this does work—how do we get tae him?" Lachaid asked.

  "I used tae hunt with him. He goes hunting at midday with only his two sons. We can surround him when he's in a remote area and bring him here. Once here, I'll convince him tae agree."

  A long silence fell. Isabelle, Gabhran, and Lachaid all looked uncertain. He knew his plan was risky, but he didn’t have an array of choices.

  “I suppose ’tis the best way of clearing yer name,” Lachaid finally said, shaking his head. “When do ye want tae ride?"

  “Tomorrow. We can follow him from his manor right when he leaves," Ciaran said.

  Gabhran and Lachaid left to inform the other men of their plan. Isabelle moved close to his side, taking his hand in hers, her face tight with worry.

  "What's wrong, lass?"

  “I’m worried that your plan will backfire."

  "Backfire?" he asked, his brows knitting together in a confused frown at the strange term.

  "Not go according to plan," Isabelle amended. "I just wish there was some way of knowing he won't turn you in or betray you.”

  "'Tis a risk I must take. I want Eoin avenged and my life back," he said, placing his hand on the side of her face.

  Then I'll have a life tae offer ye, he added silently. Then perhaps I can convince ye tae stay in a time ye doonae belong, even if 'tis selfish tae ask, with the man who will always love ye.

  Chapter 21

  Isabelle paced restlessly in her guest chamber. Ciaran and most of the men had left after first light to confront Walrick. She’d wanted to come along, but Ciaran had summarily refused. Unlike the castle rescue, of which she’d been a vital part, he and the others insisted she would only get in the way.

  "And I'd just want tae protect ye, lass, when I need tae focus," Ciaran had insisted.

  So he'd left her behind with several burly Highlanders as her guards. Ciaran had given them strict instructions to return her to Tairseach should anything go awry, ignoring her protests.

  She expelled a sigh, looking around her large, dank guest chamber. She hated feeling useless. Even her search for Fiona had come to a standstill; there was nothing she could do to resume that search until she had access to another messenger. Ciaran had assured her that once he had his title returned, he'd do everything in his power to help her locate Fiona.

  Isabelle moved to the window, looking out for the millionth time. She didn’t know exactly how long it had been since they'd all left, but midday had come and gone, and she’d barely eaten the two small meals of bread and stew a guard brought to her chamber. She had no appetite; she wouldn't be able to eat a single bite until she knew Ciaran was safe.

  Isabelle stilled when she heard the rumble of horses approaching the manor. She whirled, hurrying out of the chamber to make her way downstairs. She ignored the cautioning shouts of one of the guards as she threw open the front door.

  Her chest filled with relief at the sight of Ciara riding alongside Gabhran, Lachaid and the others. A scowling red-haired man and two other men with similar features rode with them: she assumed this was Walrick and his sons.

  She stepped forward as the men dismounted. Gabhran and his men kept hold of Walrick and his two sons, marching with them into the manor.

  "What happened?" Isabelle asked, once she reached Ciaran.

  "They came with not much of a fight, but it will be difficult tae get Walrick tae work with us," Ciaran said.

  "And if he does?"

  "We're arranging tae meet with Ramsey, a noble from my clan who still holds me in high regard. If Walrick tells him what Tavish has done, Ramsey will inform the other nobles."

  "Then your name will be cleared?"

  "If all goes well," Ciaran said, but he didn't look so certain.

  He's right to be cautious, Isabelle thought, with a sliver of unease. So many things could still go wrong. Walrick could turn on him. This other noble from his clan could turn on him. Or Tavish's men could storm the manor at any moment and capture them all.

  "Doonae worry yerself with all this, lass," Ciaran said, studying her strained features. "'Tis not yer concern. If anything should happen, ye return tae where ’tis safe."

  His eyes held hers, and Isabelle understood his meaning. She bit her lip, frustration roiling through her gut. She thought she'd been clear when she told him she wasn't leaving until she helped clear his name and located Fiona. But it seemed like her words had fallen on deaf ears.

  Before she could raise any objection to his words, he raised her hand to his lips in a quick kiss before leaving to deal with Walrick.

  She trailed after him, only to nearly collide with Lachaid. She apologized and started to move past him, but his words stopped her.

  "May I ask ye something, lass?"

  "Of course," Isabelle said, though she stiffened with wary caution. She'd told Lachaid the same backstory she'd told everyone else, but she feared he'd ask her for more details.

  "Why are ye doing so much tae help Ciaran?"

  Isabelle flushed, swallowing hard. Now she wished he'd asked her for details about where she was from. Anything besides having to discuss her love for Ciaran.

  "Ye could have been safe in England," Lachaid continued, his dark eyes probing hers. "Instead, ye risked yer life tae come back and rescue him."

  "I owe him my life for saving me from those bandits," Isabelle said stiffly.

  Lachaid gave her a look that was half skepticism, half disbelief.

  "Ciaran hasnae had a lass in his life before ye," Lachaid said, after a long pause. "He's had mistresses, aye, and before this mess with Tavish, the nobles were pressuring him tae marry. And he would have done so for the sake of his clan."

  Isabelle's heart clenched; she had to suppress the jealousy that coursed through her at his words. Why had she not considered this before? Ciaran was a fourteenth-century Highland laird. Wouldn't he be required to marry the daughter of a fellow Scottish noble? A time-traveling high school English teacher hardly fit the bill of a suitable bride.

  "But," Lachaid continued, "he wouldnae have been happy. I've watched him around ye. I've never seen such light
in his eyes. He's suffered since Eoin's death . . . 'tis as if ye've brought him back tae life. I ken Ciaran, and he's a man of honor. He may try tae push ye away because of this business with his brother. I say . . . doonae let him."

  Lachaid gave her a kind smile before leaving her alone to ponder his words. Did he somehow sense her true feelings for Ciaran? And if he had, could that mean Ciaran suspected her feelings as well?

  That evening, she found Ciaran in her guest chamber, looking out the window.

  "I doonae think Walrick will cooperate," Ciaran said, turning to face her as she entered.

  "Isabelle . . .” He hesitated, his eyes shadowing. "I may continue tae be an outlaw for some time. How long are ye willing tae stay in this time tae help me?"

  Lachaid was right, Isabelle thought, impressed by his foresight that Ciaran would try to push her away. But then again, it was what she'd expected. Hadn't Ciaran already forced her to return to her own time?

  "As long as it takes," she said firmly. She couldn't fathom going back to the future and leaving Ciaran to an uncertain fate. During the brief time she'd been back in the present she'd felt adrift, like a sailor far away from any shore. She suspected that was how she’d always feel in a time without Ciaran.

  Ciaran stiffened for a moment before his expression softened.

  “My Isabelle," he murmured, his eyes filling with admiration. "What did I do tae deserve such a lass? Do ye ken . . . I've had fantasies of how I would've courted ye had we met under different circumstances."

  "Really?" she asked, delight rippling through her. He would have courted her, even though she wasn't the daughter of a noble? "How would you have courted me?"

  "First," he said, pulling her into his arms as he turned back to the window, pressing her back against the hard line of his chest, "I would've had ye come tae the castle for a feast. I would've had the cook make ye my favorite meal—roasted pork with a sweet wine. And then I would've taken ye on a walk around the castle grounds . . . shown ye the garden my mother planted. I would’ve then called on ye every day, taken ye on rides in the forest that lay just beyond the castle and around the surrounding moors. I would've taken ye on more long walks, not just around the castle, but around the nearby loch and the forests, and have ye tell me details of all yer favorite tales."

  "And then?" Isabelle pressed, closing her eyes as she imagined this glorious alternate timeline.

  Ciaran turned her around to face him. She opened her eyes, and heat spiraled around her at the intense look in his hazel eyes.

  "Then I would've asked for yer hand," he whispered.

  Isabelle wasn't prepared for the surge of joy that filled her at his words. She knew she would have said yes to such a proposal in a heartbeat and given up her life in the present to stay with Ciaran.

  "And only then," he whispered, pulling her even closer, his eyes dropping to her mouth. "Would I have taken ye tae my bed and worshipped yer lovely body as it is meant tae be worshipped."

  She gasped as he swung her up into his arms.

  "None of those things can happen while I'm an outlaw," he murmured. "Except for the worship. And that I intend tae do as much as possible."

  Desire seeped into every part of her, and she pressed her mouth to his as he carried her to the bed, where he thoroughly fulfilled his promise.

  Chapter 22

  Early the next morning, Ciaran stood in the small chamber where they were holding Walrick, glaring at the man he’d once considered a friend. Walrick, who sat tied up in a chair, returned his glare, his gray eyes filled with hatred.

  Ciaran expelled a breath, frustration filling him. If only he'd seen Walrick's greed, his self-serving nature, when they were friends. He'd shared many hunting trips and feasts with him, and he’d considered Walrick a jovial and kindhearted man. But he’d helped Tavish get away with Eoin’s murder—all for the sake of extra land.

  He clenched his fists at his sides to quell his anger. He allowed his thoughts to drift to the one person who calmed him: Isabelle. After making love the night before, they lay entwined in each other's arms, speaking of their hopes for the future he'd painted. He'd feared his confession of wanting to wed her would have frightened her, but he only saw delight in her eyes at his words.

  Isabelle was the only light that had emerged from the darkness of his brother’s betrayal. There was a time he would have never considered marrying a lass not allied with his clan. The marriages of lairds were often arranged among high-ranking families; it was important to keep lands and properties consolidated. Even his parents' marriage had been arranged by their families; they’d eventually come to love each other on their own. Ciaran always assumed he’d have an arranged marriage, and he never would have expected to fall in love with his bride. Not the way he’d fallen in love with his Isabelle.

  "Treacherous bastard."

  Walrick's words pulled Ciaran back to the present, and his anger returned. He'd tried to reason with Walrick. While it had been relatively easy to surround and capture Walrick while he was out on his hunt, Walrick nor his two sons had been cooperative, and he doubted Walrick would tell the visiting noble Ramsey of Tavish's treachery. But Ciaran had no other option; he had to convince Walrick to work with him.

  “Ye speak of yerself when ye use the word treacherous,” Ciaran growled. He knew that Walrick just wanted to cause him ire, but his words still had their intended effect. "Was it easy for ye tae betray me for lands? To conspire in a murder?"

  "I do what I must for my family—for my sons," Walrick returned. "I couldnae turn down what Tavish offered."

  Ciaran tensed, aching to reach for his sword and sink his blade into Walrick's chest. This man's actions had allowed Eoin's death to go unpunished. Ciaran had to force his rage to subside before continuing.

  “Ramsey, a noble from our clan who ye ken, is coming here. Ye need tae tell him about yer dealings with Tavish. All ye have tae do is tell him the truth, and then ye'll go free."

  "Or ye'll do what?" Walrick hissed, glowering at him. "We both ken ye're no murderer, Ciaran. Yer honor has always been yer downfall."

  Ciaran gritted his teeth, but Walrick was right. Gabhran and the others had wanted to threaten Walrick with the death of his sons to get him to talk, but Ciaran refused. Despite what Tavish had done, Ciaran couldn't bring himself to commit murder, even to clear his own name.

  But Walrick didn't need to know that.

  "Ye doonae ken what I'm capable of," Ciaran snapped, taking a threatening step forward. "Just tell Ramsey the truth, and ye'll go free."

  Ciaran turned to leave, but Walrick's next words stopped him cold.

  "'Tis a fine lassie ye have stowed away here," Walrick purred. "I could've sworn I heard her moans last night. Are her services just for ye, or do ye share her with yer men?"

  Ciaran couldn’t control the hot fury that struck him at Walrick’s words. He withdrew his sword and crossed the chamber in three long strides, grabbing Walrick by the collar and raising his blade.

  "Ciaran!"

  A restraining hand was placed on his arm, pulling him back. Ciaran turned, his teeth clenched and his breathing ragged. Gabhran stood directly behind him.

  "What are ye doing?" Gabhran snapped. "We need him alive."

  "I asked about the services of his whore," Walrick said recklessly, and Ciaran charged at him again. But Gabhran kept his hand firmly around Ciaran's arms, dragging him out of the chamber.

  "He's trying tae goad ye, and ye're letting him," Gabhran hissed, when they were out in the hallway.

  Ciaran closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths as his anger subsided. He knew Walrick’s intention, but it didn't change the state of his fury.

  "I'm sorry," he muttered.

  "Doonae go near him until Ramsey arrives," Gabhran said with a scowl. His expression softened as he continued, “We’re trying tae clear yer name. The men here are risking their lives tae help ye. Doonae let his goading make ye lose sight of that.”

  Guilt filled him at Gabhran
’s words, and he gave him a sharp nod.

  Still, he had to walk around the grounds that surrounded the manor to calm himself, cursing himself for his temper. He usually fared well when calming himself, but when it came to threats against his Isabelle . . . calm was difficult to maintain.

  Isabelle found him while he walked, taking his hand and walking with him in companionable silence. If she wondered about his state of agitation, she said nothing about it, allowing him to further calm down before he spoke.

  "I'm on edge about Ramsey's visit," Ciaran finally said. She didn’t need to know about Walrick’s foul words. "I ken I doonae have much choice, but if Walrick continues tae not cooperate—”

  "Don't worry about that now," Isabelle urged. "There's nothing you can do until he arrives."

  She pointedly changed the subject, asking him about his connection to the men who were here. He knew she was trying to distract him from his troubles, and it worked as he told her about his long-term friendship with Lachaid, and how he knew some of the men who'd come to his aid.

  By the time they'd finished their walk and returned to the manor, he'd fully calmed down and was ready for Ramsey's visit.

  "Ye need tae go tae yer chamber during Ramsey's visit," he told Isabelle. "Please, for yer safety. I doonae want ye near in case things go awry."

  Isabelle looked torn, but she gave him a jerky nod. He walked her to her chamber, making certain she went inside and two men stood outside her door.

  Ramsey arrived moments later, his horse riding up to the manor. Ciaran held himself stiffly as Ramsey dismounted and approached.

  Ramsey ducked his head in a respectful bow at the sight of him.

  "My laird," Ramsey said. "'Tis good tae see ye."

  Surprise filled him; he'd expected subtle hostility and distrust from his former noble.

  "I believe in yer innocence, and I'm not the only one," Ramsey said, at Ciaran's look of surprise. “All we need is proof."

  "And I hope tae give it tae ye," Ciaran said. “Come.”

  He led Ramsey into the drawing room where two of their men held Walrick between them in a firm grip.