Ronan's Captive: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 2) Page 11

  “I just told you—I wouldn’t actually sleep with anyone! I would just talk. And—and just because we make love doesn’t make me your property! We both know what I’m really here for.”

  “Ye do belong tae me,” Ronan snapped, as Kara got to her feet, glowering at him. “And aye, I do ken what ye’re here for. But while ye’re here in my time, with me inside ye every night, ye’ll not ‘flirt’ or ‘seduce’ anyone. Do ye understand?”

  He could tell she was trying to maintain her defiance, but the desire in her eyes was winning. He maneuvered her to the table, leaning forward to graze her ear with his lips, reaching down to stroke the flesh between her breasts.

  “The craving that’s spiraling in yer belly?" he whispered. His own desire coiled in his gut, and he hardened beneath his kilt. Kara’s breathing had quickened, her lips parting as she met his eyes. "That proves ye belong tae me. There will be no seducing of Tarag’s men—or any man.”

  Ronan hoped Kara would calm down and understand why he wouldn’t go along with her foolish and dangerous plan, but she barely spoke to him the next morning, only offering him her cheek when he kissed her goodbye before heading to the castle, although they’d made passionate love the night before.

  As she turned away from him, a rush of anger filled him. She wasn’t from his time and didn’t understand the dangers, damn it. Fear gnawed at his gut at the thought of what Tarag would do to her if he caught her. If her anger was the price he had to pay for her safety, so be it.

  At the castle, he presided over another meeting with his nobles. To his relief, McFadden, Uallas and Neasan seemed to no longer hold suspicions about Kara now that they’d questioned her. There was no news to report; Tarag and his men had made no movements out of the ordinary, and no one in the clan had reported any more threats.

  “Yer lass’s idea may be a sound one,” McFadden said gruffly, approaching him after the meeting was over and the other nobles had left. “We need tae take the offensive rather than waiting for Tarag tae act.”

  “No. ‘Tis too dangerous,” Ronan said, glowering at him.

  “I thought she was just a mistress ye were bedding,” McFadden said, surveying him with mild suspicion. "If she was yer wife, I wouldnae dream of suggesting—”

  “It doesnae matter that we’re not wed. She's not involved in this.”

  McFadden studied him for a long moment, his mouth tight, looking as if he were on the verge of protest. He finally turned and left the great hall.

  Ronan drew in a sharp breath, wishing there was someone he could confide in about this. Usually that person was Eadan. But . . . there was one person he could talk to.

  As evening fell over the countryside, he rode his horse to his Uncle Bran’s home. He found Bran in the drawing room, sitting by the fire.

  Bran looked flushed and healthy, and relief flowed through him at the sight. Weeks before, Eadan and Fiona had discovered that Dughall was having him poisoned. He’d recovered well.

  Bran turned as Ronan entered, delight flaring in his eyes at the sight of his nephew.

  “Ronan,” he said, starting to get to his feet, but Ronan gestured for him to remain seated as he took the chair opposite him. “What brings ye here tae visit an old man?”

  Ronan hesitated. He didn’t want to involve his elderly uncle in what was happening with the clan now that he’d retired from clan business. But he needed advice.

  So he told Bran everything that had happened since Eadan’s wedding. The only thing he left out was Kara’s status as a time traveler, though he wondered if Bran knew about Fiona.

  Bran remained silent for a long moment when Ronan had finished, his eyes thoughtful.

  “Yer not going tae like my opinion, but yer lass is right. The best way tae get information out of a man is through a bonnie lass.”

  Ronan scowled. “’Tis dangerous, I’ll not— “

  “Being a leader means making sacrifices. If ye trust ye and yer men tae protect her, there’s no reason ye shouldnae try her plan,” Bran said.

  His expression shifted and he suddenly leaned back in his chair, giving Ronan an appraising look.

  “Ah. I see what’s happening here.”

  “What?”

  “I think,” Bran said, his eyes twinkling, “that what I told ye at Eadan’s wedding has come tae pass. Ye’ve met the lass who has changed everything for ye.”

  Chapter 20

  Kara forced down a piece of roasted chicken; Ronan hadn't come home for supper and she was dining alone in her chamber. That was probably for the best; she was angry with him over his pigheaded refusal to go along with her plan. She hated the feeling of uselessness, the sense that she was twiddling her thumbs while a disaster loomed.

  Beneath her anger over his rejection of her plan was a sliver of hurt. She loved him and wanted him to have faith in her resourcefulness, to prove that she could be more than just a warm body in his bed. That she could be . . . more to him.

  She blinked back a sting of tears, turning when she heard footsteps approach the doorway. Ronan stood there, the tumult on his face plain as he stared at her. Hot awareness seized her; she hated that just the sight of him affected her so much, even when she was angry with him.

  He entered the chamber as she set down her knife, stopping when he stood opposite her.

  “I spoke to my uncle,” Ronan said, raking his hand through his hair. “He thinks yer plan is a good one. It seems yer plan is quite popular.”

  “That's because it can work," Kara said, hope filling her chest. "Ronan, please consider—”

  “We'll do it," he interrupted. "We'll carry out yer plan."

  Kara leapt to her feet with a cry of delight, flinging herself into his arms. He held her for a moment before pulling back.

  "But we must take every precaution. Ye ken how dangerous this is," he warned.

  “I know," she said, her heart hammering with anticipation. "But I think this will work, Ronan."

  He nodded, but his eyes shadowed as he reached down to grip her hands, lifting them to his lips to kiss.

  “I just—I worry, lass,” he whispered. “Ye . . . ye mean more to me than any mistress I’ve had.”

  The words should have warmed her heart; instead a shard of jealousy pierced her at the comparison to other mistresses. It was far from a confession of love.

  “And you mean a lot to me,” she said, lowering her gaze, not wanting him to see what an understatement her words were. “Now . . . let’s go get the sons of bitches who are after your clan.”

  Ronan’s eyes widened, and he chuckled with amusement.

  “Aye,” he said. “We shall.”

  The next night, Kara rode her horse alongside Luag through the darkened countryside, approaching the tiny village of Orridon, several miles north of Ronan’s manor.

  She adjusted the gown she wore, the same blue gown she’d worn when she’d attempted to seduce Ronan for information, her heart pounding in her chest.

  Think of this as just another assignment, she told herself, to slow down her racing heart. If the assignment were over six hundred years in the past and lives were at stake.

  It had been a busy day. Ronan allowed her to accompany him to the castle where they’d learned from one of his spies that Tarag’s men frequented a tavern in Orridon, on the outskirts of Clan Sudrach’s lands.

  They’d decided that Kara would go to this tavern with Luag, who would pose as her brother; travelers just passing through the Highlands. Ronan had provided her with descriptions of several men she should focus on, advising her sternly to only pick one. While Luag ordered their food and drink, she would flirt with Tarag’s man, getting as much useful information out of him as possible.

  Before they’d left the castle, Ronan gave her a dagger that now lay stashed beneath the sleeve of her gown; she was to use it in case things went south. Kara hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. She’d never used a weapon on anyone in her life, even during a couple of hairy instances in her own time.

 
Orridon loomed up ahead, a quaint medieval village filled with brick and stone buildings, thatch-roofed cottages and winding dirt roads, mostly empty at this hour.

  Kara cast a quick glance behind them. Somewhere in the distance, Ronan and his men trailed them. They would lurk outside the tavern, entering only if Luag and Kara ran into trouble.

  Luag gave her a look as their horses entered the village, as if to ask, are you ready for this? He’d regarded her with grudging respect ever since she’d suggested this plan; she wondered if her bold plan had won him over.

  She gave him a quick nod and dismounted from her horse when they reached the tavern, taking several deep, steadying breaths as he tied up their horses and they headed inside the tavern.

  As they entered, Kara took it in. Alice hadn’t told her much about medieval taverns and ale houses. This one didn’t look too different from a dive bar in the twenty-first century—small, dark, and filled with drunken men. To her surprise, there were a handful of women; two were with male companions, and one worked at the bar.

  When she and Luag entered, all eyes fell on her with several of the men giving her appreciative looks.

  Well, there goes the first part of my plan. While she wanted to attract the attention of Tarag’s men, she didn’t want to attract too much attention.

  Trying not to show her anxiety, Kara simply gave the men a flirtatious smile. She wanted to give off the air of a “wanton” woman of loose morals for this time, not a prim noblewoman, even though she wore a fine gown.

  She scanned the tavern and spotted one of the men Ronan had described. He was short and balding, with a small scar curving from the side of his mouth. Here goes nothing.

  She and Luag took the table next to the man. Luag gave her a brief but meaningful look as he stood, leaving her alone to get them drinks. The man’s eyes landed on hers, lighting up with lust, and she gave him a flirtatious smile.

  “I’m called James,” he said, his voice slurred. “Ye’re a bonnie lass.” He jerked his head toward Luag, who was purposefully taking his time ordering their drinks. “Yer husband?”

  Kara’s smile widened. He was drunk—as they’d hoped. It would be easier to coax and manipulate him. And he could hopefully overlook her terrible Scottish accent.

  “I’m Caren,” she said. “And no, he’s not my husband. My brother.”

  “Aye?” he asked, licking his lips. She ignored the revulsion that roiled through her at the act.

  “Aye,” she said with a wink. “My brother’s trying tae find us safe passage for the night. We’ve heard rumors of a clan feud in these lands.”

  She tried to make herself look both worried and demure; knitting her brows together in a frown. James straightened, practically puffing out his chest, giving him the look of an overblown peacock.

  “Well, lass,” he said. “Ye’re safe with me.”

  He glanced over to where Luag now stood conversing with the barkeep and scooted his chair closer to hers, draping his arm over the back of her chair. She bit back her disgust, forcing a smile as he leaned forward, his musky breath filling her nostrils.

  “Why? Is there no dispute? I heard rumors about fires on Macleay lands, and ill omens being sent to the nobles,” Kara said.

  “’Tis a farce,” James said, waving his hand with dismissal. “A mere distraction.”

  Kara stiffened, hoping she didn’t look too surprised.

  “A farce?” she pressed.

  The door to the tavern suddenly swung open, and Kara froze as Ronan entered the bar with two of his men. What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t known in this village, but they’d decided it was best he kept out of sight just in case someone recognized him. He didn’t look their way, but his jaw was tight as he and his men headed to the bar.

  Damn it, Ronan. I love you, but I’m going to kill you if you screw up this plan.

  James followed her gaze, but she reached out to touch his face, forcing his attention back on her.

  “Farce?” she repeated.

  “Aye. Ye have nothing tae worry about, lass,” he slurred, leaning forward to kiss her.

  She jerked back, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Ronan had turned to face them, and Luag had reached out to hold him still.

  “Perhaps—perhaps we should go somewhere private,” she said, swallowing.

  She hated the thought of being alone with this leech, but she didn’t think Ronan would keep it together if James tried to kiss her again. This was a part of her plan she’d hoped to not have to undertake. Plan B. Once she got him to talk, she was to get a drink from the bar and spike it with opium that one of Ronan’s men had given her, a small jar of which was now tucked in her bodice. The drink would put him into a deep sleep and she could then slip out of his room.

  “Aye,” James said, stumbling to his feet with an eagerness he didn't try to disguise. “I’ve a room.”

  Kara forced another smile, taking his elbow as they made their way to the stairs in the corner of the tavern. She gave Ronan a sharp look and recoiled from the barely contained fury she saw in his eyes.

  What was his problem? This was just part of the plan.

  She returned her focus to James as they climbed the stairs and made their way to a tiny room at the end of the hall.

  As soon as they entered, James pressed her against the wall, but she slipped out of his grip.

  “I cannae relax if I donnae feel safe,” she said, looking at him with what she hoped was a flirtatious smile. “What do ye mean, a farce?”

  “Our chieftain doesnae care about Clan Macleay,” James said, his eyes pinned to her cleavage. “He only wants the lands Dughall wanted—their lands in the north. While Clan Macleay scrambles tae put out fires and frets over ill omens, he’s putting men in the north tae claim their lands for Clan Sudrach. So there’s nothing tae worry about, lass. Now give me that sweet—”

  Before he could finish his sentence, the door swung open and a furious Ronan charged past her, striking James in the head with the hilt of his sword.

  Chapter 21

  Ronan glared down at the unconscious man, his sword burning in his grip, aching for him to stir. At his side, Kara’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “Ronan, what the hell was that for? I was going to—”

  “I couldnae bear ye being in this room with another man,” he growled. “Come with me. I’m going tae act like yer my wayward mistress and I’m jealous—which I’ll not have tae feign.”

  Though Ronan and his men were supposed to wait outside the tavern, his fear for Kara had grown so great he’d ignored the protests of his men to stalk into the tavern. He’d come close to charging the bastard Kara flirted with when he’d tried to kiss her, and when she’d led him upstairs Luag had to restrain Ronan from racing after them. He trusted Kara and knew she only wanted to get information, but the lass didn't know just how desirable she was. He'd barely contained himself when she turned her charms on him.

  Ronan’s fists tightened as he continued to glare down at the man; the bastard was fortunate he hadn’t done more damage.

  “Did he kiss ye again? Touch ye in any way?”

  “No,” Kara snapped, and his jealousy calmed—somewhat. “I was handling this, Ronan. He was giving me information. Useful information. You told me you trusted me to— “

  “It’s him I donnae trust,” he snapped. “Now come.”

  He marched with her out of the room and down the stairs, Kara glowering at him as they went. The other patrons watched with amusement—he wondered if scenes like this were common occurrences at the tavern.

  As they rode back to his manor, Ronan made himself steady his breathing. He’d never felt such jealousy before; while he’d agreed to Kara’s plan, he’d underestimated the force of his jealousy.

  He slid a sideways glance at her; she gripped the reins of her horse, a scowl darkening her features, looking gorgeous as sin in her blue gown. He was going to have Aislin burn it when they returned to the manor.

  He dismissed his
men as soon as they arrived at the manor, informing them he’d meet with them at the castle at first light to go over what he’d learned from Kara.

  “You owe me an apology,” Kara snapped, when they entered his chamber. “For not trusting me to handle myself back there. Once you hear what I’ve learned, you’re going to kick yourself. It’s information we can use.”

  “Kick myself?” He frowned at the strange phrase. “Why would I do that?”

  “It’s a common phrase we use in my time. It means you’re going to regret what you did,” she snapped.

  “I thought I could handle my jealousy, but I couldnae. Ye’re mine. How would ye have felt if I had to seduce a lass for information?”

  Kara’s scowl deepened, a murderous glint in her eyes.

  “So ye see how I felt,” he said, his lips twitching with amusement. “Now, I hope ye have learned something of importance, because I willnae let ye do something like that again.”

  “He said the attacks on your clan are all a farce,” Kara said.

  Ronan froze as she told him that the threats—the fires, the ill omens—were all a distraction while Tarag and his clan claimed their lands in the north.

  Ronan closed his eyes, understanding now why she was so angry with him. She'd learned information that changed everything.

  “I thank ye, Kara,” he said, reaching out to grip her hand. “And ye have my apologies. I acted like a jealous fool. I donnae ken we’d have found that out on our own—at least not until it was too late.”

  “Apology accepted,” Kara said with a conciliatory smile as she squeezed his hand. “And thank you for going through with my plan, even though I know it was hard for you.” She studied his face, worry infusing her expression. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve a plan of my own.”

  Ronan slept little that night, getting out of bed to pace the dark halls as Kara slept. He would send for Eadan at first light; his plan involved many men of their clan, and not just clan nobles. By the time his message reached Eadan, he’d already have carried out his plan. It would end with their lands safe and Ronan alive, or it would end with their lands lost and Ronan dead.