Niall's Bride: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 4) Read online

  "I know," Niall repeated, his expression dark.

  "Ye have tae leave," she whispered, gripping the front of his tunic with wild eyes. She loved him desperately and wanted him to stay with her more than anything—but not at the cost of his life. "Now."

  "Caitria—"

  “Please—” she said, her voice breaking. Ferghas was a cold-blooded murderer and he seemed determined to kill Niall. "He's already tried tae kill ye—twice. He willnae stop. Ye have tae leave!”

  "I told you—I’m not leaving until Ferghas is imprisoned or executed for what he’s done. I won’t allow him to harm you,” he growled.

  "I couldnae bear it if anything happened tae ye,” Caitria pleaded. “If ye willnae leave, then we have tae go tae my father with what evidence we have."

  “It still may not be enough—”

  “We doonae have a choice!” she cried. “We cannae allow Ferghas tae harm anyone else.”

  He studied her, his face a tumult of emotions, before he gave her a sharp nod.

  “Tomorrow we’ll talk to him, after the commotion from tonight has died down,” he said, and her shoulders sank with relief.

  He reached out to pull her close, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Get some rest.”

  But she didn’t allow him to release her, clutching onto his arm.

  "Can—can ye stay with me tonight? I just—I doonae want tae be alone. I can tell my chambermaids I doonae need them tae prepare me for bed.”

  “Of course,” he murmured, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, infusing her with a rush of much-needed warmth.

  After she informed a passing servant to inform her maids not to enter her chamber, they slid into bed—Caitria in her underdress, Niall in just his tunic. And though they’d been naked together before, simply lying with him felt more intimate than making love.

  Caitria curled into the heat of his body, comforted by the steady rise and fall of his breaths. She didn't realize just how much she loved him until now, when he’d come so close to fatal harm. Her mother had once told her love was unselfish, and she realized that she loved him enough to let him go—even if it was centuries away from her—as long as he was alive.

  She blinked back tears at the thought of his departure, and Niall misconstrued them, pulling her even closer into the warmth of his arms.

  “It will be all right,” he murmured.

  “Tell me something,’” she said, blinking back her tears, desperately needing a distraction. “Something I doonae ken about ye.”

  Niall cocked his head to the side, thinking for a moment.

  “When I had the first dream about you . . . I tried looking for you.”

  “Looking for me? But you didnae ken my name.”

  “I knew it would be difficult, but I thought that I’d somehow be able to find out who you were. I looked through record books, old portraits and paintings. But none of the images I found came close to you. Soon . . . " he hesitated, a look of embarrassment flickering across his face.

  “What?”

  “Soon . . . I started to look forward to the dreams. Not because I wanted to see you in danger,” he said quickly, “but because I wanted to see . . . you. You'd consumed me, Caitria. Even when you were only an image in my dreams.”

  Her heart softened, but she gave him a chastising smile.

  “That wasnae about ye,” she said. “Not truly. That was about me.”

  “It was, my lovely Caitria,” he returned “You and I are entwined . . . even centuries apart. Now, sleep.”

  He kissed her gently, and she placed her head on his broad chest, allowing the steady drum of his heartbeat to draw her into the depths of sleep.

  When she awoke the next morning, he'd already left, and though she understood why, disappointment still roiled through her.

  She sat up, determined to make certain that he’d keep to his word to go to her father with what they knew about Ferghas.

  She dressed before her maids arrived and darted down the corridor to Niall's chamber. He was emerging from it just as she approached, halting at the sight of her.

  "We're going tae see my father," she said firmly, raising her chin as if daring him to challenge her.

  "I know," he said, giving her a reassuring smile. “I was just coming to fetch you.”

  Relief coursed through her, and he took her hand as they headed down the corridor.

  But her relief and determination shifted to anxiety. They didn’t have much evidence to bring to her father about Ferghas. What if he didn’t believe them—and Ferghas could twist their words? Her father loved Ferghas like a son; it wouldn’t be easy to convince him that he was a monster.

  Caitria forced herself to set aside her fear, recalling the horrible image of Muir dying last night. They had no choice—they had to act now.

  As they approached her father’s study, one of her father’s guards stopped them, his expression cold as he regarded Niall.

  "The laird wants tae see ye in the great hall."

  Caitria and Niall stiffened, exchanging an uneasy glance. They both started to follow the guard, but he gave her an apologetic look.

  “I’m sorry, my lady—yer father wishes tae see him alone."

  Her unease spiked into dread, but Caitria held firm, glowering at the guard.

  “Artair is tae be my husband,” she said. “Anything that concerns him concerns me. I’m coming with him.”

  The guard looked uncertain, but he turned and continued down the corridor without another word. Her hand squeezed Niall’s in a gesture of comfort as they walked; he had gone stiff and pale.

  When they entered the great hall, her heart plummeted in her chest. Her father, Ferghas and several other high-ranking nobles sat at the long table—including Latharn. A large bruise marred Latharn’s face, and he looked at them with undeniable panic and fear.

  Her father and the nobles trained gazes of hard suspicion on Niall.

  They ken he’s not Artair, Caitria thought, panicked. Oh God, no.

  “Caitria, leave us. We have matters we wish tae discuss with yer betrothed alone,” Drostan said tightly.

  But Caitria remained at Niall’s side. She'd never defied her father before, but she wasn't going anywhere.

  "I'm staying."

  Drostan's eyes flickered to hers with a scowl. She stood her ground, her grip tightening on Niall’s hand. The moment stretched as her father glared at her, until his expression shifted, to one of . . . sympathy.

  “Very well,” he said. “Perhaps ’tis best if ye hear this.”

  He got to his feet, training Niall with a fierce glare. He nodded at the door, and an elderly man and woman entered, giving Niall a polite smile.

  Ferghas stepped forward, his smile icy.

  “Tell us, Artair,” he said. “Who are these two people?”

  Panic coursed through Caitria’s veins. She could only guess that they were long-time servants of Artair’s—servants Niall didn't know.

  “What are their names?” Ferghas repeated, raising his voice.

  A long silence stretched, and Drostan’s face tightened with rage.

  "We have reason tae believe that ye're not Artair Dalaigh, but an imposter,” Drostan bit out. “Is that true?"

  Chapter 22

  He’d been waiting for this moment ever since he’d gone along with the pretense that he was Artair Dalaigh. He’d tried to prepare himself for the accusation, for what he’d say, for how he’d defend himself. But now, as he stared at Drostan’s hard eyes, all of his carefully planned excuses fell to the wayside.

  His gaze slid toward the elderly couple who looked confused at the obvious tension in the hall. It was clear to him that these were long-term loyal servants of Artair Dalaigh—people the true Artair would immediately recognize. He’d been lucky so far—no one besides Latharn who knew Artair well had come to the castle. But then again, he'd never intended to stay here long. He'd been playing with fire to allow his pretense to last this long.

  “Latharn tol
d me some interesting things about ye,” Ferghas said with a dark smile, gesturing toward a stricken-looking Latharn.

  Niall swallowed hard as he took in Latharn. Ferghas must have captured Latharn when he followed him, and from the look of his face, had beaten him to get answers out of him. Even if Latharn suspected Niall, he knew Latharn wouldn't turn him in of his own volition—especially not to Ferghas. I’m sorry, Latharn. He should have never had him follow Ferghas.

  “How ye doonae ken things ye should already ken,” Ferghas was saying. “How different ye’ve been these past few weeks. The slight differences in yer voice, yer manner. It made me wonder if ye’re truly Artair—or if ye just happen tae resemble him.”

  “What is the meaning of this?”

  Caitria released his hand and stepped forward, glaring at her father and the nobles. A rush of fierce pride filled him at her bravery—though he could see that she was shaking.

  “Laird MacGreghor asked Artair a question,” Ferghas snapped, his eyes flicking past her to Niall, emphasizing the word “Artair”. “If ye are who ye say ye are, ye should ken who these two people are.”

  “What. Are. Their. Names?” Drostan demanded between clenched teeth, glowering at Niall.

  All eyes were on him—and Niall knew he was trapped. There was no getting out of this.

  He stepped forward, turning to face Caitria, telegraphing what he was about to do with a look. Caitria wildly shook her head, a look of panic crossing her face. He forced himself to look away from her and face Drostan, the man he’d come to care for and respect.

  “I don’t know their names,” Niall said, dropping the accent he’d used as a shield. “Because it’s true—I’m not Artair. My name is Niall O’Kean.”

  The nobles let out startled cries of astonishment and dismay; Latharn and the two servants’ eyes went wide. Dark triumph darted across Ferghas’s face, while Drostan looked stricken.

  “Ye may leave,” Ferghas said to the two servants. “Thank ye for making the journey here. This imposter will be dealt with.”

  As a guard led the two shaken servants out, Niall stepped forward.

  “But I did it for a reason,” he continued, focusing only on Drostan, hoping that he could see the truth in his eyes. “It wasn’t my intention to deceive you, I swear it. When people mistook me for Artair, I simply went along with it, because I knew it would help me keep Caitria safe. I came here because I believe Caitria is in danger.”

  Drostan, who still looked stricken, stiffened at his words, his eyes straying to his daughter with panic.

  “Why are we listening tae this imposter’s lies?” Ferghas hissed. “Guards, send this man tae the dungeons and—”

  “I give the orders,” Drostan interrupted, his gaze still trained on Niall. “What do ye mean, she’s in danger?”

  “I’m a traveling merchant from the lowlands,” he said, deciding to go with his original backstory. “I—I admit to watching Caitria from afar; she’s a lovely lass. I soon noticed how Ferghas followed her, how he looked at her—and I grew suspicious. I just wanted to help her. I spoke to the servants—and based on what I learned—I came to believe that Ferghas is a dangerous man.”

  “Lies!” Ferghas cried, his face contorting with rage. “Ye ken yer deception has been discovered, and now—”

  “He’s attacked and violated the maids of your castle,” Niall interrupted, still focusing only on Drostan. “I don't know if they will come forward, but it's true. And—and I believe Ferghas killed your son during his hunting trip. He—"

  The nobles let out cries of outrage and disbelief, and Drostan’s face went ashen with shock.

  “This is an outrage!” Ferghas bellowed, his hand going to the hilt of his sword. “Laird MacGreghor, I ask yer permission tae execute this man for—"

  “Listen tae him!” Caitria pleaded, her eyes wide as she stumbled forward. “Father—Ferghas has threatened me as well. And I believe he murdered Tadhg during his hunting accident—he tried tae do the same tae Niall. And last night, he was the one who poisoned Muir, he wanted tae get tae Niall—”

  Ferghas let out a snarl of rage and stepped out from behind the long table toward Niall, his face a mask of fury, but Caitria threw her body before him.

  “Father, please!” Caitria cried. “He tells the truth!”

  “All lies!” Ferghas snarled. “He has no proof of what he tells ye, my laird. He’s admitted tae lusting after yer daughter from afar. The intruder we found on yer lands confessed that this imposter hired him—he was spying for him! And I ken that he’s taken yer daughter’s innocence—I’ve seen her come from his chamber in the dead of night. An honorable man wouldnae have done such a thing. He would’ve come straight tae ye with his suspicions. Instead, he ruined yer daughter—he brings shame and dishonor upon ye. And where is the true Artair? I’m guessing ye murdered him as well.”

  “I—I don’t know where he is,” Niall grated out, his eyes straying to Drostan. What he feared was coming to fruition—Ferghas’s words were taking root; disgust and rage infused Drostan’s expression. “But I—”

  “Because ye killed him,” Ferghas growled. “My laird, we must take action against this murderous imposter.”

  “No, Father!” Caitria cried. “Please—Niall speaks the truth!”

  The hall filled with silence as Drostan landed a cold and unforgiving stare onto Niall.

  “Is it true?” he ground out, still looking at Niall as he addressed Caitria. “Has he taken yer innocence?”

  Caitria flushed hot, but she jutted her chin with determination.

  “I gave him my innocence freely,” Caitria said. “It was one of the few times I’ve made a decision for myself.”

  Drostan let out a snarl of outrage, his eyes feral as his hand went to the hilt of his sword.

  “I’m exiling ye from my lands. If I see ye—or if ye dare return—I’ll have ye executed on the spot. Now leave before I change my mind and have my men cut ye down.”

  “Father—no!” Caitria protested, stumbling back to clutch Niall’s arm.

  “My laird, we cannae let this imposter live—” Ferghas protested.

  “My decision has been made,” Drostan interrupted, his words a ferocious growl. “Now leave before I have my guards take yer head, imposter.”

  “I’m going with him!”

  Everyone in the hall froze at Caitria’s words. Niall turned to her, his mouth dry, as Caitria stepped forward, her face full of defiance as she spoke.

  “I ken he’s not Artair—and I doonae care,” she continued. “He’s a good man, and ye’re blind tae it. The true monster is Ferghas. I love Niall and I’ll not let ye send him away. If ye do, I’ll go with him.”

  Niall stared at her, thunderstruck. She loved him. Beneath all his horror at what was happening, a small trickle of joy filled him.

  “I cannae let him stay. I grant him a kindness by not hanging him, daughter,” Drostan bit out.

  “Then I’m going with him.”

  “Ferghas,” Drostan said, his mouth tightening. “Restrain my daughter.”

  “No!” Caitria screamed, and instinctively Niall rushed forward to push her behind him as Ferghas approached.

  But all the nobles got to their feet at his action, their hands going to the hilts of their swords. Behind him, two guards entered, ready to intervene.

  Niall looked around, gritting his teeth in frustration. He was too outnumbered to take them on.

  “Leave,” Drostan hissed. “And stay away from my daughter.”

  Niall met Caitria’s beautiful green eyes, filled with tears and pain and longing. If this was the last time he’d see her, he wanted her to know the depths of his feelings for yer, something he only realized just now, but had perhaps been true the moment he’d stepped into the great hall for the betrothal feast.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  And then he turned on his heel and forced himself to leave, Caitria’s howl of pain twisting his heart.

  Niall rode aw
ay from the castle, his chest heavy with panic and grief. He knew the wise thing to do would be to make his way to Tairseach and get back to his own time. Drostan was furious and clearly trusted Ferghas; Niall had no doubt Drostan would carry out his threat if he returned.

  But he couldn’t leave the woman he loved behind with that monster. He had to figure out how to get back to her.

  He suddenly stilled when he realized that another rider was close behind, trailing him. He subtly reached for the dagger at his side. Had Ferghas followed him? Or had Drostan sent a guard to kill him, not wanting his daughter to know what he planned to do?

  The rider was getting closer; Niall knew he wouldn’t be able to outride him. He veered his horse to the side, hoping to ride into the forest to buy some time, but the movement was too abrupt, and his horse stumbled, crashing to the ground with a neigh of protest.

  Niall scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering, as the rider grew even closer. He clutched his dagger as the rider, whose entire body was cloaked, drew his horse to a stop and dismounted, approaching him.

  Niall froze as the man came into view, lowering the hood of his cloak.

  Niall’s dagger clattered to the ground, his body going ice cold, and he shook his head in dazed disbelief at the familiar features of the man’s face, so very much like his own.

  “Hello, son,” his father said, stopping before him with a weary smile. “Welcome to the fourteenth century.”

  Chapter 23

  Caitria was still struggling in Ferghas’s grip long after Niall left the great hall, fury and grief overwhelming her.

  “Let me go!” she spat to Ferghas. “You’re a murderer! A rapist! Father—listen tae me! Niall was only trying tae help! Ferghas is the one who's dangerous!”

  “The imposter has twisted the lass’s mind,” Ferghas hissed, his face tight with such fury that he looked as if he would strike her—but she knew he wouldn’t dare, not in front of her father.

  “Please Father! He was telling ye the truth!”

  For a brief moment Drostan’s face filled with conflict, before hardening once more.