Ronan's Captive Page 4

  He needed to question Clan Acheson members and members of Clan Macleay who’d sympathized with their cause, but received a pardon from Eadan. And he knew just where to start.

  He had Beathan put a guard on Kara’s door, ignoring the stab of guilt that pierced him for doing so. But the lass could have her freedom when she told him the truth. He took a horse and rode east to Elspeth’s home. Given her closeness to Dughall’s daughter and other members of Clan Acheson, if there was a renewed plot against Clan Macleay, he hoped Elspeth's attraction to him would make her tell him of it.

  Elspeth looked up with surprise and delight when he trailed her servant into her drawing room, where she was working on a piece of embroidery. She dismissed the servant with a wave, and he noted with irritation that she jutted out her bosom as she got to her feet and approached him. He may have found her bonnie in the past, but compared to the mysterious foreign lass imprisoned in his manor, she might as well have been an old unattractive man.

  He gave her a polite but guarded smile, not wanting to encourage her attentions. He needed to make it clear why he was here.

  “Ronan,” she said, stopping only inches away him. "I'm so glad ye've come."

  Ronan nodded, taking a small step back from her. It was subtle, but sent the message he wanted to get across—he was here for official reasons only. Disappointment flared in her eyes but she maintained her smile.

  “I need tae ask ye about Clan Acheson," he said. "In yer talks with Magaidh, or any of the clan members, did they mention any allies? Anyone Dughall was working with?"

  The disappointment in her eyes shifted to something dark and unreadable. She turned away, making her way back to her chair.

  “No. I've already told Eadan's men when they questioned me—I didnae ken what they were planning. But no one believes me; ’tis why I’m a prisoner in my own manor.”

  “Yer not a prisoner,” Ronan said, though her words weren’t far from the truth. But she needed to earn the clan’s trust after her entanglement with Dughall and his clan.

  She wasn't looking at him now, her hands folded in her lap, her mouth set in a firm line.

  “Elspeth, I’m just asking if ye knew of any allies Dughall may have had. Anyone outside Clan Acheson and Clan Macleay who may have wanted tae do us harm.”

  "They didnae include me in such talks," Elspeth said, her voice clipped. "I wouldnae ken if they had."

  She still wasn’t looking at him; instinct told him she was hiding something. Anger seared his chest; he was growing weary of lasses not telling him the truth.

  "Elspeth, if ye know anything, it would be best tae tell me. Ye’re right, there are some in the clan who think ye should've been punished, who think ye ken more than ye let on. If ye're honest with me, that can only help ye."

  "I am being truthful," she said, her eyes flashing as she shot to her feet. “I’d do anything tae prove my loyalty tae Clan Macleay.”

  She again approached him, her smile sly and seductive, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. Unlike the rush of heat that flowed through him when he touched Kara, Elspeth's touch left him cold.

  “I’m disappointed that ye’ve only come tae discuss clan business," she said, her voice dropping to a purr. "I was hoping yer visit would be of a more . . . personal nature.”

  She smiled and stepped even closer, so that her breasts nearly touched his chest, leaving no question of what she was offering.

  Though he felt nothing at her proximity, a devious thought entered his mind. ’Tis been some time since ye've bedded a lass. Bedding Elspeth will help keep ye away from Kara. And perhaps Elspeth would tell him what she was hiding if he bedded her.

  But he forced away the thought. He'd not fiddle with her emotions that way—and Elspeth did nothing to stir his loins. Once again, an image of Kara appeared in his mind’s eye, her face flushed, her lips parted as her eyes met his, and a rush of desire coursed through him. How could the mere thought of Kara fill him with such fire when the presence of another lass, one who desired him, leave him so cold?

  Elspeth smiled triumphantly at the desire in his eyes, misreading it as desire for her. She stood on her tiptoes to press her lips to his, but Ronan stepped back.

  “If ye recall anything," he said, “ye ken where tae find me.”

  This time, the disappointment in her eyes turned to hurt. But he’d not bed the lass and make her believe he harbored feelings he did not have.

  “Aye,” she said shortly, turning away from him, her voice turning cold. “I will.”

  Ronan headed to the castle. He decided not to tell the other clan nobles about the ill omen he’d received; he wanted to capture the perpetrator on his own first and he didn’t want to cause undue alarm. Nor would he tell them of Kara's appearance; they'd want to question her, and a surge of protectiveness filled him at the thought. If he thought Kara was suspicious, he could only guess what the nobles would think of her, especially in light of the recent conflict with Dughall.

  At the castle, he tended to the matters of the day—payments to the castle workers, deed signings, inquiries and concerns from tenants on Macleay lands. The entire time, his thoughts kept drifting to the foreign lass back at his manor.

  For the first time in a while, he looked forward to returning to Macleay Manor.

  When he returned to the manor that evening, Beathan approached as soon as he stepped into the entryway.

  “I sent the messenger tae the village as ye asked,” Beathan said. “But no one he asked had heard of or noticed a married couple by the names of Suibhne and Orla.”

  Disappointed on Kara's behalf, he gave Beathan a nod of thanks. He headed to Kara’s chamber, dismissing the guard who waited outside and entered.

  Kara had changed into another gown the chambermaid had brought her, this one a shade of green that brought out the color of her eyes. She stood by the window, looking out at the darkened grounds that surrounded the manor, her expression turbulent.

  She turned when he entered, her face tightening with defiance. He wanted to smile; he admired her spirit, and just the sight of her sent a spiral of heat careening through him.

  "My messenger found no evidence of yer family in the village,” he said.

  Kara’s shoulders sank, disappointment filling her eyes.

  "I see," she murmured. "Thanks for checking."

  Ronan studied her, hesitant. He didn't want to say the next words, but he wanted to be fair to the lass.

  “Do ye need coin tae continue on yer journey?”

  "You're going to let me go?" she asked, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I thought you didn't trust me."

  "I donnae," he returned coolly. "But as long as ye're not on Macleay lands, ye're not my concern."

  "And if I do remain on your lands? I need to stay in this area until I find them."

  He smiled, a ripple of pleasure flowing through him. Good.

  "Then I insist,” he said, taking great effort to keep his voice firm, “that ye stay.”

  Her mouth tightened and she looked away.

  “Then I suppose I have no choice,” she muttered.

  “Ye’ll be my guest—or my captive. The choice is up to ye, lass,” Ronan said gently. “Supper will be served shortly. A servant will come fetch ye.”

  “I suppose I have to eat with you as well?”

  “Aye,” he said, ignoring the stab of hurt that pierced him at her question, his tone turning cold.

  If she wanted to treat him as her captor, so be it.

  Chapter 7

  Kara tried to concentrate on the meal in front of her, but it was difficult with Ronan's intense gaze on her face.

  Earlier in the day, when she realized he'd put a guard on her door, fury had coursed through her. Once her anger subsided, she'd spent the day ruminating, from recalling every detail she could about Alice's letter, to considering how to flee the manor to get back to her own time, and finally resolving once again to stay. She couldn't have innocent deaths on her conscience. She'd just ha
ve to work harder to get Ronan to trust her.

  She looked up at Ronan and forced a polite smile. Their meal comprised of smoked herring, roasted carrots sweetened with honey, and bread. To her relief, spoons existed in this time, though she noticed that Ronan used his fingers and a knife to eat, something she tried her best to mimic.

  Kara had wondered what a medieval meal would taste like; she knew from Alice that only the wealthy ate well in this time. This appeared to be true, the herring was as tasty as a dish in a pricey New York restaurant.

  “Thank you for the meal," she said, deciding it was better to soften him up before bringing up the guard on her door. "Very delicious."

  "My cook is one of the best in the Highlands," Ronan replied, but his expression remained guarded.

  "I can tell," she said, taking a swallow of her ale, which was far more bitter than she'd anticipated, but she kept the smile pinned on her face. "So . . . am I to have a guard outside my chamber the entire time I’m here?”

  “Ye can wander the manor and the grounds. But I’ll continue tae have someone watching ye.”

  Kara's smile vanished. She glowered at him, gritting her teeth. She reminded herself that it would do no good to make an enemy of him. She needed Ronan on her side if she wanted to find her ancestors. He'd already helped her by having his messenger inquire about her family’s whereabouts in the village. If she got on his good side, maybe he’d continue to help her.

  So she made herself give him an understanding nod and forced another smile. Surprise flared in his eyes; he'd clearly expected a fight. He returned her smile; desire rippled through her at the sight. His smile made him even more beautiful.

  “I understand,” she said. “You want to protect your lands, your clan. I’m a foreigner; it makes sense for you to be on your guard. But I’m not here for any other reason than to find my family.”

  “That I believe,” Ronan said, setting down his cup and steepling his fingers beneath his chin.

  “Well. It’s good you believe me about that,” Kara said, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. “This is a lovely manor,” she continued, opting to change the subject.

  Make the subject comfortable by establishing a rapport. This was something she’d done during her time as an investigative reporter. Hopefully her technique would work on a fourteenth-century Highlander.

  “This home has been in the Macleay clan for generations, along with the castle. I was raised by my uncle; he gave me this manor by inheritance,” he replied, leaning back in his chair as he took a long sip of his ale.

  She wanted to ask him what happened to his parents but didn’t want to push too much. She decided to change tactics, offering more information about herself instead. The more truthful information she gave him, the more he would trust her. Or at least she hoped.

  “I lost my parents when I was young,” she said. “My grandmother raised me. She was more like my mother and my father.”

  “And that’s why finding this family is so important to ye?”

  “Yes,” she replied, her voice wavering.

  “Who do ye live with . . . in England?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. “Ye donnae have a male guardian who’ll miss ye? A husband?”

  Kara scrambled to think. A woman living alone in 1390, unless a widow, was a rarity.

  “My grandmother only recently died, I intend to move in with my uncle once her affairs are settled,” she said, hoping she sounded truthful. “He knows I’ve traveled to Scotland and he gave me his permission to come. He’ll not expect me back for some time.”

  Ronan studied her for a long moment, his face blank. She couldn’t tell if he believed her story or not.

  “I wonder about ye, lass,” he said finally. “I believe what ye say about yer grandmother and finding this family—there’s nothing but truth in yer eyes. But there’s much ye say that’s false; I can also tell by yer eyes. Ye say yer English, yet yer accent . . .” He trailed off, his eyes boring into hers. “My cousin just wed a lass with an accent akin tae yers."

  Kara stilled, her heart thundering in her chest. He didn’t know the accent he referred to was an American accent. And his cousin had married someone with such an accent.

  Could it be? Was there another time traveler here? Or was it a coincidence, and this woman he spoke of just happened to have an odd foreign accent he didn’t recognize?

  “It is a rare accent,” she hedged, wondering how to get more information about this woman without being too obvious. “Where’s your cousin’s wife from? Perhaps we’re from the same village.”

  “At first she told us she was from a small English village. Now. . . I’m not sure where she’s from," he continued, watching her with razor-like focus. "My cousin refuses tae tell me. But she claims her accent is odd because she traveled a lot as a wee lassie."

  Kara tried to maintain her calm, clenching her palms in her lap. A woman in this time with an American accent and a vague backstory? Sounded like a time traveler to her.

  She tried not to let her excitement show, reaching out to lift her cup to her lips and taking another sip of ale.

  “I also traveled a great deal when I was young, but I’m from the southern coast of England,” she lied. One area of medieval history Alice had never been great at was the linguistics of the time, so Kara was on her own here. “Is—is your cousin’s wife nearby? At the castle, perhaps? I’d love to meet her. See if we traveled to the same places as children.”

  “Fiona and my cousin are enjoying private time together after the wedding," Ronan said, and disappointment filled her.

  "Oh. Their honeymoon."

  "Honeymoon?" Ronan asked with a frown. "What are ye on about, lass?"

  "Never mind," Kara said, mentally kicking herself. The modern honeymoon didn’t exist in this time. She'd have to be careful about what terms she used.

  “They’ll not be back for some time," Ronan continued after a pause, though suspicion had returned to his expression. "Eadan’s left me in charge of the clan and the castle.”

  “Why aren't you staying there while he's away?” she asked.

  “My uncle’s retired to his own home; I donnae like spending time at the castle when neither of them are there. The steward tends tae it while me and Eadan are away. Besides,” he added, his eyes twinkling with mischief, “I’ve my own manor tae attend. I need tae protect it from stray lassies wandering the grounds.”

  Kara couldn’t help but smile. She set down her cup, feeling comfortable enough to probe more. And not just to establish trust. She wanted to know more about Ronan.

  “Are Eadan and your uncle your only surviving family?”

  “Aye. My father died of plague, my mother died when she birthed me. I was broken after my father’s death. If it wasnae for Eadan and Bran. . .”

  His voice trailed off, sadness filling his eyes, and Kara’s heart tightened with sympathy. Centuries may have separated her from Ronan, but they had this in common. Though she’d been young when her mother's death left her orphaned, her life wouldn’t have been the same had it not been for Alice’s love and guidance.

  At the thought of Alice, a renewed determination surged through her. She would solve this mystery for Alice and find her ancestors.

  “Are there other villages nearby? Villages where my family may have settled?” she asked.

  “There's Mairloch tae the east and Limarty just north of here,” Ronan said. “I'll send my messenger tae those villages if ye’d like.”

  “Yes, I’d like that,” she said, hope swelling in her chest.

  During the remainder of the meal, he opened up to her more, answering questions about Eadan and his uncle Bran. He told her how Eadan was more like a brother to him, that he'd lay down his life for him, and Eadan would do the same for him. And he told her, though he didn't give her too many details, about a recent illness Bran suffered from, and his fear that he would lose the only father he'd ever known.

  "Do ye have any more family?" he asked. "Besides yer grandmother?
"

  "No," Kara whispered, realizing just how alone she was in her own time. She'd never felt lonely when Alice was alive; her grandmother's love had been more than enough. She lowered her gaze, a wave of sorrow sweeping over her at the thought.

  He didn't press her for any more information, but his probing gaze remained on her for the rest of the meal. After they finished eating, Ronan walked her to her chamber.

  “I hope ye find yer family while ye’re here,” he said, his tone sincere. “And I meant what I said—ye’re a guest here, Kara. But I do need tae take precaution.”

  "I understand."

  They both fell silent as his golden eyes held hers. Kara’s gaze fell to his mouth, and she wondered what it would feel like pressed against her own mouth. Her throat, her breasts . . .

  Desire coiled through every part of her body at the thought, keeping her rooted to the spot. Ronan didn’t break eye contact, and it was as the world around her stilled as Ronan leaned forward, his mouth claiming hers in a fervent kiss.

  Chapter 8

  Ronan plundered the depths of Kara’s mouth with his tongue, reaching out to press her beautiful body close to his. The softness of her lips, her curves pressed against him, and her sweet taste consumed his senses.

  She reached up to wind her hands through his hair, pressing her body even closer to his, and her hardened nipples pressed against his tunic. She tasted sweet, like cinnamon, and his erection strained painfully against his kilt. He wanted nothing more than to swing the lass up into his arms, carry her into her chamber and bury himself inside her.

  But he forced himself to release her, leaving them both breathless as they gazed at each other. Her lips were parted, her chest heaving, her green eyes infused with lust; he made himself take a step back from her, though he desperately wanted to claim her mouth once more.

  “I—I bid ye good night,” he rasped, forcing himself to turn and walk away.