Ronan's Captive_A Scottish Time Travel Romance Read online

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

  Though she was more than willing, he would not let himself bed her, not when he didn’t know what she was hiding; he didn’t fully trust her.

  He'd noted her startled reaction when he spoke of Fiona. Did she know her? Were they connected somehow? Until he had some honest answers from her, he needed to keep a clear head around the lass.

  Still, he couldn’t stop himself from fisting his cock as soon as he was alone in his chamber, imagining his mouth seizing Kara’s lovely breasts, tasting the sweetness that seeped from her center, burying himself inside of her, over and over, until they both cried out their release. Ronan gasped and shuddered as he came at very the thought, sinking back against the wall until his cock deflated.

  When he came back to himself, he drew a ragged breath. What was it about her? He’d always been able to control himself around bonnie lasses before. But with Kara, the more he was around her, the more his desire for her grew. And it was more than just desire; he craved to know what was in her thoughts. Who she truly was.

  Still aching for Kara, he fell into a fitful sleep, his dreams filled with both images of her and the ill omen of the burnt elder wood tree bark he'd received.

  He avoided crossing paths with Kara the next morning, opting instead to ride to Macleay Castle where he took his morning meal. He set himself up in Eadan’s study to take care of the day's concerns, trying not to linger on the memory of Kara’s body molded to his own, his mouth probing hers. As he worked his way through a stack of land deeds, Osgar, one of Eadan’s guards, entered the study.

  Ronan stilled, dread creeping through him. Osgar's expression was grim. Something had happened.

  "'Tis our lands just south of here," Osgar said. "Lands that belonged to Artagan Graeme, Elspeth's late husband. Someone's burned 'em."

  Hours later, Ronan stood in the center of the great hall, the eyes of every noble trained on him. He'd gone with Osgar to take in the burned-down farmlands—the singe marks on the ground indicated someone had purposefully set fire to it. As he'd gazed around at the scorched earth, he realized he could no longer keep what was happening quiet. The burned lands confirmed what he'd feared ever since receiving the ill omen.

  Clan Macleay had a new enemy.

  "Days ago, I received an ill omen left for me outside my chamber. 'Twas the burnt bark of an elder tree. I hoped there was nothing more tae it, but just today I discovered that someone has taken fire tae our lands," he said, holding the gaze of each noble.

  A tense silence filled the great hall; fear and unease crossing the faces of the nobles.

  “Has anyone else experienced anything suspicious as of late? Anything that could be deemed a threat?”

  There was a lengthy pause until a noble by the name of McFadden spoke up.

  “There was a fire in my stables days ago,” McFadden said. "I thought—hoped it was an accident."

  “And someone left me an ill omen as well,” added Uallas, a stocky noble from the northern Macleay lands.

  “When I went hunting with my men a few days ago, we thought someone trailed us. Whoever it was, he ran off before we could catch him,” said Neasan, another clan noble.

  Ronan’s dread turned to fear as he listened to several more nobles speak of odd occurrences. On their own, the incidents weren’t noteworthy. But added together, it became clear. Someone had indeed targeted Clan Macleay—again. The question was—by whom? And why?

  “I know Eadan is off with his new bride,” Moireach said, pulling Ronan from his thoughts. “But perhaps we should send a message tae him?”

  Ronan stiffened as several of the nobles nodded in agreement. They don’t think me capable as a leader.

  Ignoring the worrisome thought, he stepped forward and drew himself to his full height.

  “Eadan left me in charge in his stead; I will handle this,” he said, his voice firm as he met the eyes of each noble. “And I say we start by questioning the nobles of Clan Acheson. It may just be coincidence that all this has happened after Dughall’s defeat—or it may not.”

  To his relief, no one protested, though he saw doubt in the eyes of several nobles—most notably in Moireach's. A sliver of his own doubt filled him. Perhaps he should send for Eadan.

  His thoughts remained a storm of conflict when he returned to his manor. Was his leadership at fault for what was happening? When Dughall targeted the clan, Eadan handled the matter deftly, all the while courting and falling in love with Fiona.

  Ronan raked his hand through his hair as he stepped into his chamber. There was a part of him that never felt worthy of his role in the clan, that he was only a high-ranking noble because of Eadan and Bran. What would he be without them? A man without direction, without purpose.

  He resisted the urge to seek out Kara, telling his chambermaid he’d like to take supper alone in his chamber.

  When a knock sounded at his door, he didn’t look up, assuming it was his maid as the door swung open. A dismissal already hovered on his lips when he did look up, but it was Kara who stood there.

  “I didn’t see you in the dining room for supper,” she said, giving him a hesitant smile.

  “I—I decided tae dine alone,” he said gruffly, averting his eyes. Last night while someone set fire to Macleay lands, he'd been fisting himself as he fantasized about her. He couldn’t let her continue to distract him.

  “I bid ye good night,” he said, keeping his features stoic, his tone polite but curt.

  “Good night,” she whispered, a flash of hurt in her eyes before she closed the door, leaving him with a pang of longing in her absence. A pang he could not quell.

  Chapter 9

  Kara tried to ignore her disappointment as she took her supper alone in her chamber. She reminded herself that she wasn’t staying at a quaint bed-and-breakfast with a handsome inn owner; she was the “guest” of a medieval laird who didn’t trust her. She had hoped, naively, that after their amazing kiss he'd open up.

  Hurt pricked at her chest at the memory of Ronan’s cool response when she’d asked him to supper. She’d felt like a schoolgirl whose crush had turned her down to the school dance, not a grown woman on a mission.

  There'd been no word from Ronan's messenger about her family's presence in the other nearby villages. So, restless and frustrated, Kara had spent the day exploring the manor. It was even larger than it appeared from the outside, with oak-paneled walls and dark hardwood floors. There were six chambers on the second floor, a massive kitchen in the rear of the manor, alongside several smaller chambers she assumed were servants' quarters, and two drawing rooms, one featuring a massive fireplace. Though Ronan hadn’t explicitly forbid her from entering any room, she'd chosen to not enter any of the closed doors on the second floor.

  When she'd heard his approaching horse in the evening, she'd been eager to see him . . . until he'd summarily dismissed her.

  Remember what you’re here for, she told herself now, forcing away her lingering disappointment. Find your family and get the hell back to your own time where you belong.

  Kara finished her meal with resolve. Aislin, the petite freckled young chambermaid who’d tended to her since she arrived, entered her chamber.

  “I can help ye prepare for bed, m'lady,” Aislin said.

  Kara hesitated to respond. She knew things were different in this time but it made her uncomfortable to have a personal maid waiting hand and foot on her. She’d tried politely refusing her service in the morning, but the poor girl had looked so hurt Kara feared she’d burst into tears.

  “All right,” Kara said reluctantly, not wanting to hurt her feelings again. “Thank you.”

  A look of relief flashed across Aislin’s face, and she helped Kara disrobe with eagerness. As Aislin moved to a chest at the foot of the bed to retrieve a nightdress, curiosity seized her. If Ronan wasn’t going to open up to her, maybe his servants could tell her a little about him.

  “How lon
g have you worked here?” Kara asked.

  Aislin looked at her with surprise. Kara realized that it was probably uncommon for a “superior” to ask her a personal question. Aislin flushed as she continued to rifle through the chest.

  “Almost ten years, mistress,” Aislin said politely. Astonishment swirled through Kara's gut; she struggled to keep her face blank. Aislin couldn’t have been older than twenty or twenty-one. You’re in 1390, she reminded herself. Child labor laws were still centuries away.

  “And do you like it? I won’t tell the laird if you say no,” she said with a gentle smile.

  “Aye. Very much,” Aislin said, her smile genuine as she straightened and stepped forward to hand Kara a nightdress. “He’s kind like his cousin and his uncle. Not all lairds are as kind as he. He invited all the servants to share the Christmas feast with him and Laird Macleay at the castle this past winter. If any servant’s bairn falls ill he arranges for a healer. Last month, one of the chambermaids grew ill and couldnae work for weeks, but he still paid her wages so her family wouldnae starve.”

  Surprise and admiration filled Kara and her heart warmed. Not that she expected Ronan to be cruel to his servants, but from what Alice had told her of medieval lairds, his kindness was exceptional.

  “And when the laird has visitors,” Aislin continued, seeming eager to share word of Ronan’s kindness now, “he makes sure they treat us kindly. His cousin and uncle don’t need much looking after, but when one of the laird’s mistresses—”

  Aislin stopped abruptly, her face flaming. Kara forced a smile, ignoring the jealousy that stabbed at her insides.

  “It’s all right. I’m no mistress of the laird's, just his guest,” she forced herself to say, trying not to think of Ronan’s lips on hers the night before.

  “When he does have—ah—lady visitors,” Aislin said, looking hesitant to continue, even as Kara gestured for her to do so, “we rarely tend tae them as they stay in the laird’s bedchamber and donnae stay long, certainly not for meals with the laird, as ye have.”

  Kara's sliver of jealousy turned into a tidal wave. So Ronan was the fourteenth-century equivalent of a playboy. Of course he was. He was handsome, and from the size of this manor, wealthy.

  She recalled his mouth against hers, his kiss skilled as he drew a heated response from her. Shame spiraled through her chest. How easily she’d fallen for his charms. She was surprised he hadn’t married yet. Or had he?

  “Does—does the laird’s wife spend any time at the manor?” she asked, her mouth dry.

  “Oh, the laird isnae wed,” Aislin said with a short laugh, shaking her head. “Are—are ye alright, mistress?” she asked suddenly, her gaze sweeping over Kara’s ashen face.

  “I’m fine,” Kara said quickly, too quickly.

  To her relief, Aislin left her alone with a hasty bow, and Kara slipped into bed, trying not to wallow in her ridiculous jealousy. She'd never been the jealous type, always too wrapped up in her work to worry about what her boyfriends were up to when she wasn't around. And now she was jealous over Ronan, a man she wasn’t even in a relationship with, whom she’d only just kissed, and who, most importantly, lived centuries in the past.

  Get a grip, Kara, she told herself, before falling into a fitful sleep. You're here for Alice, nothing more.

  The next morning Aislin brought her a tray of food as soon as she woke, telling her that Ronan had left to go to the castle for the day, but wanted her to know she was again free to wander the grounds. Kara pushed aside her disappointment that he'd left; maybe it was better they didn’t spend much time together. She needed to focus on what she was here for.

  After she ate, she now felt bold enough to open those closed doors on the second floor, and poked her head into each chamber, searching for a study. She hoped to find some records to search through; records that could potentially contain information about the tenants who lived on Macleay lands.

  She located such a chamber at the far end of the hall; there was no bed inside, only a long desk and several cabinets filled with what she hoped were records. But before she could step inside, a male voice behind her made her stop in her tracks.

  “The laird’s study is off limits, mistress.”

  She turned as a Highlander right out of central casting approached—tall, burly, and red-haired, dressed in a dark green tunic and belted plaid kilt. This was not the same stocky man who’d guarded her the day before. How many guards did Ronan have on her?

  “I’m called Luag,” he said, unsmiling, as his gaze swept over her. “I’ll be yer guard while ye’re here. We’ll get along fine, lass, as long as ye donnae wander where ye donnae belong,” he added, his gaze shifting meaningfully to the study.

  She glared and moved past him. She couldn’t bear to return to her stifling chamber, so she made her way to the drawing room, where a young maid practically tripped over herself to start the fire and bring her something to drink, even though Kara insisted she didn't need anything.

  But she did appreciate the warmth of the fire after the maid and a male servant started it, a cup of mulled wine in her hands as she sat on a comfortable plush chair, turning to gaze out the window at the manor grounds. The world outside the manor seemed so peaceful. But this wouldn’t be the case for long. A portion of Alice’s letter entered her mind.

  In the spring of 1390, records indicate a fire occurred in the middle of the night during a clan conflict in the Scottish Highlands.

  A clan conflict. If she could find out if there was a conflict between Clan Macleay and another clan from Ronan, she’d be a step closer to preventing what would happen next. And she knew of an easy way to get Ronan to tell her what she needed to know—even if he didn’t fully trust her.

  Good old-fashioned flirting.

  Ronan was attracted to her—their kiss proved it. And now that she knew he was a ladies’ man . . . she could use the knowledge to her benefit.

  “Aislin,” she said, when the young maid entered her chamber later that day with her midday meal. “Can you bring me the finest gown you have here? I want to wear it to supper with the laird tonight.”

  She smiled at Aislin, trying not to think too much about which of Ronan’s former mistresses such a gown belonged to.

  Aislin looked both intrigued and delighted by her request and left to return only moments later with a deep blue gown with a daringly low-cut bodice.

  “Thank you,” Kara said, eyeing it. It would serve her purpose well. “This will do.”

  By the time evening fell, Kara was dressed and ready. Hearing the clatter of horse hooves in the courtyard, she hurried over to her window, looking out.

  Ronan dismounted from his horse, his chestnut waves sexily tousled in the damp evening air. The man seemed to grow more handsome by the day. Kara’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him and she swallowed. You’re supposed to seduce him, she admonished herself. Not the other way around.

  She turned to step out of her chamber, taking a breath. It was time for Operation Seduce Ronan.

  Chapter 10

  “My laird,” Kara said, her tone demure as she stepped into the entryway to meet Ronan.

  Ronan halted mid-stride, taking her in, and there was no mistaking the desire in his eyes as his gaze swept over her.

  “I was hoping we could share supper,” she continued.

  “I—I have matters tae tend,” he muttered, starting to step around her, but she blocked his path.

  “Please, Ronan,” she said, making sure to keep her voice sultry as she reached out to touch his arm. An unexpected rush of warmth coiled through her at the feel of his muscled arm beneath her fingers. “I am your guest, after all.”

  Ronan hesitated, but finally gave her a curt nod. Relief swept over her. So far, so good.

  As they settled at the dining room table, Ronan’s eyes trailed from her hair to the swell of her bodice. She tried to act unaffected by his appraisal, but his gaze left a trail of heat down her body.

  “Has yer da
y been well?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I was disappointed I couldn’t go into your study. I was hoping to find information about—"

  “What’s in my study isnae yer concern, lass,” he interrupted. “I still donnae trust ye.”

  His words hurt more than they should. She made herself smile, taking a sip of ale.

  “Well. I hope to one day earn your trust.”

  “All ye have tae tell me is what yer hiding, lass.”

  “I’ve told you everything.”

  “Yer not as good of a liar as ye think ye are,” he said, leaning back in his chair to appraise her.

  Kara swallowed. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped. He was far more perceptive than she’d given him credit for.

  Ronan turned his focus to his meal, eating in silence.

  “You’ve seemed stressed,” she said delicately, hoping she could get him to talk. “For the past day or so. I imagine being the temporary chieftain isn’t easy.”

  “No,” he agreed. “'Tis not.”

  “Maybe I can help."

  He gave her a look of disbelief paired with mild suspicion.

  “How, lass?”

  “I—" she hesitated. She couldn’t tell him she used to be an investigative reporter; no such thing existed in this time, and certainly no such job for a woman. “I—I’m good at finding things.”

  “Finding things?” he echoed, his eyebrows going comically high.

  “When something—or someone—went missing in the village where I’m from, the village leaders let me join in the search, even though I’m a woman. It’s just something I’m good at. So . . . if there’s something you’re trying to figure out, I might be able to help you.”

  Ronan studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

  He abruptly got to his feet, approaching her. Surprise coursed through her as he reached down, gently taking her arm and pulling her to her feet.