“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 day 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.

“What are you—"

“I think,” he said, his eyes boring into hers, “that ye’re trying tae find out about the clan for yer own purposes.”

Damn it. Was she that obvious? She was losing her edge. It had been so much easier to manipulate men in her own time. Ronan and his distracting beauty was too . . . disarming.

“No,” she lied. “I—I just want to help.”

“And I think, bonnie Kara,” he murmured, as if she hadn't spoken at all, “that this lustful gown was meant tae help persuade me. But what ye donnae realize is ye’re the loveliest lass I’ve ever seen, and ye donnae need a special gown to turn my eye.”

Kara's mouth went dry as he walked her backward to the wall, still gripping her arm. Once there, he caged her in, placing both hands at the sides of her head.

He reached for her left hand, and she gasped as he placed it against the hardness that swelled beneath his kilt.

“This,” he whispered, “has nothing tae do with yer silly attempts at flirtation, lass. That’s just at the sight of ye. The scent of ye. The memory of yer kiss, yer lips on mine, yer body pressed against me. The thought of burying myself between yer thighs and having ye ’til ye scream my name.”

Kara couldn't breathe. Her plan had fallen to the wayside. Instead, Ronan's presence consumed her senses—his hot breath on her face, his towering height, his glittering eyes. His lips were only inches from hers, and she was desperate for him to seize her lips. To seize her.

His hand dipped to her gown, lifting it up, and her breath hitched in her throat as he pressed a finger into her center, his grin turning wicked at the wetness he found there. He began to slide his finger in and out, in and out, with painful—torturous—slowness.

Tendrils of pleasure coiled around her. She reached out, gripping his broad shoulders to hold herself steady.

“Ronan . . . “ she said, in a half-whisper, half-moan. He kept up his leisurely pace, and her hands tightened on his shoulders, her gaze locked with his as the tendrils of pleasure tightened around her body, and her orgasm began to build.

"Come for me, lass," he murmured, and her body began to quake, the room twisting and spinning around her as he sped up the pace of his strokes.

“Oh God . . ." she whimpered.

The force of her orgasm roiled through her as Ronan continued to stroke her; she would have collapsed if he didn’t reach out to grip her waist with one firm hand.

When she finally stilled, he removed his hand from her center to place his finger in his mouth; the act alone was enough to send another ripple of pleasure through her.

“Yer delicious, lass," he breathed. "As I imagined. But that was just a taste of what I can do tae yer body. When ye finally tell me what ye’re hiding and where ye’re truly from, then I’ll take ye, all of ye,” he whispered, leaning forward, so that his lips grazed her ear, nipping at its flesh. “But until then . . ."

He stepped back and gave her a teasing smile before leaving her alone.

Kara closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall, still out of breath. He’d flipped the switch on her and turned her plan on its side. Brilliantly. Damn him.

* * *

She went to bed that night with a painful ache between her thighs. Sleep came to her, but it was a restless one, filled with images of Ronan’s handsome face, his lips on every part of her skin, her quaking beneath him.

But when she awoke the next morning, a righteous anger replaced her lustful thoughts. Anger—and humiliation. He'd played her body, using her response to him against her. How dare he drive her mad with desire and leave her cold? She'd been as honest with him as she could given the circumstances. She had no desire to get burned at the stake for witchcraft. If Ronan wouldn't tell her what the hell was going on with Clan Macleay, she’d have to take matters into her own hands.

When Aislin came in to help her change, Kara smiled and asked, “Are there any . . . simpler gowns I can wear? The ones I’ve been wearing are lovely, I just wanted something more . . . more like what you’re wearing.”

Aislin frowned, a baffled look flashing across her face. She was probably giving the poor girl whiplash. First she asks her for a fancy gown, and now this. She could almost hear Aislin's thoughts: Why would a lady want to dress like a servant?

But Kara had a good reason. She wasn't going to sit around this manor all day. She was going to Macleay Castle where Ronan spent most of his days and find out what he was up to. But she needed to blend in—and that meant looking like a servant. The fine lady’s gowns she wore wouldn't allow her to fit in.

“Mistress, as guest of the laird, the gowns we’ve provided are—"

“It would only be for a few hours,” Kara said, hoping that her smile was light. “The laird won’t even see me in the gown.” I hope, she added silently.

Aislin looked hesitant, but gave her a reluctant nod, leaving the room. She returned with a simple brown peasant gown.

“This is perfect,” Kara said, beaming.

“I’ll leave the gown I’ve brought for ye by the bed,” Aislin muttered with a frown.

“I’ll change before supper,” Kara promised, and that seemed to appease her. Hopefully Aislin wouldn't gossip to the other servants about Kara’s odd clothing request.

Kara hurried to the window, looking out. Luag, the burly Highlander who Ronan had guarding her, stood in the courtyard, flirting with a female servant. She took a breath, relieved that he was preoccupied—for the moment.

Ronan's nosy steward, Beathan, usually came in and out of the manor throughout the day; she didn't hear his distinctive brogue ordering the servants around, so she had some time to slip out.

She placed a cloak around her and left the chamber, exiting the rear of the manor. A second guard was usually posted there, but the gods must have been smiling down on her, because he wasn’t there today.

She kept her head low as she approached the stables. The stable boy studied her with surprise as she approached, taking in her servant’s clothing. She prayed he didn’t recognize her as Ronan's guest.

“I need a horse,” she said, putting on her best approximation of a Scottish accent. “The laird wants me at the castle. I’m tae work in the castle kitchens today.”

She kept her gaze lowered, and to her relief he brought her a horse.

As she mounted the horse, she silently thanked her summers as a camp counselor for her knowledge of how to ride one. And thanks to her long days inside the manor, she’d had plenty of time to watch deliveries from the castle come and go from her window; all she had to do was to follow the next delivery rider east to the castle.

Right on cue, she spotted a servant riding away from the manor, heading due east with a sack hanging off his shoulder. She followed him.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she followed the servant down the winding dirt road east, praying that this last minute plan of hers worked. She soon spotted the castle looming in the distance ahead, and awe filled her chest as she took it in—it was a sprawling castle made of the same gray stone as Ronan's manor, with several turreted towers jutting upward.

She tightened her grip on the reins as she approached, entering the courtyard through the open gate, her head lowered, terrified that a furious Ronan would be on her at any second. When she led the horse to the stables, the stable boy who approached gave her only a cursory glance.

“Are ye here for the spices in the kitchens?” he asked. Kara’s heart soared, this was perfect.

“Aye,” she murmured, keeping her gaze trained subserviently low.

He gave her a dismissive wave and Kara kept her head bowed low as she made her way into the castle, following two other servants as they entered, carrying a heavy bucket between them. No one in the bustling courtyard paid her no mind, but anxiety clutched her chest until she entered the castle. She expelled a sigh of relief only when she was inside.

Now. How to find Ronan?

Laird’s often handled their business in rooms that were the equivalent of studies, or the great hall for larger meetings, Alice once told her.

Kara continued down the long corridor, glancing surreptitiously inside a door that peered into an empty great hall. She bit her lip. She would just have to explore the castle and ask around until she found Ronan. It was risky, but she hadn’t come all this way to fail.

“Where is the laird?” she asked a harried-looking chambermaid who walked past her. “I’ve a message from his steward.”

“In the study on the second floor,” the maid said, barely giving Kara a glance as she continued down the hall, shouting over her shoulder, “But he’s not tae be bothered—he’s in a meeting.”

A meeting? Perhaps one in which he was discussing a potential clan conflict?

Keeping her head bowed low, Kara made her way down the long corridor and up the first winding set of stairs she came across, hoping that this led to the study. As soon as she reached the second floor, she heard the deep rumble of a familiar voice. Ronan.

With her heart in her throat, Kara made her way down the corridor toward his voice, coming from a chamber at the end of the hall. Two giggling female servants ascended the stairs behind her, and she hurried forward, ducking into an empty chamber next to the study.

She kept the door partially open, straining her ears to listen to the conversation in the next room.

“Is there anyone among the Acheson clan who bears the truce ill will?” Ronan’s voice demanded.

“’Tis a large clan; I cannae answer for all. But I will say that most of us are relieved. Not all of us agreed tae Dughall’s schemes. Most of us just want peace.”

“How can ye explain the threats we've received?”

“I cannae. But I assure ye, ’tis not me nor any of the men I ken—they’re all good men.”

There was a long pause, and another gruff voice said, “Or ye can be telling us this because ye’re protecting someone.”

“I’m not. I’m telling ye the truth, I—”

“I believe ye.” Ronan’s voice was weary. “If there’s anything suspicious ye hear, let me ken.”

She heard the door open and the sound of feet retreating down the corridor. Kara held herself still, as Ronan began to speak, but this time she couldn’t make out his words.

Suddenly, the chamber door flew open, and a petite elderly woman with blond hair streaked with gray studied her with surprise.

“What are ye doing in here, lass?” she demanded. “This chamber’s already been cleaned.”

“I—" Kara began, her pulse quickening as she tried to come up with an excuse on the spot.

“And just who are ye?” the woman continued, her eyes narrowing. “I donnae ken ye.”

“What is it, Una?”

Kara’s heart dropped. The voice belonged to Ronan. The door opened wider, and dread spiraled through her chest as Ronan’s startled gaze landed on her.

“Kara?” he demanded, his voice filled with surprise—and anger.