Kara made Ronan take her back to Macleay Manor where they could have privacy—and where she could safely drop her bombshell.

Though their lovemaking had left her breathless and reeling, remnant sparks of desire still vibrating beneath her skin, she was able to tell him her story once they were alone in his chamber. Her real story.

And she told him everything. From the year of her birth, over six hundred years in the future, to her grandmother's letter and directive, the pull of wind on her body when she arrived at the ruins of that castle, to her arrival in this time.

She didn't look at him until she finished speaking.

Ronan stood by the window, silent as he looked out at grounds. His skin had gone ashen; the only indicator of any reaction.

Here it comes, Kara thought with dread—and a stab of hurt. He'll have his men send me to the dungeons of Macleay Castle.

But when he turned to look at her, there was no anger. No disbelief. Only . . . comprehension.

“This—village ye came across in yer time,” he said slowly. “Describe it.”

“There's not much to describe. It was in ruins. It looked like it could be from this time—possibly older," she said, puzzled as to why he wanted to know more about the village.

“Ye said there was a castle? A castle that lay just beyond the ruins of the village?”

“Yes,” she said, her heart picking up its pace. "How did you—”

“The village ye went tae in yer own time is called Tairseach," Ronan said. "I’ve long thought these mere superstitions—but for years there've been rumors of people disappearing around it. Some believe that Tairseach used to be the home of stiuireadh—druid witches.”

A chill crept down her spine and she took a seat on the edge of the bed. She remembered the line from Alice's letter, about the disappearances in this area.

"I heard a whisper before I disappeared. A woman's voice. She was calling my name," Kara said, unease pooling in her gut. "I thought I was crazy, that it was just the wind. But . . . maybe it was one of those witches."

Ronan grew even more pale and didn't speak for several moments.

“Fiona, Eadan’s wife . . .” Ronan murmured, his brow furrowed, "The one with the same accent as yers. Eadan wanted me and his men tae take her tae Tairseach after a battle with another clan—in case anything happened tae him. He still refuses tae tell me where she’s really from.”

"She's a time traveler as well. She must be," Kara said, shaking her head in a daze. "That was my first thought when you told me about her accent."

"Christ," Ronan muttered, moving to a chair by the window and sinking down into it. "I knew ye were hiding something, but I never expected . . . "

“I swear on my grandmother’s grave that what I speak is the truth,” she said, approaching him with an imploring look. “I don’t know how it’s possible—but I’ve traveled back in time.”

“I believe ye, lass,” Ronan said.

At the conviction on his face, the tension in her body dissipated, and tears pricked at her eyes. She hadn’t realized how important it was that he believe her until this moment—and not just for reasons of self-preservation.

But his face remained turbulent.

"My steward spotted a lass wandering the grounds—a different lass—not long before ye arrived. The night of Eadan's wedding. He claimed tae see her vanish before his eyes, but I didnae believe him. But now that ye’re here—from another time . . .”

“Do you think she was a witch? That she had had something to do with my arrival here?” Kara asked.

That whisper she'd heard in her own time. The witch appearing on Ronan's property. The two occurrences could be linked.

“I donnae ken,” Ronan said. “'Tis believed the druid witches may have an effect on the disappearances around Tairseach, but no one kens for certain.”

Kara bit her lip, her mind whirring. What she wouldn't do for her laptop right now. Whenever she worked on a story, trying to solve the mystery that lay at its heart, she wrote out all her thoughts in a document on her laptop. It made it so much easier to figure out all her unanswered questions when they were laid out before her.

But she wasn't here to solve the mystery of time travel. She was here to save lives.

"You know what I’m here for,” she said. “If I can save my ancestors—I can save other lives too. It's why I want to know what's happening with Clan Macleay. Alice found records showing my ancestor's deaths resulted from a clan conflict in this area. Remember how I told you I was good at finding things?” At his nod, she continued, “In my time, I was something called an investigative journalist.”

Ronan looked baffled by the term, so she explained the best way she could. “If there was ever a conflict among the nobles of your clan, and you sent someone to find out what happened, how the conflict was started—"

“That would often end in fighting, or a man dead,” Ronan said, his eyes filling with worry. “Is that what ye do in yer time, lass? Handle conflicts between men?"

“Not exactly," she hedged. "I answered questions and wrote reports—stories—about the answers I uncovered. And I was good at my job. Finding out how something happened doesn’t get you killed in the future. At least, not usually,” she added, thinking about a couple of dangerous encounters she'd gotten herself into with sources who didn't want her to interview them.

“I’ll not have ye putting yerself in any danger,” Ronan said with a scowl, reading the shift in her expression.

“Ronan," she said, with an exasperated sigh. "I can help. I will help. The only difference is—will you work with me or not?”

Ronan's scowl deepened, but she saw a glint of admiration in his golden eyes.

"Well," he muttered, "I suppose I've no choice."

"No," she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You don't."

He gave her a grudging smile, and she listened intently as he told her of the former rivalry between Clan Macleay and Clan Acheson, the battle with Dughall, the presumed peace. And the recent threats—fires, thefts, ill omens.

“My cousin left, thinking all was well," Ronan said, closing his eyes. "But as soon as I’m left in charge . . ."

He looked away from her, but Kara caught the guilt and insecurity lurking in his expression.

“You can’t think this is your fault?”

“I donnae ken," Ronan grunted, still not looking at her. "Perhaps this new enemy waited for a weak leader such as myself tae step in for Eadan before they targeted us.”

“Or it could have been in the works from the moment your clan defeated Dughall and his men,” she returned. “Tell me more about this rivalry with Clan Acheson. What caused it?”

"A land dispute in the north. Long ago, it belonged to their clan. The lands were ceded to our clan generations ago as part of a truce. But the lands are much desired—they're fertile soil in a region where fertile soil is hard tae find. Dughall and others in Clan Acheson believed the lands were still rightfully theirs."

“Who was Clan Acheson allied with?” she asked, mulling over his words.

“They’ve always worked on their own,” he said. "Now they're allied with us. We've purged the members who were on Dughall's side. And I’ve already considered the possibility of allies. I asked a sympathizer of their clan if they ever mentioned anyone else they were working with; she said they didnae.”

“She?” Kara asked, an irrational stab of jealousy pricking at her chest.

“Elspeth. She’s a widow in our clan who was close to members of Clan Acheson.”

“And do you think she told you the truth?” Kara asked, resisting the urge to demand just how well he knew this widow.

“No,” Ronan said with a sigh. “I donnae.”

“I think it’s unlikely Clan Acheson would have taken on your clan without allies. I think you should keep looking into it.”

“Aye?” he asked, his eyes glittering with challenge. "Ye mean tae tell me how tae handle this investigation?"

"I mean to help you," she insisted. "Now you can be stubborn and keep going down the wrong path, or you let me help. I'm from the future, and I know something's going to happen that'll cause a lot of innocent people here to die. Unless we do something to stop it."

Ronan's mouth tightened, but he gave her a nod of grudging respect.

"All right," he said. "I'll let ye help. But," he added, his tone firm, "ye may be from another time, but ye’re in my time now. I'm laird and leader of this clan in my cousin's stead. Ye must do as I say and stay out of harm’s way, do ye understand?”

“Yes.”

“And now,” he said, advancing toward her, "I have questions of my own.”