The encounter with Tarag plagued Kara's thoughts during the journey back to the manor. There was something dark about the man, something that unsettled her to her core. She'd once written an article about a man on death row for a double murder, and she'd seen the same savage cruelty in his eyes that she'd seen in Tarag’s.

Revulsion had roiled through her when Tarag looked at her with lust. She could see a man like Tarag easily murdering anyone who got in his away, even innocent bystanders like her ancestors.

At her side, Ronan remained quiet for the rest of their journey, and when they arrived at the manor, he remained in the carriage, telling her he needed to head to the castle.

"I have tae tell the nobles about Tarag—I cannae take ye with me, Kara,” he added, with a look of apology. “They think ye’re just a mistress, and ’tis best they keep thinking that.”

She nodded in reluctant agreement; she was still too shaken over the Tarag encounter to protest. She stepped back, watching as the carriage rode away from the manor.

* * *

When Ronan returned hours later, he told her the nobles agreed to have Tarag and his men followed until they had proof that he was indeed behind the threats.

“And when they do have proof?” Kara asked.

“We’ll have tae fight,” Ronan said, his face tight with anxiety. “And I’ll have no choice but tae call my cousin home.”

For the first time in days they didn’t make love that night. Ronan held her as she tried to drift off to sleep, worried thoughts racing through her mind. What if they couldn’t stop Tarag before he put a plan into place, a plan that included the fire that would kill her ancestors and other innocents? What if she was already too late to stop him?

Kara hoped that Ronan’s spies would quickly find proof that Tarag and his men were behind the threats, but over the course of the next few days, Ronan told her they reported nothing out of the ordinary. Tarag, it seemed, rarely left his castle, and his men remained close to their lands, never venturing south. And the threats to Clan Macleay had ceased.

The days seemed to become stuck in a holding pattern. Ronan would leave at first light to head to the castle where he tended to matters of the castle and the clan, all the while keeping track of his men's progress with Tarag. Kara would spend her days trying to locate her family, reading every single deed in Ronan's study, along with the ones he brought back with him from the castle. But none of the deeds mentioned the names of her ancestors, and for the first time she started to wonder if Alice’s information was wrong. Perhaps her family hadn’t died in this time.

But instinct told her that wasn’t the case. Alice was a detailed historical researcher; she wouldn’t have had Kara go back in time with faulty information.

When Kara wasn’t buried in land deeds, she found that she’d settled into the fourteenth-century with surprising ease. She usually hated wearing dresses—her go-to outfit in her own time was jeans and a comfortable T-shirt, but now she found herself enjoying the comfortable loose tunics and gowns she wore on a daily basis. The food didn't taste as bland as Alice had described; while it wasn’t as rich, it was still flavorful, and one of her favorite meals became one the cook served often: vegetable stew thickened with bread, roasted chicken with a sweet wine imported from France.

She also grew used to the relative peace, quiet, and beauty of the Scottish Highlands, a panacea to modern New York City’s constant hubbub. She even came to enjoy the manor, which at first seemed unnecessarily large and imposing, and spent a lot of time in the drawing room sitting by the fire on cool evening nights.

And she did live better in this time than she had in her own. A tiny apartment in Brooklyn didn’t compare to a Scottish manor full of servants and your own personal chambermaid . . . not to mention a handsome laird.

Despite the relative luxury of her surroundings, she had to admit that it was Ronan’s presence that helped her settle into this time most of all. But it was her growing feelings for him that caused her the most conflict.

She missed Ronan while he worked at the castle; she’d rush to the window at the sound of his horse’s hooves approaching the manor, a ripple of joy coursing through her at the sight of him. She relished their suppers together in the dining room; as soon as the conversation shifted from Tarag and Ronan’s investigation, they discussed Kara’s job in the present day, Alice, and snippets of how life was in the future, as Ronan didn’t want to know too much. Ronan would tell her details of growing up with Eadan, the trouble they’d get themselves into, the feasts at the castle, the silly disputes he’d gotten into with fellow clan members during his younger years before he’d matured.

She avoided acknowledging the true depths of her feelings for Ronan until one rainy afternoon. She’d been at the manor for almost a month, weeks since they’d met with Tarag, and she was making her way past the kitchens to Ronan’s study when she overheard her name on Aislin’s lips.

“—’Tis the longest the laird has kept a mistress here,” Aislin said.

“He’ll not marry her,” the voice replied; Kara recognized it as the voice of the cook, Greer.

“And how do ye ken?” Aislin asked. “I like the mistress. She’s kind.”

“I’m sure she is. But I overheard him talking with Luag. He told him he’s keeping her around because ’tis a novel experience, the experience between the thighs of a foreign lass.”

“Ye ken ye shouldnae speak of the lady in such a manner!” Aislin snapped, sounding genuinely offended on her behalf.

Kara hurried away, entering Ronan’s study and closing the door behind her, tears stinging her eyes. Ronan could have told Luag those things in order to maintain the façade that she was just a mistress he didn’t care much for. Or he could have meant every word, she thought bitterly.

Even if he did mean what he’d said—what did it matter? It wasn’t like she'd stay in this time and marry him. Once they handled this business with Tarag they’d go their separate ways.

The pain that gripped her chest at the thought was so severe for a moment Kara couldn’t breathe. She imagined living her days in the present, Ronan long dead, the memory of him soon fading into nothing but an impression. She thought of his tawny eyes, the low rumble of his laughter, the warmth of his embrace, his determination to take on the mantle of leadership in his cousin’s absence. And the realization struck her.

She loved Ronan. It was a foreign feeling—she’d never been in love before, not even close—but if this was what all those love songs had described, she felt it in spades. That rush that went through her every time she laid eyes on him. The warmth that lingered in every part of her after they made love. The need to know his every thought, to mean more to him than just a body he desired. The yawning chasm of emptiness that filled her heart when she thought of her life without him in the future.

Kara swallowed, and a multitude of emotions surged through her: guilt, panic, anxiety. She was here to save the lives of her ancestors, to fulfill Alice’s wish—not to fall in love. And she’d still not made any significant progress on that task, other than locating the man likely responsible for their murder. All she’d done in this time was fall in love with a man, one who didn’t even exist in her own time, one who didn’t share her feelings.

“Are ye all right, lass?”

Kara whirled, blinking back tears as Ronan stepped into the study, his brow furrowed with concern. He looked handsome as always; his chestnut hair dampened by the rain, his beautiful eyes trained on hers with worry.

“I’m—fine,” she hedged, forcing a smile. I just realized I’m in love with you, fourteenth-century Highlander. No big deal.

“I donnae think that’s true, Kara,” he said gently, crossing the room until he stood only a hair’s breadth away from her.

“I’m—just frustrated by my lack of progress,” she said, hoping a half-truth would satisfy him. There was no way she'd confess her love for him. Ronan was a playboy, probably used to his mistresses falling in love with him; she doubted she was the first. She needed to return to her twenty-first century self, the Kara who focused only on the job. That Kara would have never allowed herself to fall in love on the job, unlike this misty-eyed, lovestruck Kara. She could push these feelings aside, bury them while she solved Alice’s mystery, and when she returned to her own time, they would dissipate. They would.

“There’s something else that’s bothering ye,” Ronan pressed. “Yer eyes betray ye, lass.”

He already knew her too well. Perhaps that was one of the reason she loved him—he read her better than any other man could.

“I overheard the servants gossiping,” she said, deciding to bite the bullet. “About how you’re only keeping me around because . . . because of the experience you have in between my thighs.”

“Ah,” Ronan said after a pause, his mouth twitching in amusement. “I remember saying that.”

“I didn’t realize it was so funny,” Kara said stiffly.

“Kara, I told him that tae make it seem like ye’re not important tae me,” Ronan said with slight exasperation. “’Tis the same thing I wanted Tarag tae believe. And a part of it is true.”

Kara scowled, hurt pricking at her spine, but Ronan stepped forward to cup her face in his.

“A part,” Ronan insisted. “Ye must ken I care for ye, lass.”

Care. Did she really expect him to confess his love? Kara forced a smile.

“All right,” she said. “Not that it matters.”

“Aye?” he asked. “If it didnae matter, then why did ye seem upset?”

“Pride,” she lied. “And it doesn’t matter because I’m only here temporarily. Soon I’ll be back in my own time.”

Something flickered in his eyes, and his amusement faded.

“Ye’re right,” he said, but he kept her face cupped in his hands. “I ken ye’re only here briefly, but with all that’s been happening . . . I’ve missed ye. I will miss ye.”

His eyes darkened with desire, and Kara’s mouth went dry. She should tell him they needed to stop making love, that they needed to focus on their mutual goal.

“I’ve been in your bed many nights,” she said instead, lowering her gaze as heat stained her cheeks.

“Not enough, lass,” he returned. “Not nearly enough.”

She was powerless to stop the rush of love and desire that flowed through her as his lips crashed onto hers. He swung her up into his arms to carry her to his chamber. She may not have a future with him, but she could enjoy the time she did have.

So she allowed herself to live in the moment, to let her body express the words she wouldn’t say, stripping him of his kilt and tunic.

He watched her, breathless, as she pushed him down to the bed and took him in her mouth, licking and stroking the length of him with her tongue until he came with a shudder. She swallowed his release, keeping her eyes locked on his burning ones.

“Christ, Kara,” he groaned, rolling her beneath him and burying himself inside her with a pleasured moan.

He began to thrust, leaning down to seize her breasts with his mouth, laving them with his tongue. From her chest to her core, desire spiraled through her.

“Come for me, witch,” Ronan panted. “Come for me, my Kara.”

The pleasure in Kara’s body climbed to a climax, and she obliged, her body shaking and trembling as he continued to thrust, burying his face in her neck as he cried out his own release.

Kara wound her hands through his hair as he stilled, keeping her eyes closed, as if preventing him from seeing her love in their depths.

I love you, Ronan.

* * *

The next day, Kara entered Ronan’s study just after first light, determined to put her game face back on and shove her feelings for Ronan aside.

But after reading the millionth deed, she set down the parchment and rubbed her bleary eyes, tired of not making any progress.

When one path isn’t working, take another path. It was a personal motto she’d recited whenever she couldn’t solve a problem for a story she was working on. Her reviewing land deeds, Ronan sending his spies to follow Tarag—none of it was working. They needed to try something else before it was too late.

She stilled as an idea seized her. It was risky and dangerous, but it was something. And it couldn’t wait. She needed to tell Ronan, now.

She headed downstairs to find Luag to escort her to the castle. But as soon as she stepped into the entryway, the door flew open, and she stumbled back with a yelp.

Three Highlanders entered, glaring down at her. Both Beathan and Luag darted out of the drawing room and hurried to her side, Luag shoving her behind him.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, glaring at the men. “Does Ronan ken ye’re here?”

“He doesnae need tae know,” one of the men growled, advancing toward her.

She stumbled back as Luag took a challenging step forward. The man ignored him, keeping his dark gaze trained on Kara.

“Ye’re going tae tell us who ye really are, lass. Without Ronan here tae protect ye.”