Kara forced down a piece of roasted chicken; Ronan hadn't come home for supper and she was dining alone in her chamber. That was probably for the best; she was angry with him over his pigheaded refusal to go along with her plan. She hated the feeling of uselessness, the sense that she was twiddling her thumbs while a disaster loomed.

Beneath her anger over his rejection of her plan was a sliver of hurt. She loved him and wanted him to have faith in her resourcefulness, to prove that she could be more than just a warm body in his bed. That she could be . . . more to him.

She blinked back a sting of tears, turning when she heard footsteps approach the doorway. Ronan stood there, the tumult on his face plain as he stared at her. Hot awareness seized her; she hated that just the sight of him affected her so much, even when she was angry with him.

He entered the chamber as she set down her knife, stopping when he stood opposite her.

“I spoke to my uncle,” Ronan said, raking his hand through his hair. “He thinks yer plan is a good one. It seems yer plan is quite popular.”

“That's because it can work," Kara said, hope filling her chest. "Ronan, please consider—”

“We'll do it," he interrupted. "We'll carry out yer plan."

Kara leapt to her feet with a cry of delight, flinging herself into his arms. He held her for a moment before pulling back.

"But we must take every precaution. Ye ken how dangerous this is," he warned.

“I know," she said, her heart hammering with anticipation. "But I think this will work, Ronan."

He nodded, but his eyes shadowed as he reached down to grip her hands, lifting them to his lips to kiss.

“I just—I worry, lass,” he whispered. “Ye . . . ye mean more to me than any mistress I’ve had.”

The words should have warmed her heart; instead a shard of jealousy pierced her at the comparison to other mistresses. It was far from a confession of love.

“And you mean a lot to me,” she said, lowering her gaze, not wanting him to see what an understatement her words were. “Now . . . let’s go get the sons of bitches who are after your clan.”

Ronan’s eyes widened, and he chuckled with amusement.

“Aye,” he said. “We shall.”

* * *

The next night, Kara rode her horse alongside Luag through the darkened countryside, approaching the tiny village of Orridon, several miles north of Ronan’s manor.

She adjusted the gown she wore, the same blue gown she’d worn when she’d attempted to seduce Ronan for information, her heart pounding in her chest.

Think of this as just another assignment, she told herself, to slow down her racing heart. If the assignment were over six hundred years in the past and lives were at stake.

It had been a busy day. Ronan allowed her to accompany him to the castle where they’d learned from one of his spies that Tarag’s men frequented a tavern in Orridon, on the outskirts of Clan Sudrach’s lands.

They’d decided that Kara would go to this tavern with Luag, who would pose as her brother; travelers just passing through the Highlands. Ronan had provided her with descriptions of several men she should focus on, advising her sternly to only pick one. While Luag ordered their food and drink, she would flirt with Tarag’s man, getting as much useful information out of him as possible.

Before they’d left the castle, Ronan gave her a dagger that now lay stashed beneath the sleeve of her gown; she was to use it in case things went south. Kara hoped she wouldn’t have to use it. She’d never used a weapon on anyone in her life, even during a couple of hairy instances in her own time.

Orridon loomed up ahead, a quaint medieval village filled with brick and stone buildings, thatch-roofed cottages and winding dirt roads, mostly empty at this hour.

Kara cast a quick glance behind them. Somewhere in the distance, Ronan and his men trailed them. They would lurk outside the tavern, entering only if Luag and Kara ran into trouble.

Luag gave her a look as their horses entered the village, as if to ask, are you ready for this? He’d regarded her with grudging respect ever since she’d suggested this plan; she wondered if her bold plan had won him over.

She gave him a quick nod and dismounted from her horse when they reached the tavern, taking several deep, steadying breaths as he tied up their horses and they headed inside the tavern.

As they entered, Kara took it in. Alice hadn’t told her much about medieval taverns and ale houses. This one didn’t look too different from a dive bar in the twenty-first century—small, dark, and filled with drunken men. To her surprise, there were a handful of women; two were with male companions, and one worked at the bar.

When she and Luag entered, all eyes fell on her with several of the men giving her appreciative looks.

Well, there goes the first part of my plan. While she wanted to attract the attention of Tarag’s men, she didn’t want to attract too much attention.

Trying not to show her anxiety, Kara simply gave the men a flirtatious smile. She wanted to give off the air of a “wanton” woman of loose morals for this time, not a prim noblewoman, even though she wore a fine gown.

She scanned the tavern and spotted one of the men Ronan had described. He was short and balding, with a small scar curving from the side of his mouth. Here goes nothing.

She and Luag took the table next to the man. Luag gave her a brief but meaningful look as he stood, leaving her alone to get them drinks. The man’s eyes landed on hers, lighting up with lust, and she gave him a flirtatious smile.

“I’m called James,” he said, his voice slurred. “Ye’re a bonnie lass.” He jerked his head toward Luag, who was purposefully taking his time ordering their drinks. “Yer husband?”

Kara’s smile widened. He was drunk—as they’d hoped. It would be easier to coax and manipulate him. And he could hopefully overlook her terrible Scottish accent.

“I’m Caren,” she said. “And no, he’s not my husband. My brother.”

“Aye?” he asked, licking his lips. She ignored the revulsion that roiled through her at the act.

“Aye,” she said with a wink. “My brother’s trying tae find us safe passage for the night. We’ve heard rumors of a clan feud in these lands.”

She tried to make herself look both worried and demure; knitting her brows together in a frown. James straightened, practically puffing out his chest, giving him the look of an overblown peacock.

“Well, lass,” he said. “Ye’re safe with me.”

He glanced over to where Luag now stood conversing with the barkeep and scooted his chair closer to hers, draping his arm over the back of her chair. She bit back her disgust, forcing a smile as he leaned forward, his musky breath filling her nostrils.

“Why? Is there no dispute? I heard rumors about fires on Macleay lands, and ill omens being sent to the nobles,” Kara said.

“’Tis a farce,” James said, waving his hand with dismissal. “A mere distraction.”

Kara stiffened, hoping she didn’t look too surprised.

“A farce?” she pressed.

The door to the tavern suddenly swung open, and Kara froze as Ronan entered the bar with two of his men. What the hell was he doing? He wasn’t known in this village, but they’d decided it was best he kept out of sight just in case someone recognized him. He didn’t look their way, but his jaw was tight as he and his men headed to the bar.

Damn it, Ronan. I love you, but I’m going to kill you if you screw up this plan.

James followed her gaze, but she reached out to touch his face, forcing his attention back on her.

“Farce?” she repeated.

“Aye. Ye have nothing tae worry about, lass,” he slurred, leaning forward to kiss her.

She jerked back, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Ronan had turned to face them, and Luag had reached out to hold him still.

“Perhaps—perhaps we should go somewhere private,” she said, swallowing.

She hated the thought of being alone with this leech, but she didn’t think Ronan would keep it together if James tried to kiss her again. This was a part of her plan she’d hoped to not have to undertake. Plan B. Once she got him to talk, she was to get a drink from the bar and spike it with opium that one of Ronan’s men had given her, a small jar of which was now tucked in her bodice. The drink would put him into a deep sleep and she could then slip out of his room.

“Aye,” James said, stumbling to his feet with an eagerness he didn't try to disguise. “I’ve a room.”

Kara forced another smile, taking his elbow as they made their way to the stairs in the corner of the tavern. She gave Ronan a sharp look and recoiled from the barely contained fury she saw in his eyes.

What was his problem? This was just part of the plan.

She returned her focus to James as they climbed the stairs and made their way to a tiny room at the end of the hall.

As soon as they entered, James pressed her against the wall, but she slipped out of his grip.

“I cannae relax if I donnae feel safe,” she said, looking at him with what she hoped was a flirtatious smile. “What do ye mean, a farce?”

“Our chieftain doesnae care about Clan Macleay,” James said, his eyes pinned to her cleavage. “He only wants the lands Dughall wanted—their lands in the north. While Clan Macleay scrambles tae put out fires and frets over ill omens, he’s putting men in the north tae claim their lands for Clan Sudrach. So there’s nothing tae worry about, lass. Now give me that sweet—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the door swung open and a furious Ronan charged past her, striking James in the head with the hilt of his sword.