Ye're my captive.

The Scot’s words reverberated in her mind as he shut the door behind him, and she heard a lock turn in the door. Kara stumbled back and sank into the bed, pressing her hand to her mouth, her heart hammering.

This can’t be real. This can’t be real.

But it was. That ridiculously gorgeous Scot—sporting authentic medieval clothing she recognized thanks to Alice. The servants, also in authentic period clothing. Even this room, with no hint of electrical outlets, just a candle holder on the side table.

Kara swallowed, leaning forward to press her forehead against her knees. Everything had happened so fast. The sound of her name whispered with the wind. The wind tugging on her body. The world dissolving around her.

When the world righted itself again, she’d found herself on the outskirts of this manor. She’d barely had time to orient herself when that tall, muscular, golden-eyed Highlander stalked toward her, demanding to know who she was in that heavy Scottish brogue she’d struggled to understand. And now . . . she was his prisoner. The captive of a living, breathing medieval Scot.

Kara sat up, taking a breath. There had to be some logical explanation. She looked around, searching for any sign of the date. Hurrying over to a side table, she pulled open a drawer, finding a prayer book. She flipped it open searching for a date. And though it was in Latin, she understood the year, written in stark lettering on the parchment.

1390.

“Holy shit,” Kara whispered, as the room spun around her. “Oh my God.”

Alice was right. Somehow . . . she’d been pulled back through time.

She took a seat on the bed when her legs began to wobble, trying to connect her haphazard thoughts. Evidence that she was in the past—the authentic clothing of the Scots. Ronan’s accent, different from modern Scottish English. As Ronan dragged her into the manor, she’d looked around, seeing no hint of paved roads or cars. But then again, she’d been distracted by Ronan’s beauty. She’d never met a man she would call “beautiful” before, but Ronan fit the bill. Strong, chiseled features, wavy chestnut hair, golden eyes. His body was all lean muscle, and he moved with the grace of a panther.

Kara pushed away her lustful thoughts, shaking her head. The man was holding her prisoner, for crying out loud.

She stood, moving over to the window. In the courtyard below, a man mounted a horse and rode away. In the near distance, a carriage made its way down a winding dirt road. She continued to scan the surroundings, praying she'd see a car, a plane, anything that would indicate she was still in the twenty-first century. But all evidence indicated that she was indeed in the past. Over six hundred years in the past.

An avalanche of questions filled her mind. How did this all work? Why did she arrive at this manor? Did the whisper of her name on the wind have something to do with it? Had it been that wind that sucked her back through time? How did Alice know Kara could time travel? How did she know where to send her?

And another, more prominent question—why hadn’t Alice told her sooner? Why did she wait until after her death to deliver such a bombshell?

Because you wouldn’t have believed her, a phantom voice whispered. She had to admit this was true; Kara would have seriously considered placing Alice in a hospital if she’d told her such a tale when she was alive. Besides, Kara was so consumed with her job during her grandmother’s last years, she wouldn’t have entertained such a story by coming to Scotland anyway.

Pushing aside her guilt, Kara forced her thoughts back to the present. She had two choices here—figure out how to get back to her own time, which would mean figuring out how to get back to that abandoned village. She could only assume that the means through which she’d traveled was there; maybe it was some type of portal.

Or. She could do what Alice sent her here to do. And for Alice to want her to travel through time, it must be a damn important cause.

Suibhne and Orla. Those were the names of her ancestors Alice had provided in her letter. Surnames weren’t common in this time, especially among peasants and farmers. She only knew that they were in their late twenties at the time of their deaths, and they had two young daughters.

She thought of Suibhne and Orla, along with the others who’d died in this time, and a surge of turbulent emotions filled her. How could she not save innocent lives if she had the opportunity to do so? And there was the investigator in her that wanted to solve the mystery of what happened.

A sense of resolve settled over her. She needed to accept that she'd somehow traveled through time. If she could honor her grandmother’s dying wish and save lives . . . she would do it.

But first, she needed to convince Ronan that she was trustworthy.

* * *

Ronan returned to her chamber a couple of hours later with a young chambermaid. Kara had used the time to come up with what she hoped was a good enough story to convince him he could trust her.

She took him in, swallowing. He trained his beautiful eyes on her face with wary caution.

“Ye can leave the tray on the table, Aislin,” he told the chambermaid, still studying Kara.

Aislin obliged, casting Kara one last curious look before leaving them alone.

Her throat went dry as he approached, and she took a breath to calm herself. This would be a lot easier if he weren’t so distractingly gorgeous.

“No one in the village recalled a lass who looks like ye,” he said, his eyes narrowed.

“I—I’m sorry I wasn’t truthful with you before. I was startled and frightened. My—my grandmother recently died,” she said, her voice wavering. There was no need for her to put on an act about that, genuine grief shaped her tone, and tears stung her eyes. A fierce longing for Alice’s presence filled her; her grandmother would know exactly what to do in this situation.

Ronan’s eyes softened, though his body remained rigid.

“My apologies for your loss,” he murmured.

“There was a branch of our family she was close to, but she lost touch with them over the years," she continued. "Before she died, she asked me to find them. When we last heard from them, they were just settling into the village here. It was her dying request, one I intend to honor. I did get lost; I was trying to find my way to the village. I only had enough coin for the coach I hired to drop me off here; the driver refused to take me any farther and told me the village was just up the road.”

She held his gaze, hoping that he gleaned the partial truth in her words. But his expression remained guarded.

“Where are yer things? Ye traveled all this way from England with just the clothes on yer back?”

Think, Kara.

“Our coach was robbed by bandits on the road outside of Edinburgh,” she returned, trying to look appropriately shaken. Bandits were a common danger travelers had to deal with in this time.

Ronan’s mouth tightened, but his face remained unreadable; she couldn’t tell if he believed her or not.

"And what were ye planning to do in the village?”

“Inquire about my family at the church.”

"If they're not at the village?"

"Then I'll return home,” she said, though she had no idea how.

“Home. Where is that, lass?”

“England,” she lied. English sounded much different in this time, but it was the best she could come up with under the circumstances.

He studied her for a disconcertingly long moment before speaking again.

“All right,” he said, and relief coursed through her. “But instead of staying in the village . . . ye can make yer inquiries from here. There’s plenty of room for ye. Ye can stay as my guest.”

“But—”

“We’ve just had a . . . disagreement with another clan, and there may still be traitors among the clan. I believe some of what ye say, lass, but yer hiding something. I’ll not take any chances.”

Kara glared at him. Damn him for being so perceptive. She’d gotten as close to the truth as she dared. There was no way she could tell him she was from a different time. Alice had told her that witch hunting and the belief in witches was very much a thing in the fourteenth century. If she was going to save her family, she needed to stay alive.

She but her lip, looking around at the spacious chamber. It wasn’t like he was keeping her in a dungeon. Staying in a sprawling manor a hundred times the size of her Brooklyn apartment wouldn’t be so terrible. It had to be better than making her way into the village and asking around on her own, especially with the difference in accents and language.

Still, unease filled her at the thought of staying here. Ronan was gorgeous, but he was a stranger. And she didn’t believe for one second that she was just a “guest.” He didn’t trust her.

A small part of her briefly considered escaping, finding her way back to that village through which she’d arrived and traveling back to her own time.

But memories of Alice flowed through her mind. Her gentle smile the last time she’d seen her. Her heartfelt letter. I want you to solve this mystery and save the lives of our distant ancestors—and the countless others who died needlessly.

She would do this for Alice. Even if she had to deal with an irritatingly handsome and distrustful Highlander to do so.

“Fine,” she said. “But as soon as I find my family I’ll be on my way.”

“Perhaps,” Ronan said silkily, suspicion lingering in his eyes as he moved closer, until he stood only inches away. Kara tried to keep her expression neutral, but awareness coursed through her at his close proximity.

“I’m not here to do anyone harm,” she said, “I just want to honor my grandmother’s wishes.”

“It would be simpler for ye tae just tell me the truth, lass."

“I—am,” she whispered.

His amber eyes seared hot on her face, and her awareness spiraled into desire, seizing her by the throat. She was close enough to fully appreciate his masculine beauty—those bright fiery eyes, sensually full lips, the hint of stubble that lined his jaw. His eyes dropped to her lips, and the silence between them shifted, becoming charged with heat. He was so close now, close enough to . . .

“There’s a meal for ye,” Ronan said abruptly, stepping back and turning away from her. He gestured toward the tray the chambermaid had placed on the table. The charged moment dissipated; Kara had to take a second to collect herself, drawing in a ragged breath.

“I’ll have a chambermaid bring ye more clothes.”

And then he was gone, leaving her with a gnawing, unquenched desire.