Ronan gritted his teeth with frustration as he walked away from Kara’s chamber. He couldn’t believe he’d nearly kissed a lass he didn’t trust. But that generous mouth and startling green eyes of hers had drawn him in, and it took everything in him to turn away from her. He needed to bed a lass to rid himself of this searing lust—and soon.

A sudden image of Kara in his bed, her blond hair splayed around her like a halo, naked, moaning as he stroked her heated center, filled his mind.

He shut out the image from his thoughts. He’d have to stay away from the tempting lass—at least until he determined her true identity.

His thoughts strayed to Fiona, Eadan’s bride. It seemed too much of a coincidence that two lasses with similar accents would show up on Macleay lands within weeks of each other. While there was no doubt in his mind that Fiona was trustworthy, as she’d helped them defeat Dughall and his men, he wasn’t so sure about Kara. What was she hiding?

As soon as he entered his study, he sent for Beathan.

“Who is the lass?” Beathan asked, his eyes sparkling with interest. “She’s bonnier than the one I saw before. Does she need an escort somewhere?”

He didn’t like the lustful gleam in his steward’s eyes, and he got to his feet, towering over him.

“No. The lass will be staying here. She’s . . . a friend,” he said carefully. “I’ll not have her spoken of with disrespect,” he continued, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

“I’m sorry, m’laird,” Beathan said, his round face coloring with contrition. “I meant no disrespect.”

A sliver of guilt filled Ronan; Beathan had meant no harm. It made no sense that he felt such possessiveness over a lass he’d just met.

“I ken ye didnae,” Ronan said, with a conciliatory nod. “But I have a task for ye. I need ye tae send a messenger tae the village and inquire about her family. She’s searching for them.”

Beathan obliged, leaving him alone. Ronan looked down at his table where he’d left the ill omen. Did Kara have something to do with this? Had she been the one to send it—and was she working with some new enemy?

He sat down, leaning back in his chair. The lass was hiding something, but something told him she wasn’t here for a nefarious purpose. She was telling the truth about looking for her family and her grandmother. Instinct told him that whoever sent the ill omen was someone else. Someone dangerous.

He searched his mind, trying to recall any other clan or family that Clan Macleay had come into conflict with. As far as he knew, Clan Macleay had good relations with other nearby clans.

But Ronan hadn’t paid much attention to such matters. Such conflicts had been all Eadan’s concern, and before that, his uncle's. A sudden desire for his cousin's presence shot through him. Eadan was a born leader. He’d know how to handle this—and how to handle Kara’s arrival.

When Fiona had arrived out of nowhere, Eadan promptly had her pose as his bride—and fallen in love with her during the whole charade. Ronan had no intention of doing something similar with Kara. Unlike Eadan, he wasn’t trying to get out of a deceitful betrothal. But he was determined to keep her at his manor until he found out who she was. Eadan and Fiona would return in a few weeks’ time. Given the similarity of their accents, perhaps Kara was from the same village as Fiona, and Fiona could find out who she truly was.

Eadan and Fiona are also hiding something, a voice in his mind reminded him. He’d suspected there was more to Fiona’s backstory, but when he’d pressed Eadan, he evaded the question. What was Eadan hiding for Fiona? And was it linked to whatever Kara concealed?

Ronan got to his feet, heading out of the study. There was no use for him pondering matters he had no answers to. He needed to focus on the identity of the sender of the ill omen—not on whatever Kara was hiding. He'd have to deal with that later.

He needed to question Clan Acheson members and members of Clan Macleay who’d sympathized with their cause, but received a pardon from Eadan. And he knew just where to start.

* * *

He had Beathan put a guard on Kara’s door, ignoring the stab of guilt that pierced him for doing so. But the lass could have her freedom when she told him the truth. He took a horse and rode east to Elspeth’s home. Given her closeness to Dughall’s daughter and other members of Clan Acheson, if there was a renewed plot against Clan Macleay, he hoped Elspeth's attraction to him would make her tell him of it.

Elspeth looked up with surprise and delight when he trailed her servant into her drawing room, where she was working on a piece of embroidery. She dismissed the servant with a wave, and he noted with irritation that she jutted out her bosom as she got to her feet and approached him. He may have found her bonnie in the past, but compared to the mysterious foreign lass imprisoned in his manor, she might as well have been an old unattractive man.

He gave her a polite but guarded smile, not wanting to encourage her attentions. He needed to make it clear why he was here.

“Ronan,” she said, stopping only inches away him. "I'm so glad ye've come."

Ronan nodded, taking a small step back from her. It was subtle, but sent the message he wanted to get across—he was here for official reasons only. Disappointment flared in her eyes but she maintained her smile.

“I need tae ask ye about Clan Acheson," he said. "In yer talks with Magaidh, or any of the clan members, did they mention any allies? Anyone Dughall was working with?"

The disappointment in her eyes shifted to something dark and unreadable. She turned away, making her way back to her chair.

“No. I've already told Eadan's men when they questioned me—I didnae ken what they were planning. But no one believes me; ’tis why I’m a prisoner in my own manor.”

“Yer not a prisoner,” Ronan said, though her words weren’t far from the truth. But she needed to earn the clan’s trust after her entanglement with Dughall and his clan.

She wasn't looking at him now, her hands folded in her lap, her mouth set in a firm line.

“Elspeth, I’m just asking if ye knew of any allies Dughall may have had. Anyone outside Clan Acheson and Clan Macleay who may have wanted tae do us harm.”

"They didnae include me in such talks," Elspeth said, her voice clipped. "I wouldnae ken if they had."

She still wasn’t looking at him; instinct told him she was hiding something. Anger seared his chest; he was growing weary of lasses not telling him the truth.

"Elspeth, if ye know anything, it would be best tae tell me. Ye’re right, there are some in the clan who think ye should've been punished, who think ye ken more than ye let on. If ye're honest with me, that can only help ye."

"I am being truthful," she said, her eyes flashing as she shot to her feet. “I’d do anything tae prove my loyalty tae Clan Macleay.”

She again approached him, her smile sly and seductive, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. Unlike the rush of heat that flowed through him when he touched Kara, Elspeth's touch left him cold.

“I’m disappointed that ye’ve only come tae discuss clan business," she said, her voice dropping to a purr. "I was hoping yer visit would be of a more . . . personal nature.”

She smiled and stepped even closer, so that her breasts nearly touched his chest, leaving no question of what she was offering.

Though he felt nothing at her proximity, a devious thought entered his mind. ’Tis been some time since ye've bedded a lass. Bedding Elspeth will help keep ye away from Kara. And perhaps Elspeth would tell him what she was hiding if he bedded her.

But he forced away the thought. He'd not fiddle with her emotions that way—and Elspeth did nothing to stir his loins. Once again, an image of Kara appeared in his mind’s eye, her face flushed, her lips parted as her eyes met his, and a rush of desire coursed through him. How could the mere thought of Kara fill him with such fire when the presence of another lass, one who desired him, leave him so cold?

Elspeth smiled triumphantly at the desire in his eyes, misreading it as desire for her. She stood on her tiptoes to press her lips to his, but Ronan stepped back.

“If ye recall anything," he said, “ye ken where tae find me.”

This time, the disappointment in her eyes turned to hurt. But he’d not bed the lass and make her believe he harbored feelings he did not have.

“Aye,” she said shortly, turning away from him, her voice turning cold. “I will.”

Ronan headed to the castle. He decided not to tell the other clan nobles about the ill omen he’d received; he wanted to capture the perpetrator on his own first and he didn’t want to cause undue alarm. Nor would he tell them of Kara's appearance; they'd want to question her, and a surge of protectiveness filled him at the thought. If he thought Kara was suspicious, he could only guess what the nobles would think of her, especially in light of the recent conflict with Dughall.

At the castle, he tended to the matters of the day—payments to the castle workers, deed signings, inquiries and concerns from tenants on Macleay lands. The entire time, his thoughts kept drifting to the foreign lass back at his manor.

For the first time in a while, he looked forward to returning to Macleay Manor.

When he returned to the manor that evening, Beathan approached as soon as he stepped into the entryway.

“I sent the messenger tae the village as ye asked,” Beathan said. “But no one he asked had heard of or noticed a married couple by the names of Suibhne and Orla.”

Disappointed on Kara's behalf, he gave Beathan a nod of thanks. He headed to Kara’s chamber, dismissing the guard who waited outside and entered.

Kara had changed into another gown the chambermaid had brought her, this one a shade of green that brought out the color of her eyes. She stood by the window, looking out at the darkened grounds that surrounded the manor, her expression turbulent.

She turned when he entered, her face tightening with defiance. He wanted to smile; he admired her spirit, and just the sight of her sent a spiral of heat careening through him.

"My messenger found no evidence of yer family in the village,” he said.

Kara’s shoulders sank, disappointment filling her eyes.

"I see," she murmured. "Thanks for checking."

Ronan studied her, hesitant. He didn't want to say the next words, but he wanted to be fair to the lass.

“Do ye need coin tae continue on yer journey?”

"You're going to let me go?" she asked, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "I thought you didn't trust me."

"I donnae," he returned coolly. "But as long as ye're not on Macleay lands, ye're not my concern."

"And if I do remain on your lands? I need to stay in this area until I find them."

He smiled, a ripple of pleasure flowing through him. Good.

"Then I insist,” he said, taking great effort to keep his voice firm, “that ye stay.”

Her mouth tightened and she looked away.

“Then I suppose I have no choice,” she muttered.

“Ye’ll be my guest—or my captive. The choice is up to ye, lass,” Ronan said gently. “Supper will be served shortly. A servant will come fetch ye.”

“I suppose I have to eat with you as well?”

“Aye,” he said, ignoring the stab of hurt that pierced him at her question, his tone turning cold.

If she wanted to treat him as her captor, so be it.