Her smile faltered as he stiffened.
“Artair?” she asked. “Is something the matter?”
“No,” he forced himself to say, giving her a smile that he hoped was warm. “I’m glad ye sent for me. Why are we in yer father’s study?”
“I . . . I have a gift for ye,” she said, biting her lip. She turned to the desk, picking up a leather-bound manuscript and handing it to him.
“Ye told me ye liked stories of ancient Rome. Father is friendly with a man who has a manuscript workshop in Edinburgh,” she continued. “He sends us books of the hours for prayers and sometimes sends additional books like this. Father allowed me tae gift it tae ye. ’Tis the writings of the Roman historian Suetonius.”
Niall looked down at the leather-bound manuscript in awe. It was made of parchment, Suetonius’s writings carefully inscribed onto the pages in brown ink. His historian’s instinct made him want to grab a pair of gloves to examine it—in modern times, a book like this would be worth a fortune. Most manuscripts made during this time period were religious works and books of prayer, not works of literature—or even works of history.
He swallowed hard as he studied it; as far as he knew, no such copies of this book existed in his own time. Many such books were lost in fires or natural disasters over the centuries.
“Do ye like it?” she asked, her tone uneasy at his prolonged silence.
“This is the most precious gift anyone has ever given to me,” he said, in all sincerity. She smiled at his response, her entire face lighting up.
Past girlfriends had given him fancy watches and cufflinks as gifts, and he’d wondered if any of them had known him at all. But this fourteenth-century beauty had known that this would please him, had gone out of her way to gift him with something that would make him happy.
He made his decision right then and there; he was going to tell her the truth, and he’d just have to deal with the consequences. But he needed to do it at the right time—and the right place.
“I’ve a surprise for ye as well,” he said.
“Aye?” she asked, her lovely face brightening with delight. “What is it?”
He leaned forward, unable to resist placing a brief kiss on her lips. “I cannae tell ye, lass. That’s why ’tis a surprise. Ye’ll find out soon.”
The look of pure joy on her face was infectious. He grinned, reaching out to pull her close, their lips meeting in a fervent kiss.
God, he wanted this woman. He didn’t care that they were in her father’s study. He wanted to spread her out on the desk, hike up her skirts, and taste the sweetness between her thighs before sinking into her depths. Hot arousal coiled through him at the thought, and Caitria let out a startled moan against his mouth as she felt his growing erection against her body.
“Enough of all this,” a wary but amused voice said from behind them, and they abruptly broke apart as Drostan entered.
Caitria’s face flamed, and a rush of guilt and shame surged through him. He should have shown more restraint.
“Yer wedding day will be here soon enough,” Drostan continued.
“I—I’m sorry, Father,” Caitria stammered, her face flaming. “I—I should return tae my chamber.”
She fled before he could reply, and Drostan watched her go with amusement.
“I’m sorry,” Niall said. “I doonae mean any disrespect—”
But Drostan waved away his apology, still looking amused.
“My daughter has been happier since ye arrived. I doonae ken what’s changed in the last few weeks between ye two, but I’m glad for it. Just doonae use my study for yer amorous attentions—wait till she’s yer wife proper.
“Aye. Of course,” Niall said, relieved by Drostan’s surprising nonchalance. The chastity of noblewomen was especially prized at this time; he suspected Drostan wouldn’t behave so kindly toward him if he knew of the thoughts that had gone through his mind just moments before.
“I’d like tae ask yer permission, while ye’re here,” Niall said, deciding to take advantage of Drostan’s good mood. “I’d like tae take yer daughter tae Inverness for a day or two. Get her out of the castle for a spell before the wedding.”
Niall decided that if he was going to tell her the truth, he wanted them to be alone and away from the castle, where there would be no chance of being overheard.
“Ah,” Drostan said, his look of amusement vanishing, replaced by a dark frown. “I see my daughter has expressed tae ye her desire tae travel.”
Niall silently cursed; he didn’t want this to backfire and cause Caitria trouble.
“She hasnae asked me tae take her anywhere. This is all my choice,” he said, keeping his tone even. “With yer permission, of course.”
Drostan hesitated for a long moment, his mouth tight.
“Very well,” he said finally, to Niall’s immense relief. “But I want guards tae accompany ye on yer journey.
“Aye,” Niall said, smiling. “I thank ye.”
“My daughter doesnae ken what dangers lie beyond our lands. As her husband-to-be, I trust ye’ll keep her safe, but I’ll not have her taking any more journeys beyond my lands after this.”
Niall stared at him, trying to keep his expression amenable. For someone who loved his daughter so much, Drostan didn’t seem to fathom how much he was suffocating her.
As if reading his thoughts, Drostan gave him a long look.
“Ye’ll ken how I feel when ye and Caitria have bairns of yer own,” he said, and for a split second, an image of Caitria, plump and swollen with his child, filled his mind. He had to ignore the joy that flared through him at the thought.
That will never happen, he reminded himself, as he left Drostan’s study. Especially once you tell her the truth. She may kick you out of her life for good—and you’ll never see her again.
Chapter 11
“Are ye going tae tell me what the surprise is now?” Caitria asked, stepping out into the courtyard.
Niall smiled down at her. It was early the next morning, and Caitria had pestered him for hints about the surprise during supper in the great hall last night, and then when he’d escorted her to her chamber—he’d had to silence her with a thorough kiss.
“I’m taking ye on a trip," he said. “We’re going tae Inverness.”
Inverness was a relatively small village at this time, but given the look of sheer awe on her face, he might as well have told her they were traveling to the moon.
“Inverness,” she breathed. “I’ve never been.”
She grinned, throwing her arms around him. He held her close, closing his eyes. He would tell her the truth about who he really was during their trip, so he was determined to relish her happiness in this moment, before she learned of his deception.
He’d decided that he would give her time to enjoy Inverness before dropping his bombshell. If she sent him away, he could at least tell her his suspicions about Ferghas and pray that would be enough to keep her out of any danger Ferghas posed to her. Tairseach wasn’t too far from Inverness; he could make his way back to his own time, knowing he’d done all that he could.
He tried to ignore the ache that spread throughout his gut at the mere thought of leaving her, reminding himself that his plan was always to return to his own time.
He helped her up onto Kerr before mounting his own horse, and Hendry, along with two other guards, mounted their horses.
He was glad the guards were accompanying them, as he didn’t know his way to Inverness, not without the modern roads of the twenty-first century.
It took almost a full day of riding to get to Inverness; they stopped several times to give both themselves and their horses time to rest and to eat. Niall was well aware of the perils of travel in this time—scant roads, the most reliable ones remnants from the times of the Romans, and bandits. To his relief, the ride south was largely uneventful and even relaxing. His gaze kept sliding to Caitria as she rode along at his side, her long auburn hair flowing behind her, a shy smile curving
her lips whenever she caught his eyes on her. He could almost forget his dread about what was to come as he focused on the joy on her face, the light in her eyes.
As dusk fell, Inverness came into view, and Niall took it in. Green moors and rolling hills surrounded it on all sides, and he could make out the ruins of a castle on the hill that lay just beyond it. In his time, Inverness Castle would stand on that spot. In this time, the castle that previously stood there had burned down decades before, and wouldn’t be rebuilt until the fifteenth century. The River Ness lay just beyond the hill, glittering in the fading sunlight.
When they made their way into Inverness, Niall tried to keep his expression neutral, though it was hard not to stare in amazement at the early version of the city he was familiar with. In this time, it was a bustling market town that consisted of a small port and market, dotted with quaint homes and shops made of wood, some with thatched roofs, and filled with meandering streets of both dirt and cobblestone. It was certainly more pungent than in his time—with the smell of horse manure and fish from the small port wafting in the air.
They arrived at an inn in central Inverness and dismounted, a stable boy rushing out to take their horses. The owner, Lachlan, greeted them with wide smiles; he knew Caitria’s father and gave them two of the best private rooms and even arranged for them to dine privately.
“Only the best for Drostan MacGreghor’s daughter and betrothed,” Lachlan said with a smile, leaving them alone to eat a meal of herring, bread and an assortment of roasted vegetables.
“Yer father has many friends,” Niall observed with a smile.
“Father is kinder than most of the Highland lairds. He tries tae stay neutral in conflicts and often works tae resolve them. He lent Lachlan money some time back when he ran into troubles,” Caitria responded. She set down her knife, leaning back in her chair. “I cannae believe he consented for me tae leave the MacGreghor lands. I never want tae forget this day.”
“Ye havenae seen Inverness properly yet,” he said with a teasing smile.
“I ken—but I doonae want tae forget a single moment of this trip. I doonae ken if I’ll be able tae travel like this again,” she said, her smile faltering. But her eyes lit up as she reached across the table to take his hand. “Unless ye keep yer promise and we travel after we wed.”
She probed his gaze, as if waiting eagerly for his response, but he couldn’t utter the lie. Her smile vanished.
“Artair? Please—if there’s something ye need tae tell me—"
“There is,” he said, and she looked startled at his stark admission. “But not now. Tomorrow, after ye’ve had a chance tae explore.”
She looked uncertain, but gave him a nod.
“Do ye promise tae tell me tomorrow?” she pressed.
“Aye,” he said, savoring the relieved smile that tugged at her lips, the look of utter trust in her eyes as she gazed at him, because after tomorrow, he doubted she would ever look at him the same way again.
The next day was a blur of activity. He played tour guide, drawing on his historical knowledge of Inverness. He first took her to the ruins of the castle on Auld Castlehill, where they took in the waters of the River Ness and a panoramic view of the sprawling village. He pointed out the nearby hill of Craig Phadrig, visible from Inverness, which was the probable site of a Pictish king’s settlement and still bore traces of an Iron Age hillfort.
Before they left the hill, he ached to tell her that King Duncan was killed at this castle by a Gaelic king, which inspired William Shakespeare’s Macbeth—but he held his tongue, as Shakespeare hadn’t yet been born.
He then took her to see the old church on St. Michael’s Mount, where in his time, a newer church stood—the Old High Church.
As they approached it, he froze, turning to look at the narrow road behind them. He recalled the sense of déjà vu that struck him in his time, when he'd stopped at the stop sign and seen the Old High Church. It was because he'd been here before, in a different time.
"Artair?" Caitria asked, pulling him from his stunned thoughts. "Are ye all right?"
"Aye," he said, swallowing.
He took her hand and led her closer to the church. From their vantage point, they could see the Dominican Friary—long gone in his time. Niall stared down at it in awe, unable to rein in his historian’s awe at seeing buildings that no longer existed in his present. He thought about the déjà vu he'd experienced in the present—did that somehow mean that this trip was predetermined? Was he always destined to come to this time and take Caitria to Inverness?
He had to forcibly push his jumbled thoughts aside, and took Caitria to Inverness’s bustling market, filled with merchants, both traveling and local, hawking their wares of wool, fur, and hides.
He’d feared the sights would bore Caitria, but instead she took in everything with a wide-eyed delight that was infectious, stopping to ask him questions every now and then.
When they’d taken in all there was to see—and he could tell that the guards who trailed them from a distance had grown restless—they returned to the inn.
Once they were in her chamber, she pulled him close, standing on her tiptoes to fuse her mouth to his. He held her close as they kissed, breaking apart only when they were both breathless.
“Artair, thank ye,” she said. “I’ve had a wonderful day.”
He swallowed and forced a smile. He knew that he had to tell her now . . . there could be no more delay.
“I’m glad,” he said. “But . . . I need to tell you something.”
She stiffened, her eyes widening. He’d dropped the accent he’d taken on since arriving in this time on purpose.
Caitria swallowed hard, taking a faltering step back. The small movement—a signifier of her growing unease and distrust—splintered his heart. But he forced himself to continue.
“Caitria . . . I’m not Artair. My name is Niall O'Kean.”
Chapter 12
“Caitria.”
Artair’s—Niall’s—voice, seemed to come from far away. Caitria was dimly aware that she had sunk down onto the bed, not looking at the man she’d thought was Artair, her betrothed.
“Caitria, please say something.”
She opened her mouth, but no words came. All she could hear was everything he’d told her, swirling around her mind like an endless storm.
From the future. Traveled back through time. Mistaken for Artair. Dreams of you in danger. Ferghas has something to do with the danger you’re in.
But she could only focus on one glaring fact. He wasn’t Artair. He was an imposter.
“Get out.”
The words were faint, spoken barely above a whisper. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he paled. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but he turned and left her alone.
Caitria closed her eyes, pressing trembling fingers to her temples. The hot sting of tears burned her eyes; she didn’t bother to blink them back. This man—Niall—was an imposter. A man she’d come to desire, to care for.
Shame roiled through her as she thought of all the times she’d kissed him, of her fantasies of making love to him and marrying him. There was something different about Artair—he wasn’t Artair. Niall was an imposter—an imposter with an impossible story.
He’d told her he was from the future, that he was born in the twentieth century. If she hadn’t been so stricken she would have laughed. She didn’t know what part of his wild story she should focus on—the fact that he was an imposter, which she believed—or the fact that he was from the future, which she couldn’t believe.
Caitria had to grudgingly admit to herself that some part of her knew he wasn’t Artair. Hadn’t she sensed the difference in him the moment he entered the great hall for the betrothal feast, looking at her as if she were the air he needed to breathe? She recalled the fire that roared to life in her belly at the very sight of him. She’d never felt anything of the sort for the actual Artair.
Artair. A sudden fear seized her at the thoug
ht of Artair. Where was he? Perhaps Niall—it was hard for her to even think this new name—had done something to him in order to take his place. Her hand in marriage was prized after all; whoever married her got her family’s lands.
But if that were the case, why would he have given up the ruse? He could have kept on fooling her. She recalled the utter conviction in his eyes as he told her his story about being from the future—and that he had no idea where the true Artair was.
Perhaps he’s telling the truth, a voice whispered in her mind.
She let out a sharp laugh, wiping away her tears. How could he possibly be telling her the truth about traveling through time when he hadn’t been honest about who he was?
And then there was his suspicion about Ferghas—his belief that he may have murdered her brother.
"I've no proof yet, but think of it. It makes sense. If he wants your father's lands, it was just a matter of getting your brother out of the way to marry you. He tried to kill me during the hunt—I didn't want to alarm you then because I couldn't be sure."
She took a deep breath, swallowing as she got to her feet. Ferghas was not a good man; she knew that—but was he a murderer? Tadhg had been thrown from his horse after it was startled by a boar—and speared with his own arrow. But what if Ferghas had been the one to kill him as her brother lay on the ground, injured but alive?
A fierce rage seized her at the thought, and she closed her eyes. It was too overwhelming to consider at the moment.
All she knew in this moment was what she should do. Call for Hendry to have Niall escorted back to the castle under guard, where she would inform her father that he was an imposter. The guards would imprison him, demand to know where the true Artair was, and dole out justice as they saw fit. But as hurt and angry as she was, her stomach twisted at the thought. Her father could be merciful and simply exile him, but other noblemen of the clan weren’t so kind. They’d demand that he hang.
Niall's Bride: A Scottish Time Travel Romance (Highlander Fate Book 4) Page 7