Chapter One
Chapter One
New Year’s Eve: 1745
Inverness, Scotland
The dancing had stopped and people were now milling about, many of them walking away from the banks of the River Ness. Charlotte looked up at the attractive, dark-haired stranger she’d just finished kissing—the man knew how to kiss!—but instead of looking as bedazzled as she felt, he was only smiling politely.
Had her response not been enthusiastic enough? For a moment, she was tempted to wrap her arms around his neck and press herself against the length of him—it’s what one of her daring heroines would have done—but he’d dropped her hand and stepped back. She didn’t want to leap at him, so she just said, “I enjoyed that.”
Let him think what he would.
“Aye. The dancin’ gets a wee bit wild toward the end.”
The dancing? What about the kiss?
He grinned, his smoky-gray eyes crinkling a bit. “’Tis oidhche Challainn, nae?”
Thankfully, she knew that was Gaelic for Hogmanay, since both Thea and Vi had cheat sheets with common Gaelic phrases. But what about the kissing? Did the man not remember it? Or was he so used to kissing women that it just wasn’t that important? She gave a soft sigh. More than likely, with his skill, it was the latter. She forced a smile. It wouldn’t do to let him think she was upset. She didn’t even know the man.
“I suspect some people get a little bit too festive on Hogmanay.”
“Aye, they do.” He dipped his head slightly toward her. “Since no one is about to introduce us, I’m Niall Fraser.”
“I’m Charlotte Campbell.”
“Campbell?” The smile left his face. “What is a Campbell woman doing in Inverness?”
Charlotte frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He didn’t answer that but looked quickly around. “Do ye have kin with ye? How many? Where are they?”
She took a small step back, beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with him. Just like in Gothic novels when the super-sexy, hunky hero was a bit mad. It would be her luck.
“I…I’m with two friends. I probably should go find them.”
She glanced toward the nearly empty street but didn’t see either Thea or Vi. Of course, it was really dark… She blinked and squinted. The street lights had all gone out. A power outage maybe, since there were a few candles in windows. Other than that, the only light was the reflection of the moon off the water.
“I…don’t see them,” she said, “but I’m staying at the Best Western just across the river—”
“The what?” He lifted his head. “Where are ye staying?”
“There.” She started to point then dropped her hand as her heart followed with a heavy thump to her stomach.
There was no hotel on the opposite bank.
“Where?” he asked again.
“I… I…” The world felt like it was suddenly spinning, and she stumbled slightly. Niall caught her arm and steadied her. “Tell me where your kin are, lass, and I’ll escort ye to them.”
“I don’t know, exactly.” She looked down the street. The cathedral didn’t seem to be there either. She tried to think. Had someone laced a drink earlier? But she’d only had one glass of champagne before coming out into the street for the midnight festivities. Vi and Thea had shared the same bottle. She peered closer into the darkness. Where were they? Where were the familiar buildings? The cars? What was happening?
It felt surreal, much like a recurring dream she had of wanting to run but her legs wouldn’t move. Slowly, she flexed a foot. It moved. At least, this wasn’t a dream, then.
Had Brigadoon descended and swept her up? Was she experiencing something surreal? Stop it! Charlotte forced herself to rein in her imagination. She had not been transported to a mythical Scottish village that once, every hundred years, became visible to mortals who were allowed to enter its gates. She tried to shake her head to clear it, but it only made her feel lightheaded. She started to sway.
“I think I may be a bit tipsy…”
****
Niall looked down at the lass who’d just fainted in his arms. Part of her long, golden hair hid her face, the rest was draped over his arm and felt like silk. When he’d first seen her dancing in the circle, her hair flying out behind her, he’d been reminded of a faerie sylph floating through the air, her feet barely skimming the earth.
And she turned out to be a Campbell. Odd, though, that she should admit it, especially since Colonel John Campbell commanded the English forces here at Fort George. Did the lass not realize Bonnie Prince Charlie’s followers were everywhere? Did she not ken this was enemy territory?
Perhaps she was daft. A pity for one so bonny, but she spoke with a strange accent. Her replies sounded confused and she wanted to go to some place called “best western.” Best place in the western Highlands? Best place in the west Isles? He shook his head. She had pointed across the river to an empty space.
And where were her kin? If she were related to the colonel, soldiers would be everywhere. He looked around the deserted street again. He didn’t see any, but other Campbells could be about. Just because he couldn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t out there. The Campbell tartan was dark like the Black Watch… He paused in his thinking and looked down at the woman he still held. Her tartan had lighter shades of green slashed through with orange stripes. Clan MacGregor. He frowned. They were rivals of the Campbells, but the MacGregors were also proscribed. Why on earth would she choose to wear the colors of a clan that had been publicly declared the enemy of the English government? Perhaps she figured Scots sympathetic to Prince Charlie would automatically accept a MacGregor as an ally. And most would. Perhaps she also knew she was in dangerous territory here in Inverness and thought the plaid would protect her. But then, why tell him her last name? None of it made sense.
Well. He was hardly solving the quandary by standing like an eejit in the middle of an empty street past midnight. The woman had still not opened her eyes, although from her regular breathing she seemed to be sleeping.
“Lass?” He jostled her slightly. “Ye need to wake up.”
“Hmmm,” she murmured and buried her head against his shoulder much like a child who was worn out from play.
But she was no child. He was very much aware that one soft breast was also pressed against his chest and that her slumped body fitted quite nicely along the length of his.
He couldn’t just leave her here. Niall looked around once more, but nothing moved in the shadows. Not that he was expecting movement. If her kin had been lurking about, they would have attacked him—or at least confronted him—by now. Charlotte Campbell was his responsibility, at least for the time being.
With a sigh, he stooped and slipped his free arm under her knees to lift her, which almost was his undoing since the skirt slipped and he could feel bare, smooth thighs. For a moment he wondered if the devil had been loosed this night and was beleaguering him with a beautiful, helpless woman in his arms.
He shifted his weight, adjusted his hold, and started walking. His own kin at Castle Dounie were used to him rescuing stray and hurt animals, but he’d never brought back a woman before.
Certainly not one who was a Campbell.
****
Charlotte awoke the next morning to bright sunshine and the wafting smell of cinnamon-scented oatmeal. For a moment she luxuriated in the soft downiness of the mattress and the warmth of a heavy wool blanket pulled up to her chin, allowing only her cheeks to feel the frigidness of the air.
Frigid air…had the thermostat in her room stopped working? Her eyes popped open and she stared at a pale blue canopy overhead. Where had that come from? Why was she in a four-poster bed? The blanket, she saw now, was a tartan of gray and blue squares with red-and-yellow lines. Where was she? Had a drink really been laced last night and she didn’t make it back to the hotel?
“Well, then! I see ye are awake on this lovely morn!”
The voice didn’t belong to anyone she recognized, and she slowly lifted her head to see a young woman in period Scottish dress beaming at her from across the room.
“Are ye hungry? I’ve brought porridge. Master Niall thought it would be just the thing to revive ye.”
Niall. Events came flashing back. The man she had danced with. The man who didn’t seem to remember kissing her.
“Master Niall?”
“Aye. The son of the laird.”
“Son of a…” Charlotte stopped. She’d almost used a quite different word. An inappropriate word, but she wasn’t thinking straight. “Why are you dressed like that?”
The girl glanced down and then gave her a confused look. ‘’Is something wrong with it?”
“Yes… No. No. I just wasn’t…wasn’t expecting anyone to still be in costume on New Year’s Day.”
The girl frowned. “’Tis me maid’s dress.”
“Maid? You’re a maid?”
“Aye. Me name’s Erin.” She straightened her shoulders and smiled. “Shall I draw a bath for ye?”
“No. Not right now.” A bath sounded heavenly, but Charlotte wasn’t sure she wasn’t hallucinating. Or maybe dreaming and conjuring up images to use in her next novel.
“Could you tell…Master…Niall that I’d like to speak to him?”
Erin’s eyes rounded. “Ye want him to come to your bedchamber?”
“Um, no. Where could I meet with him?”
“This time of the mornin’ he’ll probably be breaking his fast in the Great Hall.”
Charlotte closed her eyes briefly. Something was very much amiss here. Slowly, she pushed the covers aside and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the tall bed. Her long skirt, bodice vest, and arisaidh were draped over the top of an armchair nearby, but she was still wearing the linen leine from last night, so she hadn’t been completely undressed. Just who had undressed her? Her cheeks warmed as she wondered if it might have been Niall, and then she dismissed the thought. She still had on clothing, including underwear. And, she’d awakened alone.
“I suppose I need to get dressed, then.”
“Ye’ll probably nae want to be wearing that.” Erin indicated her other clothing. “’Twould be too warm.”
Warm? The room felt like a meat-locker in spite of the fire in the brazier near the small table where the rapidly cooling porridge sat. That heavy shawl would feel good right now, but she didn’t really want to leave the room wearing an eighteenth-century costume. ‘Is there something you could lend me?”
“Och, aye. I think ye are about the same size as Greer.”
“Greer?”
“Master Niall’s sister.”
Had she met his sister? She didn’t even remember getting here. Wherever here was. Confusion and questions were piling on top of each other, but if she wanted answers, she’d have to get dressed.
“Yes. Please. Tell her I’ll be obliged.”
Erin nodded and left, returning in a few moments carrying what looked like a mound of clothing. She spread it out on the bed. “She said ye can choose.”
Charlotte looked over the array and tried to squelch a growing uneasiness. All of the dresses—gowns, really—were long, with voluptuous full skirts, nipped in waists, low necklines, and fitted sleeves. Costume period pieces. Or…were they? She tamped down the wave of hysteria that had begun to rise. Maybe Brigadoon had descended after all.
Where in the world was she? Charlotte glanced at Erin and decided it was probably not her best idea to ask what would sound like an idiotic question. She picked up a soft bluish-green wool.
“I’ll try this one.”
“’Tis a good choice. It will go with your eyes.”
She hadn’t thought about how she would look, but perhaps she should be more mindful. Men—at least in her novels—responded better to ladies who looked well-put-together. And she desperately needed some answers.
Ten minutes later, she was ready. Her tummy had been fortified with porridge and Erin had managed to pile her hair on top of her head in an arrangement of curls and had even pinched her cheeks to make them pinker. She almost laughed at that since the heroines in her stories did the same, but she suspected Erin wasn’t aiding a flirtation since, when Charlotte caught a look at herself in the small mirror on the dresser, she’d looked as pale as a ghostly wraith.
She took a deep breath—thankfully, there had been no corset involved in dressing—and opened the door to step into the hall.
This was it, then. A moment of truth.
****
Niall tried to ignore the covert glances of his family seated around a small table near the dais in the Great Hall. They rarely used the actual formal table to break their fast, but this morning he wished they had, for it would have eliminated them all trying not to stare at him.
He swallowed the porridge which, while usually smooth and creamy, left a lump in his throat. He took a bit of barley bread, usually equally moist but today felt like dry hay in his mouth. He reached for the watered-down ale and then put it down and looked up.
His father studied him thoughtfully, his face passive and not giving any clue to what he was feeling, but he never revealed his feelings. The old man was wily as a fox, which was partly the reason he’d earned the moniker of “The Fox.”
His sister’s face was full of concern, although whether because he was not wolfing down his food like he usually did or because of his latest rescue, he wasn’t sure. His brother, Simon, had devilment in his eyes. He was probably only holding back some raucous remark about Charlotte because their sister Greer had just joined them.
Niall shifted in his chair. “I doona have any more answers for ye than I did last night.”
“Ye ken nothing about her?” Simon grinned, the slightest hint of innuendo in his voice. “She’s quite bonny.”
Their father shifted his gaze to his oldest son. “At the moment we are nae concerned with her looks.”
Simon sobered and his father looked back at Niall. “She told ye she had nae kin?”
“She said she had two friends, but I wasna able to find them.”
They’d had this conversation last night after he’d brought Charlotte, still unconscious, home. His father liked to re-word his inquiries as a way to check if the person he was questioning was consistent or lying, a trait he was well-versed in. His father also had an instinct for discerning when someone was withholding information, which was probably why his father was studying him so carefully this morning.
He hadn’t told them Charlotte’s last name. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was protecting her. If more Campbells—besides the colonel—were in the vicinity, they could pose a real danger. His father, as laird, certainly should be made aware. For that matter, a message should also be sent to Charles Stuart’s camp, alerting them.
Yet he held back. He had not seen any Campbell tartans last night, although it would be easy enough to disguise themselves. The fact that no one had come to claim Charlotte had been more telling, especially when the crowds were gone and he was carrying her to his horse. He’d stationed several of his men along the route home to Castle Dounie just to make sure they weren’t being followed. All of the men had reported the road had been clear.
“I will try to find out more when I talk to her this morning.”
“If she’s awake.” His brother shrugged. “I suppose ’tis possible she had a head injury before she fell against ye.”
He hadn’t thought of that. Sometimes it took a little while before the effects took place. It might also explain her confusing answers. “Mayhap we should sent for the physician if she still sleeps.”
“She’s awake,” Greer said. “And apparently not worse for wear. Erin came to my room to borrow a gown or two.”
Niall breathed a sigh of relief. “’Tis good news, then.”
“Aye.” His father fixed him with a stern look. “We need to ken who the lass is and why she is wandering about without kin. I expect ye to get the answers.”
“I intend to,” Niall answered.
He knew his father’s look. If he didn’t get a satisfactory explanation from Charlotte, his father would.
****
Niall was no longer in the Great Hall when she went down, but she found him in a room across the way. For a moment she stood in the doorway silently, taking in the scene.
A large mahogany desk took up most of the center of the room, a huge, throne-like leather chair behind it. Two smaller, straight-back wooden chairs were directly in front, which reminded her of the principal’s office at her high school. As a rather independent-thinking teenager, she’d been summoned to his presence on more than one occasion.
She felt like that now, except this room didn’t look at all modern. An oil painting between two wooden bookcases on the wall behind the desk depicted a hunting scene with men in seventeenth-century dress, and the tapestry hung on the stone wall by the narrow window was positively medieval-looking. A substantial fire blazed from the open hearth opposite the desk, casting dancing shadows across the floor and over two comfortable-looking armchairs. The only other light source were two oil lamps in sconces and a candle burning on the desk a safe distance from the ledger that Niall was working on.
Uneasiness stirred in her stomach again. She obviously was in some sort of actual castle probably a couple of centuries old, but did they have to keep everything so authentic?
She cleared her throat and he looked up. For a moment he studied her, then he smiled, marked his spot in the ledger with a piece of paper, and shut it, then gestured her to enter.
“Please. Have a seat.”
Since he was sitting behind the desk, she sat down in one of straight-backs. At least Niall didn’t look like the old, bespectacled principal who never changed his expression.
“How are ye feeling this morning?” Niall asked.
“Better.” She didn’t really know if she was better or not since she must have had some kind of blackout. “I know this sounds silly, but where am I, exactly?”
He only inclined his head. “Ye are at Castle Dounie, near Beauly.”
Beauly. Vaguely, she recalled it was a village near Inverness. “How…How did I get here?”
He didn’t seem to think that an odd question either. “I brought ye here on my horse after ye swooned.”
Her fictional heroines swooned. She had never fainted in her life. But there really wasn’t much point in saying that since she didn’t know exactly what had happened.
Something had happened. “I’m afraid I don’t recall.”
This time he frowned. “Could ye have fallen and hit your head sometime yesterday?”
“No. I was perfectly fine.” That popped out before she had time to think on it. Maybe she should have said yes and claimed a concussion to give herself time to sort things out. Well, too late now. “Umm. I might have had a bit too much of your whisky. It’s very strong. Could you…could you enlighten me on what happened?”
“I saw ye at the revelry last eve. I joined ye in the dance.” He looked at her closely. “Do ye remember that?” When she nodded, he went on. “We introduced ourselves. And then, ye just swooned. I caught ye before ye could fall.”
“You didn’t kiss me?”
“Kiss ye?” He blinked. Then he grinned, the dimple showing in his cheek. “I think I would have remembered that, lass.”
So Niall didn’t kiss her? Had she dreamed it? She felt her face warm as he was now gazing at her with a look of intense interest. Better to change the subject. She looked around.
“This is your home?”
“Aye. ’Tis the seat of Clan Fraser of Lovat. My father’s the laird.”
Laird. She supposed maybe the Scottish equivalent to English aristocracy might still use the term. If she recalled, Frasers were the dominant clan in this area. “I think it’s wonderful that the clans still take so much pride in their ancestry.”
“Still?”
“Well…yes. I mean, Scotland is part of the United Kingdom—”
“United kingdom?” He snorted. “We may be under George’s sovereign rule at present, but that’s about to change.”
“George? Don’t you mean King Charles?”
“Well, aye. Good of ye to call him that, although he has nae been crowned yet.” Niall shrugged. “’Tis just a matter of time, though, before a Stuart king is on the throne again.”
A Stuart king. Not Queen Elizabeth’s son, but Bonnie Prince Charlie—who would also have been Charles III. It couldn’t be. And then, as if to reinforce the impossible thought, she saw the date on the paper he’d used as a bookmark.
January 1, 1746.
1746. The year the battle of Culloden was fought. The year the Jacobites lost everything to the English. Her head began to spin again and she clutched the desk rim for balance as she started to sway.
Niall leapt up from behind the desk and was beside her, steadying her. She took a deep breath. At least, he was real. She wasn’t imagining his strong, warm hands on her arms or the way he was gently rubbing them. He was real. The year could not be 1746. It wasn’t possible to time-travel.
Was it?