Highlander Unleashed

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

“What did ye discover?”

Niall turned away from the window where he’d been looking over the empty, snow-patched hills and looked at his brother.

“Nothing in particular.”

Simon’s eyebrows rose. “Nothing?”

“Nothing of value.” He took his seat behind the desk again. “The lass was still nae feeling well. I didna want to press her too much.”

Simon grinned as he turned a chair around and straddled it. “I would think ye might want to press her quite close.”

Niall gave him an irritated look. “Charlotte is a guest here. We doona take advantage.”

“Charlotte, is it? ’Tis a bit familiar, is it nae?” His brother continued to grin. “For someone who doesna want to take advantage, I mean.”

“Will ye stop!”

The smile wavered and stopped. “What is it ye are nae telling us?”

Niall clenched his fists beneath the desk. His brother had the same uncanny sense of sniffing out what was hidden behind words as his father did. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—share any information until he could find out why Charlotte had been wearing a MacGregor tartan when she told him her last name was Campbell. Had she been trying to disguise herself and inadvertently blurted out her name without thinking? Whisky had flowed freely last night, and she had said something about imbibing. While he doubted his father would do anything so drastic as to lock her away as a prisoner, things were too volatile to be sure what he would do.

And in too much turmoil. Prince Charlie’s army had successfully reached Edinburgh before Christmas, but the castle had been retaken when he marched south to gather more troops. The siege on Carlisle had worked, but the prince was still waiting on French troops to arrive to aid the clans. Some of the clans, like the MacIntosh, were evenly divided in their loyalty. Word that there might be a Campbell spy near Inverness would not set well. He sighed.

“I call her Charlotte because that is the name she gave me leave to.” She hadn’t precisely given him permission to use her Christian name, but she offered it instead of referring to herself as “Miss.” Besides, this wasn’t England and their etiquette didn’t really apply in the Highlands. “I intend to question her further, but as I said, she was nae feeling well and returned to her room.”

Simon gave him an appraising look before he rose from the chair. “Doona wait too long, brother. A woman who appears out of nowhere with no kin to chaperone or claim her is nae one to be trusted.”

“I ken that.” So far, only his family and Erin knew the circumstances about Charlotte’s arrival. Once more of the servants saw her, rumors would start as well. “I’ll have answers for ye before sundown. I vow it.”

Simon nodded and moved to the door. As he left, Niall leaned back in his chair. There was definitely one question he wanted an answer to, but it wasn’t one he could probably ask.

Charlotte had mentioned that he’d kissed her. She hadn’t said she’d wished he’d kissed her. She hadn’t flirtatiously implied she wanted him to now. She had sounded completely sincere that he had kissed her last night and looked a little hurt by his reply. His reply had been truthful. He would have remembered kissing her, especially since he would have liked nothing better than to kiss her again. But it hadn’t happened.

Uneasily, he wondered if Charlotte might be somewhat barmy. Perhaps she had escaped from an asylum where her family had confined her and she only thought she was a Campbell.

The thought was strangely unsettling.

****

Charlotte knew she couldn’t hide in her room for much longer. Erin had already brought up a tray for the noonday meal since she’d pleaded a headache, which wasn’t entirely false.

Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of what was happening or, more precisely, when it was happening. She was in Scotland. In 1746. Impossible. But…in the twenty-first century, Castle Dounie was only a ruin. Beaufort Castle had replaced it. So. How could it be she was here?

She was still pondering that thought as she made her way back to the library-study later that afternoon. This time she had been summoned. Actually, the note Erin had delivered from Niall a short time ago had “requested” her presence, but she figured that was rather like a teacher “requesting” a student to “please have a seat.” The teacher meant Sit down. Now. Niall had meant Come down. Now.

This time he was waiting for her as she entered the library. The ledger with its telltale date was nowhere in sight. Instead, a small teapot with two pewter mugs and a plate of shortbread were on the desktop. Perhaps he—or maybe Greer—had decided a more social setting would be better for the interrogation. For interrogation it would be. She had no doubt about that. She took a deep breath. At least, her interrogator was easy to gaze upon. Very much so.

Sunshine was streaming through the window, casting a bluish tone to his pitch hair, which was long enough to curl off the collar of the shirt he wore. The light accentuated the angle of his face: high cheekbones, squared jaw, straight nose. It was his eyes, though, that were really fascinating. Neither brown nor gray, they were more the color of dark smoke. Right now, they were trained on her. She sat.

“Tea?” he asked, lifting the pot.

“Please.” Charlotte fought a hysterical laugh that threatened to escape. How ironical to be having tea as though this were a social visit.

He poured, then smiled as he moved the cup toward her. “I’ll let ye put in the sugar and cream. I’m nae good at this kind of thing.”

It was a disarming statement, as was the smile, but it did nothing to relax her. Quite the opposite. She was pretty sure she’d choke on the tea if she tried to swallow. Still, she added a dollop of cream and pretended to take a sip, thankful her hand was steady enough not to spill the stuff. She set the cup down.

“I suppose you have questions?”

An eyebrow lifted. “Aye. I’ll let ye start, though. Tell me how ye came to be at the dance last night.”

So there had been a dance. At least she hadn’t imagined that. Just the kiss. Her eyes drifted to his mouth. It was a very kissable mouth, wide and full. Maybe she had just wanted to kiss him?

The hysterical bubble threatened to rise again.

“Yes. Well.” She forced herself to focus on the desk in front of her. She had a half-baked story that she thought might be believed since she could hardly tell him she was from the future. She’d be locked away for sure.

“I was at the dance with two of my friends. Vi Sutherland and Thea Ross. I…think they might have met some gentlemen…” She gave him what she hoped was a conspiratorial smile. “If you know what I mean. They’re probably looking for me—”

“Sutherland? Ross?” he interrupted. “Who accompanied them?”

She frowned. He’d certainly missed her point. “No one.”

He frowned too. “Lass. Ye need to tell me the truth.”

“I…am.” So far, she was. “We just wanted to mingle with the townspeople.”

Niall leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “Ye are expecting me to believe that three women—all of whose clans back the government and would like nothing better than to capture Prince Charlie—just happened to be in Inverness by yourselves?”

Instinctively, Charlotte leaned back as comprehension dawned. Their ancestors had been anti-Jacobites. The Campbells had fought for the English at Culloden, as had the clans of Ross and Sutherland. Good Lord. Did Niall think they—she—was a spy?

“I… We…” She swallowed. “Actually, we didn’t want our families to know we were gone.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I doona believe ye, lass.”

“You…don’t?” She swallowed again. “Why not?”

He held up his hand and ticked off reasons. “One. Your friends never showed up last night. Two. Ye are a fair distance from Argyll. How did ye make that trip by yourself? Three—”

“I didn’t make the trip by myself. I was with my friends.”

“Three,” he continued counting on his fingers. “Ye wore a MacGregor tartan instead of a Campbell one, to disguise who you were.”

“Disguise? No.” Good grief. She’d rented the costume and hadn’t bothered to ask about which clan it represented.

“Ye expect me to believe Campbells are nae hiding down the road waiting for ye to return to camp?”

“No. Yes. I mean… I do not know if there are Campbells lurking somewhere. I would hope not.”

“Ye hope not? Why would ye nae want your kin near?”

“I…” What kind of an explanation could she come up with? Her imagination began to stir. What would the plot be if she were writing this? She was in enemy territory, in disguise, a fair distance from the clan seat… Inspiration hit in the form of a well-used—maybe over-used—romance trope. But. This was the eighteenth century, not the twenty-first. Jane Austin and the Bronte sisters hadn’t been born yet. It might work. She took a deep breath and had the ironic thought that his handsome face would serve well as that of her hero, although at this point that was stretching even her imagination too far. All she could do was hope he’d believe her story.

“All right. I haven’t been totally truthful.” She ventured a tentative smile but he remained impassive. “I was afraid you’d send me back.”

Still no smile. “Send ye back?”

“Yes. To…” What was the name of the Campbell seat? She nearly panicked as she drew a blank and then remembered. “Inveraray—”

“Ye are kin to Archibald Campbell?”

“Ah…indirectly.” She supposed that was true, if she traced her genealogy back far enough. “In any event,” Charlotte went on before Niall could question her further, “my father betrothed me to a man I do not want to marry, and the laird approved it. So…” She shrugged. “I disguised myself and ran away.” Now the lie was out, she felt strangely calm. “My friends helped me escape.”

Niall leaned back and considered. “And where were ye planning to go?”

“I…hadn’t quite thought that far.” That much was true. She was making this up as she went along. “I…just needed to get away.”

Her plot now needed an ending. She’d never been an author who flew by the seat of her pants. “Will you help me?”

Niall studied her for so long she was beginning to think he wasn’t going to. Or, maybe, he was going to turn her out on her ear. Or call a magistrate…

“For now,” he said.

“What?” She wanted to make sure she had heard correctly.

A corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I said ‘for now.’ I will help ye for now. But…” The smile faded. “Ye had best nae be lying to me.”

****

“So ye believe the lass, then?” his father asked.

They were sitting in the small room—the council room, adjacent to the Great Hall—usually used for arranging truces with rival clans. Although it was only his family that was gathered—father, brother, sister—Niall felt the weight of his conclusion as strongly as if he’d been negotiating with King George himself. The safety of his clan was at stake.

“I want to give the lass shelter.”

Simon grinned. “Of course ye do.”

Niall slanted him a look. “’Tis the Highland way to offer hospitality.”

This time his brother snorted. “Ye might try and convince the Donalds of Glen Coe of that. Too bad none of them are left because the Campbells finished them off.”

Niall had told his family what had transpired earlier during his conversation with Charlotte, including her last name. “Ye canna blame the lass for something that happened fifty years ago.”

“And it wasna Clan Campbell that attacked the Donalds,” Greer said. “’Twas one commander acting on orders from King William. Besides,” she added, “I doona think Charlotte is going to massacre anybody.”

“Ye miss the point, sister.” Simon replied. “’Tis her kin that may be lurking about. Or, she might be a scout for Colonel Campbell.”

“’Tis true the Campbells are nae to be trusted, especially in these times,” their father said, “but I have sent out men to scour the area. Each party has one messenger on a fast horse to report back if they find anything suspicious. So far, nothing. No soldiers waiting, either.”

“’Tis only been an hour, Da,” Simon said.

His brother was right. An hour wasn’t long to search, especially if the Campbell men weren’t soldiers or wearing their plaids. And, while men from Argyll may not be familiar with the mountainous terrain around Inverness, they would know how to hide since their own territory near the Trossachs included wooded glens, braes, and lochs that were generally mist-covered and ideal for disappearing into. The MacGregors had been doing it for centuries.

Which brought Niall’s thoughts back to Charlotte’s disguise. It had either been complete foolishness on her part to risk wearing that tartan or sheer genius.

“Ye look troubled,” Greer said.

He forced a smile, although he knew his sister was astute enough not be fooled by it. “I was just thinking it might be wise if we didna mention her last name to the rest of our people.”

His father frowned. “I doona like to be deceitful.”

Niall refrained from snorting. His father was a master at being deceitful. It was something Niall had trouble rationalizing, but he’d been witness to it on more occasions that he wanted to think about.

“Niall has a point,” Greer said. “We canna guarantee that someone would nae want to seek revenge because of the name.”

“Ye think someone would openly defy me?”

“’Tis troubling times,” Simon said. “Nae all the men who pledge allegiance to the Cause have pledged fealty to ye, Da.”

Their father’s face grew stormy for an instant, then smoothed to its usual passiveness. “Ye think nae?”

“If there are some,” Niall said quickly, “why stir up a hornet’s nest that might lead to suspicion? The lass arrived in MacGregor colors. ’Tis easier to let people think ’tis her clan. We know the difference and we can keep a watchful eye.”

Simon considered, then turned to his father. “Do ye nae agree? ’Twould avoid a problem.”

The old man grimaced. “I will concede the point. I would rather concentrate on preparing the men to fight for Prince Charlie.”

“That’s settled, then,” Niall said with relief as they all stood to go out to dinner. He was nearly at the door behind his father and sister when Simon put a restraining hand on his arm.

“’Tis something nae right about this, brother.” He released his hold. “Ye had best take care that the lass is who she says she is.”