Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Charlotte stood on the bank of the River Ness once more and looked around. Last night at dinner Niall had suggested that they go into Inverness this morning to see if she could locate her two friends.
Dinner. It had gone better than Charlotte had expected. They’d eaten in the Great Hall, which had been filled with hundreds of Frasers, but Niall’s family hadn’t sat at the raised dais. Instead, they had a smaller round table off to one side where, as Greer pointed out, they could observe their kinsmen without being on display themselves.
It had helped to keep Charlotte’s presence obscure as well. Heads had turned when she’d walked in with the laird, but he’d introduced her as a friend of distant MacGregor kin who would be staying with them for a while. That his clan had accepted that simple statement and returned to their own conversations spoke volumes as to what kind of authority a laird had in the eighteenth century.
Authority that could land her in dire straits if he found out the truth.
But this morning she had her mind on other matters. Both Niall’s brother and sister had accompanied them, which meant she was going to have to convince three people of whatever story she could concoct. Not too much different than creating sub-plots, she tried to tell herself. She was a writer, after all.
She looked down the street to where a horse and carriage waited outside what appeared to be a general store. Several riders passed them, one or two tipping a hat toward their little group. Other than that, there wasn’t much going on.
Were Vi and Thea here? Had they somehow travelled with her through Time? She doubted it, since they hadn’t been together when whatever it was had happened to transport her. Vi had still been standing on the bank, and Thea had gone to check on the fallen man. Only she had joined the circle of dancing. And Niall had been there…but had that been in the twenty-first century or this one?
“Where did ye say ye were staying?” Greer asked, breaking through her thoughts. “We can check to see if your friends have returned.”
She had been staying at the Best Western. Which hadn’t yet been built. She looked across the river. Only a few small buildings lined the other side, none of which looked like an inn. Not that she’d be registered at one anyway.
“We…hadn’t actually checked in anywhere.”
While Greer widened her eyes in surprise, Simon narrowed his. “Doona tell me that three women thought to camp outside.”
“Well, no.” The words were out before she could give them much thought. So exactly where would three women—alone—stay? Think. Inspiration hit. New Year’s Eve celebrations drew crowds, regardless of the century.
“The places we tried were all full.” Three pairs of eyes watched her, waiting for her to continue. “We…thought…if we joined the dancing, maybe we could ask someone for accommodation afterward.” That sounded plausible. She hoped. “That must have been what happened to my friends. They found someone hospitable enough to offer them shelter.”
She sensed Niall was studying her. Her previous version had intimated that her friends had disappeared to couple. Were the two ideas so far apart? Thankfully, he didn’t question her.
“Well, if we were in Beauly, we could solve that mystery quickly since there are nae that many homes,” Greer said, “but Inverness has nearly ten thousand people, not to mention other visitors.”
Thank goodness for that. “I’m not sure what we can do.”
“Your friends will probably start checking the inns,” Greer said. “Mayhap they’ve already checked some of them. At the least, we could ask the innkeepers to put up signs indicating that you’re staying at Castle Dounie “
“We decided it was safer nae to call Charlotte a Campbell,” Niall turned to her. “Would your friends make a connection to MacGregor?”
“They…might. Thea chose the MacGregor tartan for me.” That much was true, albeit it she had picked it out from a costume shop in Edinburgh. Still, both Vi and Thea were more expert about actual Scottish history than she was. They might—if they were in this century—make the connection. “I think it’s worth a try.”
Greer smiled and Niall nodded. “We’ll do it, then.”
Only Simon looked skeptical. Charlotte wasn’t sure if that was because he didn’t think the idea wouldn’t work or because he didn’t believe her.
****
When they returned to the castle, there was palatable excitement in the air. Niall could feel it even before one of men came rushing toward him and Simon. “Good news, my lords, good news!”
Another man approached. “Your father is waiting for the both of ye.”
His father was actually grinning when they joined him in the council room off the Great Hall. His father had seldom even broken a smile these past months while Prince Charlie had gone south to recruit more troops and not been overly successful, having crossed back into Scotland just before Christmas. Niall wondered if he was contemplating which side to back. He’d done it before in the first Uprising, or so Niall had been told. He’d been a wee bairn. He hoped his father was serious about backing Prince Charlie. “Do ye have good news about the Campbells or the prince?” he asked as he sat down.
“Both,” his father answered. “My men didna find any Campbells lurking about nor did anyone else they questioned, so your lass may be telling the truth.”
Your lass. His lass. Of course, Charlotte wasn’t his. She was a stranger who had fallen into his arms. Literally. Still. He couldn’t deny that he rather liked the sound of the phrase. Liked the idea, too. She was bonny, as his brother had pointed out, but there was an inner strength to her. She’d had the courage to run away from a situation she didn’t want. He sensed there was more to the situation than what she’d told him, but he’d give her time for the telling of it. And, he realized, he wanted to spend more time with her. Wanted to hold her—this time while she was conscious—and kiss her…
“Are ye back with the living?”
Niall blinked at Simon’s words and then felt an unfamiliar heat crawl up his neck. Contrachd! Curses! Had he actually been traipsing away in fantasy like a complete eejit while his father had important news?
“I was just thinking we can put more trust in the lass now.”
“Aye. Trust.” Simon didn’t look fooled for a moment. “If that is what ye want to call it.”
He refused to take the bait and turned to his father. “Do ye have news on Prince Charlie as well?”
“Aye. Ye ken Glasgow was nae particularly welcoming when he returned, in spite of the balls he hosted, but,” his father’s grin widened, “he managed to nae only secure several thousand pounds, but the Provost agreed to outfit all six thousand troops with new uniforms and boots.”
That, in itself, was worth a small fortune. With the worst of the winter onset in the next few weeks, it was also much needed, for survival as well as morale. But another thought struck him.
“Six thousand men? Prince Charlie is near his goal, then.”
“Aye. ’Tis another bit of good news as well. Cumberland is still in London, which leaves General Hawley in charge of the government troops in Scotland.”
That was good news, or at least as good as it could get if there were going to be any government troops in Scotland. The duke was the third son of the king and had gotten a formidable reputation for brutal violence on the Continent during the conflict over the Austrian succession. Having him out of the country—even temporarily—was good. King George must have heard rumors that the French were planning to aid Prince Charlie and wanted Cumberland on the home front since France’s easiest entry ports would be along the eastern coast of England.
“So what is next?” Simon asked.
“I’ve sent word to my brother Charles at Inverallochy to prepare our men in case the prince issues a call-to-arms,” his father said. “I’m a wee bit too long in the tooth to lead the men myself.”
His father certainly looked braw enough, even though the man was in his seventies. And cagey. Niall raised his brows. “Do ye think my uncle will try to engage Hawley?”
“Mayhap. I think Prince Charlie has his eye on Stirling Castle, though,” his father answered. “’Twould be an opportune time to attack.”
“The castle is well-fortified,” Niall said, “even if the garrison itself numbers only a few hundred men.”
“Aye. Well, the word is the townspeople will nae hold out long,” his father answered, “so a siege may be just as beneficial. Prince Charlie’s troops will have food and shelter. They can starve out the garrison.”
Simon leaned back and smiled. “Sounds like we may be on our way to independence.”
Niall nodded his acquiescence, although something niggled at him, like there were too many questions left unanswered. He just wasn’t sure whether it was about Scotland’s future or the future of the lass he’d brought home.
****
Thankfully, everyone was abuzz about the news that had been delivered and Charlotte wasn’t asked many questions at dinner that night. Even better, no one was staring at her with unanswered questions in their eyes.
Because she didn’t have the answers.
“Ye look tired,” Greer said as she held out a plate of bannocks.
Charlotte took one. The scone-like bread was baked with oatmeal and had a wonderful heartiness to it, especially when she added fresh-churned butter from the creamery shed. Just what she needed.
“I guess I am. Visiting the inns today was stressful.”
“Aye. I can imagine. ’Tis never easy when a friend or kin goes missing.” Greer set the plate down. “But doona give up hope that we’ll find them.”
Charlotte didn’t want to squelch any hope, but she suspected Thea and Vi were still in the twenty-first century. Or, rather, would be in the twenty-first century. It was really hard to wrap her head around the fact that she’d actually time-traveled.
She still didn’t know how, either. While they had been in Inverness earlier, she’d made a point of standing on the bank where she had stood with her friends. She’d retraced her steps toward where the dance had taken place on the riverbank, ostensibly to enjoy the view. She’d even walked widdershins in an oblong circle, since that was the direction she’d been dancing in—from what she recalled—when she felt herself drifting. She’d felt pretty stupid doing that, since she vaguely recalled moving counter-clockwise as the direction witches danced in. Not that she thought witchcraft had anything to do with what happened, but she had wondered about magic.
Nothing had happened. Except for the absence of the Best Western and the cathedral, the landscape looked remarkably like it had in the twenty-first century.
“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see if my friends turn up,” she said. “I don’t know what else we can do.”
“Well, at least there is nae fighting in the area right now nor anyone lurking about that might think to abduct them.”
Charlotte frowned. “How do you know that?”
Greer paused, her face turning pink. “Da had men out last night searching.”
“For my friends?” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she knew what Greer meant. Her father had men out searching for Campbells. Spies.
Her story had not been completely accepted, then. She shouldn’t be surprised, since their father was laird and had a responsibility to his clan. She suspected Simon doubted her as well. Every time she caught him looking at her, it was with skepticism on his face. She wondered if Niall believed her. She needed him to, even though her tale wasn’t true. She suspected he’d probably hate her if he found out she was lying. In the short amount of time she’d been with him, she knew he was honorable and honest. Traits she cherished. Traits she wished she could share. Who would believe her if she told the truth? She couldn’t risk it, because being put in an asylum in the eighteenth century meant to be forgotten and left to perish.
Still, she was in the eighteenth century. There must be some reason she’d been transported here.
The buzz of the conversation around her became louder and she became aware of how, suddenly, everyone was voicing confidence that it wouldn’t take long to defeat King George now. The Scots’ numbers were growing and they’d had success at Prestopans and Carlisle. Soon, Scotland would be independent again.
But it wouldn’t. The battle at Culloden loomed ahead. Not only would Scotland be defeated, there would be hundreds—thousands—of lives lost in the battle. The Frasers had been at the front lines. She looked across the table at Niall. Would he be one of them?
Sorrow and a sense of hopelessness shot through her, and it wasn’t for her friends Thea and Vi. It was because Niall might be killed in that battle.
Could she prevent it? Was that why she’d landed in this century somehow? To prevent the battle at Culloden from happening?