Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Charlotte tried not to be obvious about her eavesdropping on the conversation between Niall and his brother after dinner that night, but if she were going to be of any help at all in preventing the massacre at Culloden, she needed to gather as much information as she could and as unobtrusively as she could.
Luckily, the men had not retreated to the privacy of their council room—or the War Room, as she liked to call it. Instead, they were seated near her and Greer beside a roaring fire in one of the hearths in the Great Hall. The weather had turned surly after they returned from shopping in Inverness. The wind was howling and the snow was blowing in white-out conditions.
Somewhat like it would be on that fateful day just three and a half months hence.
“The missive Da received said General Murray decided to split the army into two parts on the advance to Stirling,” Simon said. “I wonder how the prince is going to react to that.”
“If he’s wise, he’ll listen to the man. He commands the Atholl Highlanders, and they are one of the strongest forces the prince has.”
“Aye, but ye ken when Lord Murray returned from exile, he was appointed sheriff depute for the English before he crossed the line to us.” Simon glanced over to where Charlotte sat. “And he approved the 1707 Union.”
Charlotte pretended not to notice, but her ears burned and not because of the fire’s heat. She was a Campbell and—in this time—a government ally, but she could hardly explain that she wasn’t from this time.
“I doona think anyone will doubt his allegiance now,” Niall said.
“Mayhap, but I wonder if his men are in agreement with dividing the army. The lord doesnae like to accept advice.”
Niall shrugged. “He probably relies on his own experience, which is considerable.”
“’Tis nae denying that, since he fought for the Old Pretender too.” Simon grimaced. “but our bonny prince doesnae like to take orders either.”
“Well, he is our prince,” Greer interjected. “What do ye expect?”
Charlotte managed not to laugh at the surprised looks on her brothers’ faces. They probably didn’t think their sister had been listening to a word they said. She quickly straightened her own lips. She was probably not supposed to be listening either. Still, she glanced over at Niall, who seemed to have recovered from Greer’s outburst.
“He may be our prince, but he is nae a seasoned warrior,” he said.
Simon snorted. “He doesnae think things through, from what I heard. A bit of a hothead, he is.”
Greer narrowed her eyes. “’Tis close to treason ye speak, brother.”
“’Tis the truth.”
Simon glanced her way again and Charlotte wondered if he’d made the statement on purpose to test her own reaction. Or…maybe feed her a tidbit that he might not be as strong a Jacobite as his brother and sister? Did he think her a spy, who would send a message to her “friends” to let them know? Or to that colonel at the fort?
She closed her eyes briefly and gave herself an inner shake. Her writer’s imagination was taking over again. There was nothing nefarious about this conversation. They were simply discussing a decision that had been made by one of the top commanders of the Jacobite army. Plus, she had read that Bonnie Prince Charlie was stubborn and arrogant and young.
“However that may be,” Niall said, “we doona ken if the prince agrees with Murray or not. We will have to wait and see.”
That put an end to the conversation, but Charlotte kept the thoughts in her mind. A prince and a first-in-command at odds with each other did not bode well.
****
Two days later, they were back in Inverness, this time to check at the inns to see if her friends had either checked in or responded to the notices that had been left. Niall thought Charlotte appeared to be nervous, but whether that was because it was just the two of them today or because she anticipated—or didn’t anticipate—news of her “friends.”
He hated that he was still in doubt about her story. It didn’t help that both Simon and his father were skeptical. While he could sympathize with a lass wanting to run away from a marriage she didn’t want, it was very odd that her companions had not stuck around to find her. Then, too, there was the fact that she was a Campbell. He wouldn’t put it past the Duke of Argyll to send a woman to infiltrate a Jacobite stronghold.
As bad as that possibility was, it would be even worse if Charlotte’s nervousness was because she was alone with him this morning. Damn it. He liked the lass. He wanted her to trust him.
“Well, here we are,” he said as they approached the first inn. “Let’s see if your friends are about.”
Charlotte gave him a wavering smile. “It would be wonderful to find them.”
They had no luck there nor on the second or third stop. The wind had also picked up, and it was beginning to snow. Charlotte looked decidedly more anxious, but again, he didn’t know if was the negative results they were having or because a storm was approaching.
“Maybe we should head back?” she asked.
“’Tis only five miles to home,” Niall answered, “and we’ve got only a few more stops to make. Do ye nae want to check those first?” He hoped she would, since his father had given him an order to make sure all inns had been checked. Still, he would come back later if she wanted to go home. To his relief, she nodded.
“I suppose that would be best.”
By the time they’d finished—with no luck—the storm had gathered strength and the snow fell more thickly. Niall thought about checking into a room—rooms—themselves to wait it out, but it seemed rather unnecessary, given how close they were to the castle and the horse knew well the way. Besides, he’d never hear the end of it from Simon if they stayed in town overnight. Or from his sister either, probably.
By the time they reached the stable where they’d left the horse and buggy, Charlotte had pulled her cloak tighter and wrapped the wool scarf more securely over her head and tugged on her gloves.
Niall hesitated. “We can get a room—rooms—and stay the night, if ye think ye’ll be too cold.”
Her eyes widened, whether in surprise or wariness he couldn’t tell. Then she shook her head.
“I’ll be fine. As you said, it’s only five miles.”
Niall asked the stable master for extra blankets. The man only had one on hand that wasn’t a horse blanket, so Niall laid it over Charlotte’s lap, tucking the edges in behind her, his hand brushing her side as he did so. It gave him an unexpected tingle.
Resisting the urge to tuck the whole blanket around her, he climbed up beside her on the bench and clicked the reins. As the horse moved outside, he felt her hand touching his thigh. He inhaled sharply, not daring to look at her. What was she doing? Not that he minded…she could stroke his whole leg if she wanted to. Warmth filled his nether regions at the thought. Then he felt a different kind of warmth and realized she had simply spread the blanket out to cover his legs as well. He did glance at her then and caught her watching him, a look of amusement on her face.
Amusement? Had the lass noticed his physical reaction? If she had, amusement wasn’t exactly the reaction he’d have hoped for.
But then again, she didn’t look afraid anymore.
****
More than anything, Charlotte wanted to move closer to Niall on the buggy’s bench. Not just for warmth, although that was definitely a factor since the temperature must have dropped a good ten or fifteen degrees, but she thought she’d felt a… stirring… when she’d placed the blanket over him. It would have been wonderful to test her theory by snuggling closer. Maybe he’d remember that kiss he’d given her on New Year’s Eve.
She remembered it, although she wasn’t sure if had been in the twenty-first century or this one. Niall seemed to have no recall of it at all. Which was a bit of a blow to her vanity. If it happened. Maybe it didn’t. She’d been in this century only a few days, and her mind was still having trouble accepting reality. Whatever reality was. A now familiar, hysterical bubble rose in her throat. Her mind was used to operating in fantasy—that’s what all writers did, especially romance writers—but this time she wasn’t able to just shut the computer down. She was here. Wasn’t she? A part of her wanted to take off her mittens and pinch herself to make sure she was not partaking of some very strange dream—like when she couldn’t run—but it was getting colder by the minute. In spite of the blanket, she shivered.
Niall gave her a concerned look. “Are ye verra cold?”
“I…I’ll be fine.”
“Hmmph.” He seemed to contemplate, then gave her a tentative smile. “If ye willna take offense at the suggestion, ye are welcome to sit on my lap and we’ll wrap the blanket around both of us for body warmth.”
Take offense? She fought down a giggle. Take offense? She’d been wanting to do that very thing, and not just for warmth. Still. She never allowed her heroines to throw themselves at their heroes. She furrowed her brows as if considering it, then nodded. “I think that would benefit both of us.”
He made a noise low in his throat that was indecipherable although it came close to a growl. Then he wound the reins over the brake handle and lifted his half of the blanket.
It was a bit awkward trying to sidle over his thigh with all the winter clothing she was wearing and the narrow space. The heroines in her novels would have been able to do it gracefully in one smooth, sylph-like movement, but she got a corner of her cloak caught on the splintered wooden rail in front of the bench. When Niall reached around her back to untangle it, she stumped her foot against his boot just as the carriage lurched and she sprawled across his lap.
For a moment she lay there, hands clutching his leg, her head hanging over the side of the bench, the ground rising and falling beneath her face while the horse’s trot had her jostling Niall. A certain part of him anyway.
He made another strange noise, and then she felt strong hands lifting her and settling her in a more dignified position against his chest. In another moment, he’d swirled the blanket around them, enveloping her in cocoon-like warmth. She was too embarrassed to look at him, so she just burrowed her head into the thick wool of his tartan.
Niall didn’t speak either, which was just as well. What comment could he make after she’d so spectacularly completed such a klutz act? One that also had her in a very suggestive pose, to say the least. Instead, he unwound the reins with one hand and kept his other arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, probably to make sure she didn’t perform another artless blunder.
It did feel good to be held by him, though, even if he weren’t aware of the wayward path her writer’s imagination was taking her now that she was warm and safe, her senses filled with his scent of heather soap and leather.
She settled for curling her arms around his waist and felt his heart beating strong and steadily as she nestled against his chest. He was definitely real.
****
Niall had never been so glad to see the gates of Castle Dounie rising ahead of him through the swirling snow. It wasn’t the weather that caused him concern—the horse instinctively knew the way to a warm barn and a waiting bucket of oats—but the lass he held in front of him.
Was God—or more likely, the devil—testing his limits? Sitting in close proximity to Charlotte on the buggy’s bench had been temptation enough, or so he’d thought. Then she’d touched his leg when she’d covered them both with the blanket. Sharing that blanket, especially after her hand had unwittingly brushed against another part of him too, had felt instantly intimate. It was nothing to having her sprawled across him a moment later, soft, delectable breasts pressed against his rapidly rising member. He hadn’t had that kind of lustful reaction since a cheeky milkmaid had pulled him into the straw when he was a lad.
And the worst part? Or—maybe—the best part…for her anyway. Charlotte seemed to be blissfully unaware, curled as she was against his chest, seemingly content, maybe asleep even. She trusted him and he had no right to take advantage of her. There were plenty of women he could have to meet his “needs,” including Fiona.
Niall shook his head to clear his thoughts as the horse picked up his trot, sensing he was near home. Maybe these unforeseen emotions were surfacing because he’d not been with a woman in…months? Ever since Charles Edward John Sylvester Maria Casimir Stuart had arrived on Scotland’s shores on July 23 with his ambition of reclaiming Scotland, Niall had been caught up in the Cause. Even now—this very day—fellow Highlanders were laying siege to Stirling.
Had Charlotte not literally fallen into his arms on Hogmanay, he’d probably be there too.
But she had fallen into his arms, and now she was in them again. She felt soft and pliable and molded to him flawlessly. He tried to push away the thought of how perfectly they’d fit together lying in his feather-down bed, the drapes from the canopy pulled closed, creating their own special cocoon, shutting away the rest of the world.
He sighed as he passed through the gates and entered the castle bailey. The world—his world—could not simply be vanquished because he would prefer to live in a time when Scotland wasn’t at war.
Neither could he ignore the fact that the woman he held was an enigma as well. He glanced down at her nestled against him. Her assertion of fleeing a marriage she didn’t want was plausible. Her account of her “friends” was highly suspicious. Did they exist? He’d not found any confirmation today that they had even been seen. But his da had not found any evidence that there were strangers lurking about, either.
Who was she, really? He was pretty sure she’d been truthful when she’d told him her name was Campbell. Who would pretend to be a member of a clan loyal to the government? That put her in danger in these parts, and he would protect and defend her for that reason alone. He was honor-bound. But if he thought his attraction to her wasn’t real, that notion was gone.