Highlander Unleashed

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

By the time Charlotte had worked for three days in Fergus Gordon’s office, she felt like she had done a good amount of organizing. She’d rearranged some files for better access according to subject matter, although it seemed that the solicitor kept the personal files of his clients in his own office rather than in her area. She had also begun to feel like it was her desk, although she hadn’t put any personal items in it or on it. Not that she actually had personal items, but a small vase of flowers might be nice. Not the season, though, nor did she want to appear territorial.

At least, Keir seemed to be satisfied with the work she’d done. He’d checked in this morning and then left, saying it looked like she could handle things. His father had seemed satisfied too, so she was beginning to breathe a bit easier.

She’d just started working on invoices that needed to be sent out when a stranger walked in. He wore the blue bonnet with its white rosette that identified him as a Jacobite, and although he wore no uniform, he had the regal bearing of a commander. His voice, while low and well-modulated, held authority.

“Is Fergus in? ’Tis important,” he said.

“May I say who’s calling?” she asked.

“David Alcho.”

Charlotte got up, knocked on Mr. Gordon’s door, then poked her head inside. “There is a Mr. Alcho here to see you.”

Fergus stood up. “That’s Lord Alcho, son of the Earl of Wemyss.” His tone sounded like she should have known. “Show him in at once.”

She did as he instructed, feeling a bit chastised. How was she to know the man was an earl’s son? She’d almost forgotten that Scots did have peerage titles just like the English, and he hadn’t called himself a lord. She was about to close the door when she heard him speak.

“Major General Huske is marching this way from Edinburgh.”

‘Ye’ve checked your source?” Fergus asked.

The other man chuckled. “I am the source. General Murray left me in charge at Linlithgow. My scouts reported roughly four thousand men.”

“About half the English army in these parts,” Fergus said.

“Aye. I suspect General Hawley will be bringing the rest in another contingent.”

“Ye are most likely right,” Fergus replied. “Do ye want me to send word to the prince at Bannockburn?”

“I’ve already done that, as well as alerting Murray and Drummond, since the duke is heading up the second regiment at Stirling. They need to be prepared for what’s coming.”

‘Yes and…” The solictor’s voice trailed off.

Charlotte heard his footsteps approaching the door and hastily took her seat at the desk. A moment later she heard the door click closed. She was trembling, whether from fear at almost being caught eavesdropping or the actuality of hearing about generals and dukes and battle strategies. This was real. She remembered something about the battle at Falkirk being only a partial victory.

Would the Frasers be called on to fight? So far, Simon’s father had managed to keep most of his clan at home, although there were regular daily routines the men practiced. She didn’t want Niall going off to battle. Was there anything she could do to stop him? She felt she had an obligation to tell him what she’d heard, but she didn’t want that knowledge to encourage him to go.

She was still in a quandary when the front door to the office opened again. This time it was no soldier or aristocrat, but Charlotte’s breath caught anyway. The one person she had hoped she wouldn’t have to see, but apparently this was not going to be a good day.

Fiona Gordon walked into the room.

Before either of them had a chance to say anything, Fergus’ door opened and he and his guest stepped out. Mr.—Lord—Alcho smiled widely when he saw Fiona.

“Miss Gordon. How very nice to see you again.”

Fiona dimpled. “’Tis my pleasure to see ye, my lord.”

“I wish I had time to visit with ye today,” Alcho said, “but business calls.”

“Och, the Cause,” Fiona said. “I will be glad when the prince finally puts King George in his place and we can go back to having fun again.”

“That is my wish as well,” Alcho replied. “I miss the ceilidhs and sharing a dance with ye.”

“Hopefully, soon. Soon.” Fergus said. “Mayhap this will all be over.”

Charlotte wished it would as well, but not for the reasons they’d just given. Right now, she didn’t care about parties and dances. Culloden wouldn’t take place if the English were defeated at Falkirk.

“So what brings ye to my office?” Fergus asked his daughter after Alcho left. “Ye doona come verra often.”

“Keir mentioned your new clerk was the one I met earlier. The one who was visiting the Frasers.” She glanced at Charlotte. “I didna expect ye’d be staying long enough to seek employment.”

Although Fiona’s tone was pleasant enough, Charlotte knew the words were code for Why are you still here? Or more likely, if the steely glint in the other girl’s eyes was any clue, When are you leaving? She thought quickly. “I won’t be able to return home for a bit, so I thought I’d make myself useful.”

That was true since she had no idea of how—or if—she’d return to her own century. Strangely, that thought no longer produced the panic it originally had, but that was because of her emerging feelings toward Niall. Feelings she should be repressing, from what Greer had told her. She would have to be careful not to display those thoughts, not with anyone—but especially not with Fiona.

Fergus nodded. “Miss MacGregor has been quite helpful these past days.”

“So Keir has said.” Fiona smiled brightly although the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I decided I need to get to know this talented lady better. I thought we might go to lunch.”

“Excellent idea!” Her father all but beamed at her. “That is very kind of ye, daughter.”

“’Tis the least I can do,” she answered, “since it seems she is quite alone in these parts.”

Charlotte wanted to say that she was sitting right there, but she really wouldn’t have minded if the floor had opened up and let her disappear. The last thing she wanted to do was go to lunch with Fiona. It would be an inquisition, and she didn’t have answers for lots of questions. She would also have to tread carefully on being quizzed about Niall, which she was sure was Fiona’s real purpose.

Then again, maybe she could find out some answers of her own.

****

“So where is home?” Fiona asked, once they were seated in the dining area of an inn a few blocks away.

Remembering that she was using the name MacGregor and not Campbell, Charlotte thought quickly. Since the MacGregors were proscribed they had lost many of their holdings and, given the bounty the English were offering, they were known as Children of the Mist since they would quickly disappear into it. Where was it misty a lot of the time? She wished Thea were here, because her friend was spot-on with geography. Then she remembered an area she had visited once before. The Trossachs.

With the combinations of several lochs and high monros, low-lying fog and mist covered much of the area. Still, better not to be too specific, especially since she was making this up. “Near Loch Lomond.” She sighed slightly. “But I’m afraid we no longer have an actual home, thanks to the English.”

Fiona gave her a steady look. “In that case, I would think ye’d be happy to be betrothed to the man ye are running away from.”

Charlotte started. “Where did you hear that?”

“I overheard Niall telling my brother.”

What else had Niall shared? Or when? Not that it probably mattered. People were bound to inquire about a “guest” who seemed to be a permanent resident at the Frasers. She might have to do some more thinking about her alibi, though. One of the reasons she always outlined the plots for her novels was because it was too easy to trip up on the details if she didn’t. This time, she wasn’t writing a novel. She was plotting the imaginary history about her life. If she were caught in a lie, she’d be booted out of Castle Dounie by either Niall’s father or Simon and maybe even by Niall himself. She suspected he wouldn’t forgive being deceived.

Fiona widened her eyes. “Is it nae true?”

She must have been quiet for too long. “Yes… it’s true.” She shrugged. “I just do not like talking about it.”

“What was wrong with him?”

Most people would have let the matter drop, but obviously Fiona wasn’t one of them. “He… We just did not suit.”

“Why nae?”

Charlotte suppressed her favorite cuss word. The girl wasn’t going to give up. She thought about her cousin Colin Grant, currently living innocently in Texas. Maybe she could describe him. “The man is older than me and has been married before.” Not a lie. Colon was two years older and had been married briefly to a woman he’d met online. It hadn’t worked out.

Fiona’s eyes narrowed speculatively. “Ye are looking for a younger man who’s single?”

Oh-oh. Charlotte knew where that question was going. No way was she going to admit being attracted to Niall. “I am not looking for anyone.”

“Nae?”

“Nae. I mean, no. I…have no wish to marry.” That was more or less true as well. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry. She’d just not met a man—in the twenty-first century—who created more than a spark of interest. That spark usually burned itself out after a few dates for one reason or another.

Fiona’s eyebrows rose. “Never?”

Would she never drop this subject? Charlotte looked around for the waiter, hoping their food would come, but no such luck. She turned back to Fiona. “I don’t much like being told what to do, and it seems to me that once a woman marries, she is subject to her husband’s whims. I like my independence.” Okay, maybe she was on a roll here and could change the subject. “That’s why I wanted to work in your father’s law office. I can earn my own money, which allows me to make my own decisions.”

“I canna fault ye for that.” Fiona still looked skeptical, though. “How long do ye plan to stay at Castle Dounie before ye move on, then?”

She really wouldn’t let the matter drop, would she? “I don’t know. Lord Fraser has extended an invitation to stay as long as I need to.”

Fiona leveled a look on her that could have pinned her to the wall if she’d been sitting near one. The girl leaned forward.

“Since that is the case, let me be clear. My father expects Niall and me to be betrothed verra soon.” She leaned back. “Niall Fraser is mine.”

Charlotte smiled weakly, thankful that the waiter finally arrived with the food and sparing her an answer. A few minutes ago she’d been looking forward to digging into the steaming beef pie with its delicious aromas, but she had lost her appetite now.

What Greer had told her must have been true, then. A betrothal was in the works for Niall and Fiona.

So she had gotten her answer. It just wasn’t the one she’d hoped for.