Highlander Unleashed

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

“Ye are awfully quiet,” Niall said on the way home that afternoon. “Was there a problem at the office?”

Yes. Fiona Gordon showed up. Of course, Charlotte couldn’t tell Niall that, or at least, not the reason why the girl had come to the office. Nor could she confront Niall about the situation, especially since Greer had, more or less, confirmed the story. Apart from that small fact, Charlotte had no dibs on the man, particularly since she hadn’t exposed the much bigger fact that she was from the future. She sighed.

Niall gave her a worried look. “Ye doona have to earn coin if ye are nae happy with the work.”

“It isn’t that.” She tried to shake off her bad mood. This was one of the few afternoons that Niall actually came to collect her by himself. Usually either Simon was with him or one of the groomsmen was sent. Under normal circumstances, she would be deliriously happy with being alone with Niall, even for the short ride home in the buggy. Niall was watching her, though, so she needed to say something.

“I am somewhat worried about what I overheard at the office today.” That was true at least.

He raised a brow. “Which was?”

“A Mister, er—Lord—David Alcho came in—”

“Colonel Alcho was here?”

So the man was a colonel in addition to being a lord. “Um, Mr. Gordon only said he was the son of an earl—”

“Same person. What did he say?”

She should have guessed the man was a soldier with high rank, given his bearing and the conversation she’d heard. “He said a General Huske was marching from Edinburgh with four thousand men.”

“Not good.” Niall’s face darkened. “He’s second-in-command up here.”

“Is General Hawley the first in command?”

“Aye.” He knotted his brows. “What did ye hear about him, lass?”

She hated imparting more bad news. “That Hawley is probably following him.”

She hesitated, then added. “They’re heading for Stirling, I think.”

Niall nodded. “That would make sense since we’ve laid siege to the castle.”

“But they’re going to fight at Falkirk.”

His attention snapped to her. “Falkirk? That’s only halfway to Stirling. Did Alcho say General Murray was going to lie in wait for them there?”

For a moment, her blood turned to ice as she realized she’d made a blunder. There had been no talk about Jacobites diverting to Falkirk. The reason she knew it was because she’d read it in the history books. In the twenty-first century. The English army would stop in Falkirk for the night and the Jacobites would attack, having been warned of the approaching soldiers. She took a deep breath. So…maybe it didn’t matter that that conversation had not actually taken place this afternoon. It was going to happen anyway. “That seemed to be the plan.”

Niall considered, then nodded. “’Tis probably a good one. Huske will nae be expecting either Murray or Drummond’s men to leave the siege, so they will have the element of surprise.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “’Twould be better to confront only four thousand men than the whole army.”

He saw humor in that? Charlotte would never understand why men saw war as a game, of sorts. “I hope no one is killed.”

That took the half-smile off his face. “Och, lass. ’Tis what happens.”

“But it doesn’t have to.”

His brows knitted. “What do ye mean?”

She was probably venturing into boggy land, but if she had been sent here to keep Culloden from happening, this was as good a time as any to start. “Would it be possible for one of the Scottish generals to meet with the English one to negotiate?”

He blinked and Charlotte tried not to wince. No doubt he thought she was daft. Or, more likely, that she shouldn’t be offering an opinion at all since women weren’t supposed to have any. She lifted her chin. “I suppose you think I am being silly.”

“Nae. I think ye are a smart lass. ’Twould be a wonderful solution.” He shook his head. “’Tis just nae possible.”

She felt a little guilty about thinking Niall might be a chauvinist. She shouldn’t have assumed it since he’d never acted like one. “Why isn’t it, then?”

“The Scots have been fighting this war ever since James the Second and Seventh was deposed. His son, Prince Charlie’s father, tried to regain the throne in 1708. This is nae the first uprising.” He grew quiet as he guided the horses across the bridge into the bailey. “I hope this one will be the last.”

Charlotte bit her tongue. It was going to be the last, but not in the way he hoped.

****

“I doona ken why we are doing this,” Niall said that evening as he walked with his father and Simon to the front steps of Fergus’ home in Inverness. “He sent us word that Colonel Alcho had stopped in to tell him about the English advancing. He didna request a conference about it.”

“I want all the details,” his father answered and let the brass knocker fall.

“’Tis nothing we can do to help, being over a hundred miles away,” Niall muttered as the door opened.

Neither his father nor Simon answered him, although Simon gave him a sideways look as they were ushered into the parlor.

Fergus joined them a few minutes later, along with Fiona. Niall looked around for Keir, then remembered he’d gone to Nairn earlier and probably hadn’t gotten back yet.

Fergus poured each of them a dram of whisky—sherry for Fiona—and then settled in his armchair by the fire, gesturing Simon and his father to take the other two armchairs, which left Niall to share the sofa with Fiona. From her self-satisfied smile, he wondered if she’d asked her father to manipulate the seating arrangement. When she moved closer to him, he was almost sure of it. He didn’t miss the benevolent looks both her father and his gave them, either.

“I am so glad ye chose to visit tonight,” she said. “’Tis been a while since Yule.”

It had been not quite three weeks. Why was she mentioning Yule anyway? Was she still thinking about that kiss under the mistletoe? In hindsight, it had been a pretty stupid thing for him to do, but he honestly didn’t think Fiona would hold strong memories of it.

“We’ve been busy conditioning the men so they’ll be ready when the call comes to fight,” he replied.

“Which brings us to why we’re here tonight,” Simon said. “Your father sent word that Colonel Alcho visited today.”

Niall wasn’t sure if Simon was just impatient to get to the point or if his brother recognized there was an undercurrent between Fiona and himself. Either way, he was thankful the conversation had been diverted.

‘Aye,” his father said. “What’s this business of Murray’s plan to attack Huske at Falkirk?”

Fergus looked puzzled. “Falkirk? Alcho didna mention a battle there.”

His father glanced at him, then turned back to Fergus. “Ye are sure?”

“Aye. All he said was the Duke of Perth—that’d be Drummond, not Murray—was marching to Stirling via Falkirk,” Fergus replied. “Why do ye think that?”

His father and Simon both turned to him. Niall regretted now having told them what Charlotte had said. It seemed the thing to do after Fergus had sent word about the English on the march toward Stirling. He’d just assumed that the solicitor hadn’t wanted to put too much information into a written message.

He certainly didn’t want to make matters worse by letting Fergus know that Charlotte had overheard his conversation. He might very well let her go if he thought she was eavesdropping. Charlotte would then want to find another job and there weren’t many opportunities in Inverness that didn’t leave a lass vulnerable. Niall had already recognized a stubborn streak in her and, truthfully, he couldn’t fault her for wanting to earn some coin. He wouldn’t want to be totally dependent on hosts who were no relation. However, he avoided looking at his brother and father when he answered.

“I must have reached that conclusion after remembering that Murray had split the Jacobite forces in two and that one of them—Drummond, not Murray—would be coming to Stirling via Falkirk.” He managed a shrug. “Too much strategizing on my part.”

“I suppose it could be something they might consider,” Fergus replied after some thought.

Fergus seemed to accept the theory, although Simon and his father looked skeptical. At least, neither one of them said anything. He’d probably be barraged by questions from both of them later.

For now, though, he had a question himself. Where had Charlotte come up with that idea?

****

Charlotte had been half-expecting the summons ever since a rider showed up yesterday with the news that the English general had been routed at Falkirk, so she wasn’t surprised when it came.

What did surprise her, though, was that Niall was alone in the study when she arrived. He was seated behind the desk instead of in one of the armchairs by the hearth, and he wasn’t smiling. Neither of those things bode well, but she’d been expecting his father and brother to be in attendance too. She said a brief prayer of thanks that they weren’t there.

“Sit.” He pointed to the straight-back chair in front of the desk and then added, “Please.”

She sat, folded her hands in her lap, and stayed quiet. He leaned back and studied her. The silence grew nearly deafening. She willed herself not to squirm and forced herself to meet his gaze.

Finally, he reached for a paper. “Ye are aware we were sent this missive yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“Do ye want to read it?”

“No.”

He gave her another steady look before he glanced down at it. “Allow me to rekindle my memory, then.”

She doubted very much that he hadn’t memorized every word, but she said nothing.

“It says here,” he tapped the paper, “that General Drummond turned south to distract the English scouts. Meanwhile, General Murray joined up with MacDonalds and turned back to Falkirk. They arrived late in the afternoon with dusk approaching. Huske’s left flank was destroyed.” He laid the paper down and looked at Charlotte.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” she managed to say.

“Aye, but probably a matter of luck. ’Twas raining and the field was muddy. The dragoons’ horses churning the ground up made it hard for the infantry to follow. Murray’s men were to their right and a bog to their left, so they didna have much choice.”

“But the Scots won.”

“Not entirely. Huske’s right flank held firm. Because of the weather conditions and falling darkness, the Scots didna press on. By morning, Huske’s men had escaped back to Edinburgh.”

Charlotte tried to read Niall’s expression, but could tell nothing. “Isn’t retreating a good thing?”

“Aye.” He stared hard at her for what seemed like half an eternity. “Did ye send word to warn Huske?”

“What?” Charlotte had not been expecting that accusation. “No. Of course not. No. Why would I?”

He sighed. “Doona make this harder for both of us than it already is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I asked Da to let me talk to ye first.” He gave her another intent look. “Neither Da nor Simon believes the story ye told about how ye arrived here. Ye had nae chaperone, nor clothing nor coin—”

“I explained all that. I was running away from a betrothal I didn’t want.”

Niall didn’t answer right away. Instead, he opened a drawer and pulled out another letter and laid it on the desk. “Ye may want to read this one. It came yesterday too.”

She eyed it warily. She hadn’t noticed another messenger yesterday, but there had been men coming and going. She picked it up carefully as though it might suddenly develop life and attack her. When she saw the letterhead—from Fort William—dread filled her. After she finished reading the short message, her blood chilled. She put the letter down.

“There is no Colin Grant at Fort William.” Niall’s voice was calm. “There is no betrothal, is there?”

“I…” She couldn’t think of a thing to say. She didn’t want to come up with another lie. “No.”

“I asked Da to let me speak to ye first because he can be… Well, let’s just say I wanted to spare ye that.”

“Thank you.” She meant that sincerely.

“Da and Simon think ye are a spy.” His voice was flat. “I didna want to believe it—I doona want to believe it.”

“I am no spy. I swear it.”

He gave her a level look. “Then how did ye ken the Scots would attack at Falkirk?”

“I told you I overheard the conversation in Mr. Gordon’s office.”

“A conversation in which an attack on Falkirk was never mentioned. Da questioned Fergus about it.” He sighed again. “Ye have to be honest with me, lass.”

Honest. Dear Lord. How honest could she be? She couldn’t fault Niall—or even his father or brother—for doubting her story. It had holes enough in it to make a fine sieve. However, being arrested for being a traitor was another matter. She was pretty sure there was a Scottish equivalent to being imprisoned in the Tower of London. But the truth? She looked at Niall, only to find him watching her passively. Could she tell him? Did she have a choice? She took a deep breath.

“The reason I knew what was going to happen at Falkirk was because I read it in a history book.”

His expression changed to confusion. “A history book? How could ye do that when it hadn’t happened?”

She squared her shoulders. “Because I am from the future.”