Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
“Ye seem restless today,” Greer remarked as she moved a chess piece on the board that had been set up in the solar.
Charlotte glanced out the window where swirling snow blocked any view and the low gray clouds let hardly any light in through the window where the sun usually shone through in the afternoons. “I just don’t like being stuck inside all day.”
As soon as the words were out, she regretted saying them. Greer gave her a quick cursory glance before intensely studying the chessboard as though one of the pieces might have moved itself. The whole family had been watching her since she’d made the new claim a few days ago that she had escaped from involuntary confinement elsewhere. They weren’t overt about it. Most of the glances were sidelong or suddenly focused on something near her if she looked at them, but Charlotte could feel the general uneasiness. Were they waiting for her to have some sort of episode? Or maybe go on a lunatic rant? She couldn’t really blame them for being cautious. She had not gone into detail—there weren’t any details—about why she had been confined or for what. She supposed she should consider herself lucky that they still allowed her a knife at the dinner table. She really needed to clarify.
“I meant that I don’t like stormy weather.”
“Aye.” Greer looked up, her expression neutral. “Hopefully the blizzard will nae last long this time.”
“I hope not. I hate to think of anyone being out in this.”
Greer smiled. “Ye mean Niall?”
Charlotte felt her face warm. Niall had left yesterday morning before the storm broke, headed for Dingwall to check the capacity of the harbor to accept French military vessels.
She wanted to tell him that the French would not be sending any more reinforcements to aid Scotland, but it was a fact she could not prove. He was still not convinced that what she’d told him was true. She didn’t want him doubting her further. Right now, though, she was more worried about his safety.
“I just hope he didn’t get caught out in the storm.”
“Doona fash. He’s been out in worse.”
“Worse?”
“Aye. This far north, squalls coming off the Moray Firth turn into blizzards quickly. He probably stayed at Dingwall.”
“But if he didn’t? If he’s out in this—” Charlotte let her voice trail off. She’d probably already expressed too much interest if the amused look on Greer’s face was any indication. She needed to be cautious in showing concern, since not only had Fiona made quite clear her intentions regarding Niall—which no doubt her father would approve—but Greer herself had told her about their father’s expectations.
“There are abandoned crofter’s cottages around, as well as shepherd sheds. He’ll find cover.” Greer studied her. “Do ye care for him, then?”
“No! I mean…well, yes, of course, I care.” Dear Lord, she was making a mess of this. “I mean…I don’t him to freeze to death out there.”
Greer scrutinized her a moment longer. “He’ll be safe.” She said it quietly and pointed to the board. “’Tis your turn to move.”
Was it her move? She wasn’t thinking about chess. She was wondering what she should do next to convince Niall that she spoke true. Looking at Greer, Charlotte wasn’t sure that Greer accepted her explanation, but at least she wasn’t going to pursue an interrogation. She looked at the board and moved a knight to block the previous move. It was slightly ironic since “knight” might have been a fitting description of Niall if they’d been in the Middle Ages. She quickly dismissed that fantasy.
It wouldn’t do to let anyone think she was interested in him. That was a sure way to lose her job and get boosted out of Castle Dounie at the same time. And then what would she do? Where would she go?
Much better to keep her feelings to herself, even though she suspected she was falling in love with him.
Better he didn’t know that either.
****
“Rub him down well and give him a hot mash,” Niall told the stable boy as he turned his horse over along with a coin for the lad.
“Aye, sir! Thank ye!” The boy pocketed the shilling more quickly than a sleight-of-hand performer at a local fair. Niall managed to hide a laugh, knowing his horse would be well looked after.
“I’ll come see to him in the morning, then.”
“Aye, sir!” the boy said again. “I’ll take special care of him.”
Niall made his way to a nearby inn. They’d been only a few miles away from Dingwall when the storm hit. He’d considered continuing on but decided against it. January storms could be brutal, especially when they sprang up as suddenly as this one had. Better to wait for it to blow over.
But that meant it would be another day or two—or possibly more, depending on when the storm would pass—before he got home. He didn’t like leaving Charlotte to fend for herself that long, knowing both Simon and his father still had doubts about her. His father’s questioning methods could be subtle when he chose, and Charlotte might easily get tangled in her own words. A third version of how she got to Inverness—especially claiming she was from the future—would end his father’s tolerance. He’d most likely turn her over to one of the generals for real interrogation. That wouldn’t even be the worst of it. With the Redcoats amassing in Edinburgh, both Murray and Drummond would be focused on blocking them. They wouldn’t be paying much attention to a lone woman prisoner who would be at the mercy of guards who weren’t even trained soldiers.
Niall hoped he could count on Greer, even though he wasn’t sure his sister totally believed Charlotte either, but she had offered to stay close to her while he was gone.
He would have preferred to bring Charlotte with him. It would have given him a chance to question her about what else the “history books” had said about this war. Maybe she could tell him when to expect the reinforcement of French troops… He stopped himself. Did he really think she knew the future? Or was he driving himself to madness? He shook his head. In any case, propriety prevented him from even suggesting that she accompany him.
“Ye are a lucky man,” the innkeeper told him when he inquired about a room. “We’ve got just one left.”
“I guess a lot of travelers decided nae to take a chance out there.”
“On a night like this, ’twould be madness to venture out.”
And yet Niall had almost done that. Even now he was questioning whether he should be leaving Charlotte at the mercy of his father. Perhaps he was descending into a madness all his own that had nothing to do with the storm.
“It’s a good thing ye’ve got a room left, then.”
“Aye. ’Twas another gent in here earlier. He said he’d be back, but since he’s nae here now…” The innkeeper looked at him expectantly.
Niall repressed a sigh. What the man was saying was that it was going to cost him more. Instead of bartering—he wasn’t in the mood—he simply pulled out more than enough coin. “Will this do?”
“Aye.” The man snatched the money almost as quickly as the stable boy had, but this time Niall didn’t feel like laughing. “Which way to the room?”
“Down the hall. Last on the left.”
Niall half-expected the room to be shabby and cold, but he was pleasantly surprised to find a small fire burning in the brazier and an oil lamp on the nearby table. Lighting the lamp, he looked around. The wallpaper wasn’t peeling, the upholstery on the armchair near the brazier wasn’t worn, and the bed had a clean quilt neatly tucked in. At least the money he’d spent was worth it.
He eyed the bed again. It looked comfortable and was large enough for two. His thoughts turned to Charlotte once more and visualized the two of them tucked under that quilt together, limbs entangled, basking in the afterglow of— Enough. There was no sense in torturing himself.
But he had a hard time falling asleep that night, and images of a naked Charlotte filled his dreams when he did.
****
Niall looked around the table as he entered the small room off the kitchens where the family sometimes broke their fast when their presence was not needed in the Great Hall. He’d gotten home late last night after having to wait out the blizzard for three days, and he hadn’t had a real conversation with anyone.
From all appearances, things seemed to be normal. Engaged in conversation with Greer, Charlotte looked unscathed. Neither his father nor Simon were paying attention to them, which made him breathe a sigh of relief as he sat down.
The relief was short-lived.
“Did ye hear the news up at Dingwall?” Simon asked.
The hairs at his nape prickled. “News?”
“Aye. The Jacobites left the siege at Stirling.”
Those hairs now rose. He glanced sideways at Charlotte, but she was studiously stirring sugar into her porridge. Was this what she had meant? Or was it coincidental? He looked at Simon. “Why?”
His brother shrugged. “It seems not everyone was in agreement about who the victor was at Falkirk.”
Niall frowned. “Shouldn’t that be clear? Hawley retreated to Edinburgh.”
“He did, eventually. We got a missive while you were gone. It seems some of Murray’s and Drummond’s men didn’t realize that Hawley’s left flank had been routed while the right flank held firm, and they fled the battle.”
“Cowards,” his father said.
Ignoring his father’s outburst, Niall asked, “How many?”
“Several hundred, maybe more,” Simon answered. “The letter wasn’t specific on that detail, but it seems to have put Murray and Drummond at odds about whose fault it was about the confusion.”
“Understandable, I suppose,” Niall said, “given that they had split the army in two before Falkirk. Even if the generals had conferred, word may not have reached the rank and file, considering they were on opposite sides of the battle.”
“True enough, but the prince is nae happy,” Simon replied, “especially with Murray.”
Their father snorted. “’Tis because the prince doesna want to take the advice of a seasoned man who kens what he’s doing.”
“’Tis a good thing the door is closed, Da.” Although most Highlanders wanted to remove the Hanoverian king from the throne and return a Stuart, not all of them had that much confidence in the prince, although no one spoke it aloud. The prince was young, hot-headed, inclined to imbibe in too much whisky, and had grown up in Italy and France.
“Aye.” Simon looked at Charlotte and then back to Niall. “Since we doona ken the facts, ’tis better we nae discuss it.”
In front of Charlotte. Niall could almost hear the unspoken words, which meant his brother—and most likely his father—still suspected she might be a spy. He was tempted to point out that if she were a spy, ironically what his father had said would be welcome news in an English camp. He held his peace, though, and Simon’s next words made him glad he had.
“The army is coming to Inverness to reorganize.”
Niall felt his blood chill. This time, when he looked at Charlotte, she met his gaze calmly. He felt numb. What she had predicted was coming true. She had known.