Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
It was going to be a long week. Niall managed to step back from Fiona on the pretense of removing his cloak. He cast a covert glance in Chalotte’s direction, but she wasn’t looking at him. Actually, she might have been a statue in the foyer for as still and rigid as she was standing.
“Your cloak?” he asked. “I’ll hang it with mine while you go and enjoy your bath.”
She turned then and studied him for what seemed like long, drawn-out minutes but was probably only a few seconds. Her expression was unreadable, but he had a feeling he was missing something. He just didn’t know what it was.
“I see ye’ve finally arrived home.” His father walked out of the Great Hall. “I was expecting ye back last night since we had guests for dinner. Did ye forget?”
He frowned. Forget? He didn’t remember Keir saying anything about them coming over. Then again, maybe he had. He’d been thinking about spending a whole day alone with Charlotte.
Charlotte’s chin lifted. “Excuse me. I need to get out of these damp clothes.”
“Of course.” Fiona smiled sweetly. “Ye would nae want to become ill.”
Charlotte gave Niall a last glance before she turned and walked away. He was pretty sure he had just missed something else in that silent exchange.
“Well?” his father asked.
He reverted his attention. “The wagon broke an axle, so I was not able to return last night, but I didna realize a dinner invitation had been issued, either.”
“Ye kenned I needed papers from Fergus and that Keir and Fiona would be asked to stay for dinner since he was away.” His father waved a dismissive hand. “Nae matter now. Where did ye leave the wagon?”
“Near Inverness. We were lucky an inn had plenty of extra rooms,” he added before his father or Fiona asked the inevitable question. The inn probably did have available rooms, so it wasn’t exactly a lie. He wasn’t about to sully Charlotte’s reputation, nor did he want to put her in a position of a forced marriage to him. Not that he found the idea unappealing. He hadn’t for quite a while, and especially after last night… He pushed the thought away, lest his manhood start to betray him. He and Charlotte needed to talk. He had no idea of how she felt about the future. Both theirs and…well, the future. Better stick to the subject at hand.
“I met Simon in the courtyard. He rode out with a few others to retrieve it.”
“’Tis good. I’ll leave ye to entertain Fiona then, since duty calls me.”
Duty? Niall watched his father walk toward the study at the far end of the hallway. His father had no duty at the moment. Had he pawned Fiona off on him? The hair at his nape rose at that suspicion, which was pretty much confirmed when Fiona stepped up and put her hand on his arm again.
“Let’s go into the parlor by the fire, shall we? ’Tis cozy in there.”
“I need to change clothes first,” he said as he stepped back once more. “Perhaps a little later.” He bowed shortly, ignoring Fiona’s pout, and managed to get away.
As he went up the stairs, he wondered what sort of plotting his father was really doing. This was all too coincidental for his comfort.
He really needed to talk to Charlotte, but he would have to be careful when and where he did. Very careful.
****
He had dismissed her. Charlotte managed to restrain herself from slamming her bedchamber door behind her. Dismissed. She paced the short length between the door and the window several times before she realized she was making herself dizzy. Oh, he had covered it well, asking to take her cloak while she went to get her bath. He had been telling her to leave. So he could be alone with Fiona?
A knock on the door interrupted her tumultuous thoughts. “Yes?”
The maid Erin opened the door and poked her head inside. “Are ye proper? The lads have brought hot water for your bath.”
Proper? She certainly hadn’t been proper last night, at all. Even now, upset as she was, tingles shot through her at the memory. But the maid was referring to whether she was clothed. Which she hadn’t been last night… Stop.
“Yes. Come in.”
Erin pushed back the dressing screen so the two men following her could fill the half-bath behind it. In a few minutes, the scent of lavender steaming off the water infused the air. Her mood lifted considerably as she settled on the small seat in the tub and let the heat sink into her bones.
Maybe Niall hadn’t intended to dismiss her. Maybe he’d been trying to divert a confrontation. He had said they would talk later. That had sounded like a positive thing.
But she couldn’t understand what was happening. Apart from the precariousness of her time-travelling—which she wasn’t sure Niall really believed yet—she couldn’t ignore the reality of the present situation. Fiona would be staying at the castle for a week. She had made her intentions known, both at the ceilidh and just a few minutes ago in the foyer. Niall’s father has also made himself quite clear by asking Niall to entertain Fiona while she was here.
In truth, much as she loathed the idea, she couldn’t blame the circumstances. A marriage between the Frasers and the Gordons could be beneficial, especially since both fathers apparently had already approved the match. She knew, from the research she’d done for her novels, that a large percentage of aristocratic marriages were arranged for benefit of power or wealth. That had been the case in medieval times and had carried on into the eighteenth and even the nineteenth centuries, at least.
The water had cooled, and without its enveloping fragrance, her confusion returned. Reluctantly, she stepped out of the tub and dried herself.
She was naught but a guest here. One whose future—she smiled grimly at the irony—wasn’t at all certain. Would she remain permanently in the eighteenth century? She hadn’t found any portal back, but she could not remain at Castle Dounie if Niall were to become betrothed. She couldn’t. But then, where would she go?
She’d had this conversation with herself before, but that was before…before last night happened. So far, no one else knew, so the obligatory “duty and honor” of a marriage proposal wasn’t mandatory, nor would she accept one unless she knew it came from Niall’s heart.
As she dressed to go downstairs, she wondered if her future—and Niall’s—was going to be determined this week.
****
It seemed their future—or talks of it—were going to have to wait. By the time Charlotte returned to the Great Hall, a messenger had arrived with obviously important news. Niall’s family, along with a number of men and Fiona, had gathered around the man. Charlotte went to Greer. “What is happening?”
“Blair Castle is under siege.”
She didn’t remember reading anything about this. Charlotte tried recalling her geography. She thought the castle was close to Pitlochry. “Isn’t that pretty far south of here?”
“Aye, but ’tis a strategic location on one of the main roads to Inverness,” Greer replied. “’Tis held by the English-supporting Duke of Atholl, James Murray.”
“Murray?” Charlotte remembered a previous conversation. “The brother of General Murray?”
“Aye.” Greer shrugged. “There are those who doona think Prince Charlie will win. A duke would lose not only his title but also his lands if he sided with him.”
Politics were politics, it seemed, regardless of the century. Understandably, losing one’s lands was a risk many wouldn’t be willing to take. It wasn’t really just a matter of honor to fight for the Jacobite Cause, either. An English king could disperse the entire clan if he chose, and Charlotte understood enough about Scottish culture to know that lairds—even if they had English titles—still owed their real loyalty to the preservation of their clan.
“Do you think General Murray would burn it?” she asked.
“I doona ken. The messenger said they fired at close range.”
“Still. To destroy your own ancestral castle—”
“’Tis a strategy. The English canna return to what is nae there,” Greer answered and shrugged again. “Robert the Bruce made sure he left no castle standing that he’d taken.”
She’d heard of burning bridges to stop an army’s advancement, and leveling forts made sense, but castles were homes. People’s lives and histories were there. She sighed. Wars were still happening in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, too. World wars, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Ukraine… Homes, schools, hospitals—entire cities—were reduced to rubble. The old adage of history repeating itself until humanity learned its lessons must be true.
And she knew how the Battle of Culloden was going to end.
****
Niall looked across the small crowd that had gathered around the messenger and spotted Charlotte talking to his sister. He wondered if she’d known about the siege. She hadn’t mentioned it when she’d predicted the taking of the forts. From the look of confusion on her face, it didn’t seem that she had. Or maybe the whole thing wasn’t important enough to be put into history books.
He caught himself with a hitch of his breath. Did he really believe she was from the future? His thoughts were certainly leaning that way, even though his rational mind kept telling him it was impossible. Even more irrationally, his mind didn’t seem to care. He just knew he didn’t want to lose her. Ever.
That thought jolted him as well. He glanced covertly at Fiona, who stood not far away. He hadn’t been successful at redirecting her attention at the ceilidh, even though her brother had thought that might happen. He had no desire to marry her, even though he realized it was what his father—and probably Fergus—were plotting. Mayhap he needed to talk to Keir, although he didn’t want to bring up such a topic while his friend lay upstairs with broken ribs. He couldn’t afford a direct confrontation with Fiona either, since he had no wish to start a private war between the families. What he needed was space.
A thought formed. The messenger had mentioned he would be going to Inverallochy to inform Charles Fraser of the siege. He could save the messenger the trouble by going to see his uncle himself. It would take him away from Beauly for a few days and he could avert a crisis.
He nearly grinned at his brilliant solution. Cowardly maybe, but brilliant.
****
From the smaller table near the dais, Charlotte looked around the Great Hall. It was nearly filled since the evening meal was about to be served, but she didn’t see Niall anywhere. Fiona sat as a guest of honor at the high table with Niall’s father. Charlotte couldn’t ignore the fact that the placement might well signal that Fiona would soon be a member of the family. At least, Niall was not seated next to her. But where was he? She turned to Greer.
“I don’t see Niall anywhere. Did he ride out to help Simon bring the wagon back?”
Greer shook her head. “Nae. After the messenger left, Niall went to see our uncle over at Inverallochy to give him the news.”
“Where is that?”
“On the coast, north of Aberdeen.”
For a moment, she panicked. “How far north?”
Greer shrugged. “About forty miles, I think. Why?”
The Duke of Cumberland would be in Aberdeen. She couldn’t tell Greer that though. In this century that would be a good two days’ ride, and she didn’t remember anything about the English going farther north. Niall should be safe. “I was just wondering how long he’d be gone.”
Greer grinned. “If he’s smart, he’ll stay away until Keir and Fiona leave.”
Charlotte felt her face grow warm. Hopefully, the dim light would hide the blush. “Why do you say that?”
Her grin widened. “Ye doona have to act the innocent with me.”
Now her face felt on fire. How would Greer know that they’d made love? She couldn’t. Could she? “What…do you mean?”
This time, Greer rolled her eyes. “Faugh! When ye think no one is looking, the two of ye act like eoin gaoil.”
“Like what?”
“Love birds.”
“We don’t!”
“Ye do.”
Maybe she should let this conversation drop. At least, Greer didn’t know quite how love-birdy they’d gotten. Perhaps, though, it was time to get her opinion on certain matters. “I’ll admit that I am very fond of your brother.”
Greer laughed. “Fond, is it? I suspect ye’d rather use another word. So would Niall.”
Her face reheated. “What would that be?”
She shook her head. “Ye’ll have to get him to say it.” She glanced at the dais. “But that one is going to be trouble. Ye’ll have to be careful.” She paused. “Ye ken?”
So what she suspected was true. Fiona’s sights were set firmly on Niall. That he’d escaped her clutches for now was a good sign, but could he stand against both his father and hers?
“I do.”
Or—regardless of what Greer thought—was it her own clutches Niall was avoiding?