Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
If there was one response Niall hadn’t anticipated, that was it. Charlotte was from the future? He wasn’t sure if that statement was better than the other lies she’d been telling.
“Ye canna expect me to believe that.” He sighed. “I ken, now, that ye made up the story about a betrothed. I need the truth. Are ye a spy?”
“No.”
“Then why would ye lie to us?”
Charlotte gave him a look that he couldn’t decipher. “Because you would not believe the truth.”
He strove to keep his voice modulated when he spoke. “’Tis impossible. Ye canna go around saying such a thing. Ye’ll be carted away.”
“Which is why I didn’t tell you.”
There was no guile in Charlotte’s tone or expression. She sounded as though she sincerely believed what she said. He paused. What if…? “Have ye escaped from an asylum, lass? Is that what ye were trying to hide by claiming a betrothed?”
“No, I—”
“’Twould make sense,” Niall went on. “’Twould explain why ye had nae clothes or coin or chaperone.”
“I am not insane. You have to believe that much,” Charlotte said.
He blinked. “I doona think ye are insane, lass. ’Tis a sad fact that, too often, if a woman poses problems for her husband or kin, she is locked away in an attic or a physician declares her nae fit and she disappears into a madhouse, nae to be seen again.”
“I haven’t posed any problems…” She stopped and chewed her lip, a trait Niall found intriguing in spite of the conversation they were having. “Please believe me.”
He wanted to. Not the part of being from the future, but that she had escaped some form of imprisonment. By now, he’d seen enough of her independent spirit and tenacity to doubt any man could bend her to his will. And there were men who got angered by that.
“Ye will be safe here. Ye have my word.” He nodded for emphasis. “Even if I could, I would not send ye back to wherever ye came from.”
A strange sound came from Charlotte’s throat. At first, he thought she was choking, for her face had turned red, her eyes were tightly shut, and she bent forward, clutching her stomach. Just as he started to rise to help her, another strange sound occurred. This one grew louder until he recognized it as laughter. He watched warily as the wild, nearly hysterical laughter grew louder, as if she could not contain herself.
For the first time, he wondered if perhaps he’d been wrong and there was something truly wrong with Charlotte.
****
She couldn’t stop laughing. She should stop. She needed to stop. She knew she was doing herself no favors by acting this way, but she couldn’t stop. The irony of what Niall had said—even though he had no idea—was just too ironic. As if he could just say something in Gaelic and wave a sword or something and—poof!—she’d be back in Texas checking her email. The idea was just too…funny. She laughed harder, hearing a strange wailing sound coming from somewhere and realized she was the one producing it. Then she felt strong hands wrap around her arms and lift her, shaking her gently.
She hiccupped, then sputtered as tears started falling.
She became aware that Niall was holding her, rubbing her back in soothing circles as he did mutter something in Gaelic, although the words didn’t transport her anywhere. She breathed in the warm scent of him, mixed with leather and soap, and felt a calm wash over her. She wanted to cling to him forever. Slowly, she disengaged and looked up.
He watched her with a guarded expression. Not that she could blame him. He probably thought she was more than a bit daft. She’d been acting unhinged.
“I’m… sorry,” she said as she hiccupped again. “I just…what you said about sending me back…it was just too much.”
His brow furrowed. “What do ye mean?”
Should she tell him about the irony? She felt more stable now, the threat of another hysterical episode under control. He probably wouldn’t believe her. She wouldn’t believe herself either if she weren’t currently experiencing the eighteenth century instead of the twenty-first.
The easiest thing for her to do would be to let him think she had escaped from some sort of asylum and that she feared being institutionalized. That would certainly be true. He had promised she’d be safe here. She could stay and no one would know she’d time-travelled. She could still try to keep the battle at Culloden from happening.
But she was tired of lying. She took a deep breath.
“I ask for your patience and tolerance for what I am about to say.”
He nodded, his eyes not leaving her face. “Go ahead.”
“I appreciate that you are allowing me to stay here. I think, for the present, the idea that I have escaped from being imprisoned unfairly is a sound one, especially if it will eliminate suspicion that I am an English spy.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “But it is not true. I am from the future.”
His expression turned troubled. “Ye need to stop saying that lest someone—like my da—hears ye.”
“I understand. Your father would think me mad. But I want you to know.” She hesitated again. “The Jacobites are going to give up the siege on Stirling and make their way to Inverness very soon.”
Niall’s eyes widened. “How do ye ken that?”
She gave him a faint smile. “I already told you how I know.”
“But…” He frowned. “Why would the prince’s men retreat to the north when it would be more advantageous to hold the borderlands?”
“I do not know the strategy behind it,” Charlotte said. “I only know that they will come.” She didn’t add what the final outcome would be. This was not the time. “If what I told you comes to pass, will you believe me?”
He closed his eyes and didn’t answer immediately. Charlotte waited, since there was nothing more she could say. Finally, he opened them and looked at her.
“I just might,” he said.
****
Niall looked at his family members gathered around the table in the council room. He’d asked them to meet with him after dinner so he could share the conversation he’d had with Charlotte. Not all of it. Just the version they’d agreed would be best for now.
“So,” he said as he finished, “I think we can agree that Charlotte is not a spy.”
Greer nodded even though his father and brother looked skeptical. “Everything she has told us makes sense if she escaped some kind of involuntary confinement. It would even make sense that she wore MacGregor tartan. Her family—or whoever kept her prisoner—wouldn’t suspect she’d identify with a clan that’s proscribed.”
“That’s a risk in itself, though,” Simon said dryly. “She could be legally arrested and confined.”
Greer waved a hand. “Maybe along the Borders where the lowlanders want to let the English think they’re loyal, but this far north, a MacGregor would be safe, especially a woman.”
“True enough,” Niall said. “Frasers have nae quarrel with MacGregors.”
“Which is probably why she chose to make her way here,” Greer said. “’Twas clever of her.”
Niall certainly wouldn’t argue the point that Charlotte was clever. She had discerned—somehow—that Murray’s men were going to attack at Falkirk. He still wasn’t quite sure what to make of her claim to be from the future. Mayhap she’d had a head injury before Hogmanay that she didn’t remember. That might account for such a strange tale. Or maybe she had been confined somewhere and still didn’t trust him enough to tell him where, for fear of being sent back. That thought stung a bit.
He hated having to deceive Greer, but having his father and brother believe the story he’d given them would keep Charlotte safe for now, until he could think things through to a logical conclusion.
“Clever enough,” Simon agreed, but still looked unconvinced. “I wonder if her real name is even Campbell.”
His father looked at him sharply. “Why do ye say that?”
Simon raised a brow. “’Tis just a thought, since she hasna exactly been truthful with us on other things.”
Niall felt his temper stir. “It would hardly be clever of her to call herself a Campbell at Inverness, would it? ’Tis nae love lost between us and the colonel at the fort.”
“True.” Greer frowned at her brother. “Why can ye nae accept who she is?”
“Because I doona ken who she is,” Simon answered.
“Never mind that for now.” Their father turned to Niall. “I am more interested in finding out how she knew about the attack at Falkirk when Fergus said Alcho hadn’t mentioned it.”
So his father had not believed him. Or, mayhap, he wanted Niall to tell him again. His father wasn’t referred to as “the Fox” for nothing. One of his favorite strategies was getting people to repeat themselves to see if he could catch them in a lie.
“I already told ye that it was assumption on my part.” He shrugged. “She may have agreed with me.”
“It doesna matter now, does it?” Greer asked. “So can we drop the matter? Charlotte has done nae harm and has only been helpful. The two of ye are always suspicious of everything.”
Neither his brother or father answered, but Niall didn’t think that meant they agreed with her. He could practically hear their minds churning.
Not that his own wasn’t churning too. There were still too many questions left unanswered, including the most important one.
Who really was Charlotte Campbell? He had to admit he had no idea.