“Well, at least there is nae fighting in the area right now nor anyone lurking about that might think to abduct them.”
Charlotte frowned. “How do you know that?”
Greer paused, her face turning pink. “Da had men out last night searching.”
“For my friends?” The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she knew what Greer meant. Her father had men out searching for Campbells. Spies.
Her story had not been completely accepted, then. She shouldn’t be surprised, since their father was laird and had a responsibility to his clan. She suspected Simon doubted her as well. Every time she caught him looking at her, it was with skepticism on his face. She wondered if Niall believed her. She needed him to, even though her tale wasn’t true. She suspected he’d probably hate her if he found out she was lying. In the short amount of time she’d been with him, she knew he was honorable and honest. Traits she cherished. Traits she wished she could share. Who would believe her if she told the truth? She couldn’t risk it, because being put in an asylum in the eighteenth century meant to be forgotten and left to perish.
Still, shewasin the eighteenth century. There must be some reason she’d been transported here.
The buzz of the conversation around her became louder and she became aware of how, suddenly, everyone was voicing confidence that it wouldn’t take long to defeat King George now. The Scots’ numbers were growing and they’d had success at Prestopans and Carlisle. Soon, Scotland would be independent again.
But it wouldn’t. The battle at Culloden loomed ahead. Not only would Scotland be defeated, there would be hundreds—thousands—of lives lost in the battle. The Frasers had been at the front lines. She looked across the table at Niall. Would he be one of them?
Sorrow and a sense of hopelessness shot through her, and it wasn’t for her friends Thea and Vi. It was because Niall might be killed in that battle.
Could she prevent it? Was that why she’d landed in this century somehow? To prevent the battle at Culloden from happening?
Chapter Four
Now that Charlotte had a goal—or at least, apossiblereason why she might have been transported through Time—she had planning to do.
Her mind had started spinning at dinner, much like it did when inspiration hit for a new novel, except this wasn’t a fictional story. This was real. With real consequences.
She pulled the soft woolen robe more closely around herself as she settled in the armchair near the brazier in her room, letting the heat warm her toes. She was going to have to be careful going about this, since women’s opinions in the eighteenth century weren’t necessarily valued. For that matter, she wasn’t sure how much they were valued in the twenty-first century either, given the global state of affairs. But no matter. In either century, it wouldn’t do to claim to know the future.
Especially a future that spelled the defeat of Scotland.
Her grasp of historical details was only fair, since she concentrated on dashing, kilted heroes more than their political times. Too bad she didn’t have her cell phone so she could Google what she needed to know. Not that there were any cell towers around. A somewhat hysterical giggle bubbled in her throat. What would Niall think if he saw her talking into a piece of plastic? Or—the giggle broke free—having that thinganswerher.
Just as well, then, that her phone was lying in a Best Western hotel room 200-plus years in the future.
The giggle subsided. She needed to concentrate.
Fifteen hundred Scots had lost their lives at Culloden. She knew Clan Fraser had been one of the largest regiments in the battle, but that was probably to be expected since this area was their ancestral seat. Had—would—Niall be one of them? She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.No. Not if she could help it.
She opened her eyes and stared into the glow of the small fire by her feet. The flames sputtered, changing color from red to blue, a few of them reaching higher before subsiding. The writer in her couldn’t help the analogy of the English Redcoats and the Scottish blue flag, the rising and fall of the flames indicative of which battles each side had won. So far.
She sighed and rose, walking to the window to gaze out at the night. There was so much she needed to know. Who were the real men in charge? What kind of strategy were they planning to use? What were the actual plans? She couldn’t thwart anything if she only conjectured.
But what sources did she have? Niall’s father would certainly have historical background, given his age, but she recalled suddenly—why hadn’t she connected it before?—that the man had a shady past. She’d done research for a series on bustlers and hustlers of the past and the 11thLord Lovat’s name had come up. He’d told the Jacobites—the first time around with the Old Pretender—that he sided with them, but had written a letter to Queen Anne saying he was pro-government. If she remembered correctly, he’d been outed and fled to France for awhile. One Internet article had called him the “most notorious double-agent of his time.” Probably not a good source to trust with questions.
Niall’s brother Simon was already suspicious of her. Not a good source for answers either. Greer wouldn’t be privy to war strategies or plans either because she was female. That left Niall.
She would have to be very, very careful in how she extracted information from him. She couldn’t afford to alienate him. Nor did she want to. She needed to earn his trust if she were going to have any chance of him believing her when the time came.
She had the queasy feeling that the ground was moving beneath her, much like the dangerous bogs surrounding Drummossie Moor where Culloden had been fought.
****
Shopping in the eighteenth century wasn’t so entirely different than in the twenty-first. That is, if one counted mortar-and-brick stores only, since there were no on-line options.
“I like that gown!” Greer pointed to a ready-made hanging in a shop window on one of Inverness’ side streets. “The color would be perfect for you. Let’s see if it fits.” Without waiting for an answer she flung the door open and went inside.
Charlotte exchanged glances with Niall, who had accompanied them. He wore the same stoic expression she’d seen on men sitting in the center of malls waiting for their wives to come back from wherever they were using their credit cards. She gave him a tentative smile as they followed Greer.
“We shouldn’t be long. Just one or two things.”
