****
More than anything, Charlotte wanted to move closer to Niall on the buggy’s bench. Not just for warmth, although that was definitely a factor since the temperature must have dropped a good ten or fifteen degrees, but she thought she’d felt a…stirring… when she’d placed the blanket over him. It would have been wonderful to test her theory by snuggling closer. Maybe he’d remember that kiss he’d given her on New Year’s Eve.
Sheremembered it, although she wasn’t sure if had been in the twenty-first century or this one. Niall seemed to have no recall of it at all. Which was a bit of a blow to her vanity. If it happened. Maybe it didn’t. She’d been in this century only a few days, and her mind was still having trouble accepting reality. Whateverrealitywas. A now familiar, hysterical bubble rose in her throat. Her mind was used to operating in fantasy—that’s what all writers did, especially romance writers—but this time she wasn’t able to just shut the computer down. She washere. Wasn’t she? A part of her wanted to take off her mittens and pinch herself to make sure she was not partaking of some very strange dream—like when she couldn’t run—but it was getting colder by the minute. In spite of the blanket, she shivered.
Niall gave her a concerned look. “Are ye verra cold?”
“I…I’ll be fine.”
“Hmmph.” He seemed to contemplate, then gave her a tentative smile. “If ye willna take offense at the suggestion, ye are welcome to sit on my lap and we’ll wrap the blanket around both of us for body warmth.”
Take offense? She fought down a giggle. Take offense? She’d been wanting to do that very thing, and not just for warmth.Still. She never allowed her heroines to throw themselves at their heroes. She furrowed her brows as if considering it, then nodded. “I think that would benefit both of us.”
He made a noise low in his throat that was indecipherable although it came close to a growl. Then he wound the reins over the brake handle and lifted his half of the blanket.
It was a bit awkward trying to sidle over his thigh with all the winter clothing she was wearing and the narrow space. The heroines in her novels would have been able to do it gracefully in one smooth, sylph-like movement, but she got a corner of her cloak caught on the splintered wooden rail in front of the bench. When Niall reached around her back to untangle it, she stumped her foot against his boot just as the carriage lurched and she sprawled across his lap.
For a moment she lay there, hands clutching his leg, her head hanging over the side of the bench, the ground rising and falling beneath her face while the horse’s trot had her jostling Niall. A certain part of him anyway.
He made another strange noise, and then she felt strong hands lifting her and settling her in a more dignified position against his chest. In another moment, he’d swirled the blanket around them, enveloping her in cocoon-like warmth. She was too embarrassed to look at him, so she just burrowed her head into the thick wool of his tartan.
Niall didn’t speak either, which was just as well. What comment could he make after she’d so spectacularly completed such a klutz act? One that also had her in a very suggestive pose, to say the least. Instead, he unwound the reins with one hand and kept his other arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders, probably to make sure she didn’t perform another artless blunder.
It did feel good to be held by him, though, even if he weren’t aware of the wayward path her writer’s imagination was taking her now that she was warm and safe, her senses filled with his scent of heather soap and leather.
She settled for curling her arms around his waist and felt his heart beating strong and steadily as she nestled against his chest. He was definitelyreal.
****
Niall had never been so glad to see the gates of Castle Dounie rising ahead of him through the swirling snow. It wasn’t the weather that caused him concern—the horse instinctively knew the way to a warm barn and a waiting bucket of oats—but the lass he held in front of him.
Was God—or more likely, the devil—testing his limits? Sitting in close proximity to Charlotte on the buggy’s bench had been temptation enough, or so he’d thought. Then she’d touched his leg when she’d covered them both with the blanket. Sharing that blanket, especially after her hand had unwittingly brushed against another part of him too, had felt instantly intimate. It was nothing to having her sprawled across him a moment later, soft, delectable breasts pressed against his rapidly rising member. He hadn’t had that kind of lustful reaction since a cheeky milkmaid had pulled him into the straw when he was a lad.
And the worst part? Or—maybe—the best part…for her anyway. Charlotte seemed to be blissfully unaware, curled as she was against his chest, seemingly content, maybe asleep even. She trusted him and he had no right to take advantage of her. There were plenty of women he could have to meet his “needs,” including Fiona.
Niall shook his head to clear his thoughts as the horse picked up his trot, sensing he was near home. Maybe these unforeseen emotions were surfacing because he’d not been with a woman in…months? Ever since Charles Edward John Sylvester Maria Casimir Stuart had arrived on Scotland’s shores on July 23 with his ambition of reclaiming Scotland, Niall had been caught up in the Cause. Even now—this very day—fellow Highlanders were laying siege to Stirling.
Had Charlotte not literally fallen into his arms on Hogmanay, he’d probably be there too.
But she had fallen into his arms, and now she was in them again. She felt soft and pliable and molded to him flawlessly. He tried to push away the thought of how perfectly they’d fit together lying in his feather-down bed, the drapes from the canopy pulled closed, creating their own special cocoon, shutting away the rest of the world.
He sighed as he passed through the gates and entered the castle bailey. The world—his world—could not simply be vanquished because he would prefer to live in a time when Scotland wasn’t at war.
Neither could he ignore the fact that the woman he held was an enigma as well. He glanced down at her nestled against him. Her assertion of fleeing a marriage she didn’t want was plausible. Her account of her “friends” was highly suspicious. Did they exist? He’d not found any confirmation today that they had even been seen. But his da had not found any evidence that there were strangers lurking about, either.
Who was she, really? He was pretty sure she’d been truthful when she’d told him her name was Campbell. Who would pretend to be a member of a clan loyal to the government? That put her in danger in these parts, and he would protect and defend her for that reason alone. He was honor-bound. But if he thought his attraction to her wasn’t real, that notion was gone.
Chapter Six
Charlotte meticulously cut a slice of venison on her plate and took her time buttering a bannock, averting her gaze as much as she could at dinner that evening. She still felt her cheeks warming every time she thought of herself sprawled over Niall’s lap earlier and the reaction it had caused.Especiallythe reaction. Coming from the twenty-first century, she knew the swelling of his manhood had been only a physical reaction and not necessarily personal, but the response still excited her as well. If they were in the twenty-first century, she might well have encouraged him. Unfortunately, eighteenth-century morals were quite different if a female wanted to be considered respectable—and she needed to stay respectable, given her current situation.
Thea would no doubt scoff at her for caving, but Thea wasn’t here. This afternoon’s visits to the inns in Inverness had pretty much proved that neither Thea nor Vi was in this century. She was going to have to come up with some excuse as to why her friends were not looking for her.Soon.
“Ye had nae luck today?” Greer asked.
Charlotte shook her head. “None.”
Greer looked at her brother. “Did ye check the ledgers?”
