However, he intended to not let Charlotte out of his sight when they were out. It was the one way he knew he could protect her.
And find out the truth.
Chapter Seven
Fraud. Charlotte didn’t like the word. Much less did she want to apply it to herself. How else to describe, though, what she had been doing? Making excuses, fabricating stories, inventing people who didn’t exist…
She looked around the table where they had just finished taking their noonday meal. Even if Simon and his father weren’t exactly welcoming—and she understood their wariness, given the times and her name—they had still extended Highland hospitality and taken her in. Greer had accepted her and Niall had been… Well. Niall had every characteristic she’d ascribe to one of fictional heroes. Not only did he fit the physical description for a book cover—handsome, muscular,sexy…he oozed masculinity—but he also fit the attributes of a hero. He was protective, caring, concerned, and honorable.
He didn’t deserve to be deceived. But she couldn’t very well sit him down and tell him she was from the twenty-first century. She paused, her writer’s imagination running away with her.Couldshe? Could she tell him? If she had proof? Maybe she needed to go back to the banks of River Ness and see if she could find some sort of portal. If she could show him a Time portal, maybe she could convince him of the massacre that was going to take place on April 16.
She gave herself an inward shake at being so absurd.Ifshe could find the Time portal—but if it truly wasn’t Brigadoon descending once every hundred years, she would no doubt be cast as some sort of witch. Andthatwould have dire consequences. She’d be joining the ranks of the deceased.
So, better to stick to the plot line she was manufacturing. At least, it was somewhat plausible. However, if Niall ever found out… She closed her eyes momentarily. She didn’t want to go there. Couldn’t go there.
“Are ye feeling ill, lass?” Niall asked.
She blinked. “I’m fine. My eyes were just burning.” Another lie.
“Ye’re sure ye weren’t overcome by the conversation?” Simon asked. “Greer is used to it, but ye are nae from these parts.”
Conversation? She hadn’t been listening. “I—”
“Never ye mind,” Greer interrupted. “It seems men canna stop talking about war and death.”
“Death?”
“Numbers.” Greer grimaced. “’Tis nothing to be proud of.”
“Ye are nae proud that we kill King George’s men rather than have them kill us?” Simon asked. “Ye doona think Lord Murray’s rout at Stirling a success? That he can now advance on to Perth?”
Their father chuckled. “I would wager General Hawley will be a wee bit surprised when seven thousand Scots advance on him at Perth.”
Simon nodded. “’Twould be a quick victor for us if Hawley doesna ken we are coming.”
Greer rolled her eyes. “Can ye not think of something else to talk about?”
“Aye,” Niall said, his voice sounding hard. “I doona think Charlotte cares to hear about Scots’ war strategy.”
His father gave him a level look, one that Charlotte couldn’t decipher but instinctively felt was some sort of unspoken message. Simon, too, was practically boring a hole into Niall with his stare. Maybe she had missed something important. If she were going to be any help at all in this century, she would have to start paying attention to which battles the Scots were engaging in and where.
They’d been talking about death? What they didn’t know was how many of them would die at Culloden if she couldn’t prevent that battle from happening.
****
Fate did indeed work in mysterious ways. For the past few days, Charlotte had pondered a way to get back to Inverness and be able to revisit the area near the river where she had last been in the twenty-first century. If she found a portal, maybe then she could convince Niall she knew the Scots would be defeated by the English if they continued their Cause because she knew the outcome.
The opportunity had presented yesterday when Niall’s father announced they’d be going into the city this morning and asked if she’d like to come along. Greer had gone into Beauly for her weekly meeting with the local vicar to see which neighbors might be in need of help, so Charlotte was left at odds.
“You’re awfully quiet this morning,” she said to Niall a short time later after they’d settled in the carriage and the driver had put the horses to a brisk trot.
“My brother broods a lot,” Simon said from the seat facing them. “Pay him nae mind.”
In the little over a week that she’d been with the Frasers, she didn’t think Niall was the broody sort, although right now he gave his brother a dark look.
“I have a problem—not of my own making—that I need to solve,” he said.
“The problem isoursto solve,” his father said.
