His attention snapped to her. “Falkirk? That’s only halfway to Stirling. Did Alcho say General Murray was going to lie in wait for them there?”
For a moment, her blood turned to ice as she realized she’d made a blunder. There had been no talk about Jacobites diverting to Falkirk. The reason she knew it was because she’d read it in the history books. In the twenty-first century. The English army would stop in Falkirk for the night and the Jacobites would attack, having been warned of the approaching soldiers. She took a deep breath. So…maybe it didn’t matter thatthatconversation had not actually taken place this afternoon. It was going to happen anyway. “That seemed to be the plan.”
Niall considered, then nodded. “’Tis probably a good one. Huske will nae be expecting either Murray or Drummond’s men to leave the siege, so they will have the element of surprise.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “’Twould be better to confront only four thousand men than the whole army.”
He saw humor in that? Charlotte would never understand why men saw war as a game, of sorts. “I hope no one is killed.”
That took the half-smile off his face. “Och, lass. ’Tis what happens.”
“But it doesn’t have to.”
His brows knitted. “What do ye mean?”
She was probably venturing into boggy land, but if she had been sent here to keep Culloden from happening, this was as good a time as any to start. “Would it be possible for one of the Scottish generals to meet with the English one to negotiate?”
He blinked and Charlotte tried not to wince. No doubt he thought she was daft. Or, more likely, that she shouldn’t be offering an opinion at all since women weren’t supposed to have any. She lifted her chin. “I suppose you think I am being silly.”
“Nae. I think ye are a smart lass. ’Twould be a wonderful solution.” He shook his head. “’Tis just nae possible.”
She felt a little guilty about thinking Niall might be a chauvinist. She shouldn’t have assumed it since he’d never acted like one. “Why isn’t it, then?”
“The Scots have been fighting this war ever since James the Second and Seventh was deposed. His son, Prince Charlie’s father, tried to regain the throne in 1708. This is nae the first uprising.” He grew quiet as he guided the horses across the bridge into the bailey. “I hope this one will be the last.”
Charlotte bit her tongue. It was going to be the last, but not in the way he hoped.
****
“I doona ken why we are doing this,” Niall said that evening as he walked with his father and Simon to the front steps of Fergus’ home in Inverness. “He sent us word that Colonel Alcho had stopped in to tell him about the English advancing. He didna request a conference about it.”
“I want all the details,” his father answered and let the brass knocker fall.
“’Tis nothing we can do to help, being over a hundred miles away,” Niall muttered as the door opened.
Neither his father nor Simon answered him, although Simon gave him a sideways look as they were ushered into the parlor.
Fergus joined them a few minutes later, along with Fiona. Niall looked around for Keir, then remembered he’d gone to Nairn earlier and probably hadn’t gotten back yet.
Fergus poured each of them a dram of whisky—sherry for Fiona—and then settled in his armchair by the fire, gesturing Simon and his father to take the other two armchairs, which left Niall to share the sofa with Fiona. From her self-satisfied smile, he wondered if she’d asked her father to manipulate the seating arrangement. When she moved closer to him, he was almost sure of it. He didn’t miss the benevolent looks both her father and his gave them, either.
“I am so glad ye chose to visit tonight,” she said. “’Tis been a while since Yule.”
It had been not quite three weeks. Why was she mentioning Yule anyway? Was she still thinking about that kiss under the mistletoe? In hindsight, it had been a pretty stupid thing for him to do, but he honestly didn’t think Fiona would hold strong memories of it.
“We’ve been busy conditioning the men so they’ll be ready when the call comes to fight,” he replied.
“Which brings us to why we’re here tonight,” Simon said. “Your father sent word that Colonel Alcho visited today.”
Niall wasn’t sure if Simon was just impatient to get to the point or if his brother recognized there was an undercurrent between Fiona and himself. Either way, he was thankful the conversation had been diverted.
‘Aye,” his father said. “What’s this business of Murray’s plan to attack Huske at Falkirk?”
Fergus looked puzzled. “Falkirk? Alcho didna mention a battle there.”
His father glanced at him, then turned back to Fergus. “Ye are sure?”
“Aye. All he said was the Duke of Perth—that’d be Drummond, not Murray—was marching to Stirling via Falkirk,” Fergus replied. “Why do ye think that?”
His father and Simon both turned to him. Niall regretted now having told them what Charlotte had said. It seemed the thing to do after Fergus had sent word about the English on the march toward Stirling. He’d just assumed that the solicitor hadn’t wanted to put too much information into a written message.
