“There is no Colin Grant at Fort William.” Niall’s voice was calm. “There is no betrothal, is there?”
“I…” She couldn’t think of a thing to say. She didn’t want to come up with another lie. “No.”
“I asked Da to let me speak to ye first because he can be… Well, let’s just say I wanted to spare ye that.”
“Thank you.” She meant that sincerely.
“Da and Simon think ye are a spy.” His voice was flat. “I didna want to believe it—I doona want to believe it.”
“I am no spy. I swear it.”
He gave her a level look. “Then how did ye ken the Scots would attack at Falkirk?”
“I told you I overheard the conversation in Mr. Gordon’s office.”
“A conversation in which an attack on Falkirk was never mentioned. Da questioned Fergus about it.” He sighed again. “Ye have to be honest with me, lass.”
Honest. Dear Lord. How honest could she be? She couldn’t fault Niall—or even his father or brother—for doubting her story. It had holes enough in it to make a fine sieve. However, being arrested for being a traitor was another matter. She was pretty sure there was a Scottish equivalent to being imprisoned in the Tower of London. But the truth? She looked at Niall, only to find him watching her passively. Could she tell him? Did she have a choice? She took a deep breath.
“The reason I knew what was going to happen at Falkirk was because I read it in a history book.”
His expression changed to confusion. “A history book? How could ye do that when it hadn’t happened?”
She squared her shoulders. “Because I am from the future.”
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.
