From all appearances, things seemed to be normal. Engaged in conversation with Greer, Charlotte looked unscathed. Neither his father nor Simon were paying attention to them, which made him breathe a sigh of relief as he sat down.
The relief was short-lived.
“Did ye hear the news up at Dingwall?” Simon asked.
The hairs at his nape prickled. “News?”
“Aye. The Jacobites left the siege at Stirling.”
Those hairs now rose. He glanced sideways at Charlotte, but she was studiously stirring sugar into her porridge. Was this what she had meant? Or was it coincidental? He looked at Simon. “Why?”
His brother shrugged. “It seems not everyone was in agreement about who the victor was at Falkirk.”
Niall frowned. “Shouldn’t that be clear? Hawley retreated to Edinburgh.”
“He did, eventually. We got a missive while you were gone. It seems some of Murray’s and Drummond’s men didn’t realize that Hawley’s left flank had been routed while the right flank held firm, and they fled the battle.”
“Cowards,” his father said.
Ignoring his father’s outburst, Niall asked, “How many?”
“Several hundred, maybe more,” Simon answered. “The letter wasn’t specific on that detail, but it seems to have put Murray and Drummond at odds about whose fault it was about the confusion.”
“Understandable, I suppose,” Niall said, “given that they had split the army in two before Falkirk. Even if the generals had conferred, word may not have reached the rank and file, considering they were on opposite sides of the battle.”
“True enough, but the prince is nae happy,” Simon replied, “especially with Murray.”
Their father snorted. “’Tis because the prince doesna want to take the advice of a seasoned man who kens what he’s doing.”
“’Tis a good thing the door is closed, Da.” Although most Highlanders wanted to remove the Hanoverian king from the throne and return a Stuart, not all of them had that much confidence in the prince, although no one spoke it aloud. The prince was young, hot-headed, inclined to imbibe in too much whisky, and had grown up in Italy and France.
“Aye.” Simon looked at Charlotte and then back to Niall. “Since we doona ken the facts, ’tis better we nae discuss it.”
In front of Charlotte. Niall could almost hear the unspoken words, which meant his brother—and most likely his father—still suspected she might be a spy. He was tempted to point out that if shewerea spy, ironically what his father had said would be welcome news in an English camp. He held his peace, though, and Simon’s next words made him glad he had.
“The army is coming to Inverness to reorganize.”
Niall felt his blood chill. This time, when he looked at Charlotte, she met his gaze calmly. He felt numb. What she had predicted was coming true. She hadknown.
Chapter Fifteen
“You have questions, I presume?” Charlotte asked Niall. They were back in the study—she hadn’t needed a summons—but this time, they were seated in the armchairs near the hearth where a fire blazed cheerfully as if there were no concerns to be had.
He shook his head. “Just one.How?”
She didn’t bother asking him to clarify what he meant. “I don’t know how I got here.”
“Ye doona ken?”
Her turn to shake her head. “All I know is that one minute I was dancing in the Hogmanay circle at Inverness. You were there—”
“I ken that, lass.”
She paused, scrutinizing his face. He wasn’t going to like what she said next. “It wasn’t in this century.”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. “’Tis impossible.”
“It happened.” She hesitated again. “You asked me for a kiss after the dance—”
