Greer frowned at him. “Do ye think ’tis really our business?”
If Charlotte was from the future, yes…but… He shook his head. What was he thinking?
“I’m glad ye agree.”
Niall blinked. Evidently, his sister had taken his head shake as an answer to her question rather than as a means of his trying to clear his thinking.
“Ye need to apologize and assure her we willna be prying anymore.”
If it were only that simple. Niall sighed. “I will apologize, but ye ken Da and Simon willna be content to let the matter be.”
Greer shrugged. “With the army coming to Inverness, Simon will be distracted and Da will be more interested in what the next plans are.”
“That’s true.” According to Charlotte, that would be Fort George.
“Well, I’m going to go talk to Charlotte and tell her she doesna have to worry about us,” Greer said.
Niall raised an eyebrow. “Just be careful ye doona ask questions yourself, sister.”
She rolled her eyes at him.
After she left, Niall became thoughtful. While his father supported the Cause—or said he did—he had also said that the fighting would stay south. That victory would be had, once Stirling and Edinburgh were taken. Now that the army was coming north, Frasers would be involved in what came next. They had been training—nominally—but now it would be in earnest.
And, if what Charlotte said was true, it would be for naught.
Could she truly know the outcome? Fortune tellers at town faires might claim to know the future and some of the more wily even managed to gain a king’s ear, but Charlotte made no claim to do that. She said she wasfromthe future. How could it be possible?
People simply did not travel through Time. He reviewed the way they’d met. There had been nothing out of the ordinary on that night as he could recall. They’d marched around the foot of the castle, torches held high, followed by the ceremonial dousing them in the river. There had been a moment when the air became hazy from the smoke and the images of people shimmered, but then the air cleared and they had begun to dance. He’d noticed Charlotte, of course, and he’d made sure he was next to her when the group broke into two circles, but that was a normal, male reaction to a beautiful woman. Nothing otherworldly about that.
There were so many pieces of the puzzle still missing. Charlotte had admitted to him that she’d lied about the betrothal. She’d agreed to the new twist of escaping from confinement, but he doubted that was even close to the truth, considering he’d been the one who brought it up. He was also convinced, even if Simon and his father weren’t, that she was not an English spy. From every account Keir had given him, Charlotte had not often left the office. When she did, Keir trailed at a safe distance and reported she’d simply taken care of whatever business was at hand and had not met anyone.
Having eliminated those three possibilities brought Niall back to the present one that—against all odds and human logic—Charlotte was who she said she was. A woman from nearly 300 years into the future.
Contrary to what Greer had said, there was a question he would have to ask.
What did Charlotte mean when she said the Scots would meet defeat? If he knew that, perhaps he could change the outcome.
History, after all, was written by the victors.
****
For the next two weeks, Charlotte was caught in a whirlwind of activity. News that Prince Charlie was accompanying the Jacobite army to Inverness had everyone in a frenzy. Niall, along with Simon, left early in the mornings to ride out and recruit troops, and they spent the afternoons training them and drilling the regulars. She rarely had a chance to speak more than a few words to Niall in the evenings because he was surrounded by soldiers in the Great Hall, all of them eager to discuss the upcoming arrival.
She had caught him sending glances her way on several of those evenings, though, and knew a confrontation regarding how she’d left the other conversation was inevitable.
It came a few days later. It was a Saturday, which meant she wouldn’t be going into Inverness to work, and she made her way to the Great Hall to break her fast in a more leisurely fashion than usual. She’d just finished eating when the door to the council room off the Great Hall opened and Niall emerged along with his father and brother and a couple of other men who had arrived yesterday ahead of the army.
Niall said something to Simon and then turned to approach her. “I’d like a word with ye.”
The porridge she’d just swallowed felt like a lump of lead in her stomach and she hoped she wouldn’t cast it up. She’d been dreading continuing the conversation because she was pretty sure he wouldn’t believe her, and she didn’t know how else to persuade him. Still, the conversation needed to be held.
“Of course.”
She followed him back into the council room, a place she’d not entered before. In contrast to the study with its leather chairs, bookcases, and warm hearth, this room was spartan and could have served as a monk’s cell, except for its size. A long rectangular table with a dozen straight-back wooden chairs were the only furniture aside from a smaller table in the corner, littered with maps.
Niall pulled out two chairs and turned them to face each other. He gestured to one. She sat, took a deep breath, and waited.
He studied her, took a deep breath himself, and came to the point. “Ye said in our last conversation that the Scots wouldna win this war. Why?”
