“It does feel good to have something to celebrate, nae?” Greer asked Charlotte the next day as they sat in the solar making plans for a ceilidh. “We’ve finally got the English retreating and surrendering.”
That was only temporary, Charlotte knew, but she didn’t want to destroy Greer’s hopes. And maybe—just maybe—now that she had told Niall what history had written, there might be a possibility of avoiding it. After all, Ray Bradbury had written about someone squashing a butterfly and changing the course of history forever. That story had been science-fiction, but why couldn’t it happen in reality?
“I’m glad there were no casualties.”
“Niall said it’s because they decided to blow up the bastion facing the bridge instead of trying to attack the double layers of defense wall,” Greer said.
Charlotte smiled. “I suppose waking up to an explosion and finding the main entrance missing might persuade the commander to surrender.”
“Aye.” Greer gave her an answering smile. “But Major Grant is a relative of ours, so I suspect Da might have something to do with it too.”
Charlotte was surprised, given the reaction she’d gotten when she created her fictional betrothed Colin. “Your family is related to English Grants?”
“’Tis complicated,” Greer answered. “Some clans are split between supporting the English and wanting a Stuart back on the throne. In our case, the major at the fort—George Grant—favors the English while another relative—James Grant—is a Jacobite.”
“That must make for some tense family moments.”
Greer shrugged. “’Tis the same with the Duke of Atholl, who holds Blair Castle for the English. His brother is our General Murray.”
In reflection, it probably wasn’t so much different from the American Civil War where families split loyalties between the North and the South. She was about to compare that, but realized what century she was in. “I had no idea,” she said.
“Och, well. ’Tis the way it is.” Greer turned back to the list she’d been making for the party. “I’m just glad we’re finally going to have some fun. It’s been a long while since we’ve had a gathering.”
The ceilidh. Charlotte wished she could feel the same enthusiasm as Greer did.
Unfortunately, she had lost her zest for the event when Greer’s father mentioned that it was time he had the Gordons over for an evening and this would work out splendidly. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but uneasiness had stayed with her, especially since Fiona had visited the office about a week ago and Charlotte had overheard her father saying he was going to talk to Lord Fraser. Were Greer’s father and Fiona’s planning to make an announcement of a betrothal? Did Niall know about it? Would he have a choice, given that marriages were arranged in this century? Or…would he agree to it?
The thought sickened her. She knew she had no right to claim Niall’s affections, given the circumstances, but that didn’t stop her deepening feelings for him. When did emotions ever follow logic? If she wanted to be logical, Niall would no longer exist in her century. He would be ashes with a grave marker that she might visit. Tears welled up in her eyes at that thought. She must have made some sort of sound for Greer jerked her head up.
“What’s wrong?” She put down the paper she’d been writing on. “Are ye crying?”
Charlotte swallowed hard and blinked rapidly to dissolve the tears. “No…I…just got something in my eye.” For emphasis, she rubbed an eyelid. “A speck of dust, probably. I…I’m all right now.” She took another fortifying breath, hoping she could control the horrible urge to weep.
“Ye look a little pale.”
“I’m…fine. Really.” Somehow, she managed to paste a smile on her face and gestured to the paper. “How far along in the plans are you?”
Greer gave her a doubtful look but didn’t press the issue. “There will be a banquet in the Great Hall before the dancing and other festivities begin.” She picked up the paper and frowned. “I’m trying to decide the seating arrangements on the dais. I doona want to offend any of the clan lairds that are attending, but I doona ken if we have room for all of them, especially since Da wants Mr. Gordon seated next to him.”
Charlotte felt like she’d swallowed molten lead and just barely managed not to grip her stomach. “Do you…do you know why your father wants him there?”
“I am nae sure,” Greer replied. “It could be that Da wants the other lairds to ken he has a solicitor at his hand to increase his power-hold now that the war has come to us.” She grimaced. “’Twould be like Da to do that.”
From what Charlotte had observed and heard about Greer’s father, it might be a motive. The Frasers were the biggest—and possibly the most important—clan in this region. It would be natural in the alpha world for Lord Lovat to establish his dominance through such a subtle gesture that wouldn’t give offense, but it offered Charlotte only a glimmer of hope.
She was very much afraid that the real intention was to announce a betrothal between Niall and Fiona.
****
Charlotte looked up at the dais as she walked into the Great Hall the evening of the ceilidh. Greer had managed to seat all the visiting lairds at the table. Lord Lovat sat directly in the middle, with Mr. Gordon to his right. At least, Fiona had not been given a place, which Charlotte had thought likely if an announcement was to be made. Then again, Niall wasn’t seated at the head table either, since it was full.
She found him seated at the smaller round table nearby that the family often used and where Greer had told her she would be sitting this evening as well. Her heart dropped to her stomach when she saw Fiona already seated next to him. Simon was on his other side, so Charlotte took a seat between Greer and Keir across from the brothers and pretended not to notice when Fiona nudged her chair closer to Niall.
“’Tis excited I am about tonight,” she said, her gaze on Niall. “I canna wait to dance.”
“’Twill be a long night.”
“I am looking forward to it.” Fiona smiled at him, looking very much like a cat who’d just discovered the creamery door open.
