“I’ll try this one.”
“’Tis a good choice. It will go with your eyes.”
She hadn’t thought about how she would look, but perhaps she should be more mindful. Men—at least in her novels—responded better to ladies who looked well-put-together. And she desperately needed some answers.
Ten minutes later, she was ready. Her tummy had been fortified with porridge and Erin had managed to pile her hair on top of her head in an arrangement of curls and had even pinched her cheeks to make them pinker. She almost laughed at that since the heroines in her stories did the same, but she suspected Erin wasn’t aiding a flirtation since, when Charlotte caught a look at herself in the small mirror on the dresser, she’d looked as pale as a ghostly wraith.
She took a deep breath—thankfully, there had been no corset involved in dressing—and opened the door to step into the hall.
This was it, then. A moment of truth.
****
Niall tried to ignore the covert glances of his family seated around a small table near the dais in the Great Hall. They rarely used the actual formal table to break their fast, but this morning he wished they had, for it would have eliminated them all trying not to stare at him.
He swallowed the porridge which, while usually smooth and creamy, left a lump in his throat. He took a bit of barley bread, usually equally moist but today felt like dry hay in his mouth. He reached for the watered-down ale and then put it down and looked up.
His father studied him thoughtfully, his face passive and not giving any clue to what he was feeling, but he never revealed his feelings. The old man was wily as a fox, which was partly the reason he’d earned the moniker of “The Fox.”
His sister’s face was full of concern, although whether because he was not wolfing down his food like he usually did or because of his latest rescue, he wasn’t sure. His brother, Simon, had devilment in his eyes. He was probably only holding back some raucous remark about Charlotte because their sister Greer had just joined them.
Niall shifted in his chair. “I doona have any more answers for ye than I did last night.”
“Ye ken nothing about her?” Simon grinned, the slightest hint of innuendo in his voice. “She’s quite bonny.”
Their father shifted his gaze to his oldest son. “At the moment we are nae concerned with her looks.”
Simon sobered and his father looked back at Niall. “She told ye she had nae kin?”
“She said she had two friends, but I wasna able to find them.”
They’d had this conversation last night after he’d brought Charlotte, still unconscious, home. His father liked to re-word his inquiries as a way to check if the person he was questioning was consistent or lying, a trait he was well-versed in. His father also had an instinct for discerning when someone was withholding information, which was probably why his father was studying him so carefully this morning.
He hadn’t told them Charlotte’s last name. He wasn’t exactly sure why he was protecting her. If more Campbells—besides the colonel—were in the vicinity, they could pose a real danger. His father, as laird, certainly should be made aware. For that matter, a message should also be sent to Charles Stuart’s camp, alerting them.
Yet he held back. He had not seen any Campbell tartans last night, although it would be easy enough to disguise themselves. The fact that no one had come to claim Charlotte had been more telling, especially when the crowds were gone and he was carrying her to his horse. He’d stationed several of his men along the route home to Castle Dounie just to make sure they weren’t being followed. All of the men had reported the road had been clear.
“I will try to find out more when I talk to her this morning.”
“If she’s awake.” His brother shrugged. “I suppose ’tis possible she had a head injury before she fell against ye.”
He hadn’t thought of that. Sometimes it took a little while before the effects took place. It might also explain her confusing answers. “Mayhap we should sent for the physician if she still sleeps.”
“She’s awake,” Greer said. “And apparently not worse for wear. Erin came to my room to borrow a gown or two.”
Niall breathed a sigh of relief. “’Tis good news, then.”
“Aye.” His father fixed him with a stern look. “We need to ken who the lass is and why she is wandering about without kin. I expect ye to get the answers.”
“I intend to,” Niall answered.
He knew his father’s look. If he didn’t get a satisfactory explanation from Charlotte, his father would.
****
Niall was no longer in the Great Hall when she went down, but she found him in a room across the way. For a moment she stood in the doorway silently, taking in the scene.
A large mahogany desk took up most of the center of the room, a huge, throne-like leather chair behind it. Two smaller, straight-back wooden chairs were directly in front, which reminded her of the principal’s office at her high school. As a rather independent-thinking teenager, she’d been summoned to his presence on more than one occasion.
