She didn’t remember reading anything about this. Charlotte tried recalling her geography. She thought the castle was close to Pitlochry. “Isn’t that pretty far south of here?”
“Aye, but ’tis a strategic location on one of the main roads to Inverness,” Greer replied. “’Tis held by the English-supporting Duke of Atholl, James Murray.”
“Murray?” Charlotte remembered a previous conversation. “The brother of General Murray?”
“Aye.” Greer shrugged. “There are those who doona think Prince Charlie will win. A duke would lose not only his title but also his lands if he sided with him.”
Politics were politics, it seemed, regardless of the century. Understandably, losing one’s lands was a risk many wouldn’t be willing to take. It wasn’t really just a matter of honor to fight for the Jacobite Cause, either. An English king could disperse the entire clan if he chose, and Charlotte understood enough about Scottish culture to know that lairds—even if they had English titles—still owed their real loyalty to the preservation of their clan.
“Do you think General Murray would burn it?” she asked.
“I doona ken. The messenger said they fired at close range.”
“Still. To destroy your own ancestral castle—”
“’Tis a strategy. The English canna return to what is nae there,” Greer answered and shrugged again. “Robert the Bruce made sure he left no castle standing that he’d taken.”
She’d heard of burning bridges to stop an army’s advancement, and leveling forts made sense, but castles were homes. People’s lives and histories were there. She sighed. Wars were still happening in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, too. World wars, Vietnam, Afghanistan, Ukraine… Homes, schools, hospitals—entire cities—were reduced to rubble. The old adage of history repeating itself until humanity learned its lessons must be true.
And she knew how the Battle of Culloden was going to end.
****
Niall looked across the small crowd that had gathered around the messenger and spotted Charlotte talking to his sister. He wondered if she’d known about the siege. She hadn’t mentioned it when she’d predicted the taking of the forts. From the look of confusion on her face, it didn’t seem that she had. Or maybe the whole thing wasn’t important enough to be put into history books.
He caught himself with a hitch of his breath. Did he really believe she was from the future? His thoughts were certainly leaning that way, even though his rational mind kept telling him it was impossible. Even more irrationally, his mind didn’t seem to care. He just knew he didn’t want to lose her. Ever.
That thought jolted him as well. He glanced covertly at Fiona, who stood not far away. He hadn’t been successful at redirecting her attention at the ceilidh, even though her brother had thought that might happen. He had no desire to marry her, even though he realized it was what his father—and probably Fergus—were plotting. Mayhap he needed to talk to Keir, although he didn’t want to bring up such a topic while his friend lay upstairs with broken ribs. He couldn’t afford a direct confrontation with Fiona either, since he had no wish to start a private war between the families. What he needed was space.
A thought formed. The messenger had mentioned he would be going to Inverallochy to inform Charles Fraser of the siege. He could save the messenger the trouble by going to see his uncle himself. It would take him away from Beauly for a few days and he could avert a crisis.
He nearly grinned at his brilliant solution. Cowardly maybe, but brilliant.
****
From the smaller table near the dais, Charlotte looked around the Great Hall. It was nearly filled since the evening meal was about to be served, but she didn’t see Niall anywhere. Fiona sat as a guest of honor at the high table with Niall’s father. Charlotte couldn’t ignore the fact that the placement might well signal that Fiona would soon be a member of the family. At least, Niall was not seated next to her. But where was he? She turned to Greer.
“I don’t see Niall anywhere. Did he ride out to help Simon bring the wagon back?”
Greer shook her head. “Nae. After the messenger left, Niall went to see our uncle over at Inverallochy to give him the news.”
“Where is that?”
“On the coast, north of Aberdeen.”
For a moment, she panicked. “How far north?”
Greer shrugged. “About forty miles, I think. Why?”
The Duke of Cumberland would be in Aberdeen. She couldn’t tell Greer that though. In this century that would be a good two days’ ride, and she didn’t remember anything about the English going farther north. Niall should be safe. “I was just wondering how long he’d be gone.”
Greer grinned. “If he’s smart, he’ll stay away until Keir and Fiona leave.”
Charlotte felt her face grow warm. Hopefully, the dim light would hide the blush. “Why do you say that?”
Her grin widened. “Ye doona have to act the innocent with me.”
Now her face felt on fire. How would Greer know that they’d made love? She couldn’t. Could she? “What…do you mean?”
