“I…hadn’t quite thought that far.” That much was true. She was making this up as she went along. “I…just needed to get away.”
Herplotnow needed an ending. She’d never been an author who flew by the seat of her pants. “Will you help me?”
Niall studied her for so long she was beginning to think he wasn’t going to. Or, maybe, he was going to turn her out on her ear. Or call a magistrate…
“For now,” he said.
“What?” She wanted to make sure she had heard correctly.
A corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “I said ‘for now.’ I will help ye for now. But…” The smile faded. “Ye had best nae be lying to me.”
****
“So ye believe the lass, then?” his father asked.
They were sitting in the small room—the council room, adjacent to the Great Hall—usually used for arranging truces with rival clans. Although it was only his family that was gathered—father, brother, sister—Niall felt the weight of his conclusion as strongly as if he’d been negotiating with King George himself. The safety of his clan was at stake.
“I want to give the lass shelter.”
Simon grinned. “Of course ye do.”
Niall slanted him a look. “’Tis the Highland way to offer hospitality.”
This time his brother snorted. “Ye might try and convince the Donalds of Glen Coe of that. Too bad none of them are left because the Campbells finished them off.”
Niall had told his family what had transpired earlier during his conversation with Charlotte, including her last name. “Ye canna blame the lass for something that happened fifty years ago.”
“And it wasna Clan Campbell that attacked the Donalds,” Greer said. “’Twas one commander acting on orders from King William. Besides,” she added, “I doona think Charlotte is going to massacre anybody.”
“Ye miss the point, sister.” Simon replied. “’Tis her kin that may be lurking about. Or, she might be a scout for Colonel Campbell.”
“’Tis true the Campbells are nae to be trusted, especially in these times,” their father said, “but I have sent out men to scour the area. Each party has one messenger on a fast horse to report back if they find anything suspicious. So far, nothing. No soldiers waiting, either.”
“’Tis only been an hour, Da,” Simon said.
His brother was right. An hour wasn’t long to search, especially if the Campbell men weren’t soldiers or wearing their plaids. And, while men from Argyll may not be familiar with the mountainous terrain around Inverness, they would know how to hide since their own territory near the Trossachs included wooded glens, braes, and lochs that were generally mist-covered and ideal for disappearing into. The MacGregors had been doing it for centuries.
Which brought Niall’s thoughts back to Charlotte’s disguise. It had either been complete foolishness on her part to risk wearing that tartan or sheer genius.
“Ye look troubled,” Greer said.
He forced a smile, although he knew his sister was astute enough not be fooled by it. “I was just thinking it might be wise if we didna mention her last name to the rest of our people.”
His father frowned. “I doona like to be deceitful.”
Niall refrained from snorting. His father was a master at being deceitful. It was something Niall had trouble rationalizing, but he’d been witness to it on more occasions that he wanted to think about.
“Niall has a point,” Greer said. “We canna guarantee that someone would nae want to seek revenge because of the name.”
“Ye think someone would openly defy me?”
“’Tis troubling times,” Simon said. “Nae all the men who pledge allegiance to the Cause have pledged fealty to ye, Da.”
Their father’s face grew stormy for an instant, then smoothed to its usual passiveness. “Ye think nae?”
“If there are some,” Niall said quickly, “why stir up a hornet’s nest that might lead to suspicion? The lass arrived in MacGregor colors. ’Tis easier to let people think ’tis her clan. We know the difference and we can keep a watchful eye.”
Simon considered, then turned to his father. “Do ye nae agree? ’Twould avoid a problem.”
