Page 10 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

C harlie stood on the steps of the manor house, looking out. She breathed deeply, taking in the crisp spring air. There was a bite to it, that’s for sure, but it also held the promise of warmer days to come. When she’d left her time, it had been July. Now it was May and her favorite time of year, with blossom on the trees and flowers uncurling to bask in the spring sunshine.

Although, she reflected, there wasn’t much of that in evidence today. The sky was overcast, with a bank of clouds in the distance that threatened a drenching when they rolled this way. If she was going to get the pottery up and running before it hit, she’d better get started.

The sound of distant voices and footsteps echoed from up the hill, drawing her attention away from the impending clouds. She squinted, trying to make out the figures in the distance. She recognized Niall at the front of a large group of people that he was leading this way.

He was talking animatedly to a man just behind him—a tall figure with a thick beard and weathered face. Behind them trudged a gaggle of men, women and children who all looked ragged and weary. What was going on?

Behind her, Flora emerged from the house, her hands dripping with soapy water as she hastily wiped them on her apron. Her brows knitted together in a fierce scowl as she took in the sight of the approaching crowd.

“What in God’s name has he gone and done now?” she growled.

Charlie shrugged, offering Flora an apologetic smile. “I think we’re about to find out.”

As Niall and his group entered the courtyard Flora stepped down the steps to meet them, crossing her arms over her chest as if preparing for battle. Now they were closer, Charlie saw that the newcomers were carrying packs of belongings slung over their backs. Some of them were even leading scrawny goats.

Niall stopped a few paces away from Flora, resting his hands on his hips. His face held an expression of defiance in the face of Flora’s thunderous scowl.

“Flora,” Niall said, flashing his cocky smile. “May I present our new workers?” He swept an arm out to indicate the group behind him. A sea of tired faces peered back at the housekeeper, their expressions filled with a strange mixture of hope and apprehension.

There was silence as Flora let her gaze travel over them all, her face inscrutable. Then she turned her attention back to Niall, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And where do ye propose we put all our new workers, my lord?”

Niall gave a nonchalant shrug. “We’ll make do. The barn is empty so that will do for now.”

The housekeeper huffed, her scowl remaining firmly locked in place. She directed her gaze at the crowd again, this time with a hint of resignation. “Fine,” she snapped. “Let’s get ye all settled in before the rain comes.”

The man Niall had been talking with stepped forward, holding out his hand to Flora. “Grateful for yer hospitality, madam.”

Flora shook his hand briskly and then turned her stern gaze on the group. “Well, dinna just stand there gawping. Come on!” With that she strode off towards the barn, a line of weary people following in her wake.

Once they were alone, Charlie descended the steps and went to stand next to Niall.

“Well then,” he said, running a hand through his hair and leaving it sticking up at odd angles. “That went better than I expected.”

“Who are those people?” Charlie asked.

“Displaced folk,” Niall replied, his gaze following the group as they followed Flora. “They lost their homes to a landlord’s greed and had nowhere else to go.” He paused, then shrugged. “I offered them work on the mill.”

Charlie glanced up at Niall, studying his profile. There was a steeliness in his eyes, a determination that made her chest tighten with something she couldn’t quite identify.

“It seems to be a habit of yours.”

He turned to look at her. “What is?”

“Taking in waifs and strays. You’re a good man, Niall Campbell.”

Niall snorted softly at her words. “Kindness doesnae come into it,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “These people need work, and I have work that needs doing. It’s as simple as that.”

It wasn’t, and they both knew it.

Charlie tilted her head. “You don’t fool me, Niall Campbell.”

He might act the arrogant charmer half the time but that was not the man who helped her clean the workshop yesterday, who toiled in the dirt with his men, who took in waifs and strays and offered them work.

Niall’s brows rose, his gaze meeting hers with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. Something between wariness and expectation. “I’m sure I dinna know what ye are talking about.”

“I think you do. Hide behind that mask of yours if you like, Niall Campbell. But I think I’m starting to see through it.”

He didn’t reply. He just stared at her and that look was in his eyes again, that look that made her heart beat a little faster.

“Charlotte,” he said softly, stepping forward. “I—”

“Ah, there ye are!”

They both turned to see Joseph bustling up to them. He stopped and looked between the two of them. “Er, was I interrupting?”

“Nay,” Niall said quickly, stepping back and putting some space between them. “What can I help ye with, Joseph?”

“It isnae ye I want, my laird, but Lady Charlotte.” He turned to her. “I’ve got together the supplies ye asked for. If ye like, we can take it over to the pottery now.”

A zing of excitement shot through Charlie’s stomach. “You did? Then what are we waiting for? I can’t wait to get started.”

“This way then.”

As she followed Joseph, Charlie cast one last glance at Niall, who stood watching them with an unreadable expression. She couldn’t help feeling there were things left unsaid between them.

When they reached the pottery workshop, she was taken aback to find bundles of building materials outside and two men already hard at work fixing the roof. She stopped, staring. “Joseph...” she began, her voice trailing off in surprise.

Joseph grinned back at her. “Surprised, are ye?”

Charlie nodded slowly. “I didn’t expect... This is amazing.”

“Lord Niall said ye wanted to get started right away,” Joseph replied with a shrug. “So let’s get to it, eh?”

Together they worked to unpack all the supplies, passing tools and bags of clay to the men who were busily working on the building’s repairs. The sky overhead threatened rain, but for now it held its peace, allowing them to get the materials safely under cover.

Joseph handed her a pile of old aprons that Flora had sent over. The fabrics were faded, worn with age and use, but they were clean and sturdy. Charlie slipped one over her head, tying it securely at her waist. It smelt faintly of soap and wood smoke—a comforting scent that brought back memories of her aunt’s kitchen.

With the aprons distributed and the supplies stored, Charlie followed Joseph into the main building. Despite its disrepair, she could see a certain grace in the old pottery. Its stone walls were sturdy, worn smooth by years of weather and work. The vast kiln took up one end of the space, an imposing structure of brick and iron that was heated by burning wood. She guessed it would take an age to heat to the required temperature.

“We are going to need firewood,” she said. “And plenty of it.”

Joseph nodded and led her around to the back of the building to a wood store filled with a tangled mound of logs. It looked like it had been there for some time—probably since Niall’s mother’s time—and so the wood was well-seasoned and dry.

Together she and Joseph began taking them inside and placing them in the fire pit beneath the kiln. As they worked, Charlie found herself explaining how to stack the logs in an efficient way to maximize heat output. “The trick is to leave enough space for the air to circulate,” she explained as he neatly arranged the logs in a crisscross pattern. “That way, it burns hotter and longer.”

As the pile of logs grew higher, Charlie could almost feel the heat of future fires that would blaze within the old kiln. She could almost see the pots and vases, their raw clay forms hardened and transformed by the flames into beautiful pieces of pottery. It was a vision that warmed her heart despite the chill in the air.

Joseph raised an eyebrow. “Ye seem to know yer way around a kiln, lass,” he observed.

“I studied ceramics at university. I have an online business at home selling my own crockery.” She snapped her mouth shut abruptly as she realized what she’d just said. Damn it! She had to remember where she was. If she wasn’t careful, she would give herself away. She spoke quickly to stop Joseph asking any questions.

“Certain woods burn hotter than others,” she said.” Oak for instance, burns slow and steady. It’s good for maintaining the heat once the kiln is up to temperature.” She knew she was babbling but couldn’t seem to stop herself. “But for starting the fire,” she continued, picking up a smaller piece of wood, “you’ll want something like this—pine or birch. They burn hot and fast.”

Joseph nodded, studying her with a curious gaze. Clearly, he had not missed her slip just now, despite her attempts to distract him. “Do noblewomen in Wales often run their own ‘online businesses’.”

There was more than curiosity in his voice now, there was suspicion as well. She must not forget that despite his down-to-earth, friendly demeanor, Joseph was Niall’s right-hand man and involved in whatever it was that Niall was up to in Edinburgh. She had to tread carefully.

“Ah,” she began, her voice steady, “my aunt and uncle are quite modern. They believe a woman should have an education and a trade of her own. My uncle always says that there’s no telling what life throws at you. It’s best to be prepared.” She smiled at Joseph, hoping the answer would satisfy his curiosity.

Joseph studied her. “Yer uncle is yer guardian?”

Guardian? Hardly! She was twenty-six! But this clearly wasn’t what Joseph needed to hear. “Um...my guardian? Yes, that’s right.”

The old man nodded slowly. “Well, it sounds like yer uncle is a wise man,” he said eventually.

Charlie felt a pang of homesickness at his words but nodded in agreement. “He certainly likes to think so,” she joked lightly, brushing some stray hair out of her face and leaving behind a streak of dirt.

Once the wood was stacked just so, they moved on to unpacking the bags of clay that had been stacked outside.

“Where did the clay come from?” she asked.

“The river,” Joseph answered. “We’ve been getting clay from its banks for years.”

“I didn’t know there was a river on Niall’s lands.”

Joseph glanced at her and there was a wary expression on his face. “Technically, it isnae. It forms the southern border of his lands.”

“A border with whose lands?”

He glanced at her, before hauling a bag of clay onto the shelf. “His brother’s.”

Charlie carried on working, mulling this over. Yesterday, Niall had been reluctant to talk about his brother. It seemed Joseph was too. She clearly wasn’t the only one reluctant to reveal her past.

“His older brother?” she asked, trying to make her tone light.

Joseph blinked at her in surprise. “He told ye about Bryce?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “He just showed me where his lands border his brother’s to the north. It looks like pretty wild country up there.”

“Aye,” Joseph said softly. “And vast. The earl of Newborough is one of the largest landowners in the area.”

“Earl?” Charlie echoed, dropping the bag of clay she had been holding. Dust rose from the floor and tickled her nostrils. She fought back a sneeze as she tried to digest this new information. “Niall’s brother is an earl? He never mentioned that.”

She guessed Niall came from a well-off family, but an earldom was something else entirely.

Joseph shrugged. “Aye, well, he’s not one for titles and all that nonsense. What he has is only a sliver of what his inheritance should have been and only then because he fought tooth and nail for it.”

Charlie was surprised by the anger in Joseph’s words. “What happened?”

Joseph paused, his gaze distant. “It’s a long story,” he said finally. “One better saved for another time.”

The dismissal was clear in his tone.

Charlie was silent for a moment, then turned her attention back to the clay, using a knife to slice open the bags. The clay was cool and damp beneath her fingers and she found comfort in its familiar texture.

Niall’s brother was an earl. Niall was one of five. A man who had fought for his inheritance. These were pieces of a puzzle that were slowly starting to form a picture of a man who was far more complex than she had originally thought.

“Right,” said Joseph, brushing his hands on his apron. “That’s the lot. Do ye need me for anything else?”

Charlie shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine from here. I’m just going to store the clay then fire up the kiln. Thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”

Joseph nodded. “Make sure ye dinna miss the midday meal or ye’ll have Flora stomping up here in a temper.”

Charlie laughed. “Duly noted.”

Joseph nodded and left, taking the two workmen with him. Charlie was left alone in the workshop. She sighed and dug her fingers into the soft clay, her thoughts far away.

Her fingers probed through the soft, wet material, feeling for any hard objects. Every now and then, she found a small pebble or twig which she would toss aside. The process was unexpectedly calming, almost meditative. For the first time since she’d come here, no thoughts filled her head beyond the moment. It was...liberating.

Next she lit the kiln, then turned her attention to the potter’s wheel. She carefully centered a small lump of clay on the wheel head, sitting on the low bench and kicking the treadle lightly. The wheel spun, slowly at first, then faster as she got into rhythm. Her hands cupped around the clay, steadying it as it spun. The clay felt cool and firm under her hands, but reassuringly familiar.

It was basic pottery—nothing like the intricate pieces she sold in artisan markets—but it was her creation. And proof that she was capable of something in this strange new world.

There was a knock at the door. Charlie looked up. The sun slanting in through the window was low and turning red with sunset.

She jumped up. Damn it! She’d been here all day and missed the midday meal after promising Joseph she wouldn’t. Wiping her hands on her apron, she hurried to the door, expecting an annoyed Flora to be standing on the other side.

She yanked the door open. “Sorry, Flora!” she blurted. “I lost track of time and—”

But it wasn’t Flora standing there. It was Niall.

He was leaning against the door frame, a smile playing on his lips.

“Niall!” Charlie stammered, a flush creeping up her neck. “I—I thought you were... I mean, I was expecting... Flora. I skipped lunch and thought she might have come up here with a ladle ready for my head.”

Niall’s grin widened. “No ladle-wielding Flora, I’m afraid. Just me.” He raised his head to look over her shoulder. “I see ye’ve had a productive day.”

“I suppose so.”

“And messy,” Niall added, gesturing at Charlie. “I thought potters worked clay rather than wearing it.”

Charlie glanced down at herself. Her apron was covered in clay, as were her arms up to the elbows. She was pretty sure she had it all over her face and in her hair as well.

“Well, you heard wrong,” she said, crossing her arms. “ Wearing the clay is half the fun.”

He snorted a laugh. “Then it seems I still have a lot to learn about pottery.”

He gave her one of his heart-stopping smiles before stepping closer. The scent of fresh pine and leather filled her nostrils as he leaned in, his gaze focused on her face. He reached up and gently wiped away some clay smeared across her cheek.

His touch was warm, the pad of his thumb rough against her skin. Heat rushed to her cheeks as she locked eyes with him.

A memory of the night she’d kissed him flashed through her mind. She’d been drunk but the memory wasn’t hazy as drunken memories often were, but was etched into her mind as clear as a sunlit day. The feel of his lips. The weight of his hands at her waist. The sensation of his breath against her skin.

Her lips parted, a soft breath escaping her. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to go up on her tiptoes, wrap her arms around his neck, and feel what she felt that night in the parlor of Niall’s townhouse.

“Niall,” she whispered. She raised a hand to touch his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the soft fabric of his shirt.

Then suddenly, he stepped back.

He cleared his throat, averting his eyes and turning toward the potter’s wheel and the row of pots she’d created.

“Right. Well, uh,” he stuttered. “I’m glad to see this place in use again.”

Charlie forced a smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, it’s not much but... it’s a start I suppose.”

An awkward silence fell.

“So...er...how are the newcomers settling in?” she blurted.

Niall winced. “As well as can be expected. I’ve housed them in the barn temporarily but we’ll have to find more permanent quarters soon.” He rubbed his chin. “Which will mean building more houses but with all our resources going to the mill I dinna know where we’ll find the stone and timber for that.”

“Why don’t you use brick and tile then?”

Niall glanced at her. “This isnae Edinburgh. Out here such resources aren’t readily available and bringing it here from the capital would be exorbitantly expensive.”

Charlie nodded. “Right.” She glanced at the kiln, biting her lip as an idea began to form in her mind. Would it be possible?

Niall blew out a breath. “Anyway, that’s a worry for tomorrow. I came here to fetch ye for the evening meal. Missing one of Flora’s meals might be considered brave but missing two of them? That would be suicidal.”

Charlie laughed. “Best not keep her waiting then.”

Giving the kiln one last check to ensure it was heating up nicely, she followed Niall as they began walking back towards Glennoch.

***

N IALL FOUND HIMSELF enjoying the walk back to the manor house with Charlotte. There was an easy companionship between them and the usual pressure he felt to be whatever his companion needed him to be, was gone. With Charlotte he was more himself than with anyone save perhaps Joseph and Flora. It was...refreshing.

He stole a sidelong glance at her as they walked. Her hair, the color of ripe cherries, was tied back loosely, stray tendrils dancing around her face and she was humming a soft melody under her breath.

His breathing quickened. His fingers ached to touch her. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless. But he couldn’t.

Joseph’s warning rang in his head. It might not hurt his reputation to take Charlotte into his bed—but it would certainly harm hers. It was unfair but it was the way of the world. So he fixed his eyes firmly on their path and kept his hands by his sides.

They had reached the manor’s gates and were just about to enter the courtyard when Niall heard hoofbeats behind them. He turned and saw a rider on a horse as black as night thundering towards them up the southern road.

Niall stiffened at the sight, instinctively stepping closer to Charlotte and his hand going to the dagger strapped at his waist. He noted the ornate embroidery on the man’s doublet—gold thread woven into intricate patterns that gleamed in the evening sun. That alone screamed wealth and power.

But it was the pattern of the plaid that gave away the man’s identity long before he yanked his horse to a halt in front of them, kicking up clouts of mud.

Boyd MacAllister.

The man was pale with anger as he glared down at Niall. “What is the meaning of this, Campbell?”

Niall gave the man his most charming smile and affected a mocking bow. “And a good evening to ye. Although I’m afraid I canna answer yer question as I have no idea what ye are talking about.”

MacAllister’s face twisted in fury as he dismounted his horse with a swift, agile movement. “Dinna play games with me,” he spat, his voice cold and sharp. All pretense of polite gentility that he might practise in the capital was gone. “Why have ye taken my tenants onto yer lands?”

“ Yer tenants?” Niall replied, rubbing his chin in thought. “Odd. I thought ye and my brother evicted them from both yer lands. For sheep, I’ve been told. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding and ye are here to escort them back to their homes?”

MacAllister scowled. “We both know ye dinna have the means to house so many so what are ye up to? Trying to undermine my authority? Trying to ferment rebellion against me and yer brother?”

A spark of anger lit in Niall’s belly, seeping into his tone. “Rebellion? Is that what ye think I’m doing? Perhaps I should expect such paranoia from someone so well versed in the art.” Now it was Niall’s turn to drop the polite facade and he stepped forward and put his face close to MacAllister’s. “What I do on my lands is my own business,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “And I suggest ye think very carefully next time before ye come onto my land flinging around accusations.”

“ Yer land?” MacAllister hissed. “We all know it’s only yer land because ye wheedled and connived yer way to it. Because ye sold yer soul and betrayed yer family to Alba’s enemies.”

“Careful now,” Niall said softly. “Ye tread dangerous ground. These lands were granted me by the king himself. Is he the enemy of Alba ye speak of? Surely not. I’m sure ye dinna mean to speak treason.”

MacAllister paled slightly, perhaps realizing he’d said too much. He took a step back and his eyes darted to Charlotte. A second later, his eyes widened in recognition and he smirked.

“Ah! The counterfeit Countess of Argyle! The lass who’s caused such a stir in Edinburgh society. So this is where ye’ve hidden her! I might have guessed ye’d taken her as yer doxy. Is she another prize ye gained for yer treachery?”

Niall felt his fists clench. Suddenly his fury was a living, breathing thing, threatening to consume him. MacAllister could insult him all he liked but he would be dead before he would allow him to speak to Charlotte in such a manner.

But, it seemed, Charlotte didn’t need defending. She stepped forward, her eyes blazing as she faced up to MacAllister.

“What did you just call me?” she snapped. “Doxy, was it? How the hell dare you? I’ve met some arrogant pieces of shit in my time but I think you’ve just taken the trophy!”

MacAllister blinked, taken aback. Clearly, he wasn’t used to women standing up to him.

“I’m Lord Boyd MacAllister,” he replied, his voice dripping with condescension. “And I suggest ye remember yer place.”

Charlotte snorted and poked him in the chest. “My place,” she growled. “Is wherever I damn well please. And right now, it’s here, in Niall’s company. You don’t get to dictate where I go, who I associate with, or how I live my life. So take your over-inflated ego and your narrow-minded views and kindly stuff them where the sun doesn’t shine!”

MacAllister’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish. “Ye...ye canna speak to me like that!”

“I just did,” Charlotte retorted, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly. “And if you have a problem with that, you can take it up with my fists.”

Niall could have kissed her right then and there. The fury in her eyes, the power in her voice...she was magnificent. He doubted MacAllister had ever been spoken to like that before in his life and it was way overdue.

Niall stepped up to Charlotte’s side and glared at MacAllister. “I suggest ye leave,” he said, his voice low and threatening. “Before either of us do something we’ll regret.”

A nerve twitched in MacAllister’s cheek. He glanced between him and Charlotte then whirled and remounted his horse. He yanked the reins, bringing the horse around in a tight circle.

“This isnae over, Campbell,” he growled. “Ye’ve just made a powerful enemy.”

“Aye?” Niall said, meeting the lord’s furious stare. “Well, ye will have to get in line.”

With a hiss of annoyance, MacAllister spurred his horse into a gallop and quickly disappeared down the road.

“What an arrogant prick!” Charlotte exclaimed.

“Aye,” Niall agreed. “I think he came out of the womb as an arrogant arse and naught has changed.”

Charlotte snorted a laugh. “You can say that again.”

Niall watched her for a moment, the way the last golden rays of sunlight danced in her hair and made her eyes sparkle. He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Ye were magnificent, lass.”

She turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “Was I?”

“Aye. Thank ye for standing by my side.”

“Where else would I be, Niall? You’re stuck with me, remember?”

Oh, he hadn’t forgotten. He would have her company until the merchant train arrived to take her home. But after that, she would be gone from his life as surely as if she’d never been. He found himself hoping for the merchant train to be delayed. Indefinitely, if possible.

“Come,” he said, gesturing to the door. “Let’s go eat. If we delay any longer Flora might well come out and drag us both in by our ears.”

As they went inside, he couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder at the rider disappearing into the distance. Unease filled his gut. Despite his bravado, he knew that MacAllister was indeed a dangerous enemy to make. He had no doubt the man would retaliate. The only question was: how? And when?