Page 12 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

N iall woke before first light two days later. In truth, he’d hardly slept at all the last few nights. His thoughts were a confusing whirl that would not let him rest. Charlotte. MacAllister. The mill. His mission. It all went around and around, refusing to settle.

Giving up on trying to sleep, he hauled himself out of bed and quickly dressed. He rubbed his eyes as he went downstairs and entered the hall, finding Joseph and Flora there before him, like always. He smiled wryly. No matter what time he got up—even in the middle of the night—he doubted he’d beat the pair of them.

Flora was bustling around serving breakfast, and Joseph had the latest pamphlets from the city spread out on the table, studying their contents.

Niall made his way over to the table and joined him. Joseph grunted a greeting, but barely looked up from the pamphlet he was reading.

“Anything new?” Niall asked. “Anything I need to worry about?”

Joseph sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Oh, the usual. Lady Murray held another of her balls in Edinburgh, and there was mention of a certain eligible bachelor who was conspicuous by his absence. Particularly as he disappeared after his meeting with a certain group of young lords.”

Joseph was referring to Alistair MacTavish and his cronies of course, the aspiring rebels. Had he roused their suspicions by breaking contact after that first meeting? Perhaps it had been a little rash to retreat to his manor so abruptly, but with Lady Murray so keen to find and interrogate Charlotte, he’d had little choice.

“Do ye think they suspect me?”

“I dinna think so,” Joseph replied. “According to the gossip, ye were seen leaving Edinburgh in the company of a beautiful young woman. No doubt that is the reason they think ye’ve left—and they wouldnae be far wrong would they?”

“Joseph,” Niall replied with a scowl. “Ye dinna need to give me another lecture. I assure ye, naught has happened between Lady Charlotte and myself.”

Although that didn’t mean he didn’t want it to. It had taken all of his self-control not to kiss her in the pottery workshop the other day. Oh aye, he would most definitely like something to happen between himself and his beautiful Welsh guest. His guest who would soon be leaving. He tried to ignore the way his gut twisted at that thought.

Joseph snorted. “All right, lad, no more lectures.” He waved a hand. “And I’m sure Edinburgh society will forget ye entirely as soon as a new scandal comes along to capture their attention.”

Niall nodded. “Any whispers of what’s happening with the Articles?”

“Just the usual. Those arguing for them, those arguing against. But there is something I thought ye should see.” He rooted around amongst the pile of pamphlets until he found what he was looking for. “This one mentions a rumor of French involvement.”

Niall straightened, suddenly alert. He took the pamphlet and read it. It talked of rumors that a secret alliance was being brokered between Scottish lords opposed to the union and the French. The back of Niall’s neck tingled. No. Surely not. These rumors must be baseless, the idiotic grumblings of people with too much time on their hands. The rebels wouldn’t be stupid enough to land French troops on Scottish soil. Would they?

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival in the hall of his Italian guests. Antonio and his entourage burst in with their usual loud chatter, and Niall quickly buried the pamphlet under the others as everyone settled down for breakfast.

Flora buzzed around, serving porridge, oatcakes, fried bacon and sausage. She hummed as she did so, clearly enjoying herself. Niall smiled to himself. Flora was in her element. She’d never taken to life in the capital and was more than happy to be back in the country, particularly as she now had many mouths to feed and many people to fuss over.

Niall glanced around, feeling a flush of satisfaction at the sight of everyone eating together in his hall. True, his house was neither as big nor as grand as his brother’s, but it was all the more special for that. He had built this community. He had seen his people through the seven ill years when so many others had perished. Pride was a sin, the priests taught, but Niall couldn’t help feeling a flush of it all the same.

The only thing missing was a certain red-haired beauty. His gaze kept darting for the door, hoping to see Charlotte appear. But breakfast was almost over by the time the door creaked open, letting in a gust of cool morning air. Charlotte stood in the doorway, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders against the morning chill, her red hair disheveled.

She looked as though she’d just woken up, her cheeks rosy from the cold and sleep still lingering in her eyes. She gave a little yawn, covering it with her hand as she stepped inside, her gaze sweeping across the room before it landed on Niall.

The chatter and sound of crockery seemed to fade into the background as she approached. He pulled out a chair for her, letting his hand brush against hers in an accidental-on-purpose move that sent sparks shooting up his arm.

“Sleep well, lass?” he asked as he resumed his seat and poured her a cup of small beer.

She took it and swirled the liquid around in the cup. “Yep. I was exhausted. I forgot what hard work potting can be. Won’t make that mistake again. When I woke up this morning, I had so many aches and pains I thought I’d been in a brawl. We fired the first batch of bricks yesterday evening. They should have cooled overnight. It’s going to be a busy day ahead.”

Niall laughed softly. “Then eat. Sounds like ye will need all yer strength.”

There was a twinkle of amusement in her eye as she accepted the oatcakes he held out for her. She seemed to have settled into the routine of life here, blending seamlessly into their everyday activities, as though she belonged.

Then Niall glanced at Antonio, and his mood soured. The merchant would soon be taking Charlotte away from him.

To cover his sudden unease, Niall lifted his cup to his lips but paused as the urgent ringing of a bell suddenly sounded from outside. Niall was on his feet in an instant, his chair scraping loudly against the stone floor just as one of his men burst into the room, panting heavily.

“Fire!” he gasped, his face pale under the dirt and soot smeared across it. “Fire at the mill!”

The room erupted into chaos as everyone scrambled to their feet. Niall was already moving, sprinting across the hall and out the door, then through the courtyard and up the hill towards the mill. He could see it now, the orange glow against the dark morning sky, the smoke billowing up like a monstrous cloud.

As he reached the top, he heard the panicked shouts of his men as they formed a bucket line from the nearby well to the mill. But the scaffolding around the stone tower was already burning, making it impossible to lift the buckets to where they really needed to go—the sails.

The beautiful, carved wooden sails that had been so painstakingly crafted and hoisted into place looked like skeletal wings in the firelight, the flames licking up their length, consuming the polished wood with a greedy hunger.

Niall staggered to a halt. He felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach. No. This could not be happening. This was a nightmare and he would wake in a moment.

“Where is Knox?” Niall yelled.

“Here,” the giant foreman pushed through the crowd. His face was ashen, dark rings under his eyes. Niall had never seen the man shaken before.

“How did this happen?” he demanded.

Knox shook his head, his face etched with confusion and disbelief. “I dinna know. We were meticulous about fire safety. It’s the first rule hammered into every man who worked on this project.”

Niall clenched his fists at his sides, the sound of the crackling flames echoing in his ears. His gaze roved over the scene, taking in the men desperately trying to douse the fire with buckets of water.

Knox looked at Niall, his face pale and gaunt. “There’s no way this was an accident.”

Niall’s blood ran cold at the implication. He stared at Knox, knowing what thought reverberated in his foreman’s mind. Sabotage.

“Who would do this?” Knox continued, his fists clenching at his sides as he watched the flames consume their hard work and dreams.

But Niall knew.

Fury erupted in his gut, not hot and boiling, but as cold as a winter’s gale and sharp enough to cut through glass. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked away. He heard Knox calling after him, but did not respond. Halfway back to the manor, he met Charlotte, Flora and Joseph hurrying towards the mill wearing horror-filled expressions.

“Where are you going?” Charlotte asked as he strode past. “Niall!”

“To sort this,” he growled, not breaking stride.

He reached the stables, vaulted bareback onto the nearest horse, and guiding the beast with his knees, sent her clattering across the courtyard, and out onto the road that led from the estate.

His thoughts had become sharp-edged and crystalline. His destination was clear, as was his intent. The cold fury spurred him on, and the horse seemed to understand his urgency, her hooves pounding the ground in a steady rhythm. The wind whipped past his face, carrying with it the smell of smoke and devastation.

He’d been galloping for perhaps fifteen minutes when an estate loomed into view in the distance, the stone walls gleaming in the morning sunlight. It was bigger, grander than Niall’s own and the sight of it made his rage shine bright white like the sun off snow.

Guards rushed to close the gates as they spotted him approaching, but they were too slow. Niall barely slowed, knocking them aside and charging straight for the ornate front door. He dismounted in one swift motion and stormed up the steps, ignoring the shouts and protests from the guards scrambling to intercept him.

He booted the doors open and strode into an echoing vestibule beyond. A silver-haired old man carrying a tray gasped in surprise and the tray went clattering to the polished stone floor.

“Where is he?” Niall demanded, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room.

The man stuttered, taken aback by Niall’s fury. “I...I...” He waved a hand at a door opposite.

Niall spun towards it and kicked it open, stepping into a large hall. At the far end of the hall, behind a massive oak table laden with remnants of breakfast, sat Boyd MacAllister.

MacAllister rose to his feet, an expression of surprise on his face. His gaze lingered on Niall’s disheveled appearance and then shifted to the open doors behind him.

“Well now,” MacAllister said. “What brings the esteemed Niall Campbell to my humble abode this early in the day?”

“Ye!” Niall hissed, fists clenched at his side. “Ye did this!”

MacAllister’s brows rose in surprise. “I did what?”

“My mill!” Niall roared, his voice bouncing off the stone walls of the hall. “It’s in flames! And I know it is ye who is behind it!”

MacAllister’s eyes flashed with anger. “Ye burst into my house at an ungodly hour and accuse me of such things? How dare ye? Where is yer proof?”

“I dinna need proof. I know it was ye.” He crossed the room in swift strides, his eyes never leaving MacAllister’s face.

“Guards,” MacAllister commanded, raising a hand to halt Niall’s advance.

Instantly, four burly men appeared from the shadows, their faces stern and battle-hardened. Their broad bodies formed a wall between Niall and their master.

Niall stopped but held his ground, his chest heaving with rage. “Why?” he demanded again, looking straight into MacAllister’s eyes.

MacAllister raised an eyebrow, reclining back into his chair. He took a moment to sip from his goblet, his eyes never leaving Niall’s. “Why would I burn down yer pathetic windmill?”

“Because it’s the only way ye could best me,” Niall growled, his fists clenching in frustration. “Ye knew I was surpassing ye in profit, in respect. Ye couldnae bear to see a man rise above ye.”

MacAllister barked a laugh. “Ye overestimate yerself. Ye think ye could ever be a threat to me? A womanizing dandy who thinks more of Edinburgh parties than he does of his family’s honor?”

“Honor?” Niall spat. “Ye dare to speak to me of honor?

MacAllister’s thin lips curled up in a cruel smirk. “Oh, I do dare, Niall. Because unlike ye, I have honor. I dinna squander my family’s hard-earned wealth on trivial pursuits.”

Niall’s anger boiled at the base of his spine, radiating heat throughout his body. He wanted to leap across the table and strangle MacAllister until his face turned as red as the flames that consumed Niall’s mill. “Ye know nothing about my family.”

“Oh, dinna I?” MacAllister replied. “I know plenty.” He leaned forward, hands clasped. “I know what ye are, Niall Campbell. I see ye.”

Before Niall could respond, MacAllister waved a hand at one of the guards. “Would ye go fetch our guest down for breakfast?”

As the guard nodded and left the room, Niall took another step towards MacAllister. But the guards drew their swords and crossed them in front of him, stopping him from going any nearer.

For a second, Niall considered throwing himself at them. He was a big man, used to hard labor, and he’d been a brawler in his youth. He had no doubt he could take these two down and have his hands around MacAllister’s throat in a heartbeat.

Then the door opened and a figure strode in. “MacAllister, what the bloody hell is going on? Yer man all but dragged me down for breakfast and I dinna take kindly to—”

The man’s voice trailed off as he spotted Niall. Niall’s own voice clogged in his throat, all thoughts of throttling MacAllister momentarily forgotten.

The man before him was tall and athletic, with hair a shade lighter than Niall’s, high cheekbones and pale blue eyes like a winter sky.

Niall blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. “ Bryce?”

Bryce Campbell looked as surprised to see his younger brother as Niall was to see him. But his surprise lasted only a moment before he pulled on the hard, emotionless mask that Niall was so used to.

“Niall.”

Niall opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked between MacAllister and Bryce. MacAllister had a smug little smile on his face that Niall ached to wipe away with a well-aimed punch. Damn the man. Damn him to hell.

“What are ye doing here?” he asked his eldest brother.

Bryce drew himself up and frowned at Niall, looking every inch the earl addressing a subordinate. “I wasnae aware that I had to explain my actions to ye, brother.”

Niall took a step towards him. “Ye do when ye’re standing in the house of the man who has just burned my mill to the ground!” Niall spat, jabbing a finger towards MacAllister.

Bryce glanced at MacAllister. “Is this true?”

“Of course it isnae true!” MacAllister snapped. “Do ye think I would endanger our alliance over petty jealousy?”

“Alliance?” Niall said, glancing at his brother. “Ye mean beyond turfing yer tenants off both yer lands? Bryce, why are ye here?”

Bryce’s scowl deepened, his pale blue eyes flashing. “Naught that concerns ye, little brother.”

Oh, is that right? Niall thought. Rebellion does concern me. Why else would ye be here, under Boyd MacAllister’s roof?

MacAllister had long courted Niall’s older brother, coveting his power and influence. If the rebels had somehow won Bryce over to their cause...

“Listen to me,” Niall said, moving closer to his brother and turning his back on MacAllister so he couldn’t hear what he said. “Whatever this man has told ye, ye canna trust him. If ever ye bore any love for me at all, dinna get involved with his schemes. I beg of ye.”

Bryce said nothing. They were of a height and as Niall gazed into his brother’s pale blue eyes, he thought he saw a flicker of doubt. For that split second, less than the length of a heartbeat, he saw a glimpse of the youth that Bryce had been, the serious, protective elder brother who had once dived into a pond to save Niall from drowning and often stood between him and their father’s wrath. But that had been long ago, before their father’s death and the subsequent squabbles over inheritance that had torn their family apart and sent their mother to an early grave.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, as if there weren’t years of bitter recriminations lying between them both, but then his expression hardened and the moment of vulnerability passed.

“And ye think I can trust ye instead?” he hissed. “After what ye did to me? After how ye betrayed me?”

“Betrayed ye?” Niall snapped, his gut roiling with that old familiar feeling of rage and frustration he felt whenever he tried to speak to his older brother. “It was the other way around! Ye had no right to take all the family lands.”

“I had every right! I am the Earl of Newborough! I am the eldest son!”

“And that gives ye the right to turn the rest of us out on our ear?” The old arguments rose up in an instant, as fresh and bleeding as the first time they’d had them. Wasn’t time supposed to dull such hurts? Niall saw no evidence of that. His brother’s words cut just as keenly as they always had.

“Ye would have been provided for,” Bryce said. “Ye were meant for the king’s regiment. It’s what father wanted.”

“And what about what I wanted?” Niall snapped. “Did that not matter at all? Was I just to be sold off like a beast to die in someone else’s war?”

“Is that why ye dragged our family name through the mud? Pride?”

Niall’s fists clenched. It wasn’t MacAllister’s face he ached to punch anymore, but his brother’s. Aargh! Why would he never listen? He dared speak to Niall of pride when it was his own pride that had torn the family apart?

“Pride? All I wanted was a means to live! To support my people!”

“And ye betrayed me to get it!”

“I betrayed nobody!” he roared. “It was ye who forced me to fight ye in court, ye who forced our family squabbles to become the gossip of society, and what did I get for my troubles? The smallest, meanest, least fertile corner of Campbell lands, that I have had to work with every bit of strength I have to keep my people from starving!”

Bryce’s lip curled in a sneer. “From what I hear, it’s yer steward, Donald, who does all the work whilst ye spend all yer time in Edinburgh, whoring and drinking.”

It took every ounce of self-control that Niall had not to throw himself at his brother.

“Ye’ve no right to judge me,” Niall growled, fists clenched at his sides. He could feel the eyes of the guards and MacAllister boring into him, but he didn’t care. All he saw was his brother, the one person who should’ve been on his side, standing against him. Siding with MacAllister, his enemy.

“I do what I must to keep my lands running, to put food on the table for my people. And what do ye do, Bryce? Ye sit in yer great castle and judge everyone else from yer high perch! Ye turf yer tenants off land they’ve held for generations because sheep bring in more money. And ye dare speak to me of honor?”

Bryce’s icy blue eyes narrowed at that. “What I do on my lands is none of yer concern.”

“And yet, how I manage mine is yers?” Niall shot back. “How does that sit justly, brother?”

There was a long pause as Bryce glared at him, his lips pressed into a thin grimace. What had happened to the elder brother he’d once loved so much? Admired? Was there any trace of him in the man before him now?

He couldn’t see it. A chasm lay between the two of them and Niall didn’t know how to bridge it. The fact that Bryce was here to discuss an ‘alliance’ with MacAllister, spoke to how divergent their lives had become. Bryce flirted with rebellion, with the very people Niall had been tasked with stopping. Would he denounce his brother if it came to that? He didn’t know and hoped he never had to answer that question.

Schooling his temper and taking a deep breath, he tried one final time. “Bryce, listen to me. Whatever MacAllister is trying to get ye involved in, it willnae end well.”

Bryce raised an eyebrow. “I have no idea to what ye are referring. I’m here to discuss the expansion of the wool trade in the area and that will be to all our benefit.” He curled his lip in disdain. “Well to those who are astute enough to see the benefits.”

“Ye really think that’s why MacAllister invited ye here?” Niall said incredulously. “For a talk about sheep?”

“Why else would I be here?”

Niall opened his mouth to reply but then shut it again. He had no tangible evidence, nothing but his gut instinct and the unfocused griping of a bunch of Edinburgh nobles. If he accused MacAllister of plotting rebellion without any proof, he’d come off looking like a paranoid fool and Bryce would likely take MacAllister’s side out of spite.

“I thought so,” Bryce said. “Well, I’d like to say it’s been nice catching up, brother, but lying is a sin.” With that, he walked over to MacAllister’s table and took a seat.

“Ye are making a mistake, Bryce.”

His brother didn’t even deign to look back at him. Instead, he took a couple of boiled eggs from a dish on the table and began peeling them, ignoring Niall entirely. MacAllister smirked triumphantly.

There was no more to say. The silence in the room was deafening, Niall’s words hanging heavy in the air like the scent of smoke after a fire. He swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten and his heart constrict painfully.

He clenched his fists and turned on his heel, striding out of the room. The guards parted for him. He wouldn’t let this slide. MacAllister had crossed a line and he would take the man down. And if his brother got caught in the blast?

Well, so be it.