Page 13 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

C harlie didn’t know whether to feel appalled or furious. Her stomach churned with a mixture of emotions as she stood with Flora, Joseph and Antonio, staring at the charred ruins of the windmill.

Despite the attempts of the bucket crews, they’d not been able to get the fire under control until the wooden scaffolding and sails had been all but destroyed. Now only a smoldering wreck remained, surrounded by a ring of distraught villagers, all staring at the ruin of their hopes just as Charlie was.

Sabotage, was the whisper. Arson. But who would do such a thing? Who would be so cruel?

She had no clue, but Niall clearly did. Nobody had laid eyes on him since he’d gone storming off earlier this morning. She worried for him. She’d never seen him so cold, so filled with icy rage. He’d looked dangerous and unpredictable, like a blade that would cut anything that came too close.

“We can rebuild,” said Joseph for the umpteenth time. “Most of the stone structure is intact. We just need to reinforce what’s left and make some new sails.”

Nobody seemed to have the energy to reply. Yes, they might be able to rebuild but Charlie was under no illusions as to the amount of work that would take. Did these people have the will to come back from such a disaster?

The only saving grace was that nobody had been hurt and Charlie knew they should be grateful for that. Things could have been far, far, worse. But, looking out at the sea of morose faces, she knew they didn’t see it that way.

She sighed. “I’d better go check on the kiln. If there’s anything I can do to help, be sure to come get me, okay?”

Flora nodded and Joseph squeezed her arm. “Aye, lass. We will.”

Charlie gave them a small smile and walked off, wishing she didn’t feel so useless, wishing there was something she could do. There is , she told herself. You can turn the pottery to these people’s benefit, just like you planned.

One thing that the fire at the mill had underlined, was that brick and tile didn’t burn as readily as wood. If she could begin a manufactory for such materials, at least the villagers’ homes would be safer from fire in the future. It was a small thing, but at least it was something.

She walked down the hill, away from the mill, and took the winding path that led through the pastures towards the pottery. But as she did so, something in the distance caught her eye and she stopped, squinting against the light.

It was a horse and rider and they were galloping at breakneck pace towards Glennoch. It took a moment for Charlie to recognize the figure crouched low on the horse’s back.

Niall!

He rode straight up to the manor house doors, jumped from the saddle and disappeared inside the house, leaving the lathered horse to begin eating Flora’s flowers from the flowerbed. Charlie winced. Niall would have to answer for that later.

All thoughts of the pottery forgotten, she hurried back to Glennoch, pulled the horse away from Flora’s flower beds, called over a stable boy to take the animal, then hurried into the house.

It was much quieter than usual with most people still up at the mill. She paused in the entrance then crossed to her left and pushed open the door to the hall. The big room was just as it had been left when everyone exited in such a rush, with half-finished breakfasts still on the table. A lone maid was beginning to tidy up.

“Have you seen Niall?” Charlie asked her.

The young woman looked up. “Nay, my lady,” she replied. “Lord Campbell didnae come this way.”

Turning on her heel, Charlie headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time, and striding along the corridor until she reached the door to Niall’s study. She knocked once but didn’t wait for a reply, instead pushing the door open and striding inside.

Niall looked up in surprise from where he was busy scribbling on a piece of parchment at his desk. He quickly dropped the parchment into a drawer.

“Charlotte,” he said, his tone stiff and formal. “What can I do for ye?”

“I came to see if you are all right,” Charlie replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. “When you went charging off like that I thought you might be about to commit murder.” She cocked her head. “You didn’t, did you? Commit murder, I mean?”

She meant it as a joke, an effort to lighten the mood, but Niall didn’t smile.

He rubbed his face and then pinched the bridge of his nose before smoothing his features into some semblance of calm. “How are things at the mill?”

“The fire’s out,” Charlie said with a shrug. “Although only the stonework survived. Joseph reckons we can rebuild, though.”

A faint smile came to Niall’s face. “We? Ye said we.”

She had, hadn’t she? We. When had she begun to think of herself as one of them?

“That’s right,” she said, tilting her chin. “Because we are in this together, aren’t we?”

Niall watched her for several heartbeats, something shifting behind his eyes. Then he nodded. “Aye,” he said softly. “We are.”

Charlie tried to ignore the way her stomach fluttered at that. “Where have you been?” she pressed. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked ready to commit murder.”

Niall exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I went to see Boyd MacAllister.”

Charlie stiffened. “MacAllister? Why?”

“Because I know he ordered the mill burned.”

Her mind reeled. “But why? What does he gain from that?”

Niall let out a humorless chuckle and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling before looking at her again. “Control. Power. He wants me to kneel, Charlotte. And this—” he gestured vaguely at the room, at the burned-out shell of the mill beyond the walls “—this is his way of showing me what happens if I dinna.”

“Wait!” Charlie said suddenly. “This isn’t because I insulted him the other day is it?”

Niall snorted. “I’m sure he’s still smarting from that, lass. But no. This is about more than that.”

Charlie frowned, trying to piece it together. “So why does he care so much about you ? This feels personal.”

Niall went still. He looked away, jaw clenching, as if debating something. Then, in a low voice, he said, “It is personal. MacAllister has made it personal by involving Bryce.”

Charlie’s breath caught. “Bryce? Your brother?”

He nodded once, sharply. “Bryce was there, Charlotte. With MacAllister. The two of them have some sort of alliance, business arrangement, call it what ye will. I havenae seen him for years and then to see him dining with that snake...” He blew out a breath. “It was...difficult to see.”

It was the most vulnerable she’d ever seen him, the pain in his voice unmistakable. Charlie’s heart ached for him.

“Niall...” she said softly, stepping closer. “I’m sorry.”

He huffed a laugh. “Dinna be. My brothers might be alive but I lost them a long time ago. I’ve come to terms with that.” But the way his voice wavered told her otherwise.

Charlie hesitated, then carefully sat on the edge of his desk, close enough that their knees brushed. “I know what it’s like,” she said, her voice quieter now. “To lose family.”

Niall’s gaze lifted to hers, curious.

“My parents died when I was a kid. A car...um...carriage accident. One minute, I had them, and the next... they were just gone.” She swallowed. “My aunt and uncle took me in. I used to dream that my parents weren’t really dead. That they’d just... been lost somehow, and one day they’d find their way back to me.” She gave a small, sad smile. “But they never did.”

A muscle ticked in Niall’s jaw, his expression unreadable. Then, to her surprise, he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against hers.

“I’m sorry, lass,” he murmured. “That must have been a hard thing to bear.”

Charlie felt warmth spread through her at the simple sincerity of his words. “It was. But I survived. I found people who cared about me. And I think, in a way, that’s what really matters. Who we hold on to.”

For a long moment, they just looked at each other.

Then Niall’s fingers curled around hers. “Aye,” he said softly. “And family isnae always defined by blood.”

“No,” Charlie agreed, eyes locked on Niall’s. “Sometimes it’s about those we find along the way.”

Irene MacAskill’s words echoed in her head. Will ye stay on this path, the one of cynicism and loneliness, or will ye take a chance and walk the path that will lead ye to the one who will help ye open yer heart and heal.

“Aye,” Niall murmured. “It is.”

Charlie suddenly felt like she was falling. His eyes, such a bright, vivid green, seemed so deep that she could drown in them. Her gaze fell to his lips. Those, full, smooth lips that had felt so good against her own. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed hers and all of a sudden she wanted to kiss him more than she wanted anything in the world. All she had to do was lower her guard, give in to the crazy emotions that were swirling through her, and allow them to sweep away all her caution. All she had to do was lean down and press her lips to his...

But she would lose herself if she did. Instinctively she knew that right here, right now, she stood at the edge of a precipice and that if she took one more step, she would fall. She would fall into him and there would be no coming back. And that thought terrified her. What had happened to her cynicism? What had happened to her common sense?

So instead, she rose from the desk and walked around the other side of it, putting some space between herself and Niall. She could feel his eyes tracking her movements as she walked but she dare not look at him. She didn’t know what she would do if she saw the same desire in his eyes that was rampaging through her right now.

“I...I’d better go,” she said softly.

He rose from his chair. “Stay.”

The word hung heavy in the air between them. Charlie did look at him then and found his eyes dark and filled with longing. Heat curled up through her stomach.

Stay.

It took all of Charlie’s willpower to say the words she spoke next. “I can’t. The kiln will be up to temperature by now and I can’t leave it.”

It was, perhaps, the poorest excuse she’d ever come up with. But it was all she had and she clung to it like a drowning woman clinging to a piece of driftwood.

“I...um...I’ll see you later.”

He said nothing as she turned and hurried to the door.

Stay.

Oh God, how she wished she could. But she forced her feet through the doorway, pulled the door shut behind her, and fled through the house before she had the chance to change her mind.

***

N IALL WAS WOKEN BY somebody pounding on his chamber door. He blinked his eyes open and then wished he hadn’t. The events of yesterday came flooding back. The fire at the mill. Confronting Boyd MacAllister. Finding his brother, Bryce, there. The tender moment he’d shared with Charlotte and then her fleeing from him.

Black despair washed over him. He rolled over in bed.

“Go away,” he mumbled.

“Niall?” Flora’s muffled voice came from the other side. “Niall Campbell, are ye going to lounge in bed all day?”

Aye , he said to himself. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.

What point was there in getting up?

But his housekeeper was having none of it. The door opened and she burst into the room like a hurricane, bringing a cold draft of morning air in with her. She crossed to the window and pulled the drapes, and the sunlight all but blinded him.

“Flora,” he growled. “Last I looked, I was the laird around here and ye were my employee. And last I looked, employees did as they were bloody well told.”

“Humph,” Flora said, putting her hands on her hips and glaring at him. “Well this employee will be damned if she’s going to let ye wallow in here all day like a sulking child. Yer people need ye, my laird.”

No they don’t , Niall thought. Everything I touch goes wrong. They’d be better off without me.

Ugh. Self-pity did not suit him. It sat in his gut like a stone.

“All right,” he groaned. “Ye win.” He threw back the covers and swung his feet out of bed. “Look, I’m up. See?”

Flora’s scowl did not let up but she gave a tiny nod. “Ye’ve missed breakfast so ye’ll have to make do with whatever’s left over.”

“Fine.”

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure he could stomach any food anyway. He glanced at the empty flagon of whisky on the table. Last night he’d retired to his study and drank himself into oblivion. It had seemed a good idea at the time but he was regretting it now. He had an aching head and churning stomach to add to the list of his problems.

“Right,” Flora said. “I’ll tell Joseph to expect ye downstairs shortly. He’s got something he wishes to discuss with ye.”

Niall opened his mouth to ask what that was but Flora was already gone, slamming the door behind her. Niall winced and rubbed his head. Was he imagining it or did sounds seem louder today?

By the time he reached the door to the hall, his headache had started to abate somewhat although his stomach was still churning. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, his eyes immediately springing to the chair that a certain red-haired beauty usually occupied. His stomach sank when he found it empty.

“She’s gone to the pottery already,” Joseph said from his place at the high table.

Was it really so obvious he was looking for Charlotte? Aye, he supposed it was, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. Stay , he’d asked her, and she’d refused. She’d done the sensible thing, the right thing, but that didn’t stop the rejection feeling like a kick to his stomach.

He made his way over to Joseph and slumped into a seat next to him. As usual, Joseph had the day’s pamphlets spread over the table in front of him. Flora came in and pressed a cup into his hand. The scent of mint tea wafted up his nostrils.

Niall nodded his thanks and took a sip. “Flora said there was something ye wanted to talk to me about?” he said to Joseph.

Joseph let out a long breath. “Aye.” He pushed some of the pamphlets towards Niall.

“Read this,” Joseph said, tapping one of the papers with his gnarled finger.

Niall glanced at the pamphlet. The headline read, Laird Campbell’s Scandalous Mistress. Niall put down his tea and read.

Niall Campbell, the notorious rake and rogue laird, has taken a mistress, it read. Sources say they are living in sin at his manor in the country .

Niall’s jaw clenched, his headache flaring back with a vengeance.

But that was not all. The pamphlet went on to accuse Niall of neglecting his duties as laird and leaving his people to suffer while he indulged in sinful acts with his mistress.

His hands trembled with rage. The writer had even gone so far as to mention Charlotte by name, referring to her as ‘the brazen strumpet who had impersonated Countess Argyle’ and painting her as nothing more than a money-grubber.

This was a low blow, even for Boyd MacAllister.

He crumpled the pamphlet in his hand and threw it against the table. “This is ridiculous!” he spat. “Charlotte is not my mistress. She’s a guest in my home!”

Joseph’s eyes narrowed. “I know that, and ye know that,” he said. “But what about the people outside? What will they think when they read this?”

“That’s exactly what MacAllister wants,” Niall snarled. “He’s trying to turn the people against me.”

“So ye think MacAllister is behind this?”

“Of course he is!” Niall replied. The only question was whether Bryce was involved as well. Would his own brother stoop so low as to try to ruin an innocent woman’s reputation like this?

Niall scrubbed his hand through his hair. “Does Charlotte know about the pamphlet?”

Joseph shook his head. “Nay. She left for the pottery before the pamphlets came in.”

“Good.” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Then I’ll be the one to tell her.”