Page 16 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

C harlie stretched her arms and turned her head from side to side, trying to work out the kinks in her neck and the ache in her shoulders as she walked up to the pottery workshop. It didn’t work. Days spent hauling clay and molding bricks meant she probably wasn’t the only one paying the price with sore muscles.

The little pottery that Niall had first showed her was unrecognizable. With Knox’s help, it had been extended and enlarged, with a yard outside for cooling and storing supplies, and production line inside, producing a near-constant supply of building materials for the new cottages that were going up.

It was her little empire and she was ridiculously proud of it.

Charlie pushed open the workshop door, the familiar scent of clay and warm earth wrapping around her like a comforting cloak. Inside, the glow of the kiln cast flickering shadows across the walls. Samuel was already there, crouched near the kiln’s opening, carefully monitoring the temperature with the focus of a seasoned potter, despite his youth.

She smiled. “You’re getting good at this, Samuel.”

He startled slightly at her voice but quickly recovered, nodding. “Oh, good morning, Lady Charlotte. I wanted to make sure the fire kept steady.”

Charlie glanced around. “Where’s Albie? It’s not like him to be late.”

Samuel hesitated—just for a moment—but Charlie caught it. His fingers tightened slightly around the wooden paddle he was holding. “He’s... unwell.”

A prickle of concern ran through her. “Unwell how?”

Samuel kept his eyes fixed on the kiln. “Just... not feeling right today. He needed rest.”

Charlie frowned. Albie had been full of energy yesterday, grinning from ear to ear when they’d finished their latest batch of bricks. He didn’t strike her as the type to bow out over a sniffle.

“Has a healer seen him?” she pressed.

Samuel shook his head quickly. “No need.”

Charlie folded her arms. “Samuel. If he’s sick, someone should be looking after him. I’d better go see him, make sure he’s okay.”

Samuel straightened abruptly. “No!”

Charlie blinked at the force of his reaction. “No? Why not?”

He swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the paddle like it was the only thing keeping him steady. “I mean—there’s no need, my lady. He’s just resting. He’ll be fine soon enough.”

Now Charlie was certain something was off. She narrowed her eyes, stepping closer. “Samuel, I’m going to ask you again—what’s wrong with Albie?”

His shoulders stiffened, and for a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose and muttered, “It’s not my place to say.”

Charlie’s pulse quickened. “But something is wrong?”

Samuel didn’t deny it this time.

That was enough for her. “Then I’m going to see him.”

Samuel’s head snapped up. “No, Lady Charlotte, please. Albie wouldnae want—”

“I don’t care what he wants,” she interrupted, already untying her apron and tossing it onto a nearby bench. “I need to be sure he’s all right.”

Samuel hesitated for one last moment—then, finally, he nodded. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door, Charlie close behind him.

Samuel led Charlie through the village, his pace brisk but reluctant, as though he wished he could turn back with every step. The further they walked, the tighter the knot in Charlie’s stomach grew. Something was very wrong.

The barn where Samuel’s family had been temporarily housed stood at the far edge of the settlement. It was a sturdy enough structure, but no place for a family to live long term. As they approached, Charlie could hear the low murmur of voices inside, and when Samuel hesitated at the door, she gently pushed past him and stepped inside.

The smell of damp straw and the faintest hint of wood smoke filled the air. It took a moment for Charlie’s eyes to adjust to the dim light filtering through the gaps in the wooden slats.

Then she saw them.

Samuel’s mother was crouched beside a makeshift bed of blankets, fussing over a figure curled up in them.

Albie.

Charlie’s breath caught in her throat.

His face was mottled with bruises, dark patches blooming across his cheek and jaw. One eye was swollen nearly shut, and dried blood crusted at the corner of his mouth. His lower lip was split, and even as he lay there, his body curled slightly inward, he winced when his mother dabbed a cloth against his skin.

Horror surged through Charlie.

“Oh my God.”

At the sound of her voice, Albie’s mother looked up sharply, her face etched with worry—and something else. Fear. Samuel shifted uncomfortably beside her.

Charlie moved closer, dropping to her knees beside the injured boy. “Albie... what happened?”

Albie turned his head slightly, blinking blearily at her through his one good eye. He managed a weak, lopsided grin. “Naught, Lady Charlotte. Naught to fuss over.”

“Nothing to fuss over?” Charlie’s voice rose in disbelief as she looked from Albie to his mother, then to Samuel, who was shifting uneasily behind her.

Samuel’s mother wrung out the cloth in her hands. “He’ll heal.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Charlie said firmly. “Who did this?”

Albie hesitated, then winced as he tried to sit up. His mother gently pushed him back down.

“Best ye let it be, Lady Charlotte.”

Charlie clenched her fists. “The hell I will! Someone beat up a child, and you expect me to walk away from that?”

“Albie’s no child,” Samuel muttered.

“He’s barely more than a boy!” Charlie shot back.

Albie’s mother sighed, wiping at Albie’s forehead as though she could wash away more than just sweat. “There’s no point in stirring up more trouble, my lady. It willnae change what’s done.”

Charlie stared at her. “You know who did this, don’t you?”

Silence.

Samuel glanced at his mother, then at Albie, then at the floor.

Charlie pressed her mouth into a tight, flat line, then glared at all three of them in turn. “Tell me.”

Albie exhaled a slow, shaky breath. “MacAllister’s men,” he said hoarsely.

Charlie’s stomach turned to ice. “What?”

“I went back to our old cottage last night,” he admitted. “On MacAllister lands. I went looking for a few keepsakes we were forced to leave behind.” He opened his palm to reveal a tiny, oval-shaped portrait of a man with dark hair and beard. His father?

His swollen mouth twisted into something that might have been a smirk if it weren’t so painful. “I got it, didnae I? They beat me for trespassing but I still managed to get my da’s picture.”

Charlie’s hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms.

MacAllister.

Her mind reeled. Albie, little more than a boy, had been beaten black and blue for no reason at all. It was sickening.

Charlie turned to Samuel’s mother. “Did you tell Niall?”

She shook her head quickly. “No. And we willnae. We just want peace, my lady.”

Peace.

Charlie looked down at Albie—bruised, bloodied, hurting.

This wasn’t peace. And Charlie was damned if she was going to ignore it. Her blood boiled as she surged to her feet, her jaw set.

“Where are ye going?” Samuel’s mother asked, her voice edged with alarm.

“To have a word with our friend MacAllister.” Charlie’s voice was tight with fury.

Samuel stepped in front of her, looking nervous. “Ye canna, Lady Charlotte. Lord Niall willnae like it.”

“Well, Niall isn’t here, is he?” she shot back. “He’s off helping the crofters, and meanwhile, MacAllister’s men are running around terrorizing innocent people.”

“Aye, but—”

“And what if they do it again? What if next time, it’s worse?”

Samuel hesitated, glancing back at his brother. Albie’s bruised and battered face was all the confirmation Charlie needed. She turned on her heel and strode toward the door.

“Lady Charlotte, please!” Samuel’s mother called after her, but Charlie didn’t stop.

She didn’t care if it was reckless. She didn’t care if Niall would be furious. MacAllister thought he could throw his weight around, that he could strike out at the weak and vulnerable did he? Well, she’d see about that!

Fury seethed in her veins as she half-jogged down the track, past Glennoch’s gates and along the road, turned left where it split a couple of miles further on, and took the long, winding drive that led up to MacAllister’s estate.

The manor house appeared ahead, a silent monolith that bore witness to centuries of power and privilege. Its stone facade was hardened by the unforgiving Scottish elements, its darkened windows stared out like hollowed eyes, observing the world with detached indifference. The iron-laced gate creaked open as she pushed through.

She reached the large wooden door and hammered on it. The sound echoed through the stillness but there was no response. She pounded again, harder this time, her anger fuelling her strength.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, a shuffle of movement could be heard from within. The door creaked open to reveal a wiry old woman with a kind face and soft white hair who she guessed was MacAllister’s housekeeper.

“Aye?”

“Where is he?” Charlie demanded. “Get him out here right now!”

The old woman blinked. “Ye are referring to Lord MacAllister, I take it?” she asked. “He isnae here.”

“Like hell he isn’t!”

Charlie burst past her into the house, ignoring the woman’s protests as she stormed through the grand foyer and into the heart of the manor. Room after room echoed back at her the silence of emptiness, confirming what the housekeeper had said. In the hall, she found herself facing a large portrait of Boyd MacAllister, his smug face captured perfectly by some skilled artist.

“Damn you,” she muttered under her breath, balling her hands into fists at her sides.

The sound of footsteps behind her made her turn around. The housekeeper was standing there.

“As I told ye,” she said. “Lord MacAllister isnae here. He’s in Edinburgh. Left first thing this morning.”

All the fight went out of Charlie and her shoulders sagged. “Sorry,” she muttered. “Sorry I burst in here like that. It’s just that...just that...”

The housekeeper smiled in sympathy. “Ye look like ye could do with a cup of something hot, my dear. And maybe a dram of whisky to go with it?”

A wry smile curled Charlie’s mouth. “You know what? That sounds perfect.”

“Follow me then, dearie,” said the housekeeper, turning and shuffling off down a long corridor with Charlie trailing behind her. “I’m Mrs MacDuff,” she said over her shoulder. “But ye can call me Angela.”

“Charlotte,” Charlie said.

Angela led Charlie to a large kitchen at the back of the house. It was high-ceilinged and spacious, with an odd iron door on the far side standing slightly open. From an old wooden cupboard, Angela took out two delicate pottery cups and a dusty bottle of whiskey. She filled a kettle from a pitcher of water and set it on the stove to boil. As they waited for it to heat, she busied herself by setting out biscuits and cakes on a tray.

Angela gestured to the well-scrubbed table and Charlie seated herself on the rickety wooden bench. The kettle began to whistle and the housekeeper poured steaming water into a pottery tea pot which she set on the table to steep.

Finally, she poured the tea into the cups, sending up the soothing scent of chamomile.

Charlie gratefully accepted the warm cup Angela offered her. “Thank you.”

“Ye’re welcome,” replied the housekeeper. “To be honest, it’s nice to have some company. With the lord gone there’s just me and the groundskeeper in this big old house.” She curled her hands around her own cup and leaned forward. “Now, tell me what’s got ye all riled up.”

Charlie took a deep breath. What should she say? I came around here to smack your master right between the eyes and give him the tongue-lashing of his life. Do you know what kind of man you work for? One that has young lads beaten up, that’s who!

Her stomach still seethed with fury but none of this was the housekeeper’s fault. Now that MacAllister wasn’t here, she had no outlet for her anger and a deep weariness began to replace it instead.

“Just...something I needed to speak to MacAllister about.”

Angela raised her eyebrow, a shrewd expression in her eyes. “Nothing good, that much is obvious. What’s he done now?” She held up a hand. “Actually, dinna tell me. That way I can live in ignorant bliss. Something ye have to get used to when ye work for a man like Boyd MacAllister.”

Charlie took a sip of her tea to hide her surprise. There was no shred of loyalty in Angela’s tone, far from it. Instead, she sounded world weary, like some of the people she’d worked with in the twenty-first century who were sick of their jobs but didn’t know how to get out. It seemed that disliking your boss was another thing that didn’t change, no matter what time you lived in.

“Let’s just say there are some things that I need to say to him and leave it at that?” Charlie replied.

Angela nodded. “Aye, that will do.” She cocked her head. “Ye are Niall Campbell’s guest aren’t ye? The one from Edinburgh?”

Charlie tensed, expecting to see judgment in Angela’s eyes if she’d read any of the gossip going around about her, but there was only curiosity in her wise brown gaze.

“That’s right,” Charlie replied. “I’m up from Cardiff.”

Angela’s brows rose. “Cardiff. That’s a mighty long way off. Never been south of the border myself although if this union goes ahead, travel might be made a bit easier.”

Charlie nodded noncommittally, unsure of where Angela stood on the issue and reluctant to engage in a political discussion.

The silence that followed was comfortable, both women lost in their own thoughts as they sipped their tea. The savory aroma of baking bread filled the room, mixing with the smell of chamomile and old wood.

Charlie’s gaze wandered around the kitchen, taking in the worn wooden countertops, the copper pots and pans hanging from hooks on the wall, and the large stone hearth where a pot of stew simmered over a low fire. The place had an inviting warmth that belied its grand exterior.

Her gaze settled again on the iron door on the far side of the kitchen. It stood slightly ajar. Through it, she could just make out the corner of a table stacked with bits of paper and some kind of machinery behind. Intrigued, she narrowed her eyes, trying to make it out, but Angela suddenly sighed, diverting Charlie’s attention back to her.

The housekeeper was scowling at the back door from beyond which a sudden commotion sounded: the tramp of heavy footsteps, the creak of wheels, and the excited yipping of dogs.

“Hold there, Samson, my lad,” came a male voice. “Let’s get these grouse inside before the dogs get em, eh?”

“Dinna ye dare bring those into my kitchen, Terrance MacDuff!” Angela bellowed at the door. “Nor those hounds either! I willnae tell ye again!”

“Then what am I supposed to do with them?” came the response.

Angela rolled her eyes. “Would ye excuse me a moment?” she said to Charlie. She got up and hurried over to the door, letting herself out and shutting it behind her. A moment later, a heated argument ensued.

Charlie sipped her tea, feeling awkward and trying not to listen to the domestic going on not ten paces from where she sat. Her eyes fell on the door across the kitchen again. Something about it sparked her curiosity. Putting down her cup, she got up from the table, and quickly crossed the kitchen.

She pushed the door open, gazed into the room, and stopped dead. A long, narrow table filled one side of the room, filled with neat stacks of papers. The other side was taken up by a metal contraption about waist-high with a flat bed and two large wheels for turning. It took her a moment to recognize what she was looking at.

It was a printing press.

Stepping into the room, she scanned the papers. They were pamphlets, all carefully printed and stacked. Most of them were like the ones she’d been handed in the botanical gardens that day and bore slogans like, ‘Support Scotland: oppose the union’ or ‘ Patriots unite!’ and a quick scan of the contents showed that they were strongly opposed to the Articles of Union that Niall had told her about. Then, at the end of the row, she came across another pamphlet. This wasn’t political. It was society gossip and she recognized it immediately.

It was the same pamphlet Niall had shown her. The one that made out she was his mistress.

She went hot all over. She slowly picked up one of the pamphlets, everything beginning to slot into place. The pamphlets. The printing press. Boyd MacAllister wasn’t just the source of the gossip about her and Niall, he was the producer of it. Was that why he was in Edinburgh right now? Was he distributing more gossip about her and Niall?

And more than that, he was clearly opposed to the government that Niall worked for. She glanced at the pamphlets again, anger coursing through her. She saw Albie’s battered and bruised body in her mind’s eye. She saw Niall’s face as he told her about MacAllister’s alliance with his brother. She saw MacAllister’s sneering, arrogant face as he’d insulted her outside Glennoch.

He needed to be stopped. Could these pamphlets be enough to bring him down? She didn’t know but she was damned well going to try. She grabbed a few of the pamphlets and quickly stuffed them down her bodice before stepping back out into the kitchen just as the back door opened and Angela came in, still berating a wire-haired man that followed her.

Angela straightened when she spotted Charlie. “Is something wrong, lass?”

“I...um...no, everything is fine,” Charlie said quickly. “I was er...” Her eyes alighted on the teapot. “I was just going to clean the teapot and cups.” She made a grab for the teapot but misjudged her aim, catching it with her wrist and sending it crashing to the floor. It shattered into fragments and splashed chamomile tea across the flagstones.

Mortification raced across Charlie’s cheeks. “Oh God! I’m sorry!”

She bent to begin cleaning it up but Angela waved her away. “Dinna fash, my dear,” she said. “If I had a shilling for each time this one had broken my crockery,” she hiked a finger at the wire-haired man who scowled at her. “I’d be a rich woman. I’ll clean it up.”

Flustered, Charlie nodded, taking a step back. Her thoughts whirled with what she’d discovered in the back room and the need to keep that discovery from Angela. She might not be enamored of her employer, but that didn’t mean she’d take kindly to Charlie snooping around her home.

“Um...well...I...I think I’d better be going,” she stammered, as Angela fetched a brush and began sweeping up the fragments. “Sorry again about the teapot. And thank you for the tea.”

Before Angela or the wire-haired man could reply, she turned on her heel and strode quickly through the house and out the front door. It was all she could do not to break into a jog as she hurried along the trail towards Glennoch. She forced herself to keep to a brisk walk so as not to call attention to herself but she couldn’t help glancing around to check there was no sign of Boyd MacAllister returning from Edinburgh.

She made it back to Glennoch without mishap and skirted the edge of the village and the pond where a group of children were busy throwing themselves in, and hurried back to the manor house. A few people called out greetings as she passed and although Charlie grunted something in response, she barely heard them.

She took the steps up to the door two at a time and then burst into the hall. It was empty but for a serving man wiping down the tables.

“Is Niall here?” Charlie blurted. “Has he come back yet?”

“Aye,” the man replied, nodding at the door. “Just now. Ye’ll find him in the stables.”

Muttering her thanks, Charlie hurried into the courtyard and around the back of the building to where the stables lay. The double doors were wide open so Charlie marched straight through them into the cool dimness inside. The smell of hay and horse hit her immediately and she stood blinking in the dim light, waiting for her sight to adjust. Rows of stalls marched down each side, a mixture of draft horses and those for riding happily munching on hay in most of them.

She heard voices coming from the far end and turned to see Niall and Joseph standing there, talking quietly. Niall was leaning against the wall of a stall with his arms crossed, listening as Joseph spoke. Then all of a sudden, Niall’s voice rose.

“She’s done what?”

Charlie winced. She could guess what Joseph had just told him.

To forestall any further outburst, she began walking towards the two of them just as Niall whirled and began striding towards her, a determined expression on his smooth features.

He startled when he almost walked into her. “Charlotte?”

“Hi,” she said with a shrug.

“Tell me it isnae true,” Niall snapped. “Tell me Joseph has somehow got this wrong and ye havenae just been over to MacAllister’s estate to confront him.”

“No, Joseph didn’t get it wrong. I did go to speak to Boyd MacAllister.”

“Gods damn it all, woman!” Niall roared. “Do ye have any idea the danger ye could have put yerself in?”

“Niall,” Joseph said, stepping forward. “Perhaps ye ought to listen—”

“Ye keep out of this old man,” Niall snarled at Joseph. “Ye should never have let her go in the first place.”

“Let her?” Joseph replied, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. “Have ye ever tried stopping Miss Douglas doing anything? And I didnae even know she’d gone until young Samuel Grant came to tell me.”

Charlie glared at the two of them. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here! Did Samuel tell you why I’d gone? Did he tell you what MacAllister’s men did to his brother?”

“Aye,” Niall breathed. “He did. And I’ve sent Flora to go help in his care. I dinna like this any more than ye do, Charlotte, but going storming over there isnae the answer.”

“Oh? So what is? Letting him get away with it?”

“Nay, lass, it’s letting me deal with it.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway, because MacAllister wasn’t there,” she retorted. She hesitated, glancing between Niall and Joseph. “But I did find something interesting. Something that pertains to what we discussed yesterday.”

The slight narrowing of his eyes showed that Niall understood what she was referring to. He turned to Joseph. “Leave us. I would speak to Charlotte alone.”

“Anything that pertains to Boyd MacAllister I need to hear—”

“And if there is anything ye need to know I will tell ye.”

Joseph scowled, clearly annoyed. He gave the slightest bow to the two of them and then walked past Charlie and out of the door.

“I think you’ve upset him,” Charlie observed.

Niall sighed. “Then he will be the latest in a long line.” He looked at her, his gaze intense. “Dear God, woman, what were ye thinking?”

“That doesn’t matter now. What does matter is what I found at MacAllister’s estate.”

“Ye went trespassing?”

“No, his housekeeper, Angela let me in. She’s really nice, actually. But whilst she was outside I did do a bit of...snooping.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “There’s a room at the back of the kitchen. I had a look inside and found these.” She pulled out the pamphlets and shoved them at him.

Niall took them and glanced at each one. “So? Everyone has copies of these. They give them out like sweets in the capital.”

Charlie shook her head. “You don’t understand. He doesn’t just have copies, he’s making them! There were hundreds of pamphlets in that room along with a printing press. Don’t you see? He’s the one printing those pamphlets that are given out like sweets!”

Niall crumpled the pamphlets in his fist. “Devious bastard,” he said under his breath.

“Not just devious,” Charlie said. “Dangerous. Look at those pamphlets in your hand. Look at what they say.”

Niall uncrumpled the pages and read them. His eyes narrowed. “I’m not surprised. He’s never made his opposition to the Articles a secret. The status quo suits him just fine.”

Charlie pointed to one of the pamphlets in Niall’s hand. “See that? He’s saying the people should rise up to defend Scotland. That’s not just an opinion, it’s incitement to rebellion. This is evidence that can be used against him!”

Niall shook his head. “Nay, lass. It isnae. It’s just one of a hundred pamphlets that oppose the Articles that get circulated every day. Just as there are hundreds of others that support it. I might not like the man but he’s entitled to his opinion just like anyone else. This doesnae prove anything.”

Charlie stared at him. “You know he’s involved in something illegal! You’ve been investigating him yourself! Are you really telling me you’re not going to take this to your superiors? You’re not going to look into it? Who knows what else you might find hidden at his estate. You have to at least go and look!”

“And how would I do that?” Niall asked. “Any unlawful entry to his property and I’d be up before the magistrates before ye can blink. I’ll need more evidence than a few angry pamphlets if I’m to persuade my superiors to stick their necks out.”

Charlie opened her mouth and closed it again. “But what about what his men did to Albie?”

Niall grimaced. “Technically Albie was trespassing and his men were in their rights to do what they did.”

“What? You cannot be serious!”

Niall placed both hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I dinna like it any more than ye do, but this is the way things are. Boyd MacAllister is dangerous and I need ye to stay away from him. Promise me.”

Charlie met his gaze. Anger and frustration swirled through her veins. Anger with MacAllister. Frustration with Niall for being unwilling to act.

Ye have a choice coming, my dear. A choice that will decide the story ye write.

Hadn’t Niall said that Irene had brought her here for a reason? Well, what if this was it? What if stopping MacAllister was the reason she was here? What if choosing to stand against MacAllister was the choice Irene had been referring to?

Niall was staring at her. His grip tightened on her shoulders. “I canna stomach the thought of ye getting hurt, Charlotte,” he said. “And I canna do my job properly if I am constantly worrying about ye. Promise me ye willnae go near Boyd MacAllister.”

Charlie sighed. “All right. I promise.”

His breath left him in a rush, his shoulders sagging. “Good.”

She expected him to release her and move away, but he didn’t. He kept one hand resting on her shoulder while the other moved up to cup her face. His palm was rough, the palm of a man used to physical labor rather than the smooth skin of a nobleman—but it sent a tingle right through her all the same. She found her heartbeat increasing a little and she couldn’t help leaning into that touch.

“I need ye to be safe, Charlotte,” he said softly. “If anything should happen to ye... Dear God, I dinna think I could handle it.”

It was there again, that look in his eyes that was full of longing. The look that sent delicious shivers all through her body. Before she knew it, she was stepping into him, going up on tiptoes, and kissing him.

It took him less than a heartbeat to respond. As her lips pressed against his, his hands swept down to the small of her back and pulled her against him. Suddenly they were kissing desperately, furiously, all restraint gone.

Charlie’s thoughts shattered into fragments and were blown away by the all-consuming heat that rampaged from the crown of her head down to the hot ache that lit between her thighs. Throwing her arms around his neck, she tangled her fingers in his thick, luscious hair as their kiss deepened, their tongues sliding and dancing together, their breathing turning hot and rapid.

Oh God, how she’d wanted this!

His grip on her tightened and she found herself pressed against him, the hardness of his desire pushing against her stomach. The feel of it deepened that hot ache between her thighs. She could think of nothing else but having his hot skin on hers, having his weight on top of her, having him inside her, right now...

“Wait,” Niall said, breaking the kiss. He pulled away, his breathing heavy, his cheeks flushed. “This is a bad idea.”

“Is it?” Charlie replied breathlessly. “It seems like a pretty good idea to me. Didn’t you say you wouldn’t mind the gossip about us if it were true?”

He groaned. “Dinna say that. God in Heaven, lass, ye have no idea how much I wish it was true. Ye have no idea how much I want to lay ye down and take ye right now.”

His words sent a thrill right through her. It was reckless beyond reason to be doing this now, here, in the stable where anyone could walk in and see them. But Charlie was beyond reckless. The feel of Niall’s hands on her body, his lips on hers, sent all rational thought skittering, leaving her only with a breathless, heedless need.

It was as terrifying as it was exhilarating.

“Then what are you waiting for?” she said, her voice husky.

His eyes flashed, dark with lust, and he trembled as though struggling to hold himself back. “I canna. We canna. I willnae ruin yer reputation.”

“I don’t care about my reputation.”

“But I do!” With a visible effort, he stepped back, putting some space between them.

It was like being doused with cold water. The hot ache between her thighs didn’t lessen but now it was tempered by the cold shock of rejection.

She backed up a step. “I...um...I’d better get back to the pottery.”

Before he could say a word, she turned and fled.