Page 17 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

N iall watched Charlotte run from him. It took everything he had not to go after her. But he knew if he did, he would be lost. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving into the fire that was burning through his blood and taking her. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself from confirming everything that the gossips of Edinburgh said about them.

He’d promised to protect her. The last thing he wanted was to have a hand in destroying her.

And yet...

He closed his eyes and curled his hands into fists, trying to get a hold of himself. He didn’t know why Charlotte Douglas, a lass not even of this time, was having this effect on him. He didn’t know why he couldn’t stop thinking about her, why she was his first thought in the morning and his last thought at night, or why he couldn’t look at her without wanting to rip her clothes off.

Aargh. He had to get a grip, for both their sakes.

Opening his eyes, he took several deep breaths, inhaling the scent of hay and horse, and allowing his racing pulse to settle a little. He bent to retrieve the pamphlets he’d dropped when Charlotte had kissed him, and smoothed them out, scanning the angry rhetoric that filled the pages.

What had possessed Charlotte to go to MacAllister’s manor and steal these? She was more headstrong and reckless than any woman he’d ever met. Perhaps that’s why he was so attracted to her. She was brave and fearless—

And stupid, he reminded himself. She was lucky MacAllister hadn’t been at home. If he’d caught her snooping around...

He read the pamphlets again. What would his superiors make of these? Would it be enough to charge MacAllister with sedition? Or at least investigate further?

Perhaps. Crumpling the pamphlets in his fists, he stalked out of the stable and across the courtyard to the house. Once inside, he yelled at the servants that he wasn’t to be disturbed, then raced up the steps to his study. Slamming the door shut behind him, he seated himself at his desk and took a fresh piece of parchment from his desk drawer.

Taking the cipher and laying it alongside the parchment, he carefully penned a coded letter detailing what had been discovered at MacAllister’s estate and outlining what he thought they should do next. It wasn’t proof, he knew that, but surely the printing of these pamphlets, along with MacAllister’s campaign against Niall—a campaign orchestrated, no doubt because MacAllister suspected he was watching him—must be enough to warrant further investigation. He couldn’t move against MacAllister alone—that would be politically suicidal—but with the power of royal decree behind him? That was an entirely different matter.

He finished the letter and sealed it with a blob of wax stamped with his seal. Even this was coded. If the letter fell into the wrong hands, the seal would not reveal who sent it, but his superiors would be able to tell from the pattern in the wax where it came from. Just one of a seemingly endless list of precautions.

When it was finished, he called for Tanner, his most trusted messenger. When the man stepped into his study, he held the sealed letter out to him.

“Make sure this is delivered today. Ye know where to take it.”

Tanner reached out and took the letter. “Aye, my laird.”

The messenger left and Niall blew out a breath and laced his fingers behind his head. It was done. Now all he could do was wait.

***

C HARLIE RETURNED TO the pottery but couldn’t seem to settle, pacing up and down, checking the kiln for the umpteenth time, hovering over her helpers as they worked and generally working herself up.

Niall had rejected her. She’d kissed him and he’d rejected her. Why did that hurt so much? Why did it feel like a knife to the gut?

She reached the door and flung it open, striding out into the overcast afternoon. A team of Knox’s men were busy hauling the freshly cooled bricks into a small cart with a donkey in the traces, ready to be carted over to the building site. Already a fresh set of bricks were being taken out of the kiln by her small army of helpers. She’d crafted such a well-oiled operation here that it carried on whether she was here or not.

The pottery didn’t need her. Niall didn’t need her. She was back to being a useless bit of baggage, a spare part that didn’t fit.

Self-pity? she thought wryly. That’s a bad look, Charlie.

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Deep down, she knew Niall had done the right thing. Tell that to her heart, though. It felt like it had been torn in half.

She sighed, looking out over the landscape from her vantage point outside the pottery. Up on the hill to her left, she could see the windmill with its scaffolding and workers clambering around as they did their best to repair it. To her right and downhill lay the building site where the new cottages were going up. Beyond all of this was the open, rolling Scottish landscape full of wide glens, sparkling lochs and mountains that looked as though they were trying to touch the sky.

She felt the tension inside her ease, just a little. This land was beautiful, there was no doubt about that. She was even starting to feel at home here, which was crazy when she thought about it.

She turned to face south, to where the road led from the estate and back towards the capital. It was in that direction that MacAllister’s estate lay. She couldn’t see his manor house from here, but that did nothing to stop the twinge of anger that curdled her gut as she stared in that direction.

Why hadn’t Niall taken her discovery seriously? Why had he told her to forget what she’d found at MacAllister’s house? Charlie wasn’t sure she could. MacAllister was at the center of all this, she was sure. Her restlessness was like an itch she couldn’t scratch, the missing piece of a puzzle she couldn’t quite grasp.

She clenched her fists and huffed out an exasperated growl. No. She was done being told what to do. If Niall wouldn’t help her, she would just have to do this herself. She’d promised Niall that she wouldn’t go near Boyd MacAllister, but he wasn’t currently at home. He was in Edinburgh, so if she returned to his estate, she wouldn’t be breaking her promise, would she?

She bit her lip, plans tumbling through her head. For what she intended, she needed to ensure she didn’t arouse any suspicion. She needed a legitimate reason for turning up at the manor house. Wait! An idea came to her and she smiled. Yes. That would work!

Spinning on her heel, she strode back into the pottery, and grabbed what she needed from a shelf where she’d placed it. Just a little tinkering, a little polishing, and it would be ready.

By the time she was ready, the sun was sinking towards midafternoon. The overcast had broken, letting through streaks of sunlight that made the puddles from the recent rains sparkle like polished glass. Charlie placed the wrapped bundle under her arm, left the pottery, and strode downhill to the road before she could change her mind.

She didn’t look back as she retraced the route she’d taken earlier today. Where the road split, she took the left-hand fork, following the track as it wove through the rich, sheep-filled fields of MacAllister’s estate. The manor house soon came into view. Her steps slowed a little and a tiny sliver of doubt crept in. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea.

She squashed the thought. No. If she was ever going to get home, she had to take matters into her own hands.

She thought of the words Irene MacAskill had spoken to her. Write yer own story, lass. Not someone else’s that ye read about in a book.

Well, here she was writing her own story and she’d be damned if she’d let anyone else do it for her.

She strode up to the door and knocked. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin as footsteps approached from the other side. Angela opened the door. Her expression brightened at seeing Charlie.

“Miss Charlotte! What are ye doing here?”

Charlie held out the wrapped bundle. “I’ve brought you something.”

With a quizzical expression, Angela reached out and took it. She pulled the wrapping aside to reveal the teapot that Charlie had made when she’d first taken over the pottery. It wasn’t one of Charlie’s finest pieces and she hadn’t had time to add decoration, but it was smooth and serviceable.

Angela smiled. “Did ye make this?”

Charlie shrugged. “The least I could do after breaking yours earlier.”

“Och, there was no need. Terrance breaks things all the time. But thank ye, it’s a very kind thought. Willnae ye come in for a bite to eat and to try out yer pot?”

Charlie smiled. “I’d love to.”

So far, so good.

She followed Angela into the house, looking around warily. “Lord MacAllister still not home?”

Angela waved a dismissive hand. “Nay. We never know when the lord will return.”

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief as she followed Angela into the kitchen. The wire-haired man, who she guessed must be Terrance, was there. He put his muddy boots on the table while he leaned down from his chair, busy scrubbing his toenails.

“Stop that!” Angela snapped. “We have a guest. And get those boots off my table this instant!”

Terrance rolled his eyes, but moved his boots to the floor. “Ah! Ye must be young Niall’s outland guest,” he said in a warm voice. “The one I’ve heard so much about?”

“Um...you have?” Charlie asked, wondering exactly what Terrance had heard.

“Aye, by all accounts ye’ve caused something of a stir over at the Campbell estate with these new building materials ye’ve introduced. I wouldnae mind seeing it myself, truth be told.”

“Oh,” Charlie said, relieved. “That. It’s nothing really, just changed up a few things.”

“Miss Charlotte has brought us a new teapot,” Angela said, putting it down on the table.

Terrance leaned in to look at the pot, a slow grin spreading across his face as he eyed it. “Well now, isnae that something?” he said, reaching out to run rough fingers over the smooth surface of the pot. “Crafted by ye, was it?”

Charlie nodded, her gaze shifting between Terrance and Angela. Angela pulled up a stool for Charlie and then set about making tea. Terrance, meanwhile, kept Charlie engaged with discussions about the changes happening around Niall’s estate. She found herself relaxing in his company, finding him amiable and genuinely interested in her ideas. Angela returned and poured tea from the new pot into cups for each of them.

It was easy to forget her true purpose here, but she needed to get some time alone if she was going to find any answers.

As if on cue, Terrance stood up, pushing his chair back. “I think I’ll go finish up those chores before it gets too dark.” He winked at Charlie. “Ye’ll stay and keep Angie company, willnae ye?”

Charlie forced a smile, feeling a sudden stab of guilt for deceiving them. “No problem.”

Terrance left by the back door, leaving Charlie alone with Angela. Charlie cleared her throat.

“Could I use the privy?”

“Of course,” Angela said. She waved towards a door at the back of the room. “Through there, to the end of the hall and ye’ll find a door to the courtyard. The privy is just on the other side.”

Right. She would never get used to these outside toilets.

She climbed to her feet and followed Angela’s directions. Her heart began to race and she resisted the urge to hurry, trying to appear nonchalant as she left the kitchen by the door Angela indicated. Beyond, she found herself in a long, bare corridor with unplastered walls and flagstones on the floor. Clearly, this was part of the servants’ section of the house, which is what she didn’t want at all. Instead of following Angela’s instructions, she took a guess and turned left, soon finding herself at another door. She turned the handle and peeked through.

It opened out into a much grander hallway and she spotted the front door of the house directly ahead. To the right of this, a wide, sweeping staircase climbed to the upper level. Charlie paused, listening, but could hear nothing. The house was eerily quiet. Seizing her chance, she darted through the door, closing it quietly behind her, and darted up the staircase before she could have second thoughts.

It came out into a wide corridor with a thick rug running the length of the polished floorboards and dark oaken doors along the sides. Charlie crossed to the nearest, turned the handle, and poked her head through. A bedroom. Not what she needed. She moved to the next. Another bedroom. Still not what she needed.

Her heart rate ratcheted up at each delay, expecting any minute for Angela to come looking for her, and then the game would really be up. Three doors down, she came across one that was locked. She’d come prepared for this though and pulled a tiny, thin-bladed knife out of her pocket. She’d taken it from Knox’s work shed when he hadn’t been looking.

She slid the tip of the knife into the lock and began to wiggle it around. She’d learned how to pick a lock from the countless times she’d managed to lock herself out of her apartment after nights out as a student, but she had no idea if locks of this era would work in the same way.

She was in luck. She sagged in relief when she heard a ‘snick’ and was able to turn the handle and push the door open. It swung silently inwards, revealing a large, mahogany paneled room. This was not a bedroom, but a study or meeting room. Two plush armchairs sat in front of the cold fireplace and a large desk took pride of place by the window.

On cat’s paws, Charlie crossed to the desk. Part of her was screaming that this was insane, that she was going to get caught, but the other, more stubborn part of her refused to listen.

Carefully, she slid the desk drawers open one by one. The first held only quills and a jar of ink, the next had a leather-bound ledger filled with figures that made no sense to Charlie. The third drawer was locked.

Taking a long breath, she crouched and inserted the knife blade into the lock. This one was trickier and Charlie’s heart was galloping by the time she heard the telltale little click.

With trembling hands, she pulled the drawer open. A tied bundle of letters sat in the bottom. Hesitantly, she reached in and lifted them out. Pulling out the first one, she opened it and scanned the writing. It was written in code, just like the ones that Niall used to communicate with his employers. Pulse racing, Charlie examined the next, and the next. They were all coded. Why would that be unless they contained something MacAllister didn’t want seen?

She took two of the letters, folded them, and stuck them through the slit in her skirt that gave access to the ridiculous tie-on pockets that women of this time wore under their dresses. The remaining bundle she returned to the drawer and carefully closed it so MacAllister wouldn’t realize anything was missing.

She hurried out of the room, closing the door behind her, and ran back down the stairs as fast as she could. She was halfway along the corridor towards the door that led back into the servants’ part of the house when a voice spoke from behind her.

“Ye! What are ye doing here?”

Ice walked down Charlie’s spine. She turned and saw a tall figure standing in the doorway. Outside, on the drive, she could just make out a lathered horse being led away by Terrance.

Charlie’s heart leapt into her mouth as her gaze fixed on the figure’s angry face.

It was Boyd MacAllister.