Page 18 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

N iall rubbed at his eyes, tossed the report on grain stocks he’d been reading across his desk, and leaned back. He stared up at the ceiling, blowing out his cheeks and doing his best to settle his churning thoughts. He’d not been able to concentrate on the report—or anything else, for that matter—all day.

Thoughts of Charlotte kept popping into his head no matter what he did to stop them. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. What was wrong with him? He suspected he knew the answer to that question. He was falling for Charlotte Douglas.

Niall huffed a frustrated breath and pushed himself to his feet. Aargh! This was getting him nowhere.

He stalked out of his study, his long strides eating up the ground as he made his way through the house and out into the courtyard. The late afternoon air was crisp, carrying the smell of damp earth and wood smoke. He barely noticed. His mind was too full of Charlotte—of the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d touched him.

And the way she’d left after he’d rejected her.

The hurt in her eyes had cut him to the quick.

The pottery was a short walk from the main house, nestled at the edge of the village, where the potters could work without the constant bustle of the settlement getting in their way. Niall knew the way well enough. Charlotte had been spending more and more time there—and as a result, so had he.

Reaching the low stone building, he pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. The odour of clay and kiln-fire wrapped around him, mingling with the faint metallic tang of wet earth. The place was unrecognizable from the small workshop his mother had once used. It was larger, with the new kiln Knox had built, taking up most of the far wall. It was filled with people, all busy making the bricks and tiles for the new homes that were springing up on his estate.

A few apprentices glanced up at his arrival, eyes widening at the sight of him, but it was a stocky older man with grizzled hair—Mabbet, one of the refugees from MacAllister’s estate—who set down his tools and wiped his hands on his apron before approaching.

“Laird Campbell,” Mabbet greeted him, arching a bushy brow. “Looking for Mistress Douglas?”

Niall nodded. “Aye. Is she here?”

Mabbet shook his head. “She left near an hour ago.”

Niall frowned. An hour ago? “Ye ken where she was headed?”

Knox exchanged a glance with one of the apprentices before shaking his head again. “She didnae say. She seemed a little...distracted. Then she left in a hurry.”

Niall’s jaw tightened. That didn’t sit right with him. Was he the cause? Was she upset about what happened in the stable?

“She seemed out of sorts,” an apprentice piped up hesitantly. “Wouldnae even stop to talk.”

Damn it.

Niall muttered a curse under his breath and turned on his heel, striding out of the pottery without another word. He scanned the village, his mind racing. Where would she have gone? And why in such a hurry? She had not returned to the house and he’d seen no sign of her on the way up here.

As he strode back down the hill and into the courtyard in front of the house, he caught sight of a young stable lad adjusting the harness on a donkey cart that was being used to transport the bricks to the building site. The boy glanced up at Niall’s approach, straightening instinctively.

“Lad!” Niall barked. “Did ye see Mistress Douglas pass this way?”

The lad hesitated, his hands stilling on the straps. “Aye, my lord. She went down the south road. Seemed in a bit of a rush.”

Niall’s gut twisted. The south road led toward Boyd MacAllister’s estate.

A cold dread settled over him.

MacAllister.

She wouldn’t go back there alone would she? She wouldn’t be that reckless? What was he thinking? Of course she would. One thing he’d learned about Charlotte Douglas was that ‘strong-willed’ didn’t even start to cover it. If she was convinced MacAllister was involved in something illicit she wouldn’t stop until she uncovered the truth.

But if Boyd MacAllister caught her...

With a growl, he strode toward the stables, barking an order to the stable lad. Within moments, his horse was saddled, and he swung up into the saddle without breaking stride.

“Did she say anything to ye?” he asked the stable lad as he gathered the reins.

“Nay, my lord,” the boy said, shifting on his feet. “Just walked right by, looking like she had a purpose.”

That didn’t make Niall feel any better.

Digging his heels into his horse’s sides, he took off down the road at a gallop, dirt and gravel kicking up in his wake.

Charlotte , he thought. What are you doing?

***

C HARLIE’S EYES WIDENED as she stared at Boyd MacAllister. Fear skittered down her spine. What was he doing back here? He was supposed to be in Edinburgh!

Her thoughts raced, trying to come up with a plausible explanation that would explain why she was sneaking around MacAllister’s home. She forced her hand away from her pocket where she’d stuffed the stolen letters. She lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed.

“I was looking for the privy,” she said. “I’ve come to visit with Angela.”

His eyes narrowed, pulling tight the scar that ran through his eyebrow and nicked the corner of one eye. Boyd MacAllister took a slow step forward, his gaze raking over her like a blade stripping flesh from bone. His lips curled, amusement flickering behind the suspicion in his sharp, dark eyes.

“The privy, is it?” His voice was smooth, but laced with steel. “And here I thought ye were a clever lass, Mistress Douglas. But that’s the worst excuse I’ve heard in years.”

Charlie forced a tight-lipped smile. “Why don’t you ask your housekeeper?”

“Perhaps I will,” he said, his gaze dropping—just for a moment—to the pocket of her dress. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Had he noticed the letters?

She shifted her stance, trying to look relaxed, even as fear clawed at her throat. “Last I heard, it wasn’t against the law to use someone’s privy.”

MacAllister cocked his head, his expression unreadable. “Do ye think I’m a fool? I dinna like games, Miss Douglas. And I like thieves even less.”

Her stomach dropped. Damn it. She fought to keep her expression neutral, to smother the rising panic clawing at her insides. “I—”

He stepped closer, and she caught the faintest whiff of clove and leather. “Spare me, lass. We both know whatever excuses ye are thinking up are lies. So why dinna ye tell me what exactly ye were doing sneaking about my house like a common thief?”

Charlie’s pulse thundered in her ears. She forced herself to meet his gaze, her mind scrambling for an answer, an escape—anything that would get her out of this in one piece.

MacAllister’s eyes darkened. “Unless, of course, ye found something ye shouldnae have.” His gaze flicked up and down her. “And if that’s the case, we’ve a real problem, ye and I.”

Charlie barely had time to react before MacAllister’s hand shot out, grabbing at the folds of her dress. She twisted away, but he was too quick, his fingers closing around the slit that gave access to her pocket—but not the one in which she’d stuffed the letters, thank God. He pulled his hand back, his fist curled around something small and gleaming. He opened his fingers to reveal a ring—an old, ornate piece of gold set with a deep green stone.

MacAllister’s mouth twisted into a mockery of a smile. “Well, well. What have we here?”

Charlie blinked, confusion warring with the fear already pounding through her veins. That ring wasn’t hers. She’d never seen it before in her life.

“I suppose ye’ll tell me ye’ve never seen this before,” MacAllister said, his voice dripping with mockery.

“That’s because I haven’t!” she shot back. “That’s not mine!”

MacAllister gave a low, dark chuckle. “No, I daresay it isnae. It belonged to my mother.” His eyes flashed as he took a step closer, looming over her. “And it was locked away in my study until just now.”

Charlie opened her mouth, ready to protest, when a voice rang out from the doorway.

“What in heaven’s name is going on?”

Angela stood in the doorway, her face a mask of concern and confusion. Her wide eyes darted between Charlie and her employer, taking in the ring gleaming in MacAllister’s palm.

MacAllister turned to his housekeeper, his expression shifting into something almost pleasant. Almost. “Ah, Angela. Just in time. It seems yer ‘guest’ has a habit of wandering where she shouldnae. I found her snooping about the house, and lo-and-behold—” He held up the ring. “I found her with this.”

Angela’s eyes widened further as she looked at Charlie. “Charlotte?”

Charlie shook her head fiercely. “I didn’t take it! He planted it on me!”

MacAllister sighed theatrically. “Of course I did. Because I have nothing better to do than go about hiding trinkets in ladies’ pockets.” He tilted his head, studying her with mock curiosity. “Tell me, lass, why exactly did ye sneak around my house if not to steal?”

Charlie’s fists clenched at her sides. She couldn’t tell them the truth. She couldn’t admit what she had really taken, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him pin this on her, either. She had to get out of here. Now.

With a burst of defiance, she shoved past MacAllister, aiming for the door, but she barely made it two steps before MacAllister’s hand clamped around her wrist in a bruising grip, yanking her back.

“Ye are not going anywhere.”

Charlie twisted, trying to wrench herself free, but he was stronger, his fingers like iron.

“Get your damned hands off me!” She aimed a kick at his shins, but he stepped out of the way without releasing her, his lips twisted in dark amusement.

“Angela,” MacAllister said smoothly, not taking his eyes off Charlie. “Be a dear and send Terrance for the sheriff, would ye? We’ve a thief to deal with.”

Angela gasped. “The sheriff?” She looked at Charlie, her expression flickering with uncertainty. “My lord, surely that isnae necessary—”

“Oh, but it is,” MacAllister said, his grip tightening ever so slightly. He stared at Charlie and his voice turned almost gentle, as though he were explaining something to a child. “Do ye know what the penalty is for stealing? Hanging.”

Charlie’s stomach dropped.

Hanging.

For a ring she hadn’t even stolen.

She stared up at MacAllister, her breath coming fast. He was enjoying this—playing with her like a cat with a cornered mouse. Panic clawed up Charlie’s throat. She had to think. She had to get out of this. But how?

The door burst open with a deafening crack.

Niall stormed inside, his face thunderous, his eyes locking onto the scene before him in an instant.

Charlie’s heart soared at the sight of him. “Niall!” she cried, struggling in MacAllister’s grip.

“Let. Her. Go.” He glared at MacAllister, and his voice was low and dangerous, the kind of voice that sent men running if they had any sense.

MacAllister didn’t move. He merely lifted a brow, his lips curling. “Ah, Campbell. Ye do have a knack for arriving at the most interesting moments.”

Niall took a slow step forward, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “Ye heard me, MacAllister. Let her go, or I’ll make ye.”

MacAllister’s grip tightened ever so slightly, making Charlie wince. “I caught yer wee lass rummaging through my house. And when I confronted her, well—” He held up the ring with his free hand. “What do ye make of this?”

Niall barely glanced at it. “I make of it that ye are a lying bastard.”

MacAllister’s eyes darkened. “Ye’ve no cause to speak to me that way, Campbell. The lass was caught red-handed. She’s to be turned over to the sheriff—”

He never finished the sentence.

Niall’s fist crashed into MacAllister’s jaw with a sickening crack. The force of it sent him stumbling backward, releasing Charlie as he reeled. She gasped, staggering back, but Niall was already moving.

He launched himself at MacAllister, driving him into the wall. They hit it hard, the sound of splitting wood echoing through the room. Niall’s fists were a blur, his fury unleashed as he drove blow after blow into the man who had dared to put his hands on her.

MacAllister recovered quickly. With a furious snarl, he shoved Niall back and threw a punch of his own, catching him in the ribs. Niall barely grunted. He came back with a savage right hook, splitting MacAllister’s lip and sending blood spraying across his chin.

The fight turned brutal, both men locked in a vicious struggle. They crashed into furniture, overturned a table, the sharp sound of shattering glass filling the room.

“Niall!” Charlie shouted, but he didn’t seem to hear her.

MacAllister caught him by the collar, trying to force him off balance, but Niall twisted free and drove his knee into MacAllister’s gut, sending him doubling over with a wheezing curse.

“This is what happens,” Niall growled, grabbing him by the front of his plaid and shoving him against the wall, “when ye put yer hands on what’s mine.”

MacAllister coughed, spitting blood onto the floor. He let out a low, breathless chuckle. “So that’s it, then? She’s yers ?” He turned his head, looking past Niall to where Charlie stood. “Ye really have fallen for the outland whore.”

“Ye bastard,” Niall snarled, drawing back his fist for another strike—

“Stop it!” Angela’s voice rang out, sharp and desperate. “Stop it, both of ye!”

Neither man moved, their ragged breathing filling the space between them.

Charlie gulped, her pulse racing. Niall still had his fist raised, but his chest rose and fell with deep, heaving breaths, his body coiled with fury.

MacAllister gave a bloodied grin. “Go on, Campbell. Finish it. But ye ken well enough that I’ll have ye arrested for assault the moment ye do.”

Charlie could see the war raging inside Niall. His whole body was taut, his muscles trembling with the need to keep fighting. But slowly—reluctantly—he released MacAllister’s plaid and stepped back.

MacAllister straightened. Despite his disheveled state and the blood dripping from his lips, he didn’t look beaten. Instead, he looked triumphant. There was a gleam in his eyes and his bloody grin widened.

“Oh well done, Campbell,” he said. “Well done. Ye have just given me exactly what I need. I couldnae have orchestrated it better myself. I will see ye stripped of yer lands and title for this. And her...” He pointed a finger at Charlie. “I will see her hanged.”

MacAllister straightened, wiping blood from his split lip, his dark eyes gleaming with something close to amusement. Niall took a step forward, his fists still clenched, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

Charlie tensed, sensing the fight wasn’t over. She could see it in the way Niall’s muscles coiled, his stance shifting as if he were about to lunge again. Before he could, the door swung open once more.

“What, by all the hells, is going on in here?”

Terrance stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over the wrecked room—the overturned furniture, the broken glass, the blood on MacAllister’s face. His brows shot up.

Niall flicked a glance at him, then back to MacAllister. Charlie could almost see the calculation running through his mind. He was outnumbered now. He growled under his breath, then without a word, grabbed Charlie’s wrist, his grip firm. He pulled her through the door, out into the crisp evening air, his pace swift and determined.

“Niall—” she started, but he shook his head.

“Not now, lass.” His voice was tight, barely controlled.

They reached the waiting horse, tethered a few yards away. Niall untied the reins and without a word, clasped her waist and lifted her into the saddle. She barely had time to grab the pommel before he swung up behind her, his arms caging her in as he took the reins.

“Hold on.”

He spurred the horse into a gallop.