Page 3 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

C harlie stumbled as she stepped through the arch and put out a hand to stop herself from falling. She staggered sideways and her hand brushed against a smooth stone wall. She leaned against it, drawing in long, deep breaths as waves of dizziness rampaged through her. She felt as though she’d just jumped from a great height although all she’d done was take a few steps through a door. Was she coming down with a cold or something?

Finally, the dizziness passed. Charlie pushed herself off from the wall and looked around. She was in a dim hallway covered with dark wood paneling and plain floorboards. From somewhere deeper into the building, she could hear the sounds of music and merriment.

Yes, this must definitely be the shop owner’s house, she thought. And I’m about to gatecrash their party!

Still, what choice did she have if she wanted to be let out?

“Hello?” she called. “I don’t mean to trespass, but I got locked in your shop! Can you come and let me out? Hello?”

She waited a few seconds, but when there was no answer, walked a few tentative steps along the corridor. A closed door stood at the end and the music sounded louder beyond it.

She knocked on the door. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

There was still no response, so Charlie turned the handle, opened the door, and poked her head through. Beyond lay another hallway, this one much larger and much grander than the one she’d come from. The wood paneling continued on the walls, but here it had been burnished to a golden sheen that reflected the lights of hundreds of candles burning in a chandelier that hung from the ceiling.

Directly opposite her, two large double doors stood open and it was from within this room that the music, tinkling of glasses, and hum of conversation was coming. From her vantage point, she could also see that the room was full of people dressed in fine suits and dresses.

Charlie swallowed. It seemed it wasn’t just a party, but if the posh gowns and suits were anything to go by, a wedding reception or something equally formal. Bloody hell! She’d only wanted to escape the rain and now she was going to end up being a wedding crasher!

She spotted a man wearing some kind of livery standing by the big doors, peering at a long piece of paper. Guessing he must be a master of ceremonies hired by the bride and groom, Charlie stepped out of her hiding place, quietly closed the door behind her, and hurried across the hall, her shoes clicking on the polished tiles.

“Excuse me. I’m really sorry, but how do I get out? I got locked in the shop next door and then found a door that led in here and—”

“Oh!” said the man in a booming voice, turning to face her. He had a pointed nose and drooping jowls like a bloodhound. “My apologies, my lady, I didnae see ye there! Can I take a name?”

Charlie blinked. “My name? Charlotte. Charlotte Douglas.”

The man glanced at the ledger in his hand, running his finger along it.

“Ah! There ye are. Lady Charlotte Dougrie! Her ladyship will be most pleased ye have arrived. This way, please.”

“What?” Charlie said, aghast. “That’s not my name. I said Douglas, not Dougrie, and I’m not a lady or even a guest. If you’ll just show me the way out—”

But the man wasn’t listening. He strode to the door, cleared his throat, and announced in a voice that was only slightly quieter than a foghorn, “Lady Charlotte Dougrie, Countess of Argyle!”

Charlie goggled. Countess of what now? “Wait a minute, you’ve made a mistake. That’s not me—”

But her protests were drowned out as the guests turned and broke into a round of applause. The master of ceremonies held out his arm and placed her arm through it, then swept her through the door and into the room beyond before she could utter any kind of protest.

His work done, he gave her a small bow, then turned and left to resume his place in the hall outside. Charlie just stood there, frozen to the spot, hoping the ground would open up and swallow her. How was she going to talk her way out of this?

Many of the guests either bowed or curtsied to her—which was one of the strangest things she’d ever seen—but then went back to whatever they’d been doing: dancing, talking, eating or drinking.

“Would ye care for a drink, my lady?”

“What?” Charlie turned to see a brown-haired youth dressed in the same livery as the master of ceremonies, standing by her side. He was carrying a silver tray filled with goblets.

A drink? You bet she needed a drink.

“Thanks,” she murmured, snagging one of the drinks from the tray. “Listen, can you point out who is the bookshop owner? Or even better, can you show me the way out—”

But the youth had already moved away and was soon lost in the crowd. With an annoyed grunt, Charlie set the goblet to her lips and tipped her head back, downing the liquid in one. The next second, she broke into a fit of coughing as her throat and stomach lit on fire. Far from being the sherry she’d expected, the cup had been full of whisky! Bloody Scots and their bloody obsession with the stuff! What was wrong with a nice glass of wine?

Luckily, with the hubbub and the music, nobody seemed to have noticed her coughing fit, so when it subsided, she wove her way through the crowd to the edge of the room where there was a bit more space.

The guests were done out in elegant finery. Some of the men wore dapper-looking suits with ruffled collars and long coats, whilst others wore the traditional plaid and kilts of their clan. The women wore elegant dresses with tight bodices and skirts that were bunched up at the back and flared from the hips, falling to the ground in frothy waves.

Even the cups and crockery were of the finest make. They all looked antique. Seventeenth or eighteenth century, Charlie guessed, and very expensive. She smiled wryly to herself.

See, Uncle Stephen? she thought sardonically. You were wrong. My ceramics degree isn’t a total waste after all. At least I can identify antique pottery at a wedding. How useful.

Looking at the decorations, the clothing, the crockery, she guessed this must be a themed wedding. Huh. What a waste of money. Who was to say the bride and groom would even be together in a year’s time? They would be better served putting the money towards their mortgage or a new car. Or, in fact, anything else.

There you go again, Charlie , she thought. Cynical.

Not cynical , she answered herself. Just a realist.

At least, she reflected, as she picked up another cup from a side table and began sipping the whisky, she didn’t look completely out of place. She was wearing a long yellow summer dress and whilst it was nowhere near as fine as the dresses the women here were wearing, it was infinitely better than the jeans and sweater she had almost opted for. If she was going to gate crash a wedding, it was best to blend in.

She craned her head over the crowd, trying to work out who was the bride and groom. She didn’t see anyone in a wedding dress, but much of the crowd’s attention seemed to be focused on an older woman seated on the other side of the hall and a man wearing traditional tartan who was standing with her. They didn’t look like newly-weds to Charlie—the woman was much older than him with blonde ringlets piled atop her head and the man she was talking to—good-looking in an austere kind of way—was standing stiffly, as if uncomfortable with the conversation.

Charlie drew a long breath and began making her way towards the couple, hoping they could direct her to where she actually needed to be—outside and far away from this invite-only party to which she most definitely was not invited.

As she moved closer, she could hear the man in tartan speaking with a thick Scottish accent that was difficult to understand. She caught words like “honor” and “clan” scattered about.

But before she reached them, another man stepped smoothly into her path. “Ah! Lady Charlotte, I believe?”

She stopped in her tracks. The man was more than a head taller than Charlie and she had to crane her neck to look up at him. His hair, the color of damp sand, was tied back in a loose tail at the nape of his neck, revealing a strong, angular face that was more tanned than any Edinburgh resident’s had any right to be. His eyes were startling green, like the first leaves of spring after a long winter—and fixed on her. He’d opted for the traditional wedding gear—a tartan plaid that dropped to his knees and a sash over one shoulder—and she had to admit, he looked pretty damned fine in it.

“Forgive me for startling ye,” he said in a deep voice with a definite Scottish lilt.

“Um, no problem,” Charlie said, a little flustered. “What can I do for you?”

Oh, heck. Had he realized she wasn’t on the guest list and was going to throw her out? Well, that was just fine seeing as she wanted to leave anyway!

But he only smiled, revealing perfect white teeth that shone against his sun-kissed skin. “I’ve heard much about ye. I’m Niall Campbell. Delighted to meet ye, Countess.”

“Actually,” Charlie began, “There’s been a mistake—”

He snagged two goblets from a youth passing with a tray and handed one to Charlie. “Why dinna ye tell me all about it?”

Charlie took the goblet, swapping it for her empty one. It was, she realized, her third or fourth whisky in about five minutes. No wonder she was starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. She glanced around helplessly. This was not going according to plan. Not that she had a plan mind you, but if she did, this would not be it.

She lifted her cup and took a gulp of the whisky. It burned going down, a smoky trail of fire that warmed her from the inside out. It also blurred the edges of reality enough to take away a little of her unease. She downed the rest of the drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She was, she realized, already a little tipsy. Oops.

Niall Campbell watched her, a faint, amused smile curling the corners of his mouth. When her cup was empty, he took it from her and replaced it with a full one.

“A toast,” he said. “To Scotland’s new dawn!”

Charlie had no idea what that meant, but raised her goblet anyway and took a long draft of the golden liquid. She smiled weakly, feeling the effects of the alcohol spreading through her body like a welcome blanket.

“Which side are you on then?” she asked Niall, gesturing around the room.

To her surprise, Niall’s eyes narrowed, flashing with sudden suspicion. “Side? Why would ye ask that? Are we not all on the same side here? That’s why we’ve gathered isnae it? To oppose those who think they have the right to decide Scotland’s future?”

“Eh?” Charlie asked, blinking in confusion. “I meant which side are you on: the bride’s or the groom’s?”

He watched her for a second and then shook his head, the amused smile appearing once more. “I’m afraid ye have me at a disadvantage, madam. I’m not sure of what ye speak.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “It’s not difficult. Are you here for the bride or the groom?” She had another swig of her whisky then tapped her lip with one finger as she studied him. “I’m going to guess you’re with the groom. Are you the best man? How did your speech go? Perhaps you can give me some tips. I’m going to be maid of honor at my cousin’s wedding in a few months and she wants me to make a speech! Stupid idea if you ask me. I mean, whoever heard of the maid of honor giving a speech?”

Niall blinked at her. He put down his cup and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back slightly as he regarded her. “I must say, ye are not what I expected, Countess.”

Charlie let out an exasperated sigh, swaying slightly on her feet as she waved her empty goblet around in a rather dangerous manner. “That’s because this has all been a big mistake. I got locked in the bookshop, that’s all.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Bookshop?”

Charlie nodded emphatically. “That’s right. Got locked in. Now I need to find my way out. Has it stopped raining outside?”

“Aye,” he replied slowly, giving her a strange look. “It’s a beautiful sunny evening.”

“Really?” Charlie said, perking up a bit. “That’s the Scottish weather for you, eh?” She set her cup down on a nearby table, or rather, she tried to. She missed the first time and it took her several attempts before she managed it. Damn. How much whisky had she drank?

“At least I won’t get wet on the walk to the hotel. How do I get out of this place?”

Niall waved over one of the youths with the trays. “Escort the lady out, would ye?”

The youth nodded. “If ye would follow me, my lady.”

“Right. Will do.” She turned to Niall. “Thanks for your help.”

He inclined his head. “It was a pleasure, Charlotte.”

The way he said her name sent a delicious shiver across her skin. She turned and followed the youth as he wove his way through the crowd. Everything was starting to spin a little and it was all she could do not to stumble into wedding guests as they went.

The master of ceremonies looked around in surprise as she walked past him and Charlie gave him a cheerful wave which he did not reciprocate. With a shrug, she followed the youth across the outer vestibule, through several other halls and corridors, until they arrived at a grand set of double doors, which he pulled open.

From beyond came the smell of warm earth and a summer evening and she caught a glimpse of a shining blue sky. Niall Campbell had been right: it had stopped raining.

So Ruby and I might not get drenched on the way to her dress fitting tomorrow , Charlie thought. Things are looking up .

“Thanks,” she said to the youth as she stepped up to the threshold.

“Ye are most welcome, my lady,” he said, putting one hand across his chest and bowing low like she was some kind of noble lady.

Charlie raised an amused eyebrow, then stepped past him onto the street. She planned on going straight back to her hotel, having some dinner and a shower, then flopping into bed for an early night.

And if she was very lucky, she might not have a hangover in the morning.