Page 4 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

N iall pushed open the glass-paneled doors and stepped outside into the cool evening air of the garden. The sun was setting, sending slanting rays of light straight into his eyes and bathing everything before him in a golden glow. He could still hear the strains of music from inside the house and the distant chatter of guests enjoying themselves.

He sighed as he looked out over the neatly manicured gardens. The hedges and lawns were meticulously trimmed and some of the hedges had been cut into the shape of fantastic beasts. Lions, dolphins, even griffons stared at him from various points. Niall barely noticed, his thoughts elsewhere.

He’d been to countless balls like this before, but none had ever left him feeling so unsettled as this one. First, meeting Irene MacAskill. And then meeting her .

The Countess of Argyle—or so she claimed. He’d heard about the countess. She was rumored to have a head for commerce and be astute enough to steer well clear of politics. Her name had not been mentioned when he’d been tasked with scoping out this gathering tonight. But now, having met her, he wasn’t so sure this had been wise. She was nothing like he’d expected. Much younger, for a start and beautiful with that long red hair, large blue eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose. She also said unusual things and flatly refused his attempts to draw her into the usual cut and thrust of veiled suggestions and double meanings.

And she’d downed whisky like a Highland tavern-keeper.

No, she was not what he’d expected at all and that bothered him. He didn’t like unknown variables. In his line of work, such things could get you killed.

From behind him, back in the ballroom, he heard the booming voice of the master of ceremonies announcing the arrival of another guest. But instead of just calling out the name as he usually did, the man cleared his throat several times and hesitated. “Um...I would like to announce...er...”

Intrigued, Niall left the garden and made his way back into the room. An elderly lady stood beside the master of ceremonies. She had white hair and was bedecked with enough jewels to sink a river barge.

The master of ceremonies tried again. “I would like to announce Lady Charlotte Dougrie, Countess of Argyle!”

A murmur of confusion went around the room and Lady Charlotte herself scowled, obviously surprised and a little irritated by this reception.

Niall narrowed his eyes. He knew instinctively that this was the real Countess of Argyle. So who was the woman he’d spoken to earlier? He headed for the door, all thoughts of the ball forgotten. He didn’t know who the red-haired woman he’d met was.

But he would find out.

***

S OMETHING WAS VERY , very wrong. Perhaps she’d exited through a back door and emerged into a part of Edinburgh she’d never visited before, because as she walked down the street, Charlie recognized precisely nothing.

Where was the busy street that the bookshop had been on? Where were the cars and the tourists, the cafes and the pubs?

Nowhere in sight, that’s where. The buildings themselves looked similar—tall narrow tenements crammed together like sardines in a tin—but rather than their lower stories being shops and other businesses, each house appeared to be some sort of grand townhouse with wrought-iron railings and brass knockers on the doors.

And there was no traffic. No cars. No buses. None of those annoying delivery drivers on bikes that wove in an out like dodgems at a fair.

Instead she saw a couple of carts being pulled by horses and the bizarre sight of an elderly gentleman being carried in a sedan chair by two burly men.

What the—? Was she so drunk she’d fallen asleep and was dreaming all this?

She stuttered to a halt, looking around. This made no sense. Where on Earth, was she?

“Is everything all right?”

Charlie spun at the sudden voice and found the man from the wedding reception standing behind her. What had he said his name was? Niall? Niall Campbell?

He was leaning against the side of a building, arms folded over his chest, watching her with interest.

“Yes...No. I’m just...a bit lost,” she confessed, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings.

Niall pushed away from the wall and stepped towards her. “Where were ye trying to go?”

“My hotel. But I don’t recognize any of these streets. I should be on the Royal Mile.”

Niall chuckled lightly at her words, the sound resonating in the quiet street. “Lass, ye are on the Royal Mile.”

Charlie glared at him, frustration brewing. “This isn’t funny! I need to get back to my hotel.”

“I apologize.” Niall held up his hands in surrender. “Perhaps I can be of help. What is the name of the inn ye are staying at?”

“The Friar’s Hat.”

“That’s a strange name for an inn.”

“It’s not an inn, it’s a little boutique hotel that I managed to snap up with some vouchers I got for Christmas. According to the travel websites it does the best breakfast in Edinburgh.”

A slightly baffled expression crossed his handsome face before being replaced with his usual charming smile. “Well, I’m afraid I havenae heard of it. What is the address?”

“Address?” Charlie blinked, thinking. Her thoughts were addled by the whisky and she couldn’t quite grasp it. “I...I can’t remember,” she admitted. “I’ll look it up on the internet.” She fumbled in her pocket, pulled out her phone, and squinted, trying to get her blurry eyesight to focus on the screen. But the icon in the corner was flashing to say she had no signal.

Charlie groaned. Damnation! The tall buildings must be blocking the signal. Perhaps if she just held it up—

“What’s that?” Niall asked sharply, staring suspiciously at her phone.

“What does it look like?” she replied, a little irritated by his tone. “It’s my phone. I’m trying to get the address of my hotel.”

But it was no good. No matter how she waved it around, it didn’t pick up a signal. Aargh!

“Do you know where the nearest tourist office is?” she asked Niall. “They could probably direct me to my hotel.”

His eyes were still narrowed and he was gazing at her pocket where she’d deposited her phone. Slowly, he looked up and met her gaze.

“What’s a tourist office?”

The question hung in the air, stretching thin the fragile thread that suspended Charlie’s last ounce of patience. She didn’t know if it was the whisky, her sudden disorientation, or Niall’s infuriatingly calm demeanor, but she felt a surge of anger.

“What do you mean, what’s a tourist office?” she shot back, arms crossed defiantly. “Are you messing with me?”

Niall looked taken aback by her outburst. “I assure ye, miss, I am not. I have never heard of such a thing.”

Charlie shook her head. How could anyone living in this city not know what a tourist office was? Edinburgh was practically swarming with tourists year-round.

“Alright,” she sighed deeply, trying to quell her rising frustration. “If you won’t help me find a tourist office, maybe you can at least point me to the nearest phone booth?”

Again, that baffled look crossed his face. “Phone booth?”

“Yes, phone booth,” Charlie snapped. “You know, a public telephone?”

Niall stared at her for a moment longer, before shaking his head slowly. “I havenae heard of such a thing.”

Now it was Charlie’s turn to be baffled. She studied Niall closely. Was he crazy? Or was she the one losing her mind?

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll find it myself.”

She turned abruptly, intending to march off into the winding cobblestone streets of Edinburgh. However, the drink she’d consumed and the sudden movement conspired to make the world tilt dangerously. She stumbled, a small cry slipping past her lips, certain she was about to face-plant into the unforgiving stone.

But strong arms caught her just in time, steadying her before she fell.

“Easy there,” Niall’s voice was low and soft. He held her easily. “Ye’re not in any condition to navigate these streets alone.”

Charlie pushed against him lightly. “I’m fine,” she protested weakly, even though they both knew it wasn’t true. His scent—earthy and spicy—enveloped her, and seemed to make the world spin all the more.

“Ye canna go off on yer own,” he said quietly, his breath stirring the loose curls framing her face. His eyes held hers, his gaze intense. “Dusk is coming and the streets are no place for a woman after dark. Especially one in yer....vulnerable state.”

Charlie swallowed hard, trying to rein in her racing heart. She didn’t know if it was his proximity or the booze or a combination of the two that had her pulse hammering. “What do you propose then?”

“I’ve got a townhouse not far from here,” he offered, releasing her but keeping a steadying hand on the small of her back. “Ye are welcome to stay.”

“No way, buster,” she slurred, prodding him in the chest with one finger. “You really think that line is going to work on me? I’m not that drunk.”

“Lass, ye are very drunk. But if it is yer modesty ye are concerned about, I give ye my word as a gentleman that ye are safe. I offer ye a guest room only. And besides, my housekeeper, Mrs Ramsey, runs a respectable household. She would skin me alive if I even entertained the idea of doing anything ‘improper’.”

Charlie squinted at him. “Housekeeper? You mean like a live-in maid?”

Niall snorted. “Aye, something akin to that, I suppose. Although dinna let her hear ye call her that. Mrs Ramsey has been with my family for years. She’s a formidable woman and keeps everything in order.”

Charlie pursed her lips, studying him intently. His face was honest and open, and in her intoxicated state, the prospect of navigating the labyrinthine streets of Edinburgh on her own was becoming less appealing by the second.

“Okay...” Charlie finally conceded, her words swallowed by the cool evening wind. “But if you try anything funny I warn you, I have a black belt in karate.” She didn’t, but he didn’t need to know that.

Niall offered her his arm, a gesture that was both gentlemanly and practical given her swaying stance. Charlie leaned on him more than she would have liked, her steps unsteady on the cobblestones.

As they walked, Charlie gawked. Nothing around her looked like the Edinburgh she knew. As it grew darker, no streetlights flickered into life. No pubs opened their doors to send their music blaring into the night. No bands of revelers staggered past, laughing and singing. Everything was dark and eerily quiet. The only other people they saw were a middle-aged couple walking in a stately manner in the opposite direction. The couple greeted Niall politely and he responded in kind, before they continued on their way.

What the hell was going on? Why was everyone dressed so strangely? Like they were all going to a historical-themed wedding reception?

She and Niall turned a corner and came upon a large, elegant townhouse. It was an imposing structure, built of the same dark stone that characterized much of the city.

A few lights shone from the windows, casting a warm glow onto the street below. Niall led Charlie up the steps to the front door. Before they reached it though, the door swung open to reveal a tall, thin woman with her hair tied in a bun.

She looked the two of them over with a slightly disapproving air. “My lord,” she greeted Niall with the barest of curtseys. “I trust ye had a pleasant evening.”

“I did, Mrs Ramsey. This is Charlotte. A guest. Please see that she is made comfortable.”

“Of course, my lord,” Mrs Ramsey said with a curt nod. Her eyes flicked to Charlie, and Charlie wondered what she must look like with her whisky nose and bleary eyes.

She straightened herself up and managed a weak smile. “Hello,” she said.

Mrs Ramsey’s stern expression softened slightly. “Welcome, Miss Charlotte,” she replied, stepping aside to allow them entrance.

The interior of the house was as impressive as its exterior. Tall ceilings, draped with candle-filled chandeliers, hung from the ceiling and the cherry wood paneling on the walls gleamed as though freshly polished.

Mrs Ramsey led them through the hallway into a sitting room. A large fireplace sat on one side of the room while plush sofas and armchairs were arranged in comfortable clusters.

“I’ll fetch ye something to drink,” said Mrs Ramsey, disappearing through a side door.

“Please, have a seat,” Niall motioned towards an armchair.

“Good idea,” Charlie murmured. She took a step, staggered, and then went tumbling.

In a flash, Niall was there, catching her before she hit the floor.

“Oops,” she muttered. “That’s twice now. Some might say you’re making a habit of saving me.”

Niall pulled her upright but didn’t let her go. He was standing so close that Charlie could see the golden flecks in his otherwise green eyes. Wow, he was good-looking.

“I really should find a way to thank you,” she said, her words slurring a little. “How about this?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

He went rigid with shock. But then he relaxed and responded. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to him. The kiss was slow, but heated. Charlie forgot about the dizziness, about Mrs Ramsey and the strange house, and how out of place everything felt. She forgot about everything but the feel of his lips on hers.

Niall suddenly pulled back, disentangled himself from her arms, and stepped away.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, running his fingers through his hair. “I shouldnae have done that.”

“Why not?” Charlie slurred. “I kind of liked it.”

“Because ye are drunk and I gave ye my word that nothing improper would happen.”

“Improper?” she said with a laugh. “Who says that? You talk weird.”

Before he could reply, the door creaked open, and Mrs Ramsey walked in with a tray of tea. She halted, her eyes flicking between Niall and Charlie as though she guessed what had just happened.

Niall cleared his throat. “I...I’ll leave ye in Mrs Ramsey’s capable hands,” he said, shifting his feet awkwardly. “Goodnight, Charlotte.”

He walked out the door, pulling it shut behind him.

Mrs Ramsey cleared her throat, drawing Charlie’s attention back to her. “If ye’d follow me, miss, we’ll take the tea up to yer room.”

Charlie followed as Mrs Ramsay led her up a grand staircase and down a hallway lined with portraits of stern-looking men. There was, she noticed in her distracted, drunken way, no electricity in the house. What little light there was came from candles in sconces attached to the walls.

There was something significant about that, Charlie was sure, but try as she might, her addled brain couldn’t quite grasp what it might be.

Mrs Ramsey stopped at a polished wooden door which she nudged open and backed through, carrying the tray. The room inside was easily as nice as Charlie’s boutique hotel room. A four-poster bed dominated the space, draped with rich fabrics that glowed under the candlelight. A small sitting area was arranged by a cold fireplace, and a polished wooden dressing table stood against one wall.

“Will ye be needing anything else, miss?” Mrs Ramsey asked, setting the tray down on a small table.

“Um, no thank you,” Charlie replied, wringing her hands. “Actually, there is something.”

“Oh?”

“Um.” Charlie wrung her hands a bit more. “Could you tell me where I am?”

Mrs Ramsey looked at her, an odd expression crossing her face. “Ye are in Lord Niall’s townhouse, miss.”

“Right. But where is that exactly?”

“In the heart of Old Town, Edinburgh,” Mrs Ramsey replied, giving her a puzzled look.

Charlie nodded slowly. Right. So she was still in Edinburgh. She hadn’t somehow been whisked away to another planet. Perhaps everything would make more sense when she was sober.

Mrs Ramsey gave her one last scrutinizing glance before making her way towards the door. “Should ye need anything during the night there’s a bell pull by the bed.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Charlie alone in the room. She sank down onto the edge of the bed. The smell of chamomile wafted up from the tea tray and Charlie knew she ought to drink something if she wanted to try to avoid a hangover come the morning, but the thought of putting anything in her stomach made her feel a little queasy.

What a crazy evening. What had started out as a dull, rain-soaked day had turned into the most bizarre evening of her life.

Ruby will never believe this, she thought . Then she snorted softly. Actually, she probably will. I do have a bit of a reputation for doing stupid things. But still.

She took out her phone again and considered calling her cousin, but thought better of it. It was getting late and she didn’t really fancy a lecture for getting drunk and spending the night in a stranger’s house. And besides, she still didn’t have any signal on her phone.

She tossed the phone onto the bed in disgust and flopped down after it, lying with her limbs spreadeagled. She sighed. She really ought to have a wash and get undressed but she didn’t seem able to summon up the energy.

The room spun slowly around her. Oh, hell. She was never, ever, drinking whisky again. Why had it seemed such a good idea at the time?

Her eyes slid closed and she fell into a dreamless slumber.