Page 5 of Memory of a Highlander (Arch Through Time #27)

A s always, Niall woke before dawn. He quickly washed and dressed and made his way downstairs. He could hear the clatter of crockery and the drone of voices coming from the kitchen as he did so.

By convention, he ought to go into the parlor and ring a bell to summon his breakfast like any self-respecting Edinburgh gentleman, but despite what most of his acquaintances might think, Niall was far from a self-respecting Edinburgh gentleman. Nor did he hold much with convention.

So, ignoring the door to the parlor, he took the door on the left and walked into the cozy warmth of the kitchen, just like he did every morning.

Mrs Ramsey—Flora—and her husband Joseph were already there ahead of him. Flora was warming porridge over the fire whilst Joseph sat at the highly scrubbed table, with a set of papers spread out before him. Despite the early hour, he’d already been out and gathered the day’s pamphlets.

“Ah, there he is!” Joseph exclaimed as Niall walked in.

“Morning,” Niall mumbled, taking a seat at the table. He looked over the pamphlets spread out across the polished wood. “Anything interesting this morning?”

Joseph sucked on his teeth. “Not much. Just the usual rantings. Those for the Articles saying it will be Alba’s salvation. Those against the Articles saying it will be our ruin. The same old stuff, really.”

Niall nodded. Flora plonked a pottery beaker on the table in front of him, a little harder than necessary.

Niall glanced up at her. “My thanks.”

Flora grunted and turned back to stirring the porridge. He could guess what had gotten her ire up but he wasn’t quite ready to face that yet.

“Any mention of Lady Murray’s ball last night?”

Joseph rifled through the pamphlets until he found the one he was looking for. “Aye, here it is. A list of notable attendees that’s all, but there is a bit of gossip mentioning that the Countess of Argyll seemed to have attended twice?”

Niall winced. He knew that having two Countesses of Argyle turn up would have caused a stir, but had hoped the guests would have forgotten about the oddity as the wine and whisky had flowed. Seems that wasn’t the case.

Joseph was watching him with that look that always made Niall feel like a misbehaving school boy. In his sixties, with a shock of wild white hair and beard to match, Joseph looked like a woodsman. With his rough manners and plain-speaking ways, people often underestimated him. But Joseph was one of the shrewdest people Niall knew.

“And was going to that nest of vipers worth it? Did ye discover anything?”

Niall shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. I did manage to arrange a meeting with Alistair MacTavish. But other than that, I came away empty-handed.”

“Hardly that!” Flora snapped, turning around and brandishing a dripping wooden spoon. She gestured at the pamphlets laid out on the table. “Ye’ll be lucky if there isnae a pamphlet about ye by the end of the day—talking about how ye—an unmarried man—brought a drunken woman home last night!”

Ah, so here it was.

Niall sighed, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “I couldnae leave her out in the streets, Flora. She was alone and intoxicated, and it seemed she didnae even know where she was.”

Flora huffed in response, turning back to her porridge with an audible clatter. “That may be, but bringing her back here will have the tongues wagging, ye mark my words.”

Joseph leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “She’s right, lad. It was a risk bringing her here. When I went out for the pamphlets I did a bit of digging, trying to find out who our guest might be.”

Niall nodded, taking a sip from his cup of mint tea. The bitter drink left a pleasant warmth in his chest. “And have ye discovered anything?”

“No, but I’m working on it. I’ve got a man asking around town.”

Niall nodded and curled his big hands around the cup. The warmth seeped into his fingers and he welcomed the sensation. It helped to revive him a little as he had a slightly thick head this morning, which was unusual for him. He must have drank more than he intended last night—again unusual for him. He normally exerted an iron-willed control over himself.

He berated himself silently, annoyed at such a slip. He could not afford such lapses, not when so much depended on his success. His slip had been caused, no doubt, by the strange events of yesterday. First, Irene MacAskill and then Charlotte Douglas. Their appearance had left him feeling unsettled and off balance but that was no excuse. He’d been playing this game for long enough to know to expect the unexpected.

The question was: who was Charlotte?

She had not behaved like any Edinburgh lady he’d ever met. Nor any lady at all, for that matter. She was not shy about getting drunk or talking out of turn, or arguing her point.

And she’d kissed him. Kissed him!

The memory of that sent a curl of heat right down to his groin. Where was she from? Who were her companions? And why was she here?

The fact that none of Joseph’s network of watchers had been able to find any answers intrigued him all the more.

Flora thumped a bowl of porridge down in front of him and lowered herself into one of the chairs, puffing and blowing as she settled.

“My old bones,” she complained. “They’ve been twice as bad since we came here. It’s the foul air in this city, I tell ye. Give me the open skies and the fresh air of Glennoch any day of the week.”

Niall squeezed her hand. “Aye. I know how ye feel. We’ll be going home soon.”

“Aye?” said Flora, perking up. “When?”

“As soon as I’ve finalized a few things here.”

His answer was deliberately vague. Flora and Joseph shared a long look but didn’t pursue it, for which Niall was grateful. He concentrated on eating his porridge. Flora had made it just how he liked it—not too hot and with just the right amount of salt. How many years had she been making his breakfast like this? Too many to remember. Even when he’d been just a boy and by rights should have eaten in the great hall with the rest of his family, he sneaked into the kitchen to eat with Flora and Joseph.

“Ye are going to this meeting with MacTavish then?” Joseph asked.

Niall swallowed before answering. “Aye. I must. All his cronies will be there. I willnae have a better opportunity to find out what they’re planning.”

Joseph and Flora shared another long look. “Aye, which is exactly what worries me. If they should suspect ye—”

“They willnae.” They’d been over this already. Many times. “I’ve spent weeks laying the ground work for this meeting, wheedling my way into his confidence and dropping hints. Now I’ve finally got an invitation, it would look more suspicious if I didnae attend.”

Joseph pressed his lips into a hard, flat line and Flora shook her head.

“Ye just be careful,” she said, waving the wooden spoon at him. “This is a dangerous path ye are walking.”

“Aye, I know it,” he said. “But what choice is there?”

Irene MacAskill’s words suddenly echoed in his head. The choice ye make will decide not only the course of yer future, but that of Alba as well.

Why would he think about that now?

He swilled his mint tea around in the cup, staring into its depths, then took a gulp, trying to calm the strange sense of foreboding that settled in his gut.

***

C HARLIE SLOWLY OPENED her eyes and then wished she hadn’t. Bright sunlight was spearing in through the window and felt like a red hot lance impaling her brain.

She screwed up her face and put one arm over her eyes. Aargh. Why was someone hammering nails into her skull? And why did her mouth taste like something had crawled inside it and died?

Because you drank enough to sink a dinghy last night, that’s why , an admonishing voice spoke in the back of her mind.

With a groan, she moved her arm. There was a strange canopy over her bed. She blinked, trying to figure out what she was looking at. She didn’t remember it being there when she’d checked into her hotel yesterday.

She turned her head, groaning as the nails were driven deeper, and waited for her bleary eyes to come into focus. When they did, she stared.

This was not her hotel room. There was a tray of cold tea sitting on a low table by a fireplace. A leaded glass window let in lemony sunlight that suggested it was still early. Too early.

Perhaps she was dreaming. Perhaps she was actually still asleep and this was all in her head. She stabbed her arm with her fingernails until it hurt. Ow! Well, that felt pretty real.

She sat up, groaning again as the hammering in her head intensified. The rustle of fabric brought her attention to the bedding she was lying on. It wasn’t the standard hotel-issue polyester blend but a heavy, ornate brocade of gold and burgundy. Eh? What the—?

With an effort that made her brain feel like it was sloshing around inside her skull, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a minute. Her feet hit a cold stone floor and she shivered, despite the thick woolen socks she was wearing. She took a moment to steady herself against the wave of nausea that swept over her.

Then, in a rush, it all came back. The downpour. Taking refuge in the bookshop. Meeting Irene MacAskill. Getting locked in the shop. And then...and then...

And then she gate-crashed that wedding reception, imbibed more whisky than was good for her, and made a total idiot of herself in front of Niall Campbell.

Even through the foggy haze that filled her head, his name rang as clear as a bell. She was hardly likely to forget him, was she? He’d been as attractive as hell and...and...

And I kissed him!

The thought flashed through her head like quicksilver, quickly followed by mortification.

Oh God!

She had kissed him! She remembered now: the taste of whisky on his lips, the feel of his hands against her back, and the shocked look in his eyes afterwards. Oh hell. This was a disaster. She had to get out of here.

Charlie sprang to her feet and instantly regretted it as the room spun around her. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, and willing the nausea to pass. When she opened her eyes again, she noticed a full-length mirror in a gilded frame standing in one corner of the room. As she caught her reflection, she gasped. Her hair was wild and tangled from sleep, and her makeup was smeared all over her face making her look like an extra from some zombie movie.

She groaned, padding over to the mirror and examining her reflection in more detail. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin pale. It was not a pretty sight.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a door that she assumed led to an en-suite bathroom. She padded over, her socks silent on the stone floor, and pushed open the door. She was greeted by the sight of a large iron bathtub, a ceramic bowl, a chamber pot tucked discreetly in one corner.

Charlie blinked at the anachronistic fixtures, but then shoved the thought aside as she spotted a jug of water and a small towel on a wooden stand next to the basin. Wasting no time, she poured some water into the basin and began to clean herself up as best she could.

She was still wearing the dress she’d worn yesterday and it now looked a little worse for wear. A few buttons were missing from the bodice and it was as crumpled as a screwed up bit of paper. She pressed her palm against her forehead, willing the pounding to subside. It didn’t.

This is what you get for crashing parties and acting like a reckless teenager , she told herself.

She wondered if her erstwhile host would have some painkillers she could beg. Either way, she couldn’t stay in here all morning. She had to get back to her hotel. She’d be meeting Ruby at the bridal shop soon and she daren’t be late for that.

Tentatively, she opened the door of her room and peeked outside. The landing was empty, but she thought she remembered coming this way last night, following a woman. Mrs Ramsay. Niall’s housekeeper.

Who had a housekeeper these days anyway? Nobody Charlie knew, that’s for sure. Perhaps Niall Campbell was rich. That would explain why he owned a townhouse in the heart of Edinburgh and why everyone at the wedding reception had been so richly dressed.

Great. Not only had she gate-crashed a wedding, she had gate-crashed some sort of posh society wedding.

Walking softly so as not to make her head pound more than it already was, she left her room and made her way to the winding wooden staircase across the landing. From below, she heard the sound of voices. She recognized Niall’s low rumble and a woman’s voice that she assumed to be Mrs Ramsey. There was another male voice that she didn’t recognize.

She bit her lip. If she was careful, she could probably sneak down the stairs without them hearing and be out the front door and on her way before any of them were any wiser. After the state she’d gotten herself into last night, she didn’t think she could survive the embarrassment of seeing them again.

But sneaking out without thanking her hosts or saying goodbye was the height of bad manners and her aunt and uncle would be appalled if they found out. They’d brought her up better than that. And besides, if she was absolutely honest with herself, the thought of seeing Niall Campbell again was very appealing.

So, instead of sneaking down the stairs and heading for the front door, she knocked on the kitchen door instead. The voices inside went silent.

“Um. Hello?” she called.

There was the sound of a chair being scraped back and then footsteps. The door opened and Charlie found herself facing the formidable woman she’d met last night.

“Miss Charlotte,” Mrs Ramsay said, her voice gravelly yet oddly soothing. “We were wondering when ye’d be up.”

Charlie flushed at the comment, feeling like a schoolgirl being chastised for oversleeping. “I... uh... I apologize for my...behavior...last night,” she stammered, her gaze flickering past Mrs Ramsay to the two figures seated at the kitchen table.

Niall sat with another man who she didn’t recognize. His sandy hair was tousled and his green eyes were filled with amusement as he watched her.

Mrs Ramsay waved away her apology. “Dinna fash, my dear. I’ve got a fresh pot of tea on the fire. Would ye like a cup? And maybe some porridge?” she asked, stepping back to allow Charlie into the kitchen.

The room was large and bright, filled with the comforting aroma of freshly brewed tea and baking bread.

“Um, just the tea, thank you,” Charlie replied. She doubted her queasy stomach would react well to the porridge.

Mrs Ramsay nodded, and Charlie followed her into the kitchen and seated herself at the table across from Niall and the other man. Her gaze focused on her hands, wishing she could disappear into the wooden planks of the floor. A moment later, a warm mug was placed before her. The smell of the tea was soothing, mint and chamomile. She cradled it between her hands, taking a moment to enjoy the warmth before looking up—and finding Niall Campbell staring right at her.

His striking features were no less appealing now she was sober. His sandy-colored hair framed his face in lazy waves and his keen eyes regarded her with interest. Mortification stole through her as she remembered how she’d kissed him. What had she been thinking?

The man seated opposite Niall, a handsome older gentleman with white hair and beard, offered her a sympathetic smile. “I’m Joseph Ramsay,” he introduced himself in a rich baritone. “An old friend of Niall’s family.”

“Nice to meet you, Joseph,” she said, glad of the distraction. “You’re Mrs Ramsay’s husband?”

“Call me Flora,” Mrs Ramsay said from where she was stirring a pot of porridge that hung on a metal tripod above an open fire. “And aye, he’s my husband. Forty years, for my sins.”

“And the best forty years of yer life, eh, my sweet?” Joseph said with a mischievous wink.

Flora rolled her eyes and didn’t reply to that.

Niall leaned back in his chair, studying Charlie appraisingly. “How are ye feeling this morning?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a double-decker bus,” she admitted sheepishly. She bit her lower lip, trying to suppress her rising blush at the memory of their kiss. “I’m really sorry about last night. I can barely remember how I ended up here.”

“That’s alright. Ye were quite... entertaining.”

Charlie’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment, but there was no malice in Niall’s words, only a teasing warmth. “I usually don’t...I mean, I’m not always...” She fumbled for words, her face growing hotter. “Well,” she finished with a shrug. “I’m glad I could provide some entertainment.”

Joseph chuckled at that, causing Flora to give him a light swat on the arm. Charlie sipped at her tea, pleased to find that it settled her stomach and eased her headache somewhat.

“Will ye be returning to yer inn this morning?” Niall asked. “If ye can remember where it is, of course?”

Charlie nodded then grimaced as the movement made her head pound. “Yes, I remember. I think. But I have an appointment to keep first.”

Niall’s gaze sharpened at this and, was she imagining it, or did Joseph and Flora suddenly look more attentive as well?

“Oh?” Niall said.

“I’ve got to meet my cousin at a bridal shop. That’s why I came up from Cardiff yesterday. We’re going for a fitting.”

Unfortunately, her hotel and the bridal shop were at opposite ends of the city which meant she didn’t have time to go to the hotel and change first. The last thing she wanted was to annoy her cousin by being late. No, the wash she’d had upstairs would have to do until she could have a proper shower.

She wouldn’t be the first person to turn up to a bridal fitting with a hangover. Would she?

“I need to go into town this morning as well,” Niall announced. “I will escort ye to this shop if ye wish.”

Charlie put down her cup, surprised by the offer. “Oh. Okay. That would be...nice.”

It would be more than nice, actually. And the fact that he seemed to want to stay in her company suggested he wasn’t offended that she’d kissed him. In fact, perhaps he might have liked it...

She squashed that thought before it could go any further. Niall’s lips curved into a small smile as though he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. He stood up, chair scraping against the worn wooden floor, and offered his hand.

“Shall we?”

Charlie hesitated for a second before placing her hand in his and allowing him to pull her up. Turning to Flora and Joseph, she said, “Thank you for your hospitality.”

With one last appreciative glance at the cozy kitchen and its friendly occupants, Charlie followed Niall out of the kitchen and along the hall to the front door.

Here Niall paused, looking back at Charlie with those arresting leaf-green eyes. He reached for his plaid that hung on a wooden peg by the door, wrapping it over his shirt and breeches without bothering to tie up his wavy hair as he had done the night before.

Something about this unpolished look—the loose hair, the casual drape of his plaid—gave him an air of an old-world highland laird that did something funny to Charlie’s insides.

And if the cocky smile that curled the corners of his mouth was any indication, she was pretty sure he knew exactly the effect he was having on her.

He lifted a long coat from a peg by the door and offered it her. She accepted it with a nod of thanks—she wasn’t sure where she’d left her own. The book shop? The ball?—and stepped out into the crisp morning air. The chill brushed against her face, taking the edge off her hangover and stirring her senses to life. The air was damp with dew, the sun still hiding behind the low-hanging clouds.

But as she stepped out into the street, she stopped dead. Last night, after she’d left the wedding reception, everything about the city had looked different. But last night she’d been drunk and she’d managed to convince herself that everything would be fine this morning.

It wasn’t.

This was not the Edinburgh she knew. Just like last night, there were no cars, no buses, no busy streets full of people. Instead, she saw rows of tall tenement buildings with cobbled streets out the front, with the odd carriage rolling by. She stared, her heartbeat quickening.

“Is everything all right?” Niall asked.

“What?” she said, jumping. “Fine. Just a little...disorientated.”

“Where is this tailor’s shop ye wish to visit?”

“Miller’s Row,”

Just get to the bridal shop , she told herself. Meet Ruby and then everything will be okay.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she laid her hand on Niall’s arm and they set off. The cobblestone streets, wet from the morning dew, shimmered under the dim light as they walked, reflecting the old stone buildings and their towering spires. What few shops there were had quaint signs dangling from wrought-iron brackets announcing their professions: ironmongery, haberdashery, wills and probate.

Charlie didn’t see a single coffee shop, fast-food restaurant or pizza place. What the bloody hell was happening?

As they walked, Niall exchanged greetings with the elegantly dressed men and women that passed them. They responded in kind, the women’s cheeks flushing a rosy pink as they curtsied. Glancing back, Charlie noticed that many of the women watched her and Niall walk away.

“They’re wondering who ye are,” Niall said in answer to her unspoken question. “And envying ye.”

Charlie glanced over at him to see that cocky smirk twisting his lips again. “Envying me? You really think a lot of yourself don’t you?” Wow. ‘Arrogant’ didn’t even cover it.

He shrugged. “Just being honest. I’m considered quite the eligible bachelor in these parts.”

Charlie’s brows rose. “Oh, is that so?”

He cocked his head as he looked at her. “If I remember rightly, ye seemed to think so yerself last night. Or did I dream that kiss?”

Did he have to mention that? She desperately tried to suppress the blush creeping up her cheeks but wasn’t sure she succeeded. “Yeah, well, we both know I had too much to drink last night,” she said defiantly.

“Ah, that must be it.”

There was faint amusement in his voice that made Charlie want to throttle him.

Niall turned off the street and led her down a winding alleyway between two stone houses, their ivy-covered walls seeming to lean together. She caught glimpses of private courtyards adorned with stone statues and overflowing flower pots through wrought-iron gates. A fat tabby cat sat washing its face on one such gate post, regarding them with lazy curiosity.

They stepped out of the alley into a wide thoroughfare, and Charlie was glad when Niall announced that they’d reached Miller’s Row. She dug out her phone and glanced at it, checking if she’d had any annoyed messages from Ruby. She hadn’t, but that was probably because she still couldn’t get a signal. According to the display, it was 9.15, so she was already fifteen minutes late. Damn.

What excuse could she come up with? Not the truth, that’s for sure. Sorry I’m late but I gate-crashed a wedding reception, got drunk, ended up in a part of town I didn’t know, and I think I might have taken a whack on the head because I’ve spent the morning trying to figure out if I’ve slipped into some kind of alternate reality.

Niall was staring intently at her phone, a strange expression on his face. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, she tucked the phone into the pocket of her dress.

“Well?” she said, gesturing around them. “Where is Miller’s Row?”

“Right here, lass,” Niall replied, indicating the curved street they were standing on.

Charlie looked around. The street was lined with tall tenement buildings crowded close together. None of them looked like bridal shops. A strange sense of unease filled Charlie’s stomach as she walked down the street until she reached number two—where the bridal shop ought to be.

Instead, she found what looked like an old-fashioned tailor’s. Its facade was a mix of dark wood and leaded windows with a sign hanging from a wrought-iron bracket overhead. The painted letters were faded and chipped but clearly spelled out ‘S. MacGregor: Tailor & Clothier.’

Confusion knitted her brows together. “Are you sure this is it?” she asked Niall.

“This is number two Miller’s Row,” he said with a shrug.

“But...but...This isn’t right. It’s supposed to be a bridal shop.”

“Bridal shop?” Niall echoed, a bemused smile playing on his lips. “Lass, this has been MacGregor’s Tailor for as long as I can remember.”

Charlie’s stomach sank. She peered through the leaded windows, willing the bolts of fabric and spools of thread to morph into satin gowns and veils caught in the morning light. They didn’t.

She turned away from the shop and tried to take a deep breath to steady herself but it didn’t help. Her heart pounded in her chest as if she’d just run a marathon. Was it possible she had gotten the address wrong? No, she’d written it down when Ruby gave it to her. And she’d also Googled the shop before coming here.

“But...but I saw this place online,” she said. “And it looked nothing like this.”

The cocky smile was gone and now Niall frowned with concern. “Lass, are ye all right? Ye seem a little...disorientated.”

Disorientated? That was an understatement.

The text message from Ruby had been clear: Bridal Bliss, 2 Miller’s Row, Edinburgh . But here she stood outside an old-fashioned tailor’s shop that Niall claimed had been here for ages.

Was she losing her mind?

Niall was watching her with concern etched on his features. “Look,” he began, taking a step closer. “Why dinna I take ye back to my townhouse? Flora can take care of ye until ye feel a little better.”

Charlie shook her head. She needed to find Ruby and explain what was happening. Or rather, try to make sense of what was happening herself before she started explaining anything to anyone else.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “I think I’ll just go back to my hotel and rest.”

Or find a phone and call Ruby. Or her Aunt. Or the police. Or perhaps she should take herself straight to the nearest hospital to check she hadn’t got concussion or something.

Niall gave her a long, appraising look before he nodded slowly. “If ye are sure...”

“I’m sure,” Charlie replied more firmly than she felt.

Niall seemed to consider this for a moment before he finally nodded. “Very well then. Good day, Charlotte Douglas.”

He inclined his head then turned and walked away down the street. Once he was out of sight, she sucked in a breath and tried to steady herself. She was alone in this strange version of the city and she had to figure out exactly where the heck she was.

She turned around and began walking, her mind whirling with possibilities. Maybe she did have the wrong address. Maybe Miller’s Row was a common street name and she had ended up on the wrong one.

But that didn’t explain Niall’s reaction to her phone, or how different everything looked, or why every single person she had come across was dressed as if they’d stepped out of a period drama.

She dug out her phone and glared at the screen, as if her annoyance might make it magically connect to a network. When it didn’t, she gave a little cry of frustration and began looking around for a payphone. Or a police officer. Heck, a traffic warden would do. Anyone dressed in modern clothing who could reassure her that this was actually still the world she knew.

The alternative was unthinkable.