Page 19 of Beloved Enemy
He watched her pluck nervously at the bark of the roots near her thigh, her green eyes shuttered from view. His regard was pulled again to the odd tunic she wore, which depicted what looked like a rabid possum, his attention drawn to how bright was the color of the fabric. Irritably, he began to pull his breacan off his shoulder and out from his belt, having to stand briefly to remove the plaid entirely. Reid bent and offered it to Charlotte.
“Put this on,” he commanded. “Might well as sound out our position with bugles and horns for how bright yer tunic is.”
Her green eyes snapped to his, and her gorgeous lips thinned before she retorted. “It wasn’t like I was planning on having to camouflage myself today. Next time, I’ll dress accordingly.”
Reid had some suspicion that if he removed his gaze from her, she’d have stuck her tongue out at him right then.
But she did take the breacan and open it up, wrapping it around her slim shoulders.
“Nae everything I say is a personal rebuke,” he announced, trying to soften his tone.
“Maybe not,” she allowed, sounding peevish, “but the way you say things certainly makes it feel that way.”
When he sat again, he did so a wee bit closer to her, but only because he was afforded a clearer view through the brush that surrounded them.
“This is way softer than it looks,” she remarked about the breacan. “And much warmer, thank you.”
She was then blessedly quiet for nearly two whole minutes.
He sat close enough for her to reach and touch him, which she then did, tapping lightly on the side of his arm.
“I have to pee,” she told him when he turned toward her.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he cursed silently, praying for patience. Facing the supposed trail again, he told her she’d have to wait. “And dinna ask how long,” he thought to add preemptively.
“I don’t know why or how I have to pee,” she elaborated. “It’s not like I was given anything to eat or drink.”
“Enough,” he said, trying not to growl. “Hush.”
A minute passed.
“Just so you know, I don’t normally talk this much,” Charlotte confessed, her voice trembling slightly. “But I’m really scared. If I’m forced to sit here in silence, my mind startscreating a million horrifying scenarios. I’m afraid I’ll go crazy if I’m left alone with my own thoughts. Or sink further into madness. That’s exactly how it feels right now.”
Reid felt a pang of guilt. Naturally, he couldn’t imagine the fear and confusion she must be experiencing, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t real. If it were true—and he wasn't entirely convinced it was—that she had indeed traveled through time, it must be terrifying beyond measure. Aye, beneath the bravado, beneath the spirited gaze and sometimes imperious talk, there was desperation in her eyes, and as now, a trembling in her voice. Despite his skepticism, he recognized the raw human vulnerability for what it was. Her incessant talking, her frantic need for reassurance, made sense. He felt a flicker of unexpected sympathy, realizing that, for her, this might surely seem a living nightmare.
“We only need to be quiet for a while,” he said, gentling his tone, “until this, here, is done.”
She nodded and ducked her face, buried up to her lips in the breacan. “All right,” she said, the words muffled by the wool.
And this time she didn’t speak for almost ten minutes. When next she spoke, she employed an actual whisper and not only a low voice. “Did you think I was lying as well? About the number of people who’d—”
Reid turned and pressed his hand over her mouth, silencing her mid-question.
“Shh,” he hissed, going still as she did—a new fright widening her eyes—as he listened intently.
He heard it distinctly now, the distant and muted but unmistakable sound of approaching riders. The warmth of her breath against his palm, combined with the soft texture of her lips, sent an unexpected jolt through him.
He kept his eyes locked on hers as they waited, half expecting she would question his motive or action, or struggle against him.He drew her close, putting his other hand on the back of her head.
“Riders coming,” he whispered.
Her eyes widened in alarm, but she nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Reid kept his hand in place for a few moments longer, ensuring she wouldn't make a sound. When he was certain she understood, he slowly removed his hand, giving her a warning look.
Charlotte bit her lip and her eyes darted left and right.
Without a sound, Reid shifted again to face the path, rising to his haunches. He felt Charlotte’s hand nervously attach to his belt and the back of his tunic. He brushed it away, not wanting to be hindered if he needed to spring.
The riders did not use what he’d believed was a sparse trail through the woods that was ten yards away, but were spread out considerably, some forward and some trailing, he realized, meaning that he and Charlotte or any of his concealed men might be discovered—certainly, one of the Nicholson horses would be seen—provoking a skirmish sooner than he wanted. In the shadows of the forest, he counted at least eight figures upon steeds walking through the trees. Not numbers that gave him concern, but for the uncertainty of woodland fighting, which was often chaotic, and for Charlotte’s presence, being responsible for her protection now.
