Page 21 of Beloved Enemy
Charlotte shook her head and steadied her gaze on him, confessing in a small voice, “I have no idea what is happening or...or why. And I know it makes absolutely no sense, but I feel less scared when I’m with you.”
Chapter Five
She was exhausted. And riding a horse, even having nothing to do but sit in Reid’s arms, wasn’t relaxing, and Charlotte was thrilled when he announced they would stop for the night rather than pushing toward his home, Kingswood.
She just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep. Forever. Or maybe sleep soundly and wake to find it had all been one long, continuous, excruciating dream.
They’d ridden for about an hour, which Charlotte thought might have seen them about five miles removed from those bad guys—what remained of them—and that fight and more dead bodies. It wasn’t totally dark but the grayness surrounding them as they meandered over hill and glen and through another forest was eerie, and Charlotte was thankful for Reid’s presence and that of his men. She did feel safer, certainly much safer than she had last night in the company of those reivers. Only their fear of her had protected her then, but oh, what an agonizing night she’d spent, tied to that tree, literally shivering all night long, tortured by confusion. She had to assume at least two of those things—tied to a tree and freezing—would not plague her tonight. The confusion was still there, but different now, trying to grapple with the preposterous idea that she had actually traveled through time, and of course, there remained a fright, wondering how—if!—she would ever get back home, to her modern-day life.
Reid had very kindly allowed her to keep the plaid blanket and selfishly, Charlotte knew she wasn’t going to be offering to return it anytime soon. The heat from his body helped to warm her now but she knew when they dismounted, she would need the heavy wool to drive away the cold overnight. Just in the last quarter hour, she’d begun to see her breath in front of her.
Though she’d been terrified when Reid had left her by that tree and had gone in pursuit of the reivers earlier, she had wisely used that time to relieve herself, not wanting to do so when he or any other was anywhere near her. How mortifying.
But then the cold and the lack of a proper bathroom were the least of her problems, she knew.
It was thirteen hundred and two, according to Reid. Friggin’ thirteen hundred and two. How was it possible? Why, oh why, hadn’t she smiled politely at the old woman in the market and kept right on walking, never having laid eyes on the stupid necklace?
No sooner had she begun to fret again over her circumstance than Reid stopped the horse.
“We’ll make camp here,” he said.
Charlotte glanced around, wondering how he decided this was where they would spend the night. They were deep inside a forest, the darkness overwhelming, with the canopy of towering trees blocking out the hazy moonlight. She saw only a small clearing surrounded by thick underbrush, which seemed both isolated and creepy. The sounds of rustling leaves and distant animal calls added to the eerie atmosphere.
As if he read her mind, Reid said as he dismounted, “'Tis far away from any trail, safe enough to light a fire, which will pierce the darkness.”
Pulling her hands from inside the blanket, she put them on Reid’s broad shoulders as he helped her off the horse, and then quickly caught the blanket before it would have fallen from her shoulders. Gathering the wool snugly around her, she squinted into the gloom as Reid led the horse away, and then marveled at how disciplined and efficient all the Nicholson men were. No orders had been given, except that they would be camping here, and yet the men all seemed so busy. Horses were unburdened of their saddles and gear and led away, to where Charlotte couldnot see. A few men collected firewood from the forest floor while others set up tents and shelters, with canvas tarps, rope, and stakes. She watched as half a dozen men met and conferred and then broke off, each moving to different points of the camp. Lookouts? Or some sort of perimeter guard? A young man, who couldn’t have been more than eighteen, skillfully started a fire, the spark catching quickly despite the pervading dampness of the woods. Soon, a welcoming gold light flickered around the camp. Two more men crouched near the fire, rifling inside jute bags and setting out what looked like porcelain crocks.
Biting her lip, Charlotte wondered what she should be doing. She’d never camped a day in her life, had no idea about outdoorsy things—except that she hated bugs and preferred the comfort of her bed to the hard ground. But then certainly the hard ground was preferrable to a tree trunk. She looked around, feeling a bit lost and out of place amid the busy activity of Reid’s men but did move toward the fire, drawn by the promise of warmth.
Reid returned just as Charlotte reached the fire, carrying a hefty log over his shoulder. It was obviously deadwood, about ten inches in diameter and four feet long. He handled it so casually that Charlotte wondered if it might be hollow, much lighter than it appeared. However, when he dropped it to the ground, it landed with a weighty thud, bouncing only once.
Reid rolled it with his foot until it settled a few feet from the fire. “Go ahead,” he said, gesturing to the log. “Sit down.”
Not about to refuse a front-row seat near the heat, Charlotte stepped forward, using the flapping end of her blanket to dust off what looked like moss and gauzy spiderwebs from the log. She didn’t ask if he had checked it for spiders, grateful for his thoughtfulness.
Reid went off again and slowly, one by one, men began to congregate around the fire, some laying out bedrolls, givingCharlotte pause, wondering where she might sleep. The jute bag was opened, men digging in, revealing that it contained chunks of bread. Another smaller bag was withdrawn and opened to reveal a horde of linen-wrapped cheese, which was passed around. The crocks were shared as well, men filling their own flasks with what a dark brown liquid.
She stared longingly at the jute bag, her stomach grumbling with hope, though she was too afraid to ask for even a small piece.
Though there was plenty of space on the log for one more, no one sat next to her. They conversed quietly with each other or in small groups, but none of the conversation was directed at her or made near enough to include her. And they spoke in their own language, which by now she’d decided must be either Scottish or Gaelic, presumably an ancient form, which had her feeling particularly disconnected. Again, or still.
Reid approached once more, his hair and face damp, apparently scrubbed clean, and without looking at her, he took a seat beside her on the log and uttered two syllables in that unknown language as he flicked his fingers in agive it herefashion, which saw the jute bag being passed round the fire toward him. He dug into the now lighter sack and offered a large chunk of crusty bread to Charlotte.
Quickly, she unfolded her hand from the blanket to accept it and then needed her other hand to claim the small brick of hard cheese he offered her. She watched as he took twice that amount for himself and then tossed the bag down a bit away from the fire.
“Thank you,” she murmured, lifting the bread and nibbling at it. It was too hard and stiff to sink her teeth into it, and she didn’t want to appear an animal, gnawing heartily at it.
Conversation continued, with Charlotte noticing that aside from catching a few stares here and there, she was largely ignored—for which she was thankful.
“Is there water nearby?” She asked quietly of Reid.
He was large enough, taking up more than half the log space, that her shoulder brushed against his arm.
“Aye, a wee burn about fifteen yards out.”
“I’d like to wash my face, too,” she said.
“Eat first,” he suggested. “Rest a while.” He sat with his legs spread wide, his elbows upon his knees, the width of his back available to her scrutiny if she glanced to the left. It was broad and muscular and somewhat riveting, despite her exhaustion.
