Page 44 of Beloved Enemy
The grass crunched underfoot as they ventured into the yard and beyond, into the trees, where Charlotte and Lilias took care of their morning business.
When they were done, Charlotte paused to connect the frog closure of Lilias’s tiny, threadbare cloak against the morning chill before she collected the two empty buckets from the back of the house and with Lilias trudging along with her as she normally did, made her way to the mountain burn to fetch water. The chill of the water was more frigid than refreshing as she filled the wooden pails, but she convinced Lilias to wash her face and gargle and rinse her teeth as Charlotte did.
Carrying the full pails back to the cottage, Charlotte said good morning to Una, who was awake and feeding the baby while still in bed. Charlotte emptied half of one bucket into the basin near the ewer on the small table near the bed and set the other down near the small fire, where some of it would be used in the kettle and some for washing the very basic, rough bowls and spoons.
“Did you sleep well?” She asked Una, approaching the bed, where Thomas was sitting beside his mother, completely absorbed in Effie, making faces at her and murmuring Gaelic to her in his sweet little voice.
“Sure, and that was nae until ye came in,” Una remarked, sounding less irritated than she had the previous night. “Laird brought ye home, did he?”
“He did,” Charlotte replied, lifting Thomas, who had grown bored with the baby and was now staring curiously at her. “I assume it was you who alerted him that I’d gone missing,” she added, glancing at Una.
“'Twas nae me,” Una said, shaking her head against the pillow. “'Twas the laird hisself who came looking for ye. Said ye’d wandered off, and his search, up until then—that was in the afternoon—had nae proved fruitful.”
“Oh,” Charlotte said, surprised. “So he...” She paused, pressing her fingers to her lips, another wave of guilt washing over her. “He must have been searching for quite a while.”
Guilt mixed with a more unexpected emotion, one that unsettled her. Reid had been searching for her without any prompting, seemingly concerned for her well-being? This information shifted something in her perception of him, though she wasn’t sure what to make of it, or if it changed anything, given his surliness after he’d kissed her, his naming it a mistake. Still, she had cause to wonder if there was more beneath his gruff exterior than she’d initially thought.
Dismissing it, meaning to devote herself to Una and her children today as she had not yesterday, Charlotte took Thomas outside now and upon her return, she busied herself with tidying up the cottage. She swept the floor, dusted the few surfaces with a wet rag, and set the table for breakfast, making an effort to ensure everything was in order when Una rose from bed.
They breakfasted quietly, as usual, most of Charlotte and Una’s attention focused on coaxing the children to eat without getting distracted. The regular clatter of spoons against bowls was the only sound until a sudden knock at the door made Charlotte jump slightly. Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of surprise and anticipation, assuming it might be Reid coming to check on her, perhaps making sure she hadn’t wandered off again.
She stood up and smoothed her dress before opening the door. But instead of Reid, a young woman stood there, her eyes bright with curiosity and a tight smile playing on her lips.
Charlotte recognized her as Fiona, Reid’s sister, and decided she was much prettier in the great hall, at the distance from where Charlotte usually sat for supper. Her long chestnut hair, a shade lighter than Reid's, was split into two braids—plaits, Una called them—which fell over her slim shoulders and should have made her appear younger, though they did not. Charlotte guessed her to be in her late twenties, a few years older than herself. Unlike her brother's hazel eyes, Fiona's were a rich, deep brown, and filled with not one ounce of warmth.
She wore a simple but well-made woolen dress in a deep forest green, the fabric heavy enough to ward off the Highland chill. The dress was cinched at the waist with a leather belt, and a delicate plaid shawl, matching the muted colors of her clan, was draped over her shoulders. Around her neck, a small silver brooch fastened the shawl in place, and the hint of a linenunderdress peeked out at the neckline and cuffs, adding a touch of softness to her overall appearance.
“Oh, guid day!” the woman exclaimed, seemingly surprised to find the door opened so quickly. While her tone was light, she wore a bit of a pinched expression, almost as if she didn’t want to be here. She spoke a smattering of Gaelic words that Charlotte did not understand, but which ended with, “—Fiona Nicholson,” and a courteous dip of her head so that Charlotte understood she was introducing herself.
“Charlotte O’Rourke,” she returned in kind and bobbed her head as well. “It’s nice to meet you.”
It was very early for social calls, Charlotte thought, guessing it wasn’t yet seven in the morning. But then she hadn’t any idea about social norms and customs in this century in Scotland.
Fiona peered beyond Charlotte and waved her hand to Una—whose quizzical frown suggested seven a.m. visitors were not normal. Again, Fiona spoke in her native language, saying something to Una and waving a dismissive hand at her. And then she stammered and stumbled over her English, saying eventually to Charlotte, “I’ve seen ye about the last few days, but supposed it was time we met proper-like.”
She paused and subjected Charlotte to a head-to-toe perusal, which was neither offensive nor teeming with good will; her brow rose when her gaze settled on the breacan Charlotte wore, possibly wondering if it actually belonged to her brother.
Fiona showed another forced smile when she next met Charlotte’s gaze. “Aye, I was determined to meet ye, and more so after yesterday, after hearing my brother was out searching for ye for hours, long into the night.” She paused and raised a brow now at Charlotte, seeming to expect either some rebuttal or an explanation. Before Charlotte might have done so, Fiona Nicholson leaned in slightly, her eyes sparkling with purpose as she admitted, “I confess to a rabid curiosity about the womanwho managed to compel my hard-nose brother to commit to such a quest and for so long.”
Charlotte blinked, momentarily taken aback by Fiona’s energy and her plain speaking, and by what she sensed was a conflicting temperament—aiming for friendliness that might not be her usual character—but she managed a smile anyway and recalled her manners. “Won’t you come in?” she invited, stepping aside to let Fiona enter, already sensing that this was going to be an interesting conversation.
The young woman’s eyes skimmed over the contents of the house, including Una and her kids sitting on the floor near the fire, and swiftly declined.
“No, no, I should nae impose,” she said and suggested, “but will ye step outside with me for a while?”
“Oh, I...I would love to, and maybe later I can,” Charlotte demurred, “but I want to be available to Una today—”
“Go on, then,” Una called out, easily having overheard. “Nae anything that needs doing anon.”
Charlotte faced her host. “Are you sure you don’t mind, Una?”
“Of course, she does nae,” Fiona answered. “I promise I willna keep ye away too long.”
Resigned that there was no avoiding it, Charlotte smiled tightly at Una, vowing, “I won’t be long,” before following Fiona as she retreated from the door.
She caught up with her just where the walkway met the lane, where Fiona turned and waited for her.
“How wretched I am to nae have called sooner,” Fiona said as they walked side by side along the rough road in the village, which was just stirring to life, “and because I ken so little about ye.”
