Page 51 of Beloved Enemy
His concern over this gave him some inkling of what Charlotte might be feeling, having been ripped from her life in her time.
But he couldn’t shake the thought. The Nicholsons whispered about Marcus, how he had vanished without a trace. If he pursued something with Charlotte, would he share that fate? Would he disappear as well?
Take her to the mountain, an inner voice instructed firmly.
As he sometimes did, he blindly reached for the strip of fabric on his belt, his fingers curling around the soft, faded material. Almost immediately, the familiar tug brought more than just old memories—it reignited a simmering distrust. Women were not to be trusted, a hard lesson learned from betrayal, one that had left its mark deeper than the scrap of cloth tied to his belt. The reminder came sharp and swift: a woman could turn his head, even weave warmth and affection around him, only to turn cold with deception. His gaze remained fixed on Charlotte as she grew smaller with distance, and he fought the pull of his feelings, telling himself it was a dangerous mistake to let his guard down again. His heart had been scorched by betrayal before; he'd be damned if he let another woman burn him alive.
Chapter Fourteen
Why’d he have to kiss her?
Leaving Kingswood—going to Ben Nevis with any joyful hope—would have been so much easier if only Reid hadn’t kissed her. She’d have gone with confidence and not even the slightest suggestion of dread.
If only he hadn’t kissed her.
If only she didn’t want him to kiss her again.
Well, I’m nuts, of course,she decided. To want—even in the smallest sense of the word—to stay here in this medieval, war-torn century simply because Reid Nicholson was fascinating and impossibly sexy, and because his kiss had seemed like some girlish dream come true. On the other hand, what did that say about her real life, her twenty-first century life, that she would even consider extending her stay here? Not much, obviously—but she knew that already. She’d yet to conceive of even one person who might miss her enough to realize her absence, not right away at least, though she should have been returned to the States by now. Sure, her friends would eventually wonder where she was, but would they be worried enough to report her missing? Charlotte had a sinking and sickening feeling that it wouldn’t be until school started and her absence was noted there—if she couldn’t get back by then—before she was officially reported as missing.
She gave some thought to returning home and what she would do with this fantastic information, that time-travel was possible. Almost immediately, she dismissed the idea of sharing her strange journey with anyone. No one would believe her; she’d be labeled a freak, would likely lose what few friends she had, would be ridiculed and persecuted for telling what was thetruth but was too preposterous for people to believe. And yet, to not share so astonishing a tale seemed somehow irresponsible.
But that was a worry meant for another day, so sheScarlett O’Hara-edit, as her grandmother used to say, for the heroine’s repeated practice of declaring that she’d worry about distressing thingstomorrow.
In the morning, Charlotte took first Lilias and then Thomas outside to use the bathroom and then fetched the water from the burn as had been her practice. She dressed in her own clothes, her leggings and sweatshirt, which thankfully had been washed on laundry day, and let Lilias comb out her hair after she’d braided the little girl’s fine blonde hair.
“Peculiar, it is,” Una said of Charlotte’s outfit, since she’d barely remarked upon it when Charlotte had first come to Kingswood.
“I know,” Charlotte said, her nerves on edge this morning. “It’s probably considered... I guessindecentwould be the word. But this is how we dress where I come from.”
They sat around the fire as they did every morning, sharing the pottage from the kettle and warm bannocks off the griddle. The bannocks, though bland and dense, were possibly her favorite food item that she’d eaten, the fourteenth century’s version of flatbread. They were hearty with a coarse texture from the ground grains but were made almost flavorful and soft by dipping them in the pottage.
She reminded Una that Reid would be coming for her, that she might be leaving today.
“Might be?” Una questioned.
“Well, yes,” Charlotte replied. “I really want to get home, but I’m not sure it will be possible.” To explain so vague an answer, she invented, “I expect a party to be waiting for me there at the mountain, but I’m not sure if um, they will show.”
“And if they dinna?”
Charlotte lifted and dropped her shoulders and grimaced at Una. “Then maybe you’ll be stuck with me longer. If you don’t mind, that is.”
It was a moment before Una responded, her reply preceded by her own shrug. “I dinna mind. Ye’ve been more help than a nuisance.”
Unable to help herself, Charlotte smiled. “That’s good to know.”
When she heard the unmistakable sound of horses coming down the lane, not galloping but maybe trotting a bit, Charlotte hugged the children tight, feeling strangely sad to leave them, Lilias in particular, and then embraced Una.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she said and then teased, “and if you’re lucky, you won’t see me again.”
“God go with ye, lass, either here or there.”
“Thank you, Una,” Charlotte responded just as a knock sounded at the door. “Oh, that’s my ride,” she said, grinning, even as the modern-day quip was lost on Una.
Pulling open the door showed Reid and behind him, in the lane, dozens of mounted men.
Reid’s expression was as stoic as ever until he noticed how she was dressed and he suddenly looked as if he’d bitten into something sour.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m all set.”
