Page 64 of Beloved Enemy
“I was checking Una’s traps,” Charlotte answered easily—the truth was easy to convey. She pointed to the left, where sat an empty iron snare, chained to a thin oak sapling.
“Hmm,” was Fiona’s suspicious response, which Charlotte found amusing.
Unable to entirely hide her grin, Charlotte said briefly, “I’ll leave you to it, the hunt for your mare.”
Skirting around the pair, bad actors both of them, Charlotte let her smile expand, wondering if they met in secret because they feared Reid’s reaction to their romance.
Charlotte figuratively smacked her forehead.
Holy shit. Fiona was engaged to someone else, Charlotte just recalled. No wonder she and Lachlan had to sneak around.Charlotte expected that in this time, the laird’s sister was expected to wed for power, connections, and wealth, which would undoubtedly exclude Lachlan, a barber-surgeon-slash-soldier, from the list of possibilities. Reid had already decided upon a match for his sister. Oh, boy. Charlotte saw trouble on the horizon—and frankly she wanted no part of it. It wasn’t her business. She wouldn’t say a word about what she’d seen moments ago. Especially since she was fairly certain that she saw them embrace, but she was far enough away that she wasn’t one hundred percent sure.
Leave it alone, Charlotte. None of your business.
And so she did, putting the entire episode from her mind.
None of the traps proved fruitful, each one being empty, so Charlotte retraced her steps, returning to the burn to finally collect the water. From there, the least favorite part of her day began—the long trek back to Una’s cottage with the heavy pails in each hand. Usually she was forced to pause often, setting the buckets down to rest her aching arms. Sometimes she tried to make a game of it. How much further could she go today before needing a break?
She had barely started her descent downhill when she heard footsteps crunching through the underbrush behind her. Turning, Charlotte saw one of the Nicholson soldiers approaching, a young man with a light, hesitant smile. He looked barely older than herself, with a mop of brown hair and a nervous energy about him. He raised a hand in greeting as he came closer. Though it wasn’t unusual to run into people near the burn, she rarely encountered any soldiers from the Nicholson army here.
“Good day to ye, mistress,” he said, stopping a few paces away. His eyes dropped to the buckets, then flicked back up to her face. “They look a bit heavy for ye. I’ll carry them.”
Charlotte blinked, caught off guard by the offer but grateful all the same. She set down the buckets and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “Oh, thank you. I won’t say no to that,” she replied with a small laugh, enjoying the relief in her muscles. “Donald, right?” She asked, hoping she recalled his name correctly.
“Aye,” he said, his eyes and smile widening, as if pleased that she remembered him. “And ye are Charlotte, as everyone kens.”
“Nice to meet you,” Charlotte said. “Officially, I guess.” She’d made a habit of smiling at people she ran into or passed by during the day. Even if they didn’t speak, she liked to acknowledge their presence, and knew that she’d seen Donald before, in the bailey of the keep and sometimes at supper.
The soldier took the buckets in each hand, effortlessly balancing the weight of both. She fell into step beside him as they continued down the slope.
“What has you up in the woods this early in the morning?” Charlotte asked, filling the silence.
“Chasing one of my mam’s ewes,” Donald replied, not yet breathless from his exertions. “Dratted thing runs off almost every other day. There’s nae pen nor collar she canna escape.”
Charlotte grinned. “Seems there’s a lot of escapees running through these woods,” she drawled, thinking of Fiona’s supposedly lost mare.
“What’s that?” Donald inquired.
“Oh, nothing. Don’t mind me,” Charlotte evaded, not intending to bandy about what she was sure was Fiona and Lachlan’s rendezvous.
For a few moments, they walked in silence, the only sounds being the rustle of the trees and the faint sloshing of water in the pails. Then, possibly more unnerved by the silence than Charlotte, the soldier cleared his throat. “So... you’re still here, then,” he remarked, the words coming out almost too casually.
Charlotte glanced at him, catching the faint uncertainty in his voice. “Still here?” she echoed.
He nodded, his smile a bit too tight, as if he hadn’t meant to sound so direct. “Aye, I just... I mean, most folks thought ye’d be on yer way by now.”
Charlotte felt a flicker of amusement but also wondered what he was getting at. Was he just making small talk? “Yep, I’m still here,” she said lightly. She didn’t recall that Donald had been part of the group that had traveled to Ben Nevis the other day. “Are there people hoping Idoleave?” She asked a bit self-consciously.
The soldier chuckled nervously, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Nae, mistress. Nae at all. Some of the lads were wondering if... ye might be looking—hoping, mayhap—to stay longer.”
Charlotte stiffened a bit, hoping he wasn’t referring to parties interested in courting her. She thought she’d settled that issue. She smiled politely but didn’t commit to anything in her answer. “I’m not sure what my plans are just yet,” she said, glancing toward the path ahead. “But I suppose time will tell.”
He gave a sheepish nod, and said only, “Aye, like as nae.”
They continued the rest of the way in companionable conversation, Donald trying to explain a game played by the soldiers, at which he was doing a very poor job.
“But there’s a ball involved,” Charlotte tried to clarify.
“Aye, mistress,” Donald confirmed, brightening for a moment. “But the ball canna touch the ground, except when it does, and—" he trailed off again, clearly flustered. “Och, I’m tellin’ it all wrong.”
