Page 67 of Beloved Enemy
Panic surged through her as one of them moved in her direction. His heavy footsteps crunched the undergrowth, and Charlotte stifled a gasp, pushing herself away from the tree.Keeping low, she retraced her steps, moving as swiftly as she dared, her mind spinning.
The quiet of the night was suddenly shattered, replaced by the sudden clash of steel, several guttural shouts, and the rush of boots pounding against the forest floor.
Her chest tightened as she darted between trees, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She didn’t dare look back, her only thought to escape. She could barely see in the dark, the path unfamiliar and disorienting. She just needed to find somewhere safe—away from the noise, the men, away from—
Before she could finish the thought, an iron grip closed around her arm, jerking her back. A startled cry escaped her as she twisted, trying to wrench herself free, only to melt with relief when she saw who it was.
“Reid!” she gasped, breathless and wide-eyed.
His expression, however, did not mirror her relief. His face was a mask of fury, his teeth bared and his eyes blazing with violence.
“Bluidy hell,” he said through gritted teeth, his tone terrifying for the menace in it. His grip tightened, and his hard gaze scanned her face. “I kent it!Jesu, I bluidy kent ye were nae who ye said.”
“What? I—” Charlotte stammered, but she couldn’t form a coherent thought. The shock of being caught and his outrageous accusation, made words stick in her throat. “No!” she contested desperately, the full meaning of his indictment sinking in. “I—I was just—”
Before she could explain, Reid yanked her toward two hovering soldiers, a pair of grim-faced dark shadows. “Take her to the tower,” he ordered coldly, shoving her at the young men. “I’ll deal with her once the rest are found.”
“Wait! No, Reid, please—!” Charlotte’s protest fell on deaf ears as his men seized her roughly and pulled her away. Shetwisted to look back, heart pounding, but Reid had already turned, charging back into the fray to pursue the others.
She was left stumbling, half-dragged, toward the keep, dread pooling in her stomach.
The march to Kingswood seemed endless, especially under the weight of confusion and fear swirling in her chest. Charlotte stumbled along the uneven ground, her arms tightly gripped by each of the soldiers, whom she did not recognize and who said not a word. The thick woods around them slowly gave way to the familiar lane, the dense trees thinning as the village loomed ahead, bathed in shadows and silence.
Charlotte’s breath came in sharp bursts as they passed through the narrow lanes, the small cottages dark and sleeping. She strained her neck, casting a glance back, hoping to see Reid or some sign of what was happening, but all she saw was the darkness swallowing the path behind them.
“This is ridiculous,” she said to the two soldiers. “I only stumbled upon those men. I was trying to figure out who they were. I don’t know why—"
One of her captors hissed something in Gaelic, which promptly shut her up. Her English was obviously falling on deaf, non-English speaking ears.
As they moved beyond the village and up toward the castle, dread settled deeper in her gut. Under the cover of night, the towering keep looked more foreboding than ever. Its dark silhouette loomed over her like a prison fortress—as Reid intended it to be—jagged and intimidating against the cheerless sky.
They entered the keep through a side door, the wooden frame creaking as the soldiers pushed it open. She’d never ventured beyond the great hall, and now was escorted along narrow and low-ceiling corridors that were dimly lit by flickering torches, casting long, unsettling shadows on the stone walls. As one ofthe men led the way, Charlotte was propelled up a spiral stone staircase by a less than gentle poke to her back by the one behind her.
The stone stairs twisted tightly upward, the narrow steps making Charlotte’s ascent awkward and nerve-wracking. She tripped twice over the hem of her skirts, inviting the soldier behind her to give more impatient prods to her back, his gruff muttering in Gaelic adding to her rising anxiety. She clutched the plaid around her shoulders, trying to keep her footing on the cold, uneven steps.
At the top, they reached a heavy wooden door, and without ceremony, one of the soldiers wrenched it open. The creaking echoed through the circular stone room beyond. Rough hands pushed her inside, her sneakers scraping the stone floor as she stumbled to catch her balance. The air was damp and musty, the room bare except for a small, narrow bed and a barred window, which was so narrow the need for the bars escaped her.
The door slammed shut behind her with a finality that sent a jolt of panic through her, leaving her in complete darkness. Charlotte spun around, her breath quickening as she heard the bolt slide into place.
What the hell had just happened? she wondered about the last few minutes. That’s how fast it had all been.
I bluidy kent ye were nae who ye said.
Reid didn’t believe for a second that she had traveled in time. He never had.
When he’d said directly to her that he didn’t trust her, when she thought he was referring to what he perceived as flirting with Donald, had he actually been accusing her of a greater crime?
All along, before he’d kissed her and apparently after, he thought her...a spy?
A spy? A traitor? A villain?
The very idea was so ridiculous that despite her present fear, she burst out laughing.
Oh, this was priceless.
Her laughter faded as it dawned on her that, to someone like Reid—or really, to anyone in the fourteenth century—that assumption would seem far more plausible than the wildly unbelievable truth.
“I’ll never be able to convince him,” she moaned to herself in the darkness as desolation dropped her to her knees.
