Page 75 of Beloved Enemy
"I ken men who lie, as do ye," Reid continued, his voice low and measured. "Women as well. I’ve seen it in their eyes, heard the way they twist their words. Charlotte’s nae guilty of this." He shook his head, feeling the conviction grow. "There’s something bigger here, and it does nae involve her."
Tavish, however, wasn’t ready to relent. “Ye dinna see the falseness in Elspeth,” he dared, “and it was right in front of ye.”
Reid stiffened, even as he understood the charge was not unreasonable. But as the memory of Elspeth’s betrayal flickered through his mind, he recognized the stark difference. “Aye, I dinna see Elspeth’s deception,” he admitted, his voice low and measured. “But that’s because I dinna care enough to look.”
Tavish persisted. “She’s a danger, Reid. Ye’re soft on her, and that’s going to get us all killed. Ye canna afford to be soft, nae now." His voice was firm, almost accusatory. "If she’s part of this, ye need to break her, get answers."
"What exactly are you suggesting, Tavish?"
Tavish shrugged, his tone becoming harder, more pragmatic. "Ye ken what I'm suggesting. She should be interrogated—and nae by ye. By someone nae tangled up in whatever mess ye’vemade between ye and her. There are ways to get answers, Reid. And we canna afford to be squeamish about it, nae with lives on the line."
Reid’s grip tightened on the edge of the chair. His entire body bristled at the implication. "Tavish," he growled, low and dangerous, "if you’re suggesting we threaten or harm her in any way, you’re crossing a line."
Tavish raised a brow, unflinching. "'Tis nae the time to be thinking with yer pecker. She might be working with our enemies, and ye’re letting yer feelings blind ye. We need to ken what she does, and if she’s hiding something—”
“Nae,” Reid cut him off. "I will nae let anyone lay a hand on her. Ye want answers and so do I. But we’ll get them another way. Charlotte is nae to be harmed."
Tavish shook his head, clearly frustrated, but he didn't press further. "Ye’re playing a dangerous game. If ye're wrong, it'll cost us all. Dinna forget that."
Reid's eyes darkened, and for a moment, a silence stretched between them. He could feel the doubt in Tavish’s words, but he wouldn’t bend, locked onto his sudden conviction.
"I ken the stakes," Reid finally replied, his voice like steel. "And I ken Charlotte is innocent."
Tavish stared at him a moment longer, then gave a curt nod, clearly displeased, before he pivoted on his heel and strode from the hall.
Chapter Twenty-One
A key scraped against the lock, metal on metal, the sound jarring Charlotte from her restless thoughts. She sat up on the cold bed, beyond shocked to see Fiona enter the chamber with two Nicholson soldiers flanking her and a kitchen woman carrying a tray of food. Though she’d dressed after Reid had departed earlier, she was still barefoot, her sneakers tucked under the bed.
The sight of the soldiers made Charlotte’s stomach churn. The scene struck Charlotte as more hostile than hospitable, like she was some kind of dangerous criminal under guard. She wondered if Reid had suggested the soldiers be present to protect his sister. The thought twisted her insides—did he really believe she could harm anyone?
The short and squat kitchen woman placed the tray on the floor at the end of the bed and swiftly exited the room, her head bowed as though having no wish to make eye contact with the prisoner. The soldiers remained at their posts just inside the door, silent and watchful protectors, while Fiona moved gracefully into the room, her lips curled into a half-smirk.
Charlotte’s gaze fixated on the soldiers for a moment. Their chests were thrust forward as if to make themselves larger, their rigid stance and puffed-up posturing radiating a sense of inflated ego, as if their very presence alone would ward off any threat, even from a helpless prisoner like Charlotte.
“Well,” Fiona said, her voice dripping with superiority, drawing Charlotte’s gaze, “look at the great conspirator now.” Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Caged like the criminal you are."
Charlotte felt her pulse quicken, her chest tightening. “I am not a conspirator,” she said, trying to keep her voice steadydespite the frustration simmering inside her. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a cold smile. “Is that so? Then how can ye explain your presence in the clearing under the auld willow tree?” Fiona stepped closer, her gaze pinning Charlotte where she sat. “Caught red-handed, skulking in the woods. 'Tis difficult to imagine an innocent explanation for that, would ye nae say?”
Believing even an indisputable defense would not sway Fiona, Charlotte remained silent.
“I dinna trust ye, nae from the moment ye arrived,” Fiona continued. “Something was off about ye, I kent—come from nowhere, nae kin to speak of, nae history, and suddenly my brother canna see sense. It was clear to me at least that ye were hiding something. And now we ken what."
Charlotte swallowed, helplessness swirling in her chest, which quickly hardened into anger. "So you’re just here to goad me,” she guessed, her voice shaking despite herself.
Fiona’s smile widened, cold and victorious, her lips curling into a sneer that seemed to drain the last vestige of youth from her face. She looked her age now—no, older, Charlotte thought with a flicker of pity she could hardly suppress. Her eyes were dull, framed by dark circles, the deep creases around them etched by years of bitterness. There was no trace of kindness or compassion in that gaze, only the cold, calculating malice of a woman who reveled in the suffering of others. Charlotte realized just how deeply meanness had hollowed her. Her beauty—if she’d ever had it or what was assumed sometimes across the distance of the hall in the supper hour—was long gone, consumed by the corrosive nature of spite.
"Mayhap I am,” Fiona allowed. “Or mayhap I aim to remind ye that I saw through ye at the start. I kent what ye were after, and I warned ye, dinna I?” She clapped her hands together at herwaist and said with false brightness, “Luckily, everything comes to light eventually.”
She turned toward the door, pausing to cast one last disdainful glance over her shoulder. “The laird was content to let ye starve, to leave ye to rot, but I persuaded him to show mercy,” she said with no small amount of supremacy. “It’d be a shame if ye perished before the hangman gets his due," she added with a nasty smirk before sweeping out of the room, the guards following and closing the door behind her with a resounding thud.
Charlotte’s mouth twisted.
What a bitch.
She remained still, her gaze fixed on the door, wondering why Fiona harbored such animosity toward her. Twice now, Fiona had sought her out—first to warn her away from Reid, and now to gloat over her imprisonment, smugly assuming her guilt. What drove Fiona's need to see her as an enemy? Charlotte couldn’t fathom why she’d become the focus of such spite.
