Page 76 of Beloved Enemy
At length, the scent of fresh bread and broth brought her gaze to the tray laden with food, rousing her from her pitiful reverie. Listlessly, Charlotte rose and approached the tray, plopping down on the wooden floor next to it.
God, what she wouldn’t do for a cup of coffee, crossed her mind as she considered the sparse breakfast—one fat chunk of bread and a half-filled bowl of broth.
She’d eaten better at Una’s.
Oh, God. Una!
A wave of anxiety washed over her. What would Una think of her now? Would she believe the lies swirling around Kingswood? Charlotte could almost hear the whispers—a traitor, a conspirator—and her heart sank at the thought of those three innocent children. She couldn’t bear the idea of them being taught to hate her, to see her as a villain.
With a sigh, she took a small bite of the bread, forcing herself to swallow against the lump in her throat. It was difficult not to let despair consume her, certainly when she was fairly certain that Fiona would make sure everyone heard of her supposed crimes and her present imprisonment. No doubt, she’d take great delight bandying it all about Kingswood. Fiona, with her—
Charlotte froze, her jaw dropping, her thoughts spinning.
Fiona had known the exact location—under the old willow tree. How?
The truth hit her like a wave crashing on rocks.She knows. Fiona wasn’t just taunting her—she had some inside knowledge of that meeting. Likely, she’d come this morning to see what, if anything, Charlotte knew. But had she given herself away?
Charlotte’s pulse quickened even as she entertained some caution. It was entirely possible that Fiona had discussed the interrupted rendezvous with someone—her brother, perhaps. A sense of defeat washed over her as she realized Fiona had ample opportunity to hear about last night’s events. The fact that she knew about Charlotte’s imprisonment suggested she was aware of much more.
True, she was desperate to find any evidence that could point to someone else's guilt and clear her name, but Charlotte couldn’t shake the intense feeling that she was right about this, thatunder the old willow treewas simply too precise. Fiona’s knowledge of that detail felt too specific to be mere coincidence.
The food forgotten, Charlotte leapt to her feet and went to the door, pounding feverishly at the thick wood. She fisted her hands and banged them repeatedly against the door, her palms stinging from the impact. “Reid! Someone, please!” Her voice echoed through the empty tower, but silence met her calls as minutes dragged on until the sides of her hands nearly became numb. For a while, she continued to shout without banging,occasionally pausing to listen, to see if she could hear any response.
Above and beyond her certainty that Fiona might be involved in whatever plot was brewing, a cold dread coiled around Charlotte’s heart as she thought of Reid. If she, a woman innocent of the treachery he had accused her of, was locked away in this tower, it meant the real guilty parties were still lurking within the walls of Kingswood. And Reid, as the laird, would be their most likely target.
Even her twenty-first century brain could figure it out. She’d studied enough history to know of the power struggles in medieval times. It was all too easy to imagine a shadowy figure slipping through the halls, blade drawn, seeking to eliminate the threat Reid posed to their plans. The thought sent a chill racing down her spine.
She revived her efforts at the door, an image of Reid wounded, lying alone on the cold stone floor causing her to pound her fists with greater vigor. She needed to warn him.
Still, no one answered her call.
She screamed at the window, which sat in the wall about half a foot higher than she was tall. Though she was sure people outside could hear her, she couldn’t see to know. And no one came to the door to see about the ruckus she was making. Maybe they’d been instructed by Reid to ignore her. Or Fiona?
Frustration surged through her. She spun around the small, gray room, her heart racing as the walls seemed to close in. In desperation, Charlotte turned her focus to the bed, the only piece of furniture in the tower chamber, an old, rickety structure with a rough-hewn frame that might be just what she needed.
With scarcely a thought of what pleasure she’d known in that narrow cot last night, Charlotte raced to the bed and flung away the thin straw mattress, its content scattering across the floor. She yanked at the crude headboard, trying to dislocate it fromthe frame, to no avail. She gripped the wooden slats, straining to rip them off, with a similar lack of success. She stood back and kicked at the bed, but it only skittered a foot away from her. She bloodied her hands on the rough wood with her renewed efforts to dislodge even one piece of wood.
“Reid!” she shouted between her efforts, her voice hoarse and strained. “Anybody!”
Time dragged on, and beads of sweat trickled down her temples. She put on her sneakers and pushed the bed against the wall, its feet scraping against the floor. There, she climbed onto one of the slats, bracing herself against the wall before she tentatively jumped on it. The wood held and Charlotte hadn’t fallen so she did it again, grunting as she came down on the slat. It took three more tries before the wood splintered beneath her feet, which sent her flailing downward and landed her on the next closest slat, bruising her back. She groaned as she got to her feet and grabbed the broken piece, twisting and turning it until the end of it was broke from the side rail.
She took the piece directly to the window and banged it repeatedly against the bars, the noise deafening after a while. Again, she paused and waited. Nothing.
Charlotte tossed the fragment of wood out through the window, between the bars, listening to it clatter against the stones below. She returned to the bed and wrestled to free another piece and sent that through the window, same as the first. Once more, she banged it noisily against the bar before hurling it out the window. She did this again and again until all the slats had been broken, removed, and tossed into the courtyard. Her attempts to break the headboard or footboard proved useless, the wood of those pieces much thicker.
After what felt like an eternity, she paused, panting heavily, shaking from exertion, her palms crisscrossed with slivers, blisters, and blood. Exhausted, Charlotte leaned against the coldstone wall, despair threatening to swallow her whole. She slid down against the wall and drew her knees up to her chest, giving in to hopelessness.
Even if she had gotten Reid’s attention, it would likely come to naught. Reid wouldn’t listen to anything she had to say, let alone believe her suspicions about his own sister.
With her elbows on her knees, Charlotte dropped her forehead onto her palms but just as quickly raised her face as the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor outside.
She held her breath as the key was turned in the lock.
The door flew open with a loud crash, slamming against the stone wall. Reid stormed in, his face flushed with fury.
"What in God’s name are ye about?" he barked, his voice booming off the cold, bare walls of the chamber. His eyes, ablaze with rage, swept over the room—at the scattered remnants of the broken bed and the straw mattress, at the narrow window where bits of wood lay strewn on the floor.
Charlotte barely lifted her head. She was too drained, too battered, both inside and out, to care about his anger. Her hands, red and raw, fell limply into her lap as she dropped her knees to the floor.
