Page 77 of Beloved Enemy
“Did you—” she began but then had to stop and clear her throat, her voice scratchy from so much hollering earlier.
Reid strode closer, towering over her, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the floor. But when his gaze landed on her face, he suddenly stilled. His anger seemed to falter for a moment, then evaporated entirely.
"Christ," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper now, laced with something that resembled concern. He crouched down beside her, his expression changing from fury to something far more conflicted as he took in the sight of her slumped against the wall, exhausted and wounded. “Charlotte, what have ye done?” he demanded, though the sharpness in hisvoice had softened considerably. His hand hovered just over her forehead, as if he wanted to touch her but hesitated, possibly unsure of whether she would recoil.
“Did you speak to Fiona about me? About this?” She asked.
His scowl increased.
“Did you or anyone else talk to Fiona about what happened last night?” Charlotte repeated when he did not answer.
“Bluidy hell, Charlotte, why would ye—”
“Did you?” Charlotte persisted with as much energy as she could summon at the moment, fisting her hands.
“I dinna,” he snapped impatiently at her. “Now tell me why ye’ve sliced yer hands, and why ye’ve bluid on yer cheek—”
“Never mind that,” she said in regard to her red-smeared hands, which had drawn his scrutiny. “Might she have talked to someone else about last night?”
“Who?”
“Fiona,” Charlotte repeated irritably. “Reid, would your sister have spoken to anyone about the particulars of last night? Like, where the meeting took place?”
“Why do ye care what Fiona might—”
“Oh, my God!” Charlotte snapped. “Just answer the question.”
“How the bluidy hell should I ken?” He rose to his full height, looming over her, his concern diminished by her questions. “I asked her to instruct that a tray should be served—Charlotte, why would—”
Charlotte persevered. “Did yousayto her that you discovered a meeting of conspiratorsunder the old willow?”
“I said naught to her but that ye had been detained and required sustenance. Ye are trying my patience, Charlotte,” he said, a warning in his tone.
Invigorated by desperation, Charlotte scoffed and scrambled to her feet, grimacing as her injured hands pressed against thefloor for leverage. "You have no patience, Reid—let’s not pretend it was here in the first place to be extinguished. But you need to listen to me." She took a step closer, her fingers trembling as they clutched at his tunic. "You are in danger."
Reid’s expression darkened, becoming thunderous. His jaw was tight, and his lips thinned into a grim line. His eyes were now hazel pools of suspicion and fury. He grabbed her wrists, trying to pry her hands away.
But Charlotte was relentless, clinging tighter, determined to force him to hear her. Her voice rose in urgency. "I’m sorry to say this, but you need to question Fiona. And Lachlan, for that matter. Fiona asked me what I was doingunder the old willow treelast night—how could she possibly know that, Reid? You said there was only one willow in all of Kingswood.”
He tugged harder at her wrists, his muscles taut with anger, but Charlotte refused to let go.
“And several days ago,” she continued breathlessly, "I saw Fiona with Lachlan. They were out in the woods, hugging, maybe even kissing. I was too far away to see clearly, but they acted strange when they realized I was there. Why-why are you looking at me like that?"
Reid’s face twisted, his eyes narrowing. His silence stretched, heavy and condemning, while his jaw flexed, nostrils flaring as if trying to contain the rage building inside him. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy with condemnation. "Jesu, I was almost... willing to believe ye were innocent about last night, as improbable as it seemed."
Charlotte’s heart sank. Her fingers loosened, releasing the coarse fabric of his shirt. She could feel the weight of his distrust crushing down on her. He wasn’t going to believe her. Her breath caught as she lifted her head, meeting his hard gaze, searching for any flicker of understanding. But all she saw was the same damning suspicion he’d had from the beginning.
"Anyone could have told Fiona about the willow," he growled, dismissing her entirely. His words were like ice, and his grip on her wrists finally slackened.
"But humor me, Reid," she pleaded, her voice cracking. "Find out who told her,ifanyone did. Just—"
He cut her off, a snarl curling his lip. "I defended ye to Tavish. I was ready to overlook what ye did. And now, ye try to cast doubt on another—on my own sister—just to shift the blame."
Charlotte’s heart twisted in pain as he hissed his words. "No!" she cried, tears spilling freely now. "Reid, I’m not lying. I wouldn’t—" Her voice trembled as she lifted her hands again, displaying the torn skin, the blood, the proof of her desperation. "I didn’t do this for fun or simply to irritate you. I did it to get your attention. I had to warn you,” she whimpered, “before something happened to you.”
His expression hardened even further, his eyes cold, accusing her now of manipulation, she imagined.
He wasn’t moved. He wasn’t listening.
