Page 27 of Beloved Enemy
Una’s gaze shifted again to Charlotte, who remained in the saddle, then back to Reid.
“English?” She asked, possibly considering Charlotte’s unusual garb.
“She sounds it,” Reid allowed. “I would bring nae trouble to yer door, Una,” he informed her. “I can have some garments sent down from the keep as she’s...she met with some trouble and has nae belongings.”
Though she looked and remained skeptical, Una nodded slowly, her mouth thinned a bit. “Aye, laird. Another pair of hands would be helpful, even if only temporary.”
“Ye have my thanks, Una,” Reid said. He did not inform her that he hadn’t any idea that Charlotte could or would actually be useful, but he hoped this would be the case.
Returning to his horse where Charlotte sat, he lifted his hands to bring her down from the saddle.
“Who is she?” Charlotte asked, close to his ear as she was lowered.
“I’ll introduce ye,” he said and indicated with his hand that she should precede him up the small pathway toward the door, where Una and her bairns now waited.
Una’s gaze widened as she took in Charlotte’s costume.
“Una, this is Charlotte O’Rourke, a guest of the Nicholsons,” he said. “Charlotte, meet Una and her weans.”
While Charlotte smiled hesitantly at Una and uttered a small greeting, Una only inclined her head.
“Charlotte dinna speak our tongue,” he informed Una and then said to Charlotte. “I ken ye might want to be kept busy while ye’re here. Una would be pleased to have some help.”
“Oh,” said Charlotte, possibly just now realizing that Reid meant for her to stay with Una. “Oh, of course. Sure, I’d love to.” She gave a broader smile to Una, though Reid judged her smile falsely wide, since it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Una remained tight-lipped, her eyes narrowed upon Charlotte’s black trews, while Charlotte addressed Reid.
“Well, thanks for...everything,” she said, her smile faltering while a blush stained her cheeks. “You won’t forget, though, will you, about returning to Ben Nevis soon?”
“I’ll nae forget, lass,” he assured her.
With a nod at both the women, he pivoted on his heel and strode to his horse.
“Come along, then,” he heard Una say. “Might as well start by dressing ye properly.”
After he climbed into the saddle, Reid spared a glance at the stoop of the cottage. Una had already turned and was leading her bairns inside. Charlotte followed more haltingly, and sent a glance over her shoulder, meeting Reid’s gaze briefly. Her smile was gone.
Wrenching his gaze away, he clucked at his steed to move, determined that the problem of Charlotte O’Rourke was solved for now, and until he did return her to Ben Nevis.
Riding toward the keep, he tried to shake off the gnawing unease that had settled in his chest, but the guilt he felt for having abandoned her so swiftly did not lessen.
Chapter Seven
Charlotte’s apartment in Winter Garden, Florida, was a new build. It was light and airy, the ceilings high and the walls either white or a soft, blue-ish gray. There were plenty of windows and a small balcony, which she’d decorated with furniture and plants and tiny, strung lights. She loved natural light or being out in the sun, always had. On her new teacher salary, it was a bit more than she could afford, but she was pretty good at budgeting, and she’d fallen in love with the space and light, and the amenities of the complex, including the pool and gym, appreciating that it was only a five minute drive to the school where she taught.
One of the things that she loved most about her apartment was that the kitchen had been completely white—cupboards, walls, counters, floor. This, of course, had seemed stark and sterile when she’d visited the vacant model, but she’d viewed it as a blank canvas, and had been thrilled that she could introduce her own color choices, which she had in rugs, towels, curtains, and small appliances. She loved her now sunny yellow kitchen.
Una’s kitchen, by comparison, was a small fire in the middle of her cottage, its constant flames the only light source in the house, and a table that served as prep counter, dining room, living room, and catch-all.
The entire cottage was about as depressing as anything Charlotte had ever seen.
Over the fire there stood a wooden tripod from which was suspended a black kettle, in which there was always something simmering. Charlotte had been here for two and a half days and the kettle had yet to be washed; things were simply added to it: water, barley, foraged nuts and seeds, and yesterday, Charlotte had watched in horror as Una had efficiently skinned a small bunny, dicing up its red meat and tossing that in the kettle.
The cottage was definitely larger inside than it appeared on the outside, the vaulted thatched ceiling adding height to the abode, but it was earthy, gloomy, and it stunk to high heaven because two goats and half a dozen chickens dwelled inside as well, penned at one end of the house. The floor was simply pounded hard earth, the walls were some form of drywall, twigs and sticks woven together and as explained by Una, packed with a mixture of mud, straw, and—good heavens!—animal dung, which dried hard, almost like plaster, though not as cleanly.
There was no window in the house; aside from the door, the only other opening was a hole in the thatch, through which the smoke from the fire exited, or was supposed to. Charlotte kept wishing Una would leave the door open, but she never did.
The cottage was spacious but only because it lacked any comfort, any furnishings save the bed and the table and a few small stools. Garments hung on hooks on the wall near the bed and another wall, right of the entrance, showed a variety of tools and implements hanging, those of indoor and outdoor use. Kitchen utensils—ladles, larger knives, and a few small saucepans—hung alongside what appeared to be a rake, a scythe, a small saw, and several lengths of rope.
