Page 29 of Beloved Enemy
In a world that was foreign and frightening, Reid held a unique position as the sole keeper of her secret, and thus the isolation of her situation was compounded by his apparent detachment. If he had shown even a hint of empathy or concern, she might have felt less scared, less adrift.
However, within days of coming to Kingswood and to Una’s home, Charlotte did begin to settle down, though she was still baffled by the mystery of having time-traveled. And as she became more familiar to both Lilias and Thomas, they warmed up to her to such an extent that she seemed to always be carrying one or the other from place to place. She didn’t know anything about milking animals, sewing, or carding wool—another chore Una had requested help with—but she was exceedingly comfortable with the children and growing more so by the day. It was, after all, her occupation. Though she didn’t know anyone with babies, she had done an internship with a large daycare in Clearwater and her first job out of college had been with a nursery school that accepted children as young as twelve months. So while she was no expert, she did have quite a bit of experience with small children. These ones were very well-behaved, which also made her enjoy them so much more.
Eventually, Una became comfortable enough with Charlotte’s presence that she’d allowed Charlotte to hold—or ‘wear’—the infant, Effie, when certain tasks were beyond Charlotte’s understanding and required enough vigor that Una’s hard work would have disturbed the infant.
They spent most of their day out of doors, for which Charlotte was thankful, as the cottage was that dreary and depressing. She began to dread rainy days, which either kept them entombed most the day or saw them freezing under the cold spring rain.
Charlotte met many people, only half of whose names she would remember. As might be the case in the twenty-first century, they came in all shapes and sizes, and with different attitudes toward her, an outsider.
One morning, as Charlotte helped Una gather water from the well rather than the mountain stream, she met Moira, a round, cheerful woman with ruddy cheeks and a loud, infectiouslaugh. Moira was quick to introduce herself and even quicker to comment on Charlotte’s presence in Kingswood.
“Ye’ve got all the lads jabbering, have ye nae?” Moira said. “Bonny lass come from the south. Aye, and ye are—bonny, that is—so the pick of the lads ye’ll have.”
Charlotte blushed, unsure how to respond. She wasn’t here looking for a boyfriend! “I’m not... I won’t be staying long,” she offered vaguely, which Moira accepted, curiously without any questions about Charlotte’s statement.
“Nae, I dinna ken ye would. Och, but for however long it’ll be, ye’re welcome in Kingswood. But dinna let the lads give ye too much trouble.”
During supper in the hall one evening, Charlotte found herself seated next to a burly Nicholson soldier named Jasper. He was older, perhaps in his late forties, with graying hair and a deep voice that carried over the din of the hall. He noticed her awkward attempts to eat the soupy meat pie that essentially spilled all over the table in front of her.
“Use the bread, lass,” Jasper said with a grin. “Better for scoopin’ than any spoon, and ye’ll crack yer teeth ye try to bite into these crusts nae sopped first.”
Charlotte smiled at his advice and took it to heart, breaking off a piece of bread and using it to scoop up the stew. As she did, Jasper leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice.
“Is it true what I’ve been hearing about ye, lass?” He asked.
Charlotte froze, her breath caught, hoping he didn’t inform her that she was still suspected of being a witch, or that it had somehow gotten out and around that she was from another century. Reid had warned her that such a fantastic bit of news would not be well received.
“I guess that depends on what ye’ve heard,” she hedged.
Jasper winked at her. “Come to Kingswood, looking to make a match,” he enlightened her, a hopeful glint in his eyes.
Charlotte’s eyes had widened. “Oh, gosh...um, no. I’m not—I won’t be staying long, just a few more days before Re—the laird escorts me home.”
Christ, if this kept up, she might be forced to invent a boyfriend ‘back home’.
On another afternoon, while tending a long track of field with Una, which had been planted only weeks ago, Charlotte met an elderly woman named Agnes. Agnes had a thin frame, but her hands were strong and skilled as she worked the soil with practiced ease. She didn’t say much at first, just watched Charlotte with sharp, assessing eyes.
Finally, as they pulled weeds side by side, Agnes spoke. “Ye’ve got the look of one who’s lost somethin’ important,” she said quietly, her voice raspy with age.
Charlotte glanced up, startled by the woman’s insight. “I suppose you could say that,” she replied, trying to keep her tone light.
Agnes nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving the ground. “Best ye find it quick, lass. These are dangerous times, and a lost soul is an easy target for those who mean harm.”
Stunned by what seemed ominous words, unsure how she might respond or what the old woman thought she knew about her, Charlotte simply nodded, her stomach flipping a bit for how close Agnes had hit to the truth.
But at least she hadn’t said anything about Charlotte looking for a boyfriend or husband.
Una became chattier and chattier, so that Charlotte felt once her initial suspicion waned, she seemed pleased to have someone to talk to. While they walked back to the cottage one day, Una herself brought up the interest Charlotte’s presence had generated ‘among the menfolk’.
Though it made Charlotte a bit uncomfortable—she didn’t like being singled out or talked about—she did find it almostamusing how eagerly people speculated. But she dismissed Una’s remark quickly with a casual wave of her hand. "Oh, please. I've barely been here two weeks, and everyone seems to think I'm looking for a husband," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not planning to stay long enough for any of that."
Una raised an eyebrow. “Ye may nae be lookin’, but that doesnae mean others are nae interested.”
Charlotte shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. “Well, they’ll just have to find someone else to make eyes at. I’m not in the market.” Charlotte deftly turned the conversation away from herself. “But what about you, Una? Are you... wanting to marry again?”
Una scoffed softly, mindlessly patting Effie’s back as they walked. “Wanting? Nae, I dinna want a husband any more than I want the pox. But wanting dinna play into it.” A faint sigh escaped her. “But I willna be able to maintain the runrig forever. Aye, they’re helping now, but their charity has its limits. So aye, by necessity, I’ll have to take on a man.”
Charlotte studied her carefully and thought the mask Una wore was purposefully indifferent.
