Page 50 of Beloved Enemy
Reid nodded. “I can arrange it, if that’s what ye want.”
“Yes, that’s what I want.”
Actually, I’m not sure what I want anymore.
“Mayhap someday this week or next,” he offered.
Charlotte shook her head. “Not someday, not next week,” she disputed. “Now, soon—today or tomorrow,” she suggested instead. The longer she stayed, the better were the chances that she wouldn’t want to go, wouldn’t want to leave him. The sinking realization that her growing awareness of him—let’s be honest, my infatuation—didn’t seem to be mirrored in his own eyes made her want to escape, and fast. The notion pressed down on her, heavy and sad, making her feel foolish for caring at all when he, with all his aloofness, seemed unaffected—knee-knocking kiss aside. She felt exposed and vulnerable in his presence, and often his calling their kiss a mistake revisited her, reminding her that she meant nothing to him. It was easier to think of leavingnow, before her errant feelings deepened any further, before the hurt of his indifference could root itself any deeper in her heart. “Tomorrow would be perfect,” she told him.
“Tomorrow it is,” he obliged.
She wasn’t sure why he was being so agreeable, or agreeable at all. It didn’t seem to be in his nature.
“Okay, tomorrow it is,” she repeated, using every ounce of strength to hold his gaze and not lower her eyes to his naked chest. “Um, should I come up to the big hou—to the keep?”
Reid shook his head. “I’ll fetch ye in the morn.”
“Okay, thanks. I’ll...um, I’ll leave you to it then,” she said, clapping her hands awkwardly.
Giving him a tight nod, she turned on her heel, determined to leave before she embarrassed herself further. She hadn’t taken but a few steps when her foot caught in a rut, and she stumbled, nearly pitching forward into the dirt. She caught herself just in time, her face burning with mortification.
Straightening, she kept her gaze firmly ahead, too flustered to look back at Reid. But as she hurried away, she couldn’t shake the nagging worry that his eyes might be following her, perhaps even lingering on her butt.
The thought made her cheeks burn even hotter.
She risked a quick glance over her shoulder but quickly looked away again, not wanting to know if he was watching her retreat after all. The last thing she needed was to see that knowing smirk on his face again.
With her heart still racing and her thoughts a jumbled mess, she finally reached the relative safety of the lane leading back to the village. Only then did she slow down, taking a deep breath and trying to regain some semblance of composure.
Tomorrow,she reminded herself.Tomorrow, I’ll go home.
But... is that really what I want?
***
Reid watched her walk away, her words still ringing in his ears. She wanted him to escort her to Ben Nevis, to that damn mountain, believing—hoping—that it might return her to her own time. The idea gnawed at him. He couldn’t very well keep her against her will, that wasn’t who he was, nor did he believe in chaining anyone to a life they didn’t choose. But the thought of taking her up there, of risking her slipping away from him... it twisted something deep inside.
But then, he couldn’t lose her.
He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. She wasn’t his to lose. She was just a strange woman, with even stranger stories, passing through his world. But bluidy hell, something about her had worked its way under his skin, had begun to take root in places he didn’t even realize were vulnerable. She wasn’t his.
Did he want her to be?
I don’t want to be stuck here all the rest of my life, she’d said,with things as they are.
Stuck here.
He didn’t want to admit it, even to himself, but it was there—the flash of pain those words had caused.
And now, she was asking him to take her to the one place where he might lose her for good.
What if she vanished, and he was left chasing ghosts, his heart lost somewhere in time?
His heart?
Reid’s gut twisted. In truth, Charlotte intrigued him, captivated him, more so than any person since Elspeth—mayhap more than Elspeth even—but there were simply too many warning bells tolling around her.
If she remained, if something flourished between them, as he had to imagine was possible, what would that mean for him? If he let himself get too close—God, he wanted to be—could he end up like Marcus? Disappearing into thin air, ripped from everything he knew, leaving behind nothing but a memory and questions no one could answer?
