Page 63 of Beloved Enemy
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Three days had passed since the trek to Ben Nevis, and Charlotte still couldn’t make sense of what had gone wrong.
Not with the time-travel—she doubted she’d ever unravel that mystery.
But with Reid.
On the mountain, there had been revelations, hints of something real between them. She’d all but told him she wouldn’t stay here without a compelling reason—one that might come from him. And he’d admitted he wasn’t indifferent to her, though his confession had been awkward, almost charming in its reluctance. It had reminded her of Jesse MacDonald, a shy, awkward boy from high school who’d once complimented her with, “You look... not ugly today.” She’d been an awkward freshman back then, with braces, acne, and a wardrobe her grandmother insisted was still in style.
Reid’s admission had felt similar. Tentative. Unsure. As if he feared putting himself out there too much, risking rejection. As if that were even a possibility.
She hadn’t seen him since they’d returned. He hadn’t sought her out, nor had he casually crossed paths with her as he often had before. He hadn’t been in the hall for supper the first nightback, and last night, Charlotte, Una, and the children had stayed at the cottage. Una’s traps had caught three hares, and Charlotte had ground extra grains for bread and bannocks, making a feast of their own.
In Charlotte’s mind, Reid’s hesitant admission of his feelings—delivered in his guarded, awkward way—suggested that if anything was going to happen between them, she might have to take the initiative. He was clearly fine with kissing her, since he’d been the one to instigate both times. But just as clear was the fact that he wasn’t going to be seeking her out to do it again.
The way he’d snarled after their first kiss, and then kissed her at the mountain only to silence her, made it obvious: Reid was attracted to her, but he didn’t want to be.
She figured it had to do with her being a time-traveler. He was likely afraid—whether of her or of what being close to her might mean for him, she couldn’t say.
What to do about it, though, was a whole other question. And damn if she had the faintest idea how to solve it.
It wasn’t as simple as thinking,Well, if I’m stuck here, I might as well enjoy myself with the guy who can make my knees weak with a single kiss.No, her feelings for Reid Nicholson ran deeper. Her heart, head, and body were all equally fascinated by him. She’d never met anyone like him before. There was something magnetic about the way he moved through the world, commanding respect without asking for it. It wasn’t just his raw beauty or his strength or stoicism that made her heart race; it was the contradictions. Reid’s words were often gruff, laced with sarcasm or irritation, but his actions? They told a different story. The way he pulled her close in a kiss that lingered longer than it should have, or how he had wrapped his plaid around her after she’d been soaked to the skin. His touch was gentle, his gaze intense, as if he cared far more than hewanted to admit, even to himself. That quiet tenderness was as confusing as it was irresistible.
Her anxious thoughts were interrupted by a sound from within the woods—a noise not made by her.
She had two buckets with her, needing more water today, but had told Una she’d check the traps further into the forest. Since they visited them every other day, Charlotte had grown familiar with their locations and didn’t worry about getting lost. The woods, after all, were close to both the village and the keep. Besides, it made sense for her to check on the traps while she was already nearby, saving Una and the children from a separate trip.
She paused, listening, the empty buckets dangling from her hands. The woods weren’t particularly dense or overgrown but had a sameness to them—tall, slender trunks stretching skyward, creating a monotony of brown, the ground carpeted with pine needles. The branches started high on the trees, leaving the lower space open and vast, but eerily still.
Movement flickered in the distance, catching her eye. Two figures, at least fifty yards away, stood in a close embrace. Charlotte couldn’t make out who they were, but one wore the familiar Nicholson plaid. The smaller figure beside him was cloaked in a long gown.
Ooh, a tryst,Charlotte thought, her romantic heart leaping to conclusions.
Not wanting to intrude, she angled to the east as the pair were almost directly north. But then her curiosity was strong, and her gaze did regularly spy on the couple, hugely intrigued. She’d been here at Kingswood for two weeks now and knew that the tanner’s son was courting the blacksmith’s daughter, a romance that had everyone in the village talking. And then there was Una's niece, who had caught the eye of the handsome but brooding carpenter—they were often seen with their headstogether at evening meals, the only time Charlotte saw the carpenter smile.
Even the widow Betha had a suitor, a middle-aged merchant who visited the keep once a week, under the pretense of trading goods but always remaining a bit longer than necessary whenever the pretty but shy Betha was around.
But who were these two? Charlotte’s mind whirled with possibilities. Perhaps one of the soldiers had fallen for a village girl, or maybe it was someone from the keep sneaking away for a forbidden rendezvous, as their clandestine location suggested.
The intrigue, combined with her natural curiosity, made her want to know more, but Charlotte cautioned herself to mind her own business.
But then it wasn’t her fault that the couple, when they began to move, walked in her direction.
Charlotte froze, unsure whether to keep walking or hide behind a tree, when she suddenly realized who the pair were as they drew closer. Fiona, Reid’s sister, and Lachlan, the Nicholson barber-surgeon. Their expressions were startled when they spotted her, both pausing as if unsure whether to pretend they hadn’t seen her or address the situation head-on.
Fiona was the first to recover. “Charlotte,” she said, a bit too brightly, smoothing down her skirt. “What a surprise. Lachlan here was just helping me... chase down my mare.”
Charlotte raised an eyebrow, her instincts immediately telling her that the explanation was as flimsy as the awkward smile on Fiona’s face. Obviously, Fiona had no idea that Charlotte had witnessed their embrace moments ago. Lachlan looked less composed, his cheeks flushed beneath his dark beard, but he nodded stiffly in agreement. “Aye, the mare,” he muttered, glancing between the two women.
Charlotte’s shock quickly turned into something else—almost a kind of charmed amusement. Fiona and Lachlan? Whowould have guessed? She never would have pegged the strong-willed, sharp-tongued Fiona for someone who might secretly be involved with Lachlan who was so calm and measured and definitely non-acerbic—or, let’s be honest, be interested in either love or romance. It was sweet, in a way. A hidden romance. A little bit unlikely, considering that Fiona wasn’t exactly the most lovable person in Charlotte’s estimation. But, to each his own.
But then a pang of sadness hit her as she remembered her own recent efforts to fix up Una with Lachlan, thinking they might be a good match. Now she realized what that would lead to—Una’s inevitable disappointment. Maybe even a broken heart. Charlotte’s heart sank at the thought, a little bitterness mixing in with the unexpected discovery.
“I see,” Charlotte finally replied, forcing a small smile, knowing there was no horse anywhere in these woods at the moment. “Well, I hope you find that mare of yours.”
Fiona’s brows knit as her gaze settled on the buckets in Charlotte’s hands. “You’re a long way from the burn, are ye nae?”
There was more than only a little hint of accusation in her tone.
