Page 60 of Highlander's Sinless Nymph
Edward glanced over at Charlotte, who had moved away to stand mutely by Cogar. He nodded his head. “Aye, it was to do with the errand that ye and the council sent men on, Faither,” he said. “But I do not think that the ins and out of it should be discussed out here in the middle of a courtyard.”
The Laird nodded. It was obvious to Edward that he chaffed to hear everything that his heir had to tell. He turned to his two guards. “Ye heard the physician, men. Give me son here a wee bit o’ help and we’ll take him to me study. I shall meet ye there. It’s best that I gather a few o’ me council so that they may hear whatever news he has with their own ears.”
Tormod MacAlpein spun on his heel and would have strode off. However, he caught sight of the pretty, waif-like form of Charlotte and pulled up short. He gazed at her for a moment or two, a slight frown between his iron-gray eyes. Then he turned back to his son, a questioning light in his eyes.
“And who is this lass, Edward?” he asked.
Edward was discomforted to feel himself coloring a little. He did not want to lie to his father.
“She is a friend o’ mine, Faither. I met her on me travels and she actually saved me life on the road––twice.”
The Laird looked back at Charlotte with her curly hair that tumbled all over the place and her inquisitive blue eyes. Edward saw that, despite her father being an imposing character, she did not look away from him.
Aye, she’s a double backbone right enough.
“Saved yer life twice,” the Laird mused. His eyebrows had risen so high that they threatened to disappear into his sandy hair. He nodded slowly and turned back to Edward. “And does this unassumin’ heroine have a name?” he asked.
Before Edward could open his mouth to reply, Charlotte’s manners––as deeply ingrained as they were––got the better of her commonsense.
“My apologies, your Lairdship,” she said, in her clear, piping English accent. “My name is Charlotte. Charlotte Bolton.”
There was a moment of the most profound silence that Edward had ever heard––or not heard––as Charlotte’s declaration seemed to reverberate and bounce around the courtyard of the inner bailey. Edward watched the small smile on his father’s face congeal. Slowly, ever so slowly, he rotated on his axis.
“Charlotte…Bolton?” he asked. “An Englishwoman…named Bolton?”
Charlotte had a look the look of a woman who has just realized that she has put herself in an extremely difficult, and potentially dangerous, situation. Edward readied himself to act, digging deep within himself to see if he had the energy to get to his feet.
The few men that were still within earshot––thankfully not too many, as most had dispersed with the arrival of the Laird––were looking with hard eyes at the young Englishwoman.
“Ye must excuse our reaction, Miss Bolton,” the Laird said, his tone almost dreamy. “We do not get many English visitors. Especially, nae these days.Especially, nae goin’ by the name o’ Bolton.”
Edward watched Charlotte move a step away, move around the other side of Cogar, who was eating from a nosebag and not paying the slightest bit of attention to what was going on.
Faither, do not do anythin’ rash now. Ye’re a good man. The best man I ken.
Tormod cleared his throat, blinked and seemed to come to himself. With a great striving of effort, or so it seemed to Edward who knew him best, the Laird looked away from the wide-eyed Englishwoman.
“Am I to assume that this delightful, selfless woman––a woman who you say saved yer life––is none other than the daughter of…” the Laird said. His voice was calm, steady, and courteous.
With some difficulty, and with the help of Dunnet, Edward got painfully to his feet. “Aye, she is,” he said. “And, afore anythin’ is done, and afore any judgments are made, I’ll be explainin’ the situation to ye, Faither.”
Edward glared around at the other men for good measure. Not a single man left within earshot of the conversation taking place could abide his gaze for more than a moment or two.
The Laird looked at Edward’s stern face. He smiled a strained smile.
“Aye,” he said. “Aye. There’s nothin’ to be gained by rash action.” He turned back to his two personal guards. “You two, help me son to me study. Dunnet, if ye would please bring this young lass too, I would be much obliged.”
He gave Edward one last piercing look, turned on his heel and strode away.
Edward, let out a slow breath through his nose. He looked over at Charlotte.
Now, we shall see whether the poor lass spends the night in a bedchamber…or the dungeons.
* * *
Charlotte sat in the Laird’s study and looked about her. From the contemptuous way her father had spoken of the Scottish people, Charlotte had not been expecting much when it came to how they lived. However, she had quickly realized on setting foot inside the castle that, despite it being rather forbidding and fortress-like on the outside, its interior was more than welcoming.
She ran her fingers absently over the embroidered cushion that separated her and Edward, where they sat on a beautifully-crafted couch. They were sat in a large airy room, the generous windows of which faced westward. There were comfortable animal skin rugs on the flagged stone floor to keep the place warm, a large fireplace with a cheerful blaze crackling in it and a number of shelves that were filled with leather tombs and furled scrolls.
