Chapter 9

9

" I t's one of the rooms we use for guests," Orlaith said as she opened the door wide to let Charlotte inside. The room was swathed in delicate shades of pink on the bed and at the windows. Charlotte enjoyed the room's simplicity, noting the bed and the chair and the fireplace. It was all she would need, and she felt a sense of relief at the room's modest size. It made it feel more like home.

Orlaith rushed forward to open the curtains.

"It has a lovely view of the gardens."

Charlotte smiled as she joined the woman at the window. She looked across Alasdair's land and saw a sprawling garden with hedge mazes and elaborately carved topiary.

"Me brother loved his garden," Orlaith sighed. Charlotte looked over to see the woman's wistful expression.

"Your brother?" she asked. "Was that Alasdair's father?"

"Aye," she nodded. "He was taken from us before his time. Only a few months after Alasdair's wedding."

Orlaith looked over and shook her head.

"I'm sorry," Charlotte said, and despite her anger with Alasdair, she still felt sadness for him.

"I ken me nephew can be a stubborn man," Orlaith said, "but he's been through many challenges."

Charlotte nodded though she knew she couldn't forgive Alasdair so easily. The memory of their fight was still strong in her mind. Over and over, she saw Alasdair pushing his son for information, letting his need for revenge cloud his judgment. What made this man so determined to find his son's kidnapper? She couldn't shake the feeling there was something she didn't know, some piece of the puzzle she hadn't yet found.

"Orlaith," she said. Charlotte steeled herself, wondering if she could bring herself to ask the question that had been bothering her for so long. "What happened to Ben's mother?"

Orlaith's face was so painful, and it came on so quickly that Charlotte nearly stepped back. She put her hands up as if to take it back.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It is none of my business."

"It's alright, child. I just don't like to speak of it."

"I understand," Charlotte said though it only made her more curious. She tried to steer the conversation back to earlier when Orlaith had been more forthcoming with her answers.

"You were telling me about your brother," she prompted.

"Aye," Orlaith said, looking back out the window to the gardens. "Taken far too soon. Alasdair had to grow up much faster than anyone expected. When his faither died, he was suddenly a laird without much training to be one. And he inherited a mess of finances that me brother hid from me for years."

"How awful," Charlotte said. She was suddenly thinking of Alasdair as a young man, left without a father as he tried to lead his people through difficult circumstances. It made her think of the children she cared for in the orphanage. Small things trying to succeed in a difficult world without parents to guide them.

"Alasdair was not always so serious," Orlaith assured her, "but he had to become that way to survive."

"I know something about that," Charlotte said, thinking about her own upbringing. Perhaps she and Alasdair were not so different after all.

"But once ye get to ken him, ye'll see he has a kind heart. He's good at the base of it."

Orlaith's eyes floated back out the window and down to the gardens her brother had cultivated.

"Though I fear Alasdair doesnae appreciate the flowers and the bushes as much as he should."

Charlotte smiled as the woman reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Ye are brave to challenge him," she whispered, as if telling Charlotte a secret. "He respects those who know how to fight back. Now, if ye are quite settled, I have a book to return to."

And with that, Orlaith left, smiling at Charlotte as she did so.

Charlotte bent over Ben's bed, noting how small the boy looked in the massive four-poster.

"You know the fight in the dining room wasn't your fault?" Charlotte asked as she rubbed the boy's back. Ben turned his eyes away from her, refusing to meet her gaze.

"Your father loves you," she said simply. "He only wants you to get better."

Ben turned his face into his pillow, further confirming that he didn't want to speak about his father or the fight in the dining hall. Charlotte gave a soft chuckle as she continued to rub his back. She began a gently lullaby, a song she often used to put children in the orphanage to sleep.

As she sang, she saw Ben's face turn away from the pillow. He looked at her with a soft smile before gently closing his eyes.

"Goodnight, Ben," she whispered when she finished the song. Charlotte stood, but she suddenly felt Ben's fingers on her wrists, holding her beside him.

"I must go to my own chambers," Charlotte told him, but the boy quickly sat up. He gave a defiant look that made Charlotte think of Ben's father. Ben shook his head decisively as he scowled at her.

"You'll be all right," Charlotte assured him. "I'll be just down the hall."

Charlotte thought about her small, comfortable guest room. After the day's excitement, she was eager to spend time in a quiet space where she could think about all that had happened. But as she looked down at Ben, she saw fast the rise and fall of his chest as he began to panic.

"It's all right," she said, desperate to calm him down. "I'll stay."

The quiet room with the garden view would need to wait for another hour. For now, she sat on Ben's bed and hummed his lullaby. As she did, she looked down at the straight line of the boy's mouth and the anxious crease in his forehead.

Alasdair was not always so serious. He had to become that way to survive.

Charlotte looked down at the little boy beside her, a near perfect copy of his father in miniature form. Would that be Ben's life as well? Would the traumatic events of the past few years leave a mark on him that could never be erased? Charlotte brushed the thought aside, determined not to let that happen.

"You have been through some difficult things, Ben Fleming," Charlotte whispered to the sleeping boy. "But do not harden your heart against the world. There is still love to be found if you know where to look."

Charlotte saw the rise and fall of the boy's chest that told her he was asleep. She stood from the bed, finally able to leave the boy.

"Perhaps you can learn what your father was not able to."

Charlotte retreated to her room, padding her way quietly down the hallway. It was late, and she noted the moonlight shining through the window. She couldn't help thinking of Sarah and the orphanage and sending a silent prayer that they were all right without her.

It was only when Charlotte closed herself in her room, shutting herself away from the castle and the world's worries, that she finally allowed herself to rest. She lay on her bed and listened to the silence of the rooms around her, letting her mind wander to the other castle residents who were turning in for the night.

What was Alasdair doing now? As she lay alone in bed, she thought about that night together in the inn when she hadn't been so alone. She remembered lying so still, her breath shallow as she tried not to move the mattress. And then he had found her outside. If Charlotte walked outside now, would he find her? Or would he be too angry with her, frustrated after their argument?

Charlotte felt her breath come faster as she thought of him. Her hands fell lazily across her stomach and then up, brushing against her chest as her fingers found her lips. She touched them, thinking of Alasdair standing in front of her in the cold morning air. She remembered the way he leaned close to her, and the dark hair that fell across his forehead.

She remembered his eyes, dropping down to her lips. And now, she felt the deep pull in her stomach, the same she had felt as he leaned close to her. It was a feeling that pushed all rational thoughts aside and left her with a longing she had never known. What would she have done if he had closed the distance? What would she have done if those soft lips had found her own?

Charlotte's hand dropped back to her breast, the image of Alasdair's face in her mind. She pressed gently against her chest, feeling shocks of desire that radiated down to her toes. Her breath came fast, and she heard the faintest sigh drop from her mouth.

Charlotte stopped, shocked by the sound. What was she doing? How could she let her thoughts run so wild? Charlotte sat up, chastising herself.

What are you doing? This isn't what you're here for.

Alasdair had not brought her here to fantasize. She had a job to do, and she had a month to do it in. Then she would go home. She needed to remember that.

As Charlotte crossed to the window, she pulled her arms around her body, comforting herself. When she left the orphanage, it had felt like far too long to be away. But suddenly, one month felt like not enough time at all.