Chapter 18
Niall rubbed at hiseyes, tossed the report on grain stocks he’d been reading across his desk, and leaned back. He stared up at the ceiling, blowing out his cheeks and doing his best to settle his churning thoughts. He’d not been able to concentrate on the report—or anything else, for that matter—all day.
Thoughts of Charlotte kept popping into his head no matter what he did to stop them. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. What was wrong with him? He suspected he knew the answer to that question. He was falling for Charlotte Douglas.
Niall huffed a frustrated breath and pushed himself to his feet. Aargh! This was getting him nowhere.
He stalked out of his study, his long strides eating up the ground as he made his way through the house and out into the courtyard. The late afternoon air was crisp, carrying the smell of damp earth and wood smoke. He barely noticed. His mind was too full of Charlotte—of the way she’d looked at him, the way she’d touched him.
And the way she’d left after he’d rejected her.
The hurt in her eyes had cut him to the quick.
The pottery was a short walk from the main house, nestled at the edge of the village, where the potters could work without the constant bustle of the settlement getting in their way. Niall knew the way well enough. Charlotte had been spending more and more time there—and as a result, so had he.
Reaching the low stone building, he pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. The odour of clay and kiln-fire wrapped around him, mingling with the faint metallic tang of wet earth. The place was unrecognizable from the small workshop his mother had once used. It was larger, with the new kiln Knox had built, taking up most of the far wall. It was filled with people, all busy making the bricks and tiles for the new homes that were springing up on his estate.
A few apprentices glanced up at his arrival, eyes widening at the sight of him, but it was a stocky older man with grizzled hair—Mabbet, one of the refugees from MacAllister’s estate—who set down his tools and wiped his hands on his apron before approaching.
“Laird Campbell,” Mabbet greeted him, arching a bushy brow. “Looking for Mistress Douglas?”
Niall nodded. “Aye. Is she here?”
Mabbet shook his head. “She left near an hour ago.”
Niall frowned. An hour ago? “Ye ken where she was headed?”
Knox exchanged a glance with one of the apprentices before shaking his head again. “She didnae say. She seemed a little...distracted. Then she left in a hurry.”
Niall’s jaw tightened. That didn’t sit right with him. Washethe cause? Was she upset about what happened in the stable?
“She seemed out of sorts,” an apprentice piped up hesitantly. “Wouldnae even stop to talk.”
Damn it.
Niall muttered a curse under his breath and turned on his heel, striding out of the pottery without another word. He scanned the village, his mind racing. Where would she have gone? And why in such a hurry? She had not returned to the house and he’d seen no sign of her on the way up here.
As he strode back down the hill and into the courtyard in front of the house, he caught sight of a young stable lad adjusting the harness on a donkey cart that was being used to transport the bricks to the building site. The boy glanced up at Niall’s approach, straightening instinctively.
“Lad!” Niall barked. “Did ye see Mistress Douglas pass this way?”
The lad hesitated, his hands stilling on the straps. “Aye, my lord. She went down the south road. Seemed in a bit of a rush.”
Niall’s gut twisted. The south road led toward Boyd MacAllister’s estate.
A cold dread settled over him.
