by Cready, Gwyn
There was none.
He shook his head in wonder. “You are in very great danger.”
Goose bumps rose on her flesh despite the room’s warmth. “No. I intend to—”
He caught her arm. “Do not tell anyone what you have told me, do you understand?”
“I won’t, but—”
“You have not fought in a war. There are men who will do brutal things, stop at nothing to gain an advantage. You are the most powerful weapon a man could wield. Swear to me you will not tell anyone.”
The fear in his eyes frightened her. “I swear.”
“I’m afraid . . .” His face hardened, but there was a look of gentle regret in his eyes. “I’m afraid you must leave as soon as you can. I do not wish it—Lord, I do not wish it—but it must be.”
She felt a stab of sadness. “I do not wish it, either, Bridgewater.”
“Our stars are crossed. Tis what a playwright once said.”
“I know him, too.”
He held out his hand and she extended her own until her fingertips met his. An exquisite pleasure radiated through her. She never wanted to let go. But she knew she would have to. They both would.
“Then you will go?” He gazed at her, his eyes filled with grief.
“Yes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
His arm fell to his side. “I don’t know what to say. You came into my life like some sort of mythical creature less than a day ago, and now you must go. I owe you a debt I shall never be able to repay.”
He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, but when those blue eyes came to rest on hers, she couldn’t bear it. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. His hands found her waist and he crushed her to him. She felt as if she were losing herself inside him, his mouth, his arms, savoring the sweetly turbulent storm for as long as she dared.
At the sound of voices in the hall, they flew apart. Bridgewater took a step toward the window, arms at his side, his face pale in the morning sun.
Adderly was giving an aide instructions as they strode in. Both men bowed to Panna. Adderly smiled.
“Has Captain Bridgewater been a companionable host?” he asked.
“He has,” she said, flustered.
“Bridgewater, the general wishes to see you.”
“Shall I accompany you as far as the rose garden?” he said. “I believe Mrs. Carnegie would enjoy seeing it.”
“Thank you,” Adderly said, “but I believe we will stay here for a bit.”
Seeing no other way to prolong his time with her, Bridgewater met her eyes with a careful gaze.
“Might I give you a memento of my library, Mrs. Carnegie?”
She nodded, afraid to speak.
Bridgewater strode to the bookcase nearest the hearth. It happened to be one whose doors were missing some of their glass. He slipped a hand through the opening and drew out a familiar volume. It was Animals of the Orient. Panna smiled.
He handed the book to her. “With my compliments.”
“Thank you. Your library is exemplary. I have enjoyed my time here very much.”
“You are most welcome.” He took her hand and kissed it.
Panna was intently aware that this moment was the last she’d spend in his company. She withdrew her hand reluctantly, clutching the book’s smooth leather. She wished she could tell him how much her time with him had meant.
“Bridgewater—” she began.
“Bridgewater,” Adderly interrupted, “when you finish with the general, would you let Lieutenant Harrison know I wish to speak with him?”
Bridgewater nodded. He caught Panna’s eye, his face asking the question he dared not ask out loud: Was there something more she wanted to say?
But the moment had passed. She relaxed her grasp and shook her head.
He bowed again and exited. Adderly’s officer followed.
Adderly said, “Has the captain impressed you with his collection, milady? I am told he has an account of the Battle of Stirling Bridge written in William Wallace’s own hand.”
“My goodness!” She thought of how much she’d been moved by Braveheart. “Have you read it?”
“I am not inclined to review the observations of a traitor to the Crown, milady. He came to a rather inglorious end, I’m sure you know. Hanged until he was nearly dead, then disemboweled and cut into quarters.”
“Surely, one can profit from reading the accounts of every side of a question—even the accounts of men with whom one disagrees?”
“You sound like the captain now,” he said, smiling. “He hurts his chances for advancement with the opinions he holds. He circles the edge of a fire I fear will consume him.”
“Do you think so?” she said innocently. “I thought the charges had been dropped.”
Adderly gazed at her through the blackest of lashes. “Tis true we have no firm evidence against him, but I cannot deny my instincts. If you thought you had any sway with him . . .”
“What? Me? No, I do not.” Why would Adderly think she would have sway over a man she’d supposedly met only fifteen minutes earlier?
“A shame.” He nodded philosophically. “Shall we sit? I should very much like to hear more about your library.”
She knew she ought to excuse herself, but her curiosity about the private upheavals in the two Bridgewater families got the better of her. Besides, what difference would a few more minutes make? “I heard from someone in town that Captain Bridgewater has made a claim against your family. That must be very awkward.”
Adderly shook his head. “Aye. I’m afraid his mother planted it in his head that he is the son of my father. Of course, the idea is ridiculous. My father would hardly have consorted with a Scot. ‘Tis not unusual for men to make such claims. I am afraid greed or jealousy is often at the root of it.”
“But he is quite wealthy, is he not?”
“That is debatable. He is not of noble birth, however, and that may be his motivation, though I do not pretend to know what is in any man’s head but my own.”
“And yet . . .” She gazed at that slightly bent nose and those catlike features. She was so tempted to ask if Adderly had ever considered, even briefly, that the claim might be true.
“‘And yet’?”
“And yet, that is hardly why I have come. I apologize. I’m certain talking of these things is unpleasant for you.”
“One bears it as one can. Please, sit.” He gestured to the chairs by the window. She was glad he hadn’t chosen the window seat. He had the eager-to-please look of a yellow Lab: She suspected that if she tossed him a ball, they could play all afternoon. Given Adderly’s general amenability, she wondered for a brief moment if she might actually finagle a contribution from him and, if so, if it would be worthwhile to stay longer.
“Actually,” she said, deciding on balance it wouldn’t. “I wonder if you might direct me to the privy.”
“Tis just down the hall and around the corner. Come.” He held out his elbow for her.
Though she wanted no escort, she could hardly say as much. She accepted his arm reluctantly.
He led back Panna into the hall. What she saw there made her wish she hadn’t been quite so determined to return to the past last night.
An armed soldier stood guard in front of the chapel door.
FIFTEEN
AS THE AFTERNOON SUN BEGAN ITS GENTLE DESCENT, BRIDGEWATER reviewed the last of the regimental drills, a task usually reserved for a colonel; but Adderly had disappeared, and Colonel Van Allen had spent the day overseeing the stowage of the new delivery of gunpowder from the south, a task Bridgewater would normally have handled.
The men marching by did their best not to let their gazes linger on his battered face. His eye was fully purple now and his lip throbbed. He observed his men with a distant, disengaged part of his mind. His more active thoughts strolled eagerly through memories of Panna Kennedy.
He could still taste the sweetness of her mouth and feel her thick,
silky tresses as he’d removed those combs. How he would have liked their time together to have been longer and unencumbered by the demands of war. He would happily have led her to his bedchamber and loosened the ties on that gown. She’d said she was a widow. He wondered if it was true. Whoever had schooled her in the pleasures of the flesh, however, had done his job well. A fire burned in her that had never been damped by coldness, cruelty, or clumsiness. He could almost feel her legs around him and her back arching as he thrust. She might say she was from the future, but there were some enjoyments that hadn’t changed in a thousand years, nor would they in the next thousand.
The future.
As he’d told her, he had heard stories, usually of a traveler who’d gone to the future and returned, only to be destroyed by greed or some stolen and misused knowledge. They were the stuff of nursemaid tales, meant to be instructive to children and keep them focused on their lessons.
But he couldn’t deny that there was a sound to Panna’s voice he’d never heard, not even on the ship of his sea captain friend, Hugh, whose crew came from all four corners of the earth. And there was a look to her that, as pleasing to the eye as it might be, struck him as unusual. He couldn’t say if it was the glow of her skin or the confidence in her gait or the uninhibited way she’d found a seat on the floor and opened the book. Little wonder he’d mistaken her for a spy.
He had no belief in the stories of fairies or selkie or the folk of the woods that the people around here held dear. He may have grown up in the cold, unwelcoming atmosphere of an orphanage, but at least Father Giles had never let the children be fed the misguided tales of the borderlands. Father Giles had been a man of science, and under him the children had learned math and astronomy and the names of the plants and animals of England and Scotland.
So, why did Bridgewater believe her?
He gave the lieutenant a minute nod, releasing the men from their exercise. He was to meet Robbie, one of the rebels, tonight in Drumburgh, but only if he could shake the man Adderly had put in place to track him. Bridgewater’s eyes cut to the man, supposedly a tinker plying his pots and pans to the supply master. He’d been to the camp in various forms— a tinker today, a brewer the day before that—always lurking at the fringes of activity, waiting for Bridgewater to leave.
He caught Private Kenworthy’s eye and made a surreptitious motion toward the space behind the tents. The man hadn’t flinched, which probably meant he’d kept Bridgewater’s confidence regarding the run-in outside the powder house with Thomas the night before.
Bridgewater walked toward the gate then ducked down a path to the tents. He found Kenworthy approaching Kingfisher, the peacock, with some sort of treat. Unfortunately, he was not surprised to see the peacock rear back and leap, talons first, at Kenworthy’s legs.
“Kingfisher,” Bridgewater called. “At ease.”
Kingfisher abandoned his attack and began to peck at the corn Kenworthy had dropped in surprise.
“Canny bird, that one,” Kenworthy said, wiping the dust from his trousers.
“If only all my recruits were as fierce. I wanted to let you know I’ve written to Colonel O’Donovan in Dublin. I expect an answer within a week.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Kenworthy, I should like your help on another matter.”
“If I can, sir.” The man hitched his sword belt higher on his waist.
“Do you see the man showing the cauldron to Sergeant Pfeiffer past the gate?”
Kenworthy nodded, his mouth tightening into a knot at one corner. “When I was growing up, the tinker always polished his pots first.”
“I would like you to purchase half a dozen pots for your betrothed.”
“I don’t have a betrothed, sir.”
“Fortunately, the tinker doesn’t know that. You only want the finest copper, but you know very little about pots, so he’ll need to explain what to look for when choosing and how to properly care for each one. Whatever you do, just make sure he doesn’t climb on his horse to go, even if it means you have to jump into the saddle yourself. I shall pay you for the pots tomorrow and I hope you will consider it a gift to your mother in Dublin.”
“Thank you very much, sir.”
Kenworthy went one way and Bridgewater went the other. He ducked into the overgrown rose garden and jogged to the other side, where he let out a sigh, thinking what it might have been like to walk Panna through these fragrant paths and steal a kiss against the sun-dappled stone wall. Then he slipped among a group of soldiers walking down the long hill toward his stables.
BRIDGEWATER HAD REACHED THE CROSSROADS AND without thinking slowed Romulus to a trot. Drumburgh was only a quarter hour ahead, and he had planned to dine at the inn there before his meeting, but something was pulling him in the other direction.
The horse, unused to any sort of hesitancy under Bridgewater’s hand, looked back questioningly.
“I hope you don’t mind putting your supper off for a bit,” Bridgewater said, “but if it makes you feel any better, I’ll be skipping mine entirely. There are certain things one is willing to sacrifice for a few minutes with the right woman.”
The horse’s ears went up, but he obeyed the tug on his bridle and turned toward Glasson.
THE WOMAN IN QUESTION LOOKED AT Bridgewater appraisingly, and he wondered if she was glad to see her childhood acquaintance. It had been a long time since he’d crossed her threshold.
“Have you come to prepare yourself for battle?” She threw back her shoulders just enough to remind Bridgewater there were men superstitious enough to believe bedding a naiad would bring them luck on the fields of war.
“No, I’m afraid not.”
Undine tossed her head and returned to her turnips. A river nymph peeling vegetables. He supposed even fairies needed to eat.
“Have you seen Father Giles of late?” he asked, taking a seat at her small table.
“He does not approve of how I live.”
As a whore and a fortune-teller? No, I suppose not. “He is well. He sends his regards.”
“What have you come for, Jamie? I doubt it’s to reminisce about our childhood.”
“No. I want to ask you about time.”
She stopped her peeling. “Time?”
“Aye. Is it possible, do you think, to travel from one time to another?”
She laughed. “Are you thinking of a new way to subdue France? Or is it Scotland this time?”
“Neither. I want to know if it’s possible and if anyone has done it.”
She leaned against the turf of the cottage wall and gave him a curious look. He didn’t believe she was a fairy, though she’d been telling the same story since he met her. Mother a naiad, father unknown. Whether he believed her or not, however, he had seen her read many a man’s future, and a good deal of the things she’d said had come to be.
“It has been done, Jamie. Though not by me.”
“It has?”
“There are men who can do it. The powers are not open to all. And you must find a passageway first. They are as rare as narwhals. There’s one in the Highlands, near Pennan, I hear. And another under a butcher shop in Paris.”
“What about Cumbria?”
She paused before answering, and he could see something flicker across her features. “I have never seen one.”
He gave her a look. She was avoiding the question.
“Fine. Aye. I have heard there is one here,” she said finally.
“Where?”
“Do not attempt it. Time travel can change a man. A greedy man becomes feverish for money. A man with a taste for whisky becomes a drunkard. An angry man becomes a killer.”
“What sin of mine are you afraid of magnifying?”
She gazed at him as if she were doing a moral inventory, but she didn’t answer. Instead she said, “Why do you insist on staying in that man’s army? He shall never love you as a father should.”
The question was like a blow, and the hurt must have been apparent on
his face, for she shook her head chidingly. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”
“Tis foolish to wish for such things, I know, but I just think if I can earn his respect—”
“I know what you think,” she said gently. “A son could think nothing else. I know he is proud of you. I’ve heard him say it.”
Every officer comes to her, he thought. I shouldn’t be surprised.
“Do you ever think what it would be like if he had married your mother?” She had asked the question in a way that suggested such an outcome might not have brought him joy.
“I should be his heir.”
“You would. Though I do not think that’s why you wish it.”
Unblinking, his eyes held hers. “I should be his son.”
“And he would be the better man for it. Jamie, you have never asked me to read your future, but I can tell you this: Someday your pain will lessen.”
He snorted. “And how might that be?”
“You must let go of your longing for your father. Tis the only way to cut the pain—well, that or become a father yourself.”
What would it be like having a son with Panna Kennedy, feeling the life in her belly, putting the life into her belly? The blood prickled up his neck. And Undine’s gaze caught every nuance of his thoughts. He felt as if he’d fallen on his knees and confessed.
She patted his arm. “You are a good man, Jamie Bridgewater. Which is why I don’t want you to try to find the passageway. Promise me.”
So she didn’t intend to tell him where it was. either. He didn’t mind that. On this point he didn’t mind. Panna had told him nearly all he needed to know on that subject.
“Tis not for me,” he said.
“I’m glad.” She wiped her hands on a towel and looked at him. “You do not fancy yourself a man of the future, then?”
He considered this for a moment. “Let us say, there are reasons I might someday attempt it, but the reasons have nothing to do with money or knowledge.”