Timeless Desire

by Cready, Gwyn

  This was not the first time the thought had crossed her mind. There was a gravitas to the place that had drawn her in even before she had found herself falling in love with Jamie. The daily life-or-death struggles were a far cry from her world of books and library administration. Poor, sweet Steve. He hadn’t known when he dropped her off at the library Friday night after the disastrous blind date at Marie’s house that she’d be disappearing forever.

  Oh, God, disappearing forever.

  “What is it?” Jamie released her hand.

  “I would like to stay with you, Jamie—”

  “But?”

  “No. No ‘but.’ It’s just that the last person to see me was this really sweet guy named Steve—”

  “Ah.”

  “No, it’s not like that . . . though I suppose it might have been. He was very good to me. Do you have blind dates here?”

  Jamie frowned. “Blind? Like Tiresias? Or the Cyclops after Odysseus put the flaming stake in his eye?”

  “It’s not quite that bad, but it’s close. A blind date is when a friend sets you up with a person you haven’t met but who the friend thinks would be a good match for you.”

  “Oh, that. Aye, it happens.”

  “Well, that’s what Steve was. The trouble is, if I don’t show up again, he may be in trouble, since he was the last person to see me. But I suppose we don’t need to worry. I mean, it isn’t like I’d never return. The passageway is there. I’d just have to think of a reason for going away for long stretches—you know, maybe marrying a man from England, which is true, after all. And in any case, I’d want to see my brothers and their families occasionally, and—What? What is it?”

  Jamie had draped his legs over the side of the bed and was staring, shoulders sagging, at the floor. He shook his head. “You can’t go back. Or, rather, you can, but if you do, you can never return.”

  “What? No. I’ve already come back twice.”

  “Aye, and three times is the limit. Tis what Undine says.”

  “Your friend.”

  “She is a naiad, or so she says. And sometimes I believe her. But she knows the ways of the unseen world. If she is right, you may stay here or return to your time, but if you return, the portal will be closed to you and you will never be able to return.”

  Panna shook her head, confused. She’d seen a naiad sculpture in a fountain once in Rome—a lithe, sensuous woman curled temptingly across a giant fish—and Panna had some idea they were fairies who made their homes in water; but to find a self-professed one living in northern England . . .

  “If she’s right,” Panna said. “You said it yourself. She may not be.”

  A light knock sounded, followed by a barely audible “I am here to make the bed.”

  “One moment,” Jamie called out. “Indeed, she may not be right,” he said to Panna. Then he gave her a mournful look and reached for his breeks. “But is that really something we wish to test?”

  THIRTY-SIX

  JAMIE REACHED FOR THE KNOB. THE LAST HOUR HAD BEEN THE happiest of his life, and now he might lose it all. He couldn’t deny Panna her chance to return. He, more than anyone, knew what it meant to be torn from the people you loved and left alone in the world. But to have felt this elation and then have it torn away? It would be too cruel to bear.

  The servant on the other side of the door held an armload of linens. Jamie had gotten Panna into her shift, and he hoped the woman could help Panna with the gown. The men in whose care he had left it stood eyeing him from the far end of the hall. He signaled, and one lumbered over with the garment balled up in his arms.

  “Did you enjoy your honeymoon, laddie?”

  Jamie cringed. He was sorry to have had to expose Panna to such prurient remarks. On the other hand, he wouldn’t have chosen to forgo the hour, not for all the tin in Cornwall— and he didn’t think Panna would have, either.

  “The privacy was much appreciated,” Jamie said, taking the dress. “Thank you.”

  “What’s she doing here?” the man demanded, pointing at the servant, who looked over her shoulder at Jamie.

  “She’s making our bed.” Had they not seen the woman go by?

  “You are allowed no visitors.”

  “She’s hardly a visitor.” Jamie dug in his pocket for a coin. He did not usually tip servants, but there was something about the way she’d met his eyes . . .

  The woman finished tucking the coverlet around the mattress and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Thank you,” Jamie said, extending his hand.

  The woman reached for the coin and curtsied. Jamie passed between the guard and the woman as she took it and stepped toward Panna, who stood with a blanket around her.

  The guard escorted the servant out, and Jamie hurried to the door to watch them go. The woman followed the man to the end of the hall, pausing only briefly to glance at a narrow door Jamie had assumed was a closet.

  He closed the bedroom door and looked at the folded note in his hand.

  “What’s that?” Panna said.

  “I don’t know.” He opened it and read.

  Waiting a mile down the Edinburgh road with a horse. Adderly knows you’re at Nunquam. A warrant has been issued for your arrest. Advise.

  —C

  Bridgewater sank onto the bed. Everything was forfeit. His wealth, his home, his commission, Panna. And perhaps his life.

  “Jamie, what?”

  He handed her the note. His only duty now was to protect her.

  She scanned the paper. “Does this mean you’re in trouble?”

  “Put on your gown. We must go.”

  “Who was she?” Panna asked, handing back the note.

  “Clare’s cousin’s husband’s sister. The one who got word to Clare that the clans had been called. At least, I presume she is. If she was able to get to us without the guards seeing her, it must be possible for us to get out the same way.” He stuffed the note in his pocket.

  The door swung open and the guards entered.

  Jamie leapt to his feet, putting his body between Panna and their visitors. “I paid for my privacy,” he said sharply.

  “English money means very little here,” the shorter man said. “Not when your grandfather has sent for you.”

  “My grandfather can go hang,” Jamie said, reaching for a boot. “And so can you.”

  He heard Panna’s choked gasp but didn’t see the swing. The man’s blow caught him on the jaw, knocking him onto the bed.

  “Tis impolite to speak ill of your host,” the man said. “Or did your father not teach you that?”

  Jamie rubbed his chin and stared at the blood on his palm. He flew to his feet in a cold rage, delivering a brutal blow to the man’s stomach. But when he turned, he was looking into the barrel of the other man’s pistol.

  “Come,” the taller man said, with a leering smile. “We’ll see who shall hang.”

  The guard who’d been punched, now on all fours, vomited. “Bastard.” He staggered to his feet and caught Panna by the hair. “You have such a pretty mouth. I wonder if your husband knows what to do with it.” He grabbed her hair and forced her onto the bed, then reached for his breek buttons.

  Panna said, “I’ll bite your cock off, you bloody half-wit.”

  Jamie heard the roar of blood in his ears and dove for the man, knocking him to the floor. With a yowl, he grabbed the man’s throat.

  “Let him go!” the man with the pistol yelled. His companion dug at Jamie’s hands, but Jamie had thirty pounds on him and his hold was too strong.

  “Promise me her safety,” Jamie said, “or I’ll crush your friend’s throat.” The man’s mouth stretched open in a useless attempt to draw a breath. His face was as red as the blood on Jamie’s chin.

  The standing man looked from his companion to Jamie.

  “If you were going to shoot me, you would have,” Jamie said. “Promise me her safety or I’ll crush it now.

  “I promise.”

  Jamie released the o
ther guard. The man rolled to his side, gasping for air, and climbed to his feet. “Let us hope your word means something this time. Step outside. My wife needs to dress.”

  The man gave him an impatient look. “The door stays open.”

  Jamie grabbed the collar of the man on the floor and dragged him into the hall, dumping him there and then returning.

  “Dress quickly,” he said to Panna as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots. “No one will hurt you.” Then he stood and helped Panna into her dress and shoes. “I don’t know what will happen next.” He reached for his coat. “Follow my lead—and be prepared to run.”

  “Hurry!” the man in the hall called.

  Jamie took Panna’s hand.

  “Wait!” she cried, and ran to the bed. She dropped to her knees and grabbed the books as well as some papers that had fallen there. She slipped the papers into her pockets. Then she grabbed the animals of Noah’s ark and stuffed them in, too. “I don’t know if we’ll be back.”

  “We won’t. Not if I have anything to say about it.” Jamie leaned toward her as if to tighten her laces and whispered. “If anything happens to me, tell MacIver you carry his heir. It will guarantee your safety.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  PANNA HURRIED ALONGSIDE JAMIE, WHO MOVED AS IF HE WERE planning to take his grandfather by the neck and throttle him when he found him.

  They were led by the guards to the same high-ceilinged hall in which they had breakfasted, only the plates had been cleared and the twenty or so clan chiefs sat ominously silent, glaring at Jamie as he entered. MacIver no longer occupied the seat at the head of the table. He had been moved to a chair in the middle. Robbed of his rightful place, the man looked frail and hunched. He did not meet his grandson’s eyes, which turned Panna’s gut to jelly. She clutched Jamie’s hand.

  Another chief stood near the now-empty seat reserved for the leader of the clans. He held up a hand and pointed to a place next to the hearth. One of the guards poked Jamie with his pistol. With a look of anger, Jamie shook his way free and parked himself where the chief had pointed, inserting himself in front of Panna.

  “I am Cathal,” the chief said, “chief of Clan Bruce.”

  “I know who you are.” Jamie stood straighter.

  “I have taken your grandfather’s place as questioner to ensure fairness.”

  Panna thought she heard a faint snort from Hector.

  “Why have you chosen to betray your countrymen?” Cathal asked.

  She felt Jamie flinch, as if he’d been hit by another shot, and she willed him the fortitude to answer.

  “I don’t think of my visit here as a betrayal.”

  Several clan chiefs leaned forward, and one, a lanky young man with a pock-marked face, muttered, “English filth.”

  “That, I’m afraid, is what has us concerned,” Cathal said. “Your grandfather has said he wants us to heed your exhortation to hold our arms. He says he relies on his intuition. Hector MacIver’s intuition has led us through many a difficult time in the borderlands. But it is not enough for every man here. And Hector has agreed to abide by the will of the group, have you not?”

  Hector pressed his lips together and nodded.

  “You tell us to stand down, yet you did not tell your grandfather that English troops were gathering over the border. There are many here who consider that an egregious omission.”

  Jamie held his tongue, though Panna could tell he was vibrating with the effort to do so.

  “And you say you were in Scotland to marry, though the marriage was sudden and there is at least one here who questions your avowed ardor.”

  A flush came over Abigail Kerr’s face, and she gave Panna a regretful look.

  “They consummated their vows,” the guard said, “and had a lively time of it.”

  It was Panna’s turn to redden, and Jamie gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  “Your army has taken great satisfaction in slaughtering our countrymen. You yourself have captained regiments that have inflicted mortal harm on many men. In short,” Cathal said, “your behavior does not paint a picture of a man particularly worthy of our trust. However, the council has agreed to give you time to speak.”

  Jamie cleared his throat. “I hold the ties to my mother’s countrymen as highly as I hold the ties to my own.”

  “Liar,” someone said.

  “Quiet,” Abigail said. “Let him talk.”

  “I came with a turbulent heart,” Jamie said. “What I want more than anything else is peace for the people who live in the borderlands.”

  “That and a father’s name,” someone said.

  “Silence!” Cathal ordered.

  “Through an accident, I became the possessor of information which made it clear now is not the time for the Scots to do battle.”

  “What information?” Cathal said. “You ask us to trust you, but you dinna give us reason to. We need more than your word.”

  “Please, I have risked everything to come here. In fact . . .” Jamie paused, and Panna felt him teetering on the verge of saying something more, but he licked his lips and shook his head. “In fact, some of the risks will be quite painful to bear. I know you to be honorable men and women—honorable men and women I have met on the fields of battle. You know the meaning of fealty. The details of what I’ve learned or how I learned the information I have I cannot share. In truth, there will be many who say I shouldn’t have shared as much as I have, but I make my own choices and will live with the consequences.”

  “Hear, hear.”

  Panna searched the sea of faces for signs of sympathy, but found little to give her comfort.

  “And if I have betrayed anyone’s trust here,” Jamie added, “all I can say is you did not deserve it, and I most humbly beg your forgiveness.”

  Abigail Kerr stared, tight-lipped, into her goblet.

  “The price for raising arms right now is too high,” Jamie said. “You have to believe me. Stand down. Send your men home—”

  “Wi’ several thousand English soldiers an hour from our door?” a chief at the far end of the table cried.

  “Aye. I know it looks discouraging, but—”

  “Discouraging? We’ll be slaughtered by the same bloodyminded Englishmen who’ve burned our villages and raped our women.”

  “I lost thirty men at Dunkeld,” another chief said.

  “Don’t believe the Englishman!”

  “He’s his father’s bastard son!”

  “The men of Clan Turnbull stay in the borderlands!”

  The table was growing more agitated. A few men stood. Panna clung to Jamie’s side.

  Cathal raised his hands. “Enough!” The chiefs quieted, though the ones standing made no motion to sit. “We have heard Captain Bridgewater speak. Are there any here who would believe him? Show me your hands.”

  The man who said “Hear, hear,” raised his hand, as did two chiefs who had sat stonily silent near the head of the table. A fourth raised his hand despite the hiss of his tablemate. Slowly, Abigail’s hand rose, and Panna gave her a grateful smile. But no other hands went up, not even Hector MacIver’s.

  Cathal gave the table another long moment to see if any more of the clan chiefs would offer their support. He needn’t have bothered.

  “Six for,” Cathal said, “fourteen against. Hector, do you have anything to say on behalf of your grandson?”

  Hector shook his head, a black look upon his face. “No.”

  Cathal hesitated. “This may be your only chance to affect his fate.”

  “He is the blood son of a lying English blackguard. He has chosen his fate.”

  The bile in his words made Panna’s breath catch. She could feel Jamie sway.

  Cathal said, “The punishment for spying is hanging. Twill be carried out within the hour. Take them back to their room.”

  Jamie squared his shoulders. “What of my wife?”

  “She will be held until the close of the battle, then escorted to the Solwa
y ferry,” Cathal said. “If you have any gold upon you, I suggest you give it to her now. Twill be the only money she will have.”

  “May I have your word she will be safe?”

  Before Cathal could answer, Abigail said, “You have my word and the word of the council.”

  A balloon of panic filled Panna’s chest, nearly choking her. “No, wait! You need to listen. Jamie can’t tell you, but I have taken no such oath—”

  “Panna, no.”

  “The English army will not attack unless you do. The queen’s commands do not allow it. All you need to do is wait three days, and the army will return south. That is all the time they have been given.”

  A silence so complete fell over the room, Panna could hear the breathing of the hounds that lay under the table.

  “She lies to save her husband’s skin,” someone whispered.

  One of the chiefs said, “I canna allow the safety of my clan to depend on the word of the wife of an English officer.”

  “We should hang her, too.”

  A fevered commotion broke out at the table, stopped only by Hector’s clear voice. “She’s as guilty as he is. She shall share his fate.”

  “No!” Jamie cried, and the guards immediately pinned his arms.

  Hector rose from his seat and made his way to Jamie. “Tis the worst sort of by-blow who shames both sides of his blood. You’re a disgrace.” Then he spit on Jamie’s boots.

  “And you’re a liar.”

  Hector grabbed his shirtfront and shoved his grandson hard against the wall. “Take this English offal to the pig house,” he said to his guards, his eyes blazing into Jamie’s. “They may await their fate in the shite. And as for the wench,” he added to Panna, “do you see the box of trouble you have opened here? See if you can do the same there.”

  She wished she still had her box cutter. She would shove it into his neck.

  Another guard took her arm, and she kicked his shin.

  “Cunt,” the man said, and cracked her across the face.