Every Time with a Highlander (11 page)

The men were crawling to their knees, though Gerard was upright first and slipped through the curtained door.

“Get out of here, ye drunken English gowk!” Duncan said, grabbing Michael by the shirt and towing him into the street. Michael spun for a bit until the door closed, leaving the two of them alone.

“Nice move on the pistol,” Michael said under his breath, offering it to him.

“Keep it,” Duncan said.

“Who are they?”

“Men who would stop Undine and her rebels. Men who would do her harm. Are ye in?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I thought ye might be.”

Gerard appeared at the side of the building, giving the other two a thumbs-up.

For an instant, the three men looked at one another, then Gerard disappeared, and Duncan turned to walk in the opposite direction. “The priory,” he said quietly to Michael. “But not until after dark.”

“Sir?”

Bridgewater blinked, roused from his daydream. The rain had stopped, and outside the window, mists rose in billowing sheets from the warm ground. “Aye, what is it, Gillis? Do we have some word of the bishop or his associate, Father…er…”

“Kent, sir,” the corporal said. “No. Nothing regarding either of them.”

“Very strange, don't you think, for two church men to disappear on the same day? Most times I would call that a blessing, but today…”

“It's possible they were called back to the bishopric or even to York by the archbishop.”

Bridgewater sighed. “Perhaps you're right. I'm sure we'll hear something tomorrow. Has my fiancée settled into her rooms?”

“Actually, sir, that's why I'm here.”

Bridgewater heard the odd note in Gillis's voice. “Where is she?” he said.

The man licked his lips. “The lady wished to…avail herself of the river.”

“What could you possibly mean?”

Gillis coughed uncomfortably. “She's swimming, sir.”

“
Swimming?
In the river? With a brigand or worse possibly running through the woods? 'Twill be pitch-black out there in another quarter hour. Is someone with her?”

“No. The lady would not allow it.”

“‘Would not
allow
it,'” Bridgewater repeated. “Are you a child? Do you report to my fiancée?”

“No, sir.”

“And I've made it clear she's to be guarded at all times.”

“Aye, but—”

“But what, Gillis? What could possibly explain your failure to follow orders?”

“She's…naked, sir.”

“Naked?”

“Aye, sir. Completely. I told her she was to stay in the house until the danger was past. She laughed. Then I told her that if she chose to disobey your request—I was careful to call it a request, as you said—that I would have to accompany her.”

“And?”

Gillis reddened. “And she began to undress.”

“She
what
?”

“'Twas only her stockings, but she made no show of any regard for my presence. Not the slightest. 'Twas as if I were a shade from the darkest removes of Hades.”

“Oh, for God's sake, you sound like one of Colonel Thorpe's idiot daughters. What happened?”

“I ran, sir.”

“And she went to the river?”

“Aye.”

“Clothed or naked?”

“I couldn't tell you, sir. But you can see her clothes in a pile near the bank.”

Bridgewater turned his gaze to the river. He could see a bend in the water, lit pink by the falling sun. The bank was too high to allow him see her, but her clothes were there, just as Gillis had reported. She was a strange woman, no doubt, but he found her strangeness intriguing. Always had. The idea of possessing her—of commanding her—in bed and out, sent a tingle of pleasure through him. She'd disdained him once, and it was those women—the ones who held themselves above him, despite being lowborn or worse—whose subjugation he most enjoyed, whom he pummeled a bit more roughly than necessary, whom he got with unwanted child and whose heads he held in submission over his lap as he caressed their gleaming hair.

It hurt him to have feelings like that about Undine, with whom he'd surprised himself by falling in love, but the truth was her wifely subjugation
would
please him. He would indulge the worst of his desires outside his marriage—it was the least he could do for a woman he loved—but as his wife, Undine would have to bend to his will. The idea drove him to such a degree of wild longing, he dared not linger on the thought in front of Gillis.

“Leave her,” Bridgewater said. “I'll collect her.”

“But that wasn't what brought me here.”

A sharper reluctance had appeared on the man's face and Bridgewater's concern grew. “Go on.”

“I was down the hall from her bedchamber at my post when this began. She left her room, wearing a cloak, and headed toward the back stairs. After a few steps, she stopped and went back in her room, and at that point I began to circle the floor. I think she'd forgotten a hairbrush, for that was what she was tucking into her basket when I stopped outside her doorway. She was surprised to see me naturally, and that is where our discussion took place, but I also saw a letter on her desk.”

“And you read it?”

Gillis flushed deeply. “I didn't intend to, but when she started to remove her stockings, I didn't know where to look.”

I would have known where to look
, Bridgewater thought, imagining those ivory calves. “And?”

“Are you certain you want me to tell you?”

Was Gillis actually trying to appeal to Bridgewater's gentlemanly instincts after he himself read her personal correspondence? “Aye. That's exactly what I want you to do. And be quick about it.”

Gillis looked as if he were about to read his own death warrant. “It said only two things: ‘nine o'clock' and ‘castle.'”

Now it was Bridgewater's turn to flush. Was his fiancée conducting a clandestine affair? That was the obvious conclusion and certainly the thought Gillis wore on his pockmarked face.

“Oh, that.” Bridgewater cleared his throat. “She's meeting an acquaintance of mine in Edinburgh on Friday to read his fortune,” he said, lying. “He hopes she can help him with his milling business. He's considering an expansion and wonders if the time is right.”

“Ah.” Gillis bowed. “I see.”

Despite the man's words and carefully inscrutable face, it was apparent he
didn't
see, and Bridgewater's anger rose.

Gillis cast a nervous glance toward the river. “Do you want me to take a post near your fiancée?”

“Do I want you to take a post near my naked fiancée? No.” Bridgewater returned to the report he'd been reading. “Are you familiar with the Orkneys?”

“The islands to the north of Scotland?”

“Aye. Captain Charles is looking for an aide-de-camp there. I thought you'd do well in that role.”

“Oh… I… 'Tis a great distance from here, is it not?”

“To Inverness, where you'll hire a boat, aye. And even farther to the islands. The sea there is quite rough, I hear. You'd do well to lay in a supply of whiskey. 'Twill be good for the crossing as well as the time after you land.”
Assuming the crossing doesn't kill you.
“You'll leave before dawn.”

“B-but I thought we were heading to Lord Morebright's?”

“Keep your voice down,” Bridgewater said, furious. “Have you forgotten this operation was intended to be covert?”

“No, sir, but—”

“
We
are going to Perth.
You
are going to the Orkneys. There's nothing more to be said about it. Pack your things.”

Gillis stared, stupefied.
There. Serves you right, you bloody ignoramus.

“Aye, sir. Th-thank you, sir.”

“Don't thank me. Thank Captain Charles.”

Bridgewater saluted and the man left. He'd have to write Charles in the morning about the assignment and hope his letter reached the Orkneys before Gillis did.

Bridgewater drummed his fingers on the desk, torn between disparate thoughts, each equally distracting: Undine swimming unclothed in his river and Undine cuckolding him with someone in Coldstream.

The blood in his veins had started to boil, and its hungry buzz filled his ears. Something needed to be done, and he was the man to do it.

With the night as dark as a sea around him and only glimpses of the lambent sky visible above, Michael approached the looming shape with caution.

Priory? Looks more like a pile of rubble to me.

And it was. The great building blocks of the priory lay crushed in heaps. Nothing remained of its former glory—if, in fact, its presence had ever been glorious. The one shape higher than his head—considerably higher, in fact—also turned out to be the only thing left that looked as if it had once enjoyed a stonemason's touch—a stout stone structure off which hung the remains of an iron gate, its hinges rusted and pocked. When the priory had stood, the towering spike at the top, flanked by metal pickets, had made it clear visitors had not necessarily been welcome.

A woman stepped from behind the gate and uncovered a lantern.

Pained by the light, he struggled to make out her face. When his eyes finally adjusted, he inhaled.

She was the dead spit of Duncan—hair like flames; high, feline cheeks; and piercing eyes. Had Undine turned Duncan into a woman?

“Duncan?” he said, dry mouthed.

The woman blinked. “I beg your pardon?” She was a Scot too.

“Are y-you Duncan?”

She held the lantern higher and searched his face, concerned. “Mr. Kent, have ye suffered a head wound? I'm a woman. Can ye not see?”

Gerard appeared, knife drawn. “Is there a problem?”

“He thinks I'm a man,” she said.

Gerard returned the knife to his belt. “He'd be the first guy in Britain who did, if that's true.”

“You look just like him,” Michael said.

She laughed. “Now that's a wee bit different, isn't it? And your first guess wasna that I'm his sister?”

“Are you?” said Michael, almost more surprised.

“No. I'm his aunt.”

“A family of very irregular breeding habits,” Gerard said, taking a stunned Michael by the arm. “Now why would you think my wife was a man?”

Michael halted. “She's your
wife
?”

“Oh yes. For nearly a month now.”

“You're married to Gerard,” Michael said to the woman, trying to work out the connections, “and the aunt of Duncan, who's engaged to Lady Kerr.”

“Who is my friend and Undine's,” the woman said. “Aye.”

“Are you from the future?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Nor is Abby—er, Lady Kerr.”

Michael turned to Gerard. “But you and Duncan traveled here from the future like I did.”

“Yes,” Gerard said.

Michael did the math in his head. “Is this some sort of weird cross-century dating service?”

“Oh, aye,” the woman said dryly. “We draw up a list of all the most sought after features—ye know, tall, handsome, penniless—and put clean linen on the bed just before we fling the fairy dust about.”

Michael's jaw fell. “Are you pulling my leg?”

“We definitely need to work on your irony meter,” Gerard said. “Everyone knows there's no such thing as fairy dust. The rest is true, though.”

Michael wasn't sure what to believe. “I'm not penniless,” he said, clinging to at least one thing he knew to be a verifiable fact.

Gerard chuckled. “You are here. Duncan and I rely on the generosity of our mates. Not a bad way to earn a living, though,” he said, and ducked when the woman tried to elbow him. “Frankly, I feel I was born for this sort of assignment.”

The redhead
tsked.
“He's talking nonsense as usual. My businesses rely on his—what do you call it, Gerard? Advertising acumen?—and Duncan's helping Abby get her clan's finances in order. I'm Serafina Innes, by the way.”

She curtsied, and Michael gave her a low bow.

“Please sit,” she said, lifting a parcel from a basket. “We brought you supper and another set of clothes. We thought something more tailored would be better.”

“Yeah, my best frock coat,” Gerard added rather unhappily.

In answer to Michael's quizzical look, Serafina said, “The men in the Red Stag will be looking for two clansmen and a laborer. 'Tis wise for you to look more gentlemanly.”

“And the guy you punched in the street will be looking for a priest,” Gerard said. “Any more altercations and the only outfit left to hide you in will be one of Sera's gowns.”

Serafina unwrapped the parcel, and the smell of chicken reached Michael's nose. His stomach contracted. He'd hidden in the woods outside Coldstream for the last few hours and was famished. “Thank you.”

She laid cheese, bread, and the chicken on a large rock and added a corked bottle. He sat down and bit into a leg. It nearly made him groan with pleasure.

“Gerard says you acquitted yourself rather well today.”

“Acquitted himself?” Gerard said. “The man's a showman! It was like the Hulk versus Ultron. The only thing missing were the sound effect balloons. ‘BOOM!' ‘POW!' ‘BLAM!' Though the sound of your fist hitting my shoulder added a note of realism to the proceedings,” he added, rubbing the aforementioned body part.

“Sorry about that,” Michael said, swallowing hungrily. “I figured it was better than breaking your jaw. What more can you tell me about the four men?”

“That,” Gerard said, “is an interesting question. I did a little checking after we parted. It turns out they are in the employ of one Colonel Lord Bridgewater.”

“He has
Scots
in his employ?”

“Scots are nae so noble that you couldn't find a few willing to line their pockets, even here in the borderlands,” Serafina said with a note of disgust.

“What exactly is the deal with Bridgewater?”

Gerard laughed. “How long do you have? He's from the richest family in northern England. His father, General Bridgewater, was in charge of all the borderland regiments. Bridgewater stepped into his father's role when the man died not long ago. However, unlike his father, who had some honor, Junior is a liar, rapist, cheat, blackmailer, and two-faced bastard who uses the army to further his own agenda.”

“Which is?”

“Enslaving Scotland for England's benefit and filling his accounts with all the gold he can squeeze or steal from either side.”

“Sounds like a charming fellow—a real plus one for a dinner party. Can anyone tell me why Undine would agree to speak to the man, let alone marry him?”

Serafina and Gerard exchanged a look. “Did you ask
her
?” Serafina said, a hint of calculated caution in her eye.

“Well, I…no, not exactly.”

“It would be better if she answered that question,” she said. “There are some things she may or may not want you to know. In any case, when it comes to explaining her choice of fiancé, a woman should have the last word, I think.”

“And the first,” Gerard added with a grin.

So they're happy to expound on Bridgewater but not Undine?
The united and silent front stirred Michael's already-simmering curiosity about the naiad and gave him the unmistakable sense that anyone who crossed her would find himself facing Gerard, Duncan, Abby, and Serafina in a dark alley.

Michael nodded. “As you say then.” The priory, or what was left of it, stood on a slight rise north of the town. He could see the Tweed sparkling in the distance and, beyond that, a sprawling house with few lit windows. He pointed. “That's Bridgewater's house, isn't it?”

“He's let it till the fall,” Serafina said. “It was Henry VIII's originally.”

Michael had no interest in its history, only in the fascinating and fair-haired tenant who had taken up residence there. He looked from window to window, hoping for a hint—a tiny hiccup in his pulse—that might suggest she was within. But none of the windows suggested anything. He was no Undine, it seemed, when it came to divination.

“There is some news,” Gerard said. “We have a source in Bridgewater's circle. He said there's been an increase in activity at the estate—carriages being prepared for a journey. And officers have been in and out all day with notes for Bridgewater. Something is being planned.”

“A battle?” Michael asked. “That would explain the carriages too. He'd want Undine out of the way.”

“Not that large scale. We'd have heard about that. But Serafina has sent a note to Abby, who as you know left for Clan Hay, just in case. Bridgewater also sent to the bishopric for a priest.”

Michael stopped eating. “Indeed?”

“Yes. And according to our source, Bridgewater seemed quite urgent about it. We can't figure it out.”

Michael stood, appetite gone. Lights twinkled in the windows of the estate. Was she married even now?

Serafina asked, “Mr. Kent, do you know why a priest would be needed so urgently?”

She had the same annoying insightfulness as her red-haired nephew. Michael shook his head. “No.”

“Well, that's the least of our worries,” Gerard said. “Bridgewater was also snooping in Undine's bedroom.”

Michael wheeled around. “We have to do something. She's in trouble.”

“Maybe,” Gerard said. “Maybe not. Bridgewater would search his best friend's room if he thought he could get away with it, even without being under a spell. He's a very suspicious man. In any case, there's not much we can do.”

Ram down the door of the house. Pull Undine from the danger. Set fire to what's left.
“No, I suppose not,” Michael said. In the distance, sparks of moonlight appeared on the Tweed, and at once he knew she was there, in the water. He could feel her almost like a charge in the air before a lightning storm.

Gerard stood. “Serafina and I have to go. There's more food in the basket and a sort of room there in the back of the ruins, in case it rains. I'm sorry we can't offer you better lodging, but we just can't risk bringing you back into town.”

“You should give him a plaid too,” Serafina said. “For a blanket.”

“There's one on the horse. Hang on.” He hurried off.

Michael was already making plans and didn't catch Serafina watching him until it was too late.

“It won't be as easy as you think,” she said.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Mr. Kent, you may be a good actor, but you're not a very good liar.”

“I can't seem to help myself.”

He could feel rather than see her smile.

“Aye, well, I ken this adventure in the past may seem like a dream to you, in which anything can be ventured without real cost, but you will face real risk if you get involved.”

“I don't give a damn about Bridgewater,” he said.

“I was talking about Undine.”

“What about Undine?” Gerard said, reappearing with a folded woolen wrap, which he tossed to Michael.

“Mr. Kent was just telling me how interested he is in learning more about the legendary powers of naiads.”

Gerard snorted. “Real glutton for punishment, eh?”

“That's me.”