Every Time with a Highlander (18 page)

Abby looked at Michael, speechless. “Are you telling me that Bridgewater, one of the highest-ranking officers in England's northern armies, is biding his merry way through Scotland a mere ten miles from where we're standing?”

“It depends on whether he took the road through Edinburgh or the northwest road,” Serafina said.

Gerard pulled his gaze away from the striking ceiling. “Are we seriously standing under like five hundred razor-sharp cutlasses?”

“Yes,” Michael said, answering both Abby and Gerard. “Bridgewater is taking her with him to visit Simon Morebright, some old, ill family friend. The man needs medical attention in York.”

“Good Lord,” Duncan said, “Bridgewater must have stones as big as soccer balls.”

“But it's worse,” Michael said, offering the letter. “He has orders from someone to attack.”

“It's like a freakin' torture chamber in here,” Gerard said, now running a finger over the spiked ball of a flail that was hanging over the hearth.

Duncan took the letter and held it so he and Abby could read it at the same time. The voices and plate banging of a large dinner party were evident on the other side of the looming doors. Michael had never been led into a room that felt more like a dungeon—no windows, no chairs, and an arsenal's worth of weapons. The chieftain of Clan Hay had an interesting idea of hospitality.

“Bloody hell,” Abby whispered when she looked up. “I'm in there doing everything I can to keep the clans at bay, and Bridgewater's about to wave a sword under their noses.”

“What are they planning?” Michael asked. A vision of the clansmen attacking Bridgewater's carriage filled his head.

Abby looked at Michael, clearly distressed. “I canna tell you.”

“What do you mean, you can't tell me?” he demanded. “Undine's your friend. We came to you for help.”

Duncan straightened, an unsubtle warning.

“They have no grudge against Undine,” Abby said. “And they didna know Bridgewater was coming through their lands.”

Michael met Abby's eyes. “Till now,” he said coolly.

The words sent a pall over the small gathering.

“Aye,” she admitted with just as much coldness. “Till now.”

“I want your promise that no action will be taken that might harm Undine.”

“I'm not a servant girl to be a handmaiden to your orders, Mr. Kent. I'm the head of clan fighting for its right to live in peace on its own land. If you weren't an Englishman, perhaps you'd understand that.”

“I'm a
Scot
,” he said angrily. “Born and raised in Peebles. My father is Clan MacLeod and my mother Clan Murray. I have no more love for England than you do. But that doesn't mean I'd betray a friend. I brought you that letter so you could help Undine, not put her in danger.”

The door opened and a rotund man with long, white hair and a close-cut beard entered. He wore the plaid of a Scot and the scars of a seasoned clansman.

“Abigail, my dear, will you introduce me to your friends?”

Michael wasn't sure the word still applied, and Abby's awkward hesitation made the group's fraying nerves apparent.

“This is Donal Hay,” Abby said, “chief of Clan Hay, our host here. Donal, this is Serafina and Gerard Innes—she's a merchant in Edinburgh with a shipping concern—and Mr. Kent. He's an acquaintance of Undine's.”

A circle of bows and curtsies followed.

“You told me they brought news,” Hay said, eyes narrowing. His gaze fell on the paper in Abby's hand. It was all Michael could do to keep from ripping the bloody thing right out of her grasp.

“They did,” she said. “Bridgewater has unsigned orders to create a diversion before the vote is taken. The orders dinna say what the method of diversion will be nor the time and place it will happen, except to say it must happen by Midsummer Day.”

Michael's anger rose. “I can't believe you're doing this.”

“There's more,” she said, undaunted. “Bridgewater's in a carriage right now, headed to the estate of Simon Morebright.”

Hay's eyes trailed over the ragtag group of visitors, coming to rest on the one so obviously infuriated by Abby's statement.

“What do they know about what we're doing in the other room?” The “they” he referred to was Michael, Gerard, and Serafina.

Abby's eyes flashed. “Nothing.”

“I dinna doubt ye, lass,” he said. “You've always been as good as your word. But I hope ye'll not take it as an insult if I keep your guests here, under a close eye, until we complete the meeting we're in the midst of. The chiefs dinna take too kindly to having their plans get out. 'Tis the best way to ensure your friends get back to their homes whole and unharmed.”

Abby couldn't even meet Michael's eyes. “Thank you, Donal. I agree.”

Hay stepped outside to call his guards.

“This is the best way,” Abby said fiercely, before Michael could speak. “You'll have to trust me. You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt Undine. That's the only promise I can give you.”

“How can you live with yourself?” Michael said.

He took a step toward Abby, and Duncan inserted himself between them, which only made Michael angrier. He shoved hard and surprised Duncan. Duncan stumbled into the wall. He found his footing and grabbed Michael by the shirtfront.

Gerard flung his arms around Duncan. “That'll be enough of that, big fella,” he said, wrestling him away. “We don't want to be thrown in an actual torture chamber, okay? At least here, we have the weapons on our side.”

Duncan shook his shoulders free of Gerard and adjusted his plaid.

Abby said, “
Nothing
will happen to Undine.” Then she picked up her skirts and went out, with Duncan on her heels.

Serafina looked at Gerard, and Gerard looked at Michael.

“Who's up for some three-handed bridge?” Gerard said.

Michael stood before the window of the tiny bedchamber he'd been assigned in Hay Manor, his meager bag flung in the corner by a guard. What a bowl of dog's meat he'd made of things. He'd thought coming to Abby would
help
Undine, not make things worse. And now he'd gotten the three of them locked up in this set out of
Dracula
.

The window afforded him a sliver of a view into the dining hall across the bailey, where the gathering of the chieftains was taking place. As his room was on the upper floor, he could see only the backs of their chairs and their lower halves. There had to be at least twenty-five of them at the long table, not counting the servants, whose lower halves could also be seen, though in their case, theirs were running to and fro, undoubtedly trying to cater to the multitudinous needs of their two dozen imperious masters.

“This is the best way. You'll have to trust me.”

Bah.
Self-important women clan chiefs were no less annoying than self-important male army officers.

He wished he knew more Scottish history. Had there been a battle immediately before the vote on the Treaty of Union, a vote that had overwhelmingly favored the union? The odds were high. There'd been so many bloody battles fought in Scotland, especially along the border, you could barely toss a claymore without hitting a historical marker. His aunt had dragged him to most of them—Ancrum Moor, Bannockburn, Bothwell Bridge, Drumclog, Philiphaugh. And they all looked the same: majestic swaths of green with no hint of the unimaginable horror that had taken place on them.

He looked at the landscape beyond the curtain wall of Black Blade: an emerald valley as far as the eye could see.

Great news, mate. You may be standing on the exact site of a future historical marker.

There was no point in trying to pull up obscure battles from the cobwebbed corners of his brain. Even if he could have remembered their names, he'd never be able to find them in his internal map of Scotland. Hell, he couldn't even find his own location there.

The only location that could help him at all was Undine's, and he knew that one. She was ten miles from this delightful resort, sitting in close proximity to John Bridgewater. Michael had to get to her. He wondered if the guard at the end of the hall took a dinner break.

The doors to the great hall across the courtyard opened, and the clan chiefs streamed into the muddy bailey. Their faces were grim, and the little communication that occurred seemed to be limited to bracing shoulder thumps and terse farewells. His gut roiled. These were the faces of men—and at least one woman—who'd decided to take a stand against the English. He searched the crowd for Abby. How hard would it be to spot a woman in a sky-blue gown in this crowd of beards, plaids, and hairy knees?

He saw Duncan. The red hair was like a spot of hellfire in the pit of mud. Duncan saw him too. He put his hand to his brow and gave him a cheeky salute.

Eff off, my friend.

Michael scanned the line of windows along his floor. There was a large balcony outside of the room next door to his. He'd passed the room as he was being led here. No one was in it. He'd been able to see inside. And they'd put Gerard and Serafina together in a room in the other wing.

A knock sounded at the door.

“Servant, sor,” an Irish voice said. “I have your supper.”

“Come in,” he said without turning. The chiefs were calling for their horses and wagons. If he could make his way to the balcony via what looked like a fairly sturdy ledge, he could probably hitch a ride to the main road. He had good balance and had been capable of some pretty impressive acrobatic feats in his younger acting days.

“I keep hearing a wardrobe door bang,” he said, making up the first thing that popped into his head. “Would you mind letting the thoughtless gentleman next door know I'll be going to bed soon.”

“Aye, sor. 'Tis rather early for bed, no? Especially with your bed warmer so far away?”

He frowned and turned.

Abby stood before him in the drab, gray dress of a servant, her hair hidden in a bonnet. She had a plaid and a black, knitted cap in her hand.

“I'm taking you to Undine,” she said, closing the door. “Take off your breeks.”

“You don't mind taking the pass through the mountains, do you?” Abby said. “They'll be looking for us on the road.”

The hike was straining Michael's legs a bit, but the vast, open vista with peaks as far as he could see more than made up for it. It had been a long time since he'd spent time in the angled turf of southern Scotland, rather than on the flat streets of London or even flatter boards of the stage. It felt like a tonic for his soul. He could almost smell the snow in the air up here, even in the warmth of summer.

“I feel terrible risking your relationship with the other chieftains,” he said.

“
Och
. If only
they
worried as much. I make my own decisions, Mr. Kent. And if we manage this carefully, they'll never know.”

“You must let me apologize. I treated you very badly, accusing you of the worst sort of…” He felt the heat climb again across his cheeks.

She smiled. “You were blinded by your emotion, Mr. Kent—it is Mr. Kent, aye? Not Father?”

“Yes. I owe you an apology for that too.”

“Or perhaps Undine owes us both an apology, aye? I think there's probably more to the story than her needing a priest to hear Bridgewater's confession, isn't there?”

Damn these straight-talking eighteenth-century women.
It was quite unnerving. “There might have been a bit more to it. I'm not at liberty to say.”

She snorted. “She either decided to marry the brute to gain further access to his secrets or she needed you to get her out of marrying him because she got her nose too far into Bridgewater's business and got it pinched in the gate. That's what I think.”

He couldn't help but smile. “You might be right. I couldn't say.”

“
Mmph
. She takes too many risks.”

“That seems to be a common affliction here,” he said, tucking his small bag of belongings under his arm. “I wonder if it's something in the air.”

“And she just lifted you out of whatever life you happened to be living?”

“It wasn't much of a life,” he said, though the words surprised him. “Well, certainly not at the moment she called me back. Have you seen Shakespeare's
Romeo and Juliet
? I was playing Friar Laurence.”

“You're an
actor
?”

“Was. A long time ago. I'm a director, which means rich people who don't know anything about the theater tell me what to do, and I take out my irritation on actors.”

“And there's a living in that? How verra curious the future is. I don't know anything about directing, Mr. Kent, but I will say you're a braw actor.”

The compliment warmed him—even after all these years. “Thank you. But please call me Michael.”

“All right. Michael.” She ducked her head and lifted her skirts to clear a particularly large rock.

He noticed that though she wore the attire of a servant, her boots were the hand-tooled leather of a noblewoman.

“Were you aware, Michael, that when Undine called Duncan out of the future to help me, I ended up falling in love with him? And that when she called Gerard out of the future to help Serafina, Serafina ended up falling in love with Gerard?”

He hid a grin in a readjustment of his plaid. “Yes, I believe I did hear something about that.”

“Rather interesting, isn't it?”

“I couldn't possibly comment.”

They'd reached a not inconsequential stream, and Abby slipped off her boots to cross barefoot. Michael followed suit.

“You mentioned you're of Clan MacLeod
and
Clan Murray,” she said, apparently changing the subject, but Michael wasn't so sure.

“Aye.” He heard himself saying the “aye” this time, and it felt right.

She lifted her skirts over her arm and waded in. “'Tis an unusual combination. Clan MacLeod, well, they're thinkers. You canna just start a war with the MacLeods. They need time to let the idea stew over the fire a bit.”

He offered his arm and she took it. Clan MacLeod was his father's side and her description fit him perfectly. “That's a good thing, right?”

“Not if you're looking down the barrel of an Englishman's gun. But Clan Murray, they're like snakes that have been teased, even without the teasing. They're ready to lash out without the slightest thought.”

“There's a lot of snake imagery in the Lowlands. Not sure what that means exactly. I tend to think doing anything without conscious thought is a bad idea.”

She laughed. “I can tell whose side you take after.”

“You don't agree?”

They reached the opposite bank and climbed out.

“I think ye need a good measure of both,” she said, rubbing her feet in the grass. “There are times when you need to act and times when ye need to consider. And ye need to be canny enough to know the difference.”

“Wise words.”

“Michael, Undine is like a snake, which is not to say she's a member of Clan Murray or any clan for that matter. She would not take kindly to the implication. She has a complicated history with the clans and that one in particular.” Abby sighed. “Perhaps she'll tell you the story someday. But like them, she follows her heart and acts without thinking. You…well, you have more inertia.”

“Is that because I groaned when you said we'd be mountain climbing? Honestly, I do a lot of biking in London.”

“What I'm trying to say is the two of you would balance each other well. I know I'm rushing things, but ye canna know how much time ye have here. Undine's most recent spell casting has been a bit… Well, there's no point in alarming you. Ye do take after Clan MacLeod, though, so I know ye'll benefit from a bit of a push.”

They'd redonned their boots and returned to their slow climb.

Michael thought of the kiss Undine had shared with Bridgewater. He had no right to take exception to it. They hadn't made any promises to one another. Hell, even if they had made promises to one another, he'd have no right to take exception to any action taken by someone putting themselves in harm's way to bring peace to Scotland. His grandmother had been in Coventry during the Battle of Britain. Both his grandfathers had served in the war. He'd listened to their stories—the ones they were willing to tell. He knew what it meant to be willing to do anything—anything at all—to stop the destruction of one's homeland. He'd never judge.

But the pain from that kiss was there.

One should never deny emotion. That's what he told his actors. If you have it, don't push it away and don't try to pretend it's something else. Unfortunately, he was holding two emotions at once. One of them wanted him to break into Morebright's house, drag her as far away as he could from it, and then lock her in a room no one could reach, with him beside her. And the other wanted him to run.

Neither of them was particularly practical.

“Look at that,” Abby said, eyeing him. “I can see your mother's side in there, fighting to get out.”

He gave her a weak smile. “You wouldn't have wanted to be on the opposite side of my mother in an argument. She saved my pathetic arse several times when the headmaster wanted to kick me out of school. He was just lucky she wasn't meeting him in a dark alley.”

It seemed the only choice he had was to continue on the way he was, without thinking too much about anything at all. He'd go to that house, find Undine, tell her what he knew, and let her make use of it the best way she could.

“Look,” he said, stopping. “We've been pussyfooting around this ever since you broke me out of the Hays' place. I intend to do whatever I can to help Undine. That includes telling her I think the clans are going to attack.”

“That would be a verra dangerous thing for Bridgewater to hear.”

He looked at those cool, unwavering eyes. Was she playing him?

“You have promises to keep and so do I—to myself, at least. I know there are things you can't tell me. I understand that. But
you
need to understand I'm telling Undine every damned thing I've learned or can guess at. Nothing you can say will change that. How she plans to use the information is up to her. But if there's some message you'd like Bridgewater to ‘accidentally hear' then tell me. I'll do whatever I can for you. I owe you a lot.”

The first voices he'd heard in hours other than his and Abby's reached his ears. They echoed up the pass from far below. Six men on horses, a quarter of a mile ahead. Even from here he could see the plaids.

“Just keep walking,” Abby said.

“Who are they? Do you recognize them?” Their faces were too distant to make out, but he wondered if Abby could tell something about them by their horses or their clothes.

“It doesn't matter. If we behave as if nothing is the matter, they'll ignore us.”

“Stop,” he said. “Is there a chance that those men will recognize you when we pass?”

She sighed. “They're from Clan Leslie, so aye. But I doubt they'll recognize me in these clothes.”

“Come now. Let's be sensible. You need to turn around and go back. You have to get back to Duncan and your friends anyway. I'll engage the clansmen. By the time I'm done talking to them, you'll be out of sight and out of mind.”

“I dinna think that's a good idea. You don't know the way and—”

“I can find Morebright's estate. I'm not a total imbecile. Half probably, but not total.”

“We shouldna be stopped,” she said, tugging on his sleeve and keeping her eyes on the men. “We'll draw less attention by walking.”

“We can be a couple stopping to have a row. We're on the verge of having one as it is, it seems.”

She sighed. “I don't want to leave you here on your own. I owe it to Undine to see to your safe passage.”

“She'd be even more upset if I got you drummed out of the chieftain corps. Go. Now let me do what I need to do. I'll make it there safely. I promise.”

Abby nodded. “Keep following this path till ye reach the river and then it's about a mile more to the east,” she said. “Er, east. That's with the sun on your right, aye?”

He coughed. “Got it.”

She extended her hand. “Good luck, Michael Kent.”

He took her hand and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. “Thank you for your advice, Abby Kerr. You're a good friend.”

She took a few backward steps, still looking at him. “Now, dinna forget you're a Kerr in that plaid.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad?”

“The Leslies will like it fine. But take care with Lord Morebright.”

He adjusted the knot that seemed to be the keystone to holding everything in place. “Duncan would probably kill me if he caught me wearing this.”

“He's the one who gave it to me. He said”—her voice dropped into its lowest register for a dead-on imitation of her fiancé—“‘If I have any clothes left by the time we get home, I'll be verra surprised.'”

He'd have to thank Duncan when he saw him next. But there was something more pressing he owed the man. “Abby, wait. Please apologize to Duncan for me. I don't know what got into me back there,” he said, pointing vaguely in the direction of Black Blade.

“I know what got into ye,” she said with a gentle smile. “And I suspect it's going to get worse before it gets better.”