Every Time with a Highlander (22 page)

Bridgewater stepped into the night and peered down the estate's rolling lawns.

Wretched little rat. Was Undine in league with the boy? And for what? An uncomfortable sense of having been betrayed burned in his chest, though in truth, he couldn't imagine Undine being responsible for the loss of Simon's keys. He didn't know what Simon had hidden in his house, though the man should certainly be experienced enough to know to destroy sensitive communications. Bridgewater wished he could search Simon's hiding place himself—and he would have if Undine hadn't been there. Now he'd have to wait for the excitement to settle.

He shifted and rolled his shoulders, but the thought of Undine working against him was like a broken blade under his skin. Forget the suspicion, he might, but every time he turned, he was reminded of it with a stab of pain, and some unlucky time, he was going to turn too fast and find the blade had cut an artery.

He felt like he'd forgotten something important about her—something he knew once, before he'd been blinded by her beauty and fierce independence. But now she was his. Treacherous land, hard won. And land hard won lived by the rules of the victor—and the harder the win, the harder the rules. If she'd betrayed Bridgewater or England, if she'd taken something from Simon and Bridgewater found it on her, she would find herself a very unhappy bride.

“Lord Bridgewater?”

He jumped. The priest from Coldstream stood before him, habit and all.

“Good Christ, man,” Bridgewater said, “what are you doing here? You mustn't approach a man in the dark like that! What if I'd had a sword in my hand?”

“Then I'd have only received what I deserved. I do beg your pardon for interrupting you, but I've traveled all day to reach you.”

“Well, I'm afraid you've come too late. Lady Bridgewater and I were married this afternoon.” He marveled at the man's idiocy—traveling forty miles without a thought as to whether he was needed or would even be welcome.

The man's face burst into a jubilant smile. “May I wish you joy of your marriage! She's a handsome woman, very handsome. I take it you found a priest? I must apologize for my abrupt departure yesterday. I received a very alarming letter from the bishop, but when I got to Coldstream, I found the bishop to be, well, not quite in his senses. I do believe he'd suffered a mild fit. He was—well, perhaps 'tis better not to dwell on it. He's recovered now, though, you'll be glad to hear, and he urged me to come here at once.”

Bridgewater groaned to himself. He supposed the man would expect a tithing for the church for his unnecessary efforts or, at the very least, a place to stay till morning.

“Father, er… What is your name again, please?”

“Kent, milord.”

“Father Kent, I will see the servants find you a bed for the night. I suppose it's too late to expect you to go to the inn in town.”

“I would be much obliged, sir. Perhaps I can say a few words of blessing in the morning.”

“I doubt that will be necessary. Wait!” An idea struck Bridgewater. “Now that I think about it, my wife was to make her confession, but she was too much engaged in her hair and clothing—you know how women are. Could you find time to hear it?”

Kent nodded. “Perhaps I could hear yours as well?”

“The priest heard mine, of course,” Bridgewater lied, “but Lady Bridgewater still bears the burden of her sins.”

“An inauspicious way to start a marriage.”

“Father, I must be honest. I'm afraid Lady Bridgewater has been involved with some unsavory activities, including some that may involve Lord Morebright, our host here.”

“Pardon me, sir,” a voice behind them said.

Bridgewater turned and found a footman standing in glow of the now-lit entry hall. He'd asked the man to give him news of the search. Bridgewater gestured him to a private area past a hedge.

“Was anything amiss?” Bridgewater said in a low voice.

“He's still looking,” the footman said.

“Good. Where?”

“The silver room, the gold chest, his office.”

“The reception room?” Bridgewater asked with false lightness.

“Oh, aye. I forgot to mention that. I don't know what his lordship was looking for in there. The only thing of value is the liquor, I suppose. But he was in there with the door closed for several minutes.”

“'Tis probably where he thought he'd left his keys.”

“Indeed,” the footman said. “I'm sure you're right.”

So the old fellow has some secrets, does he? But Bridgewater was more concerned about Undine. The odd exchange he'd witnessed between her and the boy made him certain something was going on between them.

“Thank you for your report. Please don't mention my interest to his lordship. There's no point in worrying him further.”

If the man was wise, he'd know his silence would be rewarded before Bridgewater took his leave of the estate.

The footman bowed deeply. “Aye, sir.”

Bridgewater returned to the priest, who had turned politely to observe the heavens.

“Is something going on?” Kent asked.

Bridgewater explained the situation, leaving out his own interest in Simon's secrets.

“My wife has been involved in some unfortunate dealings,” Bridgewater said. “This will end, of course, now that I have the ability to keep an eye on her. But her transgressions were serious—lying, stealing, using her wiles on men to extract information, and I'm afraid this time, she might be involved in something that may get her in some very serious trouble. She was conspiring with a troublesome boy here.”

The priest stared, wide-eyed. “My lord, the things you're suggesting are…are…”

“Shocking. I agree. For her sake, you must get her to confess.”

“I will certainly speak to her.”

“Do it,” Bridgewater said. “Now. Immediately.”

The man took a step and stopped. “You do realize that if I get her to confess, I can hardly report the nature of her confession to you.”

Bridgewater stared at the man, whose eyes had taken on an unpleasant adamantine hardness.

“
I
may be the only thing standing between her and prison,” Bridgewater said hotly. “It's imperative I know
exactly
what's she's done. You may redeem her heavenly soul, but only I can redeem her here on earth. Do you understand me?”

The man's jaw flexed. “I understand you perfectly.”

“And you'll tell me what she says?”

“I'll tell you exactly what you wish to hear.”

He'd had gotten the man's agreement, but it seemed to Bridgewater that he hadn't gotten what he'd hoped for.

Following Bridgewater, Michael ascended the stairs, vibrating with a mixture of eagerness to see Undine and anxiety over his earlier behavior toward her. Then he saw the footmen standing guard on either side of the door and stopped. He wanted to grab Bridgewater by the neck and shake him, but he wanted to get Undine out of this house even more. He swallowed his fury, but if he opened that door and found Undine had been harmed in any way, Bridgewater would regret it.

Michael said, “The footmen must leave.”

Bridgewater, who was unused to rural clerics issuing commands, stiffened. But Michael had faced the wrath of noble personages before. After Lady Velopar, he felt like he could stand in the fire of a dragon and remain unscathed.

Bridgewater waved the men away. “Remember,” he said to Michael, “I can only help her if I know exactly what she's done.”

“I understand your requirements. Please open the door.”

Bridgewater produced a key from his pocket, and Michael realized she'd been locked in as well.

Bridgewater turned the key and grabbed the knob. Michael caught the door before it opened.

“Go,” he said. “I'll find you when we finish.”

Bridgewater stalked away.

Michael slipped inside.

Undine had been at the window. She turned when the door opened, and the look on her face when she saw him reminded Michael that he'd rather jump from the top of Westminster Abbey than ever hurt her again.

She made a small noise, not quite the noise that would have sent him running to her arms, but it gave him hope, and with hope, he could speak.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” she said.

“I wonder if you might have preferred that. I didn't do much to make you hope for my return.”

Without the glow of candles, her features were lit only by the night sky, bathing her in ethereal light. But even without candles Michael could see the room was Bridgewater's bedchamber. His boots stood beside the wardrobe; his hat sat on a high chest of drawers.

Nothing matters but her.

“What can I do to help you?” he said.

Before she could answer, a tiny spot of light appeared on the wall to Michael's left and disappeared. He wasn't even entirely certain he'd seen it. Then all at once he knew what it was, and he was furious.

“Your husband says you are in need of advice,” he said, strolling casually between Undine and the vanished dot of light.

Keeping his back facing the wall, he held a finger to his lips and met Undine's eyes. “Bridgewater is watching,” he mouthed. Then he poked his thumb slowly against the center of his chest to indicate the hole in the wall behind him.

“I am,” she said, nodding. “I am very glad you're here.”

He wished he could see her eyes. He wished he could see if the words she spoke were aligned with her emotion.

“You disappeared, Father,” she said, and he felt the shame of his betrayal.

“I was a fool. I ran because I was afraid. I'm quite ashamed of it. I didn't tell your husband that. I told him I had to respond to the bishop's note from Coldstream—and he did send a note, but I had already left you by the time I received it.”

“You were afraid?”

“Of being hurt,” he said.

“I see.” Her fingers fluttered at her sides. She hadn't made up her mind about his return. “I can imagine the news was unsettling.”

“It was,” he said sadly, “but that's no excuse.”

She let out a long exhale. “One doesn't often hear of bishops being attacked, does one?”

“No, but I should have had more courage.”

“Perhaps you should've. Perhaps I should've made it clearer how much Bridgewater and I were depending on you.”

“I came back to apologize and to help you in any way I can. I apologized to your husband, and now I must apologize to you.”

“What did my husband say?”

Michael winced. It was one thing for him to refer to Bridgewater as her husband. It was like being strung out on a rack to hear her say it, though.

“Your h-husband said—” His voice cracked and he felt his cheeks warm. “How ill bred of me. I've completely forgotten to give you joy of your marriage. I wish you great happiness.” He made a low, courtly bow.

“You are kind, Father.” She didn't wish to receive good wishes on the occasion of her marriage any more than Michael wished to give them.

“Your husband said you're involved in some questionable activities.”

“Did he?” she said tartly.

“I do not judge, your ladyship. But I know he wishes to help you. And I know he'll want to
hear
that you've confessed everything.”

“Do you intend to tell him what I say?”

“That's a hard question, your ladyship. Both he and I wish to help you any way we can. He is well placed to do so. I wish you would give me leave to do what I think is best.”

She made no response. He directed her to one of the room's chairs, where she took a seat. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see the fire in hers. Poor Bridgewater. He was not going to like what he heard.

“What concerns have you?” he asked. “Only in unburdening yourself will you find peace.”

Michael could see the look of amusement in her eyes as she considered the form her confession would take.

“The act of fornication is one to which I am fundamentally drawn.”

Michael nearly choked
.
“We are grateful, then, you have taken a husband.”

“I'm afraid there were many men before Bridgewater,” she said with a rueful smile.

“Your ladyship, perhaps we should turn our minds to matters of—”

“Is fornication still a sin if I like it when I do it?”

He dabbed at his forehead, which had begun to grow moist. “I'm afraid so, aye.”

“'Tis worse, I suppose, if one has committed the sin with two men at once?”

“I do not believe the sin doubles. A sin retains its essential nature no matter the, er, size of the cast of players.”

“Then three is no worse than two?”

“No.” He mouthed, “Stop it.”

Her brows waggled minutely.

“But none of those men meant anything to you,” he said, attempting to rescue the confession. “There was nothing of the deep and abiding love between a husband and wife in it.”

“No. Not at all.”

“So his lordship—”

“Well, except one.”

Michael hesitated. “Oh?”

“One man made me feel a way I've never felt before—I beg your pardon, Father. Are you married or otherwise familiar with the joys of fornication?”

“Er, yes,” he said, choosing not to clarify the question he answered.

“Then you know that many men can bring a woman pleasure. I don't mean at once, of course, though that
is
possible as well. I mean in the general course of things. But very few can marry the pleasure to a sense that one is safe, that one's thoughts and dreams can be spoken aloud without embarrassment or misunderstanding, that one will not be tossed aside at dawn's light for the next challenge, that one is simply…treasured.”

Michael's chest filled with something both ancient and familiar. “You felt that?”

“Aye,” she said softly. “Have you ever felt such a thing?”

“Yes. Once. And again, I think.”

“With your wife?”

Undine smiled at him, her features lit with emotion, and he had the distinct impression he had just been proposed to.

“Aye,” he said when he could find his voice.

“How wonderful.”

Michael was having trouble remembering which character he was in or what he was supposed to be accomplishing.

“Were there other sins we should talk about?” she said helpfully, amused at his bafflement. “I should think my political work might provide fertile ground.”

“Right. Yes. Let us concentrate on that for a bit.” If he had any hope of satisfying Bridgewater's prying inquisitiveness, he needed to get her to confess to everything Bridgewater knew she'd done and plausibly deny the rest. Now if he could just keep her steered clear of fornication. Well, at least until they were alone…

“I have worked tirelessly for peace in the borderlands.”

“I do believe your husband knows that. It was certainly well-known in the circles I traveled. Did you ever work against the interests of England?”

“I believe England is as interested in peace as I am.”

Well done!

“Have you ever worked against the interests of your husband?”

“Aye,” she said. “But not since he became my fiancé.”

“Not now?”

“No, of course not.”

A knock sounded at the door. Undine lifted her finger a fraction of an inch—a signal to wait.

“Father Kent?” Bridgewater called, impatient.

Undine accompanied Michael to the door.

“I stole papers,” she said under her breath. “Nab has them.”

“Not anymore—” Michael began but stopped when the door opened.

Bridgewater looked at them, eyes narrowed. “I just wanted to let you know,” he said, “Morebright has searched everywhere, from the laundry to the great hall, including the reception room.”

Michael could feel Undine stiffen, as if she were preparing for a blow.

“And?” she said.

“Nothing was found.”

“Nothing was found?” Michael said. “Or nothing was found missing?”

“Both, I suppose,” Bridgewater said. “The keys weren't found, and nothing is missing.”

“
Nothing?
” Undine said.

“Did you expect something to be missing?”

“No. I'm just relieved for Simon.”

“Aye, I can see that.” He turned to Michael. “May I see you outside, Father?”

Michael bowed to Undine and stepped into the hall.

“How is the confession?”

You know very well how it is, you prick.
“Fine, fine. We're crossing some challenging ground.”

Bridgewater raised a brow. “What?”

Michael could hardly lie since the man had been listening almost since the start. “Past fornications.”

“How many?”

Did this man have a shred of chivalry in him? “She didn't say.”

“Ask. I want names. Some may be spies.”

Mud-wallowing pig. I wonder how you'd feel if I kneed your balls into your stomach?

“Has she said anything about treasonous activities?”

“Aye,” Michael said. “She believes England to be as eager for peace in the borderlands as she.”

Bridgewater snorted.

If this was a test, Michael had passed. He'd reported exactly what Undine had said, and he could see the growing confidence in the nobleman's eyes. Bridgewater would be quite surprised when his new wife disappeared with her lowly curate. Michael needed to figure out how to extract the confession well enough for Bridgewater to abandon his Peeping Tomism so that he and Undine could make their escape.

“Make sure you ask her about the boy,” Bridgewater said. “I want to know what's going on there. I don't like it.”

“I'll ask her about everything. Where can I find you when we finish?”

Bridgewater straightened the line of his frock coat. “Don't worry. I'll find you.” He dismissed Michael with a nod and turned to leave.

“Have you considered the impact of your distrust?”

Bridgewater paused, as if he couldn't quite believe the words that had been directed toward him. Michael cursed himself for saying anything.

“I beg your pardon?” Bridgewater said.

“The impact of your distrust. You may learn what you want to know, but her ladyship will never forget what you've put her through.”

“I don't want her to forget. 'Tis part of her rehabilitation.”

“Remember that when—” Michael stopped himself before he said
she's gone
.

Bridgewater frowned. “Remember that when what?”

“When you're called upon to justify your actions.”

“Before
Go
d
?” Bridgewater said, as if he expected the Almighty to fall far below him in the order of precedence in heaven.

“Who else?”

“Aye,” Bridgewater said, “who else?”

Bridgewater left with a snort, and Michael returned to Undine. The instant the door was closed, she said, “I took the papers.”

“I know,” he said quickly, knowing they had only a second or two. “I saw Nab. Before I came into the house. He had them, but he returned them—after he took them from you.”

“What about the keys?” she said, desperate.

Michael put a finger to his lips, tilted his head to the hole in the wall, and said in a clear voice, “I'd like to talk to you about what's happened here.”

“What's happened?”

“This business about a theft.”

She crossed her arms. “The theft that didn't occur?”

“Lord Morebright's keys are missing, which, of course, means a theft may happen at some point in the future.”

She laughed. “Are we investigating potential crimes now?”

“Surely you can understand Lord Morebright's concern.”

“He's a doddering fool.”

“He's not fool enough to endure the loss of keys without worry.”

“And you think I may have something to do with their disappearance?” she said.

“Your husband rightly worries. And you owe him, and God, the truth. What's your relationship with the boy?”

Her eyes flashed. “What boy?”

Michael didn't get a chance to answer. A howl arose in the courtyard. Undine ran to the window with Michael behind her.

“Let go of me, you stupid arse!”

Nab.

A footman had him by the ear.

“Leave him alone,” Undine said loudly.

If Bridgewater had any doubt about Undine's relationship to Nab, he wouldn't anymore.