Every Time with a Highlander (23 page)

“This is Lady Bridgewater,” she called hotly. “I demand to know what you're doing to that boy.”

“He's a thief, ma'am,” the footman said.

Undine gasped. “The keys,” she said under her breath.

Michael put a hand on her back to steady her.

The footman dragged the boy roughly toward the stables. Nab was losing the battle to maintain his bravery. His cries had turned to those of a terrified child.

“We have to stop this,” she whispered, then called to the footman, “What are you going to do to him?”

Morebright stepped from the shadows of the courtyard, holding a crop. “Lady Bridgewater,” he said, “I beg you to make yourself easy. My men found the keys hidden on his person.”

“Nothing was taken,” she said, furious.

“
My keys
were taken. I shall teach him to regret the wickedness of his ways.”

She caught hold of Michael's habit. “What are they going to do to him?”

“They're going to whip him.”

“What if they kill him?” She was quaking now, and he put his hand on her arm.

“They're not going to kill him. They're not.” As if to underline his certainty, the first crack of the crop echoed in the night, followed instantly by Nab's wail.

“They wouldn't beat him if they were going to kill him.” He prayed what he'd told her was true.

“Oh
God
.”

A movement in the courtyard caught his eye, and he turned her to see. Bridgewater strode toward the stables as the footmen and other servants, curious, began to populate the edges of the open space.

“Listen to me,” Michael said, as the second and third crack sounded and Nab's cries increased. “We have to make his sacrifice count. He tried to help you. Make it count for something.”

Her quivering stopped, and she looked at him clear-eyed. “You search the room here. I'm getting those papers again. We'll take them to Caddonfoot, where General Silverbridge is. He's Bridgewater's commanding officer. I trust him.”

“Caddonfoot?”

“It's the second town to the south—along the river. I'll meet you there at dawn.”

“No,” he said. “We'll meet at the river.” He swept her into his arms. “I left you once, fool that I was. I'll never let anything part us again.”

Nab's tortured cry cut through the night like a chain saw.

“Go,” he said.

Michael didn't give two shakes for what Bridgewater had hidden in his room. He knew what the papers in the reception room contained, as Nab had shared a summary with him after taking them from Undine. He also knew Nab had snuck them back into their rightful place according to Michael's instructions so that Morebright would find them safe and sound when his search reached the reception room. If Undine could get her hands on them again, she'd have everything she needed to put an end to Bridgewater's career and possibly the hopes of England for the union. As such, Michael hoped she'd forgive him for setting somewhat different priorities in the few moments he had.

The number of maids, nightshirt-clad laborers, and footmen buzzing at the edges of the courtyard had grown by the minute, corporal punishment having apparently taken the place of feeding Christians to lions in the area of spectator sports in the eighteenth century, but the group fell silent and parted like the Red Sea to make way for the unhappy cleric striding toward the open doors of the stables.

The
thwacks
of the crop and the high-pitched screams that followed were like scourges on Michael's conscience. The boy's safety should have been just as important as Undine's to him—more, as Nab was a child.

A footman held Nab's wrists while Morebright, in his billowy, white nightshirt, swung the crop. Bridgewater glowered at the boy from the sidelines. Nab was curled into a ball, and his face was covered with blood. For only the second time in his life, Michael wanted to kill someone.

“Lady Bridgewater has confessed,” he said loudly.

Morebright stopped midswing. “Who are you?”

“Father Kent of the bishopric of Newcastle. In the last quarter hour, her ladyship has made me privy to several pieces of very sensitive information.”

Nab, gasping for breath, opened his eyes.

Morebright looked at Bridgewater, who stiffened.

“Does she know you're here?” Bridgewater asked.

“I believe at this point everyone in a two-mile radius is aware we're here.”

The two men looked at Michael expectantly. Michael gave Nab a regretful look.

“For heaven's sake,” Morebright said, “do you intend to tell us?”

“I do not. It's critical I confess one of her key conspirators—right now, alone. The fate of England may rest in the balance.” He pointed to Nab.

“What sort of a woman did you marry, John?” Morebright said, and Bridgewater, the scoundrel, stood silent.

“I have every reason to believe the things she did and planned were to help England.” If her husband wouldn't defend her, then Michael would.

“What were the plans?” Bridgewater said.

“As I said, I need to speak to the boy alone. 'Tis a matter between him and God. I am but the go-between.” If, after twenty-eight years of churchgoing, two full years of cursing his maker's name, and another dozen or more learning to forgive him, not to mention half a scene portraying Friar Laurence, Michael couldn't borrow the gravitas of the Almighty to save a young boy, then the world was a place in which he no longer wished to live.

“As you wish,” Morebright said at last and gestured to the footman to release Nab.

Nab, grateful for the reprieve and likely sensing it might not last, ran to Michael, who put a proud hand on his shoulder.

The men began to disperse, to leave Michael and Nab to their makeshift confessional.

“No,” Michael said, and the noblemen stopped. “You stay here—all of you,” he added to the gathered servants. “The boy and I will go someplace private.”

He took Nab's elbow and led him into the courtyard.

“Where's my wife?” Bridgewater asked ruefully.

Oh, now that I've assured you she's not a traitor, you'll deign to see her?

“She's performing her acts of contrition,” Michael said. “Alone. She'll see you in the morning when she makes her confessions to you.”

“Indeed?” he said, voice filled with tenderness.

“She has much she wishes to say.”

Bridgewater's chest puffed, and Michael almost felt bad. With any luck on Undine's part, Bridgewater would never see her again.

As the onlookers watched, he led Nab, limping, around the side of the house.

“Bunch of bloody arseholes,” the boy said.

“They are that. How badly are you hurt?”

“Not at all.”

The statement was visibly false, but it probably at least meant he could keep walking on his own. Michael looked him over briefly for broken bones.

“Bloody hell,” Nab said, hurt but in awe, “you have a supply of lies that never ends.”

“Well, I'm going to tell you the truth now.” Michael stooped to face him. “You were as brave as any man I've ever seen. And I'm dreadfully sorry you had to go through that.” He caught the boy in a gentle hug and was delighted to feel him hug back.

“All right, then,” Michael said, straightening. “Based on my experience with audiences, we have about sixty seconds before the glow of the magic wears off. Get your arse as far away from here as fast as you can. Undine will meet me at the river as soon as she gets those papers again. Join us there. We're heading to Caddonfoot, the second town to the south along the river. We're going to meet with General Silverbridge there.”

Nab shook his head. “The papers aren't there,” he said, grinning. “I stole them again. You told me to put them back. I did. And when Lord Morebright finished his check of the reception room, I ran back in and took 'em again!”

“Well done,” Michael said, though he wondered how long Undine would look for the papers before joining him. “Where are they?”

“I slipped them through a slit in the stables window when I heard the footman coming. I can get them in the morning, when they unlock the door.”

Michael groaned. “That's not going to work. This is all going to fall apart very soon, and when it does, it's going to be ugly. Undine will be gone. Bridgewater will figure out I'm no priest. He'll convince Morebright to send his men out looking for us. We don't need the papers. We can fight this another way.”

“
Och
, they'll never find me—not again. I know where I can hide until morning.”

Michael shook his head. “I can't leave you. And Undine and I can't wait till morning. We have to do our traveling by night. This isn't a game, Nab. I can't leave a child behind.”

For the first time ever, he saw Nab's eyes start to glisten. The boy was brave, but no one goes through a vicious beating without having their defenses shaken, especially not a child.

“I know what to do,” the boy said angrily.

“I'm not questioning your competence.”

“Aye, you are. I've been doing this for a long time. Since before you arrived. Don't I deserve a say in the matter?”

Michael couldn't argue with that. The boy had earned his right to decide.

“Promise me you'll meet us at Caddonfoot? I have no desire to avail myself of Lord Morebright's particular brand of hospitality again.”

Nab nodded. “I promise.”

“Wherever your hiding place is, can you sleep in it?”

“Aye.”

“Then do that, please.” Michael longed for sleep himself. He knew the adrenaline propelling him through the last hour would evaporate soon.

The time had come. Nab stuck out his hand.

“Be safe, aye?”

The boy smiled. “You too.”

Michael watched him jog off into the darkness. Unless Morebright used hunting dogs, he very much doubted Nab would be found again.

He dug his pack out of the hedges where he'd moved it and walked the path around the house until he could look into the reception room window. The front door to the house was closed, and no footmen were in sight. The room looked empty, but even if she was in it right now, it would have looked empty without a candle lit.

Had she already gone to the river?

He peered down the gentle slope into the darkness but saw only the flicker of starlight on the rushing ribbon of black. The people they'd left in that courtyard were growing restless. He could hear the increase in their murmuring.

He had to have faith Undine and Nab would make it to the river, but the ability to easily summon faith had been stolen from him a long time ago. With a heavy heart, he tucked the strap of his bag over his shoulder and began down the hill.

Bridgewater opened the door to his bedchamber and his heart skipped a beat. She wasn't performing penance—unless leaving without telling him was the penance she'd been assigned. He ran to her room and didn't find her there either. He lit a candle and looked at the rows of bottles and boxes on her vanity, trying to assure himself that she'd never leave without the bits of herbs and paper she carried with her everywhere. But there was something that prickled at his brain about the way the wardrobe stood with one door open and the bed lay unmade. She might have gone to the river to swim, but in the middle of the night?

He decided he'd walk the banks. Tom the servant was supposed to be gathering the priest and boy, and they met in the middle of the stairs.

Tom shook his head. “Neither of them can be found.”

Bridgewater went up a step, thought better of it, and then continued his descent.

“His lordship would like to see you,” Tom said.

“His lordship can wait. I'm taking a walk.”

“He's waiting in the reception room. Shall I tell him you'll see him on your return?”

Bridgewater didn't answer. He just waited by the front door until Tom unlocked it and slipped into the warm night. As he walked past the topiary and down the garden path, he wrestled with the problems before him. If Undine was gone, her absence would be publicly embarrassing as well as privately distressing. Simon would ask questions Bridgewater didn't want to answer. A search party would have to be formed.

All of this in the midst of a secret maneuver to help the treaty negotiations along.

Damn you, Undine.

He reached the river and looked upriver and downriver. The murky black rushed over the bank. The notes of primrose and heather mixed with the stench of rotting fish. He decided to walk downriver first. Even a naiad must prefer to follow the current.

Half a dozen steps later, he nearly tripped on something. He stooped to pick it up. It was the brown burlap of Father Kent's habit.

Had he vanished too? Would every religious man disappear in a puff of smoke until there wasn't a single goddamned one of them between Newcastle and Inverness?
The world would be a damned sight better off for it
, he thought.

That's what he told his heart, but his mind told him that no curate just disappears, and that it was far too coincidental for this curate to disappear at the exact same moment Undine did. Undine had been talking to the boy. He was in on it too. The three of them—

Bridgewater put a hand on his heart. His heart raced, his cheeks flushed, and he started to feel nauseated.
You've been betrayed.

Then, a worse thought occurred—far worse. What if they'd fallen in love? Was it possible the intimacy of the confessional had transformed into passion? Were they even now fornicating somewhere in the woods or garden? He listened for their animal sounds but heard nothing. He could barely breathe.

He heard a noise and turned. Simon stood at the top of the rise, his wispy hair blowing in the breeze like pennant flags on a naval ship. Bridgewater trudged up to meet him.

“Where's your wife?” Simon said.

“Walking.”

“With the priest?”

“Aye.”

Simon made a skeptical noise. “We leave in the morning?”

“Aye. I'm to meet with Silverbridge in Caddonfoot after breakfast. Then I'll be back to accompany you to York.”

“Bloody goddamned wrist. I feel like taking a knife and cutting the thing off myself. What about our plan?”

“Everything is in place.”

“Everything except your wife.”

Bridgewater ignored the comment. “The servants will take their carriage back to Coldstream. They're leaving before dawn.”

“Do they know?”

“Aye. I've just given the instruction. Now, the men I've hired—”

“Clansmen?” Simon asked.

“It doesn't matter if they're clansmen or not so long as they
look
like clansmen.”

“And who will report it?”

“The driver—Tom. He knows what will happen, and he'll be the only one to survive, so he can tell the story.”

“You told the clansmen to do it as close to Edinburgh as possible? We want the news to travel quickly.”

“Aye.” Bridgewater felt as if he were being catechized by his old history tutor, the man who made him miserable for four long years.

“Well done. This will turn the tide on the vote. I promise you.”

Four servants dead. A waste. But he reminded himself many more people would die if the treaty wasn't signed. With a treaty in hand, England could suppress the clans quietly and efficiently. “Remember,” Bridgewater said, “nothing is to be said to anyone—certainly not anyone in the army. This is
not
an army matter.”

“If you weren't so bloody concerned with a promotion, you might have proposed the idea to the army yourself. They'd have probably made you a general on the spot.”

Bridgewater gritted his teeth.

“What do you intend to do if your wife doesn't return?” Simon asked.

“I'll decide that when it happens.”

“Are you not concerned?” said Simon, who appeared to be taking some pleasure in Bridgewater's discomfort. “I could send my men out to look for her.” He waited expectantly for an answer.

The thought of having one of Simon's men finding Undine in the arms of that man and then reporting it to his master… Bridgewater shifted uncomfortably, weighing the unholy mortification against the chance to have Undine back under his control.

Simon lifted a lecherous brow. “Perhaps you're afraid of what you'll find?”

“Watch your tongue, man.”

“You fool! Why are you so blind? The woman has no affection for you. She can barely look at you. I thought to myself, the man must want to plow her fields more than life itself—'tis the only reason I can imagine for putting up with her serpent's tongue and sideways glares. But my servant says you didn't even take her to your bed after you married her. Are you incapable of the act? Is she a blind to make you appear a functioning man? Or do you prefer the company of men?”

Bridgewater's head began to hum—so loud he had to put his hands over his ears. He felt dizzy, thought he might retch. The world seemed to be spinning, only the ground before him hadn't moved.

“Christ Almighty, John, conduct yourself like a
man
.”

The spinning grew worse. The sky turned red. Simon's face looked like a gargoyle, and then he was as big as an oak. Bridgewater fell to his knees and began to howl.

Thwack.

He flew over backward, head ringing from the blow.

“Get up,” Simon growled.

Bridgewater sucked in the clean, cool air. The night resolved itself into crisp shades of black and gray. He could feel his anger rise—anger at Simon, aye, but more at that witch. The white witch. He closed his eyes. Had he actually taken her for his wife? Had she tricked him? Had she seduced him into marrying her with her powders and poisons?

He sat up. The ceremony—swift and unfeeling—came back to him with pointed clarity. He could feel her chilly hand as he slipped on the ring. Oh God, what had he told her? What had she seen? He'd be ruined.

He climbed to his feet and let out a breath filled with cold fury. “Find her.”