by Cready, Gwyn
Brutal? She sighed, confused. Had ten years of a happy marriage destroyed her ability to judge a man? There had been no brutality in that kiss, only gentleness and longing. But then again, she hadn’t sensed the deception in it, either.
“Thank you, Clare. Where will I find him? In the library?”
“Hardly. He’s right there.” He pointed past a knot of officers standing under the portcullis.
“Where?” She didn’t see his familiar dark blond head, though some of the men were wearing tricornes.
“He’s in that group. He is found on most mornings in the castle courtyard, presiding over the soldiers’ punishments.”
“Thank you, Clare. I appreciate everything you and you sisters have done for me.”
He bowed. “I thank you for delivering the note, even if you didn’t quite realize how you were doing it. It took a braw lass to attempt it.”
With a brief wave he was off, and she made her way uncertainly toward the gate. Bridgewater was not among the officers at the gate, and she was a trifle nervous about navigating her way through half the English army in a low-cut dress. She gripped the box cutter in her pocket.
A few of the soldiers stopped their work to eyeball her. None, it seemed, was stupid enough to make a comment or catcall with his officers standing by, for which she was most grateful.
Panna strode across the bridge that led to the castle’s portcullis, remembering the advice of a friend who scouted locations in the film industry: “You can get in almost anywhere if you walk in like you own the place.”
“You there.”
Her heart thudded and she turned. The handsomest man stepped away from the group.
“Where are you going?” he asked warily.
“I am looking for Viscount Adderly.”
His face broke into a pleasant smile. “You have found him.”
TWELVE
“I BEG YOUR PARDON?” PANNA SAID, MIND REELING.
The other officers laughed then one of them said, “Perhaps if you’d bothered to shave, Colonel.”
Colonel? Was this the colonel who had beaten Bridgewater? “I—I—”
The man before her was blue-eyed, with thick, straight golden hair pulled into a queue. Was he Bridgewater’s brother? The mouths were the same, she realized, and the noses. But the colonel was several inches shorter and more classically handsome than the rugged Bridgewater—a mourning dove to Bridgewater’s hawk. They were enough alike, however, that the sculpture in her library could have been of either of them.
“I do hope you will forgive my whiskers,” he said, bowing. “The regiments were out most of the night. I haven’t had a chance to go to my quarters.”
“I—That’s fine.” She hardly knew what to say? “And you are Lord Adderly, son of the Earl of Bridgewater?”
“I am.”
“I think I may be looking for your brother.”
“That will be a trick,” he said, still smiling gently, “as I do not have one.”
Had Bridgewater misled her on this, too? Or had she misunderstood? Hadn’t he said he was Lord Adderly? She considered their conversation. He had not. But his name was Bridgewater! She had called him that, and he had responded! What was more, he lived in a castle.
“No brother?” She scrambled to collect herself. “I am sorry. I had been led to believe you were someone else. Er, rather, that someone else was Lord Adderly.”
His eyes, a rich turquoise blue, twinkled.
“This is your castle, then?” she said, uncertain.
The officers laughed again.
“Ignore them, milady. They do not have the manners they were born with. No, this is the home of Captain James Bridgewater.”
“He is your cousin?”
“No. No relation, though we have been colleagues in the army these past ten years. Is it perhaps him you seek?”
“No.” She was being served a seven-layer salad of lies and subterfuge, and until she figured it out, she would not commit to knowing anyone or anything.
“Then tis I you seek?”
“Er; yes. Yes, it is.”
He nodded, satisfied. “And why? If I may ask?”
Why, indeed? Panna wracked her brain for a credible reason.
“I am seeking support for my library.” It was the first thing that popped into her head and the only lie she thought she might be able to carry off successfully.
He held up a hand to the men and they immediately stopped chuckling. “A library, is it? Well, then, may we talk about it over breakfast?”
Panna’s stomach sat up and begged enthusiastically, and she realized she hadn’t eaten anything except some figs and a chip’s worth of guacamole in almost twenty-four hours.
“Thank you, Lord Adderly. I would like that.”
“Adderly, please.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked with her through the courtyard. “And I’m afraid you have the advantage. I do not know your name.”
“Oh. I am—” Dare she use her own name? What traps had Bridgewater lain? “—Mrs. Andrew Carnegie.”
“Ah, a Scot.” He bent to kiss her hand. His lips were soft and warm.
“Well, my husband. I am not, as you can tell by my accent. I’m a widow.”
“I am so sorry. I hope you are not much troubled by the conflict.”
She supposed what he was asking was whether she was a Scot at heart. “As with most people, my hope is for a swift resolution of the conflict and a return to peace.”
He chuckled. “Pardon my laughter. You are obviously not a native of the borderlands. There has not been peace here in four hundred years.”
“My people are from Penn’s Woods,” she explained. “Across the Atlantic. I have only lately lived in Cumbria.”
“Oh? Where?”
Um. “Carlisle.”
He was as schooled at intrigue as his colleague Bridgewater, for though a spark of wariness appeared in his eye, his face remained open and smiling.
“And is that where your library is?”
“Yes. Though it has not yet been built,” she added quickly, in case he did more in Carlisle than lie in ambush for the rebels. “I am seeking the help of a number of benefactors.”
“I am most interested in hearing more.”
Despite a restless night, Panna knew she looked good, especially in the blue gown. She had edged the neckline with a short length of diaphanous taffeta from Artemis’s scrap bag to reduce the number of times she’d have to explain that she wasn’t a whore, but it was still very eye-catching, and it—and she—were certainly catching the eye of Lord Adderly. She had never seen a man quite so obviously attracted.
Entering the main tower, they passed though a long slate-floored entrance hall whose ancient stone walls had been hung with many large paintings of landscapes and battle scenes. She was surprised at the lack of portraits, which, at least in the movies, seemed to make up the majority of paintings in noblemen’s homes.
But Bridgewater isn’t a nobleman, she reminded herself. He is a captain in the army who is apparently no relation to Adderly or the Earl of Bridgewater.
Then she remembered the earl. She had witnessed the scene in the library between Bridgewater and his general, assuming the entire time that the general was his father.
She looked at the distinguished profile of her escort. Was he the son of the general? Was the general even the earl? Too many questions and not enough answers. She felt as if she had gone back to the start of some really interesting audio book on her iPod and accidentally hit “Shuffle.” Nothing made sense anymore.
“This way.” Adderly touched her elbow.
Her plan was to ferret out some sort of confirmation that Bridgewater was alive during breakfast, then excuse herself to use the privy, hightail it to the chapel, and disappear. Exiting this bloody place as quickly as she could was the only smart move. Nonetheless, the idea induced a small pang of regret. She felt alive here—alive and terrified, admittedly, but at least alive and feeling something.
/> She thought of her fury over being mistaken for a whore, and the twinkle in Bridgewater’s eyes as he’d watched her page through Animals of the Orient, and the thumping of her heart when he’d pushed her into the secret passage behind the bookcases. But most of all she thought of what it felt like to bring her lips to his and feel once again that force that binds lovers together, more powerful than a cannon shot and more inebriating than all the brandy in Spain.
Damn Bridgewater for reminding her what that spark felt like then extinguishing it when it had barely flared to life!
An hour earlier, embarrassed at her foolishness, she had begged Artemis for the return of the ribbon then traced the hastily scribbled words with her finger, looking for some sense of the man who’d written them. She’d found nothing that would help her understand whether their time together had been just an interesting sojourn to him or a necessary step in fighting his war. Now she had it tied at her wrist, a double loop to remind her of its double meaning.
Adderly paused before the carved oak entrance to the dining room. The footmen pulled the doors open and Adderly offered Panna his arm.
The hall was long and grand, with a table half the length of her library at which sat a dozen or more army officers eating or deep in or conversation. Two servants manned a sideboard groaning with silver platters piled high with cakes, breads, and a selection of fruit fit for a sultan, as well as a half-dozen chafing dishes warmed by candles, an ornate urn, and an array of bottles and pitchers. Another servant turned a pig on a spit over a fire in the hearth, filling the air with the smoky scent of wood and pork. And a third carried a tray so overflowing with sausages it would have made her heart leap with joy had not the man currently helping himself to a half a dozen been Captain James Bridgewater.
The talking ceased upon her and her escort’s entry, and the men jumped to their feet.
“Forgive my tardiness, gentlemen,” Adderly said. “We have the good fortune to be graced this morning with a guest. May I present to you Mrs. Carnegie of Penn’s Woods and Carlisle. I am delighted she has agreed to join me this morning.”
The men made welcoming noises, and two places were readied for the late arrivals—directly across from Captain Bridgewater.
Bridgewater’s eye was black and blue, his lip swollen, and he lowered himself to his chair as if several blades had been left in his side. When they were introduced, not only did he make no special acknowledgment of their previous acquaintance; he made barely any acknowledgment at all save for a polite but detached nod.
She felt the heat climb from her toes to her ears.
Adderly alerted her to the servant standing at her side. “Sausage, madam?”
“I beg your pardon. Yes, thank you.”
One after another, servants loaded her plate with everything from a poached egg in a porcelain holder shaped like a rabbit to a slice of ham, a small dish of pears in syrup, and a cold mousse of parsnips and potatoes.
“Do you care for figs?” Adderly asked, pushing a plate toward her. “Captain Bridgewater imports the finest I have ever tasted.”
She lifted her eyes to the captain, wondering if he remembered her enthusiasm for them the night before, but his gaze passed over her as if she were a stick of furniture.
“Yours are as fine as mine, John.”
She’d had just about enough. “Captain Bridgewater,” she said sharply enough to make the captain pause in the middle of a bite, “are you not related to the Earl of Bridgewater?” Hell, if she were a newbie to this party, she might as well make the best of her ignorance. And if it meant putting James Bridgewater in a tough spot, so be it. She forked a sausage violently and gave him a smile.
The men quieted, and Bridgewater wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“The family names are the same,” Adderly said. “Though we are not related. Tis an unusual coincidence, to be sure.”
“Extremely unusual,” Bridgewater added, placing his napkin beside his plate.
“I cannot help but notice your eye, Captain. Did someone get the better of you?”
“Until this morning, I was being held under suspicion of treason,” Bridgewater said equably. “I am afraid my jailers did not take a sympathetic view to the matter.”
The attention of the other officers seemed to turn to their plates. Several coughed.
“I’m glad all turned out well,” she said.
“Thank you, milady. My incarceration was not as bad as my face might lead you to believe. Moments of it were quite satisfactory.”
Her breath caught, and she nearly inhaled a mouthful of pear. Damn him. Well, at least she knew he was safe; she had seen him with her own eyes. Though what constituted safety, she supposed, was a matter of some debate, given the varied and changing alliances.
After a long conversation with Adderly about the charms of the volume on the history of England he was reading and the relative merits of leather versus vellum when covering books—during which time Bridgewater kept his eyes determinedly on his food—Adderly pushed his plate away.
“Mrs. Carnegie has come to talk to me about a library,” he said to Bridgewater.
“Carnegie,” Bridgewater repeated. “I thought that was what you’d said. I wasn’t sure I’d heard the name properly. Why you?”
“She is seeking my patronage.” Adderly gave Panna a kind smile.
“I’m sure your support would mean a great deal to her.”
Panna flushed. Bridgewater had uttered the words “your support” as if they had been “a night in your bed.”
“Tell me, Mrs. Carnegie,” Bridgewater continued, “have you seen the library here at MacIver Castle?”
She could feel the throb of blood in her cheeks. “I have not.”
“I have been told I have a very fine eye.”
She wished she could kick him under the table or fling the rabbit-shaped egg cup at his chest.
“I would offer to show you the place myself,” he added, “but I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a mishap there.”
“It seems someone with a grudge went through Captain Bridgewater’s belongings with something less than care,” Adderly said, distraught. “I believe the room’s been cleaned up, Captain. I assigned a soldier to do that this morning. And I shall have a guard set up so that it doesn’t happen again.”
“How kind of you.”
“I have to say a few words to the general. If you would take our guest up to the library and show her around, I’m sure I could be there in a quarter of an hour. Would you mind, Mrs. Carnegie? The collection may give you some ideas.”
Bridgewater made a small, indeterminate noise.
She had to get to the chapel in any case, but the look of warning in Bridgewater’s eyes made her hesitate. “Y-yes. Of course.”
“Captain?”
“Certainly.” He shoved his chair from the table and stood.
THIRTEEN
ADDERLY ENTERED HIS FATHER’S MAKESHIFT OFFICE AND CLOSED THE door. He fought the urge to chew his lip, his mother’s words ringing in his ear: “Tis a sign of weakness, Addy. I shall not have it in any son of mine.” Instead he grabbed a handful of hazelnuts from the bowl on the desk and popped one in his mouth.
“I think we have a problem.”
The earl gazed at his son over his spectacles. “Aren’t having the Scots at our backs, a rebel faction in our midst, and my best officer suspected of treason problems enough? I was just handed a message from the queen, demanding an immediate quelling of the unrest. Which do you suppose I should answer first, hers or the one signed by six of the clan chiefs, refusing to accept our terms?”
Adderly fought to keep his face still. “Do you recall the woman I told you about a few months ago? The, er—” He would not use “sorceress.” The first time he had done so, his father had laughed. “—the woman who claimed to be from the future?”
“The one who revealed the English would triumph at Ramillies?”
“Aye.”
His father snorted. “I do.”
In truth, Clementina had not traveled to Adderly’s time. The exchange of information had occurred in a very different way, though he dared not tell his father that.
“I think there is another.”
“Two time travelers?” His father gave him a withering look. “And why do you think that?”
“A woman arrived at the castle this morning. Very handsome.”
His father laughed. “Oh, Adderly, to you all handsome women are sorceresses. If you do not take care, you shall have more bastards running around than old King Charles.”
Adderly gritted his teeth. “She says she is looking for support for a library.”
“How much?” His father’s face turned wary.
“That’s not the point.”
“It is the point. Don’t you understand? When handsome women come calling for money, tis usually a sign of trouble. I have no doubt she’d say she was from the future or Bay of Bengal or the North Star if she thought it might induce you to hand over a bag of gold.”
Adderly abandoned the effort. If he told his father the woman also happened to have the same name as the library from which his sorceress had come, he’d be berated for his stupidity.
But Adderly knew better. The woman spoke in that same flat, guttural accent as Clementina. If she had come with the intention of confronting him about what he’d done or even blackmailing him, she would soon wish she hadn’t.
On the other hand . . .
He considered what the information from Clementina had done for him. The battle had played out just as she’d described. It had been an easy matter for him to order the regiments to the fields using precisely the strategy history had recorded and watch it unfold like a chess game from his post in the rear.
He’d been a fool to not have extracted more from her when he had the chance, especially now that the means to do so had been taken away from him.
Mrs. Carnegie, or whatever her real name was, represented both an opportunity and a threat. If she had access to the same sort of information as Clementina, he had the tools to ensure that she gave it to him willingly. If she had come to expose him, to call into question his reputation as a military hero or, worse, to offer her information to another, he would destroy her. Either way, he would start by gaining her trust.
