Timeless Desire

by Cready, Gwyn

  She smiled. “I know. And I’m glad.”

  His cheeks began to burn again, and he turned to the window. “How do the passageways work? Assuming one finds one, of course.”

  “The passageways are direct connections to specific times. Like a tunnel through a mountain. Some passageways are like triangles or squares, connecting three or four times, which can have unintended consequences. I heard of a man who went to the past to steal jewels from his mother, before she lost her fortune. But when he sent his brother to do the same thing, the man ended up tied to a post, facing Torquemada’s torch in the Inquisition. The passageways are not something to play with.”

  “I will abide by your warning. Is it possible I know anyone who has traveled this way?”

  She resumed her chopping. “Tis time for you to go, Jamie. I’m expecting a visitor.”

  He stood and put several coins on the table.

  Undine gave him an amused look. “For that much I could cancel him.”

  Bridgewater clasped her shoulders and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Take care of yourself, Undine.”

  She followed him out into the yard, watching as he mounted his horse. He was just about to gee Romulus forward when she made her way toward him.

  “There is one more thing, Jamie. There is a limit to the number of times a man can go. The third time he returns to his own time, the passageway is closed to him forever.”

  His clear blue eyes met hers. “And that is the sum of what you know?”

  She dropped her gaze. “Aye. That is all.”

  He turned Romulus and set out for Drumburgh, tipping his hat politely to a man on a bay horse smoking a pipe who was just turning in toward Undine’s gate. She hadn’t told him the whole truth, but what she had told him she believed to be true, that much was clear.

  Cumbria’s passageway was very likely to be found in his own castle. What else could explain the ease with which Panna had come and gone? He supposed he should have asked her, but he had a strong belief that the things God had chosen to make unknown to men should remain unknown. Was it not enough that she’d appeared when he’d been so deep in self-doubt, when he’d been praying for his mother to send him a sign that the path he’d chosen to follow with the rebels was a worthy one?

  He’d believed the beating at Adderly’s hands had been the sign, and Bridgewater had lain on his desk, battered and so alone, and Panna had come back to him. He could still feel those gentle hands on his face. Was that what time travelers were? Angels to comfort the afflicted?

  Afflicted? He shook his head.

  He was hardly afflicted. He was wealthy. He had earned a name for himself in the army and in business, even if he could never earn the one name he desired most.

  Well, angel or charlatan, it hardly mattered. She was gone now, and he knew letting her go was the only possible path he could have chosen.

  Romulus’s pause brought Bridgewater out of his reverie. They were at the crossroads they had turned at half an hour ago, and Romulus was waiting for a signal. It came, but not in the form either was expecting.

  Hoofbeats sounded on the other side of the rise to the west. Clare’s head appeared, and he reined in his horse when he reached Bridgewater.

  He made no mention of his master’s location, on a road that led to a house known to all men in Cumbria. Instead he said, “Do you know? Is that why you are on your way to Carlisle?”

  “Do I know what?”

  “It may be nothing, sir, but I thought it best to let you know. I overheard a soldier at the stables saying he’d been asked to prepare the general’s best riding horse for him, as Adderly and the library keeper had already taken off in the general’s carriage for Bridgewater Castle.”

  SIXTEEN

  Drawing Room, Bridgewater Castle, Carlisle, Cumbria

  Two castles in one day. Panna should have been excited. Instead, she felt a growing uneasiness about Lord Adderly and his motives.

  “Do you not like the wine?” Adderly gestured to her still-full glass, uncertainty in his eyes.

  “No, no, it is quite good. I . . .I am just so tired from our travel. I’m afraid if I drink anything, I’ll be asleep in my seat.” Or drugged, which was her real worry.

  He smiled. “Do not concern yourself. I have had a chamber prepared for you upstairs. Is there anyone we should get a message to?”

  She could hardly say Bridgewater. She’d have no explanation for needing to notify a man she should hardly know. And Clare wasn’t a possibility, either. “No. I live alone. My servant is visiting her mother in York.”

  “I hope you do not mind my bringing you here. As I said, I wanted to show you my home. And I believe the men attending the dinner here tonight could be additional sources of patronage for your library. Twill be a great opportunity for you to talk about your plans. An additional fifteen miles hardly signifies.”

  The carriage ride through the summer fields of Cumbria had been beautiful, but Panna would have enjoyed it more if each minute hadn’t drawn her farther from the chapel in MacIver Castle. She was still uncertain how the guard came to be in front of the chapel door. Adderly’s behavior toward her had not changed; if anything, he had become more gracious and solicitous. Nonetheless, he’d been quite insistent on showing her his home, which sat in a wide park surrounded by thick forests of oak. It was easily four times the size of MacIver Castle, though, having been built several centuries later, it lacked the battlements of a true castle.

  Adderly had clung to her side throughout the tour of the grounds and house, during which she had determined her best route of escape would be down the back staircase to the kitchen entrance; then she could slip across the yard and into the brewhouse, where she’d seen men’s clothes hanging on nails. There she would change her clothes and disappear into the woods. The path to Bridgewater Castle had not been complicated—only two turns off the main road, and she could certainly walk fifteen miles, though it would take her much of the night. The best time to make her escape, she thought, would be as soon as she was released from his company to tidy up for dinner, which, given that it was nearly seven, ought to be soon.

  “When is dinner?”

  “We eat at half past eight, milady. I believe I hear some of the guests arriving now.”

  “Would you mind if I took a few moments to gather myself? I’m afraid the journey has left me a bit of a mess.”

  “Of course. Where are my manners?” He led her up the curving staircase, past portraits of august ancestors, each with the same distinctive bent nose and piercing eyes. She wondered if he planned on assuming the role of her lady’s maid, but he finally released her at the entrance to a room not far from the servants’ staircase and gave her hand a courtly kiss.

  She closed the door, counted to two hundred, and exited. She was halfway to the stairs when a glimpse of an adjoining bedroom made her stop in her tracks.

  It was several times larger than the one she’d been put in, which had been quite spacious. A thick Turkish carpet covered the floor, and a spectacular carved bed stood at the far end of the room, opposite an equally ornate hearth. The top of the bed had to be five feet off the ground, and it included a set of wooden steps at the side that reminded Panna of a slightly larger version of the little staircase her aunt Elaine kept next to the bed for her toy poodle.

  But it was neither the carpet nor the bed that had caught Panna’s eye. It was a set of pewter candlesticks, fashioned in the shape of conch shells, that sat on the hearth. If she wasn’t mistaken, they were in exactly the same style and of the same craftsmanship as a certain pewter nef with which she was intimately familiar.

  The hallway was silent. There didn’t appear to be a soul anywhere. She stepped into the room, intent on examining the candlesticks more closely.

  On the floor were a pair of newly shined riding boots. Two Army Gazettes lay on the desk, and a gleaming red coat with colonel strips on it hung in an open wardrobe. This had to be Adderly’s room. So the nef given by the Bridgewater
descendent could perhaps trace its provenance to this very place.

  She was nearly at the hearth when the faintest whisper of a voice made her freeze.

  “. . . an attack? By the Scots? I hardly think . . .”

  Panna recognized the speaker. It was the earl, who had evidently arrived while she and Adderly were in the drawing room. But she hadn’t made out the rest of what he’d said.

  Panicked, she whirled around, trying to determine where his voice coming from. Was there a room attached to this one? She didn’t see a door.

  “We’ve gotten no signs, and there are scouts everywhere,” the earl went on. “No, I am afraid they are waiting for us, and as you know, our orders from the queen are to not attack unless we are provoked.”

  The voice appeared to be coming from the hearth. She got as close as she could. The chimney had to be the same one that served the room below. She found that she could hear the conversation almost perfectly if she held her breath and bent her ear toward the grate.

  “I shall be most relieved if the Scots do attack,” said the other man. “This cursed waiting is hard on the men.”

  “If nothing happens by the first of August,” the earl said, “my instructions from the queen are to pull our men out. Send them to General Marlborough in Europe.”

  “Are you serious?” the other man said, outraged. “That’s four days from now! I’ve ordered every division north of Oxford to join us here. Three arrive tomorrow and four more the next day. That’s half the English army. Do you know how much it will cost us to bring them here and send them away? And what fools we’ll appear for having done it?”

  “Not only will we appear to be fools,” the earl said, “but if nothing happens, the queen will cut off funds for any further efforts. We’ll be down to the bones as far as men and supplies are concerned. A fine assignment for men of our experience.”

  For a long moment neither man said a word. Panna could imagine them drowning their unhappiness in their whisky.

  “I have an idea,” the other man said, “though I wouldn’t like to sign my name to it.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, the way I see it, we need to find a way to—”

  Suddenly the men stopped talking.

  “Save it,” the earl said hurriedly. “There’s someone at the door. Tell me after we eat. I will make an excuse for us to adjourn here.”

  Whoever it was entered, but Panna heard no more than “Good evening, your lordship . . . General Williston” before something made her aware she was being watched. The hair on her neck stood up. She turned to find Adderly in the door.

  “Are you in need of something, milady?” Though his voice was solicitous, the flicker of something cold in his eyes shook her almost to silence.

  “I beg your pardon for intruding.” Her mind raced for a reason that might explain her presence. “This is your room, is it not?”

  “Aye, it is.” He smiled, but the coldness grew.

  “I was leaving a note.”

  One eyebrow rose slightly. “I see. Would you care to tell me in person?”

  He took a step closer, and she felt tiny prickles of panic race down her arms and legs.

  “I beg your pardon. I should not have come in without your permission, but I found myself quite drawn to the beautiful candlesticks.”

  Adderly’s eyes went completely dead for an instant, and Panna swore she saw him sway.

  “I cannot disagree,” he said. “Have you ever seen anything like them?”

  She could feel perspiration begin to dampen her neck and back. “No. Never.”

  He gazed at her for a long time. “I had them made for me by a whitesmith in Spain.”

  “Lovely.”

  He took a step toward her. She said, “Would you mind having a bath prepared for me? I find myself in need of some hot water.” Without another word, she hurried past him and headed back, feeling his gaze on her until she was safe in her own room, door closed behind her.

  It took a good five minutes before her breathing slowed. What was it about Adderly that made the warning sirens in her head go off? To a dispassionate observer, his behavior could be described as nothing but thoughtful. Nonetheless, she would be glad when she’d put Bridgewater Castle behind her.

  She tiptoed down the nearby stairway and, after a careful look in each direction at the bottom, flew out the door to the kitchen garden outside. The twilight sky had thrown the rows of late summer squash and beans into a purple darkness, and she hid herself as quickly as she could behind a long vine-covered fence. At the end, she found a smokehouse from which the scent of ham rose, though she was too nervous to be hungry. The distance from the smokehouse to the brewhouse was only a dozen paces, but Panna would be in the open. She could hear voices in the distance, coming from the kitchen, but saw no one close by.

  She lowered her head and ran. The instant she closed the door to the brewery, she began to scrabble at her laces. She had just dropped her gown at her feet when a hand went around her mouth.

  Her muffled scream died in her throat.

  “It’s me,” Bridgewater whispered.

  He released her, and she collapsed with relief against the stuccoed wall. He had changed from his officer’s coat into a plain dark one similar to the one he’d had stowed away in the secret room of his castle.

  “How did you find me?” She realized too late that only a thin layer of muslin covered her, and the undergarment was so loose that one sleeve draped dangerously over her shoulder.

  “Clare,” he said, keeping his eyes on her face. “Are you. . .” He shifted, looking for the right words. “Do you wish to be taken from here?”

  It suddenly struck her that her behavior and the state of her dress might suggest she had come to the brewhouse for an assignation.

  “Oh, God, yes.”

  His shoulders relaxed. “Oh, good. Then hurry.”

  “I was going to . . .” She cut her gaze to the clothes on the peg.

  “Oh, aye. Very wise.”

  She grabbed the breeks and slipped them on under her shift, relieved to discover the brewer was a slender man. Then she reached for the shirt. She eyed Bridgewater, who seemed to be admiring her ankles, and he flushed.

  “Oh, of course.” He turned. “Will this do?”

  “Well enough, I suppose.” Panna was not one for false modesty. Nonetheless, her fingers trembled as she pulled the fabric over her head and it fell free. The warm night breeze swirled around her breasts.

  “Clare saw you being escorted into Adderly’s carriage. He didn’t like the idea. He followed you here and found me in Drumburgh.”

  She wondered if Clare thought she was being taken against her will or suspected that she was in cahoots with Adderly. Either way, she was glad he’d decided to inform Bridgewater. “I’d been planning to leave your castle, just as I’d told you,” she said. “First I told Adderly I needed to use the privy, but he insisted on escorting me there. But when we stepped into the hall, there was a guard in front of the chapel door.”

  “A guard?”

  “I take it you didn’t put him there.” She pulled the shirt over her head and poked her arms through the sleeves. The brewer was even slimmer than she’d expected, for the fabric clung tightly to her curves.

  “I? No,” Bridgewater said. “Is there no other place from which you can . . .”

  “Travel?” Did he still not believe her? “Not as far as I know. I always land there.”

  “‘Always’?”

  “Well, yes. The first time when we met, I’d just discovered the, er, well, portal, I suppose, in the library where I work. Then I came through again when I decided I wasn’t going to put up with you calling me a whore.” She eyed him over her shoulder.

  “It could have been worse. You were either a whore or a spy. Of the two, I chose the least offensive.”

  She gave him a look.

  A length of rope landed on the ground at her feet. Bridgewater must have heaved it over his shoulder. She
picked it up and began to loop it around her breeks. “Then, of course, the last time, after you’d shown me the double star and we’d said good-bye. And every time I’ve landed in the chapel.”

  “You returned to your own time then?”

  The note of hurt in his question made her squirm, and she gave him a regretful look. “I did. I told you, there were people expecting me.”

  “Steve,” he said.

  Bridgewater had not forgotten. She felt a small thrill pass through her, which she reluctantly put aside. There would be thrills enough just trying to get off the castle grounds without throwing desire in the mix, too. They could explore that later—hopefully in a place far removed from Bridgewater Castle. “Yes. But I knew I’d failed you—or at least I would if I didn’t deliver the note as you’d asked. And Steve was kind enough to take me back to the library.”

  “Someday I must thank him.”

  “You’d like him.”

  “If I am honest,” he said softly, “I don’t think I would.”

  “Ready!” She turned to face him, and his eyes widened.

  “Not good?” she asked, reaching for the brewer’s cap.

  “Well, it depends on one’s point of view. If we want to draw the attention of every man between here and my castle, tis very good.”

  She looked down and saw the pink-tinged outlines of her nipples through the white. “Oh.”

  Clare stuck his head in. “Sir?”

  “Out,” Bridgewater commanded, and Clare disappeared.

  He searched the space while she tucked up her hair, and found an apron, which he handed her.

  She put it on and tied it behind her. “Better?”

  He cleared his throat rather than answering, grabbed her gown off the floor, and led her by the elbow out the door.

  Clare stood at the corner of the structure, hidden from the house, and scanned the grounds. “The horses are hidden behind the copse there,” he whispered, pointing to a thick growth of oaks toward the middle of the park. “We can head over the rise there and then ride in among the trees.”