by Cready, Gwyn
“Are you all right?” He was crouching by the water a dozen feet from her and making a show of washing his hands.
“Yes.”
He chuckled. “Every soldier says that before a battle. I know you’re scared. You should be. Twill help keep you safe. Do you know the ruins?”
“Yes.”
“There’s a door there behind a pile of rubble upon which three almost perfect cubes of rock sit.”
“That’s the door I went out on my way to Clare’s house.”
“Aye. However, there is no handle on the outside. On either side of the door are stones carved to look like friars. The one to the left of the door can be removed. You’ll have to work it with your nails. Try catching the man’s nose. Once removed, you can reach the inner latch and let yourself in. Just remember to return the friar to his proper place.”
“Won’t you be ahead of me?”
He hesitated. “That is the plan.”
But plans do not always work as they’re supposed to, and he wanted her to be able to escape if something happened to him.
“Once you’re inside, throw the bar across the door. It will keep anyone and anything out for a good ten minutes.”
She understood, but whether she’d actually do it if Jamie was on the other side was another matter.
“We’ll leave the horse tied here. We may need him again. Otherwise, the army will find him in the morning.”
“Got it.” She slid out of the saddle and tied the lead around a nearby branch. She knew she couldn’t give Jamie a kiss. And she understood quite painfully this might be the last moment they’d have to speak freely before they went through the passageway in the chapel.
He stood and gazed at her, as always completely attuned to her thoughts.
“In a quarter of an hour, all of this will be behind us,” he said.
“I know.”
“We will never be separated. I won’t let it happen.”
“Nor I.”
“Look.” He pointed to the sky. “Do you see the Butcher’s Cleaver?”
The heavens were a swirling sea of sparkling stars, and the double star he had shown her that night seemed to sparkle when she found it. “Yes.”
“That is us, lass. We shall dance as they do, be as close as they are, and someday we will collapse upon one another, our eternities melded just as our lives once were.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the stars were six trillion miles apart and would never, ever get any closer. “I love you, Jamie.”
“And I you.
She held her open hand out to him and slowly squeezed it closed—as close to a hug as she could give. He did the same.
“I have never met a woman like you, Panna. You have certainly lived up to your name.”
She laughed. “My mother would be pleased to hear you say it.”
“Are you ready?”
She nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Jamie went first, walking purposefully down the road, around the castle, then up the rise to the ruins. She followed, taking care to walk as much like a man as possible. An actress friend of hers once told her that all she had to do was walk as if she owned the world and sported a pair of mangoes between her legs.
Jamie disappeared among the ruins. She could hear the buzz of distant conversations, laughter, and footfalls. The troops were out and in force everywhere around them.
She passed the half-wrecked walls of a room standing amid the rubble, fifty or sixty feet from the door.
“You there.”
She froze. Two soldiers were lumbering up the hill toward her. She lowered her tricorne to hide as much of her face as possible.
“Are you from around here?” the heavier of the two said, eyeing her more closely.
“Mm-mm.” She nodded. They stank of alcohol.
“We’re new in town,” the other said. “Where do you find the whores?”
“In Bowness,” she said gruffly. “Down the road a bit.”
“Who’s the cheapest?”
“Ask for Clare. You’ll get a workout.” Of course, you might be dead when it’s over, but you’ll get a workout.
“Can she take us both at once? We’ve only got three shillings between us.”
“Clare can definitely take you both at once.”
He elbowed his companion happily. “Head or tail?”
The other laughed. “Toss a coin, my friend.”
The first bowed to Panna. “Many thanks. Oh, and you’d better hurry if you’re on duty. The colonel was just about to call the duty roster.”
She nodded her thanks.
Jamie was probably already through the door. She walked quickly through the scorched stones then remembered the mangoes. With a hitch at the pocket of her breeks, she slowed to a stroll and made her way past the mound with the three cube-shaped stones, her hands clasped in lord-like fashion behind her back. As soon as she was out of sight, she ran to the door. It was locked, and the friar was in place. Where was Jamie? She prayed he was waiting for her on the other side.
With effort, she wiggled the little man free, clutching his nose for the final pull, and reached into the hole revealed behind him, every hair on her body standing on end.
She found the latch and opened it. Slowly she pushed the door open, holding it ajar with her foot while she slipped the stone back in place.
Panna stepped cautiously into the darkness. Someone slammed the door behind her, and she leapt a foot in the air.
“It’s me.” Jamie slid the bar across to hold it fast.
“Oh, thank God.”
“Let’s go.”
He led her up the circular stairs, and though her eyes had long adjusted to the night, the only thing she could see was the edge of the center wall and the outline of Jamie’s coat.
They emerged in Jamie’s hidden room. They waited until their eyes adjusted to the dark, then Jamie dug briefly in the sacks and pulled out a pouch. He shook it. “More gold,” he said, before slipping it into his pocket. “I wish I had another pistol here. I left the two I carried at Nunquam.”
From the window, she could see inside the bow window containing the surveying seat one floor below. No one was there and the space was dark, but that didn’t mean no one was in the library.
He led her back down the stairs, down the passageway under the library, and up to the door opening into the hallway in front of the chapel. “I’ll go first. Count to twenty, then follow. If you hear a noise, throw the bar and go to Clare.”
He lifted the bar, opened the door, and slipped out.
She began to count. At ten she followed. The hallway was empty. The door to the chapel was open. She ran inside.
A hand went over her mouth, and the room brightened with a whoosh. Adderly put the torch he’d lit into its holder and lowered his pistol.
“You see, Captain. I told you if you kept quiet I wouldn’t shoot her.”
Panna spun around. Two guards held Jamie’s arms. The look of despair on his face broke her heart.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“The captain, for one,” he said. “He’s a traitor, and I suspect you may be, too.”
“You’re pathetic. He outshines you in everything, and you can’t bear it.”
Adderly brought the back of his hand across her cheek, and Jamie howled, “You bastard!”
“You and I will be spending quite a bit of time together, Mrs. Carnegie. You will want to learn to watch your tongue.”
“I won’t tell you anything.”
“Oh, you will speak. You will beg to speak. Tell me, Captain, did your sweetheart tell you that she came to me drunk and offered me her wares?”
“Liar!” Panna cried.
“She is a most accommodating lover. She sucked my cock like a courtesan. Would you care to watch her do it again?” He reached for his breek buttons.
Jamie ripped himself free of the guards and charged. Adderly lifted the pistol to shoot, but Panna threw herself at his arm, kno
cked the gun out of his grasp, and sent it flying into a corner.
One of the guards caught Jamie’s arm. Jamie swung his free fist into the man’s chin. The man fell backwards with a groan, and his eyes flickered closed.
The other guard drew his sword.
Panna ran toward the dropped pistol, but Adderly grabbed her arm. He had the same idea.
Jamie unsheathed Robert’s sword and met the guard’s swing with a ferocious clang.
Adderly had both Panna’s arms now and flung her out of his way. She managed to get a hold of his breeks and used her body as a deadweight to hinder him.
The guard thrust his sword, catching Jamie’s side. Panna’s heart jumped into her throat, but it was only his coat, and the sword became tangled long enough for Jamie to ram his blade into the man’s thigh. The guard fell to the ground with a choked scream.
Adderly broke free of Panna, and he and Jamie raced for the gun. Adderly reached it first, but Jamie managed to kick it under the pews. The corner made maneuvering hard, and Adderly managed to unsheathe his sword before Jamie could get his into position.
Jamie leapt backward, just missing Adderly’s thrust. In an instant, they were in a furious battle, the ringing of clashing blades filling the room. Adderly swung and hit the corner of the crypt, sending a sliver of marble flying.
“Panna, go!” Jamie cried.
But she wasn’t going to leave him. She ran toward the pews to find the gun, but Adderly held her off with a slash of his blade.
The guard with the wounded thigh reached for Panna’s ankle, pulling her to the floor. She kicked the man’s nose, and he yelped in pain but held his grip.
Jamie fought furiously, but Adderly forced him to back slowly toward the kneeler in front of the crypt.
“Jamie, behind you!”
It was too late. He fell backward, and in an instant Adderly had his sword point on Jamie’s throat.
“How good it will be to see the noose tied round your neck.”
“Let her go,” Jamie said hoarsely. “I will confess to whatever you want.”
Adderly laughed. “You will confess and she will watch.” He pressed the blade harder and a rivulet of blood ran down Jamie’s neck. “Do you know where my men are heading in an hour? What is the name of the town where your little urchin lives? St. Cadoc? By morning St. Cadoc will be burnt to the ground and every man, woman, and child dead. And the only witness will report it was the clans.”
Jamie spat and Adderly kicked him.
“My war will be on,” Adderly said, the fire of lunacy in his eyes, “the war I’ve longed to fight. And we won’t stop until the only Scots left will be the ones on their knees, begging for mercy.”
Panna struggled to free herself. She could see the pistol three pews away.
“My father will never allow it,” Jamie said. “You’re an embarrassment to your uniform.”
Adderly’s face turned beet red. “You know, I thought I wanted to see you hang, but I think I prefer to kill you myself.” He gripped the sword hilt with both hands and lifted the sword.
“Stop it!” the earl roared as he burst through the door. “That’s your brother!”
Panna froze, as did Adderly—just long enough for Jamie to roll free.
“He’s your brother!” the earl cried. “My flesh and blood! Sorcha was mother to you both!”
Aghast, Jamie looked at Adderly. Adderly chewed his lip furiously, then swung the sword with all his might.
Jamie flung himself out of the way. Adderly’s swing hit the wall instead, sending the flaming torch rolling into the hall.
Jamie sprang to his feet and charged. Adderly ran down the aisle.
The earl caught Jamie’s arm and shoved him hard against the wall. Jamie’s sword crashed to the floor. “He’s your brother!” he screamed. “Stop it!”
“Why wouldn’t you admit it?” Jamie shouted back. He caught his father by the coat and shook him. “Why did I have to wait until now to hear the words?”
Jamie raised his arms to hammer his father with his fists, but the earl shoved him.
A thunderous explosion filled the room.
Panna turned in the direction of the noise. Adderly held the smoking pistol.
“Oh, Jamie. No. No!” she cried, kicking free of the guard.
But Jamie stood staring at his father, stunned.
“What have you done?” The earl gazed sorrowfully at Adderly. A small black hole had appeared in the middle of the earl’s chest.
“No!” Adderly cried, horrified. “No! I meant to shoot him!”
“Brothers . . .” the earl said softly, and crumpled.
The torch’s flames had engulfed the hallway rug now and were beginning to lick the walls.
“Get help!” Jamie shouted to Adderly.
Adderly looked at the pistol as if he didn’t recognize it as his own.
“Get help!”
Adderly dropped the pistol and ran.
Jamie pulled Panna to her feet. “Go through the passageway.”
“Not yet. Not without you.”
He grabbed the wounded guard and dragged him into the hallway.
Panna took the earl’s hand. He was breathing sporadically, his eyes wide and glassy. “I loved her.”
“I know. You built this chapel for her, didn’t you?”
“Aye. Adderly was born two years after Jamie.” He coughed and blood drained from his mouth. “My wife had already miscarried twice. She was told she would never be able to have any more children. I had to have an heir.”
“And you only took one of them?” Panna was horrified.
“Adderly was an infant. Sorcha was dying.”
Jamie returned, waving away the smoke. He grabbed the second guard and pulled him out.
“But why didn’t you take Jamie, too?” Panna asked.
“My wife would accept a bastard infant she could call her own. Not a two-year-old. We never told anyone.”
“Adderly’s not your heir. He was not born to your wife.”
“I love them both, but Adderly is my heir. I’ve claimed him as my own, and no one can change it.”
Jamie returned coughing. He knelt by his father. “Come.”
“Leave me. I’m dying.” He clasped Jamie’s forearm. “You’re a good man. I’m very proud. I wish . . . I wish things had been different.”
His eyes closed and his arm fell to his side.
Jamie clasped his father’s hand and squeezed. Then he pulled Panna toward the small door by the altar. “Is this the one?”
“Yes.”
He drew her into his arms and looked into her eyes. She knew what he was going to say.
“I cannot go.”
“I know.” She began to cry. “St. Cadoc.”
“I will come. I swear it. I swear on my mother’s honor I will come to you.”
“But how, Jamie? The chapel is burning.”
“If the door isn’t here, the passageway will be. It has to be. You must go.”
“Oh, Jamie. Your father was weak, but he loved you. He told me so. And he loved your mother. He was the one who built the chapel.”
Jamie’s eyes widened. “He said that?”
“Yes.”
Flames were pouring into the chapel now, streaming thick orange fingers up the ceiling.
“I have to go, Panna. I’m sorry.”
“Wait.” She grabbed his hand and pulled it into the void. Like hers, it disappeared into the darkness. “I had to be sure.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Tears ran down her cheeks.
“I’ll be waiting, Jamie.”
“I will come.”
FORTY
Andrew Carnegie Library, Carnegie, Pennsylvania Monday, July 30, 8:05 p.m.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Marie had turned off every light but the one over the circulation desk and was watching Panna from the entry hall, tote bag in hand.
“Yes.” Panna gave her friend a smile. “You worry too much about
me. I like that.”
Marie smiled back. “Well, when you didn’t show up yesterday . . .”
“I know, I know. I should have called. But, man, I felt lousy.”
Marie shifted. “It wasn’t Charlie, was it?”
Panna shook her head. “No. Believe it or not, this time it wasn’t Charlie. Charlie and I have come to a little understanding.”
“You have?”
“Yep. He thinks it’s time I moved on. I think so, too.”
“Oh, Panna, I’m glad.”
“Yeah.” she nodded. “Me, too.”
“So Steve?”
“Well, let’s give that a little time, shall we?” It shouldn’t take more than a few days for Jamie to arrive. Panna told herself that she was going to remain hopeful. Jamie had never failed to keep any promise he’d made to her.
“Are you staying long?” Marie asked. “I feel bad. This wasn’t even your day to work.”
“You know me: I can’t stay away.”
Marie hesitated. “And you’re sure you’re all right?”
“Positive.”
“All right. See you tomorrow.”
“Love you, Marie.”
Marie turned, surprised, and smiled. “I love you, too.”
Panna waited until Marie was gone, then laid her head on her arms and stared at the tiny fox sitting on her desk.
FORTY-ONE
Andrew Carnegie Library, Carnegie, Pennsylvania Wednesday, August 15, 10:20 p.m.
Panna was glad Marie had stopped asking her why she was the first person in the library every morning and the last person to leave every evening.
Tonight she was wrestling with herself over how to let go. One would think she’d be an expert, having already let go of one husband. But somehow that didn’t make it any easier.
Jamie had been like a wonderful, exciting dream. But dreams end, and life goes on. Jamie had lived—or died—and she would never know what happened. There was nothing in Google or Wikipedia that gave her any clue—nothing in any of the books in this or any library that said anything more than that the Earl of Bridgewater had died in 1706 and the earldom had passed to his son, John Bridgewater. Nowhere was one word written about James Bridgewater.
