Every Time with a Highlander (25 page)

Undine knew Silverbridge's reputation for fairness—as fair as an officer waging war in the borderlands could reasonably be—but he turned out to be a man of even more thoughtful consideration than she would've believed possible. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd married the granddaughter of a clan chief, an act that had won him no joy from the queen. Of course, it's very hard to tell a nobleman whom he can and cannot marry, especially when he had as much money as General His Grace, the Duke of Silverbridge.

“What assertion are you making then?” the duke asked after he'd heard their story. He was young for a general but sharp-eyed and kept his hair short over the collar of his officer's coat. He sat at a makeshift table piled high with correspondence. A carved whale on the church's small lectern rose out of its fashioned sea behind him, as if it were one of the supporters on his coat of arms.

Undine knew to proceed with caution. “I've told you the general nature of the threat. One of your officers”—she had taken care not to name Bridgewater yet—“has conspired with a wealthy Englishman prone to meddle in crown business to create a diversion before the vote, a diversion we believe will involve impersonating Scots and attacking your men.”

The duke rubbed his mouth with the back of his fist. He undoubtedly heard outlandish stories every day about the things the army did or that Scots were going to do—few of them invested with any truth.

“With no evidence?” he said.

“
We've
seen the evidence,” Michael said. “A letter in the officer's possession told him he must create the diversion prior to Midsummer's Day.”

“But you no longer have the letter?”

“No.” Michael shifted uncomfortably. “It was taken from me by a clan chief.”

“Whom you refuse to name.”

Undine leaned forward on her stool. “General, we're taking a risk coming to you.”

“Indeed you are. You're accusing one of my officers of treason.”

“With respect,” Undine said, “
you
could be the person with whom this man is conspiring. This could be an attempt organized by the army to put the Scots in an unfavorable light.”

The duke leaned back in his chair. “The Scots seem to be able to do that quite well on their own.”

Undine clasped her hands to keep from banging them on the table. “What I'm trying to say is we believe we can trust you. That's why we've come. We believe you wouldn't want an unfair attack on either side at this sensitive time.”

“Or at any time.”

“Or at any time,” she said, agreeing even if she didn't quite believe it.

The duke's gaze went to the guard at the church's entrance, who was speaking quietly to Mr. Fleming. The door had been propped open to allow the breeze into the sticky interior, and the sun illuminated the clergyman from behind as if he were a saint.

“Hallum,” the duke called.

The guard turned instantly. “Aye, sir.”

“Get my guests something to eat, will you?”

The man was smart enough to understand the implicit meaning of the order and exited, closing the door carefully behind him.

“Speak clearly and openly,” Silverbridge said. “No more obscure references. You have two minutes to convince me I should believe you.”

“And if we can't?” she said.

“You're wasting your precious minutes.”

She looked at Michael, who said, “It's your call.”

What choice did they have if they wanted to stop an attack? But complete honesty meant she was putting herself, her colleagues, and Michael at great risk.

“I would like an assurance from you—”

“Undine—may I call you Undine? I know of no other name to use.”

She nodded.

“Your work's well-known to the English army,” he said, “and near universally despised. And yet many of my men go to you to have their fortunes read. Some think that foolish. I certainly do. Even if you
can
tell them what will happen, what secrets and plans do they unintentionally reveal to you in the questions they ask? I'm not so foolish as to believe you can't cause even more problems for the army than you already have. And so I'm willing to listen to what appears to be your deeply held concern. I pray you can convince me, for I should not like what I shall have to do next if you don't. Who is the officer?”

She took a deep breath. “Colonel John Bridgewater.”

The duke's face didn't change.

She licked her drying lips. “We believe he's conspiring with Simon Morebright to prepare a violent attack that can be blamed on the Scots. I stole the letter from Colonel Bridgewater's desk. It had no address and no signature except the letter
S
and, therefore, could be from or to anyone. As I was indisposed, Mr. Kent took the letter to a clan chief, whom I refuse to name, to see if the violence could be stopped and, I believe, because he was concerned for my safety.”

Silverbridge's eyes cut to Michael, and the general seemed to reconsider whatever assumptions he'd made so far about him.
You're not alone in that, sir.

“Lady Kerr,” the duke said, filling in the unspoken name of the clan chief involved. “We're well aware of whom you count among your friends. But go on.”

Undine refused to let this unsettle her. “I've also seen a letter in Colonel Bridgewater's own hand in which he acknowledges he has the power to ‘do things' outside his immediate purview in the army but that they—he and the person to whom he has written this letter—must proceed cautiously. This letter was in Lord Morebright's possession and hidden.”

The general must have been a damned fine cardplayer. His face did not betray his feelings.

“Can you show me
that
letter?” he said.

She made a private groan. “No. Not yet. 'Twas taken from me for safety's sake. We expect to meet the person who has it this morning.”

Silverbridge gazed at her with curiosity. “It sounds as if you make yourself quite a nuisance as a houseguest. In this tale of yours, are Lord Morebright or Colonel Bridgewater aware that you're in possession of their stolen letters?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Yet now we can assume every clan chief between here and Inverness is aware both of the plan and your part in uncovering it?”

She hung her head. “I would have to assume that, aye. And there's more.” She made a small prayer of forgiveness to Abby. “It's possible the clans are planning their own, real attack. The chiefs were very angry about the abuses—potential abuses—wrought by Colonel Bridgewater and his regiments.”

The general tapped his thumb. “You've put me in a very awkward position,” he said. “And I regret to inform you, you're now the temporary guests of the English army—at least until Midsummer's Day.”

Her heart fell.

Michael said, “Why are you holding us? She told you everything.”

“Let's say there are aspects of her story I should like to investigate further. Who's the man who's bringing the letter?”

Undine crossed her arms. “I've said enough.”

The general chuckled. “Rather too late for caution, wouldn't you say? As you wish. I'll put my men out on patrol. We'll find the man and deal with him.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Enter,” Silverbridge called.

Hallum stepped in cautiously, holding a tray of food. The duke waved him over and stood. “Put them in the back room after they eat,” he said to Hallum, “and post guards.” Turning to her and Michael, the duke added, “I appreciate your honesty. 'Twas eye-opening indeed—though perhaps not for the reason you were wishing. We'll move you to the room I occupy for now. You'll understand, I hope, if I remove my papers before you enter.” He gave her a wan smile.

“I've told you the truth,” she said curtly.

“I hope so,” he said. “'Twill be the only thing that saves you.”

His bow was foreshortened by the appearance in the doorway of another officer, who looked as if he carried upsetting news.

The duke hurried to the man's side. The officer looked at Undine as he murmured into his general's ear. The duke gave a brief order under his breath, and the man disappeared. The duke returned to Undine and Michael with a new sharpness in his eye.

“Perhaps your stay with us will not be as long as you think,” he said. “Or your stay as guests. It seems I have a visitor. 'Tis the man of the hour, Colonel Bridgewater.”

Nab stared sullenly out the window. George and Harry, two of Bridgewater's oldest and nastiest servants, sat on either side of him, and the carriage bumped roughly across the uneven path.

“I'm hungry,” Nab demanded.

“There's no food for thieving little shites,” George said. “You'll be lucky if we don't eat
you
.”

Eliza, the cook, an older woman with round, pink cheeks, gave Nab a regretful look. “Once the master doles out his punishment, we'll give you something to send you on your way.”

Her daughter, Grace, a year or so older than he was and with dark ringlets, suppressed a smile.

The master—Colonel Bridgewater—had questioned Nab roughly about his friendship with Undine, and Nab had thrown every piece of information about her that everyone in the borderlands already knew the arsehole's way, adding tears for effect—Undine was a fortune-teller, Undine saw men alone in her home, Undine was friends with a goddamned Scottish clan chief named Abby Kerr. Bridgewater had been furious, but he'd finally given up, and Nab had thought he'd be free to go, but the man had grabbed him at the last minute and shoved him into the servants' carriage, which had been readied for the early return to Coldstream. Bridgewater had told George and Harry that Nab was not to leave the carriage until they'd reached Coldstream, and then he was to be locked up until Bridgewater returned later in the day and decided what to do with him.

“We ain't giving the lad a meal, Eliza,” George said sharply.

“When you run the kitchen, George, you may set the rules. Until then…” She folded her chubby hands around her basket.

Grace met Nab's eyes, amused, and returned to the book she'd been reading.

There was something about the way she looked at him with that superior smirk on her face. He found it extremely annoying but also something else—something that made him want to take that book from her hands and toss it out the window. It also made him want to pull the letter out of his pocket—the one that would make him a hero—hold it in front of that upturned pink nose, and ask what she'd done to bring about peace in the borderlands. Bridgewater thought he was so high and mighty, but never once in his rant about Undine did he think to look in Nab's pockets.

“What's ‘Nab' short for?” Grace asked suddenly.

Nab's face exploded in heat. How could she have known to ask the worst question in the world?

“Nab,” Harry said. “It's what ye do with criminals, aye? Ye nab 'em!” He grinned like a fool, and Nab wished he could knock Harry's few remaining teeth from his head.

Grace gave the man the same look she'd given Nab and dug into the parcel beside her.

“The lady asked you a question,” George said. “Answer her.”

Lady? Ha!
She was a servant. At least Nab had a proper job and no one to call boss except himself.

Grace closed her book, taking care to keep her finger on the page she was reading—Lord knew she wouldn't want to miss a word, Miss Snooty Nose—and regarded him with mild curiosity.

“'Tis short for Norbert,” he said through gritted teeth, ears ringing with shame.

“Oh.” She opened her book and went back to the story.

Bloody goddamned
girl
.

“I need to stop,” Grace said after a moment.

Harry and George looked at each other and rolled their eyes. Girls and their pissing. Nab hoped there might be some stinging nettle in the woods to brush her when she—

A very strange feeling came over him at the notion, and he found himself fighting to keep his eyes fixed on the view beyond the window rather than on her face.

George banged on the ceiling. “Tom! Stop! One of the ladies needs to take a walk.”

The carriage rattled to a stop, and Grace unfolded herself.

George jumped out to hold the door, and Grace bent to check the laces on her boots before stepping down. She unfolded herself in a swirl of fabric, and Nab felt something round being pushed into his hand.

She jumped onto the road, ignoring George's hand, and Nab shoved the plum into his pocket, flushing hard.

“I'll go with you,” George said to Grace.

“The hell you will.”

Grace flounced off, while Nab stared, speechless, at that shapely back.

“How far are we?” Harry said, exiting the carriage himself.

“Nearly to Edinburgh,” George said.

The plum was cool and smooth, a bit like Grace's hand, and he began to plot a way to savor his gift.

Undine sat at the small desk of the church office, the room that the duke had been using as a makeshift bedchamber. She touched the desktop, wondering if the evident goodness of Mr. Fleming had imbued the wood with its warm glow. In any case, it was better than considering the fiery and charred colors she saw in her vision regarding what was coming next.

“Are we rubbing this for good luck?” Michael asked gently.

She gave him a weak smile. He made his way to her side and laid a hand on her shoulder. “You know you can share what you're seeing. I've been watching your face, after all.”

Were her feelings so clear? Around him, she was losing the masking skills she'd worked so long to nurture. She squeezed his hand.

He said, “My gran always told me, ‘Shared joy is doubled; shared sorrow is halved.' I can bear my half.”

She shook her head. “I see unhappiness,” she said, hurrying to add, “but my powers are far from perfect.”

He laughed. “You hardly need to tell me that. I was the person who got yanked out of the twenty-first century, after all.”

She couldn't help but smile.

“You've never asked me to tell you what I see,” she said. “About
your
future, I mean.”

He pulled up a stool and sat close enough to tuck her hand between the two of his. “I rather thought of it as the thing other men did, the ones who weren't trying to impress you.”

“Impress me?” she said, lifting a brow. “Is that what you call that hellfire scolding you gave me when you arrived?”

He shrugged. “You haven't forgotten, have you?”

“No. Nor am I likely to.” She brought his hand to her cheek. “You're very hard to read, and I wonder if it's your training or…”

“Or what?”

The dizzying effects of this lust-filled attraction, she thought. It was as if a cloud had settled over him when she brought her mind to him. Oh, she saw color—vibrant, jeweled hues that swirled seductively, filling her senses and blurring her sight. None of it made sense, and almost all of it made her want to crawl into his lap and beg him to bed her.

He looked into her eyes, seeing more than she wished.

“I see,” he said, the corner of his mouth rising. He leaned forward, putting his mouth to her ear. “I should very much like to repeat what we did this morning,” he whispered, drawing his thumb across her palm.

“In a locked room?” she said. “With guards who could open the door at any moment?”

“Oh, aye.”

She caught her breath—barely—and found her hands grasping his knees through the soft wool of his kilt.

“
Mmm
,” he said, irritatingly smug.

She found his cock and balls and cupped them, which instantly wiped the smugness from his face.

The flesh tightened into warm steel in her hand.

“
Mmm
,” she said.

“Take care, lass. I have it in my head to take you up against that wall, and too much more of that will make it far more hurried than you'd like.”

She leaned back and opened a knee—an invitation.

He tumbled her skirts into her lap and found her bud. She curled her fingers around the arms of the chair and closed her eyes.

“I should very much like to see the top of that gown loosened,” he said matter-of-factly.

She did as he said, but only enough to allow a hint of the rose-colored circles to appear.

“You're a temptress,” he said, his cheeks ruddy now.

Her breathing quickened. “I am just as interested in a show as you are.”

With a flick of her hand, she brushed the flap of his plaid over his knee. His thick cock swayed in the light.

“This is getting a wee bit dangerous, don't you think?”

“Ye have no one to blame but yourself. Can ye finish me with that?”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Oh, I know you can finish to your own satisfaction—I've never met a man who couldn't. But can you finish me to mine?”

He stood and pulled her up with him. He gazed at her, lust and love in his eyes. His fingers brushed hers, and her heart thumped.

“I won't leave you,” he said. “Not as long as ye'll have me. And I'll die to protect you.”

“I know,” she said, surprised at her certainty. “I can feel it.”

“What do you see? For me? For us?”

His presence, so close and so intense, filled her head, clearing the clouds. The suffusion was so violent, she winced. And then she wished she hadn't seen what she saw.

“Undine.”

“I-I—”

“Tell me.”

She wanted to push it out of her head, this distant, dark emptiness she saw—gray and cold. Like a frozen sea in the dead of winter—

She opened her eyes, and he was back—warm, fleshed, alive. But he knew. He'd seen her face and he knew.

“I don't see what will happen,” she said sadly. “Men think I do, but I don't. I see a feeling—a sense of the future. The rest is just magician's tricks.”

“Tell me,” he said.

“I went to your future,” she said sadly. “Alone or…worse. There's nothing of joy there.”

His arm fell, and he took in a long breath. “I've been alone all my life,” he said. “Dead would be a blessing. But for now, here, with you, I'm alive.”

He kissed her, and in it, she felt acceptance and hope. Her mouth searched for forever, but all the world would give her was now.

“I want you,” she said.

“And I you.”

He pressed her against the wall, and she tugged up her skirts. He entered her slowly, reverentially, his head bowed to touch hers. They moved together, trying to capture the connection and hold it in their hearts.

When the gasp came, Undine clasped his stubbled cheek. He held her there—in the place between love and loss—as long as he could and then found his own release.

She tucked herself into his arms, cold now despite the warmth of the day.

“Michael.”

He touched her lips, silencing the hunger for something that couldn't be.

“Mr. Fleming will not thank us for this,” she said, voice shaking.

Michael chuckled, still holding her tight. “Perhaps we can point the finger at the duke?”

She felt a tear well and wiped it away. “I've never had this…easy intercourse with another.”

He squeezed her waist and she could feel his smile. “I'd hardly say it was easy.”

She laughed. “I want you to know how much this has meant to me—knowing you.”

He cupped her chin and lifted it. “I see nothing of my future. I have no special skills in that area. But nothing you've told me has convinced me that I won't be with you forever and—”

Voices rose beyond the door, and they broke apart.

The door banged open, and the general looked at them, cold fury in his eyes. He looked at the scene before him. It would be obvious to anyone whose experiences were broad enough what had just transpired, and he shook his head.

“You might have told me Bridgewater is your husband,” he said to Undine, and added to Michael, “And you might have told me you two were on the run.”

He slammed the door and paced to the window.

“We have a few moments, no more. Your husband has demanded to have you returned to him, Lady Bridgewater, and I have no recourse but to do what he asks.”

Michael opened his mouth to protest, and the duke silenced him. “He's asked for you as well. I told him he could press charges if he wished, but he had no right to take you from here.”

“He has no right to her either,” Michael said. “Even if she loved him, which she doesn't, nor he her, she has the right to leave him if she wants.”

Undine shook her head, fully aware of Bridgewater's rights in the eyes of the law.

“Naive fool,” the duke said to Michael. “You're lucky I believe her story.”

She straightened. “You
do
?”

“Aye. We've been watching Bridgewater for a while, but we weren't sure what he was planning and we certainly had no proof. I've had my own men following him, talking to the men he talks to, asking questions. We've had to tread carefully because he's an officer and a nobleman.”

Michael snorted. “Must protect our own.”

“We hold ourselves to a higher standard,” the general said. “I regret if a man who has omitted inconvenient truths and formed a relationship with the married wife of another man finds that distasteful.”

“Take care, Your Grace,” Undine said testily. “I've read the souls of noblemen and simple men alike. I've never known a man more good than Michael Kent. If you'd like me to make a public proclamation of the stains of your fellow officers and noblemen, I can, and will, if you continue on in this vein.”

The general sighed. “You are exactly as my intelligence officers have described.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“I'll tell you what we know. It's the least I can do, and if your wish is to be free of Colonel Bridgewater, I believe it will be fulfilled soon. Morebright used to be in the queen's intelligence service. He fell out of favor and moved up here, but he's kept a circle of very unpleasant friends in Edinburgh and London—men who still work in service to the queen but who sell their country's secrets to each other and others. Morebright and his friends have profited on the unrest. He's gotten Bridgewater to hire a group of criminals to pose as clansmen and attack a carriage carrying some of Bridgewater's servants. We believe the carriage is heading from Lord Morebright's home to Coldstream this morning. The disguised men will murder the occupants, leaving one man to describe the horror of the clan attack. But you're wrong about the motive. They're not hoping to convince the Scottish noblemen to vote for the union. They want to provoke Scotland and England into a war that will never end.”

Her head spun. Attacking the English army was horror enough, but attacking his own innocent servants?

“You have to stop the attack,” she said.

The duke stuffed his hands into his pockets and hung his head. “I can't.”

“Why the hell not?” Michael asked.

“Because many more people will die if we don't find out the names of Morebright's sources,” the duke said hotly. “And if we stop this small attack, Morebright will know he's been compromised. Ask Undine or her rebel friends what they'd rather do—save the lives of a handful of people or finally remove the men who generate war for profit.”

He was right. She knew he was right. This was war. They had the chance to really turn the tide. Even a union between England and Scotland would be tolerable if peace, that rare jewel, came along with it.

“He's right,” she said to Michael with regret. The thought of that carriage…

“I wish it didn't have to be this way,” the duke said. “'Tis the most awful sort of decision a man in my position has to make. Believe me, I have little desire to sacrifice lives—”

“Servants' lives, you mean,” Michael said. “It's only a ‘small' attack, as you said. You and your army would tear the borderlands to pieces if it meant saving the lives of noblemen.”

“
Michael.
”

“I won't be saving any noblemen,” the duke said, sighing. “Certainly not these two. I'll be damning them both to hell—and a few more besides for good measure. But any regret I might have in helping to destroy the trust our country has placed in men of wealth and position is nothing—
nothing
—compared to the loss of those servants. But it must be done. And that's the burden I have to bear.”

“We all do,” Undine said, nauseated.

“Can't you hold Bridgewater?” Michael said.

“For what? We have suspicion but no proof. Not unless your man shows up with the letter.” The duke crossed to the window and scanned the hills. “Removing Bridgewater from his office, and Morebright and his colleagues from their profiteering, is the most important thing I can do to bring peace to the people who live here. My family seat is in the borderlands, you know. My people suffer too. I need those names. Once I have them, we'll have enough to arrest Bridgewater
and
the others.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“That's your husband,” the duke said. “I don't know exactly what you meant to achieve by marrying him, though I think I can safely guess. I'm sorry I can't help you any further, but I have every confidence you have the resources to keep the ruse going until we've done what needs to be done.”

“You can't hand her over,” Michael said. “The man's a
murderer
.”

The general looked at Undine, and with a nod, she accepted her assignment and released him from any guilt he might have.

“
Undine.
”

The door opened, and the hairs on Undine's arms immediately stood on end. Nothing in Bridgewater's appearance suggested anything beyond the faintly discommoded, but there was a dark energy in him, invisible to others, that had been lacking for the past few weeks. The man she could see was a barely concealed beast, ready to tear into anything that got in his way with razor-sharp teeth. She looked at Michael and the general. Did either of them see what she saw? Michael, of course, looked ready to kill him, which warmed her heart, but neither he nor the duke seemed to sense the danger.

“I think I should like to lie down for a bit before we go,” Undine said, crossing her arms to hide the shaking.

“You may lie down in the carriage, my dear,” Bridgewater said. “Our time here is over.”

He took her hand to pull her out, and Michael lunged for him, but the duke stepped between them.

“Hold him,” the duke said to his guards, who took Michael by the arms. It pained her to see his sorrow, but she also knew keeping him away from Bridgewater would save him. She was doomed.

“You watch yourself, you bloody blackguard,” Bridgewater sneered. “I'll see to it you pay the price for your villainy. You won't be smiling when I meet you next.”