Timeless Desire (16 page)

“I have the letters he wrote to my mother while they were . . . courting, I suppose one would call it.” His jaw muscles flexed. “She believed they were engaged to marry. However, his family fortunes took a turn for the worse after some bad investments. He needed an infusion of gold to save the family estate. Instead of marrying my mother, he married a woman of means.”

“You could show him the letters.”

“To what end? They do not prove he is my father.”

“They prove your mother and he had an intimate relationship.”

He shook his head. “My mother suffered enough. She died sick and alone. Having her most private thoughts held up to the light would be obscene. Besides,” he added in a voice thick with anger, “I am afraid I might kill him if he were to claim her letters were lies.”

“Is that your mother in the chapel crypt?” Panna asked softly.

“Aye. Sorcha MacIver. May she rest in peace.”

“You built that for her?”

“I did not. Though the question has been asked of me before,” he said, “you see, this castle was once my Scottish grandfather’s, before I was born.”

“Clare told me.”

“But it was nearly destroyed in a battle fire years ago.”

“Then ceded to the English crown.”

His eyebrows rose, as if he wondered what else Clare had shared with her about his family’s past.

“Aye, it was,” he said. “But not at first. Though my grandfather was not welcome on English land after the battle, he still owned the place. He had the chapel rebuilt and had my mother’s remains removed from the pauper’s grave in which she lay and buried her here. Twas done quietly. No man bore witness to his shame. He had already built his new castle on the hill there, across the water, in Scotland. He called it Nunquam Obliviscar. Tis the motto of Clan MacIver: ‘I will never forget.’ Well, I will never forget, either.”

“Why did he move her here and not there, to his new castle?”

“This is where she grew up—when it was a part of Scotland. He had behaved despicably toward her in life, so he tried to make up for it in her death. At least, that is my belief.”

“You bought the castle in which your mother was already buried?”

“It had been my lifelong wish.”

How sad to have lost a daughter, especially in such circumstances. Panna wondered if she would have been a loving and faithful parent. “Your grandfather must have deeply regretted what he had done.”

Bridgewater snorted. “He could not bear the guilt, more like. So now he can look at the chapel spire along my ramparts and think he has redeemed himself. But he shall burn in hellfire for what he did. I may not walk with God, but I know enough to know what God would think of my grandfather.”

She chose not to comment on the obvious contrast between the man she had seen fervently praying and the man who claimed he did not walk with God. But none of what he’d said explained how he had come to live in such surroundings. “You are a wealthy man, Bridgewater. Career soldiers are rarely wealthy.”

“Water pumps,” he said. “I invested in Thomas Savery’s device. I knew very little about the science when the opportunity came to me, but I knew there is no end to the amount of water men want to have moved. My investment made me rich. This”—he made a sweeping gesture around the room—“is the result.”

“Water pumps?”

“Aye, and we are working together to make improvements to it as well. Tis more satisfying than you can imagine to wield a compass instead of a sword. Perhaps someday no one will need a sword.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that men would continue to turn to swords and things far worse in the future. “So you’ve made a very respectable fortune, and yet you still serve in the army?”

“One does not throw off one’s training easily, Panna. Panna
is
your name, is it not?”

She flushed. “Yes.”

“And might I still retain the use of it? Despite misleading you with the note, I mean.”

The velvet gray of his eyes made her look down. “Yes, I suppose.”

“Thank you. I apologize for my behavior. You are quite correct. To assume every man—or woman—has the potential to harm you
is
a sorry way to go through life.”

“And I would agree it would have been very hard not to be shaped by your particular circumstances.”

He bowed his head, appreciative of her understanding. “Though it is your circumstances that are perhaps the more worthy of comment.”

His scrutiny brought a warmth to her face. She felt as if she were a butterfly in a bell jar.

“I have heard stories about time travelers—though of course one hears all manner of stories in the borderlands. I admit I never believed them. And if I’m honest, I’m not entirely certain I do now.”

“I can understand why you’d be skeptical.”

She considered trotting out a fact about England’s immediate future, but something made her wary—not of him but of sharing the future with someone from the past. She felt a sort of paternalistic caution about offering information that could be so potentially dangerous, like a parent keeping knives out of the reach of a toddler.

“Let us assume for a moment that what you tell me is true—”

“Which is only fitting, given that I have twice earned your trust.” She smiled dryly.

He coughed. “Indeed. Let me restate my thought: since what you’ve told me is unerringly true, I am prompted to ask a few questions. First, from where did you come?”

“Penn’s Woods—Pennsylvania. As I told you.”

“And from when?”

“The twenty-first century.”

His eyes widened. She knew what was going through his head now: three centuries of questions. How did people live? What had changed? Were there still wars? Carriages? Guns? Ships? Swords? She waited for the barrage.

There was none.

He shook his head in wonder. “You are in very great danger.”

Goose bumps rose on her flesh despite the room’s warmth. “No. I intend to—”

He caught her arm. “Do not tell anyone what you have told me, do you understand?”

“I won’t, but—”

“You have not fought in a war. There are men who will do brutal things, stop at nothing to gain an advantage. You are the most powerful weapon a man could wield. Swear to me you will not tell anyone.”

The fear in his eyes frightened her. “I swear.”

“I’m afraid . . .” His face hardened, but there was a look of gentle regret in his eyes. “I’m afraid you must leave as soon as you can. I do not wish it—Lord, I do not wish it—but it must be.”

She felt a stab of sadness. “I do not wish it, either, Bridgewater.”

“Our stars are crossed. Tis what a playwright once said.”

“I know him, too.”

He held out his hand and she extended her own until her fingertips met his. An exquisite pleasure radiated through her. She never wanted to let go. But she knew she would have to. They both would.

“Then you will go?” He gazed at her, his eyes filled with grief.

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

His arm fell to his side. “I don’t know what to say. You came into my life like some sort of mythical creature less than a day ago, and now you must go. I owe you a debt I shall never be able to repay.”

He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, but when those blue eyes came to rest on hers, she couldn’t bear it. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. His hands found her waist and he crushed her to him. She felt as if she were losing herself inside him, his mouth, his arms, savoring the sweetly turbulent storm for as long as she dared.

At the sound of voices in the hall, they flew apart. Bridgewater took a step toward the window, arms at his side, his face pale in the morning sun.

Adderly was giving an aide instructions as they strode in. Both men bowed to Panna. Adderly smiled.

“Has Captain Bridgewater been a companionable host?” he asked.

“He has,” she said, flustered.

“Bridgewater, the general wishes to see you.”

“Shall I accompany you as far as the rose garden?” he said. “I believe Mrs. Carnegie would enjoy seeing it.”

“Thank you,” Adderly said, “but I believe we will stay here for a bit.”

Seeing no other way to prolong his time with her, Bridgewater met her eyes with a careful gaze.

“Might I give you a memento of my library, Mrs. Carnegie?”

She nodded, afraid to speak.

Bridgewater strode to the bookcase nearest the hearth. It happened to be one whose doors were missing some of their glass. He slipped a hand through the opening and drew out a familiar volume. It was
Animals of the Orient
. Panna smiled.

He handed the book to her. “With my compliments.”

“Thank you. Your library is exemplary. I have enjoyed my time here very much.”

“You are most welcome.” He took her hand and kissed it.

Panna was intently aware that this moment was the last she’d spend in his company. She withdrew her hand reluctantly, clutching the book’s smooth leather. She wished she could tell him how much her time with him had meant.

“Bridgewater—” she began.

“Bridgewater,” Adderly interrupted, “when you finish with the general, would you let Lieutenant Harrison know I wish to speak with him?”

Bridgewater nodded. He caught Panna’s eye, his face asking the question he dared not ask out loud: Was there something more she wanted to say?

But the moment had passed. She relaxed her grasp and shook her head.

He bowed again and exited. Adderly’s officer followed.

Adderly said, “Has the captain impressed you with his collection, milady? I am told he has an account of the Battle of Stirling Bridge written in William Wallace’s own hand.”

“My goodness!” She thought of how much she’d been moved by
Braveheart
. “Have you read it?”

“I am not inclined to review the observations of a traitor to the Crown, milady. He came to a rather inglorious end, I’m sure you know. Hanged until he was nearly dead, then disemboweled and cut into quarters.”

“Surely, one can profit from reading the accounts of every side of a question—even the accounts of men with whom one disagrees?”

“You sound like the captain now,” he said, smiling. “He hurts his chances for advancement with the opinions he holds. He circles the edge of a fire I fear will consume him.”

“Do you think so?” she said innocently. “I thought the charges had been dropped.”

Adderly gazed at her through the blackest of lashes. “Tis true we have no firm evidence against him, but I cannot deny my instincts. If you thought you had any sway with him . . .”

“What? Me? No, I do not.” Why would Adderly think she would have sway over a man she’d supposedly met only fifteen minutes earlier?

“A shame.” He nodded philosophically. “Shall we sit? I should very much like to hear more about your library.”

She knew she ought to excuse herself, but her curiosity about the private upheavals in the two Bridgewater families got the better of her. Besides, what difference would a few more minutes make? “I heard from someone in town that Captain Bridgewater has made a claim against your family. That must be very awkward.”

Adderly shook his head. “Aye. I’m afraid his mother planted it in his head that he is the son of my father. Of course, the idea is ridiculous. My father would hardly have consorted with a Scot. ‘Tis not unusual for men to make such claims. I am afraid greed or jealousy is often at the root of it.”

“But he is quite wealthy, is he not?”

“That is debatable. He is not of noble birth, however, and that may be his motivation, though I do not pretend to know what is in any man’s head but my own.”

“And yet . . .” She gazed at that slightly bent nose and those catlike features. She was so tempted to ask if Adderly had ever considered, even briefly, that the claim might be true.

“‘And yet’?”

“And yet, that is hardly why I have come. I apologize. I’m certain talking of these things is unpleasant for you.”

“One bears it as one can. Please, sit.” He gestured to the chairs by the window. She was glad he hadn’t chosen the window seat. He had the eager-to-please look of a yellow Lab: She suspected that if she tossed him a ball, they could play all afternoon. Given Adderly’s general amenability, she wondered for a brief moment if she might actually finagle a contribution from him and, if so, if it would be worthwhile to stay longer.

“Actually,” she said, deciding on balance it wouldn’t. “I wonder if you might direct me to the privy.”

“Tis just down the hall and around the corner. Come.” He held out his elbow for her.

Though she wanted no escort, she could hardly say as much. She accepted his arm reluctantly.

He led back Panna into the hall. What she saw there made her wish she hadn’t been quite so determined to return to the past last night.

An armed soldier stood guard in front of the chapel door.

A
S THE AFTERNOON SUN BEGAN ITS GENTLE DESCENT
, B
RIDGEWATER
reviewed the last of the regimental drills, a task usually reserved for a colonel; but Adderly had disappeared, and Colonel Van Allen had spent the day overseeing the stowage of the new delivery of gunpowder from the south, a task Bridgewater would normally have handled.