Timeless Desire (17 page)

The men marching by did their best not to let their gazes linger on his battered face. His eye was fully purple now and his lip throbbed. He observed his men with a distant, disengaged part of his mind. His more active thoughts strolled eagerly through memories of Panna Kennedy.

He could still taste the sweetness of her mouth and feel her thick, silky tresses as he’d removed those combs. How he would have liked their time together to have been longer and unencumbered by the demands of war. He would happily have led her to his bedchamber and loosened the ties on that gown. She’d said she was a widow. He wondered if it was true. Whoever had schooled her in the pleasures of the flesh, however, had done his job well. A fire burned in her that had never been damped by coldness, cruelty, or clumsiness. He could almost feel her legs around him and her back arching as he thrust. She might say she was from the future, but there were some enjoyments that hadn’t changed in a thousand years, nor would they in the next thousand.

The future.

As he’d told her, he had heard stories, usually of a traveler who’d gone to the future and returned, only to be destroyed by greed or some stolen and misused knowledge. They were the stuff of nursemaid tales, meant to be instructive to children and keep them focused on their lessons.

But he couldn’t deny that there was a sound to Panna’s voice he’d never heard, not even on the ship of his sea captain friend, Hugh, whose crew came from all four corners of the earth. And there was a look to her that, as pleasing to the eye as it might be, struck him as unusual. He couldn’t say if it was the glow of her skin or the confidence in her gait or the uninhibited way she’d found a seat on the floor and opened the book. Little wonder he’d mistaken her for a spy.

He had no belief in the stories of fairies or selkie or the folk of the woods that the people around here held dear. He may have grown up in the cold, unwelcoming atmosphere of an orphanage, but at least Father Giles had never let the children be fed the misguided tales of the borderlands. Father Giles had been a man of science, and under him the children had learned math and astronomy and the names of the plants and animals of England and Scotland.

So, why did Bridgewater believe her?

He gave the lieutenant a minute nod, releasing the men from their exercise. He was to meet Robbie, one of the rebels, tonight in Drumburgh, but only if he could shake the man Adderly had put in place to track him. Bridgewater’s eyes cut to the man, supposedly a tinker plying his pots and pans to the supply master. He’d been to the camp in various forms— a tinker today, a brewer the day before that—always lurking at the fringes of activity, waiting for Bridgewater to leave.

He caught Private Kenworthy’s eye and made a surreptitious motion toward the space behind the tents. The man hadn’t flinched, which probably meant he’d kept Bridgewater’s confidence regarding the run-in outside the powder house with Thomas the night before.

Bridgewater walked toward the gate then ducked down a path to the tents. He found Kenworthy approaching Kingfisher, the peacock, with some sort of treat. Unfortunately, he was not surprised to see the peacock rear back and leap, talons first, at Kenworthy’s legs.

“Kingfisher,” Bridgewater called. “At ease.”

Kingfisher abandoned his attack and began to peck at the corn Kenworthy had dropped in surprise.

“Canny bird, that one,” Kenworthy said, wiping the dust from his trousers.

“If only all my recruits were as fierce. I wanted to let you know I’ve written to Colonel O’Donovan in Dublin. I expect an answer within a week.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Kenworthy, I should like your help on another matter.”

“If I can, sir.” The man hitched his sword belt higher on his waist.

“Do you see the man showing the cauldron to Sergeant Pfeiffer past the gate?”

Kenworthy nodded, his mouth tightening into a knot at one corner. “When I was growing up, the tinker always polished his pots first.”

“I would like you to purchase half a dozen pots for your betrothed.”

“I don’t have a betrothed, sir.”

“Fortunately, the tinker doesn’t know that. You only want the finest copper, but you know very little about pots, so he’ll need to explain what to look for when choosing and how to properly care for each one. Whatever you do, just make sure he doesn’t climb on his horse to go, even if it means you have to jump into the saddle yourself. I shall pay you for the pots tomorrow and I hope you will consider it a gift to your mother in Dublin.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

Kenworthy went one way and Bridgewater went the other. He ducked into the overgrown rose garden and jogged to the other side, where he let out a sigh, thinking what it might have been like to walk Panna through these fragrant paths and steal a kiss against the sun-dappled stone wall. Then he slipped among a group of soldiers walking down the long hill toward his stables.

B
RIDGEWATER HAD REACHED THE CROSSROADS AND
without thinking slowed Romulus to a trot. Drumburgh was only a quarter hour ahead, and he had planned to dine at the inn there before his meeting, but something was pulling him in the other direction.

The horse, unused to any sort of hesitancy under Bridgewater’s hand, looked back questioningly.

“I hope you don’t mind putting your supper off for a bit,” Bridgewater said, “but if it makes you feel any better, I’ll be skipping mine entirely. There are certain things one is willing to sacrifice for a few minutes with the right woman.”

The horse’s ears went up, but he obeyed the tug on his bridle and turned toward Glasson.

T
HE WOMAN IN QUESTION LOOKED AT
Bridgewater appraisingly, and he wondered if she was glad to see her childhood acquaintance. It had been a long time since he’d crossed her threshold.

“Have you come to prepare yourself for battle?” She threw back her shoulders just enough to remind Bridgewater there were men superstitious enough to believe bedding a naiad would bring them luck on the fields of war.

“No, I’m afraid not.”

Undine tossed her head and returned to her turnips. A river nymph peeling vegetables. He supposed even fairies needed to eat.

“Have you seen Father Giles of late?” he asked, taking a seat at her small table.

“He does not approve of how I live.”

As a whore and a fortune-teller? No, I suppose not.
“He is well. He sends his regards.”

“What have you come for, Jamie? I doubt it’s to reminisce about our childhood.”

“No. I want to ask you about time.”

She stopped her peeling. “Time?”

“Aye. Is it possible, do you think, to travel from one time to another?”

She laughed. “Are you thinking of a new way to subdue France? Or is it Scotland this time?”

“Neither. I want to know if it’s possible and if anyone has done it.”

She leaned against the turf of the cottage wall and gave him a curious look. He didn’t believe she was a fairy, though she’d been telling the same story since he met her. Mother a naiad, father unknown. Whether he believed her or not, however, he had seen her read many a man’s future, and a good deal of the things she’d said had come to be.

“It has been done, Jamie. Though not by me.”

“It has?”

“There are men who can do it. The powers are not open to all. And you must find a passageway first. They are as rare as narwhals. There’s one in the Highlands, near Pennan, I hear. And another under a butcher shop in Paris.”

“What about Cumbria?”

She paused before answering, and he could see something flicker across her features. “I have never seen one.”

He gave her a look. She was avoiding the question.

“Fine. Aye. I have heard there is one here,” she said finally.

“Where?”

“Do not attempt it. Time travel can change a man. A greedy man becomes feverish for money. A man with a taste for whisky becomes a drunkard. An angry man becomes a killer.”

“What sin of mine are you afraid of magnifying?”

She gazed at him as if she were doing a moral inventory, but she didn’t answer. Instead she said, “Why do you insist on staying in that man’s army? He shall never love you as a father should.”

The question was like a blow, and the hurt must have been apparent on his face, for she shook her head chidingly. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”

“Tis foolish to wish for such things, I know, but I just think if I can earn his respect—”

“I know what you think,” she said gently. “A son could think nothing else. I know he is proud of you. I’ve heard him say it.”

Every officer comes to her, he thought. I shouldn’t be surprised.

“Do you ever think what it would be like if he had married your mother?” She had asked the question in a way that suggested such an outcome might not have brought him joy.

“I should be his heir.”

“You would. Though I do not think that’s why you wish it.”

Unblinking, his eyes held hers. “I should be his son.”

“And he would be the better man for it. Jamie, you have never asked me to read your future, but I can tell you this: Someday your pain will lessen.”

He snorted. “And how might that be?”

“You must let go of your longing for your father. Tis the only way to cut the pain—well, that or become a father yourself.”

What would it be like having a son with Panna Kennedy, feeling the life in her belly, putting the life into her belly? The blood prickled up his neck. And Undine’s gaze caught every nuance of his thoughts. He felt as if he’d fallen on his knees and confessed.

She patted his arm. “You are a good man, Jamie Bridgewater. Which is why I don’t want you to try to find the passageway. Promise me.”

So she didn’t intend to tell him where it was. either. He didn’t mind that. On this point he didn’t mind. Panna had told him nearly all he needed to know on that subject.

“Tis not for me,” he said.

“I’m glad.” She wiped her hands on a towel and looked at him. “You do not fancy yourself a man of the future, then?”

He considered this for a moment. “Let us say, there are reasons I
might
someday attempt it, but the reasons have nothing to do with money or knowledge.”

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?