Bridgewater cleared his throat, and the look on his face was one of great reluctance. “I need to ask for your help on a matter.”
An uneasy feeling went through Undine. The carriage ride had been pleasant enough. Bridgewater told her his men hadn’t found the bishop or any evidence of foul play and added that while he was glad to have found Undine safe, he’d have preferred her to have abided by his wishes and stayed in the house.
Undine had refrained from comment except to say that she’d needed to order some things for her wedding wardrobe. She’d asked demurely if he’d minded that she charged the bits of fabric and ribbon to him, and she’d almost felt bad for how much joy the question had brought him. Then she rubbed the knot behind her ear that his long-ago blows had given her and remembered she didn’t give a whit how betrayed he’d feel when he discovered she hated him.
“You know my prophecy skills are lessened considerably by strong affection,” she said. “I canna see things clearly for those I love.”
This was the truth. Undine’s powers were not infinite, though she worked hard to ensure men believed they were. She’d been born with some powers of foresight and learned to give every impression of the rest by reading people’s faces and listening to the things they didn’t say.
The carriage hit an unexpected groove, and they shifted hard to the left. His hand, cool and meaty, kept her from sliding away.
“You ‘canna’ see,” he said with a smile. “Listen to you. You’re practically a Scot yourself now. I know your friends are quite dear to you, and I can reassure you the help you give me will not in any way affect them.”
“I’d prefer not to reduce the intercourse between us to that of commerce, John. ’Tis not a prudent way to begin a marriage.”
His tongue had lodged in the corner of his cheek at “intercourse,” and she could see him struggle to bury his response smirk.
“I know that,” he said after a moment, “and I wouldn’t ask were it not important.”
“Important to the English?”
His eyes turned clear blue—so blue she almost believed what she was about to hear would be the truth.
“No,” he said. “To me.”
Undine debated how hard to refuse. She’d told him powers weren’t as strong with loved ones, and he’d assured her the favor would not hurt her friends or advantage the English—not that she believed him. Even the most powerful love spell could not erase a man’s fundamental character flaws, after all. Continuing to protest could raise his suspicions, which might raise him from the spell like water splashed on one’s face raises a man from slumber—and yet she had a bone-deep revulsion to even hearing the reason for his request.
She shook her head. “I think it’d be better if we—”
“It’s not even for me, in all honesty. You’ve heard of Lord Morebright, I assume?”
Simon Morebright was an elderly English nobleman, deeply in debt. There were rumors he had once run a secret and separate intelligence operation for Queen Anne unknown to those in her cabinet—of course, there were founded and unfounded rumors about many people in Anne’s small circle of friends—but Morebright was unique in that his relationship with Anne seemed to have ended badly. He’d closed his London house, moved north across the border to his estate in Scotland, and hadn’t been heard from since. Undine couldn’t begin to guess why Bridgewater might be seeking help for a man like him.
“I have,” she said. “He’s a close friend of Queen Anne, is he not?”
“Oh, aye, though he’s too old for the merriment of court anymore. He lives in Scotland.”
“Does he?”
“Aye, near Perth. Charming estate. He’s dying and I wish to help him.”
Bridgewater looked at her, mournful. He’d certainly given her little room to say no with grace. She would, though, if she needed to. She could be quite immune to cajoling—ask any of her friends or even Bridgewater himself, whose beating had come when she’d refused to give him the information he sought.
And yet…
It struck her that Morebright might be involved in the messages, though it seemed unlikely. But the question to consider was who would learn more if she agreed to listen to Bridgewater’s request concerning Morebright—her or her fiancé?
She touched her heart. “He’s dying?”
There were enormous risks to playing this game with Bridgewater. She hoped she held the stronger hand.
“Aye,” he said. “I’ve described the case to the best surgeon in York. The situation involves a tumor on his wrist, and the surgeon says he can cure him, though it may involve removing his arm. I’m sending a man from my solicitor’s office in my carriage to bring him down to York with his manservant.”
“I don’t see how I can help you,” she said. “I’m not a surgeon. I might be able to tell if he’s going to die if I saw him in person, but the man is quite old, and any death I saw could be the same old-bones death any one of us might expect at that age.”
“No, my dear,” Bridgewater said with a smile, “we’ll leave that to the surgeon. He assures me that Simon—Lord Morebright—can enjoy several more years of good health with the surgery, albeit with only one arm.”
“’Tis very good of you to feel such concern,” she said. “I didn’t realize you knew Morebright that well.”
“Oh, the man was like an uncle to me. My father was often away with the army, and when he was there… Well, let us say we did not always see eye to eye. Simon was there when I needed help or advice. There are some things, after all, one cannot share with one’s father.” He gave her a weak smile.
“A friendship like that can be such a blessing.”
“Then might you consider aiding a dear friend?”
The warning voice in her head had not disappeared, but its cry was growing fainter. “I’m still not certain how I could help.”
“But you’ll do it if you can?”
She licked her lips. “Aye,” she said. “If I can.”
“Thank you, Undine. I can’t tell you how much this means to me. As I said, I’m sending my carriage for him, and they can take either the northwest road through Peebles or set out directly north and go through Edinburgh first. ’Tis a bit longer through Edinburgh, but only a day or so, and the most important thing is to ensure the carriage is not set upon by brigands or…worse.” He held up a calming hand. “Now, do not take issue with me. The clans are at war with England—”
“There is no declared war.”
“My dear, you might as well say there is no declared sun. And if you assure me both roads will be safe, no one will be more grateful than I.”
This was something she could sense, and her foresight rushed unbidden into the reservoir of her head. Like a cross between a galloping herd of horses and the gurgle of a borderlands stream, the silent rumble, cool and fluid and unstoppable, shook her. She could guide it or give way, but she couldn’t stop it, not once it started.
The colors in her head swirled blue and green like the northern sky at Hogmanay. She turned her thoughts to the roads, each a formless blur, like a reflection in a wind-blown lake, but distinct from the other, and Bridgewater’s carriage upon them. No red, no yellow, no orange.
“There’s no danger,” she said. “The roads will be trouble free.”
“Thank you,” he said, relieved. “And will you give me your word you’ll tell me if that changes?”
He’d said it lightly enough, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world for a fiancé to ask. And it would be—if she cared about him or Morebright in the slightest. Instead, he was asking her to make an unbreakable oath. Once given, the word of a naiad could not be broken even if the naiad wished to. Did he know this? His face gave away nothing.
“Aye, of course, John.” What choice did she have?
“Thank you. I knew I could count on you.”
The carriage drove onto the ferry that would take them across the Tweed to Bridgewater’s house. The sun was sinking low in the west, spilling its fire over the Cheviot Hills. Fingers of black and red stretched into the sky like tendrils of smoke.
She shook her head and the foresight receded.
“Our wedding awaits,” he said when they’d reached the opposite side. “I’m eager to find the priest.”
“I am too.” And she was, though it wouldn’t be till tomorrow, and Bridgewater would find no joy in his search for an officiant to marry them tonight. But he could discover that in his own time.
He settled into the seat. “I’m happy we’re of one mind on this.”
“’Tis truly the way of love.”