Michael didn’t give two shakes for what Bridgewater had hidden in his room. He knew what the papers in the reception room contained, as Nab had shared a summary with him after taking them from Undine. He also knew Nab had snuck them back into their rightful place according to Michael’s instructions so that Morebright would find them safe and sound when his search reached the reception room. If Undine could get her hands on them again, she’d have everything she needed to put an end to Bridgewater’s career and possibly the hopes of England for the union. As such, Michael hoped she’d forgive him for setting somewhat different priorities in the few moments he had.
The number of maids, nightshirt-clad laborers, and footmen buzzing at the edges of the courtyard had grown by the minute, corporal punishment having apparently taken the place of feeding Christians to lions in the area of spectator sports in the eighteenth century, but the group fell silent and parted like the Red Sea to make way for the unhappy cleric striding toward the open doors of the stables.
The thwacks of the crop and the high-pitched screams that followed were like scourges on Michael’s conscience. The boy’s safety should have been just as important as Undine’s to him—more, as Nab was a child.
A footman held Nab’s wrists while Morebright, in his billowy, white nightshirt, swung the crop. Bridgewater glowered at the boy from the sidelines. Nab was curled into a ball, and his face was covered with blood. For only the second time in his life, Michael wanted to kill someone.
“Lady Bridgewater has confessed,” he said loudly.
Morebright stopped midswing. “Who are you?”
“Father Kent of the bishopric of Newcastle. In the last quarter hour, her ladyship has made me privy to several pieces of very sensitive information.”
Nab, gasping for breath, opened his eyes.
Morebright looked at Bridgewater, who stiffened.
“Does she know you’re here?” Bridgewater asked.
“I believe at this point everyone in a two-mile radius is aware we’re here.”
The two men looked at Michael expectantly. Michael gave Nab a regretful look.
“For heaven’s sake,” Morebright said, “do you intend to tell us?”
“I do not. It’s critical I confess one of her key conspirators—right now, alone. The fate of England may rest in the balance.” He pointed to Nab.
“What sort of a woman did you marry, John?” Morebright said, and Bridgewater, the scoundrel, stood silent.
“I have every reason to believe the things she did and planned were to help England.” If her husband wouldn’t defend her, then Michael would.
“What were the plans?” Bridgewater said.
“As I said, I need to speak to the boy alone. ’Tis a matter between him and God. I am but the go-between.” If, after twenty-eight years of churchgoing, two full years of cursing his maker’s name, and another dozen or more learning to forgive him, not to mention half a scene portraying Friar Laurence, Michael couldn’t borrow the gravitas of the Almighty to save a young boy, then the world was a place in which he no longer wished to live.
“As you wish,” Morebright said at last and gestured to the footman to release Nab.
Nab, grateful for the reprieve and likely sensing it might not last, ran to Michael, who put a proud hand on his shoulder.
The men began to disperse, to leave Michael and Nab to their makeshift confessional.
“No,” Michael said, and the noblemen stopped. “You stay here—all of you,” he added to the gathered servants. “The boy and I will go someplace private.”
He took Nab’s elbow and led him into the courtyard.
“Where’s my wife?” Bridgewater asked ruefully.
Oh, now that I’ve assured you she’s not a traitor, you’ll deign to see her?
“She’s performing her acts of contrition,” Michael said. “Alone. She’ll see you in the morning when she makes her confessions to you.”
“Indeed?” he said, voice filled with tenderness.
“She has much she wishes to say.”
Bridgewater’s chest puffed, and Michael almost felt bad. With any luck on Undine’s part, Bridgewater would never see her again.
As the onlookers watched, he led Nab, limping, around the side of the house.
“Bunch of bloody arseholes,” the boy said.
“They are that. How badly are you hurt?”
“Not at all.”
The statement was visibly false, but it probably at least meant he could keep walking on his own. Michael looked him over briefly for broken bones.
“Bloody hell,” Nab said, hurt but in awe, “you have a supply of lies that never ends.”
“Well, I’m going to tell you the truth now.” Michael stooped to face him. “You were as brave as any man I’ve ever seen. And I’m dreadfully sorry you had to go through that.” He caught the boy in a gentle hug and was delighted to feel him hug back.
“All right, then,” Michael said, straightening. “Based on my experience with audiences, we have about sixty seconds before the glow of the magic wears off. Get your arse as far away from here as fast as you can. Undine will meet me at the river as soon as she gets those papers again. Join us there. We’re heading to Caddonfoot, the second town to the south along the river. We’re going to meet with General Silverbridge there.”
Nab shook his head. “The papers aren’t there,” he said, grinning. “I stole them again. You told me to put them back. I did. And when Lord Morebright finished his check of the reception room, I ran back in and took ’em again!”
“Well done,” Michael said, though he wondered how long Undine would look for the papers before joining him. “Where are they?”
“I slipped them through a slit in the stables window when I heard the footman coming. I can get them in the morning, when they unlock the door.”
Michael groaned. “That’s not going to work. This is all going to fall apart very soon, and when it does, it’s going to be ugly. Undine will be gone. Bridgewater will figure out I’m no priest. He’ll convince Morebright to send his men out looking for us. We don’t need the papers. We can fight this another way.”
“Och, they’ll never find me—not again. I know where I can hide until morning.”
Michael shook his head. “I can’t leave you. And Undine and I can’t wait till morning. We have to do our traveling by night. This isn’t a game, Nab. I can’t leave a child behind.”
For the first time ever, he saw Nab’s eyes start to glisten. The boy was brave, but no one goes through a vicious beating without having their defenses shaken, especially not a child.
“I know what to do,” the boy said angrily.
“I’m not questioning your competence.”
“Aye, you are. I’ve been doing this for a long time. Since before you arrived. Don’t I deserve a say in the matter?”
Michael couldn’t argue with that. The boy had earned his right to decide.
“Promise me you’ll meet us at Caddonfoot? I have no desire to avail myself of Lord Morebright’s particular brand of hospitality again.”
Nab nodded. “I promise.”
“Wherever your hiding place is, can you sleep in it?”
“Aye.”
“Then do that, please.” Michael longed for sleep himself. He knew the adrenaline propelling him through the last hour would evaporate soon.
The time had come. Nab stuck out his hand.
“Be safe, aye?”
The boy smiled. “You too.”
Michael watched him jog off into the darkness. Unless Morebright used hunting dogs, he very much doubted Nab would be found again.
He dug his pack out of the hedges where he’d moved it and walked the path around the house until he could look into the reception room window. The front door to the house was closed, and no footmen were in sight. The room looked empty, but even if she was in it right now, it would have looked empty without a candle lit.
Had she already gone to the river?
He peered down the gentle slope into the darkness but saw only the flicker of starlight on the rushing ribbon of black. The people they’d left in that courtyard were growing restless. He could hear the increase in their murmuring.
He had to have faith Undine and Nab would make it to the river, but the ability to easily summon faith had been stolen from him a long time ago. With a heavy heart, he tucked the strap of his bag over his shoulder and began down the hill.