filed into her brain. Her version of a bell, book, and candle. Would the magic they evoked be as powerful?
She was just about to get up when a sentimental tug brought her fingers back to the keyboard to type “Big Dipper.” The stars Bridgewater had pointed out, evidently called Mizar and Alcor, had been the first binary, or two-star, system ever discovered. But Bridgewater was wrong. The stars do not circle one another, slowly falling into one another’s path. They are nearly six trillion miles apart and never get any closer.
The notion made her sad. Bridgewater had been so pleased by the idea of a paired star. And she had, too— especially since part of his pleasure seemed to have come from the association he was making between the stars and them. But there was nothing to be done about it, just as there was nothing to be done about the fact that no matter what her feelings for Bridgewater were, there would always be three centuries standing between them.
She tucked her purse out of sight under the desk, picked up Bridgewater’s note for Clare, grabbed her weapons, and headed toward the triangular door.
T EN
The Ruins Outside Castle MacIver, 1706
Panna had been prepared to escape down Bridgewater’s secret stairway and across the rubble that, she assumed, was all that remained of that part of the castle after the fire Bridgewater had mentioned. What she hadn’t been prepared for when she’d emerged in the chapel and poked her head into the hall was finding Bridgewater’s library abandoned and wrecked. Several bookcases had been smashed, and books lay in heaps on the floor. The desk drawers had been opened, their contents scattered across the rug.
She had no idea where Bridgewater was, but she hoped he was safe. A lot had happened in the hour since she’d left him.
He’d said to follow the river for a mile after the inn to a house in the shadow of two oaks. She could see the water ahead of her, its blue-black surface spangled with the light of the moon. But, of course, the river stretched in two directions. Panna assumed the inn was in the little town to the west and set out in that direction.
The townspeople who were out seemed to pay her little mind. The town ended as quickly as it had begun, and at the inn, a heavy-browed building at the edge of town called the Bowness Arms, Panna began to pace out a mile.
Halfway there, she noticed a man behind her walking the same path. She considered running, but where? She thought she saw Clare’s house ahead, but she was still a good five minutes away.
The man increased his pace, and Panna’s pulse began to quicken. Surreptitiously, she moved the note from her pocket to the inside of her bodice. The next time she looked over her shoulder, the man had halved the distance between them.
Her heart beat harder. Had he followed her from the castle? The inn? Did he know her connection to Bridgewater? And where was Bridgewater? Had he been captured? Killed? Would the delivery of the note make any difference now?
The man was nearly on her heels. Panna was a decent runner—every year she ran in Carnegie’s 5K race in honor of fallen police and firemen—but she was also a woman who didn’t like to be intimidated.
She dug her heels in—literally—pulled the box cutter from her pocket, and slid the blade into place.
The man, barrel-chested and sporting a full black beard, did not alter his pace. He approached her like a slow-moving freight train, moving in a direct line for her. A jolt of electricity tore through her chest.
“Put the knife away, lassie,” he said as he passed her. “I’m Clare. If you have come from my master, you are safe with me.”
She exhaled, relieved, and ran to catch up with him. “You’re Clare. I thought—” The look on the man’s face stopped her.
“You thought what?”
She shifted. “Where I come from, Clare is often”— always, she wanted to say—“a woman’s name.”
“There have been men who’ve
She was just about to get up when a sentimental tug brought her fingers back to the keyboard to type “Big Dipper.” The stars Bridgewater had pointed out, evidently called Mizar and Alcor, had been the first binary, or two-star, system ever discovered. But Bridgewater was wrong. The stars do not circle one another, slowly falling into one another’s path. They are nearly six trillion miles apart and never get any closer.
The notion made her sad. Bridgewater had been so pleased by the idea of a paired star. And she had, too— especially since part of his pleasure seemed to have come from the association he was making between the stars and them. But there was nothing to be done about it, just as there was nothing to be done about the fact that no matter what her feelings for Bridgewater were, there would always be three centuries standing between them.
She tucked her purse out of sight under the desk, picked up Bridgewater’s note for Clare, grabbed her weapons, and headed toward the triangular door.
T EN
The Ruins Outside Castle MacIver, 1706
Panna had been prepared to escape down Bridgewater’s secret stairway and across the rubble that, she assumed, was all that remained of that part of the castle after the fire Bridgewater had mentioned. What she hadn’t been prepared for when she’d emerged in the chapel and poked her head into the hall was finding Bridgewater’s library abandoned and wrecked. Several bookcases had been smashed, and books lay in heaps on the floor. The desk drawers had been opened, their contents scattered across the rug.
She had no idea where Bridgewater was, but she hoped he was safe. A lot had happened in the hour since she’d left him.
He’d said to follow the river for a mile after the inn to a house in the shadow of two oaks. She could see the water ahead of her, its blue-black surface spangled with the light of the moon. But, of course, the river stretched in two directions. Panna assumed the inn was in the little town to the west and set out in that direction.
The townspeople who were out seemed to pay her little mind. The town ended as quickly as it had begun, and at the inn, a heavy-browed building at the edge of town called the Bowness Arms, Panna began to pace out a mile.
Halfway there, she noticed a man behind her walking the same path. She considered running, but where? She thought she saw Clare’s house ahead, but she was still a good five minutes away.
The man increased his pace, and Panna’s pulse began to quicken. Surreptitiously, she moved the note from her pocket to the inside of her bodice. The next time she looked over her shoulder, the man had halved the distance between them.
Her heart beat harder. Had he followed her from the castle? The inn? Did he know her connection to Bridgewater? And where was Bridgewater? Had he been captured? Killed? Would the delivery of the note make any difference now?
The man was nearly on her heels. Panna was a decent runner—every year she ran in Carnegie’s 5K race in honor of fallen police and firemen—but she was also a woman who didn’t like to be intimidated.
She dug her heels in—literally—pulled the box cutter from her pocket, and slid the blade into place.
The man, barrel-chested and sporting a full black beard, did not alter his pace. He approached her like a slow-moving freight train, moving in a direct line for her. A jolt of electricity tore through her chest.
“Put the knife away, lassie,” he said as he passed her. “I’m Clare. If you have come from my master, you are safe with me.”
She exhaled, relieved, and ran to catch up with him. “You’re Clare. I thought—” The look on the man’s face stopped her.
“You thought what?”
She shifted. “Where I come from, Clare is often”— always, she wanted to say—“a woman’s name.”
“There have been men who’ve
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