Timeless Desire by Gwyn Cready Page A

said that to me.” He gave her a grim smile. “But usually no more than once.”
    He started down the road again and she ran to catch up. “You mentioned your master. Where is he? Is he safe?”
    Clare stopped again and eyed her. “The man’s a cat. He’ll land safely. Which is not to say he doesn’t lose a bit of tail now and then.” Walking again, he said, “You’re a new one.”
    “A new . . .”
    “Whore.”
    “I—” Oh, what was the point? And how many whores had Bridgewater aligned with, anyway?
    “I’m Clare Jenkins. Who are you?”
    “Panna. Panna Kennedy. I need to talk to you about—”
    “Wait. We’re almost at the house.”
    A small stone structure with a thatched roof, trim shutters, and a stoop lay just off the path. A horse stood saddled under one of the oaks, and candlelight in the windows suggested inhabitants in addition to Clare. A black-and-white dog trotted out to say hello.
    Clare rubbed the dog’s ears and knocked on the door— three taps followed by a pause and another tap. “You’re not from around here, then?”
    Before Panna had a chance to answer, a curvy redhead of thirty or so, wearing a dressing gown and little else, opened the door. She looked at her guests and, without uttering a word, poked her head out to scan the path. Satisfied that no one was following, she invited them in with a jerk of her head.
    The main room was small, and three doors led off of it. The space had been furnished with a table and chairs, a couple of benches next to the hearth, and an impressive collection of pistols and long guns bolted to the wall. The dog sighed and stretched out in front of the unlit fire.
    “This is Miss Kennedy,” Clare said to the redhead. Almost immediately, one of the doors opened, and Panna found herself the object of interest of a blonde and a brunette, each as attractive as the redhead and similarly clad.
    She was pretty sure she had figured out what sort of house this was.
    “I’m Aphrodite,” the redhead said. “And this is Athena and Artemis,” she added, pointing first to her dark-haired companion and then the light-haired one.
    Interesting theme, though I suppose it beats Scary, Posh, and Ginger , Panna thought, shaking hands with each.
    Clare nodded at Aphrodite, who placed a jug and two cups on the table. “Would you care to sit?” he said to Panna.
    She took a chair as Clare filled the mugs. She sipped tentatively and was grateful to discover it was a crisp, woodsy ale. She felt the note with her fingertips but wanted some answers first. “I am most concerned about your master. Are you aware he’s being held?”
    Clare grunted. Like Bridgewater, he appeared to be an expert at hiding his thoughts.
    “When I saw him last, he’d been beaten up rather badly,” she said.
    This seemed to raise a small fire in those sable eyes. “Indeed.”
    “The army seems to think he has betrayed England’s interests.”
    “He does more for the people of the borderlands than Queen Anne or Marlborough and his bloody army,” Athena said, flushing. “As far as they’re concerned, we’re as bad as the Scots.”
    Clare threw a warning look in her direction.
    “I had the occasion an hour ago to be in the room where they’d been holding him,” Panna said. Aphrodite and Artemis exchanged knowing smiles, and Panna felt her cheeks warm. “He was gone and the place had been ransacked.”
    Clare snorted. “No room in that castle would hold him long.”
    Panna gazed at the women, wondering if it was safe to talk. Clare ignored her unspoken question, leaving Panna to guess. “I know what you mean,” she said, “and he had, er, availed himself of the facilities—we left at the same time—but he told me he intended to be back within the hour. And he wasn’t. Or if he’d made it back, he was gone again by the time I returned.”
    “Which officer beat him? Did he say?”
    “The colonel and his men.”
    Clare’s beefy fingers tightened around his mug. “Is that