Timeless Desire Read Online Free PDF Page A

reverberations of it to her toes.
    “I see the wall at the edge of the water,” she said quickly. “Borders can be places fraught with challenges.”
    “They can, indeed. This one in particular. The Scots are edifying neighbors.”
    Then it was Hadrian’s Wall, just as she’d thought. She tried to recollect what she knew of Scotland, England, and the early eighteenth century, but other than a romance novel that took place during the last Highlander uprising; the Sir Walter Scott stories she’d read in high school; Mary, Queen of Scots, who was too early; and the crime novels of Ian Rankin, which were far too late, her knowledge of Scottish history was rather limited. Clearly, she’d have to spend a little more time in Nonfiction the next time she was in the library. What she did know was that Scotland and England did not get along and, from the dozens of Regency romance novels she’d read in high school, that people didn’t generally beat up a viscount.
    “Come,” he said, “you haven’t tried your brandy.” But when he reached for the glass to hand it to her, he winced and clutched his side.
    She gave him a stern look, which he tried to ignore; but when she didn’t relent, he stood with a groan and reluctantly untucked his shirt, lifting it high enough for her to see his side.
    No bleeding, but bruises blossomed from his shoulder to his waist.
    “I think you need some fighting lessons.”
    He laughed. The shirt went down, but not before Panna had seen the broad, tan pectorals and finely cut abdomen. This was not a man of idle pursuits.
    “And the only use Don Alfonso’s brandy can be to my side,” he said, gathering the sodden cloth from her hand, “is to baste it from the inside. Please.” He gestured toward her glass.
    She picked it up, and he held up his. “To the transformative power of a quarter of an hour.”
    Did he mean the change to his appearance, or the two of them? The way he looked at her made the answer clear. She lifted the brandy with a flush and drank. The liquor was smooth and full-bodied, with the faintest hint of oranges. “It’s marvelous.”
    “The plains of Castilla–La Mancha. One can’t do better for brandy. Or battle.”
    The boom of a nearby cannon pierced the quiet. Bridgewater didn’t move, but Panna hurried to the closest window, one deeper and taller than the rest.
    “There are troops in your courtyard,” she said, noting the regiment of redcoats marching through the castle gate. More of them walked the castle ramparts, tending to fires in the large, deep pots that dotted the perimeter.
    “Aye. The English army has been sampling my hospitality since the beginning of March. I’m beginning to think I should be a little more circumspect in my invitations.”
    “But you are a soldier, too, are you not?”
    He regarded her with an odd expression. “For now.”
    “You’d leave?” She supposed there would be nothing keeping a nobleman in the army. Certainly not a need to earn one’s living. She wondered what it would be like to have the riches of a man like Bridgewater and the ability to feed and house several hundred guests or build a two-story library.
    “If that was the only way I could do what I needed to do,” he said.
    “The troops are hooking the cannons to wagons.”
    “Fools.” He rose, wincing, from his seat at the desk and limped to her side. “They intend to form a line behind the wall, from Bowness-on-Solway halfway to Carlisle. And when it’s dark, they will pelt the Scottish hills with cannon shot.”
    She gazed into the collection of houses across the river. “But there are so few homes. It hardly seems worth the trouble.”
    “There is one of some interest.”
    He turned her gently to the west. There, beyond the wall, on a rise nearly as high as Bridgewater’s castle, stood another castle. It had two towers and a rampart flying a yellow flag. Panna could see its rhythmic flap against the purpling evening sky.
    “Ah.” Two castles, one