Every Time with a Highlander by Gwyn Cready Read Free Book Online Page B

was northern English not Lowland Scots, but he knew well enough one can hide anything with the right training.
    Her brow rose. “I am neither a Scot nor an Englishwoman.”
    â€œAnd how is that? Has a new principality been established along the border? A sort of Andorra of Northumberland? Oh, wait. You’re a fairy. I forgot. Fairies don’t have nationalities.”
    â€œI am a naiad, sir,” she said, furious. “Half-naiad, in any case.”
    â€œAnd the other half? No, let me guess. Unicorn? House elf? Monarch butterfly?”
    She didn’t reply, but he caught a flicker of some-thing in her eyes, something beneath the fury, something she wanted neither to talk nor think about.
    â€œWell, I’m sorry to report my paperwork is fully up-to-date,” he said. “Your wedding, should I perform it, will stand the test of time. Which is why you should send me back. Now. Before my hand starts to shake and I accidentally sign the license even without a ceremony.”
    Her jaw flexed. The seeds of doubt had been planted. “’Tis not possible,” she said.
    â€œIsn’t it? Have your spells never gone awry?”
    She opened her mouth and closed it again.
    â€œI’m willing to help you,” he said, “but I want your word you’ll get me back—today. I have no desire to spend the rest of my days in godforsaken Coldstream.”
    â€œYou are a very unpleasant man.”
    â€œIs that your way of saying yes?”
    If her eyes had been bolts of lightning, he’d have been nothing more than a large puff of burlap dust. She gave him a derisive nod of agreement.
    â€œIf you don’t mind,” he said, “I should like your word—spoken, please—and a handshake.”
    â€œNaiads don’t shake hands.”
    â€œOf course they don’t. Do we touch elbows? Meet at a circle of stones at midnight?” He hid his disappointment. He’d been looking forward to holding that slim, capable hand.
    â€œI give you my word.”
    â€œI’m assuming I can count on it?”
    â€œOnce a naiad gives her word, she cannot withdraw it, ignore it, or undermine it.”
    She made the pronouncement with such certainty, he could hardly doubt it. He bowed. “Thank you. There’s a lot I need to learn about naiads, I guess.”
    She snorted.
    He turned at the sound of hoofbeats. Bridgewater appeared over the rise on a bay stallion and rode directly for them.
    â€œHave you seen the bishop?” he said, pulling his horse to a stop.
    â€œI haven’t,” Michael said, “but—” He turned to suggest Undine might have, only to find Undine was no longer in sight. “But I was just about to check the, er, pump house.”
    â€œWhich you think he might have chosen to explore after having the clothes savagely torn from him a mile from here?”
    â€œHe has a great curiosity regarding mechanics.”
    Bridgewater viewed Michael with hopeless disgust. “Well, I shall leave it to you to investigate the entire catalog of machines here. Do let me know the instant you find anything. Have you seen Undine?”
    Michael shook his head.
    â€œIf you do, tell her I insist she return immediately to the house. If a madman is on the loose, I don’t want her in harm’s way.”
    â€œI will tell her.”
    He geed his horse to a gallop and disappeared. Michael peered down the gentle slope that led to the river and walked around the entire length of the beeches. Undine was nowhere to be seen.
    â€œYou nearly got us found out,” she said.
    He wheeled around. She stood at the far end of the courtyard, arms crossed, by a mass of overgrown roses in front of the pump house. With her face hidden by the pump house’s tiny buttress and her dress barely distinguishable against the pink of the flowers, she’d been nearly invisible—or completely. Who knew how naiads’ powers worked?
    â€œFound