out?â he said. âWhat do you mean?â
She pointed to the fountain. In it lay a motionless and exceedingly naked man. Michael jumped back. â Jesus. â
âAll we needed was for Bridgewater to decide to investigate the pump house. Heâd have had to walk right by him.â
âIs he dea d ?â Michael said. Sending someone through time for your own purpose was one thing. Killing a man for it was something else entirely.
The man rolled from his back to his side, letting out an enthusiastic fart. He drew up a knee, resettled himself on his granite bed, and began to snore.
Michaelâs own back began to stiffen just looking at it. âThe bishop?â
âCould you tell by the ecclesiastical ring?â
âWhat happened to him?â
âHe was about to marry us,â she said, hinting in her tone that there was more misfortune to be had for those who thought to cross her.
âWell, youâre a nondiscriminatory drugger, Iâll give you that. Same potion?â
She gave him a narrow look. âHardly.â
âWhat happened to his clothes?â
âI needed to divert Bridgewater and his men away from here.â
âSo you drugged him, stripped him, andâwait. How did you get him here?â Undine looked capable of a lot but not carrying a hundred-and-fifty-pound man the length of the estate grounds.
âOh, my skies .â She rolled her eyes. âYou donât incapacitate a man and then bring him to the place you want him. You incapacitate him on-site.â
âPardon me. Iâm new to the assault-and-kidnapping game.â
âAre you?â she said, lifting a theatrical brow. âIâm astonished.â
âWhy did you want me here?â
âIâve told youââ
âNo, here ,â he said, gesturing to the courtyard. âWhy did you want me here .â
âOh.â She straightened. âTo help hide him. The man will wake in a few hours, and we need to get him to a place where coming to naked with oneâs head thumping and no memory of the night before wonât arouse suspicionsâoneâs own or anyone elseâsâwhich of course meansââ
âOh Christ, no.â
ââa whorehouse.â
The sound of menâs voices rose in the distance.
âAnd how might we accomplish that?â he asked.
âI have an idea,â she said, âbut weâll have to hurry.â
Twelve
The cart bumped along the path to the town, and the farmer driving it whistled âTam Linâ loudly. Undine could feel Father Kentâs annoyance with her, and she adjusted the cloak over his shoulders as a means of appeasement.
âA hunchback?â he said. âReally?â He made an exasperated growl as the cart hit a particularly large rut.
ââTis the only way to move what needs to be moved without being seen.â
One of the bishopâs hands flopped out, and Undine shoved it back under the fabric.
Kent wiped his forehead with his sleeve. âThereâs nothing like wearing a wool cloak over a sweaty bishop on the most humid day in eternity while getting oneâs teeth rattled out of oneâs head to make one really long for the pleasures of Bankside.â
âWe shall have you home soon enough.â
âOh, we are miles past soon enough.â
After sheâd explained her plan, Kent had lifted the bishop from the fountain onto his back like a summer pig and directed her to fetch rope to secure him and a cloak to hide him. She thought of the ease with which Kent had managed the effort. For a man of the church, he had the forearms of a blacksmith and the dexterity of an acrobatânot to mention the high-handedness of a sultan.
âWhere did you get your training?â she said.
âI beg your pardon?â
âYour ecclesiastical studies. Where did you do them?â
He shrugged. âYou know. Here and there. One
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