“Hamish used to say we could build them for ourselves,” Bruce said. He slowed to a canter, then came to a halt. “It wouldn't be too hard.”
Gwen gave him a sharp look. America was vast, easily large enough to hide a secret airship construction facility. It wouldn't be hard to hide the airships themselves too, as long as they stayed beyond the line. Anyone who saw the craft might blame them on the French.
“And did you?”
“Not yet,” Bruce said. “One of the engineers had a theory about a flying machine that didn't need a giant airbag to fly. He was going to experiment with it after the war.”
“He'll have his chance,” Gwen said. A handful of soldiers appeared on the nearside of the bridge, watching them carefully. She pulled the horse to a halt, then slipped down to the ground. “Better let me do the talking.”
“Lady Gwen,” the leader said. “The train’s on the far side.”
“I understand,” Gwen said. She passed the reins to the soldier with considerable relief, then watched as Bruce joined her. “Make sure the horses get back to Amherst.”
“Yes, My Lady,” the leader said.
Gwen suspected Bruce wanted to fly under his own power, but they were being watched by too many eyes. She levitated them both over the river - it was easily wide enough to accommodate a few barges, if they could be steered up from the sea - and landed neatly on the far side. The train - a single locomotive connected to a passenger coach - was already steaming, indicating that the driver and fireman had started preparations as soon as they came into view. Gwen scrambled up into the cabin, dropped her bag in one of the bedrooms and then hurried into the dining compartment. Behind her, Bruce did the same.
“I forgot to buy a ticket,” he said, as he sat down. “Do you think they’ll kick us off the train?”
“Oh, probably,” Gwen said, wryly. “Fare dodging isn't a harmless little prank, you know.”
She smiled, rather tiredly, as the train began to move. It had been a very long day.
“I suppose not,” Bruce agreed. He glanced from side to side. “Can we talk freely?”
Gwen closed her eyes, reaching out with her senses. “I don’t think we’ve being watched,” she said, after a moment. It struck her, suddenly, that they were alone in the coach. People would comment, if they knew. “And we do need to talk.”
Bruce nodded, slowly. “I didn't ask for orders,” he said, his voice suddenly very serious. “I made the decision to intervene on my own.”
“I see,” Gwen said, slowly. “What will the Sons say?”
“That rather depends on what happens,” Bruce said. The train lurched suddenly, then started to pick up speed. “If we get what we want, I dare say everyone will be pleased; if we don’t, they’ll be very angry with me.”
“Because the original plan was to work with the French,” Gwen said. “Right?”
Bruce didn't bother to deny it. “Drowning men will clutch at any straws,” he said. “And we were drowning.”
“Not any longer,” Gwen said.
“No, but that depends on London,” Bruce said. He let out a long breath. “It was decided, when I took your words to the others, that we should wait and see what my father had to say before we committed ourselves. What I did will upset a great many of my allies.”
“Even though the battle was won,” Gwen said. She leaned back in her chair, fighting back a sudden wave of exhaustion. “They’re not going to be happy.”
“It depends, like I said,” Bruce said. “But you’re right. They’re not going to be happy.”
Gwen met his eyes. “Why did you take the chance?”
Bruce looked embarrassed. “Because of you,” he said. “The first time we met ... I’d never met anyone like you before. The girls I met at my father’s balls were boring, interested only in marriage. I didn't want to be tied down like that, Gwen. And then I saw you fighting for your life and I felt ... something. I jumped into the fight before I could think better of it.”
“Did our magic pull us together,” Gwen asked, “or was it something else?”
“I don’t know,” Bruce said. “I like you. I ... enjoyed ... what we did together. And yet, I don’t know if we could spend a lifetime together.”
Gwen touched her stomach, lightly. “We might have to.”
Bruce’s eyes widened. “Are you ...?”
“I don’t know, yet,” Gwen said. “The gentleman” - she saw him blush at the reference to her periods - “has not yet made his visit. If he doesn't show in a month or two, we may have a problem.”
“My father is going to kill me,” Bruce said. “Getting a young woman into trouble ...”
He cleared his throat. “I will marry you,” he said. “If you’re pregnant, we can have a hasty wedding.”
Gwen found herself torn between relief and horror. If she was pregnant, she needed to get married quickly, before the pregnancy started to show. And there was no doubt over who had fathered the child. She didn't want to have to raise a child alone, or force someone else to serve as the father. And yet, his casual assumption that he would marry her grated. She hadn't spent the last year as the Royal Sorceress to give up her freedom so easily.
But there might be someone else to think of, she thought, wanly. The child.
“I don’t know, not yet,” she said. She would need to make some explanation to her parents, even though she was technically emancipated. Her father would explode with rage; her mother might be more understanding, but it wasn't something she could say in public. “The wedding might have to be organised very quickly.”
Bruce frowned. “There’s no way to check?”
“Not for some time,” Gwen said. A Healer might be able to check, but she wasn't sure how long it took before her condition became obvious. “I don’t know.”
“It was my fault,” Bruce said. “I should never have kissed you.”
“I could have pushed you away,” Gwen said. It was true. She could have shoved him back, but she hadn't. “Bruce ...”
Bruce leaned forward. “Whatever happens,” he said, “we’ll face it together.”
Gwen felt an odd warmth spreading through her body. She feared abandonment - or worse, the loss of her reputation and the stigma of being a single mother. Even if she wasn't pregnant, she might well lose everything if Bruce talked or if her future husband discovered she wasn't a virgin on their wedding night. But Bruce talked about staying with her, supporting her ... she couldn't help responding to that.
“You’re the Royal Sorceress,” Bruce added. “I don’t think they can just dump you, can they?”
“I’m not sure,” Gwen said. “They might want to put you in my place.”
Bruce lifted his eyebrows. “Even though I’m - horror of horrors - American?”
“Half-American,” Gwen said. She stuck out her tongue. “But I suppose being a Son would be enough to put anyone off giving you the job.”
“I don’t want the job,” Bruce said. “Too much paperwork, I think.”
Gwen nodded, curtly. “But it’s quite rewarding too,” she admitted. Bruce, at least, would have no trouble leading men into battle. “The Royal Sorcerers Corps could use you.”
“But only if America gets its parliament,” Bruce said, firmly. “I don't know what will happen if my father goes back on his word.”
“They’ll rebel,” Gwen guessed.
“Probably,” Bruce said. “And damn me for a traitor, while they’re at it.”
Gwen yawned. “I need to sleep,” she said. She rose. She’d snatched a bite to eat before they’d left Amherst, but she still felt hungry. “Can you ask them to hold dinner until I wake?”
“I need sleep too,” Bruce said. He rose, too. “And there are other things we can do.”
He kissed her, gently. Gwen felt her tired body responding to him, demanding more and more; his hands started to stroke her back, reaching down to her trousers ...
“Not too far,”
she said, pushing him back. She didn't mind kissing - and perhaps a few other things - but she wasn't ready to have sex with him again. “If I’m not pregnant, I don’t want to take the risk, not yet.”
She'd heard - from Lucy - that some men could get very nasty if they were rejected, but Bruce merely nodded. They kissed again, deeply, before she turned and stepped into her bedroom, feeling her lips tingling at the memory of his touch. She closed the door behind her, then stumbled into bed. Sleep claimed her almost at once.
“You have so many talents I don't have,” Bruce commented, the following morning. He’d let her sleep all night, then taken some rations from the train crew. “I could never get the hang of Changing or Infusing.”
“I’m not that good with either of them,” Gwen admitted, picking at her food. The rations weren't very good, but they were edible and that was all she cared about. “Changing something isn't easy, not without a very good grasp on one’s power.”
“I didn't have a tutor,” Bruce said. “And Charming never worked for me.”
Gwen lifted her eyebrows. “How did you practice?”
“I had volunteers subject themselves to my power,” Bruce said. “It never worked.”
“Charm requires a subtle touch,” Gwen told him. “The more power you use, the more obvious that you’re using magic. It tends to annoy people.”
She shuddered as she recalled Lord Blackburn. The man had been a monster, a Darwinist who believed that magicians were inherently superior to everyone else. And he’d been quite happy to use his powers to molest women ... he’d vanished, just after the Swing. She had no idea where he’d gone, but she hoped she never saw him again.
“I could get them to do what I said,” Bruce mused, “but they never stayed under my control.”
Gwen shook her head. “The best Charm works when the victim invents their own reasons to do as you want,” she said. “It’s harder to do anything to resist if they talk themselves into following orders.”
She frowned. “Are there any Charmers among the Sons?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Bruce said. “We have a number of magicians, but ... you know ... many magicians get killed here, as soon as they show themselves. I was surprised Harry and Vernon lived long enough for you to recruit them.”
Gwen blinked. “You know them?”
“They refused the invitation to join,” Bruce said. He shrugged. “I was equally surprised they didn't abandon you, after the call to war. They could have vanished completely, if they’d wished.”
“You can ask Harry, afterwards,” Gwen said. She felt another stab of guilt. “Vernon ... died.”
“It happens,” Bruce said. “Seventy of my men died in the battle, Gwen. I may have to account for each and every one of them, once we reach New York.”
Gwen nodded. Given time, the British Crown could muster hundreds of thousands of soldiers - and the Franco-Spanish could muster millions, but the Sons had been far more limited in how they could recruit newcomers. Seventy dead was nothing, compared to how the dead had been piled up across Germany, yet it still had to hurt. Bruce definitely had a great deal to answer for.
She felt a sudden rush of affection that surprised her. No one had ever done anything for her, not really. As a little girl, she’d known she would be married off; as an older girl, she'd known it was unlikely she’d ever be more than a burden to her family; as a magician, she'd known she’d only been recruited because she was unique ... and yet Bruce had risked everything, his life and his position, for her. Her mother and father had never shown her so much consideration as he had, in that one glorious moment.
And yet he’s technically a traitor, her thoughts reminded her. You cannot allow yourself to feel for him until you know the outcome.
She shook her head, morbidly. There was no technically about it. Bruce was a traitor, even if his motives were better than Sir Charles’s. His father might be able to convince London to forgive, but it would never be forgotten. Perhaps it would all work out for the best - the Sons would make powerful allies - yet there would be consequences ...
“Gwen?”
Gwen blinked. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn't been listening to him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, clearing her throat. “I was miles away.”
“I was saying you should teach me how to Charm,” Bruce said. “It’s a very useful skill.”
“It would need an unwary victim,” Gwen said. She disliked using Charm, if it could be avoided. Lord Blackburn had inadvertently taught her what it was like to be on the receiving end. “Using it on someone who knows what to expect can be difficult.”
“I need to learn,” Bruce said. “How many talents are there that I have never mastered?”
“You were good at playing the fop,” Gwen said. “Are you sure you didn't use Charm to convince people not to look behind the facade?”
“That’s just play-acting,” Bruce said. He smirked. “The trick is to be annoying, but not too annoying; blatant, but not too blatant. It helps that I really wasn’t expected to do much of anything in New York.”
“I suppose you were never offered a chance to shine,” Gwen agreed. “Didn't your father try to offer you a commission?”
“New York Militia,” Bruce said. He puffed out his chest. “A fancy uniform, a stipend and absolutely nothing to do. No one gave a damn if I attended training sessions or not.”
“I always hated people like that,” Gwen said, without thinking.
Bruce looked hurt. “Because we’re lazy?”
“Because you got the rank and the uniform, but you did nothing with it,” Gwen said. She remembered Major Shaw and shuddered. “And people like me were expected to stay at him, wear frilly dresses and let the men make all the decisions.”
“I suppose,” Bruce said.
“And there are plenty of careerists who would make better officers,” Gwen added. “But rich men buy commissions and push the careerists back down.”
“I could have been more,” Bruce said. “But I didn't want to look too good.”
Gwen looked him in the eye. “When - how - did you find out that you were a magician?”
Bruce frowned, then smiled. “I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours,” he countered sweetly. “Deal?”
Gwen hesitated. She hadn't wanted to talk about her experience to anyone, even Master Thomas. Enough rumours had gotten out, despite her mother, to ensure that she was no longer considered a suitable marriage prospect for anyone of her station. But she did want to know Bruce’s story. She didn't know the stories of any of the Master Magicians.
“Deal,” she said.
“I used to spend a lot of time climbing trees,” Bruce said. “Father never approved, said I’d fall and break my neck. Never stopped me, of course. One day, while father was in England, I slipped and fell. But I never hit the ground.”
“You stopped yourself in midair,” Gwen said, flatly.
“More or less,” Bruce said. “My mother’s family warned me to keep my abilities a secret, even from my father. And so I did.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “And your story?”
Gwen closed her eyes. She wasn't sure she wanted to see his reaction. “I was seven,” she said. “Mother was having one of her headaches and the nanny was visiting friends, so she banished me into the garden and ordered the maid to take care of me. The poor girl didn't have the slightest idea how to handle a child. There I was, throwing a tantrum, and she was desperately trying to get me to shut up. Everything she said just made me scream louder.”
Bruce gave her an odd look. “And then?”
“I wanted sweets,” Gwen said. “I must have used Charm, somehow; the maid stopped nagging me and ran to get sweets, a whole pile of sweets. She was shaking like a leaf, dropping them in front of me ... she collapsed, moments afterwards. The gardener came running, but it was too late. They couldn't do anything for her. The last I heard, she was in a bedlam.”
“A madhouse,” Bruce said. “Couldn't you do anything?”
“I didn't know,” Gwen said. “It wasn't until I overheard some of the other servants talking that I knew what had happened. They were all scared of me after that, Bruce. We couldn't keep servants for long, no matter how much we offered. They called me a monster, a devil-child. And there were times when I believed them.”
“It wasn't your fault,” Bruce said.
Sons of Liberty Page 33
