But he didn't want a casual affair or a bloodless friendship, and dishonoring her was out of the question. Which meant� �I believe that I do. Is the idea so outrageous? The elders have been urging me to marry for years. Lady Brecon and I are well suited by birth, age, and fortune. Why shouldn't I offer for her?�
Simon's anger was gone, replaced by a frown. �A mage of your power is encouraged to marry a woman who has power of her own, to strengthen the blood.�
�Encouraged, yes, but it's not compulsory. You said yourself that Lady Brecon�Gwynne�is an accomplished scholar of Guardian lore, a respected member of our community. It's not as if I want to wed a mundane.�
Simon gazed out the window of the rocking carriage, still frowning. �Even if she is mad enough to accept you, I have trouble imagining an English gentlewoman in the wilds of Scotland. Would she be willing to live at Dunrath? Would your clansmen accept an English mistress?�
Simon's points were legitimate, but Duncan refused to be swayed. �You're thinking with your head. Use your inner senses.�
�Have you done so?�
�I don't think I can,� Duncan said frankly. �I've no great talent for scrying. Even if I did, my emotions would get in the way of a clear reading on this subject. As soon as I saw her, I felt that we belonged together. I don't think that was a delusion.� He paused, then said reluctantly, �Though it's possible I'm fooling myself.�
�I'm glad you're still sane enough to recognize that.� Simon pulled a watch from his waistcoat pocket. The massive gold timepiece and chain were handsome, a legacy from his father, but the real value was hidden. Instead of snapping open the front to reveal the time, he pushed the stem down and clicked it to the left.
The back sprang open to reveal a disk of pale, shimmering opal. It was a scrying glass, and the subtle, shifting colors and shapes could suggest images from past, present, or future to someone with the skill to read them.
Simon had a great deal of skill. His expression became remote as he relaxed and opened his mind to what might come. Duncan watched with hawklike intensity, eager to hear what his friend might see.
�There's certainly a great deal of energy around this meeting,� Simon said at last. �Gwynne will be very important to you, though I can't say if it will be as your true love or your mortal enemy.� His brows drew together. �Perhaps both.�
�That sounds splendidly ominous.� Gwynne might be his mortal enemy? Impossible. �Do you see us marrying?�
Simon contemplated the scrying stone again, then sucked in his breath sharply. �I see the shadow of war over you both. Another Jacobite rebellion, I think. And soon.�
�Surely not,� Duncan protested. James Francis Edward Stuart was considered by his followers to be the true ruler of Britain, but almost sixty years had passed since his father had been driven from the throne. �The Jacobites tried to restore the Stuarts thirty years ago, and failed miserably. Even if the Old Pretender's son wants to play at rebellion, he won't find the support he would need.�
�Perhaps the French or Spanish will lend him troops and ships to see what mischief can be raised at England's back door. Even without foreign aid, I suspect that if Prince Charles Edward raises his standard in Scotland, thousands of Highlanders will follow him from sheer bloody-mindedness.�
�Highlanders aren't bloody-minded.� Duncan fell silent, thinking about Simon's words. �They care little for who sits on the throne in London, but Highlanders are loyal. If the chiefs declare for the prince, the clans will follow.�
Simon studied the scrying stone again, his expression deeply troubled. �I've sensed the possibility of civil war for some time, but never so clearly as now. And . . . if there is another Jacobite uprising, I think you and Gwynne will play key roles.�
�I can't imagine how,� Duncan said, surprised. �Gwynne is English, and even though I'm a Scot, I'm no Jacobite. If there is another rebellion, I will support King George against the Stuarts. What sane man wouldn't?�
Simon regarded him gravely. �You speak with your head, not your heart. Though we are trained to be objective, we are still human, with the passions of our kind. Be careful, Duncan. A storm is coming that even you will not be able to tame.�
Duncan shifted uneasily, knowing there was truth to his friend's words. Though in the long run Scotland's future lay with England, he was a Scot, proud of his nation's ancient heritage of freedom and independence. �If such a storm strikes, I know where my duty lies. For now, I'm more interested in affairs of the heart.�
His friend's expression eased. �Gwynne will not be easily won.�
�If I fail, it will not be for lack of trying.�
�It is not enough to try hard. You must also try well.� Simon closed the watch and tucked it back inside his waistcoat. �Under Gwynne's mild demeanor, she has a mind of her own. I understand that Brecon left her a comfortable income so she had no need to take another husband. I've never sensed that she wanted one.� His mouth twisted without humor. �If I had thought she was available, I might have . . . reconsidered my relationship with her.�
Simon's description made Gwynne seem like a cool woman, which was not the impression Duncan had received from her. But then, Simon was a cool man. Perhaps that was why he and Gwynne had struck no sparks together. �Do you have any suggestions on how to win her?�
Simon's smile became genuine. �That's easy. Court her with books.�
�An excellent idea. I have some rare volumes I found on the Continent.� Mentally he reviewed the titles he'd acquired, wondering which would be the best.
�Just don't try any love spells. I suspect Gwynne has enough power to sense if you tried that, and she would not like it.�
�No magic,� Duncan promised. Besides, love spells could only enhance what already existed. The attraction between them was powerful, so no enhancement was needed, particularly since Gwynne seemed skittish about that pull. He would court her with books, flowers, poetry, and patience�the gifts of a civilized man.
Not that he was truly civilized�but if that's what it took to win the lady, he'd do his best.
�
Lady Bethany glided into the breakfast parlor, delicately concealing a yawn behind one small hand. �Good morning, my dear. Are you going riding after you break your fast?�
Gwynne filled a porcelain cup with tea and set it at Bethany's place. �After being with so many people yesterday, I've a desire for a good gallop.�
The older woman took her seat and sipped at the steaming beverage. �Another fine day. I would have been most provoked with your new admirer if he hadn't dismissed his storm so efficiently. He's certainly smitten with you.�
�He will have to recover without my help.� Gwynne placed a bit of egg under the table for Athena, who was waiting patiently to be spoiled.
Bethany's silvery brows arched. �I had thought the interest was mutual.�
Gwynne started to protest, then stopped. It was impossible to lie to Bethany, though she didn't know if it was the older woman's Guardian power or simply age, wisdom, and having raised four children. �He is intriguing, but he has too much power. I found him . . . oppressive. Perhaps if I had power of my own . . .� She shrugged. �But I don't, so Lord Ballister shall have to find a new object of admiration.�
Bethany looked stricken. �I hadn't realized I've been oppressing you with my power for all these years. I offer you my deepest apologies.�
Gwynne laughed. �You are never oppressive. Your power is female, and subtle as the first flowers of spring.�
�You find Falconer alarming? He has enormous power, yet I had thought you were friends.� Bethany added a sliver of ham to Athena's breakfast and was rewarded with an audible purr.
�Very well, it isn't power in general that overwhelms me, it's Ballister himself,� Gwynne admitted. �He is . . . compelling, but also disturbing.� She hesitated, wondering how to explain. �I am very happy in my life. I don't want to give that up for the highs and lows that would accompany a man known as the Lord of Th
under.�
�Your life with him would certainly be different.� The older woman's gaze was compassionate. �Would that be all bad? Perhaps you would have children.�
Gwynne's gaze dropped and she buttered another piece of bread. �How absurd it is to talk about marriage with a man I've scarcely met. I doubt that his interest in me is matrimonial. When he weds, he'll choose a lady who is a better match for him.�
�Don't be so sure that you aren't. You have strengths of your own.� Bethany smiled fondly. �Guardians often know quickly when they meet the right mate. My dearest Matthew offered marriage before we had finished our first dance. And if he hadn't asked me, I would have asked him!�
Gwynne concealed her wistful envy. Though she would like power for its own sake, even more she yearned for the profound closeness that some Guardian couples found together because of their heightened sensitivity to emotion. Bethany had known that with her husband, just as Emery had known it with his first wife. He had been a kind and loving husband to his child bride, but she had yearned for a deeper intimacy.
She was casting about for a different topic when a footman entered. On his silver tray rested an elegantly decorated box with a small nosegay fastened to the lid. �This has just arrived for you, Lady Brecon.�
She accepted the box, wondering who might have sent it. After sniffing the fragrant blossoms, she opened the box and found a book with a note resting on top. �It's from Ballister,� she said, bemused. �He apologizes for his ill-bred behavior yesterday, and begs me to accept this small gift as a token of his regret.�
�Handsomely done. He must have sent his messenger at dawn for you to receive this at breakfast.�
�You see how overwhelming he is? He did nothing ill-bred yesterday, and certainly no gift needs to be sent as an apology.� Setting the note aside, she took out the book, then gasped. �Dear heavens, it's Runculo's Dissertation on Shape Shifting! I've always yearned to read it, but I don't think there's a copy in England.�
�Ballister might be overwhelming, but he's no fool,� Bethany said with amusement. Finishing her bread and tea, she rose from her seat. �I'll send a message to the stables that your ride will be delayed.�
Gwynne scarcely heard the older woman leave because she was already pulling paper and pencil from a drawer in the sideboard, as well as spectacles to help her with the faded lettering. Since she never knew when the urge to make notes would strike, she liked having writing materials at hand.
Scarcely able to control her excitement, she opened the slim volume, which was bound in scarred red leather. Almost two hundred years old, it was written in Latin. Luckily she read that, as well as several other languages. A scholar of magic needed diverse skills.
She began to take notes. Shape shifting was a very rare magical talent, and little had been written about it. Fascinating observations Runculo had made. . . .
She returned to awareness with a start when the footman entered. �My lady, you have a most insistent visitor.�
Following the servant was Lord Ballister. Athena took one look at the newcomer and vanished under the sideboard. Even dressed as a country gentleman rather than a lord and sorcerer, Ballister drew the eye, and not only because of his splendid physique. Perhaps it was his confidence. He looked as if he would be at ease anywhere, secure in the knowledge that his strength and intelligence were equal to any challenge.
With surprise, she realized that confidence was what she had seen as arrogance the day before. Perhaps being in the middle of a crowd had made her oversensitive and she had judged him too harshly.
She glanced at the mantel clock and saw that almost two hours had passed since she had opened the book. Time to remember that she was a lady.
She took off her spectacles and rose to her feet, �Thank you for your gift, Lord Ballister. I should not accept anything so rare and valuable, but I don't think I can bring myself to give it back.�
His return smile was so admiring that it warmed her to her toes. �I'm glad the book pleases you. Did I give you enough time to sample its contents?�
�You brought the book yourself instead of sending it by messenger!� she said as realization struck. �Why didn't you give it to me in person?�
�I suspected that as soon as you discovered Runculo, you would forget all else.� His smile deepened, inviting her to laugh with him at the giddy madness of book loving. �After delivering the book, I rode up Richmond Hill and breakfasted at the Star and Garter so I could admire the view of the Thames Valley.�
�I fear that you're right,� she said ruefully. �If you had handed me the book, I would have opened it and forgotten your existence. Now that I've read enough to slake my first thirst, I can remember my manners. Shall I ring for fresh tea, or perhaps a pot of coffee?�
His glance touched her riding habit. �If you are going for a ride this morning, may I join you?�
Gwynne hesitated, realizing that if she accepted his offer, she would be agreeing to further their acquaintanceship. She had decided yesterday that would be unwise. But her mare needed exercise, and Ballister seemed less alarming today. Less . . . predatory. How dangerous could a fellow book lover be?
�I can tell you of other books I found on the Continent,� he said coaxingly.
She laughed. �How can I refuse such an offer?� She glanced out the window and saw that the morning had clouded up. �Particularly if the sun is going to come out and make this a perfect day for riding.�
He grinned. �I have a feeling that the sky is about to clear over Richmond.�
Chuckling, she placed the book, spectacles, and writing materials back in the sideboard drawer. There were advantages to keeping company with a storm lord.
THREE
D uncan had known that Gwynne loved books, and she had been an enchanting sight as she peered over her spectacles when he entered the breakfast room. He wasn't surprised to see that she was equally enchanting on horseback. Her seat and posture were perfect and her flowing green habit as stylish as it was flattering.
What he hadn't expected was that she would be a bruising rider. As soon as they entered the royal park of Richmond, not far from Lady Bethany's home, Gwynne called out, �Race you to where the trail bends.�
Then she was off. Her pretty mare was as swift as she was decorative. It took a moment for Duncan to collect himself and take off in pursuit. Full skirts snapping in the wind and laughter floating behind, Gwynne set a pace that any man would envy.
He had half expected that when he saw her again she would be less dazzling than his memory. But he was wrong�she was even more alluring than the image that kept him tossing and turning half the night. When he walked into the breakfast parlor and saw her bending over the Runculo, his heart had twisted with yearning.
As he urged the gelding faster, he wondered what made her so irresistible. Certainly she was beautiful, with a lush feminine figure and features that were just imperfect enough to be entrancing. But he had never been a man to be unbalanced by mere beauty. Intelligence had always attracted him, and that she had in full measure, and charm as well. Yet she was more than the sum of her parts.
Gwynne reached the bend in the trail and slowed her mount, her expression radiant and her cheeks pink from her gallop. �I'm so glad Lady Bethany's home is in Richmond. I would hate to live in town and not be able to do this.�
He fell into place beside her as they proceeded around the bend. �You ride like a champion, Lady Brecon.�
Her brows arched. �You and that long-legged gelding could have overtaken us, I think, but you chose to be gallant and let us win.�
What a remarkably direct woman she was. And how refreshing he found that. �Perhaps we might have won, but I'm honestly not sure. Your mare has hooves of fire.�
�Bella likes the sound of that.� Gwynne patted the horse's neck affectionately.
He gave her a sharp glance. �Can you sense your mare's moods?�
Gwynne's animation
dimmed. �Not really. It was only a manner of speaking.�
Even as a small child Duncan had been absolutely sure that he would be a great mage. What if he had reached manhood and discovered within himself . . . nothing? What if there had been no transcendent flowering of magic in his soul despite his youthful conviction that power was his destiny?
The thought was so disturbing that he wanted to enfold Gwynne in his arms to offer comfort for her crushing disappointment. But it was too soon to touch her, because when that happened he would have trouble letting her go. Though patience came hard, he must take the time to build a bridge of words and shared interests. Simon had been right about courting her with books. He would give the lady every rare volume he'd located on the Continent if that's what it took to win her.
It had also been Simon, the master of self-control, who had suggested that he deliberately tamp down his power before calling on Gwynne today. At the best of times he could be intimidating, and when they met he'd become so unbalanced he must have been a bonfire of searing energy. She was Guardian enough to sense that, even if not consciously. His strategy had worked, because she was much more relaxed with him today than the day before.
She glanced up at the sky. �It's still rather overcast.�
�I do believe the sky is starting to clear.� It was an easy matter for him to expand his power up into the clouds, dissolving some and sending others away. A thin ray of sunshine shafted to the ground around Gwynne, warming her skin to luscious cream before spreading over both of them like a canopy.
She raised her face to the sun, eyes closing with delight. �That's amazing. Is it difficult?�
�Compared to summoning a thunderstorm, it's child's play.� An idea struck him. �I suspect that you can affect a small cloud yourself. Pick one and concentrate on it, willing it to vanish.�
She obeyed, her brow furrowing with concentration. For several minutes there was no sound but the rhythmic thump of hooves on the soft trail. �The cloud is gone!� she gasped. �It just melted into nothingness. How did I do that? Not only do I have no power, but there's very little Macrae blood in my family. No Owens has ever been a weather worker.�
�Everyone has at least a spark of power, even the most stubborn, unimaginative mundanes. You may not be gifted by the standards of the Families, but surely you have more than a spark of magic in you. Enough to touch a cloud.�
�I liked doing that!� Her face glowed with excitement. �How wonderful it must be to wield power as easily as you. Though I shouldn't be encouraging you to use power frivolously. It's against all Guardian training.�
�True, but this is only a very small misuse of energy.� He smiled wryly. �And a man will do a great deal to impress a woman.�
A Kiss of Fate Page 3
