Charles's brows arched. �Yes, Britain has changed. Can you honestly say that you are happy with the Acts of Union that turned Scotland into a mere province of England that exists only to be taxed and bullied? This has always been a free nation�until her own leaders sold her for English gold.�
Duncan's expression tightened. �Parliament has not treated Scotland well, but even so, the union is better than endless conflict. The economic arguments are also valid. My country is poor. Union with England is beginning to change that. In time, the inequities will disappear and the two countries will be true partners.�
�Perhaps, but at what cost?� Charles sat back in his chair, more controlled. �I can free Scotland from this odious union, but to make that happen I need the support of respected men like you. I'm told that over the years, the Macraes of Dunrath have had an uncanny knack for choosing the right side. Which means you belong with me.�
Duncan rested his unfocused gaze on his goblet. Gwynne suspected that he was scrying the bloodred wine, trying to part the veil of the future to see what lay ahead for his homeland. �Will you be content with Scotland, Prince Charles?� he said softly. �Or is this but the first step in a campaign to take the throne of England as well?�
�What would be wrong with that?� the prince said with cool arrogance. �The House of Stuart was divinely chosen to rule. It was madness for the English Parliament to hand the crown to those coarse, stupid Germans. Britons deserve better than that.�
Duncan looked weary, as if the days of travel and resuming his responsibilities weighed heavily on him. �Most nations deserve better leaders than they are granted, but we must work with what we have. The Hanoverians are the devils we know and if they lack charm, at least they don't cause much trouble.�
�That's poor praise for a king,� Charles said sarcastically.
Duncan shrugged. �Rivers of blood have been shed in religious wars, so there is great value in having Protestant rulers for a mostly Protestant nation. If your father or grandfather had been willing to swear allegiance to the Church of England, the House of Stuart would rule today.�
The prince leaped to his feet, his expression outraged. �What right has Parliament to dictate a sovereign's religion? The Stuarts are faithful followers of the True Church, and so we shall remain!�
�Which is why you shall not win this rebellion. The model in this matter was Henry of Navarre, who said, �Paris is well worth a mass,' when he renounced his Protestant faith to become a Catholic king of France.� Duncan also rose. �I am not saying what is right or wrong in these matters, Your Highness. Only what is. Raising your standard here will bring death and destruction on Scots and Englishmen alike.�
The prince made a visible effort to master his temper. �You will think differently after I prove my mettle in battle. You're a stubborn man, Ballister, but I admire your honesty. Know that you will always be welcome at my side.�
He pivoted on his heel and opened the door, waving off Duncan when his host started to follow him. �I will find my own way down, Ballister. My men and I will take full measure of your hospitality before we leave.�
Duncan bowed. �As Charles Edward Stuart, a gentleman of Scottish blood, you are always welcome in my home.�
Gwynne thought the prince snorted before he left. After the door closed, she sank back into her seat. �That was�interesting,� she said faintly as she tried to evaluate what had happened, not only the words but also the antagonistic energies that had crackled through the chamber as the men spoke.
Duncan paced to the window and looked out over the darkened glen. The cool composure he had showed the prince was gone, replaced by gray fatigue. �The devil of it is that much of what Prince Charles said is true. Many will follow him, and it won't be only the Highland clans. Even I can feel the power of his call for freedom and independence.�
Gwynne stared at her husband, aghast. She had been sure he would stand with the council against the bloodthirsty rebellion that was beginning, yet now he seemed dangerously ambivalent. A single visit with the prince was causing him to waver. How would he react when his sister and others demanded that he lead them out in the Jacobite cause? A man of his enormous power might change the outcome of this rebellion.
This is why she had been asked to marry him. He was her destiny, not because of what pleasure and companionship they might find together, but so that she could influence him in larger issues.
No one ever said that destiny was easy.
NINETEEN
D uncan turned around when he heard Gwynne gasp. Staring at him with huge, shocked eyes, she said, �How can you agree with the Prince? He's a usurper come to sow disaster in pursuit of his own selfish ends. Though he's a compelling man, he has all the faults of his house.�
�And the virtues, too. His courage and charisma will rally men to his cause.� He wondered if an Englishwoman, no matter how learned, could understand the depth of Charles's appeal. Scotland's ancient tradition of freedom and independence had been betrayed by the nation's own leaders, and the Young Pretender represented a way out. �The Acts of Union were an abomination that all true Scots hate, and the English have done little to make them more palatable in the years since they were signed.�
�You said the union will make Scotland wealthier in time. Isn't it worth putting up with some irritations in order to ease the kind of poverty we saw on our ride north?�
�Perhaps.� He rubbed his temples wearily. �But sometimes I wonder if prosperity will come at too high a price. A nation's belly matters, but so does its soul.�
�The fact that the prince knows how to woo a Scottish mind doesn't make him fit to rule,� she said tartly. �As you said, the Stuarts had their chance, and most of them did badly. A man doesn't deserve to become king simply because he's better looking and and better dressed than his rival.�
�The prince's personal attractions are undeniably an asset. He looks royal. George II looks like a critical, mean-spirited shopkeeper.�
Gwynne didn't try to deny it. �Nonetheless, war is not the answer. That's a basic Guardian principle. Defending oneself is a man or woman's right. Killing people who disagree with you is not.�
�A pity more people don't accept that,� he said dryly. �It would make the work of the Guardians easier. The last battle of the Fifteen was at Sherrifmuir. Afterward a song was sung that said, �There's some say that we won. Some say that they won. And some say that nane won at a'.'�
�Isn't that true for most wars?�
�That battle might have seemed as if it had no winner, but the rising itself failed. This time could be different.�
She frowned. �It's hard to imagine how the Jacobites can win with few weapons, no real army, and no foreign support.�
�The matter is balanced on a knife's edge. A few victories and men will flock to the prince. Though the French did not support this adventure, they could easily change their minds if Charles shows signs of success. France came within a hair's breadth of mounting an invasion just last year, and they will be quick to try again if the Hanoverian government is sufficiently weakened.�
Gwynne cocked her head. �I heard that last year's invasion threat ended when a storm struck the French fleet at Dunkirk. Did you do that?�
He thought back to the night when he had stood on a French headland and conjured up a mighty tempest. It was not the equal of Adam Macrae's great gale, but it had sufficed. And on that occasion, there had been no question in his mind what was right. �The Macrae weather mages have a long tradition of keeping invaders from Britain's shores. It's the advantage of our island being protected by the sea. One good storm can scatter a whole invasion force.�
�Surely you can do that again if the French decide to send troops in support of the Jacobites.�
�Aye, I can.� He sighed. �If that's the right thing to do.�
�Do you truly doubt it?� Gwynne said quietly. �The Guardian Council, even the Scottish members, have feared the prospect of another Jacobite rebellion for year
s. Now it is here, and there will be terrible bloodshed.�
�That will be true no matter what the outcome. Have you considered the possibility that a Jacobite victory will spill less blood and that a restored House of Stuart might be better for Britain than the Hanoverians?� He spoke the words hesitantly, because until tonight he had not considered that possibility himself. Now it would not leave his mind. �James II was a fool, but James I and Charles II ruled long and well. Perhaps Charles Edward has the same gifts of leadership.�
To her credit, Gwynne considered his words rather than rejecting them instantly. �It's possible that a Jacobite victory would benefit Britain, yet my instincts say no.�
With deep disquiet, he recognized that a breach could easily separate them over this issue. Not only was she English, but she had been raised in the heart of the Guardian establishment. The world did not always look the same out here on the wild edges of Britain. �Enough of politics.� Shaking off his grim mood, he sat down at his desk. �I have something for you.�
�Something indecent, I hope?� she said with forced brightness. He guessed that she found disagreement on this subject as upsetting as he did.
�That can be arranged later.� He traced a swift pattern in the air with his fingertip, the glowing lines fading an instant later. Then he twisted a piece of decorative carving and his secret drawer slid open. The contents included a small, lacquered box. He handed her the box, wondering if she was adept enough to open it. �Now that you are Mistress of Dunrath, this is yours.�
She frowned when the box wouldn't open, then realized that it was sealed by magic, as the drawer had been. She took a deep breath, her eyes slipping out of focus for a moment, and the lid of the box popped up.
�Well done!� he said. Her progress was remarkable.
�Isabel de Cortes's ring,� she breathed as she lifted the gold circlet reverently from its velvet nest. A brilliant ruby was set in the heart of a gold Tudor rose, the emblem of Queen Elizabeth's house. The ring was a feminine version of the one Duncan wore. She slid it onto her third finger, next to her simple gold wedding band. �It fits perfectly!� she said with surprise.
�They always do.� He held up his left hand so that the sapphire of his ring glowed in the candlelight. �Both rings were enchanted by John Dee at the queen's request. Not only were they a reward for the destruction of the Armada. They are also a kind of connection to the rulers of England.�
�That I didn't know. The great queen was shrewd.� She spread her fingers and smiled at the ring with delight. �I can feel the energies of the women who have worn this. It's like . . . layers on an onion. The most recent would have been your mother?�
�Aye. Her energy was soft. Very different from Isabel's.� His mother had been gentle�and as formidable as a storm at sea.
�The ring has belonged to six women before me?�
He counted the owners down from Isabel. �Only five.�
�There is a sixth.� Gwynne's eyes narrowed. �Queen Elizabeth herself wore this for several days before sending it to Isabel. She must have wanted to strengthen the connection to the royal house.�
Duncan glanced at his ring, and wondered how he would have reacted to Prince Charles if he hadn't been wearing it. Might he have been more inclined to the prince's arguments? Better not to find out.
Yawning, Gwynne rose from her chair. Shadows of weariness darkened her eyes. �I'm so tired that I can barely keep my eyes open. Do you think anyone will notice if I don't return to the c?ilidh? Your people seem quite capable of entertaining themselves.�
�Go and rest. If anyone notices, they'll understand.� He smiled a little. �Since you're a dazzling enchantress, they'll forgive you anything.�
She laughed. �I wonder if I'll ever be able to believe such a thing. It still seems like a joke that my mere presence can affect men so strongly.�
�Never think it a joke.� He studied his wife, who was tired, rumpled, and utterly irresistible. What would he do if she ever returned another man's interest? The thought was so horrifying that he couldn't bear to imagine it. Lightly he kissed her on the forehead. �I'll join you later.�
She trailed fingers along the sensitive inside of his wrist, leaving fire in their wake, before she withdrew. He was tempted to follow her to her bedchamber and dissolve the tension between them with passion. Instead he returned to the window, gazing sightlessly over the moon-touched hills. Scotland was in his bones, and he hadn't fully recognized how much he missed it until he was home again.
To be a Guardian was to swear to support what was good for the largest number of people. Yet what if the best path wasn't clear? Might his love for his native land distort his judgment so that he would support the wrong outcome? He shuddered at the thought. Partisanship was antithetical to the principles that had been drilled into him since he was an infant.
Yet what if the Stuarts were the best rulers for Britain? The Hanoverians were Protestant but pigheaded, and the Crown Prince, Frederick, was weak, extravagant, and deceitful. His own parents called him �the Nauseous Beast.� By comparison, Charles Edward Stuart was a model of strength and virtue. Just as Duncan should not choose to support Charles only because of their shared Scottish blood, he should not blindly support the House of Hanover as the council was doing.
With great power came responsibility�and he had a disturbing premonition that the fate of this uprising might end up on his shoulders. Weather was very important in military campaigns. It would be easy to change the outcome of a battle. . . .
Another Guardian principle was, never interfere unnecessarily. Partly this was because meddling with the free will of a person or nation was inherently wrong, and partly it was because excessive interference increased the risk of the Guardians being identified as a dangerous minority.
The Families had survived as long as they had because of their discretion, supported by spells that kept their children from casually revealing power to mundanes. When necessary, spells of forgetting were laid on mundanes who saw things that might make them suspicious. Even such small enchantments were discouraged unless absolutely necessary.
Duncan prayed that the rising would play itself out without his needing to pick a side. If he was forced to choose, he couldn't guarantee he would make the right choice.
�
It was well past midnight when Duncan retired. Most people had gone home under the light of a waxing moon. Others snored quietly in corners of the hall, and one last happy quartet was singing, badly, around a keg of ale. It had been a jolly good party.
Because of the late hour he considered going to his own bedchamber, but he and Gwynne had slept together every night since their marriage. He needed to be with her.
Her room was pitch-dark, so he touched the wick of a candle into soft light. His heart tightened unbearably as he studied her soft sleeping features. Did other men feel this same anguished need whenever they looked at her, or was it worse for him because they were wedded and bedded? If all men found her so enchanting, no wonder young William had felt compelled to abduct her.
He stripped off his garments and slid into the bed beside her. He had intended only sleep, but when she instinctively shifted toward him, his resolve faltered. She was tired and deserved her rest, and yet . . .
He rested his hand on her breast. Under the muslin of her nightdress, it was soft and perfectly rounded. Slowly he moved his thumb, stroking the nub until it hardened. She made a purring sound and moved closer yet.
A gentleman wouldn't wake a sleeping lady to demand intimacy, but if she awoke with pleasure she could decide for herself. Her pulse was slow as the beat of a seabird's wing, until he licked the silky skin of her throat and the tempo quickened.
She was all sensuality as she molded herself against him, her hand exploring with sleepy finesse. Unsure if she was waking or sleeping, he continued a gentle lovemaking, each advance on his part met by a response on hers.
�You are mi
ne, mo c?ran,� he whispered. �Now and forever, only mine.�
Perhaps she agreed, because she drew him to her with welcoming arms. Restraint exploded into frantic need and he buried himself in the lush haven of her body. She responded with the passion that could bring a man to his knees. This was the essence of enchantment�a woman who could supply pleasure and fulfillment so intoxicating that it was impossible to imagine life without her.
They were joined by fate. Surely mere politics could not separate them. . . .
TWENTY
T he next morning Gwynne behaved as a dutiful bride and gravely inspected the inner workings of the household with Maggie Macrae as her guide. After a thorough tour of the kitchens, laundry, dairy, brew house, and other functions, she said frankly, �Mistress Maggie, Dunrath ticks like a fine clock in your capable hands. I truly hope you will continue to manage the household. I need to know what is going on and important decisions should be discussed, but I'll be happiest if I have time every day for my own work.�
Maggie said with equal frankness, �It's glad I'll be to continue as I have before. What is your work?�
�I'm a scholar. I read, I take notes, I make translations, sometimes I write.� Gwynne smiled disarmingly. �The results are of interest only to other scholars, but it matters to me. When Duncan proposed, he said that Dunrath has a fine library. I look forward to seeing it.�
The older woman grinned. �And you're perishing to go there now that you've done your duty. Be off with you, Mistress. I think we shall deal well together.�
Gwynne needed no further permission. She had woken that morning knowing that her honeymoon was over. The magical interlude of travel had given way to the reality of daily life. Now it was time to lay the foundation for the rest of her life, and she saw no reason to take on any more domestic work than was absolutely necessary.
She hadn't seen Duncan since they breakfasted. He had gone off with Jean and Auld Donald to ride through the glen and see how the land and people were faring. She would see none of them till the day was done, she suspected. His attitude this morning had been brisk, and she had been unsure if it was because his thoughts were on the day ahead or if he was withdrawn because of the political tensions between them the evening before. She wasn't too worried, though. Any man who came to bed as passionately as Duncan wasn't withdrawing very far.
She was beginning to appreciate the mixed blessing of enchantress power. It would be very easy to use it to manipulate others, which would be wrong in all kinds of ways, both human and Guardian. Yet�very easy. Fortunately Duncan was not the sort to be manipulated.
A Kiss of Fate Page 17
