�Just before your Jacobite hothead proposed his toast. Under the circumstances, I thought it best not to inflame the situation with my very English presence. So I wandered down to the kitchen and helped myself.�
Being Simon, he had been able to do that with no one noticing. Though given the drama at the dining table, a platoon of Highlanders could have marched through with bagpipes playing and no one would have noticed. �Did you see what Jean did?�
�I did indeed. Your little sister has grown up.� There was a mixture of amusement, respect, and concern in his voice.
They spoke no more until they entered Duncan's study. As Gwynne poured claret for all three of them, Simon's head came up and he turned slowly, like a hound scenting the wind. �The Pretender has been here.�
Falconer was very, very good. �So he has,� Duncan agreed. �The night we arrived at Dunrath, he walked into the middle of a c?ilidh and introduced himself. We came up here and he attempted to enlist me in his cause.�
�Bold of him. And your answer?�
Gwynne replied as she brought the men their wine. �Duncan said that the prince couldn't win, and he wished the blasted fellow would go home.�
Simon laughed. �Surely you didn't call the prince a blasted fellow to his face.�
�No, but it was implied,� Duncan said as they seated themselves. �He's a compelling and dangerous man, Simon.�
�That's why I'm here. As you must know, the Jacobite forces are marching into England.�
�And?� Duncan arched his brows when Simon hesitated. �What has that to do with me?�
�The council would like you and me to shadow the prince's army. Not join it, but stay nearby so we can monitor events and be available if our powers are needed.�
Duncan's gaze went involuntarily to Gwynne. The thought of leaving his bride was almost unbearable. She looked no happier than he, but she gave a slight nod of acceptance. Duty must always come first.
�Why both of us? So that you can curb any dangerous Jacobite tendencies I might have?� he asked dryly.
�If necessary. And equally so that you can curb my dangerous English tendencies. I despise the Stuarts for their arrogance and bloody-minded belief in their divine mission to rule. Between the two of us, we should achieve balance.�
Duncan's irritation faded. Balance was always a Guardian goal, and it made sense for the council to ask the two of them to work together. Presumably their long friendship would help them bridge their political differences. �What is our aim�to reduce loss of life?�
One side of Simon's mouth quirked up. �Yes, while naturally not altering the overall course of events.�
�How is it possible to do both?� Gwynne asked. �You may save the life of a man for mercy's sake, and later he could shoot one of the commanding officers on the other side and completely change the outcome of the rebellion.�
�Therein lies the problem,� Simon agreed. �This is art, not science. War is the most difficult situation to balance. We must hope that we do more good than harm.�
�While knowing we can never be sure of that.� Duncan had made a study of Guardian attempts to mitigate the effects of war in the past. Given mankind's tendency toward violence there was no shortage of material, but also no coherent theory of how best to proceed. Every situation must be muddled through one step at a time.
�When will you leave?� Gwynne asked.
�Tomorrow,� Simon replied. �The prince's force is nearly at Carlisle. There may be a siege. Plus, the government is starting to mobilize troops to come north and engage the Jacobites. Some kind of action is likely.�
So soon? Yet Simon was right. Distance made a difference for most forms of magic, and they needed to be close enough to evaluate the situation as it developed. �Very well.� Duncan rose. �Gwynne, do we have a guest room ready?�
�I'll show Simon to his room.�
Falconer stood, his face showing weariness now that he had achieved his aim. �Gwynne, even with your shields up, you radiate power like a bonfire. It's hard to believe all this developed since I saw you at your wedding, but the proof shines around you. Have you discovered other exceptional powers beyond what most Guardians can do?�
�She a better scryer than you, and Isabel's glass awoke at her touch,� Duncan said with a touch of mischief. �I await further developments with alarmed fascination.�
Gwynne smiled. �I love that I have power now, but I'm not at all alarming. My talents are the quiet, feminine variety. I read people's energy well, am tolerably good at farseeing with the help of Isabel's glass, and I've learned to shield well enough that I've only been abducted once.�
Simon's brows arched. �Fascinating indeed. I look forward to learning more.� He covered a yawn. �Tomorrow.�
Gwynne led him to the guest room while Duncan stayed in his study and jotted a list of matters to be addressed before he left. A good thing he had caught up with his affairs since returning to Dunrath.
The hardest part would be leaving Gwynne. The thought constricted his lungs and made breathing difficult. They shared her bedroom, and as he headed there his mind repeated, �The last night, last night, last night.� He told himself that he wouldn't be gone long, perhaps no more than a fortnight, but he was already missing his wife and he wasn't even gone yet.
As soon as Gwynne entered the bedroom, she went straight into his arms. �I hate that you're leaving,� she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
�So do I, mo cridhe.� He kissed her, desperation thrumming through him. How could he bear not having her in his arms every night? �I shall miss you as I would miss my right hand if it were cut off. But I won't be gone for long.�
�A day would be too long.� She stepped away and loosened her hair so that it fell free, catching bright highlights in the candle glow.
She turned so he could unfasten her gown with impatient fingers. After unlacing her stays, he slid his hands under the quilted fabric to cup her magnificent breasts. She shivered and arched her back before gliding away. �Not yet.�
Dropping her shields, she allowed the full force of her allure to blaze free. Awed that her incredible sensuality was only for him, he stepped forward to embrace her. Again she gracefully eluded him. �Wait.�
With Eve's instinct, she slowly removed her clothing, garment by garment. He was riveted as each new visual delight was revealed. The lithe bend of her waist when she shimmied out of her gown. The delicious hollow between her breasts. Her shapely legs and ankles as she peeled off her stockings. With every move she made, the erotically charged atmosphere intensified, causing his pulse to accelerate and his breath to catch.
When she was down to the sheer fabric of her shift, he breathed, �Gwynne, mo c?ran, enough of waiting.�
�You haven't waited nearly long enough.� Smiling wickedly, she began to undress him, her light touches maddeningly provocative as she undid buttons, loosened fabric, tugged off garments.
He thought he would burst into flames from anticipation. When he tried again to embrace her, she laughed and pushed his shoulders so that he sat back on the bed. She swung his legs up on the coverlet, then knelt over him, her shift-covered breasts brushing his bare chest as she kissed his throat. �We must make this a night to remember, my dear,� she murmured. �For all the nights we are apart.�
He groaned as her lips moved down his torso, sucking and licking ever lower. There would be little sleep for either of them tonight, he knew. They would make love until both were exhausted, trying to fill the well of passion so that it would sustain them until they were together again.
And yet he already knew that he would feel empty as he rode out of Glen Rath.
TWENTY-SIX
G wynne stepped into the courtyard, and found it clattering with life as Jean's rebels assembled. She joined her sister-in-law, who stood on the steps, where she could overlook the activity. �It looks like you'll have a good turnout, Jean.�
The younger woman turned, vivid with excitement. H
er riding habit was trimmed with military-style gold braid and augmented by a bright tartan wrap, while a white cockade bobbed in her bonnet. She even had one of the family's brass-hilted swords in a scabbard slung round her slender waist. The complete woman warrior. �It looks like about three dozen men will ride out with me�not just from the glen, but from the hills beyond. The eagerness to serve is there.�
Gwynne tried not to look too anxious. �Since your mother isn't here to say it, I will. Take care, Jean, for yourself and for the men you lead.�
�I'll not do anything reckless, but one cannot join a rebellion with perfect safety.� Jean scanned the castle, disappointment showing in her face. �Is Duncan not coming to see me off? I'd hoped . . .� She bit her lip.
Gwynne's voice lowered so that it was under the clatter and shouting of excited young males. �He isn't showing disapproval. He left at dawn this morning with Lord Falconer, who arrived late last night.�
Jean's brows arched. �It will have something to do with the rising. I'm sorry Duncan isn't here, but I can't regret missing Falconer. The man terrifies me.�
�Simon?� Gwynne said with surprise. �I always think of him as the perfect gentleman.�
�There's nothing wrong with his manners, but he has too much power. Except for Duncan, I find most powerful male mages intimidating.�
Gwynne wondered if that was why the girl's sweetheart was not a Guardian. �I felt the same way about Duncan. So much concentrated power is alarming.�
�But now you have the ability to bewitch men. To turn the lions into lambs.� Jean grinned. �I'm more likely to infuriate lambs and turn them into lions.�
�Develop your own power so you can stand up to men like Simon.�
Jean hesitated. �Perhaps when I return, I will put more time into lessons. I've enjoyed the work I've done with you. You're a good teacher.�
The ranks of would-be soldiers were forming up, so Gwynne gave her sister-in-law a quick hug. �You're a good student. Come home soon, Jeannie.�
�This is the adventure of a lifetime, and I'll ride the whirlwind as far as it will take me. We can win this, Gwynne, and free Scotland from English tyranny!� Glowing with youth and confidence, Jean turned to face the man climbing the steps to her. He was older than most of the volunteers, and Gwynne recalled that he'd served with the army. She was glad that someone in this motley crew had experience.
He saluted Jean. �Captain Jeannie, your men are ready to march.�
She gave a regal nod. �Well done, Sergeant Macrae.� Raising her gaze, she scanned the men standing in slightly ragged lines before her. �We are Scots, brave and free! This small band may make the difference between the success or failure of Prince Charles Edward. I salute you. Now�let's march!�
The sergeant assisted her onto her horse. Though only Jean would ride, several pack animals were being taken for supplies. She looked magnificent�brave, beautiful, and heartbreakingly young. It was all Gwynne could do not to weep.
She had wept that morning after the last fevered kiss between her and Duncan, though she had managed to keep the tears from her eyes until the men left. In some ways, this was worse. Duncan and Simon could take care of themselves in almost any circumstances, but Jean and her troops seemed vulnerable and hopelessly na?ve.
�May God preserve you,� Gwynne whispered. Though she surrounded the marchers with protection, without other Guardians she feared she was having little effect.
The volunteers saluted her as the representative of Dunrath. She and the other household members who had come to see the rebels off stood erect as they marched out to the beat of a drum and the jubilant skirling of a piper. Maggie Macrae had silent tears running down her cheeks.
Gwynne managed better. Only when the pipes had faded from hearing did she go inside and weep.
�
Pulling his horse to a halt at the top of the hill, Simon paused to study the misty, saturated hills. He tugged his hat lower to protect his face from the bitter rain. �If they had to have a war, a pity they didn't choose a better season to invade England.� He glanced at Duncan. �You're the weather mage. Can't you do something about this?�
Duncan was equally uncomfortable after days of riding through cold winds and icy drizzle, but he only shrugged. �This weather system is huge and it covers most of the North Atlantic and Northern Europe. If you like I can stop the rain in the area around us, but it will take a large amount of energy and perhaps be conspicuous.�
His friend groaned. �And we are not supposed to be conspicuous. Ah, well, it will soon be time to look for an inn.�
�There's an inn about a mile along this road,� Duncan said. �Small but snug and clean. We might as well stop there for the night.�
Simon set his horse moving again. �A pity the Pretender didn't listen to his Scottish advisors and stay in Scotland. Even I will concede that an argument can be made for allowing Scotland to regain her independence under a Stuart king. God knows the country has been a great expense to England with little return. But no, the Pretender must listen to French and Irish advisers who say he should invade England.�
�Since the prince's personal desire is to invade, of course he'll listen to those who encourage him,� Duncan said. �I wish he'd stayed in Edinburgh and waited for French reinforcements. He could have turned Scotland into a fortress that wouldn't have been worth King George's effort to recapture.�
Instead, the Jacobites were invading England with a mere five thousand mostly untrained men. The Hanoverians could muster ten times as many troops, all better trained and better equipped. The farther south the prince moved, the more he risked the rising. He was a fool, and yet there was a part of Duncan that admired the blazing courage of Charles's action: a lone prince with a small army taking on the English lion. Doomed, perhaps, but magnificent.
It was almost dark when they reached the Border Lord. They were the only guests; wise travelers avoided the paths of armies. The foul weather meant that even locals hadn't come to the taproom for the evening.
As they finished a plain supper of boiled ham and turnips, Simon opened his watch to look at the scrying stone. He swore under his breath. �General Wade, who has twice the men of the Pretender, has decided to leave Newcastle to come to the relief of Carlisle. Instead of sitting tight, your idiot prince wants to engage Wade in hilly country, so he's marching a good part of his army east to some place called Brampton.�
Duncan uttered a curse of his own. �So far there really hasn't been much fighting. A pitched battle here and now will have many casualties.� Including, surely, men from Glen Rath. He'd been keeping track of his sister through scrying, and knew that she had joined with the main Jacobite army. She was staying with them, too, instead of heading for home. The pigheaded wench. As with the prince, he both admired her courage and wanted to wring her neck.
Mouth tight, Simon snapped his watch case shut. �I'm ready for sleep. The morning is early enough to decide what, if anything, we should do.�
They both retired for the night. Duncan was glad to have the privacy of his own room to think about Gwynne. Every day they were apart increased his physical and emotional ache.
Before disrobing, he drew out his scrying glass and looked for Gwynne. As was the case most evenings, she was reading with Lionel draped across her. Watching the way she stroked the cat's heavy head made him wish he was the one in her lap. She looked tired. Missing him as he missed her, he guessed. She looked up, almost as if able to see him through the glass. He smiled involuntarily, then released the image.
Having indulged himself by viewing Gwynne, he scanned more widely. General Wade and his army had made camp for the night. His men were huddled morosely around fires, or in tents that didn't manage to keep out all the rain. It would take two to three days for them to reach Brampton, where the prince waited. Unless . . .
He opened his window and stared into the wet, bitter night as he thought about the bloody battle that would result if
the two armies came together.
What if the armies didn't meet? At this time of year, it would be easy to conjure snow that would block Wade's advance. If Duncan did that, his action would preserve life, which was always a Guardian goal.
It could also be considered partisan aid to the Jacobite cause. Would halting Wade be considered too great an interference in worldly affairs? Or was it an opportunity to save many lives?
He frowned, remembering that even Simon thought there was merit in the idea of the Stuarts reclaiming the throne of Scotland. Such a goal could be achieved with relatively little blood spilled. Scotland would be a free nation again. Though Scotland and England had been uneasy neighbors for centuries, gradually they were becoming more peaceable. There was no need for them to be ruled by the same king.
Framed in such terms, a minor intervention began to seem reasonable. If weather problems encouraged the prince to withdraw to Scotland, everyone would benefit.
Even so, Duncan shielded himself before he started work. He didn't want a single shred of stray magic to alert Simon to what was happening. He also slid off the enchanted sapphire ring of Adam Macrae that created a bond with the British throne. He didn't want his concentration undermined by ancient history.
Stopping the rain entirely would have been difficult. Changing the rain to snow over the highland spine of Northern England was relatively simple at this season. He closed his eyes and found Arctic air north of the British Isles. Instead of allowing it to move directly into Scandinavia, he shaped winds to push the icy mass farther south. When the freezing air met the rain sometime before dawn, snow would start falling on the high country. Wade's men and artillery would be bogged down hopelessly.
He was tense with fatigue when he finished, less from the weather-working than from the effort of keeping all traces of magic from Simon. But he felt relieved when he crawled into his cold and lonely bed. A battle had been headed off. Not only had lives been saved, but he might have altered the course of the rising in a positive way.
Had Duncan interfered too much? He didn't think so�but others might disagree.
�
Gwynne awoke gasping from renewed nightmares of death and destruction, and recognized with bleak anguish that her world was tumbling toward a sea of blood.
�
Northern England was pristine under a blanket of snow the next morning. Duncan joined Simon in the taproom. Sounds from the kitchen indicated that breakfast was on the way. Simon was frowning at the still-falling snow. On this mission he had abandoned his London finery and was plainly dressed in blue, his blond hair unpowdered and pulled back in a queue. His efforts at simplicity did not make him look like an ordinary man.
A Kiss of Fate Page 22
