Part 13 (1/2)
Gwynne blinked. Duncan had mentioned that Scotswomen were plainspoken, and he hadn't exaggerated.
Jean opened the door to a sitting room, then stepped back so that Gwynne could enter. ”The mistress's suite. Your bedroom is to the left, while the door to the right connects with the master's rooms. ”
Gwynne scanned the s.p.a.cious chamber, startled by the plaster walls, handsome furniture, and thick oriental carpets. The sitting room was in the corner of the keep, so windows on two walls admitted a flood of light, while a pair of fireplaces promised warmth in the iciest depths of winter. ”This is lovely, and far more comfortable than I expected.”
”Thank Isabel de Cortes. With her Spanish blood she loved the sun, so Adam Macrae built this solar as a wedding present. Every generation since has made more improvements to the private apartments.”
”I owe Isabel a debt of grat.i.tude.” Gwynne brushed her fingertips over a silk-clad wall, so much warmer than raw stone. What a tangible act of love this bright room was. ”Despite all the Guardian history I've read, I didn't know that Adam had created such a luxurious nest for his bride.”
”Family legend says they loved greatly, and fought greatly. Isabel and Adam both had such power that it must have been like two swords sharpening against each other. Will you and Duncan be like that?”
”I have no blade to sharpen against Duncan's.” Gwynne crossed to a window and looked out. Above the fields of Glen Rath loomed the Highlands, dark and haunting. A place of magic and violence. ” An enchantress's power is rather pa.s.sive-I have some ability to attract, but that is nothing like the active power of a great mage like Isabel.”
She s.h.i.+fted her gaze to the courtyard below. A keg had appeared and men were standing around with tankards of ale, Duncan in the middle. He was alive in a way she had not seen him in England. ” Duncan said that you hadn't taken the time to develop your power. The thought amazed me-when I was growing up, I longed desperately to have magic.”
Understanding the implied question, Jean said tartly, ”Someone in this family had to be practical. My father and Duncan were always out rattling the hills with storms, and my mother was a great healer who was often away from home. It was left to me to learn the mundane skills of sheep and farming and accounts.”
”So you had to take responsibility from an early age. Have you ever wished for more time to train your power?”
Jean flushed. ”Are you saying that you will take over my duties, so I must find something else to amuse myself?”
”Not at all,” Gwynne said mildly. ”I'm saying that your family has taken shameless advantage of your willingness to do the necessary but unglamorous work, and that you should be allowed the time to pursue your own interests if you wish. While I know how to run a household, my pa.s.sion is for my scholarly work. I will happily leave the management to you if you like, but I think you deserve more.”
Jean glanced out the other window. ”I'm sorry for flaring up. I . . . I have been taken by surprise. I don't know what my place here is.”
”This is your home, of course. Now it is mine as well, but I hope that we will work together as friends, not as opponents.”
Jean's gaze met hers. ”You are gracious. I see that Duncan did not choose you only for your beauty. ”
”I hope not. Beauty fades. Character is forever.” Gwynne opened the door to her bedroom. It was also a handsome chamber, with a ma.s.sive curtained bed to keep the warmth in. ”Please don't think I'm trying to push you out the door, but surely a girl as lovely as you has suitors?”
Jean shrugged, but looked pleased at the compliment. ”There are not so many men to choose from here.”
”Then you can go to Edinburgh or even London if you like, now that you no longer have to carry the weight of the whole estate on your shoulders.”
”A season in London would be . . . interesting,” Jean agreed. ”But I think that Robbie Mackenzie from the next glen and I will make a match of it.”
Gwynne studied her sister-in-law's expression. ”You don't seem too excited by the prospect.”
”Robbie is a braw fine lad, but I must wait until he returns from the prince's army.” Jean smiled ruefully. ”Truth to tell, I'm angry that he wouldn't take me with him. Perhaps Duncan will.”
Confused, Gwynne asked, ”You think Duncan will join the rebellion?”
”Here we call it the rising.” Jean's expression flattened. ”Of course you're English and probably a Whig.”
”I'm not much for politics, but I favor peace over war.” Guessing that Jean didn't know her brother's views, Gwynne continued cautiously, ”I believe that Duncan feels the same way. War is a horror with few benefits.”
”This rising is about justice, and it will benefit Scotland,” Jean said calmly. ”Prince Charles Edward has right on his side. Men of Glen Rath have already joined him, while the others are waiting for Duncan to lead them out.”
Jean's confidence was unnerving. ”And if Duncan doesn't support the prince?”
”Then I'll lead Glen Rath out myself!” Jean retorted. ”Jenny Cameron of Glendessary raised over three hundred men for the prince and brought them at Glenfinnan when he raised his standard. I could lead out our men as well as she did, but there will be no need. Duncan will join the rising, I promise you.”
Gwynne felt a deep chill that began in her heart and spread through her whole being. With a certainty beyond doubt, she knew that her destiny was bound to Duncan's role in this looming civil war.
SEVENTEEN.
I t took Duncan time to escape the impromptu celebration in the courtyard and go in search of his wife. He found her on the family floor, heading toward the library with a purposeful stride.
”Mo cridhe!” He spun her around and kissed her with ale-soaked exuberance. ”I'm sorry to have abandoned you for so long.”
”No matter.” She kissed him back, her mouth as sweet as Highland honey. ”Jean and I had a chance to get acquainted, and she pointed me toward the library before going off. Have I time to explore it, or am I needed elsewhere?”
”The library must wait, for you are very much needed.” As the kiss deepened, his original purpose began to vanish. His hands moved down her back, kneading her curves. ”We need to investigate your new bedroom to see if changes are needed.”
She gave a husky laugh. ”A likely story. But I'm sure you had something less . . . intimate in mind when you sought me out.”
Recalled to a sense of duty, he said, ”There's a ceilidh forming in the courtyard and we should both be there.”
”A kaylee?” she asked doubtfully.
”It's a grand welcome-home celebration that will last until the wee hours.” He heard the first wailing notes rise from the courtyard. ”The music is starting now.”
She c.o.c.ked her head. ”The sound like a creature being butchered alive is music?”
He grinned. ”Aye, 'tis. The great pipes take some getting used to, but no other instrument can get the blood pounding the same way.” His blood was already pounding, and not from the music. He looped an arm around her shoulders and guided her back toward her rooms.
She slid her arm around his waist, her long stride matching his. ”How can there be many guests on such short notice?”
”News of my return has already spread through the glen and the surrounding hills and everyone knows that means a clan gathering. Many people will bring food since the Dunrath kitchens haven't had time to cook.” Though a sheep had been quickly slaughtered and it was already roasting over a fire in the courtyard. ”All will want to see the grand beauty who is the new lady of the glen.”
She glanced down at her dusty riding habit. ”The carriage hasn't arrived with our baggage yet, has it? I only have this habit and one plain, wrinkled gown packed in my saddlebags. Neither are exactly grand and beautiful.”
”I asked Jean to retrieve the gown and have it brushed out for you. It's just as well that you'll be dressed simply. This is no gentry ball, but a celebration for everyone in Glen Rath.” He bent to trace the delectable rim of her ear with his tongue. ”Even if you wear sacking, you'll be the loveliest woman in Dunrath. And you're loveliest of all without a st.i.tch on.”
”You're getting more Scottish and more bawdy by the minute,” she said demurely, but her eyes sparked in a way he recognized.
They were nearing her bedroom door when a thin, middle-aged woman appeared around the corner, Gwynne's other gown draped over her arm. ”Ah, there you are. Here's your gown, Lady Dunrath.”
”Mistress Maggie!” Duncan caught the woman up in an affectionate embrace. ”Gwynne, have you met Dunrath's housekeeper, Margaret Macrae?”
”Thank you so much for taking care of my gown.” Gwynne advanced with her beautiful warm smile and an extended hand. ”I'm pleased to meet you. I hope all is well at your daughter's house?”