Part 21 (2/2)

Setting Lionel down, she removed her gown. She had deliberately chosen a front-lacing corset and a garment that required no maid. Tonight, she needed privacy.

She slipped her warmest nightgown on, thinking wistfully of Arthurian legends about enchantresses who could hold men in thrall for as long as they wished. But that was legend. If Gwynne tried to persuade her husband to abandon the Jacobite cause by using magic, the effect would be temporary at best-and after his pa.s.sion had been slaked he would be justly enraged at her attempt to manipulate him.

Pa.s.sion . . . Sensual memory of their incredible lovemaking up in the hills surged through her with molten power. She had not known that desire could be so earthshaking. Only in the aftermath of rapture had she sensed Duncan's traitorous behavior and decided it was time for the whole truth.

When and if Duncan left the celebration to join her, would she be able to resist him? Or would she fall on him with wild urgency as she had this afternoon? Afraid to find out, she locked both doors to her room.

She crawled under the covers and cuddled Lionel close. Though Duncan would recognize the message of the locked doors, he would not like it.

The warmth of the Christmas Eve celebration was a grand contrast to the cold, isolated weeks of shadowing the Jacobite army. By his fourth dram of good Scots whiskey, Duncan decided that this gathering should become a regular Dunrath tradition, a gentler prelude to the more riotous Hogmanay celebration.

Now it was time to go to his wife and repair the damage done by their earlier quarrel. She was too blindly faithful to the conservative Guardian Council, but she was also intelligent and adaptable. Once he had explained his position calmly and in greater detail, she would accept his point of view. With luck and pa.s.sion as a persuader, she might even come to share his views once she discarded her prejudices.

His steps quickened as he climbed the steps. Their coupling earlier had been fiercely satisfying, but now he would make love to her slowly, giving rapt attention to every inch of her exquisite body. Lord above, how he'd missed her! He reached for the doork.n.o.b. . . .

Her bedroom was locked. He gazed down in shock, jiggling the fancy porcelain doork.n.o.b imported from France. But the door did not open. Still not believing, he stalked into the sitting room they shared and tried that door also.

Locked.

Rage blazed through him, triggering lightning flashes that crashed across the winter sky. Ignoring every tenet of restraint, he blasted the doork.n.o.b with thunderous energy. The internal mechanism shattered, releasing the lock.

Furiously he threw the door open and burst into the bedroom. ”How dare you lock your door against your husband!”

The night candle showed Gwynne jerk herself upright in the bed. The braid of bright hair falling over her shoulder was a garish contrast to her pale face and taut expression. ”Whiskey makes your accent more Scottish,” she said, her voice not quite steady. ”We didn't have a simple argument, Duncan Macrae. You have bent your Guardian oath to the breaking point, and I cannot be your wife while that is true.”

He stared at her, incredulous. Gwynne wore a plain nightgown designed for warmth, not seduction, yet she was so desirable that it hurt to look at her. ”I don't know how matters are managed in England, but in Scotland a husband and wife settle their disagreements in bed.”

A single kiss would begin to melt her stubborn resistance, he knew it. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and in the melding of their bodies they would be able to breach the abyss that was forming between them. Between rage and desperation, he strode to the bed and reached for her.

As she gasped and pulled back, a screaming fury leaped from under the covers and attacked him. The beast attached itself to his left arm with vicious claws while its fangs sank through his coat to draw blood. Startled, he knocked the creature from his arm and instinctively retaliated.

”No!” Gwynne countered his power with a blast that shoved him away from the bed and neutralized his energy attack. He staggered backward and grabbed at a chair to steady himself, so weak it took most of his strength just to breathe.

As he tried to shake off the effects of her defense spell, his attacker crouched in preparation for another a.s.sault. It was Gwynne's d.a.m.ned cat, almost unrecognizable because its fur was fluffed to twice its normal size. Wildcats were the fiercest predators in Britain, and this crouching half breed looked ready to rip his throat out.

Before the cat could attack again, Gwynne swooped forward and caught the beast in a towel, swiftly wrapping the flailing limbs to prevent being hurt herself. ”It's all right, Lionel,” she said soothingly. Duncan felt the tingle of magic that meant she was using a calming spell as well as words and touch.

The cat stopped struggling and its fur began to flatten. She cooed to it, ”Don't worry, sweeting, my husband won't ravish me.” Raising her head, she glared at Duncan. ”I won't allow him to.”

Dizzily he wondered if he would have taken his wife against her will. Surely not. Yet when he touched her, control vanished. . . . He drew an uneven breath. ”I will never harm you, mo caran. But don't deny what is between us. Pa.s.sion is a great gift, and through it we can find common ground.”

Face implacable, she cuddled her pet to her soft, provocative b.r.e.a.s.t.s. ”s.e.x is not the answer this time, Duncan. The issues are too large and threaten too many people.”

Any remnants of desire he had vanished. ”If the council hoped you'd drive me mad, they were right.” He sank into the wooden chair that had supported him. Strength was returning, but very slowly. ”I should have remembered that enchantresses have a special talent for defense spells since they need protection more than most. I must give thanks that you didn't use a fire spell.”

She perched on the edge of the bed, holding the cat like a s.h.i.+eld. ”I'm sorry if I hurt you, but I was afraid you might kill Lionel by mistake.”

”If I do kill him, it won't be by mistake.” Seeing her expression, he said, ”That was a joke. I won't harm a hair on that vicious moggy's head.” He rubbed his throbbing temple, wis.h.i.+ng he'd drunk less whiskey. ”The beast really is your familiar.”

”Guardians don't have familiars. He's just a cat. A loyal cat who thought I might be in danger.” Her gaze went to his left hand. ”You're not wearing Adam Macrae's ring. Did you take it off so you could deny your clan's connection to the English throne?”

He had intended to put the ring back on before entering Dunrath, but had forgotten when Gwynne met him up in the hills. Pulling the ring from his pocket, he slid it onto his finger and received an unpleasant sting of energy. He stared at the glittering sapphire, wondering if Adam's ghost was chastising him. Silently cursing the whiskey for causing superst.i.tious thoughts, he pulled the ring off and returned it to his pocket.

”We cannot both remain under Dunrath's roof, or we'll drive each other mad,” she said quietly. ”I shall leave on Boxing Day.”

”No!” he exclaimed, horrified by a sense that if she left the glen, she would never come back. ”If anyone leaves, it will be me. I only intended to stay until Hogmanay, so I'll be off tomorrow instead.”

”I can't drive you from your own home, Duncan. Especially not on Christmas.”

”This is your home also, and with Jean and me both gone, Dunrath needs you.” He thought of the bleak winter campaign that lay ahead for the armies. ”When the rising is over, I'll return and we can . . . make our peace.”

She sighed but didn't argue with him. He wondered what horrors she saw in her visions, then decided he'd rather not know.

At least with increased power she should be able to protect the glen and its people if the war came too close. The Jacobite troops had usually treated civilians honorably, but heaven only knew what the Hanoverians might do. Not all the soldiers would make a distinction between rebels and Scots loyal to King George. He thought of Jean, and hoped that she was practicing her own defense spells.

He got shakily to his feet, still feeling the effects of the incredible blast of energy Gwynne had wielded. ”I'll be gone in the morning before you wake.”

Tears glinted in her eyes. ”Stay at least for the church service.” Even though she was now s.h.i.+elding her allure, she was infinitely desirable.

His mouth twisted. ”As you said, we'll drive each other mad if we are under the same roof yet not mates to each other. Good-bye, mo caran.”

She set the cat aside and stood as if to come to him, then quivered to a stop as she recognized that touching would be folly. ”Be careful, Duncan. In all ways. And if your opinion of this rebellion changes- for G.o.d's sake, come home!”

”I learned Guardian principles as a child, but I'm a Scot in my blood and soul,” he said with bitter humor. ”I'll not abandon my country or my prince.” He pivoted and left the room, praying that Charles Edward would lead the rising to a swift and relatively bloodless victory, then be magnanimous to his defeated foes.

Nothing less would bring Duncan and Gwynne together again.

Despite Gwynne's best efforts to read all of Jean's letters when they were being written, this latest message had come the normal way, along wintry roads from Glasgow to Dunrath. Though Jean attempted to sound cheerful, the strain of the campaign was showing. According to her, the rebels were about to withdraw to the north and wait for spring to launch a new offensive.

When would it all end?

Gwynne didn't bother with her scrying gla.s.s. Instead, she sat down in her favorite library chair and closed her eyes to see if meditation would help her see the broad shape of events.

As her racing mind gradually stilled, she sensed that an indecisive battle was imminent, and that the crisis would come with the spring. Perhaps in April. From there, the future branched in two main directions. Either way, the repercussions would reverberate down through the years, changing Scotland forever. Though both futures contained wrenching change and tragic violence, one was far, far worse- and that was the future that Duncan might bring into being.

Calm gone, she opened her eyes and reached for her scrying gla.s.s to see if she could locate Duncan. As always, she failed. She guessed that he was s.h.i.+elding himself from Guardian eyes, and that meant her as well as the council. She hadn't heard a word from him since he left Dunrath on Christmas Day.

Did he hope that absence would make her heart grow fonder? Impossible-she already loved him with all that was in her even though she had been afraid to say the words aloud. Separating herself from him was the most difficult thing she had ever done.

If she was supposed to save Duncan from destruction by capturing his heart and using her influence to change his mind, she had failed. He was too stubborn to turn from his path even if his heart was breaking.

She wondered if he would be glad to know that hers was, too.

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