Part 22 (2/2)

Which meant it was Simon's duty to hunt down one of his closest friends. How d.a.m.nable. ”It's not your fault,” Gwynne said. ”Duncan was already quietly aiding the rebels even before you went your separate ways. I saw him last at Christmas. At that time he was justifying his interventions as preserving life, but I fear that he was well on his way to discarding his rationalizations and committing fully to the rebel cause.”

”If I had stayed, I think I could have prevented him from pa.s.sing the point of no return.” Simon tilted his goblet at the lamp, ruby lights sparkling through the wine. ”I have been seeking him for weeks without success.”

Gwynne pressed her hand to her lips. If the two came face-to-face, with Simon charged to stop Duncan-she shuddered at the thought. ”So he can hide even from you?”

”I have found traces of his pa.s.sing, but haven't been able to locate his living presence.” He sighed. ” Unless in my heart I don't want to find him and that is undermining my power.”

She leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. ”Don't torment yourself over this, Simon. He has great power, and a great desire not to be found.”

His lean hand tensed under her fingers. ”You've become adept at controlling the enchantress power,” he said with unnatural calm, ”but your touch is not yet harmless.”

”Sorry.” Blus.h.i.+ng, she pulled her hand away. She would have to work on that.

”Do you know where he is?” Simon asked.

She shook her head. ”He is able to s.h.i.+eld from me very effectively. He is well, and somewhere near Inverness, I think. Beyond that, I know as little as you.” Gwynne thought a moment. ”Jean is also in Inverness. She writes me, but if she has seen Duncan, she hasn't mentioned it.”

”I spoke with Jean. She said she hadn't seen him, and I believe her.”

Gwynne studied his drawn face. They had always been friendly, and she now suspected that part of that was because she was a Guardian without power. He could relax with her because she knew what he was but didn't have the ability to see him with the eyes of power. Those who were capable of seeing his full self tended to be wary unless they had equal magical ability, she now realized. He had too much tightly controlled power to be restful. ”It must be hard to be so alone,” she murmured.

His head came up. For a moment, she thought he would ignore her comment, or brush it aside as if he didn't understand. Instead, he said, ”It is. The curse of being a Falconer. One adapts.”

And he did not wish to discuss the matter further. She nodded acceptance. ”The armies are drawing closer and closer. The crisis is near, isn't it?”

”Very. A fortnight at the most. Probably sooner.” He leaned forward, his gray eyes fierce. ”You must stop Duncan, Gwynne. You are the only one who can. If you don't, I fear for the consequences.”

”I would if I could, but how?” She spread her hands helplessly. ”If you can't find him, I certainly can't.”

”Don't seek him. Bring him to you.”

She stared. ”How can I make that stubborn Scot do anything?”

”Send out a mental call. Plead with him using every iota of enchantress power,” Simon said crisply. ” I don't think he will be able to resist you. Use your knowledge of his strengths and weaknesses as ruthlessly as necessary, but stop him!”

She bit her lip. ”Duncan is so intelligent, with worldly experience far beyond mine. Have you ever wondered if he's right and we're wrong? Might the prince be the best available choice?”

”I've had this conversation with Duncan, and I've done my best to find clarity on the topic.” Simon sighed. ”There are different levels of truth, and Duncan has found a . . . a short-term truth that speaks to his loyalties. He dreams of Scotland regaining her independence and prospering as a sovereign nation once more.

”But there are larger truths, and in this case Duncan is not seeing them. The dream of the Stuarts restored in Edinburgh has romantic appeal-even I wondered if that might be a good outcome. The more I meditated on the matter, the more I felt the wrongness. If the Stuarts regained the throne of Scotland, how soon until the border wars begin again? An independent Scotland is a potential traitor at England's back door, and England will not allow that to happen again. She has enough enemies. And if the Pretender won England as well . . .” He shook his head, his expression stark.

Different levels of truth-yes, that made sense. Bless Simon for his ability to put the situation into perspective. She was also grateful that a man with Simon's power and worldly experience agreed with her about the dangers of a Jacobite victory.

The hour of betrayal had arrived. Oddly enough, she now knew how to accomplish that if she could bring Duncan close enough for her to work her wiles.

Living with herself after committing her crime was something she would worry about later.

Simon was reluctant to spend the night, but Gwynne insisted. She put him in a guest room, laid an ignore spell on the door so no maid would disturb him in the morning, then returned to her own chamber.

With the critical battle likely to occur within days, there was no time to waste if she was to bring Duncan to her side. She returned to her bed, closed her eyes, and tuned her senses to her magic. If forced to describe that power, she would say that it was like a fluid that filled her body, lighter than air but sparkling with subtle luminescence. When her power was focused, the light increased and there was a kind of inner tingling, as if she were more alive than usual.

When her magic was as strong as she could make it, she reached out to Duncan, trying to touch his mind with hers. This wasn't just any man, it was her husband. The man she loved, body, mind, and soul. Surely she could find him. . . .

Nothing. She continued to try, unaware of the pa.s.sing time, until she had to give up in fatigue. She hadn't achieved the faintest sense that they were connecting.

Temples throbbing, she wondered if there was another method than mind-touch. Body, mind, and soul. She caught her breath. Hadn't Simon said to use her enchantress power? Her magic was of the body, not the mind. Since she and Duncan were bonded by their mutual pa.s.sion, that was how she might reach him.

Once again she concentrated her power until she s.h.i.+mmered with magic. Then she visualized Duncan, but this time she concentrated on intimate details rather than worldly ones. The way his whiskers p.r.i.c.kled under her fingertips, the smile that showed in his eyes when he looked at her even if his expression was serious. The way he could bring her to arousal with a single pa.s.sionate glance. . . .

Her heartbeat quickened and she touched her tongue to her lips. Duncan, my love, please come home, I need you most desperately.

The provocative pressure of his mouth, the musky scent of s.e.x, the damp clinging of their bodies after pa.s.sion was spent. The explosion of ecstasy when he thrust into her. As the memories intensified, her hips began to pulse. My husband, I will try to be the wife you want me to be, if only you come home.

Her hands moved over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, caressing before they slid lower with urgent pressure. She kneaded her flesh in a feverish attempt to simulate what she wanted from Duncan. As she visualized their joining, tremors ran through her. She could almost feel that he was here, his mouth ravenous, his fierce desire focused on her. I need you as the earth needs the rain, as a body needs breath. Come home, beloved!

Ah, G.o.d, what could be more sublime than pa.s.sion shared with one's love? Waves of rapture convulsed her and for an instant she knew that they were joined, in soul if not in body. I love you, mo caran, I love you. . . .

Her shudders faded, leaving her drained, satisfied, and embarra.s.sed by her shamelessness. On some intangible level, she and her husband had made love, and she was sure that he had felt her presence as clearly as she had felt his. This time they had connected as they had not when she had tried the mind-touch.

If tonight's plea didn't work to bring him home to her-well, she would try again.

Body and soul.

Duncan jerked awake as if his flesh were burning. For an instant he had no awareness of where he was; the only certainty was that he'd just had the most extraordinarily pa.s.sionate dream of his life.

Or was it a dream?

Breathing hard, he propped himself up on one elbow and glanced around the rough cave, which was faintly illuminated by the banked coals of his fire. Gwynne was a Guardian with ways of learning things unavailable to mundanes. She had seemed so real that he wouldn't have been surprised to find her lying on the blankets beside him. Dear G.o.d, he wished she were here!

As sweaty and breathless as if they really had just made love, he lay back on the blankets and tried to a.n.a.lyze what had happened. He had had other pa.s.sionate dreams of his wife-almost nightly, in fact. This had been different. Intensely sensual, but also embodying what seemed like a message.

Mentally he went over the essence of his dream experience. It had been like mind-touch, but profoundly physical. A summoning of the body. My husband, I will try to be the wife you want me to be, if only you come home. Had Gwynne changed her mind about the rebellion? Or was her call a product of loneliness?

Surely it was the latter, for he felt the same. He wanted her with a fever that never cooled. He had left Dunrath abruptly because she wouldn't be a wife to him while he supported the rising. But the summoning, if that's what it was, was not the call of a woman who would refuse her husband her bed.

Dare he answer her call and return to Dunrath? He tried to think of all the objections. A major battle was drawing near, but it was still several days away. Time enough to go home, which wasn't much more than a day's ride.

Might she be trying to lure him back to be arrested by the Hanoverian authorities? No, she would not betray him like that.

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