Part 23 (1/2)

Might she turn him over to the council? Several councillors waiting at Dunrath would be able to overpower him. But that would be an explosive and dangerous situation with a strong chance of casualties. He couldn't imagine Gwynne condoning that, no matter how much she disapproved of her husband's politics.

Disapproval was not what she had expressed in the dream. . . .

Wearily he rolled over. It would be worth taking a risk just to go home and take a proper bath. And if Gwynne welcomed him with open arms, that would justify almost any danger.

Another, darker thought entered his mind. Though he hadn't been endangered at Falkirk, being in a battle zone could be lethal even for a mage. It was quite possible that he would not survive the upcoming hostilities. If so, a visit to Gwynne might be the last time he would see her.

Flopping onto his back again, he decided to make his decision when he was less distracted by the aftermath of phantom lovemaking. If that's what it had been . . .

THIRTY-TWO.

G wynne made the necessary preparations for her plan, then spent two more nights using enchantress power to summon her husband before she gave up. Despite her sense that they were connecting, either she had failed or he was resisting her invitation. Since time was running out, on the third night she simply burrowed into her pillows and ordered her dream mind to come up with another technique while she slept.

She was jerked awake by the sharp knowledge that she was not alone. Rather crossly she thought that a disadvantage of Guardian life was the way members of the Families sneaked around and scared a person out of her skin. With a snap of her fingers, she lit a candle. Using small magics in daily life was becoming routine. ”Duncan?”

The candle flared, illuminating the figure of a ma.s.sive bearded Highlander by the door. She caught her breath in alarm before she identified her long-absent husband.

”My lady wife.” He stepped forward into the light as she lit another candle. In the months since Christmas he had produced a dark, auburn-tinted beard that masked his expression. He must have collected his Highland kilt and plaid and bra.s.s-hilted weapons during his Christmas visit. He looked barbaric, intimidating-and so compellingly masculine that her breathing roughened.

He glanced at a lump in the bed. ”Have you told your familiar to behave?”

Lionel oozed out from under the covers, eyeing Duncan with interest but no hostility. Gwynne said, ” He's a mild little moggy, as long as he senses no threat.” She stroked the soft fur, mentally saying, Go. The cat vanished soundlessly into the darkness.

She slid from the bed, very aware that her carefully chosen nightgown clung alluringly. Her nipples tightened from his heated gaze, becoming rudely visible under the thin fabric. The atmosphere was thick with s.e.xual tension and mutual wariness.

Keeping his distance, he asked, ”Dare I hope that you have summoned me because you have come around to my way of thinking?”

She debated lying, but decided against it. She was a poor liar at best, and she could never fool a mage like Duncan. Which meant that everything she said to him at this critical meeting must be the truth, if not the whole truth.

”I still believe that Prince Charles Edward should go back where he came from, but I can no longer let that come between us.” Her voice wavered. ”I fear for you, Duncan, as I fear for Scotland and England. If . . . the worst happens, I don't want to live with the fact that our last meeting was in anger. I would rather it would be with pa.s.sion.”

His dark brows arched. ”After the way you condemned me, do you think I can be so easily seduced back to your bed?”

For an instant she was dismayed. Then she saw the glint of humor in his eyes. ”Yes,” she said with a tentative smile. ”I do.”

”You're right.” A pulse throbbed in his throat, but still he didn't move toward her. ”But don't think that you can enchant me into a different point of view.”

She smiled with rueful honesty. ”I know better.”

”Pa.s.sion is enough for you to be willing to consort with the enemy?”

”You are my husband, not my enemy.” If he wanted more reasons, she had them. ”I want your child, Duncan. If disaster lies ahead, I want something of you to last the rest of my life.” Consciously pouring energy into her enchantress allure, she stepped toward him, her arms raised in supplication.

His resistance collapsed. ”Ah, Gwynne, sweet Gwynne,” he breathed as he tilted her face up. ”No man could resist you. I don't even want to try.”

Kiss and betray. The thought lanced through her mind. She instantly suppressed it, fearing he would catch an off note in her response unless she was totally focused on the pa.s.sion of their reconciliation.

In the snow at Christmas they had come together without reservation. Tonight the hunger was even more desperate, but each movement was slower, more tentative. She felt as if they were relearning each other, not quite certain of the response. As she pressed against him, she felt a hard shape jabbing her. Smiling wryly, she said, ”Pray remove the dirk and the sword. You're well enough armed without them.”

He laughed and removed his weapons and belts and plaid, tossing them onto a chair. She stopped him before he could remove more garments. ”I've thought that a kilt presented certain wicked possibilities.”

As she kissed the sensitive skin visible at the throat of his s.h.i.+rt, she slid her hands up his thighs, under his kilt. The hard muscles turned rigid and he groaned at her caress. ”A kilt makes a man far too vulnerable,” he said raggedly.

”Should I stop?” She slipped her hand around to the front of his body and clasped the hot, steely length of him.

”Don't you dare, my Sa.s.senach witch!” He swept her onto the bed, raising the hem of her nightgown at the same time. He followed her down in a tangle of bare limbs and breathless laughter. As their lower bodies pressed flesh to flesh, he suckled her breast through the thin gown.

She whimpered, barely able to remember that she had a purpose beyond pa.s.sion. There was something she should be doing. . . .

But nothing mattered beyond the exquisite satisfaction of receiving him into her, the frantic dance of thrust and retreat, the scalding heat and slick fluids of fevered intimacy until she shattered into rapture. As she returned to the normal world, she began crying soundlessly.

Spent, Duncan rolled to his side and kissed the tears on her cheeks. ”Why so sad, mo cridhe?” he said softly. ”We have just been blessed by the enchantress.”

”I can't bear to see you go back into danger,” she whispered, throat tight, wondering if she was capable of doing what must be done. ”Why can't we always be together like this?”

”Too many such nights and I'd be dead, though with a smile on my face.” He stroked back her hair. ”The world is a complicated place, and love is only one of the great commandments. Duty and honor must have their day, too. I am a loyal Scot as well as a Guardian, and I must do what is best for my country.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, unable to bear looking into his beloved face. ”I like the beard. It feels nice.”

”And here I thought it made me look savage.”

”That also.” She burrowed against him. Soon she would do her duty. Until then, she would savor what would be the last happy moments of her marriage. . . .

Dawn would break soon. Moving carefully so as not to wake Gwynne, Duncan slid toward the edge of the bed. Perhaps his beard didn't make him a savage, but sleeping in his rumpled kilt and s.h.i.+rt was definitely uncivilized.

He bent to kiss Gwynne's forehead, wondering if they had managed to create a child together. He hoped so, and wondered if he would live to see it.

Her eyes opened. Seeing him sitting on the edge of the bed, she reached out to catch his arm. ”You can't be going already!”

”I must, mo caran. It will be a long ride back.” He cradled her warm breast, reluctant to stop touching her. ”But this has been worth it. If . . . something happens, remember me with fondness even if you think I'm a d.a.m.n fool Scot.”

”Don't leave yet!” Expression frantic, she reached up and drew him back to bed. With surprising strength, she rolled him onto his back and straddled him. ”One last time, Duncan. Please.”

The heat of her loins and mouth dissolved his resistance. Even if he was half-dead with exhaustion later, he wanted this final mating as much as she did.

Like the enchantress she was, Gwynne teased him with kiss and caress and warm breath till he could hardly bear it. He was on the verge of pulling her under him when she raised herself on her knees, then slowly sheathed herself on him. ”Ahhh . . . ,” she breathed as she began rolling her hips with a motion that stunned his senses.

Her supple body s.h.i.+mmering with movement, she bent into a kiss, capturing his mouth, then pinning his wrists down in a delicious illusion of captivity. To h.e.l.l with approaching dawn and the risk of being seen if he left. He gave himself wholly to the wildfire sensations that scorched through him. They were joined in spirit as closely as body, her anguish and her love palpable with every shattering thrust.

Pa.s.sion exploded into ravis.h.i.+ng release. Gwynne cried out and clasped him with intimate power, over and over until the last flame of desire had burned into ash. He gasped for breath, half dead and not caring. How could he walk away from her? How could he live without the feel of her silken form against his?

Weeping again, Gwynne pushed herself up, their bodies still joined. ”I'm sorry, my love,” she whispered. ”So, so sorry.”