Part 27 (2/2)
Duncan slept the clock around, not waking until early the morning after the government troops had visited. Muscles stiff, he got to his feet and brushed straw from his kilt. Deliberately he banked his power, not wanting to know anything that was happening beyond the reach of his normal five senses.
When he left his cell, voices called out, ”Good morning to you, Macrae!” and ”'Tis good to be home!” and other cheerful greetings.
He waved a reply, trying to look equally cheerful. ”You must all stay here another few days for safety's sake, but I'll see that your breakfast is down soon.”
”I'd sell my soul for a bowl of hot porridge,” someone said mournfully.
”a.s.suming anyone would want a dirty old soul like yours.” The taunts were good-natured. The rebels of Glen Rath were in the exhilarated mood that came when one had escaped certain death. Soon they would be eased back into the life of Glen Rath, and it would be as if they had never left. Duncan envied them.
The kitchen was already busy making breakfast for the rebels, including a great kettle of steaming porridge. He swiped a hunk of bread and climbed to his own bedroom, where he washed up with cold water and changed into fresh, English-style clothing. Now was not a wise time to ride out wearing Highland garb. He tried not to think of his lady wife, who was probably still sleeping the sleep of the virtuous.
He felt aimless today, not sure how to talk to Gwynne. Would she resist leaving? Or would she be delighted at the prospect of returning to her English life? Since divorce was virtually impossible, he supposed that they would each develop discreet liaisons with partners who could never be legal spouses but who would warm their beds at night. He almost retched at the thought.
In the breakfast room, he found tea, toast, and his sister. Jean looked up, then came straight into his arms. He hugged her hard. ”Ah, Jeannie, my la.s.s, you've had far too many adventures in the last few months.”
”Enough adventures for a lifetime.” She stepped from his embrace and poured him a cup of tea. As he drank it thirstily, she said, ”This morning, I thought about the Friday night gathering where I announced I'd lead our men to the prince. Remember the spell of protection we made together at the end?”
He nodded. That night seemed eons ago.
”I've just realized that everyone who was present that night survived the campaign, and so did the glen.” She drew an unsteady breath. ”I only wish that Robbie had been there.”
He offered a silent prayer for the soul of Robbie Mackenzie, who had lived and died with valor. ”I'm so sorry you lost him, Jean.”
”He died without losing his faith in the cause. I'm glad he had that, at least.” Jean returned to her tea.
Bracing himself, he asked, ”Has Gwynne risen yet?”
His sister glanced up with surprise. ”You don't know? She left yesterday. Saddled up Sheba and headed off to England. I don't suppose we'll see her again.” Jean sighed. ”I don't know whether I'm glad or sorry. I have trouble forgiving what she did to you and the consequences of that, and yet she did so much good for all of us.”
Shocked, Duncan scanned the castle. No Gwynne. She had really left.
He should have been relieved that he had been spared an ugly scene. With so much anger and recrimination between them, they wouldn't have been able to talk without hurting each other even more. Yet instead of relief, he felt . . . hollow.
”Are you going after her?” Jean asked, her voice neutral.
”No. The marriage is broken beyond mending.” Betrayed beyond forgiveness. And yet . . . ”But . . . she left too soon. There are things that must be said between us.”
Jean said nothing, only watched with great wide eyes as if she expected more of him. She didn't know how agonizing it would be for him to confront the wife who had betrayed him. Of course, it was equally painful not to talk to her.
Reluctantly he accepted that he really had no choice. ”Very well, I suppose I must go after her. Not to bring her back, but to . . . to ask all the unanswered questions. To make an official ending.”
”That's wise, I think.”
He wondered if his little sister found his words as lame as he did. Probably, but she'd learned tact in the last months, and the beginnings of wisdom.
It was more than he had learned.
Gwynne woke when hazy suns.h.i.+ne slanted through the empty doorway of the bothy. Yawning sleepily, she wrapped a plaid around her shoulders and ambled outside. Ethereal mists gave the dramatic hills the look of a magical kingdom. Later the sun would burn off the mist and the morning chill. Springtime in Scotland was glorious with burgeoning life, and it soothed her frayed spirit.
Her first night on the road she had stayed at a small inn, but the night before she'd had to settle for this crumbling hut. It offered more the illusion of shelter than real protection from the elements, but it had been good enough.
Two snaps of her fingers were needed to light the kindling under her small tin pot. Candles were easier. As the water heated, Lionel appeared with a still-struggling mouse locked firmly in his jaws. She made a face. ”I'd rather you ate that elsewhere.”
Obligingly he withdrew a few feet away. Not so far that she couldn't hear the crunch of little mousy bones, but apart from his eating habits, he was a good companion. She hoped he liked England.
She was toasting a piece of cheese on a stick over the fire when Duncan appeared, quiet as an evening zephyr. Tall and dark and pitiless, he was the Lord of Thunder in full dramatic mode. She gasped and dropped her cheese into the fire. How the devil had he come so close without her hearing or feeling him? d.a.m.n Guardian stealth! And d.a.m.n her heart, for surging with joy at the sight of him.
Shaking, she jumped to her feet and backed away, the toasting stick clenched in her hand. Their marriage was supposed to be over. Why couldn't he leave her alone? She didn't think he looked murderous, but this interview was going to be very, very difficult. If only she didn't still want him. . . .
”Don't bother poking me with that stick,” he said dryly. ”You have better weapons.”
He was right. She dropped the stick. ”Why are you here?”
”Not to murder you.” He glanced at Lionel, who had abandoned the mouse and now crouched in hunting position, striped tail las.h.i.+ng. ”You can call off your familiar.”
”He senses when I am threatened.” She locked her s.h.i.+elds in place. The last thing they needed was enchantress magic in a situation that was already far too volatile. ”Why are you here?”
”We have . . . unsettled business.”
”I think we've said all that needed saying, and probably a good deal more. I'm sorry for the pain we caused each other, Duncan, but given the people we are, I don't know how it could have been any different.”
”I suppose you're right.” The sadness in his voice was vaster than the sky. He started to say more, then stopped, his eyes narrowing. ”Ye G.o.ds, you're pregnant!”
She should have known this wasn't a secret she could keep from a mage of his power. ”I did want your child, but I'm still amazed at how quickly it happened.” That had been a blessing, since the night she put him in irons would surely be the last time they would ever make love.
A cascade of emotions showed in Duncan's face. Shock, joy, concern, then determination. ”He shall have to be raised at Dunrath.”
She had known he would say that. It was one of many reasons for leaving Dunrath. ”Impossible. I will raise my own child. He is your heir and he must certainly spend time with you in Scotland, but until he's well grown, he is mine.”
Duncan's mouth thinned to a hard line. ”If you want him all to yourself, all you need do is turn me over to the government as a Jacobite.”
”I went to considerable effort to save you from both the government and the council,” she snapped. ” I'm not about to betray you now.”
”You can't possibly betray me worse than you already have,” he said softly.
His words stabbed more painfully than a dagger. ”You put me in the position of having to betray either you or my sworn oath.” She sighed, ”You should have chosen a more malleable wife.”
”I don't think I chose you at all. Fate and the council threw us together. Now that your task has been accomplished, you are running away to your pale, safe Sa.s.senach life.” He tossed another branch on the fire. It exploded into sparks.
”Considering that you were threatening murder, it seemed wise to leave Dunrath,” she said, trying to match his dry tone.
”Did you believe I would really do that?”
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