Part 28 (1/2)

”No,” she admitted. ”But the fact that you could say such a thing was a measure of your fury.” She unconsciously placed a hand on her belly, where there was a faint glow of extra energy. ”I would have informed you when the child was born. That would have been soon enough. Why the devil did you follow me, Duncan? Isn't this difficult enough already?”

”As I said, there is unfinished business between us, Gwyneth Owens.” His eyes were the color of pale winter ice. ”Have you reached any conclusions about why a Stuart victory would be so devastating that you chose to betray your own husband? Or could it be that there were no reasons, and you were merely arrogant in your ignorance?”

”No,” she said, aching. ”I feel with every particle of my being that I am right, but I have never been able to get beyond a wall of fear and pain that blocks me from seeing more.”

”There is a way that might give you the answer.”

Not liking his expression, she asked, ”What?”

”If we mate with our s.h.i.+elds down, we might be able to reach a deeper level of knowledge. If the bond still exists between us-if we can trust each other, even if only for an hour-we might find a deeper understanding than either of us can reach alone.”

”No!” She backed up until she ran into the wall of the bothy. ”Dear heaven, Duncan, haven't we hurt each other enough?”

He stepped around the fire and halted within arm's length of her. ”You hate my touch that much?”

”I have never hated your touch, blast you! But I fear what intimacy with you will do to my heart.”

”And here I've wondered if you even have a heart within that wickedly provocative body.” He cupped her cheek with surprising gentleness. ”Don't you want to know the reason why you destroyed our marriage? I'm curious. More than curious.”

She began to weep silently, wis.h.i.+ng that he had stayed away, wis.h.i.+ng that he had come to forgive her and take her home to Dunrath. Anything but this cool, exquisitely painful dissection of what had separated them.

His lips brushed the tears on her cheeks. ”A truce, Gwyneth Owens. And perhaps from that . . . who knows?” His mouth came down on hers, light and controlled.

All the reasons why she should keep her distance vanished as longing blazed through her. She wanted his hard, pa.s.sionate body, his wry humor, his tenderness, the strength that could be both courage and stubbornness. Most of all, she wanted the heart-deep closeness that had once bound them, even if it was only for a handful of moments.

”Ah, G.o.d, Gwynne . . . ,” he breathed as she kissed him with fierce urgency. Their arms locked around each other as if pa.s.sion was their last hope of heaven. In a tangle of limbs, they stumbled into the bothy and sprawled onto her blankets, tearing at the garments that separated them.

She writhed against him, desperate to come together one last time, while bitterly aware that if he wanted to punish her, he had found the perfect way. How could she bear to never know his touch again? He was a drug in her blood, a need great as water and air.

They had mated with every shade of tenderness and scarlet pa.s.sion, but nothing had ever matched the blaze of power that scalded through them when he entered her. She cried out as his spirit penetrated hers as stunningly as his body.

In the white heat of desire, she barely remembered that he said they must come together with s.h.i.+elds down if they were to find a deeper truth. The thought terrified her, but she owed him this. Layer by layer, in instants that seemed like hours, she stripped away the barriers that had protected her secrets, her fears, her deep ambivalence about her marriage.

The process took so much of her splintered concentration that only when she was finished did she realize that his formidable defenses were also gone, and lowering them had been as hard for him as for her. Their naked, vulnerable spirits flowed together, and in that ultimate intimacy she gained visceral understanding of how profoundly her betrayal had wounded him. He had always dared more than she. He had risked love while she had hung back, accepting his love but afraid to admit to her own because of the hazards that surrounded him. He had given her all a man could give a woman-and she had used it against him.

Whether her reasons were good was irrelevant. She had committed a crime against love, and only love might heal the damage she had inflicted. She poured herself into him-her love, her admiration, her apologies and deep, deep regrets. Forgive me, beloved, forgive me.

”Ah, Gwynne, my heart . . . ,” he whispered. Though he had known he must expose himself as thoroughly as she to find the answers he sought, he had foolishly not antic.i.p.ated what that meant. In this place of no barriers, only essence, his anger crumbled in the fountain of her anguished, sorrowing love.

It was he who must apologize for putting her in an impossible position. Though he had loved her as much for the pure strength of her spirit as for her stunning sensuality, he hadn't wanted to accept the consequences of her integrity. ”I'm sorry, mo caran,” he said, barely able to say the words before pa.s.sion swamped his mind. ”I was wrong. . . .”

Lightning crashed through the sky as they culminated together, and in that searing flash of earthly and magical energy, the shape and form of Gwynne's nightmares became shockingly clear. He almost blacked out from the combined intensity of pa.s.sion, fulfillment, and the horror of the future that he might have created with his headstrong acts. He looked into the abyss, and found himself.

As aftershocks tingled through him, he rolled to his side and crushed her close, needing the sweet solace of her body to anchor him. She was shaking, yet strong in ways no mere male could ever match. ” You . . . you saw that?” he asked raggedly.

”G.o.d help me, I did.” She drew a shuddering breath. ”A Jacobite victory would have been followed within five years by the new king's attempt to convert the nation to Catholicism, by the sword if necessary. It would have become the worst religious war in Britain's history-worse than b.l.o.o.d.y Mary's burnings or the rampages of the Puritans.”

He nodded as her words crystallized his understanding. ”When the people resisted, King James would have invited French and Spanish and Irish troops into Britain to force conversions. The attempt to return Britain to the Roman Church would have failed, but the price would have been monstrous. Beyond belief.”

Her eyes squeezed shut as if that would stop the images. ”When I dreamed of rivers of blood, it wasn't a metaphor, but a prediction. Merciful heaven, Duncan, did you see what would have happened in London . . . ?”

”Hush, my love.” He stroked her silky hair, awed by the power and compa.s.sion beneath those s.h.i.+ning red gold tresses. ”I saw it all.” And those images would appear in his nightmares until the day he died. ”Those horrors would have come true if not for you, Gwyneth Owens. You are a heroine.”

”If I am a heroine, I am also a fool.” She stared at him with dazed eyes. ”I should have realized what the ultimate danger would be. The potential for religious conflict was always present. I am a scholar, I know history. Yet I couldn't see it. If I had realized sooner-”

He laid a finger over her lips to stop her self-recriminations. ”None of us saw it. Not me nor you nor Simon nor the council. The religious wars of the past left deep scars on our nations' souls, mo cridhe. I think we all wanted to believe we had risen above religious violence. Who would believe that a modern ruler would invite such atrocities in G.o.d's name?”

Her mouth curved wryly. ”We Guardians think we are wise. We try to learn from the past and make judgments with clear, objective minds. We're not very successful, are we?”

”We are only human, my love. Our greater powers give us the opportunity to make greater mistakes, as I did.” His mouth twisted. ”I used my power to urge Charles Edward toward the throne of Scotland. Now that I see the greater picture, I realize that if I hadn't interfered, the rising might have ended sooner and with fewer lives lost. There is no way I can ever redeem such misjudgment.”

”As you said, we are all too human. If you wish to redeem your mistakes, work to rebuild Scotland, for she will need you desperately in the years ahead.” Gwynne's eyes became unfocused. ”The remnants of rebellion will be crushed with great and terrible violence, yet from that will flower a true partners.h.i.+p between Scotland and England. In the future, Scots and Englishmen will marry, study, and fight side by side as equals. Together they will build an empire that spans the world.”

Her words rang with truth, and he found comfort in them. Silently he pledged himself to do all in his power to bring about that bright vision. ”Besides working to heal a wounded nation, we must raise our children the best we know how, and hope they are a little wiser than we.” He laid her hand on the gentle curve of her belly. It was far too soon for any change to be visible, but the glow of a new soul offered hope for a better future. ”I love you, Gwyneth Owens. Will you come home with me?”

Her eyes crinkled with laughter. ”You know the answer to that since our souls have been even more closely twined than our bodies.”

”I . . . I need to hear the words.” He felt like a fool admitting that, but it was true.

”I love you, Duncan Macrae.” She raised her face and kissed him with lingering sweetness. ”I will stay with you forever, raise our children, tend to your castle-and disagree with you whenever you're a stubborn, lovable fool.”

”Spoken like a true Guardian female. Independent, unmanageable, and utterly irresistible.” He laughed and rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. ”I love you, dearest wife. I will even try to love that evil cat of yours.”

”No need to go that far.” She bent into another kiss that stole his breath and heart away. ”Take me home, Duncan. Take me home now.”

EPILOGUE.

September 1746.

G wynne tapped on the door of the best guest room. ”Lady Bethany, are you awake?”

The lady herself opened the door, her silvery hair echoing the delicate embroidery on her gown. ”Of course I am, and eager to attend this Friday night gathering of yours.”

”You're not too tired from your journey? You only just got here two hours ago.”

”I'm not made of gla.s.s, child. Yes, it was a long ride north, but the carriage was comfortable and we were in no rush.” She patted Gwynne's expanding midriff. ”You're the one who needs to be pampered, but I won't fuss over you if you won't fuss over me.”

”Very well.” Gwynne hugged her sister-in-law. ”I'm so glad you're here!”

”The feeling is mutual. It's been a difficult year for all Britain. But now that the country is settling down, I wanted to see you. That was no easy task you took on.” The older woman searched Gwynne's face. ”You're truly happy?”