A Kiss Of Fate Part 17

"No thanks, I've work to do."

It was the answer Jean always gave to Gwynne's invitations to work together, but today Gwynne succ.u.mbed to curiosity. "I can't help wondering why you choose not to develop your power."

Jean hesitated before answering. "Having Duncan for a brother was rather overwhelming. I'm a dozen years younger, so he was already a mage by the time I was old enough to notice the world. My parents and other Guardians were always raving about his power-how he was going to be the greatest weather mage since the sainted Adam, and maybe even better. I couldn't begin to compete with that. My potential is average at best, so I decided to concentrate on mundane matters which I could do well."

"I can see how it would be difficult having such a talented older brother," Gwynne agreed. "But aren't you interested in the magic itself? Wielding power is marvelous. When I get it right, I feel a . . . a oneness with creation that is the most exciting thing I've ever known." Except, of course, for her marriage to Duncan.

Face a little wistful, Jean shook her head. "Mostly I found it terribly frustrating. I know it was difficult for you to grow up without power, but when your magic came, it arrived in a great rush. You never went through the awkward, difficult phase. For me, trying to master power was like cutting stone with a dull knife. I might manage to scratch the surface, but the results weren't worth the effort involved."

"Perhaps your power has strengthened with time."

"I suppose that might have happened, but to be honest, I don't really have the desire to concentrate on boring books when the world is such an exciting place. There's a new day dawning, and I want to be part of it. Perhaps I shall travel to Edinburgh to stay with our cousins." Jean finished her tea and rose, taking her leave with a nod.

Gwynne refreshed her tea, hoping Jean wouldn't follow through on her idea of visiting Edinburgh. Though the rebellion was quiet now, the capital would be an obvious focus of conflict if the government forces counterattacked.

Sometimes she had trouble remembering there was a war in progress not far away. Gwynne had ample time to read and study, and while she hadn't learned much about other enchantresses, the day before she had received a promising bundle of books from the library at Harlowe. Life would be idyllic if not for the danger she felt hanging over Scotland, and the tension in her marriage.

After the explosion in the library, she and Duncan stopped discussing politics. That prevented more arguments, but it had also put a barrier between them. They were courteous and affectionate with each other, but the intimacy that had been developing had frozen solid. Marital relations, no matter how amazing-and they were!-couldn't compensate for emotional wariness. She mourned their loss of closeness. When this d.a.m.nable rebellion ended, perhaps they could find their way to true intimacy.

She was about to leave the breakfast room when Duncan swept in the door wearing riding dress and a mischievous smile. Lionel ostentatiously changed position, turning his back on Duncan and tucking his nose under his tail.

Duncan raised her chin and gave her a thorough kiss. "Come, my lady. It's a beautiful day, I have no pressing duties at the castle, and it's time you abandoned your books for a good ride."

"I've been riding every day," she protested.

"But you haven't been outside of Glen Rath. Today we'll visit a place you'll enjoy, I think. Change into your habit while I find us some food for the journey."

She glanced out the window at the bright, windswept sky. "You're being high-handed, my lord, but I shall overlook it because an excursion on a bright autumn day does sound appealing."

"I'll meet you in twenty minutes at the stables." He vanished again.

Smiling, Gwynne headed upstairs to change. Should she check the scrying gla.s.s to see if she could determine their destination? She tried to turn every aspect of daily life into another lesson. But this time, she decided, she would rather be surprised.

"Isn't this view worth a steep ride?" Duncan gestured at the vista before them. The day was windy and the Highland sky was crystal clear. A little below them, an eagle glided through the sky as it watched for prey in the glen below.

Laughing, Gwynne pulled off her bonnet so the wind could pull at her hair. "It is indeed. I'm amazed the horses can manage these trails."

He patted Zeus's sleek neck. "The Montagues breed tough mounts well suited to our hills."

"I suppose that's worth an attempted abduction." Gwynne's gaze swept the rugged landscape. Though some trees had lost their leaves, others still blazed with color. "This may be the last day that's so warm and pretty until next spring." She slanted him a teasing glance. "Unless you intend to give Glen Rath a mild winter?"

When she looked at him like that, he was tempted to turn the glen into a tropical paradise, but he shook his head. "I give my glen more sunshine than most of Scotland receives, but doing too much would be conspicuous. A pity we don't live on a small island, where weather patterns can be very individual. Iona, a holy island in the Hebrides, will be sunny yet have rain falling all around it."

Gwynne frowned charmingly. "How is that possible?"

"I suspect that when St. Columba brought his Celtic monks to Iona, there was a weather mage in the group who set such a powerful spell on the island that even today the rain clouds keep their distance."

"That sounds lovely. Can we visit it someday?"

"It will be my pleasure to take you." After the rising was over-that was an unstated condition that applied to everything in their lives. He felt as if they were in limbo, waiting for a great and terrible storm to strike. "I have another sight for you."

He led the way along the narrow trail that crested the ridge, then descended into a small wooded hollow halfway down the hill. He dismounted and tethered his horse, then helped Gwynne down. The feel of her slim waist under his hands gave him ideas about how to take advantage of the sunny day after their picnic.

She studied the glen below, where a road and a river were visible. On the hills opposite a single lonely cottage could be seen, but the road was well traveled, arching across the narrow river on a stone bridge "Is this the road to Fort Augustus?"

"Yes." He shaded his eyes. "Look, a company of government soldiers. They must be marching north to reinforce the fort." The scarlet coats looked brave against the green glen, but he noticed that the marching was ragged. Probably they were inexperienced new recruits. The forces on both sides were ill-equipped and ill-trained.

That would change if-no, when-the Hanoverian government brought experienced regiments back from Flanders, where they were serving now. If the prince had faced seasoned troops at Prestonpans, the result would have been very different, and much more damaging to the Jacobite army.

Wondering how long the prince's good luck would last, he said, "I didn't bring you here to see the view, lovely though it is." Taking her hand, he guided her into the grove of small trees.

"There's great power here." Gwynne studied the grove with unfocused eyes. "I see the glow of two -no, three-ley lines."

He nodded. The ancients knew how to detect the earth's patterns of power, and they built their holy places where ley lines converged. "Can you sense anything else?"

She frowned. "There's something else that's powerful but not as old."

"My lady is most perceptive."

They entered a glade and almost walked into a flat, irregularly shaped stone that had been set into the earth so that it stood upright almost as tall as a man. Half a dozen similar stones stood sentinel around the clearing.

"A Druid circle!" Reverently Gwynne touched the lichened surface of the stone.

"This site has something I've not seen in any other circle." He gestured toward the rectangular stone shape that jutted from the middle of the meadow.

"A carved cross! What exquisite workmanship." Gwynne moved into the center of the clearing and pressed her palm to the cross. "I can feel the energy of the man who carved it. He was a monk, and he carved his faith into the stone." She traced the interlaced patterns that covered the raised surface of the cross. "This was placed here much later than the standing stones. Centuries later."

"Your monk and his friends must have decided to use the energies of the ley lines and the Druid circle to amplify Christian power." Like Gwynne, he traced the sinuously twining patterns that decorated the cross, feeling the serenity that had created them. "The world is so large and we are so small. Belief in something greater is a basic human need, I think."

"A pity that believers can be so quick to kill others who don't believe in quite the same way," Gwynne said wryly. She jerked her head up as a ragged series of booms echoed through the hills. " Gunshots?"

"The soldiers!" Cursing himself for enjoying the day with Gwynne so much that he wasn't paying attention to the world, Duncan raced back through the grove until he could look down into the glen. Gwynne arrived moments later as another volley of shots rattled through the noon air, smoke clouding the pristine glen.

Together they stared in horror at what had been a peaceful green valley. The distant war had arrived on their doorstep.

TWENTY-THREE.

D amnation!" Duncan swore as a screaming company of Highlanders swept down on the government troops. A handful of Hanoverians were standing their ground, and several attackers fell under the musket fire. But most of the raw government soldiers had panicked and they were bolting across the narrow stone bridge, elbowing their fellows in their desperate attempt to escape their attackers.

The rebels didn't even slow when some of their number fell. They continued their charge, waving broadswords and howling for blood. The few Hanoverians who had tried to hold their ground gave up and joined the panicky retreat.

Even high on Duncan and Gwynne's hill, the acrid scent of the black powder was sharply noticeable. Seeing that the horses were disturbed by the noise and smell, Duncan went to Zeus, using power to sooth his mount.

Gwynne did the same with Sheba. "Can the battle be stopped before there's a ma.s.sacre?" she asked tensely. "The Jacobites are running wild. They'll chop the royal troops into b.l.o.o.d.y pieces."

She was right-soldiers in retreat were at their most vulnerable, which was why experienced troops knew it was safer to stand and fight. Duncan could feel the Hanoverians' fear and terror as vividly as he could hear the cries of the inflamed, triumphant Highlanders.

A ma.s.sive rainstorm would quench the muskets and spirits of the combatants. He reached into the sky for a swift inventory of clouds and winds. He was always subliminally aware of the weather for many miles around, and his search confirmed that there was no rain close enough to drown this battle.

But the wind was powerful over the hills. Enough to create a whirlwind? Perhaps. In Britain such storms were rare and weak, but he had seen a full-blown tornado in Spain and been awed by the majesty and power of weather at its most violent.

He had never tried to conjure a whirlwind-they were considered far too dangerous even for a seasoned weather mage. But if he could create a small one down in the glen, it might break up the fight before casualties became serious. "Gwynne, take the horses into the Druid circle and stay with them."

Silently she took both sets of reins and led their mounts into the protection of the grove. With her safe, Duncan concentrated on the wind patterns. Pull together what clouds were available. Find cold dry air, then warmer moist currents above a loch. Spin them together until a violent updraft was created.

He poured his own energy into the developing vortex until the winds reached a savage speed. The sky took on a greenish hue and a menacing funnel formed-a roaring, raging beast that fought to escape his control. His power stretched to the breaking point as he tried to contain the whirlwind and move it in the right direction.

He had just forced the funnel to move toward the floor of the glen when he realized that Gwynne had returned to his side. The distraction caused him to lose focus, and the tornado exploded from his control. He fell to his knees, head pounding with pain. Howling like the d.a.m.ned, the vortex blasted across the glen, ripping up trees, smashing the distant stone cottage into jagged pieces, and causing shudders in the earth itself.

"Get down!" He grabbed Gwynne's hand and pulled her to the turf beside him. The whirlwind would first strike the government troops, then the Highlanders. Men on both sides were running away in the desperate hope of escaping the devastation. Several Highlanders slowed long enough to help their wounded fellows toward safety, while one Hanoverian dropped to his knees in terrified prayer.

With horror, Duncan recognized that his whirlwind might kill more men than the swords and muskets. Grimly he marshaled his remaining energy, then fought the lethal winds until they were under control again. Head pounding with strain, he wrenched the funnel into a new path that ran along the course of the river, between the warring groups.

The whirlwind swept over the river, sucking up water and howling ever louder. It struck the arched bridge and shattered it, stones flying in all directions. Mercifully the funnel pa.s.sed between the two groups of soldiers without striking anyone. But now it was heading up the hill-straight at Duncan and Gwynne.

As a gale-force wind struck them, tearing at hair and clothing, Duncan threw himself across his wife to protect her. Too depleted to deflect the tornado himself, he reached into Gwynne's energy field, ruthlessly drawing on her power to bolster his fraying strength. He had only an instant, but how . . . ?

Whirlwinds had a very short life- Yes, that was the key to destroying it. He slammed the vortex, blocking the swirling pattern with brute strength. The winds fell apart and suddenly the glen was silent.

Duncan allowed himself to slide into dazed exhaustion. No wonder weather mages were taught never to conjure tornadoes. . . .

Shakily Gwynne pushed her husband's weight to one side and struggled to a sitting position. " Duncan, are you all right?"

"I'm . . . well enough." His eyes opened. They were the color of ash. "You didn't stay with the horses."

"Of course not. Hiding wasn't going to help anything." She didn't feel much better than he looked. Rubbing her aching head, she asked, "What did you do?"

"I'm sorry." He levered himself up and drew a shuddering breath. "I didn't have enough power left to dissolve the whirlwind before it struck us, so I drew on yours."

Though it was a violation of Guardian rules to tap into someone else's power without permission, the Families were always reasonable about emergencies. His sudden a.s.sault on her energy body had been disturbing and very intrusive, almost a mind rape, but the situation had been dire. "If I hadn't distracted you at a critical moment, you wouldn't have had to do it."

He grimaced. "It would have been easier if we'd had time to prepare. Transferring power needn't be painful if the connection is established gently."

In an odd way, she was glad for the pain Duncan's energy tap had caused because it had made her part of his life-saving intervention. "It is written that when Adam and Isabel stopped the Armada, he borrowed her strength as you just borrowed mine. I had read about that, but I didn't really understand what it is like to share power."

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"If you hadn't done what was necessary," she said wryly, "we'd have been blown to Glasgow. Probably in pieces."

He brushed back his hair, which had been blown loose around his shoulders. "I feel like a spike has been driven through my head."

"Given the huge amount of power you just burned, that's not surprising." Moving slowly, she got to her feet. The ground swayed only a little. "I'll get your saddlebags. We both need something to eat."

Burning large amounts of power created ravenous hunger. Gwynne could have eaten a loaf of fresh bread all by herself without even trying, so Duncan must feel as if he'd been starved for a month.

She found the horses peacefully cropping gra.s.s in the stone circle. Before tethering them earlier, she had used a calming spell similar to the one Duncan had tried on William Montague and his servant. The horses were better subjects than William, for they seemed unperturbed by the nearby battle and whirlwind.

She took the saddlebags back to Duncan, who had fortunately brought enough food to feed a family of six. Even before she spread the picnic cloth, she gave him two bannocks, the Scottish oatcake. He wolfed them down as she laid out more bannocks, cheese, smoked fish, and mutton pies. A jug of ale and two cups had been provided, so she poured drinks before falling on the meal as avidly as Duncan.

By the time he demolished two-thirds of the food, Duncan was looking almost normal. "It's amazing how food restores strength. I felt like I was ninety years old. If I'm tempted to conjure a whirlwind in the future, remind me how difficult it is."

Gwynne gestured toward the glen below. The Hanoverian officer was forming up his demoralized men to resume their march north, while the Jacobites were cl.u.s.tered in small groups, patching up wounds and discussing their miraculous survival. "Though it was difficult, you succeeded. The forces have been separated and the bridge is gone. Even if the Highlanders want to ford the river, by the time they do the government troops will have had time to escape."

"It appears that the fight has gone out of everyone." He studied the remains of the bridge. Apart from a few stones marking the foundations on each bank, nothing was left. "I've never worked with such challenging weather. It's fortunate whirlwinds are so rare in Britain. Can you imagine the devastation if one struck Edinburgh or London? The damage would be horrific. I hope no one was in that cottage."

Gwynne had wondered the same, so she visualized the vanished structure, then focused to see if there were recent signs of habitation. "The cottage was empty, thank G.o.d. You saved many lives and injured no one in the process, except yourself."

"Are you surprised that I took so much effort to protect Hanoverian troops despite my Jacobite leanings?" he said with a touch of dryness.

"Not at all," she said immediately. "The soldiers on both sides are mostly boys, some no older than Maggie's son, Diarmid. Of course you wanted to protect them." She looked at Duncan quizzically. " Mages are trained to use their best judgment in critical situations, but this happened so quickly. How did you decide what to do, or whether to act at all? Did you worry about changing the course of the rebellion?"

"So many considerations raced through my mind that the final decision seemed more instinct than logic." He frowned. "Interfering with events must not be done lightly, but a clash like this means nothing in terms of the overall rising. The only ones affected would be the boys who were killed and their families, so I couldn't stand by and not at least try to break up the skirmish."

She thought of the fear she had felt radiating from the terrified young soldiers, and shuddered. "War is insanity, there is no other explanation. Most of the soldiers on both sides are Scots. They could even be brothers. Yet because some have red coats and others wear a white c.o.c.kade, they tried to kill each other."

"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori," he murmured.

"Don't quote Horace at me!" she retorted. "There is nothing sweet and proper about young men dying for old men's ambitions. If battle is necessary, let the Old Pretender and King George settle the matter in single combat. And if they killed each other in the process, I wouldn't weep."

"War isn't only about old men's ambition," Duncan said seriously. "There are causes worth dying for. Freedom. Justice. To defend the vulnerable."

"Show me the freedom and justice in that little battle!" She gestured at the glen. "Show me anyone other than you who was defending the vulnerable."

"Some Highlanders are fighting because their chieftains command it, but others fight because they believe the prince's claim to the throne is just." He hesitated. "There is also a . . . a kind of Highland madness that a sensible Englishwoman like you might not be able to understand. A fierce willingness to pay any price, even death, for one's principles and loyalties. We all die eventually. There is grandeur in dying for a cause that is n.o.ble."

She shook her head vehemently. "That is a man's thinking."

His mouth quirked wryly. "Guilty."

She sighed. "Perhaps this is an unbreachable difference between men and women. Very well, I'll admit there are principles and people worth dying for. But what is worth killing for?"

"I would kill to protect you," he said gravely. "Just as I would die for you."

She felt the blood drain from her face at his blunt statement. You will betray him. That harsh mental voice was with her every day. How could she bear to betray a man who was willing to die for her? A man who held her heart in his hands? Yet she could feel a gulf widening between them, and she could dimly sense the kind of dilemma that would force her to make such an agonizing choice.

"I would like to think," she said unevenly, "that I would have the courage to die for you, or for someone else I love, or for innocents in peril. But I would rather by far live with you than die for you."

Desperate to bury all thoughts of betrayal, she leaned forward and kissed him fiercely, burying her hands in his hair. The pa.s.sion between them was life and truth, the very opposite of what she feared. The future wasn't written yet. Perhaps, with love and loyalty, betrayal might never be necessary.

Duncan's fervent response to her kiss revealed his matching need to bury conflict in desire. But even as they mated with pa.s.sion's fury, she could not convince herself that they were not on the road to calamity.