A Kiss of Fate

by Mary Jo Putney

�At the moment, death would not be my enemy.� Gwynne left the cell, carefully locked the door behind her, then slumped trembling against the rough stone wall of the corridor. If she had refused the council's wish for her to marry Duncan, she would still be safe and innocent in England. She would have deplored the rebellion and been concerned for the toll in human pain, but that concern would have been distant.

  Instead, she'd seized her courage and married Duncan, discovering power and passion together. They'd been so happy. . . .

  It would have been far easier to stand aside, to be a demure wife who wouldn't dream of opposing her husband. Then she wouldn't feel blood on her hands.

  As she wearily climbed the narrow stairs to the main level of the castle, her inner voice whispered, You did the right thing. If Duncan had interfered to allow the rebels to escape, it would only have prolonged and increased Scotland's suffering.

  Even that knowledge was no comfort.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  G wynne, help us!�

  Gwynne jerked from a dark, exhausted sleep, thinking her name had been called. But that was not a real voice, only part of a tortured dream.

  Two and a half days had passed since the battle. News had reached the castle the day after the defeat in the form of a fleeing Jacobite lucky enough to have a horse. Gwynne couldn't bear hearing the horrible tales of the Hanoverian pursuit, which had included the slaughter of anyone wearing Highland dress. She had already seen the images in her scrying glass.

  She gave orders that fugitives should be granted food and a brief rest before they moved on. Even that was a risk; if government troops found rebels at Dunrath, the castle and the glen would probably be razed, exactly as Maggie Macrae had dreamed.

  �Gwynne, please, in the name of mercy!�

  With cold shock, Gwynne recognized that the voice was real�Jean was using mind-touch, and from the clarity of the words, she must be very close. Thank God she was alive�but clearly in desperate trouble.

  Gwynne jammed her feet into slippers and threw a heavy robe around her nightgown before she grabbed a lamp and raced downstairs. Her clumsy fingers fumbled with the latch to the outside door before she managed to fling it open. She stepped outside�and by the ghostly light of a fitfully clouded moon, she saw that the courtyard was full of battered fugitives: several dozen men, and one woman.

  Jean's horse carried two slumped figures, wounded men apparently. Jean herself was on foot, at the head of her ragged band. Her beautiful hair was tied back like a man's and she wore breeches as she stumbled forward. �Please, Gwynne. Help us.� She swayed, staying upright by sheer will. �The government troops are no more than a few hours behind.�

  Gwynne darted down the steps and caught Jean in her arms before the girl collapsed. �How did you get this far, Jean? Most of the fugitives were cut down within a few miles of the battlefield.�

  Trembling, Jean rested her head on Gwynne's shoulder. �I took the wild paths through the hills. Whenever I sensed Butcher Cumberland's men approaching, I ordered everyone off the road and masked them with don't-see spells. I don't know how I managed it.� She looked up, her eyes pleading. �I know coming here is a danger to everyone in the glen, but I didn't know where else to go.�

  �That you made it this far is a miracle!�

  Jean looked around. �Where is Duncan? I can't feel his presence.�

  �He's not here,� Gwynne said vaguely as she scanned the fugitives. They stared at her with varying degrees of hope, exhaustion, and despair. Most seemed to be men of the glen. They knew as well as she the danger to Dunrath if she gave them sanctuary.

  What should she do? In rough country, a don't-see spell would be enough to conceal men that were fairly well hidden to start with. The glen was a very different matter. Even if men returned home and pretended never to have left, a search of the castle and crofts would turn them up quickly. Wounds and blood and ruined garments would make most of the rebels easily identifiable, with disastrous results for everyone else who lived in the glen.

  Unless�might it be possible to conceal them in the dungeons with strong don't-see spells on the doors? Other spells would be required as well. Gwynne doubted that one mage had enough power for the work that would be required, and Jean was too exhausted to help. But Duncan's power combined with Gwynne's might be enough.

  �Please, Gwynne,� Jean whispered. �I canna bear to see more death.�

  Any lingering doubts vanished from Gwynne's mind. �This is the home of the Macraes of Dunrath. Of course they are welcome here.�

  �Mistress?�

  Auld Donald's incredulous voice sounded from behind Gwynne. She turned to see him staring at the battered rebels.

  �Our men have made it home safely, and we are going to hide them in the dungeons,� she said calmly.

  He frowned. �It's a great risk we'll all be taking.�

  �Yes, but we cannot turn them away,� Gwynne replied. �Is there anyone in the glen who would turn rebels in to the government troops?�

  �No,� Donald and Jean said simultaneously. The steward added, �There were many that did not approve of the prince, but all will be loyal to our own.�

  Gwynne hoped the other two were right. After a moment of thinking about what must be done if they were to have a chance of success, she said, �Wake everyone in the castle. We'll need food and drink and blankets, and surely medical help as well. Also, it would help if the tracks can be obliterated so it won't be obvious that a large group of men has come here.�

  �I'll send a herd of cattle back along the northern road,� Donald said. �That should do the job.�

  �Perfect!� Turning to the massed men, Gwynne raised her voice. �Come inside quickly now! I think we can keep you safe in the oldest section of the castle. Does anyone need help climbing the stairs?�

  As weary men started up the front steps, Maggie Macrae called out, �Diarmid!� A plaid thrown around her nightgown and her feet bare, she raced down to the courtyard, risking a broken neck, and unerringly went to a slight figure that was supporting a more seriously wounded man.

  Heedless of their filth, she wrapped her arms around both fugitives, tears running down her face. �Thanks be to God!� Forgetting that he was man enough to go to war, Diarmid embraced his mother, his shoulders shaking with sobs.

  Allowing them privacy for their reunion, Gwynne began giving crisp orders to the servants and crofters who were pouring into the courtyard. She kept an arm around Jean for support, knowing the girl would not rest until her rebel band was under cover.

  In the midst of the clamor of soldiers, Gwynne had a quiet moment to speak to Jean. �What about Robbie Mackenzie?�

  Jean's face twisted. �He died leading his men in the final charge while that damned cowardly Italian fled the field!�

  �You mean the prince?�

  Jean spat. �He was a pretender indeed. He pretended to honor, to loyalty, to courage. All he wanted was power and glory for the Stuarts. I hope Cumberland finds him so he can be drawn and quartered.�

  Jean's anger burned through her fatigue. Grieving for the harsh shattering of the girl's idealism, Gwynne led her inside and up to the family quarters. �Your men are inside now, and we'll see that all are cared for. Now it's time for you to rest. Be sure to wash up before you go to bed. If government troops arrive, you might have to show yourself and pretend innocence.�

  Jean smiled without humor. �Gwynne, I carried a sword and rode with the men of Glen Rath on the field of battle. How can I deny that?�

  Duncan had been right about his sister's courage. �You can't deny that you traveled with the army, but you can say that you were following your sweetheart, trying to persuade him to abandon the Jacobite madness and come home.�

  The younger woman hesitated. �I am loath to deny my beliefs and my men. Our loyalty and honor were true even if the Pretender was not worthy of it.�

  Gwynne caught her gaze. �Courage and honor need no defense�
and they should not be the reason brave men are butchered. If I can lie to save their lives, so can you.�

  �When you put it that way, I suppose I can't refuse.� She brushed at her tangled hair with unsteady fingers. �But what if someone recognized me on the battlefield?�

  �If anyone claims to have seen you there, we'll laugh at the absurdity of the thought. All you have to do is appear in your most dainty, feminine gown and they'll be ashamed to have even suggested that you might have ridden into battle.�

  Jean gave the ghost of a laugh. �Though I hate to admit it, you're probably right.�

  �No man will want to believe that a small female is his equal in courage and skill. Now go.� Gwynne gave her sister-in-law a gentle push into her bedroom before retreating to her own chamber to don a morning gown. She would not be getting any more sleep this night.

  After changing, she descended to the dungeons and checked on how the fugitives were being settled. Auld Donald had remembered that on the east side of the castle there was a string of cells on the same corridor with a single door providing access. This meant that only that one door needed to be spelled, which improved their chances of success.

  At the steward's order, bales of straw had been brought in and laid on the floors of the cells as primitive bedding. There were three or four men cramped into each cell, many of them already deep in the sleep of exhaustion.

  As Gwynne inspected the cells, a gray-haired woman appeared in the corridor. �You would be Lady Dunrath. I'm Elizabeth Macrae, the healer.� She gestured to a heavily laden young woman behind. �And this be my granddaughter, who assists me. Where are the most severely wounded?�

  �Down here.� Gwynne led the way to the far end of the corridor, where moans were least likely to be heard if the cellars were searched. �What else do you need?�

  �Hot water, soap, and towels, and maybe more bandages.� Rolling up her sleeves, Elizabeth Macrae knelt by a young man whose plaid was stiff with dried blood.

  Gwynne left the healer and her granddaughter to their work and gave orders for the hot water and other supplies. To Maggie, she said, �We must bring everything into this area and have it sealed off by the time the pursuers arrive.�

  �Can you prevent the government troops from finding them?� Maggie asked, expression troubled.

  �I think so. But I'll need Duncan's help.�

  �You'll be releasing him, then. That's good�he should not be ignorant of what is happening to his people under his very nose.�

  That was true, but Gwynne was not looking forward to having to face her husband. �I'm going to him now. I expect that our conversation will take some time, so you're in charge, Maggie Macrae. Make sure there is no trace of mud or dust or footprints in the great hall, and that there are no obvious gaps in the kitchen or linen closet. Also, the people who live to the north end of the glen should be sent home soon. If their crofts are empty, it will look suspicious to the Hanoverians.�

  Maggie smiled. �You've a good mind for deceit, Mistress.�

  �I hope it's good enough.� Girding herself, Gwynne left the housekeeper and headed for Duncan's cell, which was at the opposite end of the castle from the rebel quarters, and luxurious by comparison.

  By imprisoning him, she had sowed the wind. Now she would reap the whirlwind.

  �

  Something was wrong. Even with his power paralyzed, Duncan could feel that wrongness in his marrow. It was the middle of the night, and if he had to wait until Maggie Macrae brought him his bread and tea in the morning, he might go mad.

  The key turned in the lock, and he spun around as the door opened to reveal his lady wife with a lamp in her hand. Even plainly dressed and with her enchantress allure completely shielded, she was heartbreakingly desirable. He hated himself for wanting her. Harshly he asked, �What the hell is happening?�

  �So even blocked by iron you can tell that something is wrong.� She set the lamp on the table. �Jean has returned with most of the men of Glen Rath, including young Diarmid. She says the Hanoverians are in pursuit, so we're hiding the rebels down here.�

  He found that knowing what was happening did not make him any happier. �Are you trying to get us all killed? If they're found here, everyone in Glen Rath will be treated as a traitor!�

  �I know. That's why I need your help to conceal them.� A ghost of a smile showed on her face. �Don't look so shocked at my recklessness. You would not have turned them away, either.�

  She was right, of course. Damn her.

  Gwynne produced the small key to the manacles. �I ask that you refrain from murdering me until Dunrath is safe.�

  �I'm surprised you're willing to risk your pretty neck for a pack of rebels,� he said caustically. �Why not leave them to be butchered by Cumberland?�

  She raised his right arm and unfastened the iron cuff. �The rising is over, and I'll not see men die pointlessly.� She dropped the cuff onto the table and turned to his left wrist.

  Grudgingly he knew that his remark was unfair, but it was hard to control his molten anger. He waited with bare patience as she struggled to unlock the manacle. When she finally removed it, he inhaled sharply as power blasted through him like a river that had shattered its dam. He welcomed the return greedily, but the sensation wasn't pleasant. His body and soul felt as if they had fallen asleep and were now coming back to needle-pointed life.

  With impersonal gentleness, Gwynne pressed his shoulders so that he sat on the bed. He buried his head in his hands, shivering with reaction.

  When he felt more or less in control of himself again, he raised his head. She was within his reach, but from the wariness in her eyes she would be prepared if he struck out at her. She needn't worry. Whatever revenge he might take could wait until the men of Glen Rath were safe. �What needs to be done?�

  �All of the rebels are now in the cells of the eastern corridor. I'm hoping that our combined power can produce a don't-see spell strong enough to prevent the door to that corridor from being discovered even if there's a serious search.�

  He frowned. �Not enough�that spell just makes people want to look away. If several men are involved in the search, they are unlikely to be equally deceived. It will have to be a full-scale illusion spell, and pray that none of the searchers touches the surface and realizes that it feels like wood, not stone.�

  �Can you do an illusion spell? I've tried but without much success.�

  �I'm fairly good at them.� Illusions were tiring because the mage needed to maintain them continually or they collapsed. He thought he could manage, though. �An illusion will have to do, since I gather there's no time for anything else. How far away are the Hanoverians? Have they camped for the night?�

  �I'm not sure.� She rubbed her forehead. �It's been so busy I haven't had time to check my scrying glass for their location.�

  �Well, check it now!�

  She pulled out the glass and settled her mind, then gazed into the smoky obsidian with half-focused eyes. �They've camped for the night perhaps three miles north of the glen. It's a sizable troop of horse soldiers�at least two dozen, perhaps more. If Jean and her men hadn't marched through the night, they would have been overtaken this morning.�

  �Rain will slow them down in the morning.�

  �You have recovered enough strength to conjure a storm?� Gwynne asked, looking hopeful.

  Not answering, he turned to one of the slit windows, inhaling the damp night air as he began exploring the sky. In April, rain was never very far away, and he found rain over the Hebrides and a howling storm near the Orkneys. Luxuriating in his ability to shape the winds again, he called them to him, adding the heavy moisture already in the sky over Glen Rath. In mere minutes the first drops of rain began falling, and the weather magic cleansed some of the anger from his soul.

  Turning from the window, he said, �The rain will increase steadily. By dawn, a major storm will be soaking our government troopers. The fu
gitives' tracks should be mostly eliminated.�

  �Auld Donald sent a herd of cattle along the route. Between hooves and rain, it will be impossible to track anyone to the castle.�

  Duncan nodded approval. Clever of Donald to have thought of that. �North of the glen, there are several trails leading in different directions. With luck, the Hanoverians won't be able to tell which way Jean was traveling.�

  �Even with the weather to slow them down, they'll surely be here by early afternoon.� Gwynne frowned. �If I'm pretending to be a good Whig, I'll have to offer them hospitality for the night.�

  He scowled. �I don't think I can be civil to them.�

  �You won't have to. I've worked out a few good lies, I think.�

  As Gwynne explained, he had to admit that her plan was good. But nothing she said or did would ever take away the deep wounds of her betrayal.

  THIRTY-SIX

  T he maid Annie entered the morning room and bobbed a curtsey. �Mistress, a group of government soldiers has arrived, and the commanding officer, Colonel Ormond, would like to speak with you.�

  Gwynne tried to steady her accelerating heartbeat as the news she had waited for was delivered. She laid down the quill she had been using to write a letter to Lady Bethany�a letter that contained nothing significant, only the kind of domestic chitchat one would expect two aristocratic ladies to exchange. Quite innocent if a suspicious officer chose to read it.

  The fugitives, the healers, and Duncan were hidden safely behind the illusion spell. The rest of the inhabitants of Glen Rath were going about their normal business and ready to claim ignorance about any possible Jacobites in the glen. Keeping a secret among so many people was problematic. It would be nice if there was a spell that could be cast over the glen to remind people what to say and how to seem convincing, but magic had its limits. This situation required the help of a higher force.

  Gwynne glanced up with her blandest expression. �How nice to have a diversion. Pray escort Colonel Ormond here and bring refreshments. If he has been traveling in this dreadful weather, he is surely in need of something warming.�

  �Indeed, Lady Ballister, I should be most grateful for that.� The masculine voice belonged to a scarlet-coated officer in the doorway. He'd followed the maid, perhaps hoping to catch the lady of the household in suspicious activity. Tall and weathered, Colonel Ormond had a long face and ramrod posture despite his saturated leather boots and dripping wig.

  Gwynne rose from her dainty inlaid desk. Today she wore a wide panniered gown better suited to a London drawing room than the Highlands, plus an elaborate, heavily curled and powdered wig. She hoped she looked too English to be a Jacobite.