But for now, they were grudging allies in their desire to protect the people of the glen. He monitored her interview with the colonel, and almost laughed aloud when Jean entered looking like a fragile, helpless English girl. Gwynne had been wise to suggest that Jean appear rather than hide in the dungeons. No one who saw his sister in her present garb would believe what a Highland spitfire she was.
The interview seemed to be going well, and with the sunshine Duncan had provided, the colonel looked ready to set off again rather than spend the night. Good. Duncan was still fatigued from his iron bondage, and the combination of weather working, scrying, and maintaining an illusion were rapidly draining his power. The sooner the soldiers left, the better.
Once they were gone, Duncan would sleep like the weary rebels. The next morning was soon enough to decide what the devil to do with Gwynne.
Even when he was at his most furious, he had known in his heart that he could never bring himself to hurt her, but her betrayal had irrevocably destroyed the fragile trust that was the bedrock of any marriage. Even thinking of how she had lured him home only to imprison him caused his anger to rise.
She must leave Dunrath as soon as possible. A pity that the legal bonds of matrimony could not be severed as easily as the emotional bonds had been.
He was yawning when the scene in the scrying glass changed. One�no, two�men entered the morning room.
One was an army major, the other�Duncan swore when he recognized Geddes. The filthy tinker would only show up if there was money or trouble to be made, preferably both.
The bastard must have seen Jean and her men the previous night, because the amiable scene in the scrying glass changed to tension. Jean went to her chamber, Geddes was taken to the great hall to be watched under guard, and Gwynne and the officers began searching the castle, starting with the attics. Good, they would be tired by the time they reached the dungeons.
Dozens of rebels couldn't be hidden in a wardrobe, so the search didn't go into every box and drawer, but the Hanoverians kept a sharp eye out for anything suspicious. A good thing Duncan had been able to slow them down with heavy rain. Without those extra hours, Dunrath wouldn't have had time to conceal all traces of the fugitives.
From their postures, Duncan could tell that the colonel liked and respected Gwynne. The major was another matter. He was a hound hot on the chase, and he would show no mercy to any prey he cornered.
When the search party finally approached the stairs, Duncan wearily mustered his remaining power. Conjuring storms was easy for him. Knowing all that stood between Dunrath and disaster was a frail illusion was quite another matter.
�
Though Gwynne knew the search was going quickly, every moment seemed an eternity. Playing a charming, frivolous English lady was hard work. Even when she lived in England, she hadn't been much good at this, and today the stakes were frighteningly high.
Once they reached the cellars, she led them through every dusty little chamber and passage and storage room, including numerous dead ends. She hoped that the soldiers would become disoriented enough that they wouldn't realize they had missed a section of this level. When their winding search brought them back to the bottom of the stairs, Gwynne shook dust from her gown with a moue of distaste. �I trust you are satisfied, gentleman. You've now seen all of Dunrath, and nary a Jacobite to be found.�
She was starting up the stairs when Major Huxley said, �I believe we haven't seen all of the cellars yet, Lady Ballister.� Though his words were polite, the lamp he held showed a sardonic glint in his eyes. Unlike Ormond, he didn't accept her innocent Whig lady performance at face value.
�Perhaps you are right,� Gwynne said indifferently. �A pity my husband isn't here to guide you. I don't pretend to know every twist and turn in this beastly place. Because of the rats, I come down here very seldom.�
When she mentioned the rats, a movement in the shadows made her heart jump. She relaxed when she recognized Lionel. Was he hunting vermin, or watching over her like the familiar Duncan jokingly claimed he was? Whatever the reason, she was vaguely comforted by the cat's presence.
�This way, ma'am.� The major set off to the far side of the cellars, picking his way through the maze of passages with unnerving sureness. When they reached the junction that led to cells on both sides, he turned right, in the direction where Duncan had been imprisoned. Gwynne followed uneasily, the colonel behind her. Duncan's well-furnished cell would arouse questions, and that couldn't be good.
They walked along the row of cells, the major opening each door and glancing in to see the bleak, empty interiors. Gwynne's pulse accelerated as they approached the end of the passageway. Huxley opened the final door and looked inside. �Interesting.�
She moved forward to peer around him, concealing her sigh of relief. The cell still had the wooden cot and it was relatively clean, but the other furniture, books, and carpet had been removed. The major stepped inside and studied the interior closely. �This shows signs of recent occupation.�
Gwynne shrugged. �Sometimes a cell is needed to lock up some drunken rascal.�
Huxley frowned, his intuition probably telling him there was more to the story, but there were no rebels here now. Impatience in his voice, Colonel Ormond said, �We've searched the castle top to bottom and found nothing. It's time we returned to the road. If we leave soon, we can be out of the glen before nightfall.�
�We still haven't seen everything on this level,� Huxley said stubbornly. �I have been making a mental map and one area is missing. Back this way.�
They retraced their steps to the junction with the passage that led back to the stairs. When they had come through originally, the officers hadn't notice the short spur of passage ahead because Gwynne had laid a strong don't-see spell on it. Coming from this direction and with the major suspicious, the spell lost its effectiveness. �This is the way�we missed it earlier,� Huxley said, eyes glittering. �There should be another corridor just around this corner. . . .�
�I don't think so,� Gwynne remarked. �The castle is built on solid rock, you know, and the cellars are fitted in around the stone. The cellar area is smaller than the floors above, and more irregular in shape.�
Ignoring her, Huxley rounded the corner and stopped, the flickering lamp illuminating a stub of corridor less than a dozen feet long. Gwynne caught her breath. Earlier, when Duncan had created the illusion spell, her mage vision had simultaneously showed her both the illusion and the underlying door.
Now all she saw was a grimy stone wall, as crude and ancient as the other walls down here. Only with serious effort could she vaguely sense the door under the illusion. It was easier to feel Duncan. He was standing just on the other side of the door and pouring energy into the illusion spell. She wondered how long he could keep the illusion this strong. Not very, she guessed.
Ormond said brusquely, �We have reached the end of our search, Major. It's time for us to get on with our mission.�
The colonel turned and disappeared around the corner, heading to the stairs, but Huxley remained, frowning at the wall, the spark of power in his spirit unsatisfied. �There's something wrong here,� he muttered. �Maybe a priest hole.�
He stepped forward, and Gwynne realized with sinking fear that he was going to touch the �stone� wall, seeking a hidden lever that would open to a hidden room. When he felt wood, he would no longer see the illusion. She must stop him.
When in doubt, rely on one's most powerful gift, and for Gwynne, that was enchantress power. Softly she said, �Major Huxley?�
When he glanced back at her, she blasted him with every iota of sexual allure she possessed. She was the personification of desire, Eve and Cleopatra, Aphrodite and Morgan le Fay. With a single glance, she could ignite a man's deepest, fiercest desires.
Huxley caught his breath and a pulse began hammering in his throat as lust blazed through him. �Yes . . . ,� he breathed. �I knew you weren't the pr
ude you pretended to be. You were just waiting for a chance to be alone with me. You're in luck, my lady. There's just enough time to give you a quick taste of what you want.�
Setting his lamp on the floor, he closed the distance between them with a single stride. His embrace slammed her against the wall and his tongue invaded her mouth, gagging her. She panicked at the swift violence of his response, frantic to strike him with a defensive spell, yet knowing if she did she would reveal her power.
He fumbled with his breeches, then yanked her skirts up and groped between her legs, seeking entrance with the skill of a man experienced in swift, illicit lust. With horror, she realized he was so crazed that he had no awareness beyond the moment, no fear of consequences. He could ravish her before Ormond noticed they weren't following.
She felt a blaze of rage behind the disguised door and knew that Duncan had recognized what was happening. As his fury scalded through the passage, the illusion wavered and she heard him jam the key into the lock to open the door from the other side. Dear God, if he came out to attack Huxley they were all doomed!
Praying that a defense spell could be used without alerting Huxley to her power, she mentally cried, �Don't!� to Duncan, then began to create a spell that might save her without arousing lethal suspicions.
A crackle of wild energy snapped around her and a feline scream echoed from the stone walls. Lionel leaped on the major's shoulder with snarling fangs and ripping claws. As he sank his teeth into the man's ear, his wildcat claws stabbed into unprotected flesh and dark blood spurted upward.
�Jesus Christ Almighty!� Huxley staggered back, breaking off the obscene kiss.
Gwynne screamed, the terror in her voice heart-stoppingly authentic. In the small sane part of her mind, she saw that the stone wall illusion had stabilized, so Duncan had mastered his instinctive fury.
An instant later the colonel appeared. Appalled, he hurled Huxley to the floor. �God damn you, sir! How dare you assault a lady in her own home!� He whipped out his sword and placed the tip at the other man's throat.
Huxley stared up at his commanding officer, shocked and disoriented. He knew what he had done, knew he had been caught in the act, but he could no longer understand why he had behaved as he did. �I . . . I didn't mean . . . Aiieee!�
He shrieked as Lionel jumped on his arm, simultaneously biting and kicking with his powerful clawed hindquarters.
�Lionel!� Gwynne swooped the cat into her arms, mentally trying to sooth him before he shredded her. To the officers, she said, �My cat is . . . is very protective. When Major Huxley assaulted me, Lionel jumped on his back.�
�A small but fierce defender,� the colonel said. �Are you hurt, Lady Ballister?�
She shook her head, her shakiness genuine. �No, Lionel's attack gave me the chance to cry for help. Thank God you were near, Colonel Ormond.�
�I didn't attack the bitch!� Huxley said furiously. �She wanted me!�
�Don't lie to me!� The colonel pressed his sword and blood appeared on the major's throat. �I'll see you hanged for this. You're a disgrace to His Majesty's army!�
Gwynne brushed her hair back with a trembling hand. She had distracted attention from the illusory wall, but Duncan would not be able to maintain the illusion at this strength for much longer. She must get the royalist officers away. And what was she to do about Huxley? He was a filthy swine, but Gwynne was too much a Guardian to let him die for an assault she had deliberately provoked.
Voice unsteady, she continued, �I don't think the major would have attacked me if you hadn't all been so hard-pressed for days on end. Perhaps in the poor light, he misinterpreted something I said or did.�
Ormond frowned, and she knew he was thinking about his wife and what he would do to any man who assaulted her. �Are you saying that you don't want him punished?� he asked.
She drew a shuddering breath. �I don't want him hanged. Just . . . just get him away from me. And don't allow him alone with any other female of any age.�
For a long moment, the colonel's expression reflected his desire to slit Huxley's throat. But he was an honorable man. Reluctantly he sheathed his sword. �You should fall on your knees and thank God for her ladyship's mercy, Huxley.�
Sullenly the major got to his feet, keeping a wary eye on Gwynne and the tail-lashing cat in her arms. �This was just a misunderstanding, I swear it, Colonel Ormond.�
�I wish I were sure of that.� Ormond scowled. �You're a decent officer and I need you. If you get through the rest of this campaign with a blameless record�and that means you won't raise a hand to any woman or child, even if they are wearing Highland dress�I will allow this matter to drop. Is that satisfactory, Lady Ballister?�
She nodded. �If my ordeal spares the life of some poor woman without a man like you nearby to protect her, my suffering will not have been in vain.�
Her speech was melodramatic, but the colonel liked the idea of himself as protector as much as he admired Gwynne for her Christian charity. To Huxley, he said, �Apologize to this good lady, and then get out of her sight.�
Though the major sensed he had been deceived, he didn't understand how. But he was no fool, and he knew he must take advantage of Gwynne's forbearance before she or the colonel changed their minds. �I'm deeply sorry, Lady Ballister,� he said stiffly. �I don't know what came over me. There isn't much light here, and . . . and for a moment I was sure that you wanted me. Wanted me bad, your husband being away and all.�
Ormond spat on the floor. �You don't know virtue when you see it, Major.� But the explanation was one he could understand, which meant he wouldn't wonder about the incident in the future. �Now come along.�
Gwynne glanced over her shoulder as the three of them left. They were just in time, because the illusion was beginning to shimmer from Duncan's fatigue. Silently she sent the message We're safe. Rest now, my husband.
For an instant their minds touched, and she sensed from him despair so deep it shadowed the whole world. His emotions gave her a visceral understanding of how impossible it would be to mend the mortal wound to their marriage.
Aching, she touched his mind for the last time. I'm sorry, mo cridhe. So, so sorry.
Then she walked away, cradling her cat in her arms and glad she had an excuse for the tears in her eyes.
THIRTY-EIGHT
A fter the royalist troops left, Gwynne wanted nothing more than to go to her room and sleep, but that was no longer�possible after touching Duncan's mind. The sooner she left Dunrath, the better. Her husband was sleeping in his hidden cell, worn out by his iron imprisonment and all the power he had expended to protect the castle. She must be gone before he woke.
She went to her room, forcing her tired mind to decide what to take. It wouldn't be much since she would go on horseback. She rang for her maid. Annie appeared, beaming but a little wary, as if unsure how grand her mistress would be. �That was a miracle, the way those officers couldn't find our men. You baffled them well, Mistress.�
Gwynne pulled off her wig and shook out her own hair. �I had much help. Will you unlace this blasted gown, then bring my saddlebags from the attic?�
Glad to have her familiar mistress back, the girl undid the laces, then sped off to the attics, so excited by the glen's narrow escape that she didn't bother to question why saddlebags were needed. Gwynne changed into her simplest riding habit, then went up to the library to retrieve the projects she had been working on. The half-dozen volumes of notes and essays were the only things at Dunrath that were truly hers.
Back in her room, she packed the books into the waiting saddlebags, adding another gown, a set of undergarments, and basic toiletries in the remaining space. Then she stripped off the ruby ring of Isabel de Cortes and set it on her dressing table. That ring belonged to the mistress of the glen, which Gwynne was no more.
She meant to take nothing from Dunrath but the horse that would carry her away, but wh
en she pulled the scrying glass from its hidden pocket, she found herself unable to set it on the table. Her fingers literally locked around the obsidian disk, refusing to release. Her initial confusion dissolved into a sense of peace. The glass also was hers, and it carried Isabel's blessing.
She was about to pick up her saddlebags when Jean entered, not bothering to knock. Though she still wore her stylish gown and powdered hair, there was nothing fragile or girlish about her. Her expression was as hard as the granite of the Scottish hills. Her gaze flicked to the saddlebags, then back to Gwynne's face. �Well done. You managed to save every rebel in the glen, and probably the glen itself.�
�It was all of us working together. You did a splendid turn as a helpless young girl, and Duncan's illusion was amazing.�
�Ah, yes, Duncan. My brother who meant to save our troops at Drumrossie Moor, but was imprisoned by his beloved wife. Maggie Macrae told me all about it.� Jean's hands clenched into fists. �If you hadn't interfered, Robbie might be alive now.�
Gwynne sighed. �Perhaps he would. It's impossible to know.�
�Why did you do it, Gwynne?� Jean cried, her voice breaking. �What right did you have to prevent Duncan from helping the rebel soldiers escape?�
�I had the right of a dedicated Guardian charged with stopping a renegade,� Gwynne said softly. �Duncan started with small interventions to keep the armies apart. He progressed to open partisanship. Ask him, if you will, what he did to aid the Jacobite victory at Falkirk.� She had found a vivid image of that in his mind just before she imprisoned him. �He said that he intended to intervene in the final battle only if necessary to preserve the rebel troops so they could retreat. That was an illegal intervention in itself. Worse was the likelihood that in the heat and rage of battle he might have used his whirlwind to destroy the Hanoverians. Would you have condoned him killing royal soldiers for doing their duty?�
Jean's gaze faltered, but she didn't retreat. �If he had done so, how would that be different from Adam Macrae using his power to devastate the Spanish Armada?�
�Sir Adam's tempest was a defensive action against an invading army. Duncan involved himself in a civil war, which is a very different matter.� Gwynne hesitated, then decided Jean needed to hear the whole story. �It wasn't only that Duncan was breaking his Guardian oath. For many months I have been having nightmare visions that showed a Jacobite victory having catastrophic long-term results for all of Britain.�
Jean frowned. �What kind of catastrophe?�
�I don't know the details. Only that there were rivers of blood that affected people from Cornwall to the most distant of the Hebrides.�
A Kiss of Fate Page 30