Crossing the hut in two long strides, he thundered, "d.a.m.n you, boy! I should kill you where you stand!"

William snapped his head around while Jemmie prudently scrambled to the farthest corner of the hut. "She's better off as my mistress than your wife, Ballister," William bl.u.s.tered, but his voice was shaking.

"You're a stupid young fool who deserves to have your liver and lights cooked into haggis," Duncan growled as he yanked William away from Gwynne. "But for the sake of your parents, I'll spare you."

"You think me a poor adversary? I'll show you!" Humiliated, William whipped out his dagger and lunged at his tormentor.

Duncan dodged the attack, but the small hut limited his movement and the blade slashed along his left forearm. Though his face grayed, he caught William's arm and twisted it fiercely to crash the younger man into a stone wall. As Lord Montague caught his breath with fear, George grabbed his younger brother's dagger, then locked William's arms behind his back to prevent further attacks. Gwynne guessed that he hoped disarming William would keep Duncan from doing murder.

But Duncan had no more interest in William. He turned to Gwynne and she went into his arms with dizzying relief. "Thank G.o.d you're here," she said raggedly.

"Did he hurt you, la.s.s?"

She shook her head. "When he came to abduct me, I slipped and hit my head on the bedpost, but that was an accident. He . . . he didn't have time to do worse."

Duncan's embrace tightened. It took her a moment to realize that he was on the verge of collapse. " You're hurt!"

His voice dropped until it was almost inaudible. "The dagger . . . iron."

She had half forgotten about his weather mage's sensitivity to iron because the subject hadn't come up since their marriage. Yet looking back, she remembered all the small instances of his avoiding iron. Having it pierce his flesh had to be painful and debilitating even if the wound wasn't serious. And perhaps even a slight injury was dangerous to him-she had never come across a discussion of the subject in her studies.

She turned him so that he was supported by the wall and examined the wound. Though it was bleeding messily, it looked shallow and shouldn't be serious unless the iron poisoned him in some way. " You must remove your cloak and coat so I can bind this until we return to the castle."

Under his breath, he said, "Place your hand over the wound and push down hard. That will counter the effect of the iron."

Though she worried about hurting him, she did as he said, pressing firmly on the injured flesh. Blood oozed between her fingers at first, but his color began to improve.

"Is the wound serious?" Lord Montague asked with concern.

"No," Duncan replied himself. "Gwynne is taking care of it." He glanced at William, whose hands were now secured behind his back. The boy was staring at the earthen floor, his expression equal parts fear and sullen anger. "The sooner you ship that lad to the colonies, the better. I don't want him within a thousand miles of my wife."

"You won't press charges?" Lord Montague asked with relief.

Duncan shook his head. "For the sake of you and your family, and because Gwynne is unhurt, I won't. I can understand anyone becoming enchanted by my bride, but keep William away from Britain until he learns that a real man doesn't act on all his impulses."

"It shall be as you ask." Lord Montague inclined his head to Gwynne. "If you agree, Lady Ballister?"

"I agree." Gwynne didn't want the boy dead, but she hoped never to see him again. Reaction was setting in, and her hands shook as she bound her husband's arm with a long neckcloth silently offered by George. The bleeding had almost stopped and Duncan's color seemed normal, but she must talk to him later about his reaction to iron. As his wife, she needed to know what to expect.

Montague turned to his son's servant, who was doing his best to look like part of the wall. "What about Jemmie?"

"He didn't hurt me," Gwynne said. "I think he was not happy to be involved in an abduction, but he did not want to be disloyal to his master."

Jemmie gave her a grateful glance as Montague nodded and turned away. With luck, the servant wouldn't be shipped off to the colonies with William.

George hauled his brother to his feet. "Time we headed for home."

Duncan draped his cloak around Gwynne's shoulders and led her from the hut. She avoided looking toward her young abductor. Bitterly she wondered if she would ever dare be friendly again.

Duncan and Gwynne hardly spoke on the ride back to the castle, but he kept a close eye on her. Though the lump on her temple where she hit the bedpost was turning alarming colors, she rode with her head high and her back straight. With his cloak rippling in the night air, she looked like a warrior queen returning from battle.

The summer sun rose early this far north, and the sky was pale in the east by the time they finally returned to their bedroom. The bed had been made up again with fresh blankets, and Lady Montague had sent a maid up with a tray of steaming tea and food. Presumably she was grateful to see her youngest son intact.

After the servant left, Gwynne tossed Duncan's cloak over a chair, then wearily touched the spot on the bedpost where her head had struck. "And to think that all I wanted last night was a few hours of sleep. Instead, I got an adventure."

He wrapped his arms around her and rested his brow against hers. "Adventures are overrated. I prefer a good night's sleep every time."

She locked her arms around his waist. "Thank G.o.d you found me so quickly. If you had been even a few minutes later . . ." She shuddered.

He hugged her back, hating to think how narrowly disaster had been averted. "Would you like some tea? Much as I long for our bed, we must talk."

"Agreed." She poured them each a cup of tea, steam rising in the cool dawn air. Even with tangled hair and draped in his shapeless banyan, her beauty made him ache.

After handing over his tea, she took a chair and cradled her cup between her palms. "Your reaction to iron was frightening. Were you in . . . in danger of your life?"

He sank into the opposite chair. "I am no more nor less likely to die by the sword than any man, but any touch of iron weakens me. Not only does it block my power, but it reduces my physical strength as well, even if the wound itself is minor, like this one."

She nodded thoughtfully. "No wonder you're so careful to keep iron out of your life, and why you didn't want to talk about your sensitivity. It wouldn't do to let enemies know of your weakness."

He gave a scowl of agreement. "The real danger is that in a situation like last night, iron would make me incapable of defending myself, or you."

She took a swallow of her cooling tea. "I could feel you wielding power when you came into the hut. Did you use a spell to control William?"

"I was so furious that if I'd used a spell directly against him, I might have done murder. Instead I used a calming spell so he and his servant wouldn't be inclined to fight. It worked on Jemmie, but William was too obsessed by you to be fully controlled." He sighed. "Despite his crime, killing him would have been wrong since he was not entirely responsible for what happened."

Gwynne straightened, her expression outraged. "Do you think that I encouraged that silly boy?"

It was light enough now to see the pure line of her profile against the window. "Not deliberately. You couldn't help yourself."

"Am I such a flirt?" she asked, unmollified. "I hadn't thought so."

"You behaved with complete propriety." He smiled without humor. "I'm the fool for not recognizing what was happening sooner. All of the signs were there. In fact, from the beginning I'd sensed that you had untapped reservoirs of power, but you were so sure that you had no magical ability that I disregarded my instincts."

She frowned. "I don't have any power, except a small amount of intuition and rare moments of foreknowledge. No more than many mundanes have."

"On the contrary, sweeting." He considered with weary curiosity the complications that lay ahead. " You're an enchantress. That's why William couldn't resist you."

FIFTEEN.

G wynne's mouth dropped open with disbelief. "You think I'm an enchantress who can dazzle men out of their wits? I've had a few admirers, but Lady Bethany has more, and she's fifty years older than I."

"There's more than a touch of enchantress in Lady Beth," Duncan agreed. "But in this area of power, she is nothing compared to you. You must have studied enchantresses. What is the most striking aspect of their power?"

She thought about what she'd read on the subject. "A dash of enchantress isn't uncommon among Guardian women, but true enchantresses are quite rare-only one appears every generation or two. Their power is dormant when they are maidens. It is only awakened after they first lie with a man." Those were the facts, but Gwynne couldn't connect them with herself. Plain Gwyneth Owens, an enchantress? Absurd!

Duncan's gaze became distant, and she realized he was studying her not as a husband but as a mage.

"I sensed great pa.s.sion in you from our first meeting, and even so, I was amazed at how sensual and irresistible a bride I'd taken. Ever since our wedding night, your power has caught fire. You fascinate every man who sees you."

"Not that I've noticed."

"Our marriage is recent and we've been traveling, so it hasn't been obvious. But I've seen how men look at you whenever our carriage stops. When we were drinking port last night, each man at the table cried out a fervent toast to your beauty and desirability." He smiled wryly. "It was d.a.m.ned unnerving. That's when I first began to suspect what you are. I realized the truth when William abducted you. He is just the right combination of youth, pa.s.sion, and hotheadedness to convince himself that you needed to be rescued from me."

"How does his youthful foolishness make me an enchantress?" she asked, exasperated. "I'm glad that my husband finds me desirable, but I think you're imagining that other men admire me more than they really do."

"Granted, William is young, but he's never done anything remotely so foolish before. It took enchantress power to scramble his wits so thoroughly. But there is more evidence if you remain unconvinced." He rubbed at the new bandage that Lady Montague had applied. "When an enchantress's power wakens, it isn't only the ability to entrance men. When we approached the bothy, your mental screams for help had so much power behind them that they slashed my mind like the hunting cries of eagles. d.a.m.ned unnerving. I'll wager you've felt other stirrings of power since our wedding."

Her eyes widened as she thought back. "You're right-my awareness has been increasing in many ways. I feel your power more vividly, and I . . . I know more about people around me. I didn't notice because marriage changed so many things in my life."

"The changes have just begun." Duncan set aside his empty teacup, then stood and took off his coat and waistcoat, his tired fingers fumbling with the b.u.t.tons. "We are going to have a wild ride, I suspect. I feel as if I invited a house cat into my parlor, and she's turned into a tigress."

Gwynne, a tigress? She rather liked the idea. "I really have power? How splendid!" She threw back her head and laughed with sheer, giddy delight. She wasn't a powerless mundane. She had magic!

"Splendid, but also perilous," he said softly. "Enchantress power is a double-edged sword. You have power over men, but if you don't learn to control it, you risk driving them mad with l.u.s.t and becoming a victim, as happened with William."

His words chilled her exuberance. "I could be abducted again?" She thought of the young man's strength, and how easily he could have overpowered her while in the grip of his obsession. "What a horrible thought!"

"It's a very real danger. Or some handsome, charming fellow may seduce you rather than stealing you against your will."

His words were light, but she recognized that he was expressing a real fear. How strange that her storm lord could be so unsure about his own power to win a woman's heart. "The records are very clear that being an enchantress doesn't mean a roving eye," she said firmly. "You are my husband. How could I want another man?"

She watched, fascinated, as his unvoiced anxiety faded. No, not watched, exactly-it was more a sensing of his emotional shift. She'd always had some ability to sense emotions, most women did. Now that ability was much stronger.

He ran a weary hand through his dark hair. "Since I've never encountered an enchantress before, I know very little about them. What do your books have to say about this kind of power?"

"I've not studied the subject deeply since enchantresses are rare. I certainly never thought the information would be personally relevant." She drifted to the mirror and gazed into it. Was it her imagination, or did her reflection show a vivid woman who captured attention even though her features were still those of Gwyneth Owens? Yes, there was a difference, she decided. Even exhausted as she was now, her energy had a brightness that was new. A quality that would draw eyes whenever she entered a room.

Enchantress power is a double-edged sword. That had been proved conclusively the night before. Now that it was clear she had power, she must begin training as quickly as possible. "The library of Harlowe contains a journal maintained by an enchantress named Elizabeth Jameson, who died about a hundred years ago. I never read the journal because her handwriting was difficult to read and the subject didn't interest me particularly, but I'll ask Brecon to send it to me. Perhaps I can learn something about how she controlled her enchantress energy."

"You will need that, along with knowledge of how to master whatever other powers appear. Preferably before you start a war." He smiled faintly. "I suspect that Helen of Troy was an enchantress who hadn't learned control."

Gwynne made a face. "That's not exactly a comforting thought."

"To say the least. There's enough war in the wind without adding a Helen of Troy." Duncan's dark expression reminded her of the potential disaster that hovered over both their nations. Could her destiny have something to do with building peace?

What a grandiose thought! She was no mage, merely a woman with budding powers. But she might have some role to play in the rebellion. Heavens, what if she was supposed to seduce the prince and convince him to return to Rome? Surely not!

Destiny made her think of her first husband. She caught her breath. "This is the real reason why Emery wouldn't lie with me! Not because he didn't desire me, or because he wanted to avoid siring more children. He knew that I was a latent enchantress, and he didn't want my power to be awakened too soon."

"Lord Brecon was a wise man. Marriage protected you long enough for you to grow into your power. It must have been difficult for him to keep his distance knowing what you would become if he took you to his bed."

Gwynne nodded, throat tight. Would it have been such a great mistake for Emery to lie with her? She would have liked to have been his lover as well as his companion. Surely she could have given him pleasure in his last years. But she vaguely remembered reading that an enchantress bonded very deeply with her first lover, and Emery must have felt that would interfere with her destiny. Certainly she had a profound bond with Duncan despite her initial wariness about him.

Duncan's words pulled her from her reverie. "Do you have the energy to try a new test of your power?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm horribly tired, but too excited to sleep."

He removed a small enameled box from his luggage while she admired the fit of his breeches over his muscular legs, and the way his shirt emphasized those broad shoulders. One of the pleasures of marriage, she was discovering, was the delicious intimacy of seeing her husband casually dressed.

He opened the box and took out a disk made of a smoky, transparent material and edged with worked silver. Wordlessly he handed the disk to her. It was a scrying gla.s.s. As soon as it touched her palm, she said, "This burns with your energy. Do you really want me to try to use it? Scrying gla.s.ses are so personal."

"If we can share a bed, we can share a scrying gla.s.s." He sat down opposite her again. "This one is polished obsidian and copied from Isabel de Cortes's own gla.s.s."

Gwynne had tried scrying many times, but had never seen anything. Tonight would be different, she sensed. Already she could see shadows moving inside the smoky volcanic gla.s.s. Ancient and powerful, formed in the earth's own fire, obsidian was said to be the best material for scrying. "What happened to Isabel's gla.s.s? Was it lost or broken?"

"No, it's still among the treasures of Dunrath, but it went dark after her death."

That fit with what Gwynne knew of the brilliant, headstrong Isabel. She'd probably cursed the gla.s.s to darkness as she lay dying. "I know the theory of scrying, but I'm not quite sure where to start. What should I look for?"

"Why not look at William Montague and his fate? That's a subject that surely has a great deal of energy around it."

She wrinkled her nose. "Indeed. Now I relax and calm my mind and think of what I'd like to see?"

He nodded, though it was hardly necessary. Every Guardian child knew the principles of scrying. For a painful moment, Gwynne remembered her many failures.

This time would be different. She closed her eyes and stilled her whirling thoughts. When she had achieved calm, she silently formed a question about William's emotional state. What was his future?

For the s.p.a.ce of a dozen heartbeats, nothing. Then light filled her mind. Opening her eyes, she gazed into the scrying gla.s.s and saw William. The image was not precisely in the gla.s.s, she realized. Rather, it was in her mind and the obsidian somehow brought it into focus.

"He's in a windowless room somewhere low in the castle-a storeroom, I think. There are shelves and sacks and barrels. His father locked him in so he can't run off to join the rebels, but his mother made sure he had food and drink and blankets."

"Can you see more detail?"

She concentrated, then bit her lip. "He's lying on his stomach on the blankets, weeping. He's sure that he has destroyed his life. He can't have me, he has shamed his family, he will be sent away in disgrace. Dear G.o.d, the poor boy! If . . . if he had his dagger, he would use it to cut his throat." The bleakness of his pain swept through her with punishing force.

"Don't let the emotional energy of what you're scrying poison your own emotions!" Duncan said sharply. "That's a very real danger. You must keep distance between you and what you are viewing. Shield yourself with white light so that the anger and despair of others can't touch you."

She breathed deeply once, twice, thrice, as she visualized the shield of light around her. Though she had studied all these techniques, putting them into use was a very different matter.

"Are you balanced again?" After she nodded, Duncan continued, "Try looking at William's future. If there is a strong chance he'll commit suicide, we must take steps to prevent it."

She quailed at the thought of perhaps seeing William's dead body, but Duncan was right-if suicide was a possibility that could be prevented, they must act. It would be tragic for a young man to throw his life away over one stupid mistake.

What does William's future hold? She exhaled with relief as she sensed that he would get through this dark time without attempting self-destruction. "Lord Montague is going to move very quickly at getting him out of Britain-within a fortnight, I think. He's going to . . . to a warm, tropical place." She frowned, asking herself where. "Jamaica, I think."

"Will he stay there long, or turn around and come back to join the new rising?"

Duncan's questions stimulated new knowledge. "He'll be tempted to return to support the prince, but his desire to redeem himself with his family is stronger. He will take over stewardship of a sugar plantation his father owns. He'll work very hard, and in time, he'll come to love the Indies."

"Will he recover from his obsession with you?"