"By the time he reaches the Indies, he'll no longer remember why he felt such a compulsion to abduct me-it will seem like a bad dream." Another image appeared: strapping young William and a pretty blond girl with wide, admiring eyes. "He'll meet a woman there-the daughter of another planter, I think." Her tension eased into a smile. "They'll be happy together. There will be children, and occasional visits to England to see family, but the Indies will be William's home."

"So what seems like disaster for the lad now will in the long run be a blessing." Duncan shook his head. "That was remarkably fine scrying. If you can see so clearly only days after the awakening of your abilities, you'll be one of the best scryers in Britain when you come into your full power."

The thought was unnerving. She handed the obsidian disk back to her husband. "I was only that good because the subject concerns me so closely."

His eyes said that he knew better, but he didn't argue the point as he returned the gla.s.s to his luggage. "We'll start your training tomorrow as we ride into Scotland, but now it's past dawn and time we slept. Unless you're still too exhilarated?"

"No, the scrying drained what energy I had." She stood, smothering a yawn.

Despite her fatigue, she found herself exploring within. Now that she knew she was an enchantress, she recognized that a vast, powerful stream of sensual energy flowed round her like an invisible river. Already she could shape it and direct it to some extent, and in time her mastery would increase.

The most important lesson would be using that energy so that men would be awed or respectful rather than being seized by ungovernable l.u.s.t. Better to be placed on a pedestal than slung over a saddlebow.

She eyed her husband speculatively, wondering if she could wield that sensuality despite her fatigue. Though there were many techniques for mastering power and creating spells, the basic principle of wielding magic was to visualize the desired goal, then direct the force of one's will toward that goal.

As she drifted toward the bed, she imagined irresistible pa.s.sion, the currents swirling from her and around Duncan. She glanced over her shoulder, both feeling and imagining desire, hot and tender. . . .

He knew at once, of course. "You're a shameless witch," he said, but there was laughter in his voice.

He caught her shoulders and turned her around. There was lightning in his eyes, and his gaze triggered hot, liquid pulses deep inside her.

As he unfastened the oversized banyan she still wore, he continued, "You're learning the tricks of the enchantress with alarming speed."

"Is this bad when we both enjoy the results so much?" she asked breathlessly.

"I didn't say it was bad." He slid the garment from her shoulders. As the heavy fabric pooled around her ankles, he bent forward to kiss the bare hollow above the edge of her nightgown, sending shivers through her. "I am blessed and cursed that you are my wife, mo caran, my beloved. You are pa.s.sion and fulfillment-but until you learn to master your powers, I will have to defend you like a dragon."

"The fact that other men desire me doesn't mean that I desire them." She linked her hands around his neck, her deep fatigue seared away by the onset of pa.s.sion. "An enchantress is as affected by desire as the men around her. Teach me what I need to know, my dearest mate."

"You have already surpa.s.sed me, I think." He swept her from her feet and laid her on the bed, following her down so that his hard body trapped her against the feather mattress as he kissed the sensitive curve of her throat.

"Then I shall teach like a tigress." Laughing, she locked her arms around him and rolled him onto his back, reveling in the power she had to arouse him. It was truly a double-edged power, for it aroused her equally. She was frantic to join with him, to dissolve the fear, relief, and shock she'd experienced that night into blazing delight.

She nipped his neck, loving his salty taste and the tantalizingly male rasp of whiskers. He was all man, and all hers. She rolled her hips against his, feeling the hard heat of his response. Then she moved to claim his mouth with her own, sliding her tongue between his lips. . . .

Scenes of violence and death swept through her with blinding vividness. Instinctively she slammed her protective shields in place before she could say anything that would alert Duncan, for she knew in her bones that this was something she must not discuss with him until she understood it herself.

He stiffened, too perceptive not to recognize that something had happened. She buried the images deep in her mind and slid her hand down his body. He groaned when she clasped him, his momentary distraction vanquished by pa.s.sion.

She helped him strip off her gown, then offered her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He sucked at them ravenously, shattering her whirling thoughts. In her last remaining trace of rationality, she recognized that her newfound power and awareness also meant greater sensitivity to unexplained terrors.

But she would worry about the dark side of her gift tomorrow. For now, she would end this long night with love.

SIXTEEN.

W ith Dunrath so close, Duncan had to restrain himself from pushing Zeus to go faster. Their new horses had been working hard enough these last three days as he and his bride rode through the hills of northern England and the Scottish Lowlands.

This last leg of the trip had been a very special kind of honeymoon. They'd had a degree of privacy that would be impossible once they reached Dunrath. Traveling rough, eating bread and cheese by the road, and sleeping in small, remote inns had shown him that Gwynne was as adaptable and good-natured as he'd hoped. He no longer worried that she would have trouble adjusting to life in Scotland.

Duncan had also used the time to tutor Gwynne on controlling her power. Since she knew the principles already, she caught on with lightning swiftness. At least once a day, the lessons had led to stopping in quiet places to explore new aspects of enchantress power. Just thinking of that caused his blood to quicken.

Gwynne was riding a half length in front of him, and he took the opportunity to study her. The lithe, sensual body he knew so well. The silky complexion which was so amazingly soft and smooth against his own tough hide. The bright glint of sunlight on the unpowdered hair that showed beneath her bonnet. Every day she seemed more beautiful. More enchanting.

Yet it wasn't mere physical beauty that drew him so intensely. Even when they were both old and gray, he would be unable to resist her. Luckily, she was learning how to trans.m.u.te her enchantress energy into an elegant allure that men would admire, but which shouldn't drive them to madness like poor William.

He had mixed feelings about her newfound powers. He loved watching her joy as she discovered her abilities, and in most ways he was glad to have a wife with strong magic. But he had married her thinking that he was a mage and she had no power to speak of, and now that balance had shifted. He would be at her mercy if she ever chose to use her enormous sensual power to bend him to her will.

He didn't expect her to, any more than he would threaten his family with a gale. However, her power was so bound up with marital intimacy that she might influence him without intending to.

He smiled wryly. What nonsense he was thinking! He'd give her the moon if he could-she would never have to make special efforts to persuade him of anything. And if she did, he would surely enjoy them profoundly.

Ahead of him, Gwynne shifted in her sidesaddle. "How much farther? Much as I love riding and my dear Sheba"-she patted the mare's sleek chestnut neck-"I'll be glad to reach Dunrath."

"We'll enter Glen Rath as soon as we round the next bend." Duncan grinned. "At least I hope so. After three years away, I may not remember every turn in the road."

"I'll wager that you do." She smiled back fondly. "Though calling this a road is generous. It's a track at best."

"Ahhh . . ." Duncan rounded the corner and pulled Zeus to a halt as he stared hungrily at his home. The glen stretched away to the left and right, the bottom fertile with fields. The castle stood across the glen from his present position. Located about the middle of the glen, Dunrath had been built on a rugged crag that had made it impregnable for centuries. Late-afternoon sun made the walls and towers glow with st.u.r.dy warmth. He wondered how a Sa.s.senach like Gwynne would see it. In his eyes, the castle and glen had matchless beauty. "I've missed this so much."

Gwynne also halted, her gaze avid as she studied her new home. "Dunrath," she said in a hushed voice. "You said the name means Castle of Grace."

He nodded. "Dunrath was named by an early chieftain of our branch of the Macraes. The clan is Highland except for us. We exist here between Highlands and Lowlands, trying to be a model of peace and prosperity."

"An unpretentious task, but you've done well with it." Her gaze swept the length of the valley, lingering on the village north of the castle. "The land looks more productive than much of what we've seen so far." She grinned. "I'll wager you manipulated the clouds and the light to make the place look its very best when I arrived."

He laughed, unabashed. "Of course. What's the point of being a weather worker if you don't give your bride the best possible view of her new home?" His voice softened. "I know the glen is very different from London, but I hope you'll come to love it as I do."

She urged Sheba forward, taking care on the steep road that led down into the glen. "You told me once that the energy of Scotland was splendid and invigorating, and you're right. I feel gloriously alive here. I had no idea what I missed by spending my whole life within a few hours' ride of a great ugly city like London."

"Do you know, I think that must be why your powers were so undeveloped," he said thoughtfully as he followed her down the trail. "All of the Families come from the old Celtic fringes of Britain. Even those of us who must spend time in London have homes deep in the country. Because you always lived near the city, your power was overwhelmed by the chaotic energy of so many people. Your talents never had a chance to grow strong enough to notice."

She looked startled. "Good heavens, if I'd paid a long visit to a Guardian family in Wales or Cornwall, I might have seen earlier signs of power even if the enchantress energy wasn't awakened. Think of all the regrets I would have been spared."

"Perhaps you are more disciplined because of the delay," he suggested. "You are well on your way to becoming one of the strongest mages in Britain." He cast a wry glance her way. "Strongest, and most dangerous."

"Dangerous, me?" She threw back her head and laughed in disbelief.

He hoped she continued to be ignorant of just what her power would do. Since the horses had to take this stretch of road slowly, he decided to mention some local customs. "Don't expect to be addressed as Lady Ballister-since the t.i.tle is English, no one here uses it."

She looked startled. "If you aren't called Lord Ballister, then what?"

"Scots are not fond of t.i.tles," he explained. "Since most people in the glen are Macraes and kin, I'm usually called Macrae or maybe Dunrath. More formally, Macrae of Dunrath so I won't be confused with the Highland Macraes."

Her lips curved in a smile. "So what will I be called?"

"Lady Macrae or Lady Dunrath, though members of the household will mostly just say Mistress. We Scots are not so rigid in our ways as the Sa.s.senachs."

"I think I could learn to enjoy that. What else should I know?"

"Though Gaelic is the main language in this part of Scotland, most people speak the Lowland version of English, so you should have no problems."

She smiled mischievously. "I actually read Gaelic quite well since it's an important language for Guardian scholarship. It will take time to learn to listen and speak it properly, but surely not too much time."

"You are a woman of unceasing marvels," he said, amazed. "That will make you even more popular in the glen." He thought about what else she needed to know. "Scottish women generally keep their own names when they marry. Shall I introduce you as Gwyneth Owens or Gwyneth Harlowe?"

"Too many names! Since I am in Scotland, I shall go by Scottish custom and use my maiden name, Gwyneth Owens." Her expression turned serious. "There's going to be shock when you introduce me as your wife. I wish you had sent a warning message."

He shrugged. "We are arriving almost as quickly as a message would have."

"Lady Bethany could have called a Scottish Council member with her sphere and the news would have reached Dunrath days ago." Gwynne gave him a shrewd glance. "Did you want to prevent your family and household from worrying because you're bringing home an English bride?"

He reminded himself never to underestimate her perception. "I thought it would be best if they meet you without warning. As a real person rather than an abstract, they will love you right away."

"I hope you're right."

"Of course I'm right. After all, you have the power to enchant." The horses reached the bottom of the glen, so Duncan urged Zeus into a canter, no longer able to wait. Gwynne matched his pace and they raced toward the castle. Occasionally a clan member saw them and called out a greeting, but Duncan was too impatient to do more than wave in pa.s.sing. There would be a ceilidh to welcome his return later. For now, after far too long in distant places, he was coming home.

Gwynne arrived at her new home wind-tossed and breathless from the ride. The last stretch was a steep road that zigzagged up to the castle, pa.s.sing over a deep, narrow ravine on the way. The bridge that spanned the ravine could be easily destroyed if invaders threatened, a remnant of grimmer days. Dunrath was no stately, comfortable palace like Harlowe. It had been built for war.

As she caught her breath, she surveyed Glen Rath. The valley stretched away on both sides, curving into the distance so it that was impossible to know the length. The steep hillsides were dotted with groups of grazing animals. Though most were the dun color of the tough, s.h.a.ggy, long-horned Highland cattle, smaller gray shapes marked flocks of sheep. A little river ran the length of the valley, with several streams feeding into it from the hills. She should call the streams "burns" now that she was in Scotland.

The castle itself was awe-inspiring, a ma.s.sive structure of stone and towers. She suspected that the interior was as cold and inconvenient as the exterior was dramatic. She repressed a sigh. Luckily, there would be time before winter to acquire warmer clothing. Though winter might be closer than she thought -there was a distinct touch of autumn in the bright northern air, and even a doting weather-mage husband was unlikely to keep the glen warm all winter for the sake of his thin-blooded southern bride.

Duncan had arrived in the courtyard a dozen lengths ahead of her, his face ablaze with delight. Now that she was in Scotland, she better understood his fierce connection to the land.

The courtyard was empty when they arrived, but as he swung from his saddle, a light voice cried, " Duncan!" A girl raced down the steps and into the yard to hurl herself into the new arrival's arms. "I had a feeling you'd be home today!"

"Jean!" He swept her from her feet in an exuberant hug. "Aye, but you look bonnie!"

So this was Duncan's sister. Good heavens, she was wearing breeches like a boy! Gwynne struggled to control her shock. Since Jean had been acting as the steward of Dunrath, it was probably more convenient to wear male dress and ride astride. This wasn't England, after all.

With their laughing faces together, there was a distinct family resemblance between brother and sister, yet at first glance they looked very different. Gwynne had expected Duncan's sister to be like him -tall and dark and forceful.

Instead, Jean was inches shorter than Gwynne and had bright red hair that fell past her waist in a thick braid. Freckle-faced and green-eyed, she sparkled like a dragonfly. Gwynne was intrigued to realize that she could sense the girl's power, though it was less intense and focused than Duncan's. He'd said that she had never taken the time to develop her gifts. Perhaps Jean and Gwynne could learn together.

Duncan ended the embrace and turned to a.s.sist Gwynne from her mount. His warm hands were strong on her waist as he lowered her to the ground. With a private smile, he said, "Gwynne, allow me to present my sister, Jean, the merry minx of Dunrath. Jean, this is my wife, Gwynne Owens."

Jean gasped and fell back a step, her eyes wide with shock. "Your wife?"

Gwynne mentally cursed Duncan for not warning his sister that he'd married. Poor Jean had been running Dunrath for years, and now she must defer not only to her brother, but to a new mistress of the household. Acting on instinct, Gwynne caught both of Jean's hands. "I'm so happy to meet you. I've always wanted a sister."

"So . . . so have I." Jean's expression suggested that if she'd had a choice of sisters, this tall Englishwoman wouldn't be on the list.

Gwynne released the smaller woman's hands. "I'm sorry you had no warning of my arrival. Duncan and I decided to marry very suddenly, and we started north right after the ceremony, so there was no point in writing."

Rallying, Jean said, "It's time my brother took a wife. I . . . I only wish that I had known to prepare the mistress's chambers for you." The lilting Scottish burr in her voice was more p.r.o.nounced than in Duncan's speech.

"I'm sure there will be no problem." Gwynne decided to exercise some enchantress charm. "Duncan said that you are the heart and soul of Dunrath."

"He did?" Jean looked pleased but skeptical. "That sounds too poetical for my blunt brother."

Gwynne smiled. "Those aren't the words he used, but it's what he meant."

More members of the household were pouring into the courtyard, calling to Duncan and studying Gwynne with unabashed frankness. Remembering Duncan's lecture on differences between their nations, she schooled herself not to feel embarra.s.sed. There was no English deference visible, only curiosity, and she must become accustomed to it.

As the babble of voices rose, Duncan took Gwynne's hand and led her up half a dozen of the steps that led into the castle. "Friends and kinsmen," he called out in his deep voice, "allow me present to you the new mistress of Dunrath, Gwyneth Owens. She comes of a fine Welsh family, and has made me the most fortunate man in Britain."

Gwynne guessed that Welsh blood was more acceptable than English, for applause and congratulations echoed noisily off the stone walls of the courtyard. She smiled and waved at the people who were still streaming up to the castle.

When the noise died down, Duncan continued, "There will be time to become acquainted later, but my lady wife has had a very long ride so I'll ask Jean to show her Dunrath while I greet you."

Jean moved to Gwynne's side. "A good idea. Come with me. . . ." She hesitated, apparently unsure what to call this new person who had crashed into her life.

"Please, call me Gwynne. There are only a few years between us, and we are family now."

"Very well, Gwynne. Now to escape before the kinfolk catch up with you. Once people start talking, it will be hours until you can get away, and you must be fatigued."

Actually, Gwynne wasn't tired at all, but she was willing to defer her introduction to the extended family until later. She followed Jean up the steps and through broad oak doors into the entry hall.

"The housekeeper is visiting her daughter, so I'll take you to your rooms." Jean set a brisk pace through the hall, heading toward a steep stone staircase.

Gwynne examined the huge entry hall with amazement. Easily thirty feet high, it felt cold as December even on this sunny day, and there was a noticeable draft blowing through. The stone walls were covered with ma.s.sed displays of old weapons: circles of swords, fan-shaped arrays of daggers, and crisscrossed pairs of battleaxes. "That's a great deal of iron to see in the home of Britain's strongest weather mages."

"The family's weapons all have bra.s.s hilts." Jean gave her a sharp glance. "You're a Guardian?"

"Yes. Did you think your brother would marry a mundane?"

"I wouldn't have thought so, but he might have taken one look at you and forgotten everything he owed to his blood."

Gwynne a.s.sumed it was a compliment, if a trifle backhanded. "He was not that lost to duty. Though it's true that until quite recently I thought I had no power to speak of, I'm a scholar of Guardian lore."

"How did you discover that you had power at your age?" Jean seemed more relaxed now that she knew Gwynne was of the Families.

"I got married. Several days ago, Duncan informed me that I'm an enchantress, who didn't come into my powers until I was wed."

"Really?" Jean started up the stairs. "Enchantresses are rare, aren't they? How wonderful it must be to attract men without even trying!"

"That's what I would have thought until a silly boy abducted me in Northumberland. It was not an enjoyable experience," Gwynne said dryly. "I'm still learning to manage my power, so I hope you'll be patient while I learn."

Jean's eyes could shift through shades of green in the same way her brother's changed shades of gray. Now they were a bright, feline shade. "You are going to be much more interesting than I thought when Duncan first introduced you."