Gwynne blinked. Duncan had mentioned that Scotswomen were plainspoken, and he hadn't exaggerated.

Jean opened the door to a sitting room, then stepped back so that Gwynne could enter. "The mistress's suite. Your bedroom is to the left, while the door to the right connects with the master's rooms. "

Gwynne scanned the s.p.a.cious chamber, startled by the plaster walls, handsome furniture, and thick oriental carpets. The sitting room was in the corner of the keep, so windows on two walls admitted a flood of light, while a pair of fireplaces promised warmth in the iciest depths of winter. "This is lovely, and far more comfortable than I expected."

"Thank Isabel de Cortes. With her Spanish blood she loved the sun, so Adam Macrae built this solar as a wedding present. Every generation since has made more improvements to the private apartments."

"I owe Isabel a debt of grat.i.tude." Gwynne brushed her fingertips over a silk-clad wall, so much warmer than raw stone. What a tangible act of love this bright room was. "Despite all the Guardian history I've read, I didn't know that Adam had created such a luxurious nest for his bride."

"Family legend says they loved greatly, and fought greatly. Isabel and Adam both had such power that it must have been like two swords sharpening against each other. Will you and Duncan be like that?"

"I have no blade to sharpen against Duncan's." Gwynne crossed to a window and looked out. Above the fields of Glen Rath loomed the Highlands, dark and haunting. A place of magic and violence. " An enchantress's power is rather pa.s.sive-I have some ability to attract, but that is nothing like the active power of a great mage like Isabel."

She shifted her gaze to the courtyard below. A keg had appeared and men were standing around with tankards of ale, Duncan in the middle. He was alive in a way she had not seen him in England. " Duncan said that you hadn't taken the time to develop your power. The thought amazed me-when I was growing up, I longed desperately to have magic."

Understanding the implied question, Jean said tartly, "Someone in this family had to be practical. My father and Duncan were always out rattling the hills with storms, and my mother was a great healer who was often away from home. It was left to me to learn the mundane skills of sheep and farming and accounts."

"So you had to take responsibility from an early age. Have you ever wished for more time to train your power?"

Jean flushed. "Are you saying that you will take over my duties, so I must find something else to amuse myself?"

"Not at all," Gwynne said mildly. "I'm saying that your family has taken shameless advantage of your willingness to do the necessary but unglamorous work, and that you should be allowed the time to pursue your own interests if you wish. While I know how to run a household, my pa.s.sion is for my scholarly work. I will happily leave the management to you if you like, but I think you deserve more."

Jean glanced out the other window. "I'm sorry for flaring up. I . . . I have been taken by surprise. I don't know what my place here is."

"This is your home, of course. Now it is mine as well, but I hope that we will work together as friends, not as opponents."

Jean's gaze met hers. "You are gracious. I see that Duncan did not choose you only for your beauty. "

"I hope not. Beauty fades. Character is forever." Gwynne opened the door to her bedroom. It was also a handsome chamber, with a ma.s.sive curtained bed to keep the warmth in. "Please don't think I'm trying to push you out the door, but surely a girl as lovely as you has suitors?"

Jean shrugged, but looked pleased at the compliment. "There are not so many men to choose from here."

"Then you can go to Edinburgh or even London if you like, now that you no longer have to carry the weight of the whole estate on your shoulders."

"A season in London would be . . . interesting," Jean agreed. "But I think that Robbie Mackenzie from the next glen and I will make a match of it."

Gwynne studied her sister-in-law's expression. "You don't seem too excited by the prospect."

"Robbie is a braw fine lad, but I must wait until he returns from the prince's army." Jean smiled ruefully. "Truth to tell, I'm angry that he wouldn't take me with him. Perhaps Duncan will."

Confused, Gwynne asked, "You think Duncan will join the rebellion?"

"Here we call it the rising." Jean's expression flattened. "Of course you're English and probably a Whig."

"I'm not much for politics, but I favor peace over war." Guessing that Jean didn't know her brother's views, Gwynne continued cautiously, "I believe that Duncan feels the same way. War is a horror with few benefits."

"This rising is about justice, and it will benefit Scotland," Jean said calmly. "Prince Charles Edward has right on his side. Men of Glen Rath have already joined him, while the others are waiting for Duncan to lead them out."

Jean's confidence was unnerving. "And if Duncan doesn't support the prince?"

"Then I'll lead Glen Rath out myself!" Jean retorted. "Jenny Cameron of Glendessary raised over three hundred men for the prince and brought them at Glenfinnan when he raised his standard. I could lead out our men as well as she did, but there will be no need. Duncan will join the rising, I promise you."

Gwynne felt a deep chill that began in her heart and spread through her whole being. With a certainty beyond doubt, she knew that her destiny was bound to Duncan's role in this looming civil war.

SEVENTEEN.

I t took Duncan time to escape the impromptu celebration in the courtyard and go in search of his wife. He found her on the family floor, heading toward the library with a purposeful stride.

"Mo cridhe!" He spun her around and kissed her with ale-soaked exuberance. "I'm sorry to have abandoned you for so long."

"No matter." She kissed him back, her mouth as sweet as Highland honey. "Jean and I had a chance to get acquainted, and she pointed me toward the library before going off. Have I time to explore it, or am I needed elsewhere?"

"The library must wait, for you are very much needed." As the kiss deepened, his original purpose began to vanish. His hands moved down her back, kneading her curves. "We need to investigate your new bedroom to see if changes are needed."

She gave a husky laugh. "A likely story. But I'm sure you had something less . . . intimate in mind when you sought me out."

Recalled to a sense of duty, he said, "There's a ceilidh forming in the courtyard and we should both be there."

"A kaylee?" she asked doubtfully.

"It's a grand welcome-home celebration that will last until the wee hours." He heard the first wailing notes rise from the courtyard. "The music is starting now."

She c.o.c.ked her head. "The sound like a creature being butchered alive is music?"

He grinned. "Aye, 'tis. The great pipes take some getting used to, but no other instrument can get the blood pounding the same way." His blood was already pounding, and not from the music. He looped an arm around her shoulders and guided her back toward her rooms.

She slid her arm around his waist, her long stride matching his. "How can there be many guests on such short notice?"

"News of my return has already spread through the glen and the surrounding hills and everyone knows that means a clan gathering. Many people will bring food since the Dunrath kitchens haven't had time to cook." Though a sheep had been quickly slaughtered and it was already roasting over a fire in the courtyard. "All will want to see the grand beauty who is the new lady of the glen."

She glanced down at her dusty riding habit. "The carriage hasn't arrived with our baggage yet, has it? I only have this habit and one plain, wrinkled gown packed in my saddlebags. Neither are exactly grand and beautiful."

"I asked Jean to retrieve the gown and have it brushed out for you. It's just as well that you'll be dressed simply. This is no gentry ball, but a celebration for everyone in Glen Rath." He bent to trace the delectable rim of her ear with his tongue. "Even if you wear sacking, you'll be the loveliest woman in Dunrath. And you're loveliest of all without a st.i.tch on."

"You're getting more Scottish and more bawdy by the minute," she said demurely, but her eyes sparked in a way he recognized.

They were nearing her bedroom door when a thin, middle-aged woman appeared around the corner, Gwynne's other gown draped over her arm. "Ah, there you are. Here's your gown, Lady Dunrath."

"Mistress Maggie!" Duncan caught the woman up in an affectionate embrace. "Gwynne, have you met Dunrath's housekeeper, Margaret Macrae?"

"Thank you so much for taking care of my gown." Gwynne advanced with her beautiful warm smile and an extended hand. "I'm pleased to meet you. I hope all is well at your daughter's house?"

"I'm sorry I wasn't here when you arrived," Maggie said stiffly as she took Gwynne's hand. "Aye, she and her bairns are well, and thank you for asking."

"Perhaps tomorrow you can explain the workings of the household to me. I do hope you plan on staying here at the castle? You have it running so smoothly now."

Duncan watched Maggie's tension fade under Gwynne's soothing words. It was natural for Maggie to be concerned for her position, and perceptive of Gwynne to recognize that, and disarm Maggie's fears immediately. Enchantress charm in action, with a dose of power that made Gwynne irresistible. By the end of the ceilidh, everyone in Glen Rath would be eating from her hand.

After Gwynne had accepted the gown and Maggie left, Duncan opened the door that led into the mistress's bedroom. "We have a few minutes before we need go down. Now, where was I? Here, I think." He resumed kissing his wife, starting below her ear and working his way south. Her skin had the delectable smoothness of cream.

"Definitely more bawdy," she said breathlessly. "You seem almost a different man here."

"One that you like, I hope?"

"Oh, yes." She pressed against him, her lower body pulsing gently. "In England, you were the Lord of Thunder. Here you're the Laird of Sunshine, at least today."

"I've never been so happy, mo caran." Mo caran, beloved. "I'm home again, this time to stay, and I have you. What more could any man want?"

"Peace and safety would be good." Her eyes darkened for a moment as she draped her spare gown over a chair.

He refused to allow the shadow of the rebellion to dim this moment. Turning her toward him, he unfastened the top b.u.t.tons of her waistcoat, then went to work on the shirt beneath. "This riding habit covers up far too much of you. Let me help you change your dress." He exhaled soft, warm breath into the tantalizing cleavage he uncovered.

"I thought we are supposed to go to the ceilidh," she gasped, running her hand down his torso. Outside, the pipers finished their practice and had joined together to play a reel that rattled the ancient stones around them.

"The ceilidh can wait," he said hoa.r.s.ely. The bed was only a few steps away, but if he took her there, they'd want to spend the rest of the evening entwined. "This will take only a few minutes."

He moved her against the wall and kissed the base of her throat. The pounding of her pulse was the drumbeat of desire, heady and intoxicating. Part of her magic was the ability to make a man feel pa.s.sionately wanted, utterly virile.

He lifted her skirt and petticoat, trailing his fingertips up the satin length of her inner thighs before he delved into moist, heated readiness. She gasped, her eyes widening into blind pa.s.sion.

Her hand slid into his breeches, and he no longer cared if the whole pipe band marched through the bedroom skirling to raise the dead. He fumbled with the fall of his breeches, yanking a b.u.t.ton off in his haste.

Too aroused for subtlety, he thrust urgently into her eager body. For an instant they were both still, paralyzed by the exquisite pleasure of union. She began rolling her hips, her breath an aching moan. Her movements drove him deeper and deeper into madness as the wail of the pipes echoed his uncanny flight into unknown realms.

Even more than the physical joining, he was aware that their emotions meshed in a new and intricate way. He was home, she was his wife, and they were close in ways beyond anything he had ever experienced.

Though he wished this searing harmony could last forever, he knew he was within moments of culmination. Sliding his hand between them, he touched her intimately. She dissolved into frantic convulsions that triggered his own shattering release. They clung together, supported by the wall, until she breathed, "Oh, myyyyy . . ."

He laughed a little. "Words don't exist that can describe such pleasure, my enchantress." Tenderly he pressed small kisses along her brow and temple.

She tilted her head, eyes dreamy. "I'll never hear the bagpipes again without thinking of this."

"Then I'll hire a castle piper," he said promptly.

She chuckled as she disengaged from him. "You were right-that took only a few minutes, but now I don't have the strength to meet the whole of Glen Rath."

"You'll manage admirably, mo caran." Since he was drained himself, he used a technique for channeling energy to help refresh them both. He started by searching the skies for weather energy until he found strong winds in the Hebrides. Drawing some of that energy into himself, he tamed the essence of the winds until they were safely aligned with his own nature. Then he clasped her hand and sent power to her in an invisible current. Physical touch wasn't essential, but it made the transfer easier.

"Intriguing!" Revitalized, she released his hand and began to remove her riding habit. "A fortnight ago, I wouldn't have known what you're doing. Now I can sense how you shape the energy and pa.s.s the result to me."

"You learn like lightning." He glanced in the mirror and decided that with a little straightening, his appearance would do, though he'd need a pin to subst.i.tute for the b.u.t.ton he'd ripped off his breeches. "I wonder how far you'll go? Perhaps you'll rival Isabel de Cortes before you're done."

"Nonsense!" Gwynne dropped her refurbished gown over her head. She'd chosen to pack the pretty green sack dress in her saddlebags because it was easy to don, and its simplicity was perfect for the night's entertainment. "She was a sorceress almost from the cradle. I'll never have such power. I don't think I would want it."

He understood her sentiment. Great power was exhilarating but also a vast and demanding responsibility. There were times when he wished that he had been less blessed, yet power was what defined him. He could not imagine himself as a mundane, or even as an averagely gifted Guardian.

Though Gwynne had longed for power, she was now recognizing how magic brought worry and responsibility as well as joy. It would take time for her to find the balance within herself.

Gwynne sat at her dressing table and began fixing her hair. "Though you said that everyone here is kin, surely not everyone in the glen is a Guardian."

"No, but there has been enough intermarriage, so that a touch of power isn't uncommon. In the Highlands, second sight is accepted even among mundanes."

"What about Jean's sweetheart, Robbie Mackenzie? I know of no Guardians of that name, but does he have at least some power?"

"Robbie is her sweetheart?" he asked, startled. "It's the first I've heard of that."

"Perhaps that's the wrong word, but she said that she thought they'd make a match of it even though she's angry with him for following the prince and not taking her along. Do you know Mr. Mackenzie?"

Though Gwynne seemed to be studying her reflection, he realized that she was watching him intently. "Aye, I know Robbie and his family. They live just over the hills to the north." He frowned. "He's a decent-enough lad, I suppose. In worldly terms it would be a respectable match and Macraes and Mackenzies have always been allies, but as far as I know he hasn't a particle of magic. I'd hoped for better for my sister."

"Jean thinks you'll join the rebellion."

He recognized that they had come to the heart of this apparently casual conversation. "Absurd. I've given her no reason to think that."

Gwynne relaxed. "I'm glad to hear that. Since she's known you all her life, while I've known you only weeks, I wasn't sure."

He approached the dressing table and wrapped his arms around her from behind. "The young are apt to see glamour in war. In my travels I saw the aftermath of battles on the Continent. There was no glamour there, only pain. I have no desire to support a Pretender to the throne. The Stuarts had their chances, and wasted them all."

"I hope to G.o.d this rebellion dies out quickly." She glanced up into Duncan's rugged face. She loved the way he looked after they made love, his soul in his eyes and his energy radiant as the sun. His strength made her feel safe. May G.o.d grant that his strength would always be used for protection, not destruction.

EIGHTEEN.

W hen Gwynne and her husband looked respectable again, they went down to the ceilidh. On the stairs, she held his arm a little more tightly than strictly necessary. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "Even without your enchantress charm, you would be loved by my people."

"I hope you're right." She smiled wryly. "I'm trying to dampen my energy so that I'll be liked, but not liked too much. Being abducted here would be most awkward. Am I suitably restrained?"

He gazed at her askance, his eyes unfocused as he evaluated what she was doing. "If you can maintain this level, you should have no trouble. You're appealing enough that both men and women will be delighted to have you among them, but not so much as to cause unbalanced pa.s.sions." He grinned. " Now your energy is flaring like a bonfire and you look so delectable that I want to take you upstairs again. What happened?"

She smiled ruefully. "One compliment from you and my control disintegrates." Thinking about going back upstairs with him didn't help, either. Deliberately she looked away from Duncan, breathing slowly until she was balanced again.

She had practiced many techniques in the days since she came into her power, but she was still far from the fluid mastery that she needed to live a comfortable life. As soon as possible, she would start researching the lives of earlier enchantresses to learn how they had handled their dangerous gift.