"My felicitations. I wish you both happiness." Simon sighed. "I wish I weren't the bearer of bad news. Prince Charles Edward Stuart has landed in Scotland."

NINE.

A nd so it begins." The news was an icy wind that drained away Duncan's excitement and pleasure. For years, he had been sensing a dark and possibly disastrous future, one of war and destruction. Why did this have to happen now, on the happiest day of his life? "Though we've expected this rebellion, now that it has arrived . . ." He shook his head. "How did you find out?"

"This morning I had a strong sense that some great event was unfolding. After you left, I began seriously scrying." Despite Simon's fair coloring, there was darkness in his gaze. "I saw the prince and his companions stepping onto Scottish soil, and it sent a drumbeat through the whole of Britain. I came here to see if Lady Beth could confirm what I saw."

"Simon was right. Unfortunately." Lady Bethany took a seat, her usual sparkle absent. "The prince will start by raising support among the Highland chiefs, I think."

"Do you know if he has French backing?" Duncan asked. "It was only last year that the French were set for a full-scale invasion of England."

"An invasion that was blocked when unexpected storms dispersed the French fleet." Simon smiled faintly. "That was well done of you, Duncan. I'm not sure where the French stand now. The prince arrived in a French ship, but that doesn't necessarily mean they are supporting this adventure with men and weapons."

"I must go home immediately." Duncan turned to Gwynne, whose hand he was holding too tightly. The thought of leaving her was a blade slicing his heart, but he had no choice. "We shall have to postpone the wedding. If the prince doesn't have French support, the rebellion will collapse quickly. I'll come back for you then and we can have a proper wedding."

"No." Gwynne rose, not relinquishing his hand. "A marriage vow is for better and worse, and surely that means I should not hide here in England. You said Dunrath Castle is impregnable, so I should be safe enough if I come with you."

"Gwynne . . ." She was so lovely he could hardly bear it. He wanted desperately to keep her close, but there was danger ahead for both of them. He could see it as clearly as he could see her golden eyes.

"Duncan, marrying at once is not a request, but a requirement." Her voice was steely. "If you want a compliant bride who allows herself to be set aside like a pair of gloves until a more convenient time, you must look elsewhere. We can be married tomorrow. Surely one day's delay will not be critical."

He hesitated, admiring her courage but hating the thought of risking her in the uncertainties of a rebellion. Yet she was right-she was a woman grown, not a child to be kept in the nursery. And some deep, intuitive part of his soul said it was more important to have her with him than to keep her safe in the south. "You win, my love. I can't be wise if it means losing you."

"Two days," Lady Bethany said. "The wedding can be held day after tomorrow. I guarantee that the delay will not be harmful, and for both your sakes, the wedding should be done with the dignity it deserves."

Despite his impatience to return to Scotland, he deferred to the older woman. If she said another two days would cause no harm, it was surely true. "Very well, Lady Beth. Simon, will you stand up with me?"

"Of course. But for now, you must bid your lady good-bye. We need to put our heads together and see what more we can learn about this rebellion. As for Gwynne-" He smiled and kissed her cheek. "-she needs to plan her wedding."

Duncan hated to leave Gwynne, but Simon was right. As he gave her a sweet, taut kiss of farewell, he reminded himself that his wedding night was only two days away. He must keep himself busy till then, or he risked perishing of antic.i.p.ation.

For Gwynne, the next two days pa.s.sed in a blur. Not only did she have to prepare for her wedding, but she had to sort her possessions and decide what must be sent to Scotland. She would have succ.u.mbed to strong hysterics if not for Lady Bethany's calm good sense. Anne Tuckwell also sent her daughter Sally to help, and Sally was most knowledgeable about what was important to a bride.

The baggage coach that would travel separately could take the most important of Gwynne's books, but sadly, her cat was too old to make such a long journey. Duncan had also advised that her pretty mare was not well suited to Highland life. He had promised to buy her a more suitable mount in the north.

Now, suddenly, it was time for the wedding. Gwynne held still while Molly, the middle-aged maid she and Bethany shared, fussed with the hooks and eyes at the back of her bodice. The gown was new and fashionable, and Gwynne had not yet worn it, so the garment was a good choice for a day that would change her life.

She glanced across the room to inspect herself in the mirror. The bodice and overskirt were made of cream-colored silk delicately embroidered with blossoms and birds. The fabric shimmered over her hoops, set off by an underskirt of ice white satin and sleeves that ended in a foam of creamy lace. She had chosen the garment to be richly attractive but discreet, and it made an admirable wedding gown.

Bethany stepped back and viewed her critically. "You are lovely, my dear. I'm glad you decided to wear your hair loose and unpowdered. It makes you look young and eager for life, the way a bride should be."

"Now for the flowers in your hair." Molly placed a chaplet of pale blossoms on Gwynne's head, then blinked hard. "You have never looked better, my lady. I will miss you, I surely will."

"Oh, Molly, I shall miss you, too." Gwynne hugged the maid. "I wish I could take you with me, but you wouldn't go and Lady Bethany would never forgive me if I stole you away."

"It will be better if you choose a local girl as a maid," Bethany said practically. "She can help you learn Scottish ways."

Athena, who had been sleeping on the bed, jumped down and strolled over to Gwynne, batting at the lace trailing from her right sleeve in pa.s.sing. Ignoring the delicate fabric of the gown, Gwynne bent and swooped the cat into her arms. "I'm going to miss you, sweet puss."

Athena rubbed her whiskered muzzle against her mistress's cheek while Gwynne fought tears. She did not want to go to her wedding with puffy eyes and a red nose.

"I shall take good care of Athena," Bethany said. "You'll see her again when you visit London."

"I know that she'll be perfectly happy here with you. I'm the one mourning." Reluctantly Gwynne allowed Molly to take the cat from her arms. "No doubt there are cats in Scotland, but none will be such splendid library cats."

"Never say never, my dear." Bethany approached and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. "And now it's time for you to be wed."

Gwynne nodded and followed the older woman from the room. Her formal gown was so wide she barely managed to get through the door without turning sideways. She was almost dizzy with nerves. This would be in all ways different from her first wedding. Though she had also been nervous when she married Emery, at least then she had stayed in her childhood home.

Though part of Gwynne still wanted to cling to her safe, familiar life, it was too late for that. Ever since the council had asked her to marry Duncan, she had felt a sense of rightness. That was why she had insisted they marry immediately: that same inner sense whispered that her influence was needed now, during the rebellion. If she delayed the wedding until peace returned, it would be too late.

Prayer book clenched in her hands, she left her home and climbed into the coach that would carry her to her destiny.

Duncan had hardly slept for two days as he and Simon and other senior mages had attempted to probe the future to learn what the rebellion would portend for Scotland and England. The answers had been frighteningly vague, with far too many possibilities.

The process had been disquieting because he had sensed that his own actions would be significant in unexpected ways. Perhaps that was why several of the older mages, particularly Lady Sterling, had seemed wary of him.

The thought was outrageous, and made him wonder if anti-Scottish prejudice could exist among a group that was supposedly enlightened. As a man whose home was in the center of Scotland, he was bound to be involved in the rebellion in some way, but he would never be disloyal. He had always honored his Guardian oath and supported King George, even though the Hanoverians were an unappetizing lot.

There were times when it was a nuisance to be a Guardian and be unable to avoid sensing what your peers were thinking about you.

But that was behind him. Today was his wedding day. The ceremony was being held in the Richmond parish church of St. Mary Magdalen, with a wedding breakfast at Lady Bethany's afterward. About thirty guests waited. He noted Gwynne's friends from New Spring Gardens as well as several Harlowes and half a dozen members of the Guardian Council. It was a good gathering for such short notice.

Surely it was past the time the bride should arrive. He shifted uneasily, not absolutely sure that she might not change her mind. As the minutes stretched, it was hard not to wonder.

"Stop worrying," Simon murmured. "It isn't that late, and she will come."

Duncan managed a smile. His friend had always been something of a mind reader, and today Duncan's feelings must be blindingly obvious.

He tried not to fidget with his cuffs. If they were marrying in Scotland, he would have worn a belted plaid, but here in England he had donned the elaborate costume that he'd worn to the French court at Versailles. A Parisian tailor had cut the deep violet silk coat embroidered in silver, the brocade waistcoat, the silk breeches. He was so grand he hardly recognized himself.

Simon said quietly, "The bride is here."

Duncan turned to the doorway, and almost stopped breathing as the bride's party entered. As Gwynne stepped inside the church, sunlight touched her hair into a blaze of brilliant color, all red and gold like sunrise in the Hebrides. She glowed like a lit candle.

He watched, enraptured, as she approached the altar. Her hair swooped upward before cascading over her shoulders in molten waves. Her flowered wreath made her look like a pagan G.o.ddess of life and love, yet there was an innocence in her expression and in the pale shining silk of her gown.

"Be careful your eyes don't fall out," Simon whispered with a hint of laughter.

Gwynne's stepson, the present Earl of Brecon, was giving her away as a signal of his approval. There would be no hint that this wedding was anything less than welcomed by her first husband's family.

She gave Duncan a shaky smile when she reached the altar, looking very young and vulnerable. Her waist was so tiny that surely he could span it with his hands.

His emotions flooded so powerfully that it was almost painful. Silently he pledged that she would never regret accepting him. Aloud, he said softly, "You are as magnificent as the dawn." He took her hand, and distant thunder sounded.

"And you are the storm that carries all before it," she said in a voice so low even the vicar couldn't hear.

As they turned to face the altar, he knew with absolute certainty that this marriage was the most wondrous thing that had ever happened to him.

As rose petals showered over them, Gwynne accepted Duncan's hand and climbed into the waiting carriage. He followed and settled beside her as the door was closed, and they set off from Lady Bethany's house followed by a chorus of good wishes.

The wedding breakfast had been lively with toasts and laughter. She had deliberately kept herself busy chatting with guests and had hardly spoken a word to her new husband. Her nerves were on edge as she wondered whether he would be able to read her mind once they were truly wed. Everyone needed privacy in their own minds.

Finally they were alone. She was acutely aware of his tall, masculine body, and how small and private the travel coach was. She took a deep, slow breath. She was now Lady Ballister, not Lady Brecon, and they were heading to Scotland. This was a great adventure. . . .

A strong, hard hand came to rest over her locked fingers. "You look ready to jump from the carriage and head for the hedges. Is marriage to me that frightening, Gwynne?" Duncan's deep voice was warm with teasing.

Praying that she had the ability to shield her deepest thoughts from her new husband, she smiled back, enjoying the unruly dark curls that escaped the riband at the back of his neck. The more she saw of his craggy face, the more handsome he seemed. "I am accustoming myself to the idea of having a new lord and master."

"As if any Guardian woman would tamely submit to a man!" He laughed. "Certainly no woman with red hair like yours has ever been docile."

She glanced away. "I warned you that it was not good hair. I should have powdered it for the wedding."

"No!" He brushed her hair gently, his fingers lingering. "It's the most beautiful hair I've ever seen. To see it revealed today was a very special wedding gift." He leaned forward and kissed her throat through the silky strands.

She caught her breath, transfixed by the feel of his lips. There had been attraction from the beginning, and now desire was sanctified by G.o.d and man. Raising her hand, she stroked his thick hair. It was all the encouragement he needed.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world," he breathed before claiming her mouth. His kiss melted her reserve. She felt like molten wax, flowing and yearning to mold herself to him. He cupped her breast, and she almost cried out at the exquisite sensation. How could she ever balance him when he had such power over her?

As if reading her mind, he said huskily, "Don't ever fear me, Gwynne. Don't you know that I would do anything for you?"

This magnificent, powerful man wanted her. Her wedding-ceremony tension melting away, she touched her tongue to his.

It was like setting a spark to tinder. His kiss deepened, dizzying her, and the rocking of the coach moved their bodies together. "Gwynne, Gwynne," he groaned. "I wonder if there is enough s.p.a.ce in this carriage to consummate our marriage? That would make an exciting memory for when we are old and gray."

His words were like a splash of icy water. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away. "I don't think that's a good idea, Duncan." She drew a deep breathing, knowing she must speak up. " Though I am a widow, I . . . I am also a virgin."

The change in Duncan's expression was so abrupt it was almost laughable. Gwynne gave him credit for how quickly he a.s.similated her announcement.

"I see." He sat back in the seat, putting s.p.a.ce between them, though awareness thrummed. "Of course, Lord Brecon wed you when his years were much advanced."

She began to pleat the lace falling from her sleeves. "I do not believe that he was unfit. Rather, he . . . he chose not to."

She had been a willing bride. More than willing, for she had always adored the lord of Harlowe and she wanted to please him. She had been bitterly disappointed when he entered her bedchamber on their wedding night and gave her only a kiss. There had been desire in his eyes, she was sure of it. But not enough. "He . . . he said I had a destiny, and he should not interfere with that." And perhaps he wished no more children.

Duncan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I would give much to know what Lord Brecon saw. But I agree that you are my destiny, as I am yours."

He accepted the idea of destiny so easily, but of course, he was a mage. In the heady excitement of his embrace, she was tempted to tell him that her decision to marry had been almost a command from the Guardian Council, not merely a suggestion from Lady Bethany. He was her husband and she wanted to be truthful.

Instinct said to hold her tongue. If she told him too much, it might alter his behavior in the future. Unless that was what she should be doing? She suppressed an unladylike curse. Being told to be herself wasn't very useful as a guideline to her new life, much less to her "destiny."

The wheels. .h.i.t a hole and the vehicle rocked. He sat back in the seat and took her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. "A carriage is a poor choice for being initiated into pa.s.sion."

She blushed, remembering how willing his kisses had made her. She'd been scarcely aware of their location. "Tonight I would prefer a proper bed. Will we be spending the night at some coaching inn you know?"

"Sorry, it's been so hectic that I didn't have a chance to tell you that Falconer has loaned us one of his estates for the night. It's only a few hours north and very close to the turnpike, so it will be convenient, and more private than a coaching inn. He's notified his servants to expect us. There will be a bedchamber and a supper waiting for us."

"Bless Simon." She smiled, glad that her wedding night wouldn't take place in a common inn. " Perhaps we might try the carriage at . . . some future time."

Laughing, he raised her hand and pressed a lingering kiss on her knuckles. "We shall find great pleasure in each other, Lady Ballister. I know it."

TEN.

T hough it was still light when they reached Buckland Abbey, Gwynne was grateful to arrive. Getting married was a tiring business.

The sprawling Tudor house was well proportioned and immaculately maintained. Much, much nicer than a coaching inn. "The ruins of the original abbey are behind the house," Duncan said as he helped Gwynne from the carriage. "They're very Gothic and mysterious. Perhaps we can walk through them in the morning before we leave."

She lifted her skirts to climb the front steps. "I thought you were in a mad rush to reach Scotland?"

He made a face. "I am, but Lady Beth informed me in no uncertain terms that there was no harm in spending some time enjoying the company of my bride on the journey home. So I will, since she's always right."

Gwynne laughed. "I've noticed that."

As Duncan raised his hand to the ma.s.sive knocker, the front door swung open and an elderly butler bowed them into the house. "My lord and lady, welcome to Buckland Manor. May I escort you to your rooms so you may refresh yourselves?"

"Please do." Duncan glanced at Gwynne. "And have our supper served immediately after we've freshened up."

Gwynne nodded agreement. "I spent so much time talking at the wedding breakfast that I ate very little, and now I'm ravenous."

A light sparked in Duncan's eyes, which were now the clear gray of early dawn. "An appet.i.te is a fine thing in a bride," he said softly.

Once more, Gwynne blushed. Amazing how many comments were suggestive when one was in the mood. Though they had talked of unimportant things on the carriage ride, and she had even dozed a little with her head on Duncan's shoulder, a delicious tension had pulsed between them. Despite her uncertainties about this marriage, she was eager to be initiated into the mysteries of the marriage bed by a man who aroused her so thoroughly-and kissed so well.

"Let me take you both up now," the butler said. When they had ascended the stairs and walked to the west wing, the servant indicated the end of the corridor. "These three rooms have connecting doors. Lady Ballister, your chamber is in the middle, my lord's is to the right, and your private supper shall be served in the sitting room to the left. Ring if you have any special request. Your wishes are our commands."

"Lord Falconer has provided well for us," Duncan observed. He kissed Gwynne's hand. "Knock on my door when you are ready for me to join you for supper, my dear."

She nodded, then entered the center room. The chamber was beautifully appointed and clearly intended for a lady, with striking views of the sun starting to set over the rolling countryside. She had just finished washing up when a pretty young maid came in and bobbed a curtsey. "I'm Elsie, Lady Ballister. How may I serve you?"

Falconer's orders had definitely inspired the staff to exceptional efforts. Gwynne turned her back to the girl. "Thank you, Elsie. Will you unlace me, please? I've had quite enough of this corset for one day."

Deftly Elsie began unfastening her garments. "A nightgown and overrobe were sent here by a Lady Bethany Fox. Would you care to put them on now?"