A Kiss of Fate Read online

Tonight she craved a discussion with another council member, but most would be sleeping at this hour, and the matter wasn't quite urgent enough to disturb them. Who might be awake? Ah, Jasper Polmarric, the eldest mage of the Cornish Families. He was a creature of the night, as was she.

  The sphere was pulsing with power now, so she visualized seven of the other eight council members, then sent her message. I summon the council on a matter of great urgency. Noon today. She framed the request so that it wouldn't be noticed until the recipients awoke the next morning. The summons would tell them to go to their sphere. When they touched it, they would receive the full message.

  There was no need to use her name. Each member of the council had an energy imprint as distinct as a voice. Those who lived in the London area would come to her home. More distant members would contribute by means of their spheres.

  To Jasper Polmarric, she sent a different and more immediate call. Are you available to talk? If he was awake, she would hear from him soon.

  Within minutes, she felt words forming in her mind with the dry humor that was characteristic of Jasper. Up to some mischief, my dear Bethany? Or having trouble sleeping?

  She let him feel her fatigue and anxiety. If only that were true, Jasper. You know how every mage in Britain has been sensing an approaching cataclysm? It's almost here, and when it breaks, the whole nation will be rocked to its foundations.

  �

  Gwynne awoke feeling surprisingly rested. She wondered if Bethany would part with the recipe for the sleeping potion. If no magic was required in the preparation, she could make it herself.

  She yawned and swung her feet from the bed, feeling a guilty twinge when she saw the position of the sun. It must be midday. No wonder she felt rested.

  After washing up, she rang for her maid, Molly, who appeared with a breakfast tray. Lady Bethany's household always ran like clockwork. Gwynne poured herself a cup of hot chocolate. �Do you know if Lady Bethany is available to join me? I'd like to speak with her.�

  Molly shook her head. �Her ladyship has company and can't be disturbed.�

  Gwynne's brows arched. When Bethany said she couldn't be disturbed, it usually meant Guardian business of some sort. No matter. They could speak later.

  After Molly left, Gwynne poured more chocolate and settled at her desk to work at deciphering a two-hundred-year-old journal that included numerous spells and recipes. It was written in a code that had taken time to solve. Codes were so much simpler to understand than men. . . .

  Absorbed in her work, she was startled when Molly returned and said, �Lady Bethany wishes you to join her in the small salon, my lady.�

  Gwynne blinked at the mantel clock and realized that over three hours had passed since she breakfasted. What an odd day this was.

  She stood and stretched her tight muscles, glad for a break. �Thank you, Molly, I'll go right down.�

  When Gwynne reached the salon, she knocked lightly to warn Bethany that she had arrived, then entered. Surprise jolted through her. She had just walked into a full Guardian Council meeting, and the energy was so powerful that a rock would take notice.

  All council members maintained homes in the London area, and at any given moment at least four or five of them were in residence. That was not an accident; they took care to ensure that everyone didn't go to the country at the same time. If important events transpired, London was the crossroads of Britain, which meant that if Guardian intervention was required, no time would be wasted.

  Today's meeting included Bethany and four others. They sat around the circular table which was usually used for cards. Guessing that this gathering involved Ballister and perhaps her as well, Gwynne curtsied deeply. �Good afternoon. How may I serve you?�

  Perhaps they wanted her to take notes or write a letter, since she had a fine hand and could be trusted with Family business. But she doubted it would be so simple.

  �Please, sit down,� Bethany said gravely. �You know all of my colleagues, don't you?�

  Gwynne sat, taking a chair several feet from the table. To sit with the great mages as an equal would be presumptuous.

  Small, bald Jasper Polmarric, who was a particular friend of Bethany's, turned his wheeled chair so that he faced Gwynne. �You know that this meeting was called because of you and Ballister.�

  Gwynne nodded. She would not have been invited otherwise. �He did nothing that requires censure, sir. It was I who lacked propriety.�

  Polmarric made an impatient gesture. �We are not concerned about young people stealing kisses in a pleasure garden. But sometimes an event that seems small on the surface is like the thread that will unravel a tapestry once it is pulled. That kiss was more than just a kiss.�

  Gwynne could feel the heat in her cheeks, and wished that her private life had not become so public. But Polmarric was right; more was involved than flirtation.

  �As I said last night, all of the senior mages have been concerned about gathering events, but the shape of the future has proved maddeningly elusive.� Bethany touched her fingertips to her scrying glass, which lay on the table before her �Until now. I described your visions. Then we had a meeting of the minds.�

  Lady Sterling, a tall woman whose blond hair was shading into silver, asked, �Are you familiar with the process, Lady Brecon?�

  Gwynne noticed how Lady Sterling's palm was firmly cupped over her talking sphere. That contact was how the absent members �heard� Gwynne�whatever she said was channeled through Lady Sterling, who was the strongest communicator on the council. �As I understand it, a question is posed and everyone is encouraged to share ideas and insights. Several strong mages working together will spark one another's ideas, and it's usually possible to develop a much clearer picture of the matter at hand.�

  Bethany nodded. �Often such sessions lead to places most unexpected. The political situation is rapidly becoming critical. If we are to have any effect on the outcome, we must act immediately.� She caught Gwynne's gaze, her eyes blazing with Guardian power. �Which is why we want you to marry Lord Ballister.�

  SEVEN

  I t was fortunate that Gwynne was sitting down. �You want me to do what?� Her voice made an undignified squeak. �I'm not going to marry a barbarian Scot!�

  �Not such barbarians as all that,� Sir Ian Macleod said dryly. The dean of Scottish Guardians, among the Families he was called the Lord of the Isles.

  �Forgive me, Sir Ian. I meant no insult.� Gwynne's gaze skipped from face to face. This was no joke�they watched her like cats eyeing a mouse. �Duncan Macrae is a powerful mage. Someday he might sit on this very council. If he represents a danger to the nation's stability, what can I do about it? Assassinate him if he goes awry?�

  Bethany clicked her tongue. �Don't say such a thing even in jest, Gwynne! Duncan has talent, integrity, and a deep respect for our traditions, but circumstances might lead any of us astray.�

  �It's difficult for a Scot to resist a call to freedom,� Sir Ian observed. �If not for my age and the fact that I remember the Rising of 1715 too well, I'd be tempted to fight for Scottish independence myself. Those Acts of Union . . .� He shook his head dourly. �They're bitter unfair.�

  His words startled Gwynne, but also gave her greater insight into how a Jacobite rebellion would cause Scottish Guardians to feel the pull of divided loyalties. If even Sir Ian was tempted by the siren call of freedom, Duncan was vulnerable, too.

  �Remember what I said last night?� Lady Bethany asked. �Ballister has a potential for harm, but an even greater potential for good. Our people are few in number, Gwynne�we cannot afford to lose one of the best men of your generation. We think that you might be able to prevent him from causing harm. You two are profoundly connected. If you marry him, you will have great influence over his actions.� The older woman's eyes twinkled. �It's not as if doing so would be unrelieved misery.�

  Hugh Owens, a distant relative of Gwynne's, gest
ured and a small set of silver scales appeared on the table. Gwynne caught her breath. The scales must be an illusion, not a physical object, but it was still an impressive trick.

  �Imagine these scales are Britain today,� Owens said. �Though many forces are in play, overall the nation is reasonably peaceful. In equilibrium. Then imagine Ballister as throwing his considerable weight onto one side of the scales.�

  He snapped his fingers and a red spark appeared in one pan. The scales tipped violently, causing the whole mechanism to shake. �You and he have a fated relationship, which means that only you have the power to balance him.� Another finger snap and a white spark appeared in the opposite pan. Slowly the scales returned to equilibrium.

  A fated relationship. She had half forgotten Emery's words about destiny the afternoon he had asked her to marry him. Was this what he had foreseen that day?

  Trying to sort her whirling thoughts, she said, �You are asking me to leave everything and everyone I love and go among strangers.�

  �Do not think that we ask this lightly.� Bethany sighed. �You are dearer to me than my own granddaughters, and I had thought I would have the pleasure of your company through my last years. But apparently that is not to be.�

  Gwynne shivered when she thought of Ballister's power. She would be intimidated by any suitor with such strong magic, she guessed, but Ballister was particularly fearsome. �You can't force me to marry him.�

  �No, we can't,� Lady Sterling said coolly. �We request, not compel. Yes, it's difficult to go to a new land among strangers, but women have done that from time immemorial. You are too young to settle into the rut of the familiar. More important, you have a duty as a Guardian. Though you are no mage, when you reached womanhood you swore a solemn oath to serve and protect. You have enjoyed the privileges of being one of us. Now it is time for you to fulfill your responsibilities.�

  The words were like a splash of icy water. Lady Sterling was right; Gwynne had been cared for and protected her entire life, and this was the first time she had been asked to put aside her own desires for the greater good. An oath to serve was also a promise to sacrifice oneself if necessary.

  Strangely, she didn't resent the council's coercion. Instead she felt pride that finally she had something to contribute: her life.

  More gently, Bethany said, �We are not asking you to cast yourself from a cliff, my dear. Think of our request as a good excuse to give in to the part of yourself that has been yearning for Ballister.�

  That surprised a laugh from Gwynne. �It's true that I find him . . . very attractive. But how can I be his balance-mate if I am overwhelmed by his power and become a docile wife with no will of my own?�

  Jasper Polmarric snorted. �I guarantee that you'll never be a docile wife. Your aura pulses with strength.�

  Easy for him to say�he had lived with great power most of his life. �If I marry Ballister, what will I do? Am I to be a spy reporting on his activities? How am I to know when he is going to cause this great harm you fear?� Her stomach clenched at the magnitude of the task she was being given, and how ill-qualified she was to perform it.

  �Simply be yourself,� Bethany said soothingly. �You are an archivist and keeper of the lore, which gives you an objective mind. You will always be capable of judging his actions. And if some great deed is required of you, you will recognize it, I think.�

  Gwynne didn't want to think what kind of great deed might be necessary. Though Bethany had said that the council would not want to move against one of their own, such things did happen when a mage turned renegade and used his power in menacing ways. Since she could never destroy another living being, much less her husband, she must pray that she really would be equal to the task she was accepting.

  She stared down at the hands locked tightly in her lap. If she married Ballister, her entire life would change. Yet what choice did she have? Her Guardian oath had been invoked, and she could not in honor refuse. It was characteristic of the Families that a woman's honor was considered as vital as a man's; she did not want to prove unworthy.

  If she was to survive, she must concentrate on the good of the situation. She would be marrying a man who doted on her, at least for now. He'd said that Dunrath had a good library and that she could add to it. There might, please God, be children.

  And he was the most wickedly attractive man she had ever met.

  �Very well,� she said in a low voice. �If Duncan Macrae of Dunrath will have me, I will marry him.�

  She could feel the council members relax as clearly as if they were exhaling with relief. Looking up, she blurted out, �And I hope that you are all as wise as your reputations say you are!�

  �

  Duncan faced Simon in the front hall of Falconer House, neither of them quite ready to say good-bye even though Duncan's carriage was waiting.

  Simon said, �I had hoped you would stay longer.�

  Duncan shook his friend's hand, hard. �If all hell is about to break loose in Scotland, I need to be home and taking up my responsibilities.� He tried to suppress the images of Gwynne at Dunrath that persisted in haunting his imagination. �You should come visit me. Some fresh Scottish air would be good for you.�

  �If all hell breaks loose, perhaps I shall. Disaster is my business, after all.� Simon stopped suddenly, his attention wrenched away from the present.

  �Has something happened?� Duncan asked quickly.

  �I . . . I'm not sure. I'll think about it.� With visible effort, Simon focused on his guest. �At least when you're no longer brooding about my house with a broken heart, the London weather may improve from this gray and gloomy dampness.�

  A knock sounded at the front door a few feet away. Not waiting for his butler, Simon swung it open. A neatly dressed groom offered a sealed letter. �A message for Lord Ballister, sir.�

  Duncan moved forward to take the letter and give the messenger a coin. �Is a reply expected?�

  �No, sir.� The groom bowed and returned to his waiting mount.

  After closing the door, Duncan broke the wax seal curiously. Few people even knew he was in London. His face stiffened as he read the polite words of the message.

  Catching his expression, Simon asked, �What's wrong?�

  �Lady Brecon requests the honor of my company at my earliest convenience.� Duncan grimaced. �A pity I didn't leave five minutes earlier.�

  The other man's brows arched. �I would have thought you would be happy to hear from her.�

  �Considering her fury when she bolted from our last meeting, I suspect she wants to spell out in greater detail how utterly ungentlemanly I am.� Duncan paused, distracted by the memory of their one kiss. . . . �I'll call on her on my way north.�

  �If you'd rather not, I can send a message saying that you've already left town.�

  �She has the right to castigate me. I shall confess my sins, apologize profusely, and leave.� It would be worth harsh words to see her one last time.

  What a thrice-damned fool he was.

  �

  By the time Duncan reached Richmond, he had his emotions well in hand. The finality of their last meeting made the situation easier, for he no longer had to worry about wooing Gwynne. This would be a chance to say good-bye and wish her well for the future, no matter how angry she was.

  Since he needed a wife, a good ending might make it easier to look elsewhere when the worst pain of loss wore off. The Macleods of Skye had a quiverful of attractive daughters, all of them magically talented. Perhaps one would catch his fancy. Wedding a fellow Scot would be altogether better than a reluctant Englishwoman.

  Lady Bethany's butler recognized him. �If you will wait in the small salon, my lord, I shall inform Lady Brecon that you are here.�

  Duncan stepped into the salon and was hit by a blast of psychic energy that would have curled his whiskers if he were a cat. What had Lady Bethany been up to?

  Since Gwy
nne would probably keep him waiting, he decided to use the time to sharpen his analytical skills. He paced around the room and tried to sort out the different energy signatures. Interesting�there were clear traces of several council members. They must have used this room for a session, and recently.

  He tried to determine what subjects they had discussed. There was a heaviness in the atmosphere that suggested concern about impending war, but there had been other topics as well. He had a distinct sense that his name must have come up. . . .

  �My lord Ballister.�

  He was so involved in his analysis that Gwynne's voice startled him. He spun about to see her poised in the doorway, as if ready to take flight. Her powdered hair was pulled back severely and she wore a simple green-striped cotton morning gown. The very chasteness of her appearance was almost unbearably provocative.

  He took refuge in a deep bow. �Your messenger caught me just before my departure to Scotland. I am grateful for this opportunity to take my leave, and to offer you my deepest apologies. It was wrong of me to deceive you at New Spring Gardens. My only defense is�� He hesitated, realizing it was hard to defend the indefensible. ��it seemed like a good idea at the time.�

  His honesty won a slight smile from her. �That thought is surely at the root of most human folly. Pray take a seat.�

  He settled in a chair warily, thinking this would be easier to understand if she were more obviously angry. Instead, her mood was conflicted and . . . determined?

  She stayed on her feet, moving about the room with a restlessness that belied the serenity of her face. �Our relationship has been as fraught as a summer storm, my lord.�

  He thought of the squall that had blown up on the day they met because he had failed to control his reaction to her. �You are a woman who inspires storms of passion, not tepid breezes of mild affection.�

  �You are the only man who has thought so.�

  Her pacing temporarily halted while she gazed out the window. The silhouetted curves of her lush figure made him swallow hard. �If you haven't been besieged by suitors, it's only because they didn't know to seek you in your library.�

  She turned to face him, her expression somber. �Why are you so interested in me? Is it something about my appearance? That's a shallow reason for deciding that you must have me. Or do you just enjoy conquest and my resistance is a challenge?�

  He could fall into those golden eyes and never come out. . . . He forced his attention back to her words. �Acquit me of such shallowness. Yes, I am a man and enjoy feminine beauty, but I am also a Guardian. When we met I saw not only your beauty but your intelligence, your integrity, and your warmth. I knew as surely as I know the shape of the wind that if you honored me with your hand, I would be entranced and in love for as long as we both live.�