Jean's anger burned through her fatigue. Grieving for the harsh shattering of the girl's idealism, Gwynne led her inside and up to the family quarters. "Your men are inside now, and we'll see that all are cared for. Now it's time for you to rest. Be sure to wash up before you go to bed. If government troops arrive, you might have to show yourself and pretend innocence."

Jean smiled without humor. "Gwynne, I carried a sword and rode with the men of Glen Rath on the field of battle. How can I deny that?"

Duncan had been right about his sister's courage. "You can't deny that you traveled with the army, but you can say that you were following your sweetheart, trying to persuade him to abandon the Jacobite madness and come home."

The younger woman hesitated. "I am loath to deny my beliefs and my men. Our loyalty and honor were true even if the Pretender was not worthy of it."

Gwynne caught her gaze. "Courage and honor need no defense-and they should not be the reason brave men are butchered. If I can lie to save their lives, so can you."

"When you put it that way, I suppose I can't refuse." She brushed at her tangled hair with unsteady fingers. "But what if someone recognized me on the battlefield?"

"If anyone claims to have seen you there, we'll laugh at the absurdity of the thought. All you have to do is appear in your most dainty, feminine gown and they'll be ashamed to have even suggested that you might have ridden into battle."

Jean gave the ghost of a laugh. "Though I hate to admit it, you're probably right."

"No man will want to believe that a small female is his equal in courage and skill. Now go." Gwynne gave her sister-in-law a gentle push into her bedroom before retreating to her own chamber to don a morning gown. She would not be getting any more sleep this night.

After changing, she descended to the dungeons and checked on how the fugitives were being settled. Auld Donald had remembered that on the east side of the castle there was a string of cells on the same corridor with a single door providing access. This meant that only that one door needed to be spelled, which improved their chances of success.

At the steward's order, bales of straw had been brought in and laid on the floors of the cells as primitive bedding. There were three or four men cramped into each cell, many of them already deep in the sleep of exhaustion.

As Gwynne inspected the cells, a gray-haired woman appeared in the corridor. "You would be Lady Dunrath. I'm Elizabeth Macrae, the healer." She gestured to a heavily laden young woman behind. "And this be my granddaughter, who a.s.sists me. Where are the most severely wounded?"

"Down here." Gwynne led the way to the far end of the corridor, where moans were least likely to be heard if the cellars were searched. "What else do you need?"

"Hot water, soap, and towels, and maybe more bandages." Rolling up her sleeves, Elizabeth Macrae knelt by a young man whose plaid was stiff with dried blood.

Gwynne left the healer and her granddaughter to their work and gave orders for the hot water and other supplies. To Maggie, she said, "We must bring everything into this area and have it sealed off by the time the pursuers arrive."

"Can you prevent the government troops from finding them?" Maggie asked, expression troubled.

"I think so. But I'll need Duncan's help."

"You'll be releasing him, then. That's good-he should not be ignorant of what is happening to his people under his very nose."

That was true, but Gwynne was not looking forward to having to face her husband. "I'm going to him now. I expect that our conversation will take some time, so you're in charge, Maggie Macrae. Make sure there is no trace of mud or dust or footprints in the great hall, and that there are no obvious gaps in the kitchen or linen closet. Also, the people who live to the north end of the glen should be sent home soon. If their crofts are empty, it will look suspicious to the Hanoverians."

Maggie smiled. "You've a good mind for deceit, Mistress."

"I hope it's good enough." Girding herself, Gwynne left the housekeeper and headed for Duncan's cell, which was at the opposite end of the castle from the rebel quarters, and luxurious by comparison.

By imprisoning him, she had sowed the wind. Now she would reap the whirlwind.

Something was wrong. Even with his power paralyzed, Duncan could feel that wrongness in his marrow. It was the middle of the night, and if he had to wait until Maggie Macrae brought him his bread and tea in the morning, he might go mad.

The key turned in the lock, and he spun around as the door opened to reveal his lady wife with a lamp in her hand. Even plainly dressed and with her enchantress allure completely shielded, she was heartbreakingly desirable. He hated himself for wanting her. Harshly he asked, "What the h.e.l.l is happening?"

"So even blocked by iron you can tell that something is wrong." She set the lamp on the table. "Jean has returned with most of the men of Glen Rath, including young Diarmid. She says the Hanoverians are in pursuit, so we're hiding the rebels down here."

He found that knowing what was happening did not make him any happier. "Are you trying to get us all killed? If they're found here, everyone in Glen Rath will be treated as a traitor!"

"I know. That's why I need your help to conceal them." A ghost of a smile showed on her face. " Don't look so shocked at my recklessness. You would not have turned them away, either."

She was right, of course. d.a.m.n her.

Gwynne produced the small key to the manacles. "I ask that you refrain from murdering me until Dunrath is safe."

"I'm surprised you're willing to risk your pretty neck for a pack of rebels," he said caustically. "Why not leave them to be butchered by c.u.mberland?"

She raised his right arm and unfastened the iron cuff. "The rising is over, and I'll not see men die pointlessly." She dropped the cuff onto the table and turned to his left wrist.

Grudgingly he knew that his remark was unfair, but it was hard to control his molten anger. He waited with bare patience as she struggled to unlock the manacle. When she finally removed it, he inhaled sharply as power blasted through him like a river that had shattered its dam. He welcomed the return greedily, but the sensation wasn't pleasant. His body and soul felt as if they had fallen asleep and were now coming back to needle-pointed life.

With impersonal gentleness, Gwynne pressed his shoulders so that he sat on the bed. He buried his head in his hands, shivering with reaction.

When he felt more or less in control of himself again, he raised his head. She was within his reach, but from the wariness in her eyes she would be prepared if he struck out at her. She needn't worry. Whatever revenge he might take could wait until the men of Glen Rath were safe. "What needs to be done?"

"All of the rebels are now in the cells of the eastern corridor. I'm hoping that our combined power can produce a don't-see spell strong enough to prevent the door to that corridor from being discovered even if there's a serious search."

He frowned. "Not enough-that spell just makes people want to look away. If several men are involved in the search, they are unlikely to be equally deceived. It will have to be a full-scale illusion spell, and pray that none of the searchers touches the surface and realizes that it feels like wood, not stone."

"Can you do an illusion spell? I've tried but without much success."

"I'm fairly good at them." Illusions were tiring because the mage needed to maintain them continually or they collapsed. He thought he could manage, though. "An illusion will have to do, since I gather there's no time for anything else. How far away are the Hanoverians? Have they camped for the night?"

"I'm not sure." She rubbed her forehead. "It's been so busy I haven't had time to check my scrying gla.s.s for their location."

"Well, check it now!"

She pulled out the gla.s.s and settled her mind, then gazed into the smoky obsidian with half-focused eyes. "They've camped for the night perhaps three miles north of the glen. It's a sizable troop of horse soldiers-at least two dozen, perhaps more. If Jean and her men hadn't marched through the night, they would have been overtaken this morning."

"Rain will slow them down in the morning."

"You have recovered enough strength to conjure a storm?" Gwynne asked, looking hopeful.

Not answering, he turned to one of the slit windows, inhaling the damp night air as he began exploring the sky. In April, rain was never very far away, and he found rain over the Hebrides and a howling storm near the Orkneys. Luxuriating in his ability to shape the winds again, he called them to him, adding the heavy moisture already in the sky over Glen Rath. In mere minutes the first drops of rain began falling, and the weather magic cleansed some of the anger from his soul.

Turning from the window, he said, "The rain will increase steadily. By dawn, a major storm will be soaking our government troopers. The fugitives' tracks should be mostly eliminated."

"Auld Donald sent a herd of cattle along the route. Between hooves and rain, it will be impossible to track anyone to the castle."

Duncan nodded approval. Clever of Donald to have thought of that. "North of the glen, there are several trails leading in different directions. With luck, the Hanoverians won't be able to tell which way Jean was traveling."

"Even with the weather to slow them down, they'll surely be here by early afternoon." Gwynne frowned. "If I'm pretending to be a good Whig, I'll have to offer them hospitality for the night."

He scowled. "I don't think I can be civil to them."

"You won't have to. I've worked out a few good lies, I think."

As Gwynne explained, he had to admit that her plan was good. But nothing she said or did would ever take away the deep wounds of her betrayal.

THIRTY-SIX.

T he maid Annie entered the morning room and bobbed a curtsey. "Mistress, a group of government soldiers has arrived, and the commanding officer, Colonel Ormond, would like to speak with you."

Gwynne tried to steady her accelerating heartbeat as the news she had waited for was delivered. She laid down the quill she had been using to write a letter to Lady Bethany-a letter that contained nothing significant, only the kind of domestic chitchat one would expect two aristocratic ladies to exchange. Quite innocent if a suspicious officer chose to read it.

The fugitives, the healers, and Duncan were hidden safely behind the illusion spell. The rest of the inhabitants of Glen Rath were going about their normal business and ready to claim ignorance about any possible Jacobites in the glen. Keeping a secret among so many people was problematic. It would be nice if there was a spell that could be cast over the glen to remind people what to say and how to seem convincing, but magic had its limits. This situation required the help of a higher force.

Gwynne glanced up with her blandest expression. "How nice to have a diversion. Pray escort Colonel Ormond here and bring refreshments. If he has been traveling in this dreadful weather, he is surely in need of something warming."

"Indeed, Lady Ballister, I should be most grateful for that." The masculine voice belonged to a scarlet-coated officer in the doorway. He'd followed the maid, perhaps hoping to catch the lady of the household in suspicious activity. Tall and weathered, Colonel Ormond had a long face and ramrod posture despite his saturated leather boots and dripping wig.

Gwynne rose from her dainty inlaid desk. Today she wore a wide panniered gown better suited to a London drawing room than the Highlands, plus an elaborate, heavily curled and powdered wig. She hoped she looked too English to be a Jacobite.

As she glided toward the door, she took a reading on the officer's character. Nearing forty, he was an honorable and experienced soldier who had hated the atrocities against civilians after the battle. He would not flinch from doing his duty, but neither would he look for excuses to make arrests. Good.

"Welcome to Dunrath," she said warmly. "After this long, horrid winter, you cannot imagine how glad I am to see a civilized face."

The colonel bowed politely. As he straightened and looked into her face, he blurted out, "Lady Brecon! What are you doing in Scotland?" His expression showed both recognition and stunned admiration.

She must have met him somewhere in London. Yes, years ago at some grand ball. They had danced, unmemorably, but he must be wellborn to move in such elevated circles. "It's good to see you again, Colonel. I am Lady Ballister now. My dear Brecon died two years ago. I never thought to marry a barbarian Scot, but Ballister quite swept me off my feet last summer." She laughed wryly. "I picked a poor time to move to the north, I fear."

"Yet the north agrees with you, Lady Ballister."

"You flatter me, sir," she said with a hint of reproof in her voice. He needed to think of her as a virtuous woman. The sort who wouldn't hide rebels in her cellar.

A deeper insight into Ormond entered her mind. He was recently married to a young beauty, and he needed to believe that a beautiful wife could be virtuous even when her husband was away for months on end. Instantly Gwynne adjusted her enchantress power so that the colonel would perceive her as a faithful and loving wife-the kind of woman he most approved of.

She could feel his subtle reaction to the change in her energy. He still admired her, but accepted her as a chaste married woman, the kind deserving protection. Glancing around, he said, "Most of the Scottish castles I've seen are stark fortresses, but here in Dunrath's private apartments, I can imagine myself in England."

"I am not the first English bride brought to Dunrath, so the Macraes have created an oasis of civilization." Gwynne hoped that also implied that the family had plenty of English blood and would have no Jacobite leanings.

Glancing past the colonel, Gwynne made a little shooing motion with one hand. "The refreshments, Annie. And make sure the colonel's men are invited into the great hall and served something warm. 'Tis not fit for man nor beast out there."

When the maid was gone, Gwynne sank onto the sofa with a luxurious flounce of silk skirts. "I swear, these local servants are in a fair way to driving me mad. They simply have no concept of their proper place. Pray sit, Colonel, and tell me all the news."

He took a chair opposite her. "The news is good, as I'm sure you've heard."

"This horrid rebellion! I seriously considered returning to London, but I could not bear to be driven from my home by that foolish Italian adventurer." She smoothed a wrinkle from her skirts. "It's such a relief to know that the fighting is over. They say that c.u.mberland has crushed the Jacobites at a great battle near Inverness. Is that so?"

"He did indeed, Lady Ballister, but the rebellion won't be over until every last Jacobite has been rooted out of the Highlands."

Annie entered with a tea tray that included a small flask of whiskey and food substantial enough to appeal to a hungry soldier. Gwynne poured tea, then raised the flask over the officer's cup. "Colonel Ormond?"

After a moment of hesitation, he said, "That would be most welcome, ma'am."

She added a healthy dose of whiskey before pa.s.sing him the cup. "If you are rooting out Jacobites, what brings you to Dunrath? We are all good Whigs here."

He swallowed half his tea in two thirsty gulps before bracing himself to say, "Does that include Miss Jean Macrae? It's widely known that she raised a company of rebels and personally led them to the Pretender, and that she stayed with the rebel army till the end. It is even said that she was seen on the battlefield carrying a sword."

"How deliciously the truth can be twisted!" Gwynne said with indulgent amus.e.m.e.nt. "Yes, Jean did travel to the rebel army despite my pleas for her to stay here in safety. She's a headstrong girl who has been raised here in the wilds, and she won't listen to reason, but she's no Jacobite. Now that the rising has been put down, I really must take her to London so she can acquire some polish."

"Being a woman will not save her from being charged as a rebel," he said bluntly. "If even half the stories about her are true, she will be tried and transported. Or . . . worse."

Gwynne didn't have to pretend to shudder at the thought. "I can't deny that she acted foolishly, but she didn't run away to the rebel army because she was a Jacobite sympathizer. She simply wanted to be with her betrothed, Robbie Mackenzie of Fannach. I only met the boy once. He seemed a pleasant youth except for his foolish politics. I begged Jean to break her betrothal, but she was sure that she could persuade him to abandon the rebels and return home."

"What of the troop of men she raised for the prince?" Ormond said skeptically.

"That must be a rumor created because the truth is uninteresting. A mere girl could hardly journey alone across Scotland, so she traveled with a group of volunteers who were heading to the army." Gwynne bit her lip as if troubled. "Though I hate to admit it, there were two or three men of Glen Rath in that group. My husband and I did our best to stamp out rebellious talk, but there are always a few hotheads."

"Have those hotheads returned to the glen?"

"Not that I know of." She sighed. "Perhaps they died during the campaign. That might be for the best since there would be no future for them here. The Pretender is not popular in Glen Rath, Colonel."

"Yet he called here at the castle, I'm told, not long after he landed in Scotland."

Ormond was dangerously well informed. "The night Ballister and I returned from England, he walked into the middle of the welcome-home celebration and tried to enlist my husband's support. We were amazed, but I suppose that adventurers must be bold. Ballister refused and sent him away, of course."

"It might have been better for all concerned if your husband had taken the prince prisoner," he said dryly.

Gwynne shrugged gracefully. "Hospitality is sacred in the Highlands. It's an ancient custom, necessary in a harsh land. It is unthinkable that Ballister would behave dishonorably to a guest, even an uninvited one. Would you, Colonel?"

Ormond grimaced. "No, I suppose not. At least not all those months ago, before there was a real rebellion. But if I saw the prince now, I'd capture him in a heartbeat. He deserves to pay the price for the havoc he has caused."

"I couldn't agree more." Gwynne could feel that the colonel's skepticism was fading. She glanced at the window and saw that Duncan had stopped the rain and sunshine was breaking through the clouds. With luck, she would feed Ormond a few more lies and he would be ready to go on his way.

"Miss Macrae might not have been a Jacobite when she left Dunrath," Ormond said, "but if she fought in battle with the rebel army, she must have become one."

Gwynne laughed again. "Absurd! Jean is the merest slip of a girl. Besides, she was here during the battle. She returned home five days ago, having finally despaired of changing her betrothed's mind."

"You say she's here at Dunrath?" Ormond said, startled.

"Of course. Tired and very sad, of course, but safe. It's hard to be angry with her after all she has suffered. Do you wish to speak with her?" After the colonel nodded, Gwynne rang for the maid and gave orders for Jean to be summoned.

While they waited, Ormond said, "What of Ballister? There have also been rumors that he is a Jacobite sympathizer."

Gwynne arched her brows with a hint of contempt. "Is he also supposed to have gone into battle with the Jacobites? I a.s.sure you, Colonel Ormond, my husband was nowhere near Inverness."

"Then where was he, ma'am?" Ormond's eyes narrowed. "A man who fit his description was observed in the vicinity of the rebels during their invasion of England. It has been suggested that Ballister was acting as a scout for the rebel troops."