Irresistible Forces

doom. But even though he feared it would reveal more than he wanted to see, the time had come to look beyond his cell. He closed his eyes, clearing his mind as he formulated a question. What might a Spanish invasion bring? Then he gazed through the glass with unfocused eyes so images might appear.

Dunrath was burning. His fingers spasmed around the disk. Dear God, his mother was leaping from the tower window, choosing a swift death to the slow horror of burning alive! Why would Spaniards attack his home?

The answer formed in his mind as easily as the image had formed in the obsidian: because his younger brother was another stubborn Macrae who would refuse to foreswear his faith or bend his knee to foreigners. Dunrath would be razed as a lesson to other clans.

Macrae had accepted the imminence of his own death, but he had believed his home was safe. His brother would become laird, the girl Macrae was to wed would find another husband, and his family would continue in health and prosperity. But this…

Could Isabel de Cortes have planted false images in the glass? He rejected the idea instantly. True as the blade she resembled, she would not spin lies to make her case even if such a thing were possible.

Temples throbbing, he looked at the scrying glass again, hoping to see some mitigation of the horror of his first vision.

Sweet Jesus, no! The image that formed was of Edinburgh Castle looming majestically over the city — a city that looked as if the wrath of God had struck. No, not God, but men of hatred who would force others into their own mold and destroy when they could not persuade. Smoke began pouring from the castle itself. The pride and history of Scotland were being put to the torch while Spanish soldiers ran wild, raping and pillaging.

He didn't need Dee or Isabel de Cortes to tell him that scrying was not Truth, but rather Possibility. Grimly, he forced himself to watch as other horrors shimmered before his eyes. A group of martyrs singing to God as flames consumed them. The Virgin Queen on the scaffold, going to her death with steely courage. Armed soldiers breaking in on Protestants who worshipped in secret, the flash of blades contrasting with gouts of crimson blood.

How long Macrae watched the glass he did not know, but when he looked up his body was chilled and the room was darkening. Isabel rose to light candles against the approaching night. 'It is not a good future,' she said quietly.

'No.' Though he disliked the idea of working with these Sassenach, he could not stand by while wolves prepared to ravage Britain. 'I'll do what I can to thwart the Armada, but I warn you that conjuring such a tempest may be beyond my abilities.' His lips thinned as he returned the scrying glass. 'It will be bitter to harm so many men when I am oath-sworn to protect.'

'I have no more desire to take life than you, Sir Adam.' Dee looked old and very tired. 'The intent is to disperse the ships, destroy their fighting effectiveness, not to kill. A storm in the Narrow Seas would drive the ships onto the Flemish coast, and God willing, most of the sailors and soldiers will survive.'

It was a lawyer's quibble — even if the intent wasn't to kill, a tempest powerful enough to scatter so many ships would surely cause the weakest to founder. Men would die — Macrae could not delude himself otherwise. But if he saw true, action on his part might save many more lives than it endangered.

Power was a chancy, dangerous gift. Guardians were trained in ethics and morality from childhood, but no teacher could anticipate all possibilities. When a situation was critical, the Guardian involved must decide what would be best — and may God send wisdom to choose the right. 'I shall do what I can, but I will need help.'

'Whatever you wish, Sir Adam,' Dee said. 'What are your requirements?'

'First, get me released from this poxy prison. I want a letter signed by Elizabeth herself saying that all charges against me have been dropped and I am a free man. Explain to her that on my oath I will do my best, but I cannot guarantee that I will be able to conjure a storm great enough to destroy the Armada.'

Dee nodded. 'Understood. I am authorized to grant that. What else?'

Macrae rubbed his throbbing head, trying to imagine what he would need for an undertaking of this magnitude. 'I must have a location within sight of the Channel, preferably in a place of power.'

Isabel said, 'My family has a small manor in Kent that fits that requirement. What else?'

'I haven't enough power to create such a tempest alone, so I will need your assistance in the working, Master Dee. If I can draw on your magic, there is a chance I may succeed.'

The old man exchanged a glance with the woman. 'Isabel will be your assistant.'

Macrae's gaze swung to her with dismay. He was to work with this dangerously alluring wildcat with her obsidian eyes? Keeping his voice level, he said, 'I prefer to work with you. Our energies will blend better.'

The old man shook his head. 'I am a noteworthy scholar, an astrologer, and a student of ancient wisdom, but my magical power is only moderate. Isabel is the best scryer and most powerful mage I've ever met — except for you, perhaps. She can contribute far more than I.'

Macrae wanted to protest but couldn't. His inner senses told him that Dee spoke the truth: For a great magical working, Isabel de Cortes would be a far better partner. More powerful, and more dangerous.

He closed his eyes with weariness and once more saw Dunrath burn.

2

Kent, August 1588

It was midafternoon when the dusty party of travelers arrived at Leighton Manor. The sea wasn't visible, but the scent of it was borne on the wind.

As soon as the half dozen horses pulled up by the Leighton stables, the Scotsman vaulted from his mount, tossed his reins to one of the servants who accompanied them, and strode off toward the shoreline. As his long legs carried him swiftly away, Isabel dismounted and crossed to Master Dee. 'Do you think he'll try to escape?'

The old man came off his horse with a groan of fatigue. 'No, he's given his word, and Guardians never break their word. They believe it compromises their powers.'

'I would like to know more of the Guardians.'

Dee gestured in the direction Macrae had vanished. 'There's the man who can tell you.'

'He could, but he won't,' she said dryly. 'Macrae has done his best to avoid talking or looking at me ever since we started this journey.'

'He is not comfortable knowing how closely he must work with you. Sharing power is a very intimate process, and you are a stranger.'

'And like to remain so.'

'Go after him.'

'Perhaps I shall, after you are properly settled.' She beckoned to the housekeeper, Mstress Heath, who had emerged from the house to greet the guests.

Dee smiled a little. 'Don't worry about your hostess duties — the servants will see to my comfort. It is more important that you weave a bond with our weather mage.'

Isabel let herself be persuaded because she wanted to follow Macrae. The man intrigued her. He moved like a panther, barely tamed. And though he might dislike her, he was a mage himself so didn't fear her as most men did. She could learn much from him.

Lifting her skirts clear of the tangled wildflowers, she left the cluster of buildings and followed the lane Macrae had taken. The manor house was set in a fold of hills to shelter it from the scouring winds, but the sea was only a short walk away.

She located her quarry in the ancient stone circle set on a bluff that rose a hundred feet above the crashing waves. Local legend said the circle had been built by Druids. For those with the vision to see, three faintly glowing ley lines crossed at the site, creating a starburst of earth energy. As Isabel had promised, it was a place of great power.

Sunlight glowing on his dark red hair, the Scotsman walked the circle, touching each of the irregularly shaped stones in turn. 'It didn't take you long to find me, Mistress de Cortes.'

'I knew the circle would draw you. It burns with power.' She had spent endless hours in this place, meditating, studying, experimenting to find the shape and limits of her talent. Though it was disturbing to see her