possible? We have little in common.'
'We are both disciplined and know how to wield power.' He caught her gaze. 'And we will both pay any price to stop the Spanish. That should be enough.'
She bit her lip. 'The prospect of completely lowering my shields is… troubling, but it seems we have no choice but to try.'
'This will be hard for you, since you have had little contact with other mages,' he admitted. 'Even among Guardians, complete openness is rare.' Most often it was seen between husband and wife, but sometimes between mages who worked together closely.
'Master Dee spoke of the alchemical marriage, the mating of opposites to create strength and harmony,' she said. 'Is that what you are speaking of?'
'I am no alchemist, but, yes, that is the sort of closeness we must forge. Usually it takes a long time to develop, but we don't have time, so we must do the best we can.'
'Let me try this, and tell me if you experience anything.' She closed her eyes, and for the space of a hundred heartbeats there was silence. She gave a quick, frustrated shake of her head, then laid her hand on his.
Immediately, he felt a feather-light stroke of her energy. It gently flowed through him, sliding behind his weakened defenses and soothing scorched places in his spirit. He had felt nothing comparable since his training with his grandfather when he was a boy.
But his grandfather was stern and male, while Isabel was profoundly female. An object of desire whose touch sparked reactions that fizzed through his body. He moved involuntarily, for the effect was as alarming as it was exciting.
Masking his reaction, he said, 'You reached very deeply. It is a good beginning.'
She sighed. 'So little time.'
Feeling stronger than when he first woke, he asked, 'Are you a healer?'
'Only in a small way.' She rested her palm on his forehead again. 'Sleep, Macrae. Tomorrow we will begin our second campaign.'
He slipped into deep slumber, dimly aware that she had begun to heal the source of his power.
Since Macrae's fever had broken and his wits were well on the way to mending, Isabel left him alone to sleep. He needed the rest, and so did she.
Nonetheless, her night was troubled. Macrae was disturbing at the best of times, like a barely leashed lion. To allow him access to the darkest secrets of her soul — she shuddered at the thought.
The prospect of knowing his darkest secrets was even worse. Raised by protective, baffled parents, her life had been a sheltered one despite her studies. With Dee's guidance she had learned the disciplines of power, and her scrying ability had given her rare access to the workings of her society. But that knowledge was of the mind; Macrae was of the earth, intensely physical and experienced in matters beyond her imagination. The depths of his mind would not be… safe.
She should think of their joint endeavor as an opportunity to broaden her knowledge and understanding. Certainly the work was vital, for the Armada was a sword poised over Britain. Nonetheless, she felt like a mouse about to be seized by a hawk.
Reminding herself that she was a mouse armed with powerful fangs, she rolled over and forced herself to relax, one muscle at a time. She must hope that a hawk and a fanged mouse could between them stop the Spanish.
She was rising after a night of restless dreams when her housekeeper entered the bedroom in a rush. 'Sir Adam is gone!'
Isabel muttered an oath under her breath. 'I think I know where he might be. Don't worry — his fever broke last night, and he's as sensible now as he's capable of. Pack food in a basket while I dress.'
Reassured, Mistress Heath left to do her mistress's bidding. After donning a plain country gown of cream- colored linen and dressing her hair in a simple knot, Isabel collected the basket and walked down to the stone circle at a leisurely pace.
As she expected, Macrae was there, sitting on a stone as he looked out to sea. His beard needed trimming — he looked more pirate than gentleman.
Her relaxation vanished when she saw his despair. 'What has happened?'
'There is even less time than I thought.'
She settled on the stone beside his. 'Tell me.'
'If events are not changed, the Spanish will sail into the Firth of Forth to provision and regroup, and end by razing Edinburgh.'
Isabel frowned, wishing she had spent more time scrying Edinburgh. 'Surely Scots and Spaniards are allies — both hate the English enough.'
'The intent will not be war, but tempers will clash. The Spanish commander, Medina, will infuriate my countrymen, and soldiers will become drunk and riot. The city will be left a ruin of blood and bones and ashes.'
She shuddered at the images he conjured in her mind. 'When will this happen?'
'In two days, the first Spanish ships will moor at Leith. No more than two days more before trouble breaks out.'
Less than four days for them to change the course of a great Armada. 'I did not know you had such skill in seeing the future.'
'Usually I don't, but Scotland is bound to my blood.' He drew a rough breath. 'I'm glad I seldom see the future. It's a terrible gift. My attempt to drive the Armada onto the Zeeland shoals might have increased the danger for my countrymen.'
'Don't think about that!' They could not afford for him to become weakened by guilt. 'You already had fears for Edinburgh. Perhaps what you foresee now will be less terrible than what might have happened. We cannot be sure.'
His mouth twisted. 'How arrogant we mages are, to think we can make the world better by wielding our powers. Perhaps Britain would be better off without Guardians.'
'It is human nature to seek and use power. At least you Guardians do your best to serve the greater good.' She drew her knees up and looped her arms around them as she had in childhood, her gaze unfocused as she watched the waves roll into chalk cliffs. 'I envy you for being raised with others of your kind.'
'It would be difficult to be as alone as you, Isabel. Yet it has made you strong.'
She felt him in her mind, closer than was comfortable. She wanted to slam the doors and hurl him out. Instead, she forced herself to accept his demanding male presence, proud that she could say calmly, 'Though the hours are few, there is time enough to eat, and you'll be stronger for it.'
She investigated the basket. Fresh bread and cheese and ale, all made on her estate. Pulling out her knife, she sliced the bread and cheese, then poured ale into the pewter tankards.
His expression eased as he accepted the food, 'You're a practical woman. That is no bad thing.'
'Someone has to be practical, and usually it will be a woman,' she said tartly.
Macrae's amusement reverberated within her mind, a surprisingly pleasant effect. As they ate, she cautiously experimented with this unwonted closeness. She could not read his thoughts, and for that she was grateful, but she could sense his emotions with increasing accuracy. As they spoke, his mind shadowed his words with extra richness.
She also could enjoy his ravenous hunger. His startlingly sensual enjoyment of the simple food was so intense that it distracted her from her own meal. As he swallowed the last of his ale, he said, 'Sunshine, a fresh breeze, and plain country food. When I was in the Tower, I never thought I would know such simple pleasures again. A pity that my freedom was granted for such a dire reason.'
She stopped herself from saying that he might as well enjoy while he could, only to have him say, 'You're thinking I might as well take pleasure while I can, since my next attempt at weather working might send me to an early grave.'
She flushed and glanced away. 'Can you read my thoughts?'
'Only your emotions, but they are clear enough.' He set his empty tankard in the basket. 'Now it is time for work. Do you see that dark cloud in the middle distance?'
She shaded her eyes against the bright sky. 'Yes.'
'We are going to make it rain.' He laid his large hand over hers. 'The thought intrigues and alarms you. Well
