His gaze snapped upward. "Isabel!"
With a smile like the sun at high noon, he sheathed his sword and galloped up the steps three at a time. Meeting her on the landing, he swept her into an embrace that bruised her lips. Thunder and lightning, a storm in the blood. Her desire to shove him down the stairs dissolved, and she kissed him back. The damnable man!
He murmured into her ear, "Did you think you could walk away from an alchemical marriage, my beautiful witch?"
"But… but Anne, the woman you are contracted to…"
"Likely wed to another by now." His long, clever fingers began stroking the small of her back. "Anne had no shortage of suitors, and she found me alarming, which is why the contracts had not yet been signed."
A man cleared his throat heavily. Face beet-red, Isabel looked down the steps to find that she and Macrae were the object of fascinated gazes by half the members of the household. Her father said sternly, "You know this rogue?"
"H-his name is Sir Adam Macrae, and he is a well-born Scot," she stammered.
"A Scot?" Her father snorted. "No wonder he behaves like a savage."
"Accustom yourself." Macrae raised his hand, revealing a sapphire ring in a setting that matched Isabel's. "Your queen herself has ordered Isabel to marry me, in return for my services to England."
"You called on Queen Elizabeth?" Isabel's eyes widened with shock.
"I wanted to make sure I held the high ground if you were so foolish as to try to refuse me." He wrapped one arm around her waist and gazed down at Isabel's parents. "I am wealthy enough to gladden any parent's heart, and brave enough to take on your hellcat. As it happens, she and I share certain… unusual talents and interests. Now, if you will excuse us, I wish to speak to my affianced bride in private."
Her father's eyes narrowed, showing the formidable merchant who had prospered in good times and bad. "I don't care how wealthy you are, or if God Himself has given you permission to wed my daughter. No man will have Isabel unless she agrees to the union, and if you attempt to force her, you'll face the swords of myself and my three sons."
Isabel's mother placed a hand on her husband's arm, a faint, knowing smile playing over her lips. "I doubt that anything is being done against Isabel's will. Give them the chance to settle matters in private, David."
Isabel's father started to protest, then subsided. "Very well, if Isabel is willing to speak with this rogue."
"I am willing. Matters between us must be settled." Although, she wasn't sure if she would accept Macrae or cut his heart out.
As he marched Isabel up the steps, she glanced back and saw that her parents were smiling. Smiling! As easily as that, this barbarian Scot had won them over.
He led her unerringly to her bedroom. "How did you know where to find me?" she asked as he bolted the door behind them.
"It would have been hard enough to hide from a mage, but it's impossible to conceal yourself from your bonded mate. For mated we are, Isabel. Accept it."
He spun her around so that her back was to him and began deftly unlacing her gown. With a swiftness truly magical he unbound her rigid leather corset, then cupped her breasts with his warm great hands.
As she gasped with distracted pleasure, his levity dropped away. "I love you, Isabel," he said softly. "Accept the fact that we are joined for life, and quite possibly eternity as well. Will marriage be so very bad? We've been granted a rare gift of passion and closeness, my love."
She pulled away and turned to face him. It wasn't possible to read his thoughts — the white heat that had joined them when they conjured the tempest was only a distant pulse, though it would always be there when summoned. But they were still in resonance with each other, and with dawning wonder she realized that she was no longer alone.
In his eyes, she saw the reflection of her own soul and the mad glory of his desire. Even, to her surprise, a fear that she would continue to resist him.
She had always had faith in her magical abilities, but for the first time, a pleasing sense of feminine power began to flow through her. Despite Macrae's bluster, he was well-aware that a mage of her power couldn't be brought unwilling to the altar. This great brash Scot was humbling himself. Humility was not one of his gifts, which was why he was doing it so badly.
Secure in her power as both sorceress and woman, she asked, "So you have demanded me as a reward from my queen, invaded my home, and terrorized our servants because you want to marry me even though I am neither Scottish nor a Guardian?"
He smiled wryly. "Aye. It doesn't matter that you are English and not of Guardian blood. You are Isabel — the most powerful sorceress in Britain and my bonded mate, and my family will rejoice when I bring you home. Must I terrorize anyone else to gain your consent?"
"My dear, foolish rogue." With a swift cascade of joy, she linked her arms around his neck. She didn't need her scrying glass to know that they would share passion and battles and unshakable love. Macrae was hers as she was his, bonded for eternity in an alchemical marriage. "All you had to do was ask!"
♥ ♥ ♥
Author's Note
The defeat of the Spanish Armada is one of those historical high points that just about everyone remembers from high school history classes. It was a watershed that established England's ascendancy as a great sea power and was also a signifier of Spain's decline. The expulsion of the Jews from Spain certainly contributed to that decline. It's ironic that the word marrano, which meant swine and was highly insulting, became Marranos, the term by which the exiles are now known.
John Dee is a historical figure, famous as the queen's conjuror. A metaphysical scholar, alchemist, writer, and astrologer, he cast a chart to pick the best time for Elizabeth's coronation. Given the success of her reign, he was obviously good at his work! It was said that he put a hex on the Spanish Armada, which is why the weather was unusually bad that summer and the English triumphed. The running battles in the English Channel did only average damage — it was the storms when the Armada tried to sail north around Britain that destroyed most of the Spanish fleet.
Dee was also a founder of the Rosicrucian Order, a Protestant response to the Jesuits. A devout Christian, he was both praised and vilified in his lifetime. It is said that he was the model for Shakespeare's Prospero in The Tempest. His library of more than four thousand volumes was the largest in England.
The Guardians are my own invention. Their descendants will appear in some of my future historical romances, starting with A Kiss of Fate, coming from Ballantine Books in summer 2004.
Stained Glass Heart
by Catherine Asaro
1. The Golden Suns
Vyrl slipped outside the castle, making sure no one saw him escape. Beyond the village, the Dalvador Plains spread out like a silver-green sea of reeds rippling with the breezes. He took off in a loping run, the grasses rustling around his legs.
Reveling in his freedom, he soon left the village behind. He ran for the joy of being healthy, strong, and full of life. Out here he could be himself, rather than Prince Havyrl Torcellei Valdoria.
In his more introspective moods, Vyrl realized he lived in an idyll, his life marked by golden days. His parents had set it up that way, to shield their children from the harsh life of the Imperial Court in an interstellar empire. The colonists who had settled the world Lyshriol lived a simpler life, one close to the land. They cared more about a good harvest festival than long titles or dynastic lineages. So Vyrl and his many siblings tended crops, pulled weeds, and looked after livestock just like anyone else.