A Distant Magic (31 page)

Simon nodded. "Schedule a meeting between African priests and
Guardians willing to support such a shield. Jean is exceptionally gifted at
protection, but determining how such a shield will be created and maintained
will require all of us. I would like to bring my son and daughter, and Meg will
want to participate."

"We will speak to the priests and find a time and place that will suit." Nikolai glanced at Jean.
"You look exhausted. It is time to leave, I think."

His words made her aware of how drained she was. "I've never done
such an intense healing before. I'm glad I had enough power to help."

Simon regarded her thoughtfully. "You have much more ability than
I realized."

"Adia told me that I have power, but the channels for using it are twisted. I have been doing visualizations to try to straighten them out." Jean smiled wryly.
"Also, I do best in emergencies, and there have been plenty of those lately."

His gaze became intense. "You have cured yourself, I think."

She thought of her years of magical frustration, and contrasted them to the way her skill had increased since starting on this journey. She hadn't realized how far she had come.
"It would be nice to think the emergencies have some positive use!"

Nikolai put a welcome arm around Jean. "We'll leave now, before
the reception ends and all the carriages are summoned at once. Until later, Lord
Falconer."

She was so tired that she barely noticed as Nikolai escorted her outside and got her into their carriage. Dusk was approaching as they started back into the city. He scooped Jean up onto his lap, cradling her close.
"You did well, little witch."

"Wilberforce lives, but the movement has been delayed."

"What matters most is that he survives." Nikolai rubbed Jean's back gently.
"We knew that changing the world would not be quick or easy."

He was right, of course, but she had never yet met a redhead to whom patience came easily. With a sigh, she burrowed against Nikolai's warm body, feeling safe. Safe, and unbelievably tired.

Chapter
THIRTY-THREE

J
ean slept in Nikolai's arms for the whole ride back to London. Even when they reached the inn and he carried her up the stairs, she didn't wake. He told himself that Falconer wouldn't have let her leave if she had drained her life force to a dangerous level, but the longer and more heavily she slept, the more concerned he became.

He laid her on the bed, then removed her gown, stays, and petticoats. Even being undressed didn't wake her. It was an effort not to caress her alluring body, but he managed to keep desire under control. When they became lovers, he wanted her to be awake.

With her powdered hair, she looked ghostly pale. He wet a towel and patted her face. No response beyond her slow, shallow breathing. He gave her shoulder a little shake.
"Jean, are you all right?"

When she didn't respond, he gently probed her with his mind. She was like a banked fire. Though coals of life glowed, she was deeply unconscious. He frowned.
"Before I call Falconer for help, I'll try to return some energy to you. You
started today by giving me yours, so I suppose it's no surprise you're depleted
now."

He stretched out beside her on the bed and leaned into a kiss, visualizing a stream of clear, bright energy channeling from some high place. As the light poured through him and into her, her lips moved slightly. He stroked her hair, wondering what fool had come up with the idea of covering beautiful hair with ugly, messy powder.

When she inhaled deeply, he took the opportunity to kiss her throat. Her pale skin put rose petals to shame. She gave a small hum of pleasure.

Encouraged, he asked, "Jean, are you awake?"

Eyes closed, she whispered, "What a nice way to wake up."

"You were so deeply asleep that I was worried," he said, relieved.
"I decided to see if I could transfer energy to you."

"I've never been so exhausted in my life, but you did a good job of restoring me." She raised a hand and slid her fingers into his hair, pulling his head down for another kiss. He was happy to oblige.

Desire danced between them, rich and enticing. When he paused for breath, he said warningly,
"You realize where this will end if we don't stop now."

"I know." Her eyes opened, the hazel depths blazing lucent gold with deep, ancient wisdom.
"The time has come to put away our fears and truly become mates."

"Is it our fears that have kept us apart?" He caught her hands, wanting to believe that it was time to join as one, but still uncertain.
"I thought we were waiting until we'd both developed our powers."

"So we were," she agreed. "But now you have been initiated and
have learned to recognize and oppose the Demon spirit of slavery. For me, I have
practiced faithfully since Adia identified my problem. Keeping Wilberforce alive
brought together all I had learned, and finally I feel that I'm in full control
of my magic. The power I channeled to save Wilberforce burned through me,
clearing the twisted pathways for good, I think."

He frowned, remembering. "I saw the flare of that from across the
room. The power was extraordinary."

"We both needed to fulfill our potentials, but the fear was real, too." She raised her hands to him, mischief in her face.
"We each fear having our soul consumed by the other. My fears are perfectly
justified, of course, but yours are quite foolish."

He laughed, knowing that she was well if her sense of humor was intact.
"You underestimate your power, witchling. Any sensible man would find you
alarming."

She blinked demurely. "My kin considered me harmless and useful."

"They weren't paying proper attention." He hadn't fully appreciated how long her auburn lashes were. Her hazel-gold eyes were an invitation to riot even without looking at the rest of her.
"It pains me to admit it, but you're probably right about the fears. You're a
terrifying woman, Jean Macrae. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Hungrily he reclaimed her mouth, this time kissing with passion, not healing. Lightning seared between them. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she pulled him down on top of her. Having their bodies pressed together full length was fire to tinder. He untied the ribbon at the neckline of her shift so he could kiss her breast, round and perfect in proportion to her slender frame.

She gasped and arched her back, her fingers clawing at his garments. He was wearing far too much. Panting, he rolled onto his side and yanked at the buttons of his waistcoat. Her fumbling fingers slowed the process, especially when she reached for the buttons of his breeches. He stiffened, paralyzed, before having the sense to swing from the bed and remove all his garments in one frantic rush. Through habit, he faced her as he disrobed, hiding the scars that crisscrossed his back.

Jean was an irresistible antidote to habit. She slid from the bed and moved behind him, her palms caressing the ridges and furrows of his back. He stood rigid, distantly aware of laughter in the taproom below, a wagon clattering by in the street. Remembering why he always avoided exposing his bare body to others.

Her warm lips pressed against his back, her tongue soothing an old scar.
"Badges of courage," she said softly. "What would you be if my father had not
changed the course of your life for both better and worse?"

He'd never thought to ask himself that. After a few moments of hard thought, he said,
"Probably I'd be a Maltese sailor. Not a deck-hand. A bo'sun, maybe." He took a deep breath.
"And perhaps I would still have ended up a galley slave. It's not an uncommon
fate for those who sail the Middle Sea."

Her arms circled his waist and she pressed against him, only the thin chemise separating them.
"A peaceful life may be easy, but it's hardship that builds character. Without
your difficult past, you would not be the champion of freedom that you have
become. You redeemed the lives of many with your courage. Your efforts now may
help countless thousands of other slaves. This would not have happened with an
easy life."

All true. Nor would he be able to hold this amazing woman in his arms. He turned and embraced her.
"So I should thank your father for shattering my life?"

"That would be too much to ask, I think. But you might look on him
as part of the tapestry of your fate. If you hadn't met, you would not be the
man you are."

"I will start by thanking him for you, my Scottish witch." The night was cold, so he pulled the covers down before scooping her up and laying her on the cool linen sheets. He had done an admirable job of controlling his passions since they had begun this crusade, but no longer. He wanted her, needed her, with every fiber of his being.

And she felt the same. As he covered her with his body, her hips rocked against him, pressing them together with intoxicating intimacy.
"Consume my soul if you wish," he breathed as his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroking the nipples to hardness.
"I no longer mind."

"Your soul would be too rich a brew for me." She raised her head and nipped his ear. Heat blazed through him.
"But your body—that is a different matter entirely."

He pulled her shift upward and slid his hand between her thighs to find moist, heated flesh. She gasped when he touched her, her muscles rippling. For a frantic moment he wondered if he would last long enough to enter her.

Her urgent hand guided him into her taut, welcoming body. As he sheathed himself, she cried out and bucked frantically. He climaxed immediately with an intensity that echoed the time vortex, whirling and splintering his awareness, only this time pain was transmuted to pleasure. Their energies flowed together, melting and being reforged. In the very marrow of his bones, he knew that they had changed each other forever. It was what he had feared since they met—and yet now that change was perfect, inevitable, and
right.

He almost blacked out, returning gradually to the awareness that she was panting in his arms, her body still clasping his.
"That was…quite extraordinary," he managed.

"We have been denying the attraction since we met, so desire has built up like the pressure in the steam engines Simon builds." She laughed a little.
"Engines are very dangerous when they explode. And so is passion."

They would not have been able to join so easily if she had been a virgin, so her Scottish sweetheart had been her lover in all ways. Nikolai was not surprised—where Jean loved, she would give herself completely. As he rolled to one side and pulled her close, he said,
"I did not think to control myself to avoid the risk of a child."

She covered a yawn. "I have some ability to control quickening. A
Guardian woman with healing ability seldom has babies when she doesn't want
them."

He blinked. "How amazingly useful."

"It certainly was during the Rising, when we were caught up in long marches and ambushes and ragged retreats." There was a long silence.
"Later I wished that I had borne Robbie's child. As we followed the Prince into
England, I was too young to truly believe that Robbie could die. I assumed there
would be time for a family."

He kissed her forehead since he had no words that could assuage such a loss.
"You said before that it was time to come together. Now that we have, I feel
that we have been transformed in ways I can't describe."

"I feel that, too," she said quietly. "I believe we have been
tempered into a stronger weapon for our cause."

He tested the concept, and found that he agreed. "We really did
need to reach a certain place in our magical growth before we could be bonded in
this way, so I suppose the frustration was necessary."

She grinned. "It's rather like cooking. Soak the dried apples
before making the pie. If the ingredients aren't ready, the result won't be
good."

For some reason, thinking of them as an apple pie struck him as uproariously funny. She joined in, and they laughed together until they were both gasping for breath. As they relaxed, intertwined, Jean said,
"Adia told me about the magical power of blending male and female energies.
Remember, that's why her elders sought a couple to undertake this mission. I
didn't really understand until tonight. Look!"

She gestured with her hand, and a ribbon that had fallen from her hair floated from the floor and draped itself over her palm.
"Proof that the twisted pathways in my mind are now working properly. I've never been able to move solid objects. Casual magic has always been difficult." She twined the ribbon between her fingers.
"Between trying to save Wilberforce and lying with you, my mental knots are
gone."

He touched the ribbon, amazed. "It makes sense that the ancestors
are forging us into the tools needed for our task. But it's unnerving to think
that they might have been looking over our shoulders here."

"I doubt that we shocked them, the old rascals." She turned so that her back curved against his chest. She fit beautifully.
"And if we did—I hope we shock them again and again!"

"I have finished listing expenses in the ledger." Adia pushed back her hair with ink-stained fingers.
"Do you have other tasks for me?"

Louise shook her head. "No, you may go for your walk." She glanced at the floor.
"And take that ugly beast with you."

"He comes or goes as he wills." Adia leaned over and scratched the neck of the large, scarred orange tomcat. He must have reached the island by stowing away on one of Santola's sailing ships. The island had its share of cats, useful for catching vermin, but none of the others had the swagger and arrogance of this ginger tom.

Not long after the captain and Jean vanished into time, the cat had attached himself to Adia, following her around during the day and usually sleeping on her bed at night. She called him Bruiser. The cat and Isabelle, the macaw, could spend hours in the same room without ever acknowledging the other's presence by so much as a twitched whisker or feather.
"I shall see you at dinner, Louise."

"Fish stew and rice tonight. Very tasty."

"I look forward to it." Adia stood and stretched, thinking what a good friend Louise had become. The Frenchwoman had a sharp tongue but a kind heart, and she welcomed the chance to learn more about Africa. Adia had become a de facto family member, dining nightly with Louise and her children. Though Louise's husband was often at sea, he welcomed Adia like a sister when he was home.

But it was not the same as having her own family. Even her grandmother had largely faded from Adia's awareness, apart from an occasional touch of warmth. Adia supposed that was because she was now safe, free, and had accomplished her part in the great crusade to end slavery. She no longer needed Grandmother's regular encouragement and guidance. But she missed the old woman's tart, loving presence.

As she left Gregorio's house, Adia donned a broad-brimmed straw hat to protect her from the blazing midday sun. She had fallen into a comfortable way of life during her weeks on the islands. She helped Louise with the island's ledgers, worked on her journal, which was proving unexpectedly interesting, and took long walks to burn off her restlessness. She had good food, interesting work, and friends.

Her life would be almost paradise, if not for how much she missed her husband and children. When Adia left London, Molly was being courted by a handsome young Englishman whose father owned a pub. Would they marry? Would her son be accepted as a charity student at the school that would teach far more than Adia could? How was Daniel managing without her? They had thought they would live or die together. They had not considered the possibility of another endless separation.

Bruiser fell into step beside her, looking bored. She guessed that he felt it beneath his feline dignity to be seen following a human as if he was a mere dog. Or perhaps he had been a dog in another life and hadn't yet acquired the habits of catliness. Whatever his reasons, she welcomed his company and missed him when he was off on mysterious private business.

Her walks always began by heading down to the small harbor to see what was going on. She had never lived by the sea, and she enjoyed the waterside activities. Fishing boats sailed out and returned with bountiful fresh fish for the islanders. Sometimes a Santolan trading ship would be in port, loading or unloading or being refitted. Gregorio's
Justice
had been repaired and was at sea again.