So engrossed had Gwen been in proving her hypothesis—for the sheer joy of proving it—that she hadn’t given thought to all the possible ramifications until it had been nearly too late. In a moment of blinding clarity, she suddenly glimpsed all the potentials should she complete her work.

The fundamentals of it would make possible weapons to exceed all weapons. Infinite possibilities, not just to destroy the earth but to alter the very fabric of the universe. Too much power for man to own.

Late that very night, the lab at Triton Corp. caught fire.

Everything was destroyed.

The fire chief and arson investigator spent weeks picking through the rubble before writing it up as accidental, despite the unfathomable heat that had caused the foundation to explode.

There’d been too many chemicals stored on site to prove anything, and the burn patterns had been oddly random. A veritable study of randomness, her father had observed coldly when she’d informed him that all her research had gone up in flames and she’d failed to keep back-up Zip disks in the safety box at the bank as he’d taught her.

Five days later Gwen quit school and moved out into her own barren little apartment. Her father had refused to let her take so much as one piece of furniture.

She’d never looked back.

“I set fire to the lab I’d been working in and burned everything. I dropped out of my parents’ world and took a job settling…er, disputes.”

His eyes were glittering when she finished. He was stunned by what she’d just confided. Doubly stunned that fate had brought him such a woman who was his match in every way. Intelligence, passion, honor, courage to defy and do what she knew was right.

What children they would have, what a life they would have!

“I am proud of you, Gwen,” he said quietly.

She smiled radiantly. “Thank you! I knew you’d understand. And that’s why I understand about the stones.”

They kissed slowly and passionately, as if they had all the time in the world. Then Drustan said softly, “ ‘Tis said that if a Keltar should use the stones for his own selfish reasons, the souls of the lost Druids—the evil ones who died in the battle—wait to take possession of such a fool. That they’re trapped in a kind of in-between place, neither dead nor living. I know naught if it’s true, nor dare I chance it. To reawaken such violence, such madness and rage—” He broke off. “There is much about Druidry even we doona understand. We doona tamper with the unknown. When Dageus died in the other reality, I could not break my oaths.” He blinked and looked startled. “Dageus,” he muttered, pushing himself up.

Gwen sat up with him. “He’s alive, remember? You sent two hundred guards with him.”

He rubbed his forehead. “Och, ’tis damn odd having two realities in here. I can see why the mind instinctively resists it. I hold all the grief of him dying yet the awareness that he hasn’t.” He blew out a breath, frowning. “Yet.”

Gwen searched his eyes. “You’re worried about him.”

“Nay,” he said swiftly, “I have my beloved wife—”

“You’re worried about him,” she said dryly.

He raked a hand through his hair.

“Has the battle happened yet? You never told me what date he died.”

“Two days hence. The second day of August.”

“Could you get there by then?” she pressed.

He nodded, clearly torn. “But only if I ride without pause.”

“Then go. Bring him safely home, Drustan,” she said softly. “I’ll be fine here. I can’t bear to think that he might die if you’re not there. Go.”

“You dismiss me from your bed so soon?” he growled teasingly, but she glimpsed a brush of vulnerability in his eyes. She marveled that such an intelligent, attractive, passionate, sexy man could suffer insecurity.

“No. If it were up to me, I’d never let you go, but I know that if Dageus doesn’t come home safely, I’ll hate myself. We have time. We have the rest of our lives,” she said, smiling.

“Aye, that we do.” He stretched himself over her, suspending his weight on his palms, and kissed her with only their lips touching. Long and slow and delicious. The hot silk of his tongue swirled languidly against hers.

When he sat back, he was grinning.

“What?”

“Anya. I can both secure my brother’s safety and tidy up that bit of business. No lass of five and ten will tolerate ‘magic’ well. I will induce her to break the betrothal, bring my brother home, and toop you till you can’t move. For a sennight, nay, a fortnight—”