Free Lady of Magick by Sylvia Izzo Hunter Page A

course of study in one subject; I much prefer to keep house for him and be left to read whatever I will. But you are to be a student, I understand?”
    â€œYes, indeed,” said Sophie, with one of her slow-blooming smiles. “Though perhaps I may also be insufficiently patient. I suppose we shall find out!”
    â€œI hope at least you will come to all of my lectures,” Gray said, “though I dare say you will find them very dull.”
    Catriona looked uncertainly from one of them to the other, as though she did not altogether know what to make of this remark.
    â€œHe means,” said Sophie, with a brief reproachful glance at Gray, “that he has nothing to say which I have not already heard. But I trust that may not be so, for you have a prodigious library here, have not you? And I dare say it has a great many books in it, Gray, which even you have not read.”
    Catriona’s enthusiasm for the University Library carried the conversation happily forward until a bustle at the front door and a bass-baritone hail in which Gray could distinguish almost nothing but Catriona’s name announced the arrival of some other person.
    â€œAh! Here is Rory,” Catriona exclaimed, jumping up from her seat on a sofa the other end of which held a tall, precarious stack of codices and a glossy ginger cat.
    She ran lightly out of the room. When she returned a fewmoments later, she was towing by the hand a young man a little taller than herself, with hair like rings of polished copper and the same freckled nose and bright, dancing green eyes.
    â€œWelcome!” he said, turning on Gray the widest, most disarming grin the latter had ever seen. “I am delighted to see you both arrived here in one piece—that is to say . . . well! You will forgive my clumsy Latin, I am sure.”
    Rory MacCrimmon shook Gray by the hand—his hand was large and callused, his grip confident—but made Sophie a very creditable leg, which performance made her blush becomingly.
    â€œI hope you have got something splendid for dinner today, Catriona,” he said.
    *   *   *
    If the dinner was not so splendid as those they had eaten in London, the simpler fare was plentiful, well seasoned, and delectable, and Sophie thoroughly enjoyed both the food and the society.
    â€œMy colleagues are agog to meet you,” said Rory MacCrimmon to Gray. “A true shape-shifter! And the students, also. I predict you shall have a train of apprentices stretching from the University to Castle Hill.”
    His sister smiled gently at Sophie. “I hope you are not inclined to jealousy, Domina,” she said.
    â€œOf course not,” said Sophie at once—though as the conversation moved on, it occurred to her to ponder whether this was only because she had never had the least cause, and whether things might be different at the University, where clever women with an eye for Gray’s (to Sophie’s mind, very considerable) charms were likely to be all about them.
    She was not long left to ponder, however, for Rory MacCrimmon turned to her with his engaging grin and asked, “Have you ambitions in the shape-shifting line yourself?”
    â€œNot as such,” Sophie replied, cautiously, “though I confess I should rather like to be able to fly, as Gray does.”
    Catriona shuddered.
    â€œShould you, indeed?” said Rory. “I have not much head for heights, myself. My own project, as I have explained to your husband, is the form of a wild cat—now, wait a moment, where have I—”
    And over his sister’s protests, he leapt up from the table and ran out of the room, to return an awkward few moments later brandishing a sheaf of anatomical drawings and watercolour sketches; and the next quarter-hour or more was enthusiastically devoted to the physiology and physiognomy of the Alban wild cat.
    Sophie entered gladly into the men’s enthusiasm, but