The Marriage Spell (31 page)

“It had to be some form of dark magic, though not one I recognized. Thank God a noise woke me. Since you weren't in bed, I came to investigate.” Lightly she brushed his tangled hair as she took her hands away. Her heart still hammered from the terror of seeing the pistol pointed at his head. “Do you have any brandy here?”

He gestured at his trunk. “There should be a flask in there.”

She found the well-worn silver flask without trouble and unscrewed the cap. Hoping to steady her shaking hands, she took a hefty swig before handing it to Jack. The brandy burn helped clear her thoughts. “Don't drink too much. We need to think about how this was done. The next attack might be more successful.”

He swallowed a mouthful of the brandy, coughed, then took a smaller sip. “Let's do our thinking in our nice warm bed.”

He got to his feet and capped the flask, then wrapped an arm around Abby as they returned to the other bedroom. As she stacked the pillows, he created a ball of light and attached it above their heads on the canopy of the bed. They settled against the pillow-stacked backboard and he pulled the covers up to their chests. Lord, his feet were icy cold! Bless Abby for putting her warmer feet on his. “Where do we start, apart from the fact that once more you've saved my life? How did that devil get into my mind?”

“I think we made a mistake in assuming that Scranton had hired a black magician to cast the earlier spells,” Abby said slowly. “I think he must have created them himself. He isn't a regular wizard—I would sense that if he was. But my father's research has found references to odd magical talents that are not well known or studied. Given what we know about Scranton, I think that he has one of those twisted talents.”

“Might he have the ability to draw life directly from the land?” Jack exclaimed. “That could be why the estate is ailing. He sucks up the land's energy for himself.”

“I think you're right!” Abby sat up straighter. “When I met him, my first impression was that he drew energy from all around him. I even felt him tugging at me. His twisted talent might use that energy to create certain kinds of spells. My guess is that his power is inefficient, its range very limited. In the past he was able to drive you away from Yorkshire and make you reckless. Tonight he drained your sense of well-being and made you wish to end your own life. Those are inherently negative forms of magic.”

“So he takes and destroys and never heals or builds,” Jack said. “That odd magic may be able to get around my basic shields. Is there any protection that might be more effective against him?”

Abby bit her lip. “There might be.” She slipped from the bed, crossed to her linen press, and returned with a needle. “I think this will help.”

She stabbed it into the index finger of her left hand, then drew down the covers so she could raise the hem of his nightshirt all the way to his chest. Cold night air tickled his midriff. “I'll draw a symbol of protection on your solar plexus.”

“Blood?” he asked warily.

“It sounds like the most dreadful hedge-witch flummery, doesn't it? But there is truth buried in the old superstitions. Blood has power. Particularly the blood of a wizard.” With the bleeding tip of her finger, she drew a symbol that looked like three twisting spirals that joined at the center. He winced when she had to prick her finger again to renew the blood flow.

When she finished, she said, “This will be effective until it's washed off.”

He took the needle from her. “You're stronger and more disciplined than I, but if this symbol protects me, I assume it will benefit you, also.”

She shrugged. “I'm not likely to be the focus of Scranton's wickedness.”

“We don't know that for certain, and I don't want to underestimate him again.” He studied the symbol till he was sure that he could reproduce it, then uncovered her midsection and pricked his finger.

When he touched the smooth, pale skin of her midriff, she said, “That tickles!”

“Then I shall be quick.” Trying not to be distracted by the lovely curves revealed by the magical light, he drew the three intersecting spirals. “Interesting. I can feel the protective shield forming.”

“It's one of the most powerful of protective charms, but it's not used often because of the requirement for blood,” she observed. “Plus, it's stronger if there is a bond between the person casting the spell and the one receiving it.”

“So one couldn't hire a wizard to do this and get as strong a shield.” He blew gently on the blood to dry it out, and a shiver passed through Abby. “Now, what else can I do while waiting for the blood to dry? Hmm.” He bent and began kissing her belly, his tongue teasing the soft skin while his hand slid between her thighs.

She slid lower into the pillows, her hips pulsing in rhythm to his stroking hand. “We must take care not to rub off the symbols.”

“If that happens, we'll draw more.” His mouth followed his hands, tasting the hidden sweetness of her. She moaned and opened her legs to him as she buried her fingers in his hair.

After a brush with death, there was nothing sweeter than worshipping life.

Chapter
XXXI

A
fter making love to Abby, Jack slept soundly, but he awoke with reluctance. From the light, it was early and a clear, sunny day. Since Abby seemed awake, he asked, “Last night wasn't just a bad dream, was it?”

“I'm afraid not.” Abby pushed herself up and studied his face, then nodded. “But we survived. What is on the schedule for today?”

Jack didn't suppose he could say, “Kill Scranton,” since that would just upset Abby. But he didn't see another solution, since Jack wasn't up to a magical battle with the bastard. Abby's own positive, healing power was so different from Scranton's that she might be vulnerable to the man's twisted spells. “We should ride over the estate. I need to see the place for myself, inch by inch and tenant by tenant, and so do you. Are you up to a day in the saddle?”

“I look forward to learning the estate, and maybe finding some clues about how to heal it.” She slid from the bed and reached for her robe. “Are your shields in place?”

He tested them. The symbol she'd drawn on his solar plexus pulsed with power. “Yes. I don't think that Scranton will be able to poison my mind again.”

“I don't think he poisoned it,” she said seriously. “Rather, he drew out everything good and positive in your nature, leaving the dark threads of fear and despair that haunt all of us on bad days.”

“Even you?” he said quizzically as he climbed from the bed and retrieved his robe. “You seem so strong and calm and sure of yourself.”

“Oh, Jack.” She laughed a little as she poured water into the washbasin. “I suppose I must be glad that I conceal my doubts and fears so well.”

He relaxed his eyes and studied her with inner vision as she splashed water on her face. Oddly enough, he'd never really looked at her like this, even after he had accepted that he had wizardly perception. Because she had always been strong, the rock he'd depended on when recovering from his accident, he hadn't thought about the fact that she must have her share of doubts and regrets.

Her shields were too strong for him to do more than dimly sense those shadows, but the knowledge that she was vulnerable invoked new tenderness. As he returned to his bedroom to wash and dress, he realized that even though she was his superior in wizardry, he could still be the knight to his lady.

A
fter dressing in riding clothes, they headed downstairs. Abby looked splendid in a navy blue habit with gold military-style trimmings. The tenants of Langdale would be impressed by their new mistress, Jack knew.

As they reached the ground floor, she murmured, “Let's go to the kitchen and have bread and tea there rather than a formal breakfast.”

“In other words,” he translated, “you'd prefer to avoid Mother and her husband.”

“That, and I haven't seen the kitchen yet since I haven't had a formal tour of the household.”

She wasn't likely to get one from his mother, he realized. “The kitchen was my favorite place when I was a lad,” he said fondly. “I spent more time there than anywhere but my bedroom. I wonder who rules there now? Not Mrs. Watson, I fear. If she was still cook, last night's dinner would have been better. She was the jolliest, kindest of women.” Though he had doted on his mother, it was Mrs. Watson who'd hugged him when he fell from trees and listened while he chattered about boyish enthusiasms. And her pastries had been superb. He hoped she was alive and at another great house rather than dead. The world benefited from her existence.

Their plan to visit the kitchen unseen failed since they had to walk by the breakfast parlor. As they did, Scranton opened the door. His jaw hardened at the sight of them, and disappointment showed in his dark eyes. He must have hoped that the soul-sucking energy he had used on Jack would produce some permanent consequence.

With deliberate cheerfulness, Jack said, “Good morning, Scranton. It's good to be home. I haven't slept so well in years.”

As the other man glowered, a savage blow struck Jack's energy field. Instinctively Jack deflected the attack. Scranton gasped, his eyes widening as negative energy rebounded on him. Jack found vicious satisfaction in the exchange, because it proved beyond doubt that Scranton had magic and was willing to use it against others.

Jack's mother emerged from the breakfast room, as polished and pretty as a goldfinch. Each time he saw her, she seemed younger and more childlike. Ignoring Abby, she said brightly, “Good morning, Jack. Darling Alfred said that surely you would reconsider about us leaving after sleeping on the matter?”

Darling Alfred had hoped his wife's son would be dead this morning, Jack thought dryly. “The night only confirmed my belief that it is time for you to leave.” He turned to Scranton, his eyes narrowed with menace, thinking how strange it was to fight this silent battle behind polite words. “Will you be leaving six days from today, or sooner? I'd be happy to arrange for an estate wagon to move your goods.”

“Your help will not be necessary.” Scranton spat the words out like poison darts.

“True,” Jack said heartily, since cheerfulness seemed to irritate the other man. “Moving personal possessions three miles is a minor matter.”

His mother drew closer to her husband's side, her expression tragic. “Please don't do this, Jack. I can't bear the thought of leaving my home.”

“I'm sorry, Mother, but unless you can give me a good reason why you can't move, you and your husband will have to be out in the next six days. Today I'm going to show Abby the estate. We shall see you at dinner.” Shaking internally at being so implacable to his mother, he took Abby's arm and led her to the stairs that descended to the kitchen, glad to get away from Scranton's fury and his mother's accusing eyes.

When the door was closed behind them, Abby said thoughtfully, “I wonder if I shall always be invisible to them? It has certain advantages. I could conjure elephant illusions in the hallway and never be noticed.”

Jack's laughter eased some of his tension. “I should like to see that. Never mind, in a few days they will be gone.”

“But not without a fight,” she predicted. “I wish I knew what battlefield will be chosen. Do they know I'm a wizard?”

“I don't believe so. I haven't told my mother, and I doubt that Celeste would have put such information in a letter.”

“Then their ignorance is a weapon for us.”

“A major weapon,” he agreed. “If not for your power, I wouldn't be here.”

They reached the flagstoned hallway at the base of the steps and walked back into the spacious kitchen. It was large enough to prepare a banquet for a king, and had done exactly that in days gone by.

The shape and layout of the kitchen and pantries were familiar to Jack, but as soon as he stepped inside he realized how much the spirit had changed. No longer was the room a warm sanctuary saturated with delicious aromas and the chatter of half a dozen people. The great kitchen contained only an aproned cook and a single drab scullery maid.

The cook was thin and gray and dispirited, but there was something familiar about the old woman. She glanced up from the bread she was kneading, her expression weary beyond imagining. Her eyes widened as if he was a ghost. “Master Jack, is that you?”

Dear God, it was Mrs. Watson! She had been nicely rounded and usually dusted with flour. Now her extra weight was gone, along with her smile.

“Mrs. Watson, how wonderful to see you!” He had always greeted her with a hug when he returned from school, so he stepped forward and embraced her, hiding his shock at her appearance.

She had once been soft and wonderfully comforting to hug. Now she was a collection of bones. She shook in his arms, and he realized that she was trembling with barely suppressed sobs. “I never thought to see you again, lad,” she gasped.

“I'm home for good now,” he said soothingly. “My mother never mentioned you, so I didn't realize you still presided here.”

She patted him on the arm, as if needing to be convinced he was real. “Aye, 'tis me, lad, though all else has changed.”

She looked ten years younger than when they'd entered the kitchen. He beckoned Abby forward. “This is my wife, Lady Frayne. She is your new mistress.”

Mrs. Watson looked her over eagerly. “My new mistress, you say? It won't be Sir Alfred choosing the menus and giving the orders?”

So Scranton had taken over the household from Jack's mother. The news did not surprise him; the baronet would want to control every aspect of life at Langdale Hall. “Sir Alfred and my lady mother will be moving to Combe House in a few days.”

“And it's past time they did, lad!” She wiped her hands off on a towel. “Now, will you be wanting some food? You never once showed your face here when you weren't hungry.”

Abby laughed. “That's exactly why we're here, Mrs. Watson. Frayne told me that the kitchen was his favorite place in Langdale. We were hoping for a bite to break our fast, then perhaps some food to take with us as we ride over the estate.”

“You'll be wanting eggs and bacon with your tea, and some nice fried potatoes, and maybe ham sandwiches and ginger cakes to take away. With more warning, I could do better.” Mrs. Watson glanced at the scullery maid. “Annie, you make some fresh tea and set places at the table.” She smiled, and looked younger yet. “My lord and his lady have come home.”

J
ack pulled Dancer to a halt when they came in sight of the crumbling stone cottage, surprised at the intensity of his disappointment. The day had deteriorated sharply after they left Mrs. Watson. He and Abby had ridden over much of the estate, and found mostly barren fields and unhealthy-looking stock. A handful of tenants and laborers were still in residence, but the majority of cottages had been abandoned.

“A shepherd named Maxon and his wife and four children lived here,” Jack said bleakly. “The family has been in Langdale for generations, and I thought surely they would be among those who stayed. I wonder where they have gone?”

Abby got a faraway look in her eyes. “To a farm south of Leeds, with the oldest lad now in the army. The family remembers Langdale with fondness and regret. They would come back if the land was healthy again.”

“It's disconcerting when you do that.” Jack dismounted to take a closer look at the door and window framings of the cottage. “How often can you tell where people are and what they are doing?”

“It varies. The Maxons lived here happily a long time. Their thoughts are still tied to the place, which is why I received a strong impression of their current situation.”

“If the estate is restored and this cottage repaired”—Jack frowned as he rapped the rotten wood of a window frame—“would you be able to locate them so they could be invited to return?”

“Perhaps. But first the land must be healed.” She gestured. “We've been riding all morning and found only one in three cottages inhabited, and the people in them are a sad lot. The sun is out, but it's still winter here even though spring has come to the surrounding countryside. Scranton's damage runs deep.”

“Are you
sure
I can't just kill him?” Jack asked wistfully.

“No!” she said emphatically. “That's much too dangerous, and not only because murder is a hanging offense. If it became known that you murdered a man and that you have magical power, it would put all wizards at greater risk.” Abby's mouth twisted. “Even in communities where we're accepted, the line between safety and torches at midnight is a thin one. As a wizard, any crimes you commit reflect on all of us.”

Jack hadn't thought of that. Reluctantly he accepted that he couldn't kill Scranton, even though the bastard deserved it.

He was about to remount when a skinny dog with matted black and white fur limped into the yard from behind the house. “That's a sheepherding dog. I wonder if she was left behind when the Maxons moved.”

“Perhaps. She looks as if she's been on her own for quite a while.”

The beast approached Jack warily, as if unsure whether to wag or run. Jack offered his hand for her to sniff. “Maxon bred the finest sheepdogs in West Yorkshire. This poor old girl looks like one of his.”

After the dog licked his hand, Jack scratched the unkempt head and was rewarded with an adoring, hopeful gaze. “Do you think you could do anything for that limp?”

Abby shook her head. “It's an old injury. She isn't bothered by it much now, but she can't herd sheep the way she once did. Or hunt hares for her dinner.”

Jack took one of Mrs. Watson's thick ham sandwiches from his saddlebags and offered half to the dog. She grabbed the food eagerly, too hungry for manners.

As the dog wolfed down the sandwich, Jack said, “What I don't understand is why Scranton needs so much energy that he's stripped the estate of most of its life force. He would have been wiser to allow the place to run normally. Instead, Alderton and my London man of business have both visited to find out what was wrong. Granted, they found no malfeasance, but it would have been safer for Scranton if there had been no reason for them to come at all.” He gave the dog the rest of the sandwich.