The Marriage Spell (33 page)

The hall was a furious five-minute ride away. She was two hundred yards behind Jack when he reached the stable yard and reined in his mount. “Take care of my horse,” he shouted at a startled stable boy as he vaulted from the saddle.

He had disappeared into the house by the time Abby reached the stable yard. She dismounted in a fast tumble and tossed the reins to the boy. “Take care of my horse, too!” Catching up her skirts, she darted toward the house.

Maxie, limping hard, had galloped behind. When the dog reached the courtyard, she began to lap from the horses' watering trough. As Abby opened the door into the house, she called over her shoulder, “When you have time, give the dog a bath!”

Though Abby didn't know the house well, it took only a moment of stillness to locate the dark beat of trouble. Drawn by a sense of pending disaster, she ran through the corridors that led to the family parlor.

Jack stood in the open door, his body rigid. Abby found out why when she skidded to a halt beside him and looked into the room. Sitting on the fashionable Egyptian-style sofa was Helen, who was calmly knitting with narrow silver needles, ignoring the others in the room. She wore a magnificent low-cut silk gown and her golden hair was a stylish tumble of curls. A queen's ransom in jewels glittered on her throat, wrists, and ears.

Her glowering husband stood beside her, a double-barreled shotgun in his rock-steady hands. Scranton smiled chillingly as he aimed the weapon at the doorway. At this range, it would wound or kill both Jack and Abby. “You think you have won by breaking my connection with Langdale, but you haven't. The final power is in my hands.”

Jack acknowledged Abby's arrival with a wry glance, as if he'd realized she would come. But he kept his concentration on his mother's husband. “This is not about winning and losing, Scranton. What I wanted was the control and health of my land, and I have that now. Yes, I'm angry about what you did, but I don't need revenge. You are free to leave. So is my mother, if she chooses to accompany you.”

He took a cautious step into the room. “So why don't you put down that shotgun? There's no need for it here.”

Jack stopped cold when Scranton's finger tightened on the trigger. “You don't understand,” the older man said furiously. Beside him, Helen continued knitting. The narrow needles were creating something small and lacy. Her indifference to the drama playing out in front of her suggested that she was deeply bespelled.

“What don't we understand?” Abby asked softly, hoping that Scranton would feel less threatened by a woman than by a powerful man like Jack. “I want to know, if you'll explain. I do know that you have an unusual gift of magic.”

The barrel of the shotgun jerked as his hands clenched spasmodically. “A twisted, nearly useless gift! Everything I have achieved with my magic has taken a dozen times the effort of an average wizard. But despite the obstacles, I learned how to use my power to get what I want. Behold my greatest treasure.”

He touched Helen's shoulder with one hand. “My wife is my queen. The most beautiful woman on earth.” His voice ached with emotion.

“She is a rare and precious prize,” Abby agreed. “Why not simply take her and go? No one will stop you. You have the resources to live a full and happy life with your wife anywhere you choose. Combe House. London. Abroad, even.”

“Because Langdale is the only place I can be with Helen!” Scranton's voice broke. “After living most of her life here, she is tied to this place, though not as much as
him.”
He waved the shotgun at Jack. “Using Langdale magic, I can make her love me in Langdale. Here she is the perfect wife.”

“Are you saying she married you because you ensorcelled her rather than from love?” Jack said, shocked.

“Of course she loves me!” The shotgun shook, though the barrels still pointed at the door. “But…but we are happiest here.”

Abby gasped. “You've used your twisted magic to enthrall her! That's why you can't leave Langdale. Your spell would be too weak to hold her anywhere else.”

From his expression, she saw that she had guessed right. Only at Langdale would Helen be the adoring wife Scranton wanted. His obsession had led him to learn how to drain the land's energy and twist it into the spell that bound her to him. No wonder he couldn't let her leave the estate, and why he stayed himself. He must have feared that if Helen ever escaped his control, she would be gone for good.

“You bastard!” Jack said in a low, menacing voice. “Until now I was willing to accept my mother's marriage because I thought she loved you. But if she has been your captive, I swear I will free her if I have to break your neck with my bare hands!”

He stalked forward. Scranton fired, the noise deafening in the small parlor.

Before Abby had time to panic, Jack flung up his hand and created a shield for himself and Abby. An invisible wall of force absorbed the velocity of the shotgun pellets and they fell harmlessly to the floor.

“You can't hurt me or Abby,” Jack said as the vital energy of Langdale poured through him. “This is your last chance, Scranton. Surrender or face the consequences!”

“I cannot live without her! This is all your fault, Frayne. Remember that!” Eyes wild, Scranton turned and gave his wife a swift, desperate kiss. “Say good-bye, my beloved. Then do what I showed you earlier. No one else will ever have you!”

Helen raised her head and blinked vague blue eyes. “Good-bye, sweetheart. Good-bye, Jack.” She pulled one of the narrow silver needles from her knitting, reversed it so the point was pressed under her breastbone and angling upward—and stabbed the metal shaft into her heart.

Chapter
XXXIII

A
bby gasped, scarcely able to believe what she was seeing. As Helen froze, her expression shocked, Scranton said brokenly, “We will be together in eternity, my beloved.” He jammed the shotgun under his chin and fired the second barrel.

The blast knocked him backward and shattered his skull. As blood sprayed in all directions, Helen stood and stepped forward uncertainly. Slowly she crumpled to her knees, then fell onto her side. Abby saw the energy bond that had connected Helen and her husband dissolve. The dark magician's hold was broken at last.

“Mother!” Jack cried out in anguish as he dropped to his knees beside her fragile form. Gently he rolled her onto her back. The silver shaft of the knitting needle shivered from her midriff, a trace of blood staining her gown around it.

Abby swayed on her feet, closer to fainting than she had ever been in her life. So much blood…Her stomach roiled. Jack must have seen such sights on the battlefield, but even as a healer, Abby had experienced nothing so ghastly.

Several servants rushed into the room, then stopped, staring at the bloodshed with horror. Jack snapped, “Mark this sight well so you can bear witness that Scranton killed himself. Then get that…that
thing
out of here.” He gestured toward Scranton's body. “Take the sofa away and burn it.”

The young footman, Jenkins, swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord.” His gaze went to Helen. From where he stood, the knitting needle wouldn't be visible. “What about her ladyship? Should we send for a physician, or did she just swoon from the shock?”

Jack shook his head. “She is gravely injured and a physician can't help her, but my wife is the best healer in England.”

Jenkins looked relieved. Clearly he respected wizardry. Steadied by having something to do, he organized his fellow servants to obey Jack's orders.

Not looking at the ruined creature who had been Alfred Scranton, Abby forced her wobbly legs to cross to where Jack knelt beside his mother. Helen still lived, for she was blinking up at her son.

“Why, Jack, how lovely to see you! I had not expected you to come home this winter. It has been so long.” She tried to raise a hand to his cheek but failed. “I…I feel very tired. Will you stay long?”

She spoke like a woman waking from drugged sleep. Even her voice had changed. This was the true Helen, Abby realized. The exquisite compliant doll who was Scranton's wife had been a creature of his dark obsessions, not a real woman.

Abby knelt beside Helen and studied the wound. Though the older woman had been splashed by her husband's blood, hardly any blood showed around the needle. Perhaps, God willing, there was still time for a miracle.

Helen looked up at Abby, blinking as if trying to focus. “Jack, you wicked boy, have you brought this young lady home to meet me?”

Voice choked, he said, “This is my wife, Abby, Mother. I wrote you about her.”

“My foolish memory!” Helen gave a weak huff of laughter. “How could I forget a thing like that? Welcome to Langdale, child, and thank you for marrying this stubborn son of mine. Maybe now he'll stay home.”

“Don't try to talk, Lady Frayne,” Abby said. “You're very ill and need healing.”

“I am…so cold. What's this?” Helen tried to focus on the shiny needle jutting from her body. “How very odd.” Her lids fluttered shut and her face became slack.

“Can you save her, Abby?” Jack said, his eyes frantic. “To lose her like this!”

“I'll know better after I scan her.”

“Should I carry her into the dining room so you can examine her better?”

“No, any movement might cause the needle to shift. That would be very bad.” Abby spread her palms on Helen's chest, bracketing the needle but not touching it. Closing her eyes, she scanned deep into the other woman's body. “The needle has pierced several vital organs, but it's so sharp and the wound is so narrow that, so far, there hasn't been much internal bleeding. That could change at any moment. She's in shock, and her situation is precarious.”

“What can be done?” Jack asked.

“With a healing circle, it might be possible to repair the damage to her organs, one by one.” She shook her head. “I just don't know.”

“If anyone can save her, it's you. What do you want me to do?”

“Summon Mr. Willard as quickly as you can. Since we can't move your mother, she must be treated right here. I will try to keep her stable until you can bring the vicar. I don't know if a mortal injury this deep can be healed, but because the wound is so narrow, it's worth trying. Otherwise, there is no hope.”

Jack kissed his mother's forehead tenderly. “Be here when I return, Mother. Please.” He rose and left the room, his expression grim.

Abby rested her hands on Helen's chest and concentrated on keeping the older woman alive. Though she was tempted to see if she could repair any of the internal wounds, she controlled the impulse. More power was needed for a real cure, and it would be foolish to waste her energy on futile attempts.

Helen's breathing steadied, shallow but regular. Abby rose and found a knee rug folded over the back of a chair. She shook it out and covered Helen, who was dangerously chilled by shock. Then she resumed her place by the older woman and rested a hand on her shoulder, hoping she had enough power to maintain Helen in this state until Jack and the vicar arrived.

The servants who had taken away Scranton's body returned. Working with quiet efficiency, they carried off the sofa. Before leaving, Jenkins spread a blanket over the bloodstained carpet. The men had overcome their initial shock at the violence. Abby sensed no sign of sorrow at Scranton's death, but they regarded Helen anxiously.

Since the servants were carrying a sofa, they left the door open and moments later clattering claws were heard. Abby looked up as Homer, Helen's fat little dog, galloped into the room. The dog skidded to a halt and began frantically nosing his mistress. When licking her face got no response, he sat on his haunches and howled with canine despair.

Abby had found Homer irritating before, but she couldn't bear to hear his heartbreak. She scooped the dog into her arms and stroked him soothingly. “I'm sorry, Homer. Your mistress is very ill. We'll do what we can. Why don't you lie down beside her and share some of your doggy warmth with her?” The unnerving howl faded into a whimper as the dog lay down alongside his mistress.

Then Cleocatra padded in. The cat had always had an instinct for people who were unwell. She'd slept with Jack regularly when he was recovering. Abby had a suspicion that cats could channel a form of healing energy invisible to humans.

Today there was no conflict between cat and dog. Cleo curled up against Abby's side, tucked in the angle between Abby and Helen. Her soft purr may or may not have helped the injured woman, but Abby appreciated it.

As she continued her efforts at maintaining her patient, Abby studied the other woman's face. Helen looked noticeably older than when they had met. She was still lovely, but she now showed the marks of half a century of living. Perhaps Scranton's enchantment had included an illusion spell to make her look younger. No wonder he had needed to draw so much energy from Langdale. It wasn't easy to turn an imperfect woman into a perfect wife.

Together Abby and her friends kept vigil until Jack could return.

J
ack and the vicar were both tense with worry when they returned. They had a bonus with them, a calm older woman named Mrs. Neel, who was the village healer and midwife. When they were introduced, Abby said, “I was going to lead the circle, Mrs. Neel, but I will defer to your experience if you choose.”

“Nay, lass, you're far more powerful than I.” With visible effort, the older woman folded herself onto the floor beside Helen. “Och, I'm too old to sit like this. But I can add a good steady energy to the healing.”

This circle would be less dangerous to lead than the one that had healed Jack because less power was involved, but less power also meant less healing potential. Abby closed her eyes for a moment and prayed they would be able to close this wound before it took Helen's life. Then she opened her eyes and briefly explained how the circle worked. Mr. Willard had participated in circles, but Jack's only experience was as a subject.

It was awkward arranging everyone around Helen's limp body—they would all have sore joints later—but they managed. There was even room for the two pets to stay in contact with the injured woman.

Abby explained, “I am going to remove the needle very slowly, and I will try to heal each damaged organ as the point comes free.” She didn't need to add that if she removed the needle quickly, Helen would bleed to death.

Gently Abby grasped the shaft while Mrs. Neel rested a hand on her right shoulder and Jack on her left. Mr. Willard was between them. She tested their individual energies. Mrs. Neel, calm and experienced. Mr. Willard, whose gentle magic was augmented by his deep faith. And Jack, who burned with the vitality of all Langdale.

Feeling more confident, Abby set to work, starting at the tip of the needle, which was lodged in the heart. Her awareness explored the pulsing muscle around the sharp point. Then she began to rebuild tissue to block potential bleeding when the pressure of the needle was removed.

Fraction by infinitesimal fraction, she raised the needle. There was a little bleeding higher up along the shaft of metal, but the section she had repaired held.

She began to work on the liver. The needle was three quarters of its length out when she began to sway dizzily from the expenditure of energy. Instantly power poured into her from Jack. Now that the holy well had been restored and Scranton was dead, Jack had access to immense amounts of vital energy.

Steadied, she returned to her task. The closer she came to the end, the greater the temptation to pull the needle out and get the job over, but she forced herself to continue at the same slow pace.

“Thank God!” she said when at last the knitting needle was free of Helen's body. After closing the circle, she added, “I think she will be all right.”

As she slumped down, weary to the bone, Jack exhaled with relief and the vicar said, “Truly, God be thanked.”

Mrs. Neel patted Abby's hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Frayne. I hope we work together again.”

“So do I—but not soon!” She squeezed the midwife's hand gratefully before the other woman stood creakily and left.

Helen's eyes opened and she looked around in confusion. Her gaze settled on the vicar. “Jeremy! How lovely to see you. It's been so long.” She frowned. “Too long. I've been very ill, haven't I? Am…am I dying?”

“You were gravely injured, but you're recovering now,” Abby said.

“It's like a long dream. I keep seeing…Sir Alfred Scranton?” She shook her head in frustration. “I…I was married to him? Was he also injured?”

Abby exchanged a look with Jack. This was not the right time for his mother to learn the whole story. He said gently, “Yes. I'm afraid he is dead.”

Helen's eyes drifted shut and tears leaked from under the lids. “Poor Alfred. He was a most devoted husband, but very limited in his interests. Perhaps I should not have married him. But I didn't want to be alone, you see.”

“You need never be alone, Helen,” Mr. Willard said huskily.

“Dear Jeremy.” Helen opened her eyes and gave him an enchanting smile before drifting into sleep. Now that Helen was free of Scranton's spell, it was easy for Abby to see why men adored her.

“Can she be moved to her bedroom now?” Jack asked.

Abby nodded. “She is as well as we can make her. The rest is in God's hands.”

Jack bent and lifted his mother as if she were made of fine porcelain. “I hope she can sleep away the bad memories.”

Abby sat back on her heels and pushed a strand of hair from her face. “She needs to remember if she is to gain wisdom from what she had endured.”

After a moment's hesitation, Jack nodded. “For most of her life, people have shielded her because she seemed too pretty to distress. The time for that is past.”

As he carried his mother from the parlor, Mr. Willard offered his hand to help Abby up from the floor. She ached from sitting so long, and bruises were starting to make themselves felt from her earlier fall by the holy well. The vicar said, “I'd like to sit with Helen if I may.”

“I shouldn't think Jack will mind. His mother is years behind in her prayers, so she needs her vicar with her.” Abby cocked her head to one side. “Why didn't you marry her instead of letting Scranton have her?”

Mr. Willard looked away. “I considered making an offer when her year of mourning was done, but I am a country vicar while she was a viscountess. I was still debating the propriety of asking her to marry me when she wed Scranton. I was bitterly disappointed, but even so, I thought it was for the best. He was a wealthy man. What did I have to offer her?”