The Marriage Spell (6 page)

Judith grinned and sat up herself. Like Abby, she wore a chemise rather than a nightgown. “Beds were in short supply last night,” she explained. “Everyone who participated in the circle was far too tired to go home and we were on the verge of toppling like trees. Your wonderful staff managed to find us all places to lie down before we fell down.”

Abby made a mental count. “There should have been enough beds.”

“I was worried about you,” Judith said bluntly. “I've never seen anyone pour out as much magic as you did last night. I thought you should have someone nearby. Just in case.”

Abby gave her a puzzled glance. “It was just a healing circle. There was no need to be concerned. We've done them often enough.”

Judith smiled wryly. “I've never been in a circle which lasted for three hours, nor one which performed such a miracle.”

“Three hours!” Abby stared. “Was it really that long?”

Her friend nodded. “Everyone was so drained that I was on the verge of closing the circle myself before one of us collapsed. I'm amazed that no one broke down. It was a very near thing.”

Abby frowned as she thought back over what had happened. “I lost track of the time. Now that I think of it, I'm not surprised that it took hours. There was so much repair work to be done.”

“Which is why a healing on this scale is so rare. Having enough power, patience, and skill almost never happens.” Judith smiled. “You did well, Abby. I hope your noble patient is worth it.”

“I think he is.” Abby began finger-combing knots from her hair. “What happened last night after my maidenly faint?”

Judith covered another yawn. “I splinted our patient's broken leg so he couldn't ruin your good work if he thrashed about. At my suggestion, he was moved into that downstairs room that was your grandfather's after he became ill. I asked the housekeeper to provide a substantial breakfast all morning so people could eat whenever they woke. After such a long circle, everyone will be ravenous today.”

“Thank you for taking care of all this.” Abby made a face as she worked a large knot in her hair loose. “You must be as tired as I, but you managed much better.”

“Tired I was, but not so much as you. After all, I'm not pouring life force into the patient,” Judith said tartly.

She should have guessed that Judith would notice. “I won't do it for very long, but Lord Frayne needed extra vitality to survive the healing process. He'll continue to need a little extra until he regains some of his own strength.”

“I suppose you're right,” her friend conceded. “But don't keep this up very long. Life force energy is fragile and not unlimited. You could damage yourself. Or…worse.”

“I'll be careful.” Abby swung out of bed. “It's time I got dressed and found out what my guests are up to. I'll see you in the breakfast room.”

She prepared for the day swiftly, very aware of her failings as a hostess. But before heading for the breakfast room, she stopped by Frayne's room to see how her patient was doing. From the doorway, she studied the firm planes of his face and thought how much more alive he looked today than yesterday. When he had been carried into her house, he had been a dying man. Now he was merely sleeping.

A tired, unshaven Ashby was watching over his friend. He rose at her entrance. “Jack was awake for a bit earlier. According to Ransom, he was very much his usual self. Aching and tired but sensible.”

“I assume Ransom is taking his turn to rest. You look like you could use some sleep yourself.”

Ashby gave a lopsided smile. “You're right, but I didn't want to leave Jack alone. With his valet seeing to Jack's house and Ransom off to London, that left me.”

London? She supposed that men of the world were accustomed to tearing around like mail coaches. “Get some sleep, your grace,” she ordered. “I'll stay with Lord Frayne until one of the footmen can come and stand watch. He doesn't need much nursing care at the moment. Mostly he needs the time to convalesce.”

“I'll admit there isn't much I could do if he suffered a crisis except call for help, but I didn't want to leave him. I had just fallen asleep when Ransom asked me to take over again.” Turning to leave, he added, “I thought you had agreed to call me Ashby.”

She shrugged. “Yesterday was all turmoil. Today is a return to normality. You are a duke. I'm a country gentleman's daughter and a wizard. It is time to resume our normal places in life.”

“You will always be the brave woman who saved my friend's life,” the duke said quietly. “And I hope that I shall always be Ashby to you.”

He meant it, she realized. And even though today was normal, she recognized there was a bond between them. She guessed it was rather like soldiers who had fought side by side in a battle. “Very well, Ashby. I shall endeavor to suppress my manners.”

He smiled and left her alone with Frayne. As soon as the door closed, she moved to the bedside for a closer look. Even though he was sleeping, she saw humor and individuality in his face. His soul was firmly seated in his body again. She moved her hands above his body in a light scan. Yes, the repairs were sound.

She rested her hand on his forehead. No sign of fever. Though she had banished inflammation the day before, there was always a danger it would return. That was perhaps the greatest risk to his recovery.

Two tugs on the rope beside the bed would bring a footman so that she would be able to see to her guests. But before the servant could come, she allowed herself the indulgence of touching Lord Frayne. First she brushed the back of her hand across his cheek, finding the masculine prickle of whiskers to be strangely arousing.

In teasing contrast, the brown waves of his hair were soft against her fingertips. “I'm glad you survived, Jack Langdon,” she whispered.

She wondered how long it would take him to back gracefully out of his marriage bargain.

Chapter
V

T
he brush of an angel's wing…
Jack was drawn from sleep by a gentle touch on his hair.

He opened his eyes, and saw not an angel but the burning sun whose warmth had brought him back to life. He blinked in shock, and the sun dissolved into an Amazon with startled eyes. When she didn't turn into something else, he said politely, “Good day. I'm sorry I can't greet you properly, but I don't think standing would be wise just now.”

Her surprise changed to amusement. “No, it wouldn't. But you are doing well, my lord. I find no trace of fever.”

He felt obscurely disappointed that she had been checking his temperature, not giving him an angel's benediction. Though she had certainly acted the part of an angel to him. He studied her face. Wide cheekbones, a large mouth that seemed ready to smile, and those startlingly edged blue eyes. Not a beautiful face, but pleasant enough.

She seemed a voluptuous, healthy wench, with an earthy sensuality that some men would find provocative. But she wasn't the sort of female he would choose to wed. He repressed his sigh, not wanting to be insulting. “We are to be married, are we not? Perhaps you should call me Jack instead of my lord.”

He had startled her again. After a brief hesitation, “It seems too early to call you by your Christian name or to discuss our marriage. First you must regain your health.”

He didn't agree that it was too soon to discuss their nuptials, but he hadn't the energy to argue. “Alas—Miss Barton, I believe?—I do not even know your Christian name. I hope that in time you will give me leave to use it.”

“My name is Abigail. Usually I am called Abby.”

He noted that she didn't grant permission for him to call her that. Since lady's maids were often called abigails, the name wasn't popular in high society, yet it suited her. This was a woman who wouldn't be afraid to dirty her hands when a job needed doing. He could do worse, which was fortunate, given that he had no choice.

While he studied her, she was studying him. “You will sleep a great deal over the next few days,” she said. “That is usual after a major healing. Don't fight it, my lord.”

“I'm tired and hungry,” he murmured as his eyes drifted shut again. “What are the chances of a few slices of roast beef when I wake up?”

“Nil,” she said promptly. “But you will be fed, I promise that. A nice chicken broth with perhaps a bit of barley in it.”

“Broth,” he said with disgust. “Wake me up when I'm ready for beef.” Or perhaps he only thought the words as he fell asleep again.

A
shby hadn't exaggerated that his lordship was himself again. Or at least he was articulate and individual. Though Abby hadn't known him before, his behavior fit her idea of him. He filled the room with his personality. Even when his handsome, highborn friends were present, it was Lord Frayne who compelled her attention.

Jack.
He had bid her to use his name. Though she wasn't ready to call him that directly, she was glad to call him that in her thoughts, as she had done for years.

The footman arrived and Abby charged him with watching over their patient. She left the bedroom, knowing there was no need to order broth, since her excellent cook always had a pot on the hob. When Jack was awake and ready to eat, Abby would infuse the broth with extra healing energy. He would eat it while complaining that he preferred food that required chewing. He was not going to be the sort of patient who would stay willingly in bed.

Though he actually seemed willing to carry through on his promise to marry her. That bore thinking about.

On her way to the breakfast room, she heard angry voices in the front hall. She detoured and found a tall, dark man in a muddy driving coat castigating her butler. At her entrance, the stranger swerved toward her. “Are you the lady of the house? What is this bloody story about Lord Frayne being brought here to die?”

His voice was furious and his handsome face was all hard angles, but she saw the underlying fear. “You must be another of Lord Frayne's old friends,” she said peaceably. “I am Miss Barton. Yes, his lordship was brought here yesterday gravely injured, but he is not dying. In fact, he is well on his way to recovery.”

The man's anger drained out of him. “Thank God,” he breathed. “When I stopped at an inn outside of Melton for breakfast, I was told Jack had been brought here and was surely dead already. I was so afraid…” He cut off his words.

“He has had two friends here with him—the Duke of Ashby and Mr. Ransom. Are they also friends of yours?”

“They are. So he has been in good hands.” The man gave her a smile of surprising warmth. “Forgive my rag-manners, Miss Barton. I am Lucas Winslow. Might I see Lord Frayne? Or Ashby or Ransom?”

“Lord Frayne and Ashby are both sound asleep,” she replied. “Yesterday was a very tiring day. Ransom left for London this morning. I can take you to Lord Frayne, but you must not wake him. He needs his rest, as does Ashby.”

“I would very much like to see him.”

“Then take off your coat and hat and prepare to stay a bit. After you've seen your friend, perhaps you would join us for breakfast?”

He smiled ruefully. “You're very perceptive. When I heard the news at the inn, I didn't stay to eat.” His voice cooled. “If this is the home of a wyrdling, as they said, I suppose it's inevitable you would be perceptive. Invasive, even.”

“If Jack Langdon hadn't been brought to a wizard's house, he would be dead,” she said with equal coolness. “I ask that you show respect while you are under my roof.”

His expression stilled. “My apologies, Miss Barton. I should not have said that.”

She gave him credit for apologizing. Not all aristocrats were capable of admitting wrong. “No, you shouldn't, but you have had a difficult morning. Come along and see Jack, then have something to eat. It will do wonders for your disposition.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said meekly as he followed her. When they entered Jack's room, the footman withdrew to give them privacy.

As Winslow moved to Jack's bedside, Abby said softly, “His neck was broken, but it's been repaired. There were other injuries, including a broken leg and cracked ribs. Those will take time to heal, but soon he should be as good as new.”

Winslow glanced up sharply when she mentioned the broken neck. “A local healer was able to mend the spinal injury?”

“It took a dozen talented wizards working flat out to do the mending, but yes, that's why he has survived to hunt another day.”

Winslow touched Jack's shoulder lightly, as if to reassure himself of his friend's continued life. In a voice so low she guessed she wasn't meant to hear, he said, “So despite your courtship of death you are still among us, Jack. Thank God for that.”

He turned and moved away from the bed. “I'm ready for that breakfast, Miss Barton, and hungry enough to eat a sheep whole.”

She would have loved to know what he meant by that remark about Jack courting death, but she didn't ask. Since her exertions the day before had made her ravenous, it was hard to think much beyond food herself.

Most of her wizard friends were in the breakfast room, chatting and laughing and enjoying the excellent buffet laid out on the sideboards. Mr. Hambly looked up from his tea when Abby and Winslow entered. “You're looking much better than you did last night, lass. How is our patient?”

“Doing well. Very tired, of course, but he conversed quite sensibly when I visited him.” She gestured to the visitor. “Mr. Winslow is a friend of Lord Frayne's. Mr. Winslow, these are some of the members of the healing circle that performed a miracle.”

From the faint tightening around his eyes, she guessed that he was uncomfortable in the presence of so many wizards, but he bowed courteously. “My thanks to you all.”

She debated introducing everyone, then decided against it. Winslow was unlikely to have a social relationship with any of her magical friends.

As Abby and Winslow moved toward the sideboard to select food, young Ella entered the breakfast room and approached Abby, her eyes pleading. “Lord Frayne's horse has been brought to your stables, Miss Abby. He has a broken leg and there's talk of having him put down. Do you think you might be able to help?”

Winslow paused between the coddled eggs and the sliced ham. “If that's a huge dark bay, it's probably Dancer, Frayne's favorite mount. Four white socks.”

“That's the one,” Ella confirmed. “The finest bit of horseflesh I've ever seen.”

That was high praise coming from Ella, a fervent horse lover. After a wistful glance at the buffet, Abby said, “I'll come take a look. We're all drained today. Does anyone have the energy left to help heal a horse?”

“I'll come,” Hambly said. As he rose from the table, three of the other wizards, including Judith, joined him. Those who stayed in their chairs did so with regretful expressions. Abby knew they would help if they could, but their magical powers had been depleted in the healing circle and needed time to be replenished.

Abby grabbed a piece of toast and wolfed it down as the group walked out to the stables. Inside, Ella led them to a box stall where a large bay stood, his head hanging dispiritedly and his splinted right foreleg raised so it barely touched the floor. The glossy dark hide was marked by numerous abrasions and lacerations from his fall, and his breathing was shallow. Hertford, the head groom, watched from outside the stall with a worried expression.

“That's Dancer,” Winslow said from behind Abby. “What would it cost to save him? Frayne thinks the world of that oversize beast.”

“This is not about money, Mr. Winslow.” Abby stepped up beside Hertford. He was a wizard himself, his gift an uncanny ability to work with animals. “What did you find when you examined this fellow?”

“The cannon bone in his right fore is broke, but it's a clean break,” Hertford said. “It would be enough to have him put down anywhere but here, but I put a splint on, hoping you might be able to save him. 'E's a good beast and deserves a chance. You'll have to work fast, though. He's getting right feverish.”

“Please keep him calm for me.” Abby entered the stall, Hertford behind her. Usually a high-spirited hunter like this one would react to the approach of a stranger, but Dancer hardly noticed her.

Hertford laid his hands on the horse's head and murmured a string of soothing words while Abby scanned the broken foreleg. As the groom had said, the break was clean. Still, treating a large animal required a great deal of energy. The mere thought was exhausting, but she would have help. She turned to her friends. “Shall we give this a try? Healing one bone will be easy compared to yesterday.”

“We're all here so we might as well see what we can do,” Judith said practically. “But don't attempt more than you're fit for.”

Judith made the average mother hen look neglectful, but Abby appreciated her concern. As the wizards filed into the loose box, she assigned them places, Ella on her right and Hambly on her left. Abby placed her hands on the right side of Dancer's neck while Hertford stood opposite, his hands also splayed out on Dancer's dark hide. There were just enough people to surround the horse, though if not for Hertford's soothing magic, the bay wouldn't have tolerated the crowding. Winslow was still present and he looked acutely uncomfortable, but he didn't withdraw. Nor did he offer to help. Dislike for magic ran particularly deep in him.

“Our hands are joined, the circle is sealed. Let us begin.” Even though Abby braced herself, she wavered under the onslaught of energies.

After a few deep breaths, she managed to steady her mind. Her healing trance was not as profound as the day before, but it sufficed. An overall scan confirmed that only the broken foreleg was serious, but when she tried to fuse the bone, she didn't have sufficient strength and focus to do the job completely.

This time the patient didn't have a store of magic to draw on, but she managed to lay down a template and start the healing process. Though less than completely mended, Dancer's leg was perhaps halfway there. It would have to be good enough.

She used the last shreds of channeled power to purge Dancer's system of inflammation. As Hertford had said, infection was taking hold and would kill the horse if left unchecked.

Wearily she closed the circle. She was swaying on her feet and felt as if her body and spirit were not quite connected. Speaking was an effort. “With the splint and Hertford's good care, Dancer should be ready to hunt before his master is.”

“Oh, thank you,” Ella said, her eyes as bright as if she were Dancer's owner. She stroked the dark coat. “I'll come back later and groom him, if that's all right with Mr. Hertford. But you need to get back to the house and have a proper meal, Miss Abby.”

The girl took Abby's arm and helped her from the stable. Things had come to a pretty pass, she thought ruefully, when she needed help from a fifteen-year-old. Consciousness wavering, she decided to skip the food and go straight to bed.