The Marriage Spell (9 page)

“Here's some.” Ashby offered several irregular lumps chipped from a sugar loaf. “My horse can do with less.”

“Thank you.” Jack offered the sugar a piece at a time. Dancer slobbered the lumps up greedily.

Jack smiled, feeling more normal than he had since the accident. He and his horse both had broken legs, but one day they would ride together again. He glanced up at Miss Barton. “I knew I owed you my life, but this is…. even more. Not everyone would go to the effort to save an injured beast.”

“Credit goes to young Ella,” she said. “To be honest, I didn't even know your horse had been brought here.”

“She may have been the messenger, but you were the one who led the healing.” He rested his forehead against Dancer's neck, thinking that marrying a wizard who took horses seriously was no bad thing.

Miss Barton's soft voice said, “It's time for you to return to the house, Lord Frayne. You've had enough frolicking for one day, I think.”

It was a measure of his fatigue that instead of arguing, he just gave Dancer a last pat. “I'll be back tomorrow, old fellow.” And he'd bring his own sugar.

Now that the excitement of seeing Dancer was past, he was so tired he could barely remain upright in the wheelchair. He'd never dreamed that sitting up and being wheeled around could take so much out of a man.

Being transferred from chair to bed was another awkward, painful endeavor, but sinking into the mattress was bliss. As Miss Barton drew the coverlet up to his chin, he said, “Thank you for letting me go outside. Now, all of you go away, please. You, too, Morris. Find yourself some supper and smoke your pipe and flirt with a housemaid before you return. I'll be fine for a couple of hours. In fact I'm going right to sleep.”

His visitors all left without argument. An advantage to being convalescent was that all he had to do was claim fatigue to get privacy. He closed his eyes gratefully, hoping that sleep would claim him soon.

But despite his fatigue, sleep eluded him. Now that his mind was active again, it hopped as restlessly as a pond full of frogs. On the deepest level of his being, he sensed a profound irreversible shift. He suspected that it was called growing up, and that the changes were being triggered by his close brush with mortality.

Two complicated challenges confronted him. One was the knowledge that he was pledged to marry a wizard, a prospect so unnerving that he still hadn't looked at it clearly. He owed Miss Barton a great debt, but the fact that she was a practitioner of magic gave him chills. He could feel them now. Or was that chills and fever?

He supposed he could learn to deal with Miss Barton; she seemed a sensible woman and she didn't affect mysterious airs as some wizards did. She had also said that she would not be a demanding wife, so they should be able to find a way to get on tolerably well. Since she preferred the country, she could stay on at his hunting box across the valley, close to her family. She'd made it clear she wanted a child. If that happened, she would probably be content to stay here forever.

The other great issue was returning to Yorkshire to face his mother and stepfather. Would it be worse to confront his mother, whom he loved, or his stepfather, whom he hated? Unfortunately, the two could not be separated. Yet he had a responsibility to the people of Langdale, and it could no longer be denied.

Something hit the bottom of the bed with a thump and started walking firmly up the mattress. Startled, Jack opened his eyes and saw a large black cat moving through the darkening room. He knew black cats were traditional for wizards, but he wasn't so sure about the white feet and luxuriant white whiskers which curved out from the round black face. It was hard for a feline to look menacing with white socks and whiskers. “Hello, cat. I'm Jack. Who are you?”

The cat didn't reply, but it placed its forepaws on Jack's chest and leaned forward until their noses touched. The feline nose was pleasantly cool and moist against Jack's heated skin.

Regarding the cat cross-eyed, Jack asked, “Are you the wizard's familiar?”

The cat made a huffing sound that sounded suspiciously like disdain. Then it curled up against Jack's side and began purring loudly. Jack stroked the silky fur. He'd always been a dog lover, but there was something soothing about a cat's purr.

Very soothing indeed.

A
bby's restless sleep was disturbed by a tapping at the door. “Miss Abigail?” It was the worried voice of the housekeeper.

Yawning, Abby swung out of bed and opened the door. “Is something wrong?”

“Lord Frayne's valet asked me to wake you. He's concerned.”

“I'll be right there.” Frowning, Abby pulled on a heavy robe and slippers and followed the housekeeper downstairs. Though the winter days had been fairly mild, nighttime was bitterly cold and drafty. She heard the tall drawing room clock strike three as she descended to the ground floor. Three in the morning, when vital spirits were at their lowest ebb and death drew near. She quickened her pace.

Morris greeted her with relief. He had made up a pallet in Jack's room so he could sleep near his master, just in case. “I'm sorry to disturb you, miss, but I don't like the way he's breathing.”

“You did the right thing by summoning me.” Even before she reached the bedside, she could hear Jack laboring for breath. What was wrong? In the lamplight, his face looked gray and he seemed diminished, as if he was fading away. Her cat, Cleocatra, was sitting beside him. Had she thought Jack needed watching? Like most cats, Cleo was preternaturally sensitive.

She inhaled slowly, trying to focus her mind while silently cursing the fact that her magic was still so depleted. If something was seriously wrong, she wouldn't be able to do much without help.

When she was centered, she laid her hand on his forehead. It was heated with fever. Inflammation must be flaring up again.

She scanned him and found hot spots in his spleen and where the bones had broken in his leg. The infections weren't out of control yet, but they would be soon. Summoning all her energy reserves, she suppressed the inflammations, struggling to dissolve the hot red energy with cool white light to quench the fever.

As she finished her work, Jack rolled restlessly to one side, on the verge of falling off the bed. Abby and Morris both leaped to catch him. As they eased Jack's overheated body back toward the middle of the mattress, his nightshirt dragged down, exposing his left shoulder. Branded into the skin was the spiral shape of a serpent.

Abby gasped, recognizing the symbol. “I see that it isn't enough for Lord Frayne to carry a charm against magic. He must have it burned into his flesh.”

“My lord is very concerned about being a victim of magic,” Morris said apologetically. “He's had that banishing mark as long as I've known him.”

Repulsed, Abby tugged the nightshirt back over the symbol. The narrow line of the serpent's body spiraled inward seven times with the head in the center and the twisted tail on the outside. It was a common charm for banishing magic, but she had never heard of anyone branding himself with it.

Was branding the custom at Stonebridge Academy, or was Jack unusually fearful of magic even by aristocratic standards? She remembered that when he'd been brought in after the accident, she'd asked his friends if they could remove any anti-magic charms Jack carried. Instead of searching his pockets, Ashby had concentrated on getting Jack to grant permission for Abby to work on him. Obviously the duke had known about the brand. Did he and Ransom and Winslow carry the same mark on their shoulders?

Mouth tight, she said to the valet, “I've taken care of the fever, but he's still very weak. He hasn't yet recovered from losing so much blood after the accident. It was a mistake to let him go outside today.”

“Maybe so,” Morris said softly. “But being happy helps a man heal, and he sure was happy to see that horse.”

“Maybe I should have had the horse brought in to him,” she said wryly as she turned back to her patient. Though he had certainly enjoyed his expedition, she would attempt to persuade him not to attempt another one until he was stronger.

And to make him stronger, she must give him some of her life force again. She rested her hand on his solar plexus. Though it wasn't necessary, she liked touching his warm, masculine body. First she visualized a thread connecting them. Then she imagined life force flowing through it.

Her vitality dimmed, but the positive effect on Jack was immediately obvious. His face smoothed out, peaceful in normal sleep. It was not a classically handsome face, but it was…very dear.

When she was sure he had been stabilized, she wearily returned to her room. By morning, he should be cool and on his way to recovery.

As for Abby—she would sleep late. She needed it.

Chapter
VIII

A
s Abby had expected, the next morning Jack was free of fever and more energetic. His improvement came at the cost of tired circles under her eyes, but she could spare some vital force until his recovery was less tenuous.

Ashby and Winslow made a habit of stopping by to visit Jack after the day's hunting. The first time it happened, Abby escorted them to his room and rang for refreshments. When she started to withdraw after ordering food, the men invited her to stay, and asked her to invite Judith as well.

The three men and two women made a convivial company. Jack was at his happiest with his friends around him. Judith also enjoyed the tea parties, laughing with a lightness Abby had seldom seen in her friend, who had been widowed too young.

On the second day, Abby let Jack sit in the wheelchair in his bedroom when his friends came. On the third day, he was strong enough to wheel the chair into the library without help, so his friends joined him there. The Barton Grange cook, pleased to have hungry young gentlemen who appreciated her craft, happily made tempting arrays of sweets and savories and fresh bread with local cheese and relishes. Ashby and Winslow, famished from the day's hunting, fell on the platters like wolves.

The first rush of hunger was fading when Ransom entered the library, his boots and breeches spattered with mud and his expression weary. “Miss Barton, Mrs. Wayne, my greetings. I do hope you greedy fellows have spared some food for me.”

“Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Ransom,” Abby said as she rose to greet him. “You're just returned from London?”

“Aye.” Ransom paused in his piling of delicacies on a plate to reach into his coat and retrieve a folded paper. “Here's the special license you requested, Jack. Shall I hunt down a vicar so you can be married today, or will tomorrow be soon enough?”

Jack accepted the license, his expression unreadable. “That is up to Miss Barton. I bow to her wishes.”

Abby froze, too shocked to respond. A special license. Dear God, he really did intend to marry her!

Judith's eyes narrowed as she studied Abby's face. “How exciting! I should think Abby would like to wait for her father to come home, which he will be within the next few days.” She stood. “Abby, let's withdraw and leave the gentlemen to catch up on their news. We can decide which of your gowns to wear at the ceremony.”

Judith grasped Abby's arm as she said under her breath, “Take your leave before you faint.”

It was good advice. Abby rose and managed a smile. “There's much to be done. Don't tire Lord Frayne out, gentlemen.”

She and Judith left amidst a masculine murmur of farewells. Wordlessly the women passed through the dining room, where Judith snared a decanter of brandy and two glasses before they climbed the stairs.

Once they reached Abby's small sitting room, Judith closed the door and said firmly, “Sit.”

Abby obeyed, still struggling with her shock. Judith poured brandy into a glass and pressed it into Abby's hand. After pouring more for herself, Judith sat in the chair opposite. “What is going on? I assume that the subject of marriage must have been discussed between you and Lord Frayne, yet you looked as startled as if he had just turned into a frog.”

“He did agree to marry me, but I didn't think he actually
would.
” Abby swallowed a mouthful of brandy, grateful for the enlivening burn.

“Did you ask him, or did he ask you?”

“I…I explained that it could be dangerous to lead a healing circle, but I would risk it if he pledged to marry me if the healing was successful. This happened when he had just been brought in, broken and barely alive.”

Judith stared at her. “Abby, how could you! It's immoral to coerce someone who is mortally injured.”

“I know.” Abby looked away, ashamed. “I didn't really mean it.”

“Yet you said it.” Judith cocked her head. “What, pray,
did
you mean?”

Abby frowned as she tried to reconstruct her tangled thoughts and emotions in the midst of crisis. “Frayne was half out of his head and rejecting the idea of healing magic. Ashby and Ransom were urging him to let me try. I didn't know if he could be saved, but for some reason, asking for marriage seemed like a good idea.”

Judith gulped at her brandy, expression pained. “That makes no sense at all.”

“I know it doesn't,” Abby admitted. “But I never really believed he'd go through with a marriage. I thought that even if we saved him, he would politely withdraw. Since he agreed under duress, I wouldn't have held him to his word.”

“How was he to know that? A gentleman's word is his bond, Abby,” Judith said, exasperated. “A man of honor would not break his promise, even under such circumstances. It's not as if he could read your mind and learn you weren't serious. And if he
could
read your mind, your thinking is so tangled you'd give him a headache!”

“My thoughts are giving me a headache, too.” Abby toyed with her brandy glass, swirling the richly colored liquid. “In fact, I've avoided thinking about the situation, since I don't understand myself why I did what I did. It's been easier to concentrate on Lord Frayne's injuries and recovery. I never thought he'd send Ransom to London without once discussing marriage with me!”

“He's a man of action, for better and worse. At least Ransom's journey kept him from fidgeting around here all week. Two anxious men were more than enough.” Judith sipped her brandy again, this time more slowly. “Since a woman can break an engagement with no loss of reputation, it will be simple enough to end this. You made your point and persuaded him to allow his life to be saved. You certainly don't have to spend the rest of your life with him.”

What Judith said was perfectly logical. That being so, why didn't it make Abby feel good? Instead, the knowledge that she could walk away from the marriage left her profoundly depressed. She set her brandy aside and began pacing the room. “You're quite right.”

Watching her, Judith said, “Abby, do you
want
to marry Lord Frayne? I can't imagine that his title interests you. For that matter, I've never known you to show much interest in acquiring a husband at all.”

Abby paused at the window to gaze at the winter-bare fields. There had been men who had showed flattering signs of interest. She had never reciprocated. “Jack Langdon is the only man who has ever really caught my attention. At first I didn't know he was heir to a title; it was he himself who was appealing. He never noticed me, of course, except once we almost ran into each other outside a shop. He had a…nice smile. I never imagined we would meet, much less have any kind of relationship. I just admired him, like a sunset or a fine spring day. Then suddenly he was right there, dying on my dining room table.”

Abby turned from the window to face her friend. “I knew it was unlikely that he could be saved, but his presence sparked those vague thoughts I'd had for years into a kind of recklessness. I was frightened of leading a circle for the first time. Perhaps asking for marriage was a way of giving me courage by making the reward worth the risk.” Her mouth twisted. “Or perhaps I was just greedy and selfish and wanted him, so I forgot every ethic ever taught me and asked for marriage in return for his life.”

“When the man you'd always fancied turned up in desperate need of your skills, it's not surprising that you became a little reckless,” Judith said thoughtfully. “Do you think marrying him is meant to be?”

“I'd like to think so,” Abby said morosely. “Divine inspiration sounds much better than selfishness and ambition. But I heard no angelic voice telling me that Jack Langdon is my destiny. I just…wanted him.” Dear God, how she'd wanted him. Only now would she admit to herself how true that was.

“There are worse reasons to marry,” Judith said wryly. “I've never known you to be selfish and insensitive, so acquit yourself of that, at least. I find it interesting that Frayne not only agreed to your terms initially but has made no attempt to wiggle out.”

“As you say, it's a matter of honor. He gave his word and hasn't thought about it since.” Abby cast about for a suitable analogy. “Rather like placing an order for a pair of boots. Even if he decided he didn't want them, he would take delivery because he said he would.”

Judith laughed. “You're hardly a pair of boots, Abby! If he genuinely didn't want to marry you, I believe he would have made that clear by now. Perhaps he rather likes the idea. None of his friends seem too horrified, which is a good sign.”

“You have some ability to see the future, Judith. Can you see us together?”

Judith's eyes drifted out of focus. “I think you'd suit each other very well. He's a good-natured fellow who is kind but…driven by inner demons. He needs a strong woman who can help him master those demons.”

For the first time, it occurred to Abby that Jack might need healing of the spirit as well as of the body, and she was better qualified than most to provide that. “It makes me feel better to think I might be of service as a wife.”

“Don't marry him thinking to be his maidservant,” Judith said tartly. “The man would be very lucky to have you. You're attractive, intelligent, agreeable, and one of the best healers in Britain. What more could a man want?”

“In this case, a woman with no magical ability at all. He hates and fears magic.” Abby thought of what she had seen the night Jack was feverish. “I don't know if he would ever be able to accept me as a woman instead of a wizard.”

Judith's eyes crinkled. “Daily life takes the mystery out of magic very quickly. One could live with the handsomest man in the world and hardly notice his beauty after a month. What matters is the small acts of life. Is he considerate? Does he know how to laugh? The same will be true of your magic. Very soon, it would be less important that you're a wizard than whether you know how to find and keep a good cook.”

Everything Judith said made sense. Feeling more hopeful, Abby sat down again. Cleocatra materialized and stropped Abby's ankles, then leaped into her lap. Abby began to stroke the silky black fur. “So you think I should go ahead and marry him?”

Her friend hesitated. “For both your sakes, I think you must offer him the chance to end the betrothal. Otherwise your devil's bargain will always be between you.”

Abby listened to Cleo's rumbling purr. She would end up an old spinster with cats. There were worse fates. “Very well, I shall do so. It was never more than a strange, fleeting dream that I might marry Lord Frayne.”

“Don't assume that he won't want you, Abby. Show some confidence.”

Abby laughed without humor. “You have a vivid imagination, Judith. This has also been a strange dream for him, I think. Soon he will be well enough to return to his own home. By spring, he will be able to rejoin his regiment in Spain, as good as new. I hope he takes better care of himself in the future.”

Would he ever return to the Shires to hunt? She suspected not. One didn't return to the scene of a bad dream.

J
ack's friends helped him back into his bed before they left. He wondered what it would be like to always be as handicapped as he was now. If that ever happened, he would have a lower bed built. He was learning a great deal. As he sank back into the pillows and bade his friends good-bye, he wondered when he would be himself again. He was learning too many things he didn't want to know.

He sent Morris away to find supper, then slipped into a doze. He came awake instantly when the door opened. Glad that his battle-sharpened instincts hadn't disappeared entirely, he looked up to see Miss Barton.

She hesitated in the doorway. “I'm sorry, were you sleeping? I didn't mean to wake you. We can speak in the morning.”

She must want to discuss the wedding. “I'm awake now, so there's no need to wait.” He struggled up in the bed, shoving pillows behind him and wincing when he jarred his broken leg. “Have you set our wedding day?”