Jean nodded ruefully, knowing that was all true. "At least Wilberforce will be introducing abolitionist legislation into Parliament. That is huge progress. It will probably have to be introduced again and again before there is a chance of success."
Wilberforce resumed speaking, this time detailing specific plans and support. His voice was as mesmerizing as ever, but Jean saw that he was sweating and he was holding tightly to the edges of the podium. "I think he is ill," she whispered.
"Dark energy is swirling around him," Nikolai replied softly. "Can you see it?"
She refined her vision, and was startled at the blackness crowding around the MP. As she probed, she realized it had the flavor of the Slave Demon spirit. "How can it penetrate all this positive, supportive energy?"
Nikolai's eyes narrowed. "It seems to be coming from the far side of the room—see that dark, wispy trail?"
Jean followed the direction of his gaze. It took a moment for her to find the smoky trace of power that ran from Wilberforce to an unknown location on the other side of the crowd. "I see it."
"I'm going to find the source," Nikolai said grimly.
He glided away. Jean turned her attention back to the speaker. Rather than attacking his opponents, Wilberforce used his captivating voice to describe goals and dreams. He inspired people to live up to their highest ideals rather than stirring up anger and hatred.
But the mellifluous voice was faltering. In the middle of his next sentence, Wilberforce said unsteadily, "I...I'm sorry, my friends. I am feeling...unwell."
He moved to step down from the podium. Hands reached up to help him, but before Wilberforce could take one, he gave a choked cry and crumpled to the floor. His frail body was so engulfed in dark energy that Jean could barely see the outlines.
Instinctively she darted toward him, wriggling between taller people. She saw that Simon was doing the same, but he was coming from the entrance to the library and he was too large to move through the crowd easily.
Jean used a jab of power to force her way into the inner circle around the fallen MP. He looked on the verge of death. His friends were frightened and concerned, and none knew what to do. Projecting an aura of competence, she dropped to her knees beside Wilberforce.
Undoing his cravat, she placed her hand on his neck. There was no pulse. His heart had stopped. All her senses were extended, and she realized that his spirit was beginning to detach from his body.
Though she was not the healer her mother had been, the work she'd done to strengthen her power came to her aid. She reached for the light that saturated the house and channeled it into Wilberforce's still form, surrounding his heart with life and vitality. Please God…
Time seemed to hold still. She was a conduit for a higher power, and the stricken man under her hands was critical to the greatest cause in human history.
She felt a pulse beat, then another. He was not yet beyond saving. Please stay, she begged silently as she continued to send healing energy. You are needed.
His heart was beating weakly when Simon knelt on Wilberforce's other side. Simon was a gifted healer, as strong as Jean's mother had been. As soon as he laid a hand on the fallen man's chest, Jean felt the rush of his power.
After long moments, she sensed a shift of energy and knew that Wilberforce's soul had settled back into his body. The MP opened dazed eyes. "So sorry to cause such trouble…" he murmured.
His cousin Henry Thornton pushed through the group, his face pale. "Is he...?"
"I'm well enough," Wilberforce tried to sit up, then fell back onto the carpet, shaking. "I...I think I need to rest."
Several of the Evangelicals moved forward, and Wilberforce was tenderly lifted while Thornton climbed onto the podium. "Mr. Wilberforce is not feeling well, but he is not seriously ill. I shall briefly cover the rest of the material he wished to share with you."
With the relieved crowd's attention on Thornton, Jean rose and said softly, "Thank the Lord you were here, Simon."
"My knees are not fond of such treatment," he said as he got to his feet, grimacing. "If you hadn't been close enough to pull Wilberforce back from the brink, I would not have been in time. He is still very ill—every organ in his body has been weakened. He is not likely to introduce his bill into Parliament this session."
Jean sighed. "I feared that. Do you think this is coincidence? He was engulfed by very negative energy as he collapsed."
Nikolai appeared, his face dark with suppressed anger. "It was no coincidence. Come. I must speak to you both."
Simon nodded, waiting a few moments before he followed Jean and Nikolai. They exited the library and found a small empty room off the corridor. When they were inside and the door safely closed, Nikolai said, "Captain James Trent's African mage Kondo was here, and he was the one who almost killed Wilberforce by using the Demon energy. I tried to capture him, but he managed to escape."
"The Demon?" Simon asked.
"That is what we call the spirit generated by the pro-slavery forces," Jean explained. "The energy is very powerful and destructive. We think that in Liverpool, it was the trigger that caused slavers to attempt the murder of Thomas Clarkson."
"Good God, Clarkson was almost killed? That would be a disaster equal to the death of Wilberforce." Simon looked troubled. "I know of Trent, of course. He is one of the best-known slavery supporters in Britain, and now that he is in Parliament, he has a powerful platform. You say he has an African mage working for him?"
Nikolai nodded. "I don't know if Kondo is slave or servant. I'd guess servant, since a mage would not allow himself to stay enslaved. He has been Trent's tool for more than thirty years, according to Adia Adams."
"And he can apparently channel and control the Demon spirit," the earl said. "You're right—antislavery advocates will need more protection. Not just physical guards, but mages who can keep the destructive spirits at bay."
"Perhaps the African priests can help with that," Nikolai suggested. "From what I've learned, African magic has a special connection with such spirits."
"Maybe a protective shield could be created by the African priests, and Guardians could help maintain it. I have an idea how this can be done," Jean said slowly. "But it will be a commitment of years."
"Protection is essential if there is to be any chance of success," Nikolai said. "And I think it is our job to provide this protective shield. The Demon energy is intense because it comes from humankind's basest, most selfish impulses. Greed, anger, and hatred have more raw power than kindness, compassion, and reason. For better qualities to bloom, we must counter the Demon energies."
Simon nodded. "Schedule a meeting between African priests and Guardians willing to support such a shield. Jean is exceptionally gifted at protection, but determining how such a shield will be created and maintained will require all of us. I would like to bring my son and daughter, and Meg will want to participate."
"We will speak to the priests and find a time and place that will suit." Nikolai glanced at Jean. "You look exhausted. It is time to leave, I think."
His words made her aware of how drained she was. "I've never done such an intense healing before. I'm glad I had enough power to help."
Simon regarded her thoughtfully. "You have much more ability than I realized."
"Adia told me that I have power, but the channels for using it are twisted. I have been doing visualizations to try to straighten them out." Jean smiled wryly. "Also, I do best in emergencies, and there have been plenty of those lately."
His gaze became intense. "You have cured yourself, I think."
She thought of her years of magical frustration, and contrasted them to the way her skill had increased since starting on this journey. She hadn't realized how far she had come. "It would be nice to think the emergencies have some positive use!"
Nikolai put a welcome arm around Jean. "We'll leave now, before the reception ends and all the carriages are summoned at once. Until later, Lord Falconer."
She was so tired that s
he barely noticed as Nikolai escorted her outside and got her into their carriage. Dusk was approaching as they started back into the city. He scooped Jean up onto his lap, cradling her close. "You did well, little witch."
"Wilberforce lives, but the movement has been delayed."
"What matters most is that he survives." Nikolai rubbed Jean's back gently. "We knew that changing the world would not be quick or easy."
He was right, of course, but she had never yet met a redhead to whom patience came easily. With a sigh, she burrowed against Nikolai's warm body, feeling safe. Safe, and unbelievably tired.
Chapter
THIRTY-THREE
Jean slept in Nikolai's arms for the whole ride back to London. Even when they reached the inn and he carried her up the stairs, she didn't wake. He told himself that Falconer wouldn't have let her leave if she had drained her life force to a dangerous level, but the longer and more heavily she slept, the more concerned he became.
He laid her on the bed, then removed her gown, stays, and petticoats. Even being undressed didn't wake her. It was an effort not to caress her alluring body, but he managed to keep desire under control. When they became lovers, he wanted her to be awake.
With her powdered hair, she looked ghostly pale. He wet a towel and patted her face. No response beyond her slow, shallow breathing. He gave her shoulder a little shake. "Jean, are you all right?"
When she didn't respond, he gently probed her with his mind. She was like a banked fire. Though coals of life glowed, she was deeply unconscious. He frowned. "Before I call Falconer for help, I'll try to return some energy to you. You started today by giving me yours, so I suppose it's no surprise you're depleted now."
He stretched out beside her on the bed and leaned into a kiss, visualizing a stream of clear, bright energy channeling from some high place. As the light poured through him and into her, her lips moved slightly. He stroked her hair, wondering what fool had come up with the idea of covering beautiful hair with ugly, messy powder.
When she inhaled deeply, he took the opportunity to kiss her throat. Her pale skin put rose petals to shame. She gave a small hum of pleasure.
Encouraged, he asked, "Jean, are you awake?"
Eyes closed, she whispered, "What a nice way to wake up."
"You were so deeply asleep that I was worried," he said, relieved. "I decided to see if I could transfer energy to you."
"I've never been so exhausted in my life, but you did a good job of restoring me." She raised a hand and slid her fingers into his hair, pulling his head down for another kiss. He was happy to oblige.
Desire danced between them, rich and enticing. When he paused for breath, he said warningly, "You realize where this will end if we don't stop now."
"I know." Her eyes opened, the hazel depths blazing lucent gold with deep, ancient wisdom. "The time has come to put away our fears and truly become mates."
"Is it our fears that have kept us apart?" He caught her hands, wanting to believe that it was time to join as one, but still uncertain. "I thought we were waiting until we'd both developed our powers."
"So we were," she agreed. "But now you have been initiated and have learned to recognize and oppose the Demon spirit of slavery. For me, I have practiced faithfully since Adia identified my problem. Keeping Wilberforce alive brought together all I had learned, and finally I feel that I'm in full control of my magic. The power I channeled to save Wilberforce burned through me, clearing the twisted pathways for good, I think."
He frowned, remembering. "I saw the flare of that from across the room. The power was extraordinary."
"We both needed to fulfill our potentials, but the fear was real, too." She raised her hands to him, mischief in her face. "We each fear having our soul consumed by the other. My fears are perfectly justified, of course, but yours are quite foolish."
He laughed, knowing that she was well if her sense of humor was intact. "You underestimate your power, witchling. Any sensible man would find you alarming."
She blinked demurely. "My kin considered me harmless and useful."
"They weren't paying proper attention." He hadn't fully appreciated how long her auburn lashes were. Her hazel-gold eyes were an invitation to riot even without looking at the rest of her. "It pains me to admit it, but you're probably right about the fears. You're a terrifying woman, Jean Macrae. And I wouldn't have it any other way."
Hungrily he reclaimed her mouth, this time kissing with passion, not healing. Lightning seared between them. Her arms wrapped around his waist, and she pulled him down on top of her. Having their bodies pressed together full length was fire to tinder. He untied the ribbon at the neckline of her shift so he could kiss her breast, round and perfect in proportion to her slender frame.
She gasped and arched her back, her fingers clawing at his garments. He was wearing far too much. Panting, he rolled onto his side and yanked at the buttons of his waistcoat. Her fumbling fingers slowed the process, especially when she reached for the buttons of his breeches. He stiffened, paralyzed, before having the sense to swing from the bed and remove all his garments in one frantic rush. Through habit, he faced her as he disrobed, hiding the scars that crisscrossed his back.
Jean was an irresistible antidote to habit. She slid from the bed and moved behind him, her palms caressing the ridges and furrows of his back. He stood rigid, distantly aware of laughter in the taproom below, a wagon clattering by in the street. Remembering why he always avoided exposing his bare body to others.
Her warm lips pressed against his back, her tongue soothing an old scar. "Badges of courage," she said softly. "What would you be if my father had not changed the course of your life for both better and worse?"
He'd never thought to ask himself that. After a few moments of hard thought, he said, "Probably I'd be a Maltese sailor. Not a deck-hand. A bo'sun, maybe." He took a deep breath. "And perhaps I would still have ended up a galley slave. It's not an uncommon fate for those who sail the Middle Sea."
Her arms circled his waist and she pressed against him, only the thin chemise separating them. "A peaceful life may be easy, but it's hardship that builds character. Without your difficult past, you would not be the champion of freedom that you have become. You redeemed the lives of many with your courage. Your efforts now may help countless thousands of other slaves. This would not have happened with an easy life."
All true. Nor would he be able to hold this amazing woman in his arms. He turned and embraced her. "So I should thank your father for shattering my life?"
"That would be too much to ask, I think. But you might look on him as part of the tapestry of your fate. If you hadn't met, you would not be the man you are."
"I will start by thanking him for you, my Scottish witch." The night was cold, so he pulled the covers down before scooping her up and laying her on the cool linen sheets. He had done an admirable job of controlling his passions since they had begun this crusade, but no longer. He wanted her, needed her, with every fiber of his being.
And she felt the same. As he covered her with his body, her hips rocked against him, pressing them together with intoxicating intimacy. "Consume my soul if you wish," he breathed as his hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroking the nipples to hardness. "I no longer mind."
"Your soul would be too rich a brew for me." She raised her head and nipped his ear. Heat blazed through him. "But your body—that is a different matter entirely."
He pulled her shift upward and slid his hand between her thighs to find moist, heated flesh. She gasped when he touched her, her muscles rippling. For a frantic moment he wondered if he would last long enough to enter her.
Her urgent hand guided him into her taut, welcoming body. As he sheathed himself, she cried out and bucked frantically. He climaxed immediately with an intensity that echoed the time vortex, whirling and splintering his awareness, only this time pain was transmuted to pleasure. Their energies flowed together, melting and being reforged. In the very marrow of his bones, he knew th
at they had changed each other forever. It was what he had feared since they met—and yet now that change was perfect, inevitable, and right.
He almost blacked out, returning gradually to the awareness that she was panting in his arms, her body still clasping his. "That was…quite extraordinary," he managed.
"We have been denying the attraction since we met, so desire has built up like the pressure in the steam engines Simon builds." She laughed a little. "Engines are very dangerous when they explode. And so is passion."
They would not have been able to join so easily if she had been a virgin, so her Scottish sweetheart had been her lover in all ways. Nikolai was not surprised—where Jean loved, she would give herself completely. As he rolled to one side and pulled her close, he said, "I did not think to control myself to avoid the risk of a child."
She covered a yawn. "I have some ability to control quickening. A Guardian woman with healing ability seldom has babies when she doesn't want them."
He blinked. "How amazingly useful."
"It certainly was during the Rising, when we were caught up in long marches and ambushes and ragged retreats." There was a long silence. "Later I wished that I had borne Robbie's child. As we followed the Prince into England, I was too young to truly believe that Robbie could die. I assumed there would be time for a family."
He kissed her forehead since he had no words that could assuage such a loss. "You said before that it was time to come together. Now that we have, I feel that we have been transformed in ways I can't describe."
"I feel that, too," she said quietly. "I believe we have been tempered into a stronger weapon for our cause."
He tested the concept, and found that he agreed. "We really did need to reach a certain place in our magical growth before we could be bonded in this way, so I suppose the frustration was necessary."
She grinned. "It's rather like cooking. Soak the dried apples before making the pie. If the ingredients aren't ready, the result won't be good."
A Distant Magic Page 29