Carola Dunn

by The Magic of Love

  Though Aldwin had not won a bride, a Season under the aegis of his cynical, worldly uncle, followed by summer visits to several noble houses, had taught him to regard humanity with a discerning eye. Affectionate amusement replaced the dutiful reverence he had always felt for his father. His new appraisal of Damon and Basil was less pleasant.

  He had always thought his middle brothers’ manners at fault rather than their intentions. Now he was not so sure. He suspected Damon had a vicious streak, taking a positive pleasure in tormenting others, and Basil was all too ready to follow his lead.

  So, as he strolled, Aldwin watched for Reynata Gresham. It was up to him to shield the child if Damon had some mischievous prank in mind. He would do the same for any female, of course, but he was deucedly fond of Reynata.

  No sign of her. She must have gone home already. But no sign of Damon or Basil either, Aldwin realized. He frowned.

  John panted up to him. “Aldwin, thank heaven I’ve found you! They’ve gone after her. After Miss Gresham. And they were talking....” He hesitated, blushing vividly. “They said....”

  Aldwin’s fears filled in the words all too easily. Crowds parted before him as he strode towards the Phoenix Inn, where his horse was stabled. “They told you what they were about?” he demanded of John, scurrying alongside.

  “Oh, they pay me no heed. I don’t suppose they even noticed I was there. I didn’t know what to do, except come to you.”

  “You were quite right, lad. I’ll deal with this.”

  “I’d ride with you, only I came with Father in the carriage.”

  Aldwin forebore to point out that the inn had mounts for hire. If it came to a fight—surely it would not come to a fight, with his own brothers!—young John was more likely to get in the way than to help.

  He saddled Amiga himself. In his haste, his fingers fumbled with the fine Spanish leather, patterned with inlaid silver and mother-of-pearl. The golden mare with mane and tail of silver stood still, her dark eyes rolling, aware of his disquiet. She was a palomino, of a rare Spanish stock derived from Saracen and Moorish ancestors, which seldom bred true. Aldwin had bought her at Tattersall’s in London, from a wounded soldier returning from the Peninsular War. The earl coveted her, but his son managed to persuade him a menagerie was no place for a proud, spirited horse.

  Amiga del Viento, Friend of the Wind, was her full name, for she had Barb and Arab blood in her and she ran like the wind.

  Aldwin sprang to her back and turned her head towards the King’s Forest. Out of town they galloped, up the track and into the woods. Her hooves beat a muted tattoo on the winding path, like muffled drums sounding a hasty funeral march.

  It was not a matter of life and death, Aldwin assured himself. But from a woman’s point of view, was not rape considered a fate worse than death? And Reynata had scarcely left childhood behind her! His heart pounded in time with Amiga’s stride as he urged the mare onward.

  The path curved downhill around a fallen elm, half buried in brambles. Recalling the brook just beyond, Aldwin slowed Amiga’s pace a trifle.

  He leapt from the saddle before he had fully taken in the scene opening before him. On the bank of the stream, Reynata struggled in Damon’s arms as he strove to pull her away from the water. Basil hastened towards them from the bush where he had tied their horses.

  All three stilled suddenly as Aldwin burst upon them.

  Basil dithered. Reynata, with a desperate lunge, twisted away from Damon, falling to the ground. Damon put up his fists and swung at his brother.

  Dodging, Aldwin feinted, then connected with a left to the jaw. Not for nothing had he frequented Gentleman Jackson’s Bond Street boxing saloon. Damon toppled backwards and landed with a great splash in the stream.

  Aldwin turned to Basil, who backed away, shaking his head. “Not my notion,” he mumbled. “Never laid a finger on her.” He hung his head in shame at his own cowardice.

  Damon floundered in the stream, his face a mask of humiliated hatred. “I’ll get you for this,” he spat.

  Aldwin ignored him, giving Reynata his hand as she scrambled to her feet. “You’re not hurt?” he queried. She shook her head dumbly, lustrous brown eyes huge with some unidentifiable emotion. “Come, I’ll see you home.”

  He stooped to pick up her baskets.

  “Let me.” She reached for them. “It’s not fitting for a gentleman....”

  “I expect I can tie them to Amiga’s saddle somehow.”

  Reynata glanced at the mare, standing patient and watchful, and her eyes widened again. “She’s beautiful! A gold and silver horse should not carry such a common burden.”

  “She’s proud, but docile and willing. Clever, too. She answers to her name. Amiga!”

  The mare’s ears flickered and she nodded twice.

  “See? She won’t mind playing the beast of burden for once.”

  “The baskets are made to fasten together as panniers.” Reynata hesitated. “But they would be in your way when you mount.”

  “I’ve no intention of riding. She’ll follow, even without a lead rein when it’s someone she knows,” he boasted. “Show me how to fasten the baskets.”

  Her hands trembled as she complied, he noted. Though her voice was calm, her nerves must be all aquiver at her narrow escape.

  He slung the panniers over Amiga’s withers. As he looped the reins out of the mare’s way, he saw Damon crawling soggily out of the brook with a helping hand from Basil. He said nothing to them, hoping against hope that they had learnt their lesson.

  The bridle-path was just wide enough for Aldwin and Reynata to walk side by side, with Amiga following. Neither of them spoke until they had put a few windings of the trail between them and the others.

  Then he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” She sounded startled.

  He could not look at her, shunned meeting her eyes. “They are my brothers. Their behaviour reflects on me. In fact, it dishonours the whole family. I must consider whether my father ought to know what his sons were about.”

  “Oh no! Pray don’t tell Lord Androwick. I suffered no h-harm.”

  “I can only be deeply thankful that I arrived in time to preserve you. If John had not found me quickly....It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

  “N-no. P-pray....” A sob swallowed her voice.

  Turning towards her, Aldwin saw tears trickling down her face. He put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her. She swung towards him, burying her face in his cravat, and he dropped the reins to hold her close.

  Reynata was no child, he discovered. The playmate of his youth had vanished. In her place was a warm, soft, gently curved woman, altogether desirable, who fitted into his arms as if she had been created especially for them. He hugged her to him, his cheek against her silken, fragrant hair. It gleamed like copper in the dappled sunshine filtering through the leaves above. A sudden longing swept him to see it falling loose about her naked shoulders.

  She pulled away a little and looked up at him. The way she held her head was familiar—”Good lord, was it you I danced with...?”

  She nodded, dark eyes brimming, and he caught her in his arms again.

  “I’m s-sorry,” she wept into his chest. “It was just all rather a sh-shock.”

  Instantly he released her and stepped back, appalled. He was no better than his brothers!

  Yes, he was, dammit. He would never dream of taking her by force, nor even of seducing her. He loved her! Nothing less than marriage would suffice—his shoulders slumped—and marriage was out of the question. She was a foundling brought up by a witch. He was heir to the Earl of Androwick.

  “I’ve lost my h-handkerchief.”

  He felt in his pocket. “Here, take this.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The hint of red around her eyes, the defiant way she blew her nose, only made her dearer to him. She was pluck through and through. He tried desperately to think of some damning fault he had observed in her over
the years. He failed.

  Amiga nuzzled his shoulder.

  “She’s growing impatient,” Reynata said with a shaky little laugh. “I’m all right now, my lord. There’s no need for you to come farther. They won’t follow me now.”

  For answer he started out again, towards the wise-woman’s cottage. “Cannot Mistress Gresham give you a protective spell?” he asked harshly. “Some sort of amulet? You are safe for today, I daresay, but I fear it may take greater chastisement than I administered to deter my brothers for the future, and I might not always be at hand.”

  “I expect Grandmama will know what to do,” she said, subdued. “I never felt in serious need of protection before.”

  “Ask her,” Aldwin commanded. “I’ll ask her myself. I want to be sure you are safe before I go away.”

  Reynata looked up at him, and now her heart was in her eyes. Her voice trembled. “You are going away again?”

  He realized the decision was made. He had no choice. Living a mere two miles from the woman he loved and who loved him, unable to express their love, would be sheer torture.

  “I must go,” he said. He could not tell her—or anyone—the real reason. “Lord Wellington has need of soldiers in Spain. I shall purchase a commission and do my part to save England from Bonaparte.”

  She was silent for the space of several paces. The sounds of the forest seemed suddenly loud, the song of birds, the rustle of leaves. Then she said, in a stifled tone, “You will be in far more danger than I. Grandmama must give you a spell, too,” she added urgently.

  “Perhaps.” Aldwin was not sure he cared whether he was killed or not. Was life without Reynata worth living? As he brooded, another consideration came to him. “In keeping me from harm, a magical shield might prevent my doing my duty. No, I shall take nothing.”

  Reynata bowed her head and trudged on at his side.

  They came to the clearing where stood Gammer Gresham’s cottage. The small, thatched, half-timbered building was surrounded by an orderly jungle of vegetables, herbs, fruit trees and bushes, and flowers. In this flourishing garden, chickens pecked and scratched, magically kept from destroying the desirable plants as they ate up insects, snails and weeds. To one side, a tethered nanny-goat grazed on lush grass. Before the door stood a rowan-tree, proof that no wicked witchcraft lurked here.

  In childhood, Aldwin and his brothers had often visited the cottage, to be welcomed with fresh-baked bread and crab-apple jelly and a glass of goat’s milk. Of later years, he had rarely come. Tutors kept him busy with academic studies, and then his father’s bailiff with learning to run the great estate which would one day be his.

  That explained how Reynata had grown up without his noticing, why she seemed to him to have changed overnight from a winsome child he was fond of to a bewitching woman he adored.

  Bewitching? A love-spell?

  If so, he thought grimly, no doubt he would find himself unable to leave this place without committing himself to a misalliance which could only end in disaster.

  Gammer Gresham was in her garden, gathering herbs. A tall woman, she straightened with an effort as her foster-daughter and the visitor approached, and came to meet them. To Aldwin she had seemed ancient twenty years ago. Now he saw how stiffly she moved, how the sunbrowned face had become a mesh of wrinkles. Yet her grey eyes were as shrewdly penetrating as ever, and her greeting as warm.

  “Lord Drake, how delightful to see you.”

  For the first time, he noticed the refinement of her speech. Once, long ago, she must have come of a good family. She had taught Reynata to speak well, too, he realized, but nothing could give the foundling a background to fit her to be a countess.

  He bowed over the wise-woman’s crabbed hand. “The pleasure is mine, ma’am. I met Miss Gresham at the market and bethought me that I had not called since I came home.”

  “Lord Drake’s horse carried my shopping, Grandmama. Is she not a beauty?”

  To his relief, Reynata had observed his reticence over his brothers’ misdeeds and followed his lead. She might tell her foster-mother later, but not now, when it would deeply embarrass him.

  So how was he to persuade the wise-woman that Reynata was in need of a protective spell? he wondered as he disburdened Amiga of the panniers and carried them into the cottage.

  “It is a long walk from town,” he said, setting the baskets on the well-scrubbed whitewood table, “and a lonely one. When I am travelling far from home, I should be comforted to know Miss Gresham is defended by a charm from any possible danger. Will you not use your skills in this, ma’am, for my sake?”

  “I had not considered it necessary.” Mistress Gresham gave him a long, steady look. He was sure she read his mind, his deepest thoughts and feelings, even those he was not yet aware of. Abruptly she nodded. “I shall do what I can, Aldwin, though perfect safety is beyond my powers. Shall I prepare a second charm, for you?”

  “No. It might hinder me in doing my duty as a soldier, and also, I should fear to rely too much upon it.”

  “Then God guard you and keep you.” It was a dismissal. No spell bound him unwilling to the girl.

  Aldwin bowed again. Reynata curtsied to him, her eyes downcast. “God guard you and keep you,” she whispered, so faint he almost thought he had imagined it.

  He glanced back as he untied Amiga. Through the open door of the cottage, he saw Mistress Gresham seated at the table. At her feet, Reynata knelt, her face buried in her foster-mother’s lap. One gnarled hand caressed the glossy chestnut hair.

  A lump in his throat, Aldwin swung into the saddle and turned the mare’s head homeward.

  Chapter IV

  “I have been remiss,” Grandmama said. “I ought to have started to pass on my knowledge to you long ago, to provide your livelihood when I am gone. I have kept hoping to learn how to counter the enchantment binding you. But the best I have done after long years of study is to turn a mouse into a very surprised bat—when I had intended it to be a mole—and poor Tibb into a raven instead of a dog.”

  “Miaow,” observed the big black bird perched on the window-sill. “Better a raven than a dog any day. Some ways it’s even better than cat-hood. Talking’s much easier, and flying’s fun. Don’t try to de-spell me.”

  “I set the spell, so I can undo it,” the wise-woman told him tartly, “and I will if you talk too much. Reynata’s ensorcelment was not my doing, so it is more difficult, perhaps impossible.”

  Reynata essayed a smile. “It doesn’t matter,” she said sadly.

  “I had hoped you might one day fall in love with some kindly farmer or shopkeeper, and marry, and have children.”

  “I shall never marry. Even if I were wholly human, Lord Drake is too far above me. He has a duty to his family. Yet however painful it would be to see him often when I can never be his, I wish he was not going for a soldier. I wish he had accepted a protective charm!”

  “There is wisdom as well as pride in his refusal, my love. But tell me what happened to make him insist on a charm for you. It was not general solicitude, I think.”

  As Reynata related the attack and rescue, she recalled Master Damon’s threat to get even with his brother. The image of his hate-filled face loomed in the forefront of her mind. Lord Drake’s peril would not begin when he joined the army and went off to war.

  Finishing the tale, she said urgently, “Can you not protect him without his knowledge, Grandmama?”

  “It would not be right, when he has rejected my help, and for good reasons.”

  “But that was for when he is in the Army, fighting with Lord Wellington in Spain. He is in danger already, I am sure he is. You cannot imagine how wicked Master Damon looked.”

  “I might manage something,” her foster-mother said doubtfully, “something which would end as soon as he crossed the sea. I should have to have some object of his to work with, though.”

  “I have his handkerchief.” Reynata bit her lip as the tears the square of cambric had dried threatened to flo
w again. “Will that be enough?”

  “Perhaps. I shall see what I can do.”

  “Now?”

  “At once,” said Grandmama with an understanding smile.

  Taking the handkerchief, the wise-woman rose stiffly from the bench, and hobbled towards the door to the back room where she performed her magic. Reynata watched her, with a pang of dread. How old was she? For two decades she had kept the decrepitude of age at bay with her spells, stealing time to bring up her foster-daughter. But Time always won in the end.

  And Reynata was old enough to take care of herself. She just could not imagine life without Grandmama.

  “Meh-eh-eh,” called the nanny-goat from the garden. “Mih-ih-ihlk!”

  “Coming.” Reynata took up the milking stool and pail and went out into the cool of the evening.

  * * * *

  The early morning air was chilly when Aldwin rode down St. Andrew’s Hill from Wick Towers a fortnight later. He had donned his new scarlet dress tunic, liberally laced with gold, to bid his father and John farewell—Damon and Basil being conspicuously absent. The splendid jacket was not particularly warm, but he did not cover it with his greatcoat for he knew the townsfolk were waiting in Middlecombe to wave good-bye. He owed them the best show he could put on.

  Their cheers warmed him, as did the heat rising from Amiga as he cantered out of town. Soon the rising sun dispelled the nip of frost, glinting on dew-laden spiderwebs in the yellowing hedgerows. It was a beautiful day for riding, even though he was leaving his heart behind him.

  The day after escorting Reynata home from her encounter with his brothers, he had set out for London. His father had been reluctant to let him go, but gave in to persuasion. The purchase of a commission in a Guards regiment had taken less time than Aldwin expected. Returning home to take leave of his family before he proceeded to Spain, he had not been able to resist calling at the cottage in the forest.

  He had an excuse. “I just came by to make sure Damon and Basil have not troubled you,” he said, not dismounting when he found Reynata outside, collecting eggs. How beautiful she was in her simple, midnight-blue woollen gown!