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
As 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.
Jack’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?”
“That’s what I want to talk about.” She moved to the bed to adjust the pillows behind him. As always, her touch and presence were soothing. After turning up the flame of the bedside lamp, she chose a seat where he could see her clearly. He realized that she always quietly acted for his maximum comfort. His friends might love him, but they didn’t think to choose seating for his convenience.
“Very well, we shall discuss the matter,” he said agreeably. “But first, I’ve been meaning to ask you why I’m so tired. I broke my leg once before and I never felt as tired as I do now. It’s absurd that a visit to the library in a wheelchair should be so fatiguing.”
“Some fatigue results from the healing process itself. Much of your natural strength was used in the healing circle,” she replied, seeming glad of the digression. “But blood loss is the real culprit. You bled so much, inside and out, that it might have been enough to kill you if your wounds hadn’t been tr
eated promptly. Now that blood must be rebuilt, and that takes time.”
“Is it possible to create more blood through magic?” he asked curiously. “I would have thought that would be easier than repairing a broken neck.”
“Actually, it isn’t. The fragments of bone in your neck were all present. The trick was bringing them together and fusing them into solid bone again. While that took a huge amount of power, it was relatively straightforward. Rebuilding your blood would mean creating something from nothing, which is much harder.”
That made sense. “So I shall have to recover my strength at the same speed as a soldier who was wounded and bled badly.”
“Precisely. You should recover your usual vitality in a few weeks. About the same time that your broken leg is sound again.”
He nodded, happier now that he understood. “Shall we be married the day after your father returns from London?”
She brushed at her immaculate hair, her face cool and pale. “You agreed to marry me when under great duress. I cannot hold you to that. You are free to go about your business unencumbered by a wife, Lord Frayne.”
He felt a rush of shock, relief, and—disappointment? “The circumstances were extreme,” he agreed. “But why did you ask for marriage if you didn’t want it?”
“It was an odd impulse,” she said slowly. “You were half out of your mind. I needed to…to capture your attention. To make you realize how high the stakes were. Love and death—there are none higher.” She gave a ghost of a smile. “It worked, too. The thought of marrying a wizard shocked you into greater awareness. Perhaps you decided that if I was willing to risk my life in the hope of an…an advantageous marriage, there was a chance that you might survive. That life was worth fighting for. Whatever your reasoning, you granted me permission to attempt healing magic, and for that I was grateful. And now that is behind us, and you are free to go.”
Struggling to sort out what he felt, he asked, “If you don’t want marriage as a reward for your efforts, what would you like instead? A horse, a house, or a trip to America, as your fellow wizards will receive?”
The Marriage Spell Page 8