She went to the South Drawing Room, which was wonderfully empty at this time of the day, but still, the fire already had been lit and lent the room a cozy warmth. Amy went straight to the large, high windows that looked out over the green and offered an unhindered view of the lake. Mesmerized, she stared at it.
Amy didn’t know how much time had passed when the door behind her opened. “Ah, there you are,” Fox said.
She looked over her shoulder.
He was wearing a dark green frock coat with a pistachio-colored vest over the same buff breeches he had muddied that first time in the pineapple-crowned pavilion. A lump formed in her throat, and quickly she turned back to the window. Behind her she could hear his steps—the soft creaks of the floorboards and the muffled sounds when he was walking across the carpet.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began.
Warmth behind her, then an arm slipped around her waist, hugged her against his body. “Yes?”
Her eyes fell closed as he nuzzled the side of her jaw. The warm scent of bergamot enveloped her. It tickled in her nostrils, reminding her of shared kisses and of sweaty, sultry hours spent in his arms.
Only illusions.
Her stomach felt hollow. Yet she resisted the desperate urge to run away from him, to hide from the attraction and affection she still felt, God help her. Instead, she turned and subtly put some distance between them. “Are there any old monuments to be found in the vicinity?” Gazing up at him, she forced herself to smile. “You know, stone circles and such?”
He chuckled. “Have you had enough of Roman ruins and the sculptures in Richard’s gardens?”
She had not managed to fully evade him, and now his hand rested warm and large on her waist. Even through the heavy cotton of her stays Amy could feel the subtle pressure of his fingers. She licked her lips.
“I am fancying something more primeval,” she answered. “I have heard that some of these stone monuments are awe inspiring.”
A rueful smile curved his mouth. “I am afraid I must disappoint you. We have nothing as spectacular to offer as the Salisbury Plain.”
Amy held her breath. Whatever should she do now?
“But”—his smile deepened—“there is indeed a small circle not very far from Rawdon Park. Though it’s nothing but a heap of old stones, of course.”
A wave of relief washed through her. It weakened her knees enough that she let him draw her back to his side. He kissed her temple. “Would you like me to show it to you?” he murmured against her skin.
“Yes. Oh, yes.”
He pulled back a little, his eyes suddenly worried as they scanned her face. “But we will have to wait a few days to make sure you haven’t caught a chill.”
Impatience made her want to cry out, but she bit her objections back and forced herself to remain calm. It would not do to appear overly eager, since it would only rouse his suspicions. She aimed at a cajoling, teasing tone. “Perhaps we shall wait until this afternoon, then?”
Amusement softened his eyes, and he touched a tender finger to the graze on her chin. “We shall see. How are you feeling this morning?”
His voice caressed her like warm syrup, and lead filled her stomach. She swallowed, hard. “Very well.” Yet another lie.
“I’m glad.” He touched his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry I had to leave you this morning. I would have wished to hold you in my arms all through the night until sunrise.” Emotion and passion lent his voice a raspy edge. “But soon I’ll be able to see the first rays of the sun kiss your skin,” he murmured. “Marriage will become me very well indeed.”
If he had taken a knife and sliced her veins wide open, it would not have hurt more. His face swam out of focus.
“Oh sweetheart.” He leaned down to kiss the corner of her mouth. “We will be so happy together,” he crooned against her cheek.
Her tears overflowed.
~*~
More snow fell that afternoon and kept them from going to the stone circle after all. Pip, as it turned out, was not suffering from any worse aftereffects of his dunking in ice water than a slight sneeze. The family was relieved, yet the feeling of dread would not leave Amy. Who knew what else lay in store for them all? What other spells had been planted in Rawdon Park? And so there was another reason why she could not possibly tell any of them the truth: should this somehow jolt Fox’s memory and perhaps even break the potion’s hold on him, and should she be sent from Rawdon as a result, who would protect the Stapletons? Even if she had lost her own magic, she knew at least of the seriousness of the threat hanging over the family. By contrast, Fox, with his firm belief in common sense, would most likely consider the notion of a magical threat quite ludicrous.
After the morning mists had lifted the next day, the sun shone from a brilliant blue sky and turned the layers of snow that covered the land into sparkling diamonds. And since Amy neither coughed nor sniffled, she managed to talk Fox into showing her the stone circle that day. Indeed, given that this was going to be their first joint outing in weeks, he seemed more than happy to oblige her. He ordered the light sleigh to be brought to the front of the house after their luncheon and, huddled in furs, the two of them set off. With a faint crunching sound the runners glided over the snow. The coldness bit into Amy’s skin, yet as she cast a glance at Fox, who handled the reins with easy confidence, she suspected his face was glowing with more than simply the cold.
He caught her eye and flashed her a smile. “A most wonderful day, is it not?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“If it weren’t for the snow, we would have been able to walk. It is not all that far from the estate.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No, three quarters of an hour perhaps. A rather leisurely walk, wouldn’t you say?”
Perhaps not so leisurely if she took it in the middle of the night.
He threw her another look, but this time the inner glow he radiated was slightly dimmed. “Are you sure you are all right? Perhaps we should turn around—”
“Oh no!” she hastily cut in. But she couldn’t meet his gaze as she lied to him. “I am absolutely fine.”
As they left the carefully groomed grounds of Rawdon Park, the vast flatness of the land struck Amy anew. It stretched endlessly before them, a brilliant glare of white against the giant dome of the sky.
“Rather overwhelming, isn’t it?” Fox remarked. “Deucedly
empty
when you’re used to life in Town.”
This was the land she was going to join with. Amy swallowed. It was an overwhelming thought indeed!
They passed a newly ploughed field. In the sunlight the ridges of black soil gleamed like the flanks of a powerful animal.
“The only excitement to be had in these parts,” Fox continued, “is the butter market in Downham Market.” He wrinkled his nose. “If you can call this excitement. Of course, one could always climb on the tower of St. Edmund’s Church and hope to catch a glimpse of Ely Cathedral.”
Amy thought that certainly was impressive, given that Ely lay several miles away on the road to Cambridge.
The chill and the wind made her eyes water. She blinked and caught Fox darting a glance at her. “Have I already told you how beautiful you are?” His voice was husky with emotion. “Utterly bewitching.” Suddenly the corners of his mouth curled. “More bewitching in fact that Keats’s ‘Belle Dame sans Merci’—
‘I saw a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her—’
Drat. I’ve forgotten the rest.”
Amy’s breath caught. He had read Keats’s “Belle Dame”? The same man who had lectured her on the dangers of flights of fancy? She had to clear her throat several times before she finally could ask, “Didn’t you tell me that you don’t hold Keats in high esteem?”
He shrugged and his cheeks turned a shade redder than could be accounted to the cold. “Since you like those new poets, I thought I might give them another try.”
And of all poems he had chosen “La Belle Dame sans Merci,” with which she had teased him all these weeks ago and which he had so clearly hated. This time it was not only the wind that made tears spring to her eyes. Amy turned her face away so he wouldn’t see her inner turmoil.
Fortunately, they reached their destination soon thereafter: seven bulky stones rose on a small hill, a precious spot of dry land back when the Fens had not yet been drained and the stones were surrounded by watery moors and marshland.
Fox lifted Amy from the sleigh. With a frown he looked down to where the hem of her dress and pelisse dragged through the snow. “You are sure that—”
“Yes,” she said, without averting her gaze from the stones, which wore white caps of snow. “I want to look at them.”
She plodded onward, not caring about her clothes or about the coldness that clawed at her limbs. Behind her, Fox sighed, then started to follow.
On top of the hill, Amy drew off her right glove and reverently laid her hand against one of the stones. Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths and felt the place. A prickling, a…
“Do you like it?”
Her eyes snapped open, and she snatched back her hand. For a moment, the tingling in her fingers remained. Oh yes, even though the stones were nowhere near as big as those of Stonehenge, this was still a powerful place. A site where old magic slept deep in the earth and only waited to be awoken once more.
Amy turned to look at Fox. This time she didn’t have to force her smile. “It is wonderful.”
“Shall we… uhm…” He made a vague movement with his hand. “Step inside?” He stared past Amy. “Or perhaps we shouldn’t? Look at how pristine the snow looks inside. We would destroy all that perfection.”
“No.” She slipped past him through the gap in the stones. “I don’t think they would mind.” She walked to the center of the small circle, where she slowly turned around. All around them lay flat land; the trees of Rawdon Park were barely discernible in the distance.
All alone they were in the white landscape, the sky overhead sapphire blue with the sun shining down on their heads.
Mine, Amy thought.
I will make this all mine
. Once bound to the land, she would forever feel a yearning for it. To the end of her days she would long to return here. And, strangely, that thought did not frighten her. It was good land, and she felt old strength running through it.
Amy threw her arms wide and raised her face to the sun. With closed eyes, she whirled around and around, faster and faster, until her hat fell into the snow and her hair tumbled loose. She laughed with the joy of it all.
Yes, this was good land. It would be no hardship to be bound to it.
The laughter died.
Slowly, she came to a halt, opened her eyes.
The question was if she would survive the binding. If the land would accept her.
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met,” Fox said softly behind her.
She turned.
He still stood between the gap in the stones where she had left him and gazed at her as if spellbound.
Which he was.
Amy swallowed.
“I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice raw.
She walked back to him. He watched her, keeping his eyes firmly trained on her as if she were an apparition that could disappear at any moment. The uncertainty and vulnerability that were reflected on his face tore at her heart. She stopped in front of him and, standing so near, she could feel the tremor that passed through his body.
“What is it?” she asked quietly.
His Adam’s apple moved convulsively. “I’ve just remembered…” His voice trailed away and he stared across the circle.
Amy searched his face. His eyes were curiously blank and even bleaker than the flat, white winter Fens. “What?” Apprehension made the word into a mere breath of a sound.
He blinked several times. Very slowly he reached out his hand and laid it against the nearest stone. “They’re dead,” he muttered tonelessly. Then he shook himself like a wet dog and turned to her with a wry smile. “You must think me a lunatic.” Becoming aware that he was still touching the stone, he let his hand drop to his side. “I used to come here as a small boy and pretend I could…
hear
… the stones. Can you imagine?” He gave a little laugh. “A lunatic indeed.”
“No, not at all.” Amy choked, her eyes stinging. “What happened?”
He glanced at her, then shrugged, clearly aiming at an offhand manner. “I was stupid enough to tell the old earl one day. I thought-heck, I thought he would be pleased, take it as a sign that I belong here just like…” He didn’t finish the sentence.
“Oh, Fox.” Amy thought her heart would surely break.
“All he gave me was a sound whipping.” He snorted. “And I was told never to indulge in such flights of fancy again. I haven’t, you know.” He looked down at her, his face reflecting the bewilderment of the little boy who had desperately wanted to belong.
Something hot and wet trailed down Amy’s cheek. “I know you haven’t.”
“And now the stones are cold and dead,” he said, his voice flat. “It was never but a figment of boyish imagination. But when I saw you dance just now—” His hand trembled as he raised it to her face. “—it almost seemed real after all.” The leather of his glove glided over her skin before he cupped the side of her face. “I
love
you.”
Something inside Amy gave way. With a little sob she slung her hand around his neck, rose on tiptoe, and drew his head down until her lips brushed against his. And then the world fell away. Nothing existed anymore but this one man.
With a small groan he pulled her closer, subtly turning her until her back rested against a stone. His body blocked the coldness as he deepened their kiss.
After a small eternity, or perhaps after no time at all, he lifted his head. One hand leaning against the stone above her head, he regarded her. After a while his lips curved, and he drew his finger over her eyebrows, nose and mouth, as carefully as if he were touching rarest china.
Amy watched him with heavy-lidded eyes. Her blood sang in her veins, a wild song that made her forget all caution and care.
“I have got something for you.” His breath formed white clouds in the cold air.