She wetted her lips. “Show me,” she whispered.
He took her hand and bestowed a moist, lingering kiss onto her palm before reaching into his coat and drawing out a small sponge and a flacon. Both of them he dropped into the hollow of her hand.
“What are these?”
The sparkle of mischief she so adored, which she had so missed, lit up his eyes. He leaned closer and skimmed his mouth over her ear. “Were you not afraid of getting with child, my love? With these you will need have no fear.” The air escaped her in a high, breathy sound of surprise, and his teeth closed in a gentle bite on her earlobe. “Will you let me show you how?” He drew in a deep breath. “Tonight?” The word shivered against her skin.
For a moment Amy stood rock still. She remembered all the reasons why she should resist him—he didn’t know about the potion and their affections were only based on an illusion. Yet in the end, the wild beating of her heart, the scent of him in her nostrils and the taste of him in her mouth won.
She tightened her fingers around the sponge and flacon and pressed her face against his throat. “Yes. Oh, yes.”
Chapter Thirteen
Thus, he came to her during the night, slipped into her bed, and as their bodies entwined and became one, all secrets and words slipped away. They were replaced by the language of skin gliding over skin, of hearts straining to beat as one, of the smell and taste of sweat sweeter than dew.
How to describe an act of perfect bliss and harmony? When passion became a dark wave that drew them under, and tenderness so overwhelmingly sweet it could reduce a grown man to tears? In his arms Amy found a freedom of body and mind beyond anything she had ever experienced before.
And yet, while she lay shuddering beside him, his face buried against her breasts, one of his arms slung over her belly and hip, while one of her hands stroked his heaving shoulders, she was filled with the bittersweet knowledge of the transience of it all. Built on foundations more fragile than thinnest glass, such bliss could not and would not last. She could not build her hopes on what he had experienced more than two decades ago. As a child he might have believed in magic, but the man, the real Sebastian Stapleton, did not. And who could fault him?
On their third night together Amy slid away from him as soon as she was certain he was asleep. The scrape of the flint made him grumble in protest and nestle his face deeper into the pillow; the next moment though, his breaths turned into soft snores once more.
Amy’s throat closed on a wave of tenderness. Who would have thought it: At night the fox became a baby bear.
She blinked against the sudden sting in her eyes. With a determined shake of her head, she turned away. She moved around the room and dressed as quickly and quietly as possible to the flickering light of the candle. From her chest of drawers, she took the small knife she had found in the weapons collection of Rawdon Park and thrust it into one of the pockets underneath her dress.
At the door she threw a last look at Fox. In the soft light his hair seemed darker than usual. Heavily tousled, it stuck up on all sides, and she remembered how she had run her hands through it not yet an hour ago. The blankets had slipped down to reveal the smattering of freckles across his shoulders, a sprinkle of cinnamon dust. She had teased him about them, had traced invisible lines between them and had called them his map of stars.
For a short moment she wondered whether she would see him again, but quickly she brushed the thought aside. It was time to go.
Noiselessly she slipped out of the room into the hallway and wandered the corridors of Rawdon Park in stockinged feet, her boots in one hand, the candle in the other. The pale light of the full moon fell through the tall windows of the stairway hall as she padded downstairs. In the entrance hall she donned her boots before she fetched her scarf, muff, and pelisse from the cloakroom. There she also found a cap lined with thick fur, which she took as well. It would keep her warmer than any of her own winter hats.
Outside, the air was crystal clear and so cold it stung her lungs. Amy adjusted her scarf to cover the lower half of her face and then strode away from the house. After she had left the grounds of Rawdon Park, she took a shortcut through the fields, where the snow crunched under her feet. The moon made the landscape gleam in an eerie light, and it seemed to her as if she had entered a realm of the Otherworld. She only hoped she would not fall into a ditch filled with ice.
Finally she saw the short, bulky forms of the standing stones rising as dark shadows against the sky. She quickened her steps until she marched up the little hill. Just outside the circle, she stopped to catch her breath. Uncertainty made her falter. She listened to the harsh sounds of her breaths and the dull thuds of her blood in her ears. Would her plan really work?
She brushed her hand against her side and felt the length of her knife dig against her hip.
Madness!
She thought of her parents, her father who had attempted to save her mother’s life and whom the all too powerful magic had only brought death.
But then she thought of Fox, lying naked and vulnerable in her bed, not knowing of the danger that threatened his family. She thought of the children, of Pip breaking through the ice. She thought of Lord and Lady Rawdon and the dowager countess, who all had welcomed her so warmly into their midst. And in the end, her thoughts returned to Fox once more, the raw sound of his voice as he had sworn his love to her at this place three days ago.
“I love you so much.”
Amy took a few deep breaths and let her fear and uncertainty ebb away with the air she exhaled. Not only did the Stapletons need her protection, but she would also never forgive herself should anything happen to one of them. She brushed the cap from her head and let the muff fall into the snow. Afterwards, she drew off her gloves and laid her hands against the icy stone to each side of her. She opened her mind and let the peace of the circle fill her being.
With a small sigh, she shrugged out of her pelisse, loosened the lacings of her dress and drew it over her head, took off her petticoats, her stays, her chemise, boots, and stockings until she stood naked and shivering. Goosebumps covered her whole body and her nipples hardened. Like a ravaging beast, the cold clawed at her body.
Amy clenched her teeth and tried to suppress the shivers. She reached for her pockets and drew out the knife, which she clenched tightly in her hand. Slowly she proceeded into the middle of the circle, where she had trodden down the snow three days before. She laid her head back and looked up to the moon, standing pale and round above her: Luna the White, who sailed across night-darkened skies. “Help me,” she whispered.
Smoothly Amy drew the knife from the sheath. Now it began.
She had thought this ritual through a hundred times. She had pondered on each step she would need to take, on each word that would need to be spoken, and on each drop of blood she would shed into the snow. For the sake of the Stapletons she could not afford to fail.
She closed her eyes and reached out her mind for the stones once more.
Standing still and silent in a circle of power, a circle to bind the power, a circle to awaken the power, power of darkness and light—
The blade of the knife bit into her palm.
Amy hissed with the pain.
She opened her eyes.
Blood ran down her fingers and dropped darkly onto the snow.
The shivers increased.
Grinding her teeth together, Amy started to cut a seven-pointed star into the snow. Each stone was a point, at each stone a drop of blood.
When she was finished she returned to the center of the star and the circle, dipped her finger into her own blood and drew a crescent moon on the center of her chest. This done, she slowly lay back into the snow and flung her arms wide, a willing sacrifice to spark the hunger of the land.
Immediately the coldness embraced her, numbed her body, and she gasped.
The icy cold was more than she thought she could bear. Yet in order to be reborn as one with the land, she needed to die first, if only in ritual. Renewed dread clogged her throat. She wanted to flee, rush back to the warm house, to the lover waiting in her bed. But she was the only one who could keep the people of Rawdon Park safe. She had to go through with the ritual.
For long moments, Amy stared up at the moon, before she closed her eyes.
Circle of power…
I am here…
A thousand needles piercing her skin, the pain so intense that tears trickled from below her closed lids. Defenseless, she lay in the snow. While the stones looked on, the breath froze in her lungs, the cold ate up her insides.
She bit her lip until she tasted blood.
I am here. Hear me, Old Mother Moon, you Elders of Stone, I am here. Please accept my sacrifice.
Amy sobbed.
She arched her throat. “I am here.” A small moan only, but in the earth deep below her she could feel a stirring.
Another sob. She whimpered with pain and fear.
“I AM HERE!” she cried.
And then something roared toward her and through her and exploded in the stones all around. Her high, wailing scream was cut abruptly short.
~*~
When Amy came to her senses, she was lying in a tight ball in the middle of the stone circle, still naked, but now filled with a curious warmth.
She blinked. The snow around her had in part melted away, and the star she had drawn had vanished.
Slowly she sat up, her limbs heavy and weak like those of a newborn lamb. In a daze, she stared at her hand, where the cut of the knife had closed and was no more than an angry red scratch. Then, finally, it dawned on her: She had survived the ritual. With tears in her eyes, she looked up to the moon.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
The moon, which ruled the bodies of all women and appeared as the symbol of goddesses all around the world, smiled a little and sailed on toward the horizon.
Giving herself a mental shake, Amy stumbled to her feet. She gazed at the stones around her, and as she now opened her mind, she could feel a deep humming inside them. She smiled.
Oh yes, she had been successful. All would be well: no more harm would come to Rawdon Park. She laughed with the joy of it all.
Before she left the circle, she once more touched the two stones where she had entered it. “Thank you.” And then she stepped outside and hastily donned her clothes.
All the way back to the house, a soft glow warmed her body from the inside out and robbed the cold of its bite. Still, when she finally slipped back into her room, she felt bone weary. She fumbled with her clothes and hid them in her chest of drawers before she crawled back into bed.
Fox stirred. Sleepily, he looked over his shoulder. “Where have you been?” he mumbled.
“Shh.” She burrowed against his body, and willingly he turned to enfold her in his arms.
He pressed a kiss onto her forehead. “You haven’t been rambling around the house, have you?” He gave a contented sigh as he nestled his face into the curve of her shoulder.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she whispered.
He raised his head. “So you
have
been rambling around the house?” he said, fully awake now. He snorted. “You must be daft, sweetheart. You could’ve caught your death in these cold hallways.” He bussed her cheek. “Don’t do it again.”
“No,” she breathed. “I won’t.” She slung her arm around his waist and hugged him tightly against her body. “I won’t.”
~*~
Over the next few days Amy set about perfecting her spell by pricking her finger repeatedly and drawing small signs against evil in strategic places throughout the house. She drew the same signs on the forehead of the children, who now, after she had displayed her skill at skipping stones, not to speak of her having saved Pip, firmly believed there was nothing she could not do. For the lake she made a small sachet filled with salt and cleansing herbs, and let a few drops of blood fall onto the mixture before she broke a hole in the ice and threw the sachet into the water. She watched dark bubbles rise to the surface, and hoped the spell would work.
In the depth of the night, when Fox lay lost in dreams beside her, she drew the sign against evil on his forehead, too. She kissed his cheek, then put her chin onto his shoulder. Despite the fact that he was fast asleep, he immediately adjusted his position to fit her against his body. With a sigh, Amy laid her head on his chest and drank in his scent and warmth.
Thus she had done all she could to ensure the safety of the Stapletons, but still, the niggling worry deep inside her would not vanish. Not only was she painfully conscious that she was living on borrowed time, but as the days passed, she also found it increasingly difficult not to confide in Fox. She hated lying to him, yet what would happen if she did tell him? For even knowing what she did, she could not bear the thought of losing him.
Chapter Fourteen
Ten days after Amy had been to the circle, a special punch ceremony was held at Rawdon Park as a foretaste of the Christmas festivities that were soon to follow. In the late afternoon, when darkness had fallen around the house, the whole family assembled at a table in the drawing room. Admiral Pickering, it appeared, would act as the Master of Ceremonies. The children skipped from one foot to the other with excitement. “
Feuerzangenbowle, Feuerzangenbowle
,” Dick and Pip chanted, while Annie chirped in between, “Fir-ang-bowl, fir-ang-bowl.”
“The admiral has spent many a Christmas at Rawdon Park,” the dowager countess explained to Amy. “And each year he delights us with a
Feuerzangenbowle
. He picked up the recipe when staying with an acquaintance in Frankfurt years ago, did you not, Admiral?”
“Indeed, I did.” He gave Amy a smile. “It is a special punch that is served in the winter months. Very popular with the students, too, or so I have heard.”
The door opened and Ramtop, the butler, appeared, carrying an enormous pot filled with fragrant, steaming red wine. Two footmen followed him with trays, one of which held glasses, the other a ladle, a bottle, a white cone, and what looked like a pair of tongs. The pot was put on a wooden plate in front of the admiral, and the trays set down on the table. Afterwards the footmen bowed and left the room, while the butler brought a candle and a fidibus.