The Marriage Spell (14 page)

Once more he was flying, soaring above the English hills like a falcon. Arrowing toward Langdale Hall, which he had not seen in far too long. The home he loved, feared, and could ignore no longer.

The hall was a rambling manor rooted in the ancient stone of the Yorkshire Dales, its position commanding the fertile valley cut by the swift, narrow Lang River. As a boy, he had looked at his home and seen it shine with a pure, clear light that was centered in the ancient holy well.

Stonebridge had killed his ability to see the inner nature of people and places. Perhaps in this dream, he would see that light again.

Reaching the dale, he swooped down, excited to be back. But his delight changed to horror. The bright, vital light that had defined the estate was now ashy black. No longer was his home a place of life and growth, but a charnel house.

He told himself that this was only because he was dreaming and his vision was clouded by his fears. Langdale Hall couldn't have burned without his being informed. Whatever the trouble was, he could fix it.

He banked over the dale, riding the updrafts and looking for signs of life. Gradually he saw that walking shadows milked the cows and tended the sheep on the high slopes. The people of the dale were still there, it was only his anxiety that made them wraiths. Yet he could not shake off his doubts. Was he strong enough to do whatever must be done to lift the shadows from his home? He had never had the strength in the past.

As he soared above the vale, mapping out a campaign to retake his home, he gradually realized that he was not alone. Another being flew in tandem with him. He couldn't quite see his companion, but he sensed her presence—he knew it was a her—and was comforted.

He was no longer alone.

Chapter
XIII

A
bby awoke slowly, thinking she must have become tangled in her covers to be wrapped so tightly. Then awareness returned in a rush. She was in the arms of her new husband, and she had never been happier in her life.

In the pale dawn light, she examined Jack's face at close range, blushing as she remembered the night before. He was her husband, and she wanted him also as her lover, protector, and partner. She wanted to bear his children and soothe his worries and laugh with him. Most of all, she wanted to make him happy, for as they became closer, she was able to sense that under his easygoing manner he was deeply troubled.

Though she liked directness, she thought that it would be wiser to wait for him to talk to her rather than asking him outright. She would save directness for a last resort.

Ruefully she realized that she hadn't the foggiest notion of marriage etiquette. Should she get up quietly and return to her room to wash and dress? Kiss him awake? Go back to sleep herself?

Before she could decide, Jack opened his eyes, the hazel color almost golden in the morning light. “Good morning, lass.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Marriage suits me. I feel full of energy today.”

He should—he was benefiting from his own inherent energy plus a good deal of hers. But she didn't mind sharing, not when she saw that affectionate light in his eyes. So far he wasn't regretting this marriage. She ran her hand down his powerful arm, delighted that she was allowed to touch him when she wanted to. “Is it time to get up and dress for breakfast? Or shall we roll over and go back to sleep since it's so early?”

“We're on our honeymoon, so rising virtuously with the dawn can wait.” He chuckled, the vibration transmitted pleasantly from his rib cage to Abby. “I've spent most of my life getting up at dawn, first as a student and then as a soldier, but I've never learned to enjoy it. And that was even without a warm, touchable woman in my bed.”

She blushed, feeling good about herself and him and marriage and the world. “Then by all means, let us linger.”

As his hand slid to her breast, she gave a sigh of pleasure. How quickly one could become accustomed to physical intimacy!

A
fter rising late and happy, Abby and her husband dressed separately but went downstairs together. Jack proved that traversing the steps on his backside worked as well going down as going up.

The morning was gray and a dusting of snow had fallen during the night, but the dining room was warm and welcoming. The food was so good that Abby wondered if the duke had lent his personal cook for the honeymooners.

As they finished their meal, Jack asked, “What are your plans for the house?”

“I've scarcely had time to think about it.” Her gaze roamed the dining room, which was drab despite the cheery fire. “Brighter fabric and paint and wallpaper will make a huge difference. Many of the furniture pieces aren't bad, but they need refinishing and new upholstery. Do you know if the attic has any interesting old items?”

He grinned at her. “I haven't the remotest idea. Shall we explore there?”

“Perhaps when you no longer need the crutches,” she said, thinking how steep most attic staircases were. “Today I'll start by exploring the lower floors. I've seen only a few of the rooms.”

A footman entered the dining room. “Lady Frayne, a young person is here to see you. He says it's urgent.”

Before Abby could say she would see him, the “young person” entered the dining room after the servant. She recognized Jimmy Hinton, from a farm family near Barton Grange. “Miss Abby, I'm sorry to bother you when you're just wed, but my pa is right poorly. Could you come see him now?”

Jimmy's father was the stoic sort, so if he was “right poorly,” his condition must be grave. She rose, glad she'd finished her breakfast, sorry she couldn't stay with Jack. “I'll come right now. Jack, may we take your carriage to the Hinton household?”

“Of course. It's your carriage, too.” Looking less than happy, he gestured to the footman to order the vehicle.

She wondered how long it would take before she thought of herself as Lady Frayne, mistress of Jack's household. “We didn't get a marriage settlement drawn up,” she said aloud. “I completely forgot.”

“So did I.” Jack stood, using the chair frame to lever himself up. “We probably should have one for the sake of future offspring.”

She blushed in a very bridelike way. “I'm sorry to leave you, but I should be gone for only a few hours.”

“It will always be like this, won't it?” he said seriously. “Emergencies that you can't ignore.”

She met his gaze. “I'm afraid so. I have a gift, and with that comes a responsibility to help others.”

“Having benefited by your gifts, I shouldn't complain. But I wish you didn't have to rush off.” He lifted himself onto the crutches that leaned against the table and circled round to give her a light kiss on the cheek. “Until later, lass.”

Glad Jack accepted her need to see her patient even though he didn't like it, she left the dining room with Jimmy Hinton. Her husband would like it even less when she was called away in the middle of the night, but at least he accepted the general principle that she had obligations beyond her own household.

Her steps quickened. The sooner she helped Mr. Hinton, the sooner she could get back to Jack. And she was glad that he was sorry to see her leave.

J
ack had another cup of tea. He hated that Abby was gone, but since she was, he would use this time to test himself. He rang for Morris to bring his coat and hat. The weather was damp and devilish cold and he didn't want to freeze outdoors.

As Morris helped him into the coat, the valet said, “Shall I accompany my lordship on his walk?”

Jack laughed. “Such formality! You think I'm going to get into trouble, don't you? Perhaps I should leave you here.”

“I'm sure my lady would prefer I accompany you,” the valet said, poker-faced.

“Good God, are you two already plotting against me?” Jack collected his crutches and headed to the door. Abby was right that putting his weight on the crosspieces was less painful. “When have you had the time to confer? She arrived only last night.”

“Lady Frayne and I have not discussed the matter,” Morris said repressively. “But I assume that she wishes me to look out for your welfare.”

“In other words, you've just been handed another excuse to fuss like an old hen,” Jack said. “Very well, come along. I want to visit Dancer.”

Morris didn't dignify that with a reply. Though he'd grown up in a London slum, he could put on a haughty manner that would suit a duke.

Jack managed to descend the outside steps without incident. This time he used the crutches to go down standing upright rather than thumping along on his backside, which would be uncomfortable on the cold stone. But he was glad to have Morris standing watchful below, just in case.

Given the bite of the wind, he was also glad the walk to the stables was short. As soon as Jack entered, Dancer thrust his head from his stall and neighed a greeting. Jack propped the crutches against the wall so he could embrace the horse properly. “How are you feeling today, boy? Are you pining for a good gallop?”

He'd always got on with horses so well that he'd been accused of reading equine minds. Though he always laughed off such suggestions, he did have a knack for working with the beasts. Dancer seemed downright ecstatic to see him. “Did you fear the worst, old boy?” Jack murmured. “I almost got us both killed. We both owe our lives to a talented lady, so always treat her well.”

He had the odd notion that Dancer understood and had agreed to obey Abby as he would Jack. Or maybe the horse already had a relationship with Abby because he'd been the beneficiary of one of her healing circles. Noting the leather brace on Dancer's leg, Jack said, “I suppose he's not ready to ride yet.”

“Dancer's leg is healing well, but it will be some time before he is himself again,” Morris said. “He seems unhurt by yesterday's journey from Barton Grange. The Barton groom walked him over, taking his time.”

“Something else I owe the Bartons.” Jack gave Dancer's ears a last scratch. “Very well, saddle Wesley. He's a better choice for getting back into the saddle.”

“My lord! Surely you don't intend to ride today!” Morris said, horrified. “Quite aside from the risk to you, how can you control a horse when you have a broken leg?”

“Nothing wrong with my right thigh and knee, so I should be able to manage a placid old fellow like Wesley.”

Morris looked stubborn, obviously calculating how far he could go in resisting a direct order. “Lady Frayne won't like it.”

“Very likely not.” Jack hardened his voice to command mode. “I appreciate your concern, but I will do this. Will you saddle Wesley or must I?”

If Morris were a horse, his ears would be flattened back. Before he could reply, Ransom's familiar voice said, “Don't worry, Morris. I'll do the saddling and accompany Frayne on his ride so you won't have his likely demise on your conscience.”

Jack laughed as his friend ambled into the stables. “You're in a hurry to see me break my neck again.”

“I covet Dancer,” Ransom said. “Morris, will you bear witness that Frayne says I could have the horse if he kills himself riding?”

“Do you think I'd let a ham-handed clunch like you have Dancer?” Jack scoffed. “He goes to Ashby.”

“You're a cruel man, Jack.” Ransom effortlessly saddled Wesley, a calm chestnut with white socks. Though getting on in years, Wesley was still one of Jack's favorite mounts. “If I'm not to benefit by your demise, are you sure you want to do this?” Though his tone was light, his eyes were concerned as he led the horse from the stable.

“I'm sure.” Jack followed on his crutches, wondering why he felt compelled to try to ride again so soon.

He recognized the answer when he moved to Wesley's side. For the first time in his life, he was afraid to get on a horse. The mere thought made him sweat as he remembered his disastrous accident. His helpless, uncontrolled fall. The crunch of bones, agony followed by cessation of feeling….

Which meant that the sooner he got back on a horse, the better, for being afraid to ride would be another form of crippling. Steeling his face to blankness, he dropped the left crutch behind him and prepared to mount. Left foot into the stirrup while most of his weight was taken by his right crutch. Damn, this was tricky, especially with his strength so reduced. But with Morris holding Wesley steady, Jack was able to scramble gracelessly into the saddle. Ransom tucked his right foot into the stirrup.

While Dancer radiated eagerness, Wesley was pure calm. Jack had the strange but comforting notion that the chestnut sensed his fear and would take care of him.

“Are you ready, my lord?” Morris asked.

When Jack nodded, the valet released the reins. Jack's leg hurt—a lot—but with his knees and weight, he was able to signal his mount out of the stable yard and onto a bridle trail that followed the ridge. Gradually his tension faded as the riding memories of a lifetime began to obliterate the horror of his lethal accident.

He urged Wesley forward in a smooth canter, following a trail that led along the the ridge between two fields. The wind was sharp, but as he relaxed, he began to enjoy the freedom he'd always found on horseback. Though Wesley wasn't as fast as Dancer, his gaits were as smooth as silk.

A stride behind him, Ransom called, “You look ready to go hunting.”

Jack laughed. “Not yet, and when I do, I suspect I won't be such a neck-or-nothing rider as I used to be.”

“Good to know that you're capable of learning from your errors!”

Grinning, Jack urged Wesley to go faster. To hell with his aching leg. The wind in his face was worth some pain.

Danger exploded between one heartbeat and the next when a bird burst from a clump of dried grass beside the trail. The gelding reared in a panic.

No!
Unable to grip his mount's barrel with both legs, Jack lost his seat and pitched to the left, the right stirrup falling away because of his injured leg. For a dizzy moment the ice-hard ground tilted below him, waiting to smash his bones. He
knew
he would break his neck again, this time beyond repair.

Fear dissolved into a rush of energy that melded Jack and Wesley together as if they were one.
He was himself, but also the frantic horse, panicked, yet wanting to serve his master. He had four legs, was incoherent with fear, and was also a two-legged creature equally frightened. Master your fear. Steady, you're safe, don't worry.

Before Jack could sort out the chaos in his mind, Wesley was suddenly solid beneath him again. Amazingly the horse had leaped sideways to catch his weight. Though still off balance, Jack was able to recover and maintain his seat.