Bewitched (24 page)

“Miss Bourne.”

Swaying she stood, the blanket clutched between numb fingers. She was aware of a hand touching her shoulder, a worried face hovering next to her. One of the footmen.

“I…”

She thought she could hear the earl’s voice farther ahead, where the groom carried Pip. Dick’s boyish tones mingled with those of the admiral, and then—

“Amy!”

Fox.

Her breath escaped in a sob.

“Dear God, Amy!” He hauled her into his arms, and her hands slipped around his waist, held tight to his big, solid body. She pressed her cheek against his chest where she could hear the rapid beating of his heart. Large hands stroked frantically over her back.

“Amy.”

Her eyes fell closed.

“Amy.” She felt herself lifted in strong arms. “Dear God, your poor face!”

“Hmm?” Her head sank against a shoulder, her nose buried against his warm neck where she could inhale the familiar scent of bergamot. With a sigh, she snuggled closer and allowed the world to fade away.

~*~

Fox deposited her into Rosie’s and the housekeeper’s care, who clucked over her, helped her change her clothes, and fed her some hot broth. Amy sat at the window, bundled into a woolen blanket—this one smelled neither of horses nor of hay—blinked drowsily and felt like an overlarge chick. She didn’t know how much time had passed when a knock sounded on the door. Mrs. Dibbler went to answer it and had a whispered conversation with whoever stood outside. Finally she came back to Amy. “Miss Bourne, Master Philip is asking for you. The apothecary has seen him and wants to give him a mild sedative, but the poor child won’t settle down.”

Amy blinked. “I’ll come.” When she stood, the blanket slid from her shoulders. “Thank you, Mrs. Dibbler.” The housekeeper held the door open for her, and outside she found the earl’s valet himself waiting.

“If you’ll come this way, miss.”

He led her into the wing where the family’s apartments were located, and to the boys’ room. The countess sat on the bed and held Pip’s hand, while the earl stood a little aside and conversed with a burly, grey-haired man.

“My lord, my lady,” the valet said, “Miss Bourne is here.”

Lady Rawdon rose and, with a small cry, hurried across the room to hug Amy hard. “Thank you for saving my son’s life.” When she drew back, her eyes were filled with tears. “He’s been asking for you. He seems to think a monster lives in the lake.”

“Oh dear,” Amy said weakly.

The countess sniffled and quickly dashed a hand across her eyes. “We told him there are no monsters, but he became so distressed. And we thought talking to you might alleviate his fears. I am sorry we have to inconvenience you again—”

“Not at all,” Amy cut in. She put her hand on the other woman’s arm. “I’ll speak to him.” She went to the big bed where Pip’s small, white face anxiously peeked up at her. A wave of tenderness swamped her. How fragile he seemed!

“How are you, sweetie?” she asked and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Better,” he croaked.

With a gentle hand, she brushed his hair out of his face. “But you don’t want to sleep?”

He shook his head. His voice dropped to a whisper. “They say the monster is not real.”

“I know.” For how could they accept that something that only existed in nightmares had stepped into their world?

“But it is.” His eyes glittered feverishly.

Amy cupped his cheek in her hand and stroked her thumb over his skin. “Yes,” she murmured, low enough that only he could hear. “Yes, it is.” And leaning forward: “You mustn’t worry. I will keep you safe.”

He searched her face. “How?”

“I’ll find a way.”

“Promise?”

“I swear,” she said.
On my life
. “Will you now take your medicine?”

He nodded, and his eyes closed. His hand felt around until his fingers closed over hers. “I’m glad you’re here,” he mumbled.

And yet, without my magic, I’m not much help
. Her eyes burning, she kissed his forehead. “Sleep well, sweetheart.” Quickly, she stood. After she had taken a deep breath, she turned. “You can now give him the medicine,” she said brightly to the man who must be the apothecary.

When she stepped away from the bed, the earl came to her and accompanied her to the door. For once, his face was creased with worry. “Thank you for what you did today.” He threw a look back at the bed. “The gardeners checked the ice this morning and it all seemed safe.”

Suddenly, Amy not only felt bone-tired, but also very badly wanted to cry. Instead she forced herself to say, gaily almost, “That’s what the boys said. It would appear that ice can be deceptive. Perhaps it would be best if everybody stayed off the lake for now.”
Oh yes, stay away untill can find a way to kill the evil lurking within.

“No more skating adventures,” Lord Rawdon agreed, while his valet opened the door. “But now you should rest, too, my dear.”

In a daze, Amy made it back to her room. Twice within an hour, Rosie helped her out of her clothes. Clad only in her chemise she climbed into the bed. “Leave the candle burning,” Amy murmured.

“Yes, Miss Bourne.”

A rustle of clothes, then the door clicked shut.

Wearily, Amy closed her eyes. How should she fight against the darkness that had crept into Rawdon Park? What could be done without magic? Without the means to contact her family? In this, she feared, she was all alone.

All alone, with no magic.

Despite the warmth of the blankets and the heavy quilt, Amy shivered.

All alone…

The door opened.

“Who—?” She half turned.

“Shush,” Fox murmured. His hand stroked over her hair. “Shush.”

She heard the rustle of clothes, then the blankets were lifted and Fox’s warm body slipped in beside her.

“What—”

“Shush.” He took her into his arms, drew her back against his chest. Softly, he kissed her shoulder. “I need to hold you tonight. Just hold you. Nothing more.” His fingers stroked down her arm. “Relax, love, I’m here. I’m here now.” He pressed another kiss onto her hair.

And despite herself, she snuggled back against him. She was too tired to fight this, the pull of the potion, the magic that had distorted their relationship. She no longer cared whether this was real or not, she knew only that he offered her his arms, his body as a safe haven from the world. For just one night she needed to hold on to this illusion. For just one night she needed the shelter of his arms.

Even though she knew it was only that: an illusion.

Chapter Twelve

The soft sound of the door latch was what woke her in the darkness of the early hours of the morning. Her candle had long burned down, and the bed beside her was empty. Yet even though Fox had left to sneak back to his room, his warmth and scent still clung to the linen. Amy turned and buried her nose in the pillow where his head had rested. She inhaled deeply. Bergamot and Fox. Instantly, her nipples hardened, and heat pooled low in her belly. Even now, her body craved his. Even now…

She sighed.

It wasn’t just her body. Her heart, too, hungered for him. She yearned to be near him… to talk to him… to touch him… to kiss him. But how could she trust her own feelings when she no longer knew what was real and what was not?

She did know, though, that the danger for the Stapleton family was very real, indeed. And they didn’t suspect a thing.

Oh, how could she keep them safe? Despite her attempts to fight her fondness for the Stapletons, she had come to love them all and couldn’t bear the thought that something might happen to one of them. However, if she told them the truth, they would probably think she had taken leave of her senses. And worse, she might lose Fox.

Fox? Her heart contracted as she realized she wasn’t ready for that, no matter what the truth of her emotions. Nevertheless, she had to do something against the evil powers at work in Rawdon Park, or else somebody would end up dead. First of all, she would need to find out exactly what kind of magic she was dealing with.

Determined, she sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed to rummage for the tinderbox. When she had lit a new candle, she went over to the fireplace, where the fire burned low. She stirred up the embers, put a new log onto the grate, and soon the fire was flickering merrily. She donned her wraparound stays, a simple dress, and her thick boots and left her room.

It was eerily silent in the hallways—and dark, for it was still too early for the servants to light the candles. Her lone candle threw trembling shadows on the walls as Amy crept down into the entrance hall. She got her pelisse, scarf, and muff from the cloak room and stepped outside.

The grayish light of predawn, reflected by the snow, allowed her to walk down the path to the gardens without a lantern. Indeed, she preferred the shadowy dimness. This way, her early-morning foray into the park might remain undetected.

She walked down the same path they had taken the afternoon before. The statues at which the boys had thrown snowballs looked down on her with worried faces. Yet Amy trudged on, the crisp morning air like a thousand needles on her skin. Finally, the lake lay before her, a wide, pale expanse of ice.

Carefully she stepped down the small slope to the edge of the water, where she crouched down. Even though a thin layer of ice already covered the hole nearest to the shore, she could see the way ice had initially broken in smooth, not craggy lines. A small breeze blew some stray tendrils of hair across her face. Amy tugged them behind her ear. Intently she stared out across the lake and listened. And then she closed her eyes and opened her mind—and nearly staggered under the weight of evil that bombarded her.

Gasping, she opened her eyes. This was powerful magic. It must have festered here for some weeks and would continue grow if nothing were done.

Fear gripped her at the throat. What could she do? She was powerless, helpless…

“Think,” she muttered fiercely. “
Think
.”

She couldn’t speak any spells, that was true, but surely there was another way to deal with this. Surely she knew enough of magic to fight, didn’t she? She rubbed her hand over her chin and winced when she touched the place where a stone had scraped her face yesterday afternoon.

“Drat!”

But then her eyes widened. “Oh!” Yes, she couldn’t speak any spells, but there was another way to cast magic: with blood. It was difficult, dangerous, and not something a nice young girl should do or even know of as her uncle had often enough told her. However, it produced powerful magic. Almost certainly powerful enough to deal with whatever had decided to take residence in Rawdon Park.

Amy jumped up.

Yes!

A protection spell, enforced by blood.

But how to start it?

She frowned. In one of the forbidden books in the library of Three Elms she had read stories so old that nobody could tell anymore whether they were fact or fantasy—stories of kings of yore who had entered a union with the land to ensure a fruitful reign. If she did something similar, if she could adapt such a ritual, she would be able to use this melding with the land as the basis for a protection spell, to let the land protect the people who lived on it.

Her heart beat faster.

Hadn’t she always loved to experiment with spells? This was her chance to prove to herself she could do better than turn a manor house blue. She would need to be careful, would need to use all her skills and knowledge. And most importantly: she needed to find the perfect place to put it all in motion.

~*~

She made it back to the house and to her room undetected. Even though the candles were now lit, it was still too early to ring for either Rosie or a tray with breakfast. Impatiently she walked up and down her room, which suddenly seemed much too small, the walls closing in on her. Her gaze fell on the book on her nightstand. With a sigh, she reached for it and plopped down on her chair. After all, it simply would not do if she wore a hole in the carpet.

She flipped the book open, smoothed down the pages, and read. Yet even though Chapter XIII was certainly a most interesting episode—Kassian, Gidonius, and Martinus ventured off to the Perilous Orchard, where they ate from the Forbidden Cherries—she could hardly concentrate on the text. Again and again her thoughts wandered off to contemplate the task that lay before her. When the nymphs, the fair Ladies of the Orchard, lulled Gidonius and Martinus into an unnatural sleep with their magical song, she could not help thinking about the spell she had to weave with her blood alone. Yes, dangerous it would be, more dangerous even than venturing into the Perilous Orchard. She would mesh with the land, body and soul, and form a union that could only be broken by her death.

Amy shuddered a little and quickly read on about how the nymphs buried Gidonius and Martinus under cherry blossoms. But when worthy Kassian turned out to be a young woman and thus not affected by the song of the nymphs, Amy was reminded of the charade she herself was forced to play.

She rubbed her fingers over her forehead. How she hated to keep the truth from Fox, about the magic, their relationship… and how she longed to regain their closeness of those happy weeks when the world had been a place of sun shine and bliss. No matter how often she reminded herself what a bore he had been when they had first met, she couldn’t help feeling drawn to him now, to the tender lover, the playful man and kind friend. But, of course, she couldn’t give in to those longings.

She closed her eyes. Perhaps her love for him was real. After loving him for so long under the influence of the potion, who could tell if what she felt for him now were only the aftereffects, or true affection? Amy felt as if she were closed into a labyrinth, where somewhere the horrible Minotaur was lying in wait for her.

With a sound of disgust Amy closed the book. She did not care about how Catrina would proceed to save her two fellow knights. For of course, she would save them. But would Amy manage to save the Stapleton family?

Unable to stand another second of sitting still, she jumped up and took up her prowl about the room once more. Finally,
finally
, it was late enough for her to ring for her maid. She felt too tense to have breakfast in the breakfast parlor with all of the others, and so had a tray sent up to her room. She nibbled on the buttered toast, took a bite from the apple puff—and then she simply couldn’t endure to stay closed into her room a moment longer.