Bewitched (36 page)

When they finally reached the house, a miracle awaited them: a maid came running, and called out breathlessly, “It’s Miss Bourne! She woke up! Indeed, she did! Right half an hour ago, she suddenly opened her eyes and sat up straight in her bed.”

Richard, Bella, and Fox hurried upstairs after the Bournes. The sight that greeted them in the Rose Bedroom made Fox fall weak against the doorframe: the maid who was sitting with Amy was just giving her a sip of water. As they entered, Amy’s head turned slowly, ever so slowly. She caught sight of her aunt and uncle, and a hint of a smile flickered across her face.

And then she saw him.

Fox swallowed hard. “Amy,” he whispered. The next moment he was across the room and down on his knees next to the bed. Tears spilled past his cheeks as he took her hand and lowered his head over it in order to press a kiss onto her knuckles. “I am sorry. I am so sorry,” burst out of him. And overpowered by his feeling of unworthiness, he couldn’t meet her eye.

Something touched his cheek. Amy’s finger, trailing over his skin in a feather-light caress.

He raised his head and stared at her. His heart drummed so loudly against his ribs, he thought she must surely hear it. Desperately he searched her pansy-blue eyes, which had lost their usual brightness and looked wan and tired. What he saw there humbled him—and gave him hope.

“Hello, Fox,” she murmured, and her lips curved into a soft, little smile. “It is so lovely to see you again.”

Chapter Twenty

Even though she had wakened, Amy did not further improve. She remained weak and listless, and slept almost all day. Fox sat nearby most of the time, anxiously looking over her, counting every breath she took when she slept, softly talking to her in the few precious moments when she was awake. “I was such a fool,” he said to her one afternoon. “Such a proud, arrogant—”

“Hush.” She put a weak finger against his lips and the corner of her eyes crinkled. “You thought I would suddenly sprout a beaked nose, grow a wart or two and start cackling in the most frightful fashion like a veritable fairy tale witch.”

“Amy—” He threw her a helpless look.

“Hush,” she repeated, her hand stroking across his cheek. “I understand.”

He captured her hand and pressed a kiss into her palm. She watched him, her eyes over-large in her small, thin face. “I couldn’t tell you,” she whispered. “It was awful…” Her eyes fell close. “When I knew and you didn’t. But you wouldn’t have believed me. Do you remember your lecture about common sense and rational thought when we first danced the waltz?”

“That man was a pompous ass,” he growled.

She gave a little laugh and blinked up at him. “How could I have asked you to believe in potions and evil magic?” she asked, serious once more. “And if by chance you had, what if it had broken the spell wrought by the potion and I had been sent back home? There would have been nobody to protect you all.”

Leaning forward, Fox buried his face in her hair. “You did so much for my family.” Desperation at his own shortcomings sliced his heart. “I should have trusted you. I should have loved you better.”

Her breathing deepened. When he lifted his head, she had already fallen asleep again.

Most of the time Amy was too weak to talk, and so he took her book and read to her. He read to her how Alexandie, now worthy Markander’s wife, was abducted by the horrible Green Man, a wild, dark creature living in the depths of the forest, and how he struck Markander with a deep, unnatural sleep. Fox’s voice faltered as he came to this passage, but Amy’s hand slipped into his and her fingers weakly squeezed so that he would continue. Thus, he read on: how Martinus and Gidonius set out to free fair Alexandie, and how Martinus slayed the Green Man with the mighty, magical sword he had received from the King of Swedes, Ikerad. And Fox could not help remembering the sickle Amy’s uncle had used to kill the plant outside in the garden. It seemed fantastical, as if the characters of a book had stepped out of their story and into the real world. But would the story end happily in real life, too?

The longer Fox sat at Amy’s bedside, the more he doubted it. No, she did not improve. Day after day he watched her closely, eager to catch the smallest improvement. So far, he had detected none.

And worse: Amy’s family seemed doubtful, too, in regard to her recovery.

One evening, they all met in the South Drawing Room. “It hasn’t helped her, has it?” Richard asked. “The gardeners have dug up all the roots of that plant, have burned both them and all the soiled earth, but it hasn’t helped.”

Bourne sighed. “No, it hasn’t helped.” His voice sounded utterly weary. “We have given her additional healing potions and conventional medicine, but none of these have helped, either. The poison has saturated the land far beyond the reach of the roots of the plant…” His voice trailed away.

Fox clamped his eyes tightly shut and bit his lower lip. He wanted to rant and rave against fate, wanted to weep and cry.

For a moment they all sat in silence.

“Surely there must be something,” Bella began hesitantly. “Is there anything that can be done?”

Again silence reigned, a silence which rang horribly loud in Fox’s ears. His eyes snapped open. He sprang up from his seat. “There must be something!”

“There might be.”

All eyes turned to Colin Bourne, who exchanged a glance with his brother Devlin.

“Well…” Devlin licked his lips. “We have talked about this, and… well…”

One of the younger boys fidgeted on his seat, then leaned forward, excitement making his eyes sparkle. Fox recognized him as the one who had wanted to throw blue lightning at him. Flann, wasn’t it? “We should try to heal the land,” the boy blurted, “not Amy!”

“Heal the land?” His father frowned.

“It might be worth a try,” Colin argued. “So far we have only tried to heal Amy and it hasn’t helped her. You said it yourself, it’s the land that is poisoned.”

“But, dear”—Mrs. Bourne clasped the arm of her husband—“how could we? We would need…”

Devlin rubbed his neck. “Granted, it isn’t ideal. It’s neither Beltane nor midsummer.” He shrugged. “But still, it might work.”

His mother narrowed her eyes. “You really mean…” Abruptly, her head swiveled around, and she stared at Fox. “
He
would have to…”

Her intense gaze made Fox uncomfortable. “What is it?”

“He is so not ideal,” Flann of the blue light muttered. The next moment though, his expression and tone lightened. “What about sacrificing him? ‘The Holly King must die’ and all that?”

Devlin reached out and slapped the back of his younger brother’s head. “You’re crackers! The next thing you’d know is Amy coming after you with a knife!”

What a relief! Fox didn’t quite know whether to laugh or to cry.

“No, we were speaking, of course, of…” Devlin cleared his throat, looked at Colin.

The older brother gave a small grimace. “The Great Wedding,” he finally said.

As one, all members of the Bourne family turned to gaze at Fox.

“Er…” What was he supposed to say? “A wedding? How will a wedding help her? I will wed her, of course, if it will help.” Fox winced at his own awkward phrasing. “I’ll wed her in any case,” he hastened to add.

This, however, didn’t have the expected effect. Instead, young Flann glowered at him. “He
is
a dunderhead,” he muttered darkly.

“Shut up!” Devlin clipped him again.

“
Ouch
!”

“For heaven’s sake, will you two stop!” Mrs. Bourne snapped at her sons. “We’re not speaking of a conventional wedding,” she said, turning back to Fox, “but of a Great Wedding. Domangart of Alba describes the ritual in detail. It’s the… the…” She made a vague movement with her hand. “The union of the Lord and the Lady.” She gave him an expectant look.

Fox blinked. “Who?”

“Oh, dear.” She sighed. “I’m not explaining this properly.” And, prodding her husband: “Tell him.”

‘Well…” Bourne gave every appearance of a man who felt extremely uncomfortable in his skin. “In that ritual Amy performed, she became the Lady of the Land—in a manner of speaking, that is. Now, we believe the land might be healed if she had a companion.”

“You,” Colin cut in, looking at Fox.

Richard leaned forward. “I don’t understand. How?”

“You mentioned Beltane and midsummer earlier on,” the dowager countess chimed in. Her brows rose. “Surely you don’t mean…?”

Bourne gave her a small, apologetic smile. “I’m afraid we do.”

“By intercourse?” Her brows rose even higher. “Heavens.”

A strangled sound came from the direction where the admiral sat. “I
say
!”

“What?” A strange ringing filled Fox’s ears. Surely he couldn’t have heard right. Wildly, he looked from his mother to the Bournes.

“You have to become the Stag King,” Mrs. Bourne said softly.

Nodding, her husband reached for her hand. “The Horned God.”

“On midwinter night,” his eldest added.

Dumbfounded, Fox sank back in his seat. Good gracious! They had all taken leave of their senses.

~*~

In the end, though, there was little Fox wouldn’t try in order to help Amy. And so he sat down with Bourne and his wife and let them explain it to him again and again: what he would have to do, to say, how the heck he was supposed to become—what?—the Stag King. “Do I have to wear antlers?” he asked suspiciously. He imagined himself clad in furs, the head of a stag balancing on his head as if he were one of the primitive people who had lived in these regions thousands of years ago. Heavens, that would be as bad as taking part in a mummers’ play!

“No, no.” Leaning forward, Mrs. Bourne reached for his hands and gripped them tightly. “But you’ll have to
believe
you are.”

“So it’s all make-believe?”

She smiled a little. “
Belief
. A lot of it depends on believing. In here.” With two fingers she tapped against his temple, then laid them on his heart. “And in here.”

He might have been able to do this as a boy, when he had still believed in humming stones, but now? And yet the life of the woman he loved depended on his taking part in some pagan, magical ritual. The mere thought was sufficient to make him break into cold sweat.

“Amy will also be there to help you,” Bourne added.

“But she’s weakened.” Fox frowned. “Surely she can’t—”

Bourne shook his head. “The stones will amplify her power”—he raised his brow—“if you manage to waken them. And remember, the, well, intercourse will be unlike any other you’ve known before. It will be ritual.”

And that is supposed to mean what?
Fox wondered darkly. Really, it all sounded most fantastical, and it was still difficult for him to take in.

“But still, you will be careful, won’t you?” A worried note had entered Mrs. Bourne’s voice. “Considering that it will be Amy’s first—”

Fox couldn’t help himself: He blushed. The tips of his ears positively burned.

Taken aback, Mrs. Bourne looked him up and down. “Oh,” she said. “I see.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “You are a veritable rascal, young man. You would have deserted her, even though you already had—”

“Yes. I know,” Fox said, deeply ashamed of himself.

She sniffed. “Well, then—”

Her husband cut in, his tone deceptively mild, “You’d better see to it that you do right by her this time.” He arched his brow.

“Of course.” Fox did not avert his eyes from Bourne’s, even though the man probably thought about throwing a ball of blue fire at Fox, or worse.

Oh yes, Fox planned to do right by Amy this time.

He’d become the deuced Stag King.

Chapter Twenty-one

December 21 dawned bright and clear. Fox sat on the bed beside Amy, her head bedded on his thigh while she slept, and watched how the sky turned from darkest gray to brilliant blue. Somewhere out in the park, a robin heralded the new day.

How fitting
, Fox thought.
Today the Holly King must die and make way for King Robin
. He grimaced. What a relief that the Bournes had not gone with young Flann’s idea of a royal sacrifice, with Fox standing in for the Holly King. Though…

He looked down to where Amy’s cheek, no longer plump and rounded, rested against his thigh. With the back of his finger, he gently stroked her pale skin. A wave of tenderness clenched his heart and he leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead. If it truly had been the only way, he would have played the Holly King, too.

He drew a hand through her hair, which had lost all its former luster. Amy made a small sound and turned her head a little.

“Fox?” she murmured, her eyes still tightly closed.

“Shh, I’m here, sweetheart.” He slung an arm around her shoulder. “Go back to sleep.” He petted her head, her shoulder, then leaned down and nestled his nose against her temple. “Sleep,” he whispered.

Later in the morning he rode to the stone circle together with Bourne and his two eldest sons. They cleaned the inner round of snow, and Bourne marked the four cardinal points with fat, sturdy candles, which he placed inside terracotta pots. Afterwards they stuck seven torches into the snow at the outside of the stones.

“So,” Bourne said, “we’re finished here. Colin and Devlin will return with blankets and furs later on.”

Fox nodded.

“And now…” Bourne blew onto his hands. “Now we only have to tell Amy.”

“She won’t like it,” Colin predicted.

~*~

She didn’t.

“It’s preposterous,” Amy whispered agitatedly. She looked at her aunt.

“It might be the only way to heal both you and the land,” Mrs. Bourne said gently.

Amy sniffed. “Preposterous!” Slowly, and with such great effort Fox could have wept for her, she turned her head to glare at her uncle. “It is not the right time of the year!”

“What do you propose? To wait until midsummer?” Bourne shook his head. “No, my dear, we have to do it now before your condition worsens once more.”

Two spots of red appeared on her cheeks, and she continued to glare at him. “What about the dangers?” she croaked.

“Dangers?”

“To
him
.” She flicked her eyes to Fox. “It’s too dangerous!”