Bewitched (37 page)

After what she had done for him and his family? Fox inhaled sharply.

“He knows of the dangers,” Bourne said, his voice even.

“No.” Amy’s jaw clenched. “I won’t have… anything… to do with it.”

“Yes. Yes, you will.” With two long steps, Fox was at her side. He raised a knee onto the bed and leaned down to press the side of his head against hers. “You
will
,” he said fiercely, his mouth against her ear. “It’s your only chance, love. And I couldn’t bear…” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t bear to lose you,” he added hoarsely. He raised his head to look at her and didn’t bother to hide the tears in his eyes. “You must.”

Her eyes flashed, and for a moment, she looked like the old Amy. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “After what you have already done? Surely not!” He rested his forehead against hers. “Please,” he whispered. “Say yes. Let me do this for you.”

She searched his face. No doubt they both thought of that famous lecture of his on common sense, rational thought and whatnot.

“Are you sure?” she asked softly.

“I have never been surer of anything in my life.”

For a moment longer she resisted, but then her eyes softened. Slowly, very slowly, she lifted her arm and laid a trembling hand against his cheek.

“All right.”

~*~

The rest of the day dragged on; hours became small eternities. Once more Fox sat on the bed next to Amy and watched her sleeping. His fingers drummed against his thigh. Tonight was the night that would decide her fate. Tonight was the night.

With a silent oath he reached for the book on the nightstand. Better to lose himself in the adventures of the seven knights from Mayence than to crack up from tension.

He read on when a maid came to light more candles, and he still read when Mirabella knocked to ask whether he would like tray to be brought up with his dinner. But Fox shook his head. Dinner! Gracious, he wouldn’t have been able to eat anything right now!

And so he read on, and forced his wary mind to concentrate on
The Horrible Histories of the Rhine
, read on and on until the letters seemed to dance in front of his eyes. He read how the seven knights killed the seven dastardly giants, how valiant Catrina, formerly known as Kassian, rode to a necromancer’s castle to save the beautiful Maid Gellna from a horrible fate.

The valiant knightess, when her enemy came unto her, struck him so terrible a blow upon the visor of his helmet, that with the fury thereof she made sparkles of fire to issue out with great abundance, and forced him to bow his head unto his breast. The necromancer returned her his salutation, and struck her such a blow upon the helmet that—

“Sebastian?”

Fox looked up.

His brother stood in the door. “It is time,” Richard said.

Fox glanced at the window—the light of the candles reflected in the glass, and beyond stretched a sea of darkness. The longest night of the year had well begun.

Fox put the book aside and stood. He cast a last lingering look down at Amy, rubbed his thumb across her pale cheek, before he took a deep breath and strode out of the room. Mrs. Bourne and Mirabella waited in the hallway and, after he had stepped through the door, entered the room to prepare Amy. Richard meanwhile took him to his rooms to keep him company while he changed clothes. Hobbes had already laid out a selection of warm woolly garments and now agitatedly flitted around Fox. When he was finally finished, he stood back and looked Fox up and down. “Well,” he croaked, “I b-believe that w-will do, thur.”

“Thank you, Hobbes,” Fox murmured.

The old man eyed him worriedly. “Thtay thafe, thur.”

There were, Fox noticed with numb surprise, tears welling up in the old chap’s eyes. “I will.”

“G-good luck, thur.”

Fox gave him a last nod before he left the room to go downstairs with Richard. On the stairs, however, Fox abruptly stopped and turned to his brother. “I have never asked you: Do you mind?”

Richard’s brows puckered. “Mind what?” he asked in perplexed tones.

Feeling his face grow warm, Fox shrugged and looked away. “Mind that I will now belong to Rawdon Park.” When his statement was met with total silence, he eventually returned his gaze to his brother. Richard stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.

“What exactly are you talking about, Sebastian?” The earl made a sharp movement with his hand. “Why should I mind this? You have always belonged to Rawdon Park.”

His mind suddenly empty, Fox could only ogle his brother.

As realization dawned, Richard’s expression shifted to anger. “Oh Lord! It’s father. Don’t tell me you listened to all that damned bosh.” His fingers closed around Fox’s shoulders like a vise. “How could you? Is this why—?” He broke off and shook his head.

“He always made it clear I was the unwanted bastard,” Fox said, still in a daze.

Letting go of his shoulders, Richard sank down on the stairs and rubbed his hands over his face. “Heavens.” When he looked up again, his features were curiously haggard and he seemed to have aged ten years. “I will only say this once, so you better listen carefully. If anybody was a bastard, it was the old earl.” He snorted. “Do you remember that dog I had when I was a boy of twelve? He made me drown her puppies.”

“But… but…” Fox spluttered. “You love the land just like he did. He always took you on tours around the estate.”

Richard gave him the strangest look. “I love the land, yes. But if I had had a choice—I would have preferred to explore it with my younger brother.”

“Oh.” His knees weak, Fox sank down on the stairs next to him. “Do you know that when I was a small boy I could hear the stones in that circle?” he said somewhat incoherently.

His brother grunted.

“I could actually
hear
them,” Fox repeated dreamily. “When I told father, he called me a heathenish brat and thrashed me within an inch of my life. And now I can hear them no longer.” He turned to Richard. “I am not sure whether I can awaken the stones tonight, whether I can play my part in that ritual. What shall I do when I can’t do it, when the stones remain dead?” He shuddered.

Richard exhaled in a long sigh. Reaching out, he grabbed the back of Fox’s neck and bumped their foreheads together. “Sebastian Stapleton, I will not stand you talking such fudge,” he said hoarsely. With a strangled laugh, he pulled them both to their feet. “After we have survived being attacked by different charms and spells, not to speak of Margaret’s wizard, and after we have witnessed the killing of a magical plant… an old pagan ritual should be a piece of cake, don’t you think?”

Fox managed a feeble smile. Without the tremor in his voice, Richard might have almost been convincing. Yet his brother was far from certain about the outcome of this night.
It can’t be helped
, Fox thought.
I have to see it through
. “I—”

Richard gave him a small push. “Of course you will manage. I won’t accept anything else.” Fox heard him swallow. “I won’t stand to lose you, you know. And now go.
Go
.”

Together they walked down into the entrance hall, where, their family as well as Amy’s had assembled to take their leave of the couple. Fox endured it all silently. Despite Richard’s assurances, he felt unworthy, inadequate to perform the magic that they needed. If it went wrong tonight, he could kill them both. Heavens, he should have let them sacrifice him as the Holly King after all! A strange numbness of the senses stole over him. He felt like an automaton, going through the motions yet not being fully there.

The dowager countess was the last in line. She kissed his cheek and whispered, “Remember, my dear: have a little faith.” With an encouraging smile she sent him outside.

Fox swung himself up into the saddle of his horse. To his left and right Richard and Bourne did the same. Footmen stepped up to them and gave them torches, while Colin Bourne approached Fox’s horse. He carried Amy, who was only semiconscious and was all bundled up in a blanket. Fox took her from him and, wrapping an arm around her, settled her securely in front of him. And then they were on their way into the darkness.

The snow reflected the flickering light of the torches, so it seemed they were traveling within a golden halo.

A curious feeling befell Fox as he rode in silence along the indistinguishable lanes and pathways: The night and the snow made all signs of civilization vanish, and if they should by chance step through a ripple in time back a thousand years, surely they would never notice. Had the priests of old felt like this? The Celtic druids—had they followed the same paths as these horses did now? If they had, they had surely never experienced such insecurity as he did.

Fox’s breath formed white clouds in front of his face. In his arms, Amy stirred.

He pressed her a little tighter against his body and kissed her temple. If this were all true, if an old power were still running through this land, if Amy knew how to awaken it—would it be enough? What if he failed in his part? And what if he didn’t? He would have to allow the magic to take control of him, do with him whatever it wanted. A sliver of ice ran down his spine.

A short while later, they reached the hill where the standing stones rose black against the sky. Richard and Bourne slid to the ground and lit the torches along the outside of the stones. The fire lent the ancient rock a soft, reddish tint, made the shadows in the inner circle lengthen and tremble until it resembled a darkened cave.

The womb of the Earth Mother
, Fox thought, and shivered.

Bourne doused his torch in the snow, then came forward to take Amy so Fox could finally dismount. The crunching sound of the snow under his boots seemed unnaturally loud. Fox drew a steadying breath and became aware that Richard was watching him closely and with worry.

Fox cleared his throat. “It is all right. We will… manage.” But would they? Would they really? Would
he
?

He drew in another deep breath.

Richard nodded. His lips lifted a little. “Good luck.” With his free arm, he drew Fox into a tight embrace. “Good luck, little brother,” he murmured against Fox’s ear, his voice hoarse.

“It is time,” Bourne said.

A shudder tore through Richard’s frame, made the breath catch in his throat with the strangest sound—a sob? “Good luck,” he said again, then stepped back to make a place for Amy’s uncle.

Bourne pressed a kiss onto Amy’s forehead. “Be blessed, my child,” he whispered. Strain had etched deep lines in his face, but his voice as he addressed Fox was steady. “I entrust her into your care.” He passed the precious bundle in his arms to Fox. And after a moment of hesitation, “The Goddess keep you both safe.”

Fox inclined his head. A month ago he would have considered this blasphemy, but not now. For this was the night of the old powers, of the old gods. Perhaps they had truly slipped through the web of time into the pagan past of this country, when Christianity still belonged to a distant future, when the Lady of the Light ruled the land with the Stag King as her consort and beloved. He certainly hoped so. It would make his task so much easier.

Richard passed his torch to Bourne before the two men mounted their horses, so he had one hand free to reach for the reins of Fox’s horse and lead it away with them. For long moments Fox looked after them, watching how that flickering globe of light became smaller and smaller.

“Fox?”

He looked down. Heavy-lidded pansy blue eyes blinked up at him.

“Are we—?”

“We are at the stones,” he said.

She regarded him solemnly. “Are you sure this is what you want?” she whispered.

“I am sure.”

She bit her lip. “Even though it’s… dangerous? And can never be reversed?”

“Hush.” He leaned down to brush her mouth with his. “We will be in this together,” he murmured against her lips. “I am very sure.”

Her eyes fell close. “So be it.”

“Yes.
Yes
.” Gripping her a little bit higher against his chest, he straightened. “So be it.”

For a moment he closed his eyes to breathe deeply and let the cold winter air flow through him. With each breath, the tension inside him ebbed away, and as he opened his eyes once more, a strange calmness had settled on him.

And so it begins…

With measured steps he walked toward the stones and then stepped through the circle of light into the darkness within. It was not bleak or utterly black, but a shifting, living thing, created from shadows and flickers of light.

As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Fox could discern the thick bed of furs and blankets that had been prepared for them—and the four pots with candles at the cardinal points that waited to be lit.

Once more panic gripped him, chased all the confidence away. “The candles! We’ve got nothing to light the candles!”

“Hush.” Cold, trembling fingers found his mouth. “Hush,” Amy repeated weakly. “Put me down on the blankets. Don’t worry about the candles.”

“But—”

“Hush. My head has to face east.”

Trembling and shivering, he put her down as she directed. Why, oh why had he not thought of the candles? He should have brought a tinder box, should have…

“Hush,” she murmured again, as if she could hear his thoughts. Her fingers stroked from his mouth down to his chin, and further down his throat. He reached up to undo the scarf he was wearing, so that her fingers could trail unhindered over his skin, all the way to the hollow of his throat, where she pressed a little until his blood pulsed against the tips of her fingers.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured. “Imagine the circle of light that surrounds us, closes us in. A perfect, unbroken circle of light.”

His brows furrowed a little, but it was an easy thing to do, what with the round of torches complementing the circle of stones. He could easily imagine the flames of the torches fusing together until they formed a golden-red band.

“Perfect and unbroken,” he whispered.

“Yes.” There was a smile in her voice. “Now go and invoke the powers of the East.”

That he could do, too. The Bournes had told him all about this, had made him memorize the words. He opened his eyes, rose and walked past Amy to the outer boundary of their circle.