Carola Dunn (18 page)

 She pulled away a little and looked up at him. The way she held her head was familiar—”Good lord, was it you I danced with...?”

 She nodded, dark eyes brimming, and he caught her in his arms again.

 “I’m s-sorry,” she wept into his chest. “It was just all rather a sh-shock.”

 Instantly he released her and stepped back, appalled. He was no better than his brothers!

 Yes, he was, dammit. He would never dream of taking her by force, nor even of seducing her. He loved her! Nothing less than marriage would suffice—his shoulders slumped—and marriage was out of the question. She was a foundling brought up by a witch. He was heir to the Earl of Androwick.

 “I’ve lost my h-handkerchief.”

 He felt in his pocket. “Here, take this.”

 “Thank you, sir.”

 The hint of red around her eyes, the defiant way she blew her nose, only made her dearer to him. She was pluck through and through. He tried desperately to think of some damning fault he had observed in her over the years. He failed.

 Amiga nuzzled his shoulder.

 “She’s growing impatient,” Reynata said with a shaky little laugh. “I’m all right now, my lord. There’s no need for you to come farther. They won’t follow me now.”

 For answer he started out again, towards the wise-woman’s cottage. “Cannot Mistress Gresham give you a protective spell?” he asked harshly. “Some sort of amulet? You are safe for today, I daresay, but I fear it may take greater chastisement than I administered to deter my brothers for the future, and I might not always be at hand.”

 “I expect Grandmama will know what to do,” she said, subdued. “I never felt in serious need of protection before.”

 “Ask her,” Aldwin commanded. “I’ll ask her myself. I want to be sure you are safe before I go away.”

 Reynata looked up at him, and now her heart was in her eyes. Her voice trembled. “You are going away again?”

 He realized the decision was made. He had no choice. Living a mere two miles from the woman he loved and who loved him, unable to express their love, would be sheer torture.

 “I must go,” he said. He could not tell her—or anyone—the real reason. “Lord Wellington has need of soldiers in Spain. I shall purchase a commission and do my part to save England from Bonaparte.”

 She was silent for the space of several paces. The sounds of the forest seemed suddenly loud, the song of birds, the rustle of leaves. Then she said, in a stifled tone, “You will be in far more danger than I. Grandmama must give you a spell, too,” she added urgently.

 “Perhaps.” Aldwin was not sure he cared whether he was killed or not. Was life without Reynata worth living? As he brooded, another consideration came to him. “In keeping me from harm, a magical shield might prevent my doing my duty. No, I shall take nothing.”

 Reynata bowed her head and trudged on at his side.

 They came to the clearing where stood Gammer Gresham’s cottage. The small, thatched, half-timbered building was surrounded by an orderly jungle of vegetables, herbs, fruit trees and bushes, and flowers. In this flourishing garden, chickens pecked and scratched, magically kept from destroying the desirable plants as they ate up insects, snails and weeds. To one side, a tethered nanny-goat grazed on lush grass. Before the door stood a rowan-tree, proof that no wicked witchcraft lurked here.

 In childhood, Aldwin and his brothers had often visited the cottage, to be welcomed with fresh-baked bread and crab-apple jelly and a glass of goat’s milk. Of later years, he had rarely come. Tutors kept him busy with academic studies, and then his father’s bailiff with learning to run the great estate which would one day be his.

 That explained how Reynata had grown up without his noticing, why she seemed to him to have changed overnight from a winsome child he was fond of to a bewitching woman he adored.

 Bewitching? A love-spell?

 If so, he thought grimly, no doubt he would find himself unable to leave this place without committing himself to a misalliance which could only end in disaster.

 Gammer Gresham was in her garden, gathering herbs. A tall woman, she straightened with an effort as her foster-daughter and the visitor approached, and came to meet them. To Aldwin she had seemed ancient twenty years ago. Now he saw how stiffly she moved, how the sunbrowned face had become a mesh of wrinkles. Yet her grey eyes were as shrewdly penetrating as ever, and her greeting as warm.

 “Lord Drake, how delightful to see you.”

 For the first time, he noticed the refinement of her speech. Once, long ago, she must have come of a good family. She had taught Reynata to speak well, too, he realized, but nothing could give the foundling a background to fit her to be a countess.

 He bowed over the wise-woman’s crabbed hand. “The pleasure is mine, ma’am. I met Miss Gresham at the market and bethought me that I had not called since I came home.”

 “Lord Drake’s horse carried my shopping, Grandmama. Is she not a beauty?”

 To his relief, Reynata had observed his reticence over his brothers’ misdeeds and followed his lead. She might tell her foster-mother later, but not now, when it would deeply embarrass him.

 So how was he to persuade the wise-woman that Reynata was in need of a protective spell? he wondered as he disburdened Amiga of the panniers and carried them into the cottage.

 “It is a long walk from town,” he said, setting the baskets on the well-scrubbed whitewood table, “and a lonely one. When I am travelling far from home, I should be comforted to know Miss Gresham is defended by a charm from any possible danger. Will you not use your skills in this, ma’am, for my sake?”

 “I had not considered it necessary.” Mistress Gresham gave him a long, steady look. He was sure she read his mind, his deepest thoughts and feelings, even those he was not yet aware of. Abruptly she nodded. “I shall do what I can, Aldwin, though perfect safety is beyond my powers. Shall I prepare a second charm, for you?”

 “No. It might hinder me in doing my duty as a soldier, and also, I should fear to rely too much upon it.”

 “Then God guard you and keep you.” It was a dismissal. No spell bound him unwilling to the girl.

 Aldwin bowed again. Reynata curtsied to him, her eyes downcast. “God guard you and keep you,” she whispered, so faint he almost thought he had imagined it.

 He glanced back as he untied Amiga. Through the open door of the cottage, he saw Mistress Gresham seated at the table. At her feet, Reynata knelt, her face buried in her foster-mother’s lap. One gnarled hand caressed the glossy chestnut hair.

 A lump in his throat, Aldwin swung into the saddle and turned the mare’s head homeward.

Chapter IV

 “I have been remiss,” Grandmama said. “I ought to have started to pass on my knowledge to you long ago, to provide your livelihood when I am gone. I have kept hoping to learn how to counter the enchantment binding you. But the best I have done after long years of study is to turn a mouse into a very surprised bat—when I had intended it to be a mole—and poor Tibb into a raven instead of a dog.”

 “Miaow,” observed the big black bird perched on the window-sill. “Better a raven than a dog any day. Some ways it’s even better than cat-hood. Talking’s much easier, and flying’s fun. Don’t try to de-spell me.”

 “I set the spell, so I can undo it,” the wise-woman told him tartly, “and I will if you talk too much. Reynata’s ensorcelment was not my doing, so it is more difficult, perhaps impossible.”

 Reynata essayed a smile. “It doesn’t matter,” she said sadly.

 “I had hoped you might one day fall in love with some kindly farmer or shopkeeper, and marry, and have children.”

 “I shall never marry. Even if I were wholly human, Lord Drake is too far above me. He has a duty to his family. Yet however painful it would be to see him often when I can never be his, I wish he was not going for a soldier. I wish he had accepted a protective charm!”

 “There is wisdom as well as pride in his refusal, my love. But tell me what happened to make him insist on a charm for you. It was not general solicitude, I think.”

 As Reynata related the attack and rescue, she recalled Master Damon’s threat to get even with his brother. The image of his hate-filled face loomed in the forefront of her mind. Lord Drake’s peril would not begin when he joined the army and went off to war.

 Finishing the tale, she said urgently, “Can you not protect him without his knowledge, Grandmama?”

 “It would not be right, when he has rejected my help, and for good reasons.”

 “But that was for when he is in the Army, fighting with Lord Wellington in Spain. He is in danger already, I am sure he is. You cannot imagine how wicked Master Damon looked.”

 “I might manage something,” her foster-mother said doubtfully, “something which would end as soon as he crossed the sea. I should have to have some object of his to work with, though.”

 “I have his handkerchief.” Reynata bit her lip as the tears the square of cambric had dried threatened to flow again. “Will that be enough?”

 “Perhaps. I shall see what I can do.”

 “Now?”

 “At once,” said Grandmama with an understanding smile.

 Taking the handkerchief, the wise-woman rose stiffly from the bench, and hobbled towards the door to the back room where she performed her magic. Reynata watched her, with a pang of dread. How old was she? For two decades she had kept the decrepitude of age at bay with her spells, stealing time to bring up her foster-daughter. But Time always won in the end.

 And Reynata was old enough to take care of herself. She just could not imagine life without Grandmama.

 “Meh-eh-eh,” called the nanny-goat from the garden. “Mih-ih-ihlk!”

 “Coming.” Reynata took up the milking stool and pail and went out into the cool of the evening.

* * * *

 The early morning air was chilly when Aldwin rode down St. Andrew’s Hill from Wick Towers a fortnight later. He had donned his new scarlet dress tunic, liberally laced with gold, to bid his father and John farewell—Damon and Basil being conspicuously absent. The splendid jacket was not particularly warm, but he did not cover it with his greatcoat for he knew the townsfolk were waiting in Middlecombe to wave good-bye. He owed them the best show he could put on.

 Their cheers warmed him, as did the heat rising from Amiga as he cantered out of town. Soon the rising sun dispelled the nip of frost, glinting on dew-laden spiderwebs in the yellowing hedgerows. It was a beautiful day for riding, even though he was leaving his heart behind him.

 The day after escorting Reynata home from her encounter with his brothers, he had set out for London. His father had been reluctant to let him go, but gave in to persuasion. The purchase of a commission in a Guards regiment had taken less time than Aldwin expected. Returning home to take leave of his family before he proceeded to Spain, he had not been able to resist calling at the cottage in the forest.

 He had an excuse. “I just came by to make sure Damon and Basil have not troubled you,” he said, not dismounting when he found Reynata outside, collecting eggs. How beautiful she was in her simple, midnight-blue woollen gown!

 “I have not seen them, sir,” she said in a low voice, curtsying, head bowed. “Not since...that day.”

 “Good.” With an effort, he managed to infuse his voice with heartiness. “And Mistress Gresham has cast a spell to protect you?”

 At that she looked up, brown eyes flashing. “She told you she would. Grandmama does not break her word. Moreover, she has begun to teach me to protect myself, and others. It is past time I started to learn the trade which will be mine.”

 “Yes, of course,” Aldwin said, taken aback by her vehemence. A vision struck him of Reynata growing old, turning into the lonely witch of the woods, while he lay dead in a foreign land. “I leave in two days time, for London and the Peninsula,” he said gruffly. “Wish me well.”

 “I do.” She came to him, gave him her hand, and he stooped in the saddle to kiss her slender, sun-browned fingers. For a moment she clung to his hand. “I shall be thinking of you,” she had whispered.

 Aldwin did not want to think of her. Surely in learning his new duties, meeting new people, seeing new places, at least in the heat of battle, he would be able to forget!

 He came to a crossroads and turned Amiga’s head towards Long Yeoford, where the lane met the Exeter turnpike.

 The lane ran downhill, into a muddy bottom with thickets on either side. Trees met above the track, forming a gloomy tunnel. A gust of wind brought leaves swirling down, but the close-knit branches still shut out the sun’s light and warmth. Aldwin shivered, partly from the chill, partly from a curious sense of foreboding.

 No sense in stopping to put on his great-coat when they would be out in the sun again shortly. And useless to try to hurry Amiga through this mire. She had slowed to a walk, her hooves glugging with each step as she plodded along.

 “We’ll soon be out of this, my beauty.” Aldwin leaned forward to pat her neck.

 Shot whistled overhead as a gun cracked in the bushes behind. Amiga plunged forward.

 “Damn fool!” The voice came from the bushes ahead. Damon’s voice? “I told you to—” Whatever he said next was cut off by a second volley, from his position.

 He too missed his target. Before Aldwin could react, he felt the world turn inside out around him. Without volition, he sprang into the air, beating his way upwards, instinctively folding his arms to his sides to glide through a gap in the branches, then spreading them....

 Not arms, wings. In terror, Aldwin fled.

 Below, a vixen cowered beneath bracken the rusty colour of her coat. What had Grandmama done? Her spell had saved Lord Drake’s life, but by changing him into a bird! His magnificent uniform had metamorphosed into feathers of scarlet and gold, flame-bright, lighting the gloom until he burst through the tree-tops and was gone.

 “Tibb, follow him!” Reynata called softly.

 “Miaow! I mean, grawk.” The raven took wing.

 As they spoke, Damon and Basil emerged from the underbrush. Double-barreled shotguns in their hands, they stood in the mud, gawping up at the leafy canopy where Lord Drake had vanished.