The Marriage Spell (15 page)

Heart pounding, he reined in hard.
Where the hell had that come from?

That mad rush of energy that had briefly made him one with his horse had enabled him to overcome Wesley's fear and persuade the beast to make the one move that would save Jack from falling. But what was the source of that wild power? It had been…almost like magic.

The thought that he might have controlled the horse with magic was more terrifying than his fear of falling. Damn it, he might have had a little magic once, but he was no wizard. Nor did he want to be.

“Jesus, Jack, what happened?” Ransom pounded up beside him and pulled his mount to a wild halt. “I've never seen a horse do anything like that!”

“Neither have I.” Jack used his hand to slide his right foot back into the stirrup, unsure whether he or the horse was more upset. “Wesley must have recognized that I was in trouble and did something about it. Extra oats for you today, old boy.”

“What startled him?”

“A partridge took off right under his nose. It was my fault for not paying enough attention.” Even the steadiest of horses would startle at the unexpected. “If my leg was sound, I could have kept my balance and controlled Wesley, but I couldn't manage that today.” And he'd nearly had another disaster.

“Speaking of your leg, did you injure it again?”

“It hurts like the devil,” Jack admitted. “But I don't think the bone was damaged. I'm not made of glass, Ransom.”

“I know.” Ransom pulled his mount around, and they started back to the stables at a walk. “But it will be a long time before I get over the sight of watching you die.”

Jack felt a stab of emotion so powerful that at first he didn't realize that it came not from him, but from Ransom. Jack's tough, controlled friend had been devastated when he thought Jack was dying.

Deeply unnerved to be feeling his friend's emotions, Jack drew a deep breath before speaking. “I'm sorry that my recklessness cost you so dearly.”

Ransom shrugged, his face calmer than his emotions. “We're soldiers. Death is an accepted risk. We've both danced with it many times.”

Yes, but it was one thing to die serving one's country. Quite another to die a meaningless death in the hunting field simply because Jack was pushing himself and his mount to the limit. An adult accepted that his actions had consequences not only for himself, but for his family and friends. Life was too precious to waste. By galloping his horse when he wasn't yet fully fit, he had once again risked a meaningless death. “I'll keep to a more sober pace until I'm fully healed.”

He'd always been in tune with his horses and with his friends. What he'd just experienced was merely an extension of that, probably a result of his heightened sensitivity while recuperating. It wasn't magic. Nothing to worry about.

He fell into step beside his friend. “Let's not tell Abby.”

Before Ransom could answer, they came in sight of the stables. The Frayne carriage was pulling up. Abby swung to the ground before the vehicle stopped moving. As her gaze went unerringly to Jack, Ransom murmured, “You're in trouble now.”

Ransom was right: Abby's expression had the control of Wellington at his most coolly terrifying. But as the two men pulled up in front of her, she said only, “It would of course be foolish to suggest that you aren't ready to ride yet. I should have realized that you looked too innocent by half when I left.”

He was glad her sense of humor had triumphed over her worry. “You'll be happy to know that today's ride has made me more careful than mere words could.”

As he spoke, Ransom dismounted and tethered his horse, then moved to stand at Wesley's head, holding the chestnut's bridle. With his mount steadied, Jack used both hands to lift his throbbing right leg over the horse, then slid clumsily to the ground, grabbing the saddle to keep his balance. Given how he ached in every muscle, he was grateful not to end in an untidy pile on the cobbles.

“I'll see to the horses.” Ransom handed over the crutches, which had been left leaning against the wall, then prudently withdrew into the stables with both mounts.

As Jack adjusted the crutches, Abby's gaze moved down him. Her expression changed as she looked at his right leg. “Should I reduce the pain?”

The prospect was tempting, but Jack shook his head. “No, I think it best that I suffer the consequences of my folly, as you had to endure your broken ankle when you failed to fly successfully.”

She smiled and fell into step beside him as they headed toward the house. “Pain can be educational. Let me know if it becomes unendurable.”

“Speaking of which, how is your Mr. Hinton? You weren't gone long.”

“He was resting comfortably when I left. He has been a patient of mine for years, so I know how to treat him. An energy healing treatment and one of my herbal compounds relieved his lungs.” She shook her head regretfully. “He'll make it through this winter, I think, but every winter grows more difficult for him.”

“We all must live one day at a time.” He glanced at her sideways. “Why don't you just go ahead and scold me? You'll feel better if you do.”

She smiled a little, but shook her head. “I know I promised to curb my managing ways, but when I was leaving the Hintons, for an instant I felt that you were in grave danger. I told your coachman to spring the horses on the ride home. It was a great relief to see you safe and sound and riding at a sedate pace.”

She had sensed that near disaster? Then he had better confess. “You are a most alarming wife. I was riding much too fast when a partridge frightened my horse. He reared and I almost fell. The incident made me appreciate that I should ride with great care until I'm fully fit.”

“Horses can be amazingly clever. As a child, I had a fat little pony that saved me from many falls.” Her eyes glinted mischievously. “If you have truly learned caution, I'll skip the scolding. Unless you really want one?”

He laughed, thinking that he was lucky to find a woman like this. Maybe breaking one's neck wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Chapter
XIV

O
nce they were inside and warm, Abby studied her husband with narrowed eyes. His right leg raged with red energy.

Her scan confirmed what had happened outside.
She could see auras.
No longer did she have to concentrate to imagine the energy patterns. Now when she looked at Jack she saw a visible shimmer of color, elusive but definitely there.

And it wasn't just Jack's aura that she had seen. Ransom's had been predominantly a cool, clear yellow, very mental. Jack's was greener, with a tinge of gray from fatigue. Even the horses had radiated ever-shifting energy fields.

Seeing auras was an ability she'd desired but assumed she would never have. Still, it wasn't unknown for new abilities to surface. Possibly the intensive healing she had done on Jack had developed a latent talent. She hoped that it lasted. “You've had a tiring morning. Perhaps you should nap now.”

Jack looked scandalized. “I can't go to bed in the middle of the day!”

Suppressing her amusement, she said, “Think of napping as an aid to healing faster rather than as evidence of weakness.”

“That does sound better,” he admitted. “Very well, but only a short one.” He thumped over to the stairs and turned to sit. By the time he reached the top, Morris had appeared to take charge of him.

Abby guessed that Jack would sleep for several hours, so this would be a good time to explore the attics to see if there were any usable furnishings. After changing to her oldest morning gown, she wrapped a warm wool shawl around her shoulders, found a lantern, and headed upstairs. The stairs to the attics were wide, which was promising. Large furniture could have been carried up this way.

The Hill House attic was chaotic, but interestingly so. The lantern light revealed strange shapes, intriguing shadows, and evidence of vermin. Hoping it was too cold for rats or mice to be active, Abby decided to sharpen her intuition by using it to choose which trunks and barrels and boxes to explore.

Her intuition was in good working order despite the biting chill in the attic. The first trunk she opened contained attractive blue brocade draperies. They needed cleaning, but were usable. Very likely they were cut to fit existing windows.

Intuition's next choice was a long, heavy roll of canvas secured by several tied cords. She felt the buzz of a minor spell when she untied the cords. The spell had been cast to repel moths, and it had successfully preserved half a dozen handsome oriental carpets. All they needed was a beating to remove dust.

As another test of intuition, she opened a trunk that didn't call to her, and found only clothing so badly worn that servants would disdain it.

She happily worked her way across the first attic room to the opposite door, finding more draperies and some linens as well. The door opened to a larger room stacked with furniture, pieces jumbled on top of each other with such profusion that it was hard to see shapes and condition.

She hung the lamp on a nail protruding from a rough-hewn post and shifted a tangle of wooden Windsor chairs from a long sofa. The sofa's upholstery was a disaster—generations of mice had lived long and happy lives in one end—but the lines were good and the frame was sound. After cleaning and reupholstering, it would be fine enough for the drawing room.

The bentwood Windsor chairs she'd taken off the top were also usable. The wood was somewhat battered, but the scratches would largely disappear when the wood was oiled. She dusted one off and tested it. It was as comfortable as a good Windsor chair was supposed to be. The set would do for the breakfast parlor, whose present chairs were mismatched and uncomfortable.

Pleased, Abby probed deeper into the piles. Some of the furniture was in such dire condition that it was fit only for firewood, but most of the pieces were quite decent and some were excellent.

She was shifting the lantern to another post when she heard a ghostly scraping noise in the distance. She halted as shivers ran up her spine. The sounds were—inhuman. Like some great, shuffling beast looking for prey.

The scraping sounds stopped and were replaced by a muttered curse, then tapping. Jack's crutches.

Amused by how quickly superstition reared its head in a dark attic, she lifted the lantern and went to meet him. “I'm glad it's you, not a ghost, but I thought you'd sworn off risky behavior?”

His smile was roguishly handsome in the lantern light. “Climbing steps on my rump is undignified, but the only risk is Morris's reaction when he sees the effect on my trousers.” He surveyed his surroundings with interest. “I've never been up here before. Have you found anything worthwhile?”

“There are some very nice pieces of furniture and good draperies. Old, but good quality. I suspect that the previous owners disliked older furniture and moved everything up here when they took residence. We shall benefit from that. Look at this lovely walnut chest.” She skimmed the silky wood with her fingertips, wondering how anyone could have buried such beauty in an attic. “It's probably from Stuart times, and good for several centuries more of use.”

“Very handsome. It would look good in the front hall, don't you think?” Jack picked his way across the room to examine a barrel with spindly objects sticking out the top. “A collection of canes. I wonder if any would suit me?” He set his right crutch aside and pulled out the longest cane to test the height. “Am I ready to graduate from crutches to a stick?”

Thinking this was a good opportunity to show she wasn't always managing, she said, “You are the best judge of that, I think.”

Jack set the other crutch aside and took a step with the cane. Wincing, he said, “My right leg can't take so much weight yet, but this stick is a good length.” He retrieved his crutches.

“I'll have the cane cleaned so it will be ready when you are.” She knelt to investigate several paintings stacked against the wall. Jack came to look over her shoulder. All were landscapes or hunting scenes. “Not great art, but pleasant,” she said, very aware of his warmth at her back.

“What do you think?”

“They'll fill up the empty spaces nicely. I like landscapes much better than grim portraits of grim ancestors.”

The vehemence in his voice suggested that his family seat in Yorkshire had its share of such portraits. She stood, careful not to brush against him and perhaps disturb his balance. “Over here, we have a very nice clothespress, plus a set of chairs that will do in the breakfast room. There are some good tables as well.”

“This attic is a treasure trove,” Jack agreed. “What's that against the wall?”

“I haven't looked at that yet.” Abby squeezed between the clothespress and a trestle table stacked with boxes, then announced, “It's a bedstead, from the same period as that chest, I think. They might have been parts of a set.” She stroked a carved post taller than she was. “Who cares about fashion when something is beautiful?”

“It's large, too. Perhaps the man who ordered it was extra tall.” Again Jack moved next to Abby. “Large enough for both of us to be comfortable.”

Their gazes met, and the intimacy in his eyes made Abby blush when she thought of sharing that bed. That warmth made her forget the biting chill of the attic. She was tempted to raise her face and kiss him, but being dressed and upright made her shyer than she had been the night before in his bed. A little breathlessly, she said, “I…I'll order new bedding for it.”

From the mischief in Jack's eyes, it was obvious he knew exactly what she was thinking and was considering a kiss of his own. After a pulse-racing moment, he moved away. “What needs to be done besides moving the decent furniture downstairs?”

Wondering if he had been deliberately teasing her, she replied, “A few pieces will need a carpenter to make repairs, but in most cases, the wood just needs to be cleaned and oiled. The upholstered pieces will require more work. More draperies will be needed, too. If we're going to London, we can visit some of the fabric warehouses.” She surveyed the sofa and chairs, estimating how much fabric would be needed. “What colors do you love or hate? How do you wish Hill House to look?”

“I want it to be friendly. Welcoming. Not too formal. This is a hunting box, not a ducal mansion.” He lowered himself onto the sofa, avoiding the mouse-nibbled section. “Barton Grange is very welcoming. I'd like Hill House to be its equal.”

“I'd like that too.” She gestured at the still-unexplored piles and corners around them. “This fine old furniture will give the feeling that the house has been a much-loved family home for generations.”

“I'd like that,” he said softly. “Langdale Hall is…not so friendly.”

She was tempted to ask more, but didn't want to interrupt the playful mood. “How do you feel about battered Greek statues? There's one over here, probably stolen from a temple somewhere.”

As she moved past Jack, she tripped on his crutches, which were invisible in the shadows. As she tried to catch her balance, his strong hands caught her in midair. “Careful! We can't have you broken, too.”

She caught her breath as he pulled her to safety in his lap. His very, very comfortable lap. Hoping she would get her kiss, she asked, “Am I crushing your leg?”

“Since I broke the lower part, not the upper, you're not causing any damage.” His arms tightened around her waist. “Don't try to leave. I like holding you.”

When he touched his lips to hers, Abby responded with enthusiasm. She loved the warmth of his lips, the touch of his tongue to hers, his provocative, exploring hands, the surge of heat where their bodies pressed together.

Her eyes drifted shut as she let delight take her. Gradually she noticed that the physical pleasure of their embrace was accompanied by colors that pulsed through her body and mind. It was their energies swirling and blending together, she realized, bright red and tender pink and the delicate green of growth. “I see colors dancing around us,” she said dreamily. “Passion and happiness and awakening.”

His hands stilled and he ended the kiss with a frown. “I see colors, too. That's never happened before.”

“Magic,” she whispered. “A rainbow of passion as we come together.”

“The colors come from you, not me,” he said brusquely. “I'm no wizard.”

“You don't have the training, but you do have the power,” she pointed out. “That's why you were sent to Stonebridge Academy.”

Jack's whole body stiffened. “As a boy I was too interested in magic, but I had no power myself.”

“Of course you do,” she said, startled that he would deny it. “I forgot to tell you, but I drew on your magic when we did the healing circle. You contributed the last, vital amount of energy. Without that, we wouldn't have had enough power to save you.”

“No!” The revulsion on Jack's face spoke even more strongly than his words.

Feeling as if she'd been struck, Abby scrambled from his lap. “I knew you were uncomfortable with magic. Stonebridge saw to that. But I thought you were beginning to accept it better.” Her voice became edged. “After all, you married a wizard.”

His mouth tightened. “You saved my life, and I had given my word.”

“I released you from that promise. Did you marry me only from your misguided sense of honor?” she asked, wondering how they had so quickly slipped from passion into their first argument.

“No.” There was a long pause. “I like and respect you. But it's easiest when I don't think about your abilities.”

She bit her lip. She had thought that he understood and was becoming more accepting. Obviously not.

The real problem wasn't her, she realized, but him. The suggestion that he had magic was what had made his hackles stand on end. She wondered how bad the beatings had been at Stonebridge Academy. Perhaps he'd been beaten even earlier, when he was a little boy experimenting with his first stirrings of power.

Very gently she touched his mind. It was a violation of magical ethics to probe without permission, but no probing was required. The merest touch showed the emotional scars he'd acquired when his parents didn't accept him for what he was.

Knowing that allowed her to put aside her own hurt. Voice calm, she said, “It's going to be difficult to forget about my magic. You were there this morning when I was called away to do healing. That won't change. I have been given a gift from God, and it would be wrong not to use it to help where I can. We could not stay together if you tried to forbid me from doing my work.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I wouldn't ask you to stop. I, more than anyone, understand the value of what you do. But I'd rather think that your help is like what my mother did—carrying baskets of food and jellies to ailing tenants.”

“I don't think of you as a man who wishes to hide from the truth.”

“In most things, I don't.” He hauled himself up on his crutches, his expression forbidding. “Shall we finish exploring this room? I think I see a rather nice desk in that corner, under a pile of old cushions.”