The Marriage Spell (4 page)

“As I understand it, a number of people with magical power come together and channel their energy through a trained healer. Often their combined power can cure far worse illnesses than any one healer can manage, no matter how talented.”

For an aristocrat, he was surprisingly well informed. “Have you also heard that healing circles are very dangerous for the wizard who is the focal point? People have died when the power became greater than they could control.” And yet such circles could indeed perform miracles—sometimes. She frowned. “I wish my father was here.”

“He's a more powerful healer than you?” Ransom asked.

“Not more powerful, but more experienced. But it would take days to reach him in London and bring him home again.” She nodded toward Lord Frayne's motionless body. “He doesn't have days.”

“You were able to start Jack breathing again,” Ransom said. “Could you keep him stable until your father can return?”

“It was a temporary measure only, and I had to use full power even for that,” she said bluntly. “His condition will steadily deteriorate. If he doesn't drown in his own lungs, he will waste away from an inability to eat and drink. Probably he would die of thirst if he doesn't suffocate first.”

Ransom's face tightened. After a long silence, Ashby said, “I would be willing to be the focal point of the healing circle.”

Her brows arched. “That's a brave and generous offer, but unless you're a trained healer, it would be suicidal.”

His gaze was level. “I am willing to take the risk.”

“No!” Ransom said with barely repressed violence. “Bad enough if we lose Jack. Being a duke doesn't make you immortal, Ash.”

“Perhaps someday I will find out what being a duke is good for,” Ashby murmured. “Miss Barton, are there enough people with power in the area to attempt a circle? And if so, what would you charge for performing one?”

“Cost is not the issue, but feasibility. As for people with power…” She made a swift mental inventory of all the wizards within a few hours' ride. “There aren't enough wizards nearby to create a circle that has a chance of working. If my father was here, there would be enough power available to at least consider trying, but without him, the attempt would be hopeless. Not to mention dangerous.”

Ashby and Ransom shared a glance. Apparently reaching some decision, Ashby said, “Frayne and Ransom and I met at Stonebridge Academy. From your expression, I see that you've heard of it.” His mouth twisted. “The headmaster did his job well, but I've always heard that magic is inherent and can't be beaten out of a boy, even if the desire to use it is. Since I had some power then, presumably I still do. Would you be able to draw on that if I joined the circle?”

Stonebridge Academy? Intriguing. “May I scan you?”

The duke nodded. He must have neutralized a shielding charm at the same time because his aura suddenly blazed with power. Closing her eyes, she assessed him. What a very intriguing background he had. It explained the dark coloring as well as the magic. Reminding herself to stick to the matter at hand, she said, “You have a powerful gift. Perhaps it is enough to make a difference, but since you are untrained…” She shook her head doubtfully.

“What if I joined the circle?” Ransom said. “I also had magic. Once.”

As he released his shielding charm, she closed her eyes and found that he was an immensely complicated man, spun of contradictions that spiraled down into mysterious depths that included magic. “You would contribute enough power that we might just have a chance of success if I am able to channel the energy properly.”

“Then will you do it?” Ashby asked, his gaze intent.

She frowned as she looked at Lord Frayne. Lucky Jack Langdon. He probably wouldn't have smiled at her on the streets of Melton Mowbray if he'd known she was a wizard. More likely he would have sneered and turned away. Yet the man still drew her, both for her memories of him healthy and for his present vulnerability.

“I want very much for him to live,” she said honestly. “It would be a tragedy for a strong young man who has such a gift for inspiring friendship to die needlessly. But…I don't know if I can do this. Would it be worth risking my life when I don't know if there is a real chance of success?” She bit her lip. “My father would be most disappointed if his only daughter killed herself while attempting something beyond her abilities.”

“Is there anything that would make the risk worthwhile? If you wish wealth or independence…” Ashby's voice trailed off suggestively.

Abby studied Frayne's unconscious form, aching with frustration that his life was slipping away, and she didn't think she could save him. It was absurd to be half in love with a man she didn't even know.

An outrageous thought struck her. More to herself than the men, she murmured, “There is something that would make the risk worthwhile, but it's not a price Lord Frayne would be willing to pay.”

“Souls can't be stolen,” Ransom said. “Anything else is open for discussion.”

She laughed at the absurdity of her idea. “Even marriage? I doubt he would do that, even to save his life.” Yet as she gazed at him, she realized that she was willing to risk her life for no payment whatsoever, simply because she wanted him to live.
I'm sorry, Papa, but I must do this.

To her shock, Ashby studied her through narrowed eyes. “Ask him. He might surprise you.”

Her jaw dropped. “You can't be serious. The idea is outrageous.”

Before she could say that she would attempt the healing circle without any extra incentives, Ashby said, “You may be a wizard, but you are also a lady, so it's not an unreasonable idea. Jack has said a couple of times that he really ought to be looking for a bride, but he can't face the horrors of the Marriage Mart. What could be easier than a wife who can save his life and doesn't need courting?”

Taking Abby's arm, the duke guided her across the room to where Lord Frayne lay. “Jack, we have a proposition for you.”

Chapter
III

E
ach time Jack drifted into darkness, he expected not to emerge from the shadows, for they grew steadily darker, more determined to suck him into ultimate blackness. This time he was pulled back to awareness when Ashby said, “Jack, we have a proposition for you. Miss Barton is a talented healer, and she will undertake the risks of conducting a healing circle in return for the honor of becoming your wife. It seems a fair bargain to me. Do you agree?”

Jack blinked, wondering if he was out of his head. “Are you
insane
?” he whispered, his voice rasping. “Better dead than enthralled by a damned wyrdling!”

Ashby leaned closer, his green eyes fierce. “That's the sort of thing one says when healthy. Would you
really
prefer death to marrying an attractive, intelligent, well-bred young woman?”

His friend had a point, damn him. Now that Death was rolling the dice with his bones, Jack realized that he wasn't yet ready to make his final throw. But marry a bloody female
wyrdling
? He blinked fuzzily at the figure standing next to Ashby.

Female, yes, rather extravagantly so. Tall and robust, with brown hair and a square jaw. Not the sort of woman one would notice if passing in the street. He supposed that men who liked Amazons might find her attractive, but Jack had always had a fondness for petite, ethereal blondes. Preferably blondes who didn't dabble in even the mildest, most acceptable forms of girlish magic.

And yet, his life was in the balance. He closed his eyes, feeling too weak to make such a decision. Marriage? He wouldn't want to marry a woman who was a complete stranger even if she wasn't a wyrdling. Granted, Ashby was generally a good judge of character, but maybe his judgment was warped by the sight of Jack's dying carcass.

Dying.
His body seemed to have disappeared except for the tormented struggle to draw breath. He had seen enough men die in Spain to recognize the signs of mortal injury. Bit by bit, his life force was fading away.

He wasn't ready yet!
Dear God, there were so many things he wanted to do, places he wanted to visit, friends he needed to see! With sudden, desperate ferocity, he craved life like a man perishing in the desert craved water.

He opened his eyes and stared at the Amazon. “If you try and half succeed, would I be left a helpless cripple? I truly would prefer death to that.”

She bent over him, and suddenly she wasn't an abstract idea but a real woman, one with thoughts and feelings, whose eyes became the whole world. They were a pale clear blue with dark edges. Magical eyes, strange and compelling. Eyes that would not allow him to look away. “That will not happen, Lord Frayne,” she said with compelling calm. “Either you will survive and eventually heal, or you will die. You will not be left a broken man dependent on others. I promise you that.”

As their gazes met, he sensed that she understood his unspoken message. If she couldn't heal him, she would let him go. The knowledge was soothing.

But still…“You're a wizard. Can't marry a wizard.” He almost called her a wyrdling again, but managed to change the word. Didn't want to be rude.

“Come now, Jack,” Ransom drawled from somewhere outside of the narrow range of Jack's vision. “Think of how amusing it would be to horrify certain people by doing something so outrageous.” The faintest of trembles sounded in his voice. “You've always rather liked being outrageous.”

Jack choked out a laugh. Leave it to Ransom to make the idea of marrying a wizard sound like a delightful last way of thumbing his nose at society. Though the point of marrying this woman—Miss Barton?—was so that he wouldn't be thumbing his nose for the last time.

He focused on the lady—well, Ashby had implied that she was a lady, and if her father was a baronet she probably was—and asked, “What kind of wife would you be?”

Her dark brows drew together in a straight line as she considered. “An undemanding one. I like my independence and life in the country, so I wouldn't come to London to embarrass you very often.” There was a faint, ironic note in her velvety voice.

The fact of her magic repelled him, and it would be a social embarrassment, but at the moment neither of those facts were compelling. “You propose to save my life. How would you benefit from such a marriage?”

“Doesn't every woman wish to acquire a title?” The irony thickened.

“That's all you want? A title?”

She glanced away. “I…I would also like to have a child.”

An awkward subject. “The wife of a peer's first duty is to bear an heir.” He closed his eyes, blocking out the sight of her. He had never imagined that a day would come when he must be grateful to still have control of his eyelids.

He was dying, and nothing would change that. Yet for a chance at life, he would take the gamble despite the impossible odds. “If I survive, a child might be managed, God willing. Very well, Miss Barton, we have a bargain. If you restore my life and health, I give my word that you will be my bride.”

“…be my bride.”
Abby clenched her fists, shocked speechless. She hadn't expected Lord Frayne's consent, and without that, she would be powerless. He doubted her ability to help him; she could see that in his bleak eyes. Even if he believed there was hope, she would have expected him to refuse to take a wizard as a bride. But the desire to live was obviously powerful enough to overcome his distaste for magic.

Consent came none too soon, since he was drifting back into unconsciousness. If there was to be any chance of saving him, she must act as soon as possible.

“Congratulations on your betrothal,” Ashby said. “How long will it take to organize the healing circle?”

She pulled her disorganized thoughts together. “I will summon the local wizards immediately and they should be here by the end of the afternoon. But it's too soon to speak of a betrothal. Let me repeat that I will do my best, but there are no guarantees of success.”

“I do understand that,” Ashby said quietly. “But I hope that if I believe hard enough, it might help.”

“Magical thinking,” Ransom observed. “But worth a try, perhaps.”

“You gentlemen might want to take some food and rest.” She surreptitiously wiped damp palms on her skirt. In a masterpiece of understatement, she continued, “This will be a tiring experience.”

“Perhaps later,” Ashby said. “Before that, do you have any books that explain healing circles? I would like to learn what we might expect.”

She nodded, impressed by his good sense. “There are several books in the library. If you'll follow me, I'll get them for you since I'll be writing my notes there.” A footman had brought a blanket, so she spread it gently over Frayne's unconscious form after checking that his open wounds were no longer bleeding.

“I'll stay with Jack,” Ransom said. “Will you move him to a bedroom?”

She shook her head. “Any movement risks injuring his spine still further.”

“Lying on a table looks so uncomfortable.” Ransom cut off his words. “But I suppose he can't feel that.”

There was no need to answer. She gestured for Ashby to follow her to the library. When they entered, the duke studied the book-filled shelves approvingly. “Ashby Abbey is reckoned to have one of the finest libraries in England, but I believe you have even more books than I do.”

“My father is a well-known scholar of magical history and practice.” In fact, Sir Andrew Barton was an important figure in wizard circles, though she wasn't surprised that the duke was unaware of her father's name. Magicians were everywhere, at all levels of society, yet ignorance of magical life was rampant, especially among the nobility. That made it easier for them to pretend wizards didn't exist. She had to give Ashby and Ransom credit for civility, and the flexibility to ask for her help.

She stopped by one of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases and scanned the titles. Ah, there. She pulled two volumes from the shelf. “Both of these books discuss healing circles in some detail. I hope that will help you tonight. Now, if you excuse me, I must summon the others.”

After he accepted the books with thanks, she sat down at her writing desk and began to write short notes requesting that her friends join her for a healing circle. Ashby said, “Do you have enough servants to carry the messages? If not, I could summon some of my own people to speed the process.”

“Thank you, but that's not necessary.” She rolled the small note tightly and tucked it into a lightweight tube made from a goose quill.

“The messages will be carried by pigeons more quickly than a man can ride.”

His brows arched. “Is this a form of magic?”

“Not at all. Pigeons have an instinct for returning home. Your friend Mr. Ransom might know about messenger pigeons, since I believe the army uses them. A number of wizards in this area keep pigeons raised at each other's homes so we can send messages quickly when it's required.”

“I suppose that sometimes when magic is required, the need is urgent, as now.”

“This is one kind of emergency, but there are others,” she said dryly.

“Even in this modern day, there are villages in England that might burn people like me given any kind of excuse.”

He became very still. “I hadn't really thought about that, but I see that it's a burden you must carry every day.”

“We all live with death only a heartbeat away. Perhaps wizards are a little more aware of that,” she observed. When she left for the dovecote, Ashby was deeply engrossed in one of the books. She wondered if his study was entirely from his desire to help Lord Frayne, or whether there was a part of him that longed for his own suppressed magic. In her experience, those who possessed a gift yearned to use it. Of course she was no aristocrat. Perhaps a dukedom was power enough.

After giving the message notes to the pigeon keeper, she returned to the house and gave orders for all the spare bedrooms to be made up. By the time the healing circle was finished, her fellow wizards would be too tired to go home.

Domestic busyness helped her keep her worries under control.

B
y late afternoon, the last of Abby's gifted friends had arrived. It was time to begin the healing circle. She went to the breakfast room, where the local wizards had been taking refreshments and chatting with each other. Though the work ahead of them was serious, that didn't mean they couldn't enjoy this unexpected gathering. “Everyone is here now. Are you all ready? If so, it's time.”

With scraping chairs and hastily swallowed drinks, the eight wizards rose and followed her to the dining room, where the patient waited. The group included both sexes, from fifteen-year-old Ella to Mr. Hambly, who was seventy-nine. Though he hadn't her father's power and skills, Mr. Hambly's decades of experience would be invaluable to Abby during the coming ritual.

The group also included a vicar, a midwife, and Young Will, the son of a farm laborer. When his gift had been discovered, Abby's father had begun tutoring him in magic and paid his fees to the local grammar school so that Will would have more opportunities than was usual for a laborer. Despite the diverse backgrounds, they were a community drawn together by their gifts. This was not the first time they had worked together, nor would it be the last.

Abby had kept the wizards away from the aristocrats, since their moods were so different. Expression grim, Ransom had refused to leave Lord Frayne's side. Ashby had spent most of the afternoon there also, sharing with Ransom what he had learned about healing circles.

Between receiving her friends and checking on Frayne's condition, Abby had also studied the notes she'd taken during lessons with her father. She knew the theory. She just hadn't thought that she would undertake a healing of this magnitude without Sir Andrew's guidance and support.

She was the leader of this circle, which meant she must project calm and confidence. She wiped damp palms on her skirts before she entered the dining room. Ransom and Ashby rose, looking bleak but resolute. To the wizards, she said, “Lord Frayne's friends will be participating in the circle. Though untrained, they are both gifted. Judith, will you stand at my right?”