Bewitching Page 15

  She bit her lip. "I can help."

  "No."

  "But why should you be cold when I can whip up another blanket, or even a down coverlet?"

  "I said no. No witchcraft."

  "But isn't this an exception?"

  "No."

  "Dire circumstances?"

  "No."

  "If it were, say, something life-threatening, could I use my powers?"

  "This is not—I repeat, not—a life-threatening situation." He turned back to the window. "It is a small snowstorm, that's all."

  "But it's awfully cold."

  "I will not discuss it."

  "You brought it up."

  His breathing became very controlled, and loud.

  "Just one wee snap of my . . . ” She caught his look and mumbled, "Never mind."

  After a long moment of his scowling silence, she turned and looked back out the window. It appeared to be solid white. She could see little, since the glass had begun to fog up. In an attempt to see better, she swiped at the glass with two gloved fingers, but pulled them back after a minute. The glass was so cold she could feel it through her leather gloves.

  The carriage slowed, lurched, then jerked after the sound of the coachman's snapping whip. After three more jarring lurches, Alec's expression changed from annoyance to worry and he stood and tapped on the coach roof, then reached up to open the coachman's window in the overhang above her. "How bad is it out there?"

  Old Jem shouted back, "Colder than a witch's tit, Yer Grace."

  Joy couldn't bite back her offended gasp.

  There was a long moment of silence. Alec didn't move, didn't speak, although Joy had the distinct impression that her husband wanted to say something. She glanced up but found herself staring at his gold brocade waistcoat.

  Jem's gravelly voice echoed down from above. "Beg Her Grace's pardon. The duchess being so new an' all, I forgot about 'er."

  Alec cleared his throat then asked, "How bad is the road?"

  "Snow's about a half a foot, least it were last time I could see. Couldn't see the gates o' hell in this." The carriage slowed again and the sound of whickering horses carried inside. "Team's having a bit o' a hard time of it, Yer Grace."

  "How far to the next inn?"

  "Maybe a mile, maybe ten. Can't see a bloomin' thing—"

  The carriage lurched again and Alec put his knee on Joy's seat to steady himself. A string of gravelly curses echoed down from the driver's box. "Beggin' Yer Grace's pardon, but the bloody lead nag can't stay to the road."

  "Any sign of Willie?"

  "Not a flea nor flicker, Yer Grace."

  "Tap on the roof if he shows."

  Jem grumbled his assent, and Alec closed the front trap and turned to the rear trap that opened to where the footman rode in the carriage hood. "All's well back there?"

  "Cold, wet, but tolerable, Your Grace."

  "Fine." Alec closed the trap and settled back in the seat across from her. The temperature inside was dropping quickly and even with her woolen dress and pelisse and the woolen carriage robe, Joy could still feel the gooseflesh on her skin.

  "Aren't they freezing out there?"

  "They are Belmore servants and as such wear only the best winter clothing—heavy caped leather coats with fleece inside. They are surely much warmer than we are."

  "Oh." She pulled the robe tighter around her and still shivered.

  "Are you warm enough?"

  She nodded, trying hard to keep her teeth from chattering.

  "Quite sure?"

  "I'm sure." She held herself stiff to keep from shivering.

  They were silent for a time. Then she could feel her husband's look.

  "Scottish?"

  She glanced up, the sound of that name doing funny things to her belly.

  "Come sit over here." He patted the seat next to him with one hand and held out his other to her.

  She paused, biting her lip, her eyes wary.

  "To keep warm."

  She took a deep breath and placed her hand in his, letting him draw her over to sit so close beside him that their bodies touched from shoulder to knee. His arm slipped around her shoulder.

  After a quiet minute she looked up at him. "Who's Willie?"

  "The outrider. I sent him on ahead after the fourgon broke down, but that was before the storm hit." He looked out the window again, but could see nothing through the foggy window but the mist of falling snow.

  "I truly had nothing to do with the broken axle," she whispered.

  He was silent, watching the snow, his face unreadable.

  "Do you believe me?"

  After a moment he conceded. "I realize you wouldn't jeopardize the servants."

  She shook her head in agreement and joined him in watching the snow fall. The carriage lurched and slipped and the sound of the coachman's cursing and the team's whickering was all they could hear. "Do you suppose they're safe?"

  "Who?"

  "Polly, Roberts, and Henson." She paused. "And Beezle." She took a deep breath and watched the snow, hoping the servants weren't caught in the same storm, in a broken carriage.

  "We went past the turnoff to Swindon just a few minutes before the axle broke. There's an inn little more than a mile from that turnoff. By now they're surely inside that warm inn waiting for the carriage to be repaired. I had left instructions for them to meet us in the inn in Reading. That's where I thought we'd be staying tonight."

  "How far is that from here?"

  He was silent, then said, "I'm not sure. We're somewhere on the edge of the Cotswolds. It's hard to tell how far we've traveled in this weather. There are no villages for miles on this stretch of road."

  An instant later the carriage swayed. The driver shouted. His whip snapped. The horses neighed just as the carriage rocked forward, then listed to one side.

  "Bloody hell." Alec gripped Joy's arms, and his leg pinned her to the seat. They slid to one side and a loud crack echoed about them.

  The carriage settled at a sidewise slant, and all was silent. Alec pushed himself upright and settled Joy in the seat. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Stay here." He climbed over her and moved to the door. "I have to check on the others." He opened it and snow drifted inside. A second later the door slammed shut.

  She could hear him talking to the footman; then she heard Jem swearing. From the voices she could tell that they were unharmed. She looked toward the window but all she could see was white. Their voices drifted off and she snuggled down deeper into the carriage robe.

  It was truly cold and when Alec had opened the door it became even more so. She shivered and closed her eyes, finally feeling her lack of sleep from the night before when she had wandered all over the house in search of that rascal Pan. She'd spent hours combing hallway after hallway and even a brief time in the Bramah where she tried to conjure him up. But it was all to no avail. She'd never even caught a glimpse of him.

  In desperation she had gone up to the roof again, after receiving directions from a footman who rushed to take one of her trunks downstairs. On the roof she picked up the pipes, thinking she could use them to lure Pan out from wherever he hid. Then she'd taken another precious ten minutes to wander down the halls off the grand staircase, playing the pipes off-key and hiding them behind her back when any servant chanced by. She couldn't find Pan, though, and no spell made him appear.

  Finally she found him in the pantry, stuffing his little fat face with kumquat jelly and an entire pan of freshly baked honey buns. It took her two incantations to restore the wee devil to his rightful place on the roof. On her first try, they both ended up in the stable. A slip of her tongue—"hoof" instead of "roof."

  But she'd finally crawled between the cool sheets and managed an hour of sleep before Polly awakened her with breakfast, sans honey buns, which Polly said had disappeared during the night . . . .

  That thought brought to mind the safety of her maid, Beezle, and the others. She hoped they were tucked away in some warm inn.

  The coach shook, and something banged against it. She could hear the horses and the jangling of the harness. Then there was some more talking, but she couldn't make out any words. A few moments later the door opened, snow spilling inside like flour from a fallen barrel. Alec entered and closed the door behind him. His face said everything. There was something wrong.

  He tossed some things on the seat and sat down. "The horses are skittish, and the lead veered into a rut. The wheel's broken and the snow is coming down at about an inch a minute. It's a blizzard out there." He slipped his arm around her. "The coachman and footman have taken the horses and gone in search of help. They seemed to think there's an inn not too far from here."

  "We shall stay here in the carriage?"

  He nodded. "There's no way you would last out there in those thin clothes."

  "I could do—"

  "No."

  She wiped the window clear and tried to peer out. "I cannot see anything."

  "It's snowing very hard." He shivered, then squirmed a bit in the seat as if he was trying to disguise it.

  "Please, Alec . . . ”

  "No." He grabbed the things he'd set on the seat and shook them out. "Here, put this on." He held up a wide cape and a heavy leather jacket.

  She slid her arms into the jacket, which was miles too big, and he slipped the cape around both of them and pulled her against his body.

  "We shall wait here until help comes." He sat there stiffly, holding her but acting as if he didn't want to.

  Very slowly she lowered her head onto his shoulder and took advantage of the chance to snuggle against him. He was so warm.

  He cleared his throat loudly, then shifted a few times finally adjusting his long legs so they rested ag
ainst the carnage door.

  She shivered again.

  "Lie down here beside me."

  She stretched out so she was almost lying on top of him. "How long do you think it will be before they rescue us?"

  "Not long," he answered confidently. There was no anger in his voice, just calm and control. She gave in to the warmth of having him hold her, even though she knew he didn't want to. She felt so right in his arms, as if she'd found the lost half of her. They were married and he was hers —sort of. At least he would be someday, and that meant there would always be someone there for her. The thought warmed her even more than his body. She closed her dreamy eyes and said good-bye to the cold and to loneliness.

  ***

  "Scottish."

  Joy wrapped her arms tighter around Alec and burrowed deeper against his chest and wiggled her legs between his. "Hmmm, your legs are warm."

  He groaned then said, "Wake up, Scottish."

  "No. So cold," she muttered.

  His arms tightened around her. "I know. That is why you must wake up." He shook her, but she didn't care. It was too cold to open her eyes.

  "Joy! Wake up! Now!"

  Her eyes shot open at the sound of his raised voice.

  "That's better," he said. "We need to talk."

  "I'd rather sleep." She snuggled against him and let her heavy eyelids drift closed.

  "You cannot." His knuckle lifted her chin from his chest. His finger stroked her lips. At that gesture she had to look at him. "It's too cold to sleep. We must stay awake." His arms closed around her and he lifted her as he sat up, then pulled her into his lap and adjusted the coats around them both.

  "I'm sure help will be here soon, but in the meantime we must stay awake."

  "Why? Is something wrong?"

  He gave her a long look, as if mentally weighing something, then shook his head. He was silent, his face unyielding, his eyes less sure than before.

  She looked at the white windows, shivered, and felt him do the same. "You're as cold as I am."

  "I am fine."

  The MacLean was right. Englishmen were hardheaded.

  "Help is on the way," he said again.

  "Then why can I not go back to sleep?"

  "I don't think it is a good idea."

  "Why?"

  "Because help will be here soon."

  "How long has it been?"

  "A while."

  "I can help . . . now."

  He didn't answer.

  "You woke me up to talk. Now you won't speak. Why?"

  He rubbed his hand across the bridge of his nose.

  "Are we in dire circumstances?"

  All he did was breathe deeply.

  "Is this a life-threatening situation?"

  He sat more rigid in the seat, but said nothing.

  "Well, if you are not going to answer me, I shall go back to sleep." She leaned against him and started to close her eyes.

  He grabbed her shoulders, hard, and shook her once "You cannot go to sleep. If you do, you might not ever awaken." His expression was almost angry, it was so intense.

  She scanned his face, reading the worry in his dark eyes. "Please, Alec, let me help."

  "No witchcraft."

  "Would you rather die here?"

  He continued to pin her with a hard stare.

  "Would you?" she countered. "No one is about. No one will know about the witchcraft except you and me."

  He looked at her for a minute, then glanced at the white window. The carriage was buried in snow.

  She shivered once. "Please."

  Frowning, he looked at the other white window.

  "I can zap us both to the nearest inn, with one wee incantation." She watched his doubtful face. "Please."

  He looked at her, reluctant resignation on his face and said, "I suppose we have no choice."

  Straightening a bit, he looked down at her, his face all arrogant duke. "But only this once."

  She nodded, her mind already whipping up the words she would use. "Do you know which inn is the closest?"

  "No."

  She paused for a thoughtful minute. "Then I shall try something general. Here, take my hands."

  He pulled his hands out from under the cape and straightened his shoulders, every muscle in his body taut, his jaw set. She gripped his hands. One glance at his stiff, pale face told her that he was about as ready for this as the prince regent was to meet Napoleon and his army in Paris, unarmed, alone.

  "Close your eyes, please."

  He gave her one last leery look, then did as she asked.

  Determined to get her magic right and impress her husband, she raised her chin and pictured a country inn like those they had passed before. Her mind filled with timbered buildings and wide windows that spread a warm yellow glow of welcoming light on the drifting snow. She saw a stone fence that separated the inn from a row of old elms and a clear icy path that wound its way through the meadow beyond.

  She stopped, suddenly losing her concentration when she realized that she needed to snap her fingers, something that was impossible while Alec was holding her hands. She opened her eyes and found herself looking at her husband's taut face. His eyes were closed, his expression similar to that of someone who had severe stomach ague.

  "You need to hold my wrists so I can snap my fingers."

  Eyes still closed he moved his hands to her wrists and grasped them tightly.

  Once again ready, she closed her own eyes. Now where was I? She asked herself. That's right . . . elm trees and the winding icy path. "All 'round us is the snow," she chanted. "We must find somewhere else to go. Take us both as quick as a flea to the place that I now see!" She snapped her fingers.

  "Bloody hell!"

  And she felt Alec's hands slip away.

  ***

  "Alec!" Joy frantically searched for him in the snowy landscape.

  "Over here!" came a hoarse shout.

  Still huddled in the leather coat, she made an awkward turn toward his voice. A group of snow-covered old beetled elms stood among the huge white snowdrifts; they looked like ghosts clawing their way toward the clouds. The snow-laden elm branches rustled and a flurry of white snow tumbled to the ground. Alec's frosted gray head appeared as he made his way around the huge trees, his leather cape catching on the low branches.

  Joy could hear him mumble. His boots suddenly slid in the damp snow and ice, and he grabbed a hold of a low branch.

  The sound of wood cracking echoed in the winter silence, followed by swearing.

  "Oh, my goodness!" Joy covered her mouth with a shivering hand and watched him skid the rest of the way down the embankment on his ducal posterior, the tree branch still gripped in his hand and the cape dangling from the tree branches above him.

  He sat there for a moment, apparently stunned. Then his eyes scanned the area, finally stopping to glare at her. "Where . . . is . . . the inn?"

  Joy looked around, seeing only white hills of drifting snow, frosted trees, and the icy path on which she stood. She bit her lip and peered upward, over the clump of trees in the hope of seeing a roof, a chimney, or smoke. There was nothing but a snow-clouded gray sky. "I'm not sure."

  "What the hell do you mean, you're not sure? I thought you were going to zap us to the closest inn?"

  "I was," she said, her teeth beginning to chatter.

  "Then where is the bloody inn?"

  "Well, you see, Alec, sometimes my spells get just a tat mixed up."

  "What?" he shouted, bringing down a clump of wet snow on top of his head.

  She winced and watched him shake the snow off his head with all the vigor of a wet hunting hound.

  "A tad mixed up?"

  She nodded.

  His breathing became very controlled, very deep, and very loud. After a tense moment he glanced down at the tree branch clutched in his fist and tossed it aside with a look of disgust. The look was still there when he turned back to her. "Explain this, wife."

  "Sometimes I make mistakes."

  "Mistakes?" He struggled to his feet.

  She nodded.

  "Did it cross your mind that this is one devil of a time to tell me?" He appeared to shiver and looked around at the endless drifts of white snow.

  "I wanted to please you."

  He rubbed a gloved hand over his forehead. "I see." It looked as if he was counting, just like the

  MacLean. He stopped counting and Joy thought she saw him shiver. "You thought to please me by zapping us in the middle of nowhere?"

  "I'm s-sorry," she whispered, the cold seeping into her skin too. "I'm sure the inn is-is nearby. I pic-pictured it perfectly before."