Chapter 26
“Iwas wrong,” Jack muttered as they crossed the churchyard. “I do want to stand on that fireback for the rest of my life.”
It had taken a painfully long time for Darcy to get him there, even though it was just outside the room where they had met the king.
Windsor was a palace, after all, with footmen and guards everywhere, each one wanting to check that these unknown guests were permitted to go where they wished.
Twice they had insisted on sending word to their superiors before allowing them to proceed.
Jack had stumbled several times, which had not helped their credibility.
Now, finally, they were making their way towards St. George's Chapel.
Gentiane flew overhead, to Darcy's relief. Not that Jack's dragon was likely to be able to help, but who knew when a powerful magical ally might come in handy?
Jack slowed as if his feet were growing too heavy to lift. “What is wrong with this place? Can you not feel it?”
“I can sense a sort of power,” Darcy said. He could not touch it, but this land was hallowed with the blood of centuries of mage kings and queens. And it was not happy.
Jack looked increasingly grim in the flickering lantern light. “Here?” he growled.
“Your guess is better than mine. I would say wherever the discomfort is the worst.” How he hated watching Jack’s pain!
“Oh, good.” With his hands clenched into fists, Jack prowled over the grass, finally stopping a few feet from the massive stone chapel. “This is horrid,” he gasped. “What should I do?”
“Take off your glove and put your hand on the ground. Tell it you are here.”
“How do I do that?” But he followed Darcy’s instructions. “Damn, it burns!”
“Stay with it if you can. Imagine you are reaching down into the ground, through the roots of the grass.” If only he knew what he was doing! He hated operating on instinct.
“You are moon mad,” Jack grunted. But even as he said it, some of the roiling power seemed to calm a little.
“Any difference?”
“Better, perhaps, but… still bad.”
What else could work? He knew what Elizabeth would say, but it went against so much that he believed. It was all he had to offer, though. He drew out the small knife in his pocket and handed it to Jack. “Can you draw a few drops of blood and let it fall in the soil?”
Jack turned his ashen face up. “Blood magic? Will, I am shocked.” At least his sense of humor was back.
“Elizabeth will never let me live this down.”
With a snort, Jack dug the tip of the knife into the flesh at the base of his hand and then held it out. First one drop of blood, and then several more over the next minute. “Nothing,” he said, pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it to the cut. “What next?” His speech sounded oddly slow.
Darcy was out of ideas, but he had to do something to help him. “Wait a little. Give it time.”
“Can’t. Too… too heavy.” Then Jack toppled forward until he was on his hands and knees, his head sagging.
Frightened, Darcy knelt beside him. “What is it? What is wrong?”
“Tired.” Jack slid to the ground, lying prone, and closed his eyes.
“Jack? Answer me, Jack!”
But his brother made no response, his body convulsing briefly before lying still, his fingertips dug into the ground.
Frantic, Darcy pushed down Jack’s cravat to feel for a pulse. Still there, and solid, thank God! He checked Jack’s palm, where he had cut himself. The wound had stopped bleeding, but his skin was burning hot.
Darcy looked up at the darker patch of night that was Gentiane. “What is wrong with him? Can you help?”
The dragon approached and nuzzled Jack’s shoulder. “This is land magic. I can do nothing about it.”
Darcy’s heart pounded. Coquelicot! he cried out silently. I need your help! Though if Jack’s own companion was helpless, it seemed unlikely Coquelicot could do anything, either – except to heal his body if that was needed.
On my way.
What else could he do? He had never heard of a land binding gone wrong like this. Even people who had left the place where their afterbirth was buried for years and returned much later had just resumed the bond with no difficulty. Something was wrong about this.
Why had he not listened to Jack’s discomfort and taken his brother far from this place? If Jack died here, it would be his fault.
And there was no one he could turn to. His mother might be a fine mage, but she knew nothing of land bonds.
Darcy was likely as much of an expert as could be found in London.
Perhaps Elizabeth might know something from those Arabic books of hers, but she was far away at Pemberley.
If only dragons could send messages all the way to Derbyshire!
“Jack,” he whispered despairingly. But there was no response.
He could not bear to lose him again.
But Coquelicot had nothing to offer, either, except to send for Frederica and Roderick, leaving Darcy standing helplessly beside his brother’s unconscious body, now covered by Darcy’s coat. Spring might be further advanced here in the south, but the night was still too cold for lying outside.
What would he do if Frederica had no ideas? Jack would never forgive him if he asked Lady Anne for help, but he had to do something.
Finally a light bobbed in the distance, and then resolved into two figures carrying a lantern. Frederica wore a dressing robe, and Roderick’s vest was buttoned wrong, with his cravat hanging askew. “What happened?” Frederica demanded.
Darcy explained about Jack’s land rites being performed here, and how they had tried to ease the discomfort by completing the bond, leaving out the shocking revelation of Jack’s parentage. “But this is not what should happen with a land bond.”
“I have never heard of such a thing,” Frederica said. “He is still alive, though?”
“For what that is worth. He moves occasionally, as if trying to dig into the earth, but he does not hear me.”
Roderick rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Frederica, did you say that your family has royal blood?” He sounded half-choked.
“Yes, though not all of it legitimate, despite what my father might say. Plenty of Plantagenet connections, two bastard Tudors and a Stuart.”
“Jack has that, too?”
“Of course. Why?”
“And this is royal land?”
“Windsor? As royal as it comes, back to the Normans, and half our kings are buried in there.” She gestured to the chapel. “What does that have to do with poor Jack?”
“Because…” he began, and then stopped. “No, that is ridiculous. It cannot be.”
Darcy staggered as a surge of magic roiled through the ground again. Frederica seemed to feel it as well, but Roderick was knocked to the ground by a visible upheaval of the lawn.
The Welshman pushed himself to his knees. “I come in peace,” he panted. “I want to help him. I swear it!”
Good Lord, was Roderick running mad, too? But the land seemed to settle.
Frederica reached down her hand, but Roderick pushed it away. “Do not touch me, not now. The land does not like me being here.”
“What is going on?” she demanded.
Roderick moistened his lips. “What is happening to Jack – it is all wrong for a standard land bond. It is what happens when the King’s Bond forms. But why him?”
Darcy’s jaw dropped. That was exactly what Lady Catherine de Bourgh had designed Jack to be – the magical heir to the old kings of England. But he could not tell them that. “How do you know? The King’s Bond rite was lost with the death of Queen Elizabeth.”
“I… It is…” Roderick floundered, tugging at his cravat and staring at Frederica as if somehow she should know the answer.
Frederica said briskly, “They still tell the old stories in Wales of how the ancient mage-kings made the King’s Bond.”
They were up to something, Frederica and Roderick, but that did not matter, not now, with Jack lying insensible before him. He had no time for their games. “I do not care what sort of bond it is. Will he survive?” he asked urgently.
“It is a risky business, the King’s Bond, but I never heard of deaths coming from it. The worst outcome is that the land rejects him. Likely he would have to leave England if that happened,” said Roderick.
Another way to lose his brother. “Why is he unconscious? Should we do something?” Damn it, Darcy wanted to fix this.
“It is just what happens. It might be an hour or a day, or even more. The only thing to do is to trust the land. It has been doing this for thousands of years.”
But this was his brother. At least in spirit. Who had far more royal blood than Frederica and Roderick knew. Now Jack might have access to the long-lost mage power behind the throne, too. The idea made Darcy’s mouth go dry. He reached out a hand to Jack’s shoulder.
“Do not touch him!” Roderick said. “In fact, we should all back away. Our presence may interfere with the bonding.”
“Just leave him here alone?” Darcy could not believe that.
“He is not alone,” said Roderick somberly. “If the bonding holds, he will never be alone again. And I daresay Gentiane will keep watch over him.”
“I will,” said the black dragon. “And you, Welshman. I wish to hear more from you about this King’s Bond.”
Unwilling to let Jack out of his sight, Darcy retreated only a short distance to sit on a painfully hard marble bench, his spirits in turmoil.
A little farther off, he could see Frederica arguing with Roderick, gesticulating broadly at him as he shook his head.
Finally she threw up her hands and stalked over to Darcy.
He moved to one side to make room for her on the bench.
She sat down with a huff. “Men!”
“What did Roderick do now?”
“Nothing! Trying to get him to answer a question is like attempting to milk a pig. No, he cannot be certain that it is the King’s Bond, but he only knows of two types of land bond, the ordinary kind and the King’s Bond.
Has he ever heard of any other? No, but that does not mean there is not one.
Can someone who is not the heir to the throne have the King’s Bond?
He has heard of it happening, though usually with a king’s bastard instead of his right-born heir, not someone outside the lineage, but that does not mean it cannot happen.
After all, King Arthur got his King’s Bond when the Lady of the Lake rose from the waters and handed him Excalibur, so what do we know? ” She blew out a frustrated breath.
What would have happened if Arthur had told the Lady of the Lake that this was all a mistake, and he did not want an enchanted sword or the King’s Bond? No one ever told that tale. But Darcy was certain that Jack would not be happy to have this bond imposed upon him.
“Do you suppose we should tell Lady Anne what is happening?” Frederica asked.
It was Darcy’s turn to huff. “No. She is the last person Jack would wish to have involved.” Or perhaps the second to last, after Lady Catherine. “There was an unpleasant scene just before this.”
“Oh, dear. What happened now?”
Suddenly Darcy wanted to tell her. Rather, he wished he could tell Elizabeth, but she was far away, and he simply could not keep it to himself any longer, the memories racing around his head like mad horses. “Apparently she is not his mother after all. She has only been pretending he is her child.”
“Are you serious?” breathed Frederica. “No, I cannot believe it. He has the Fitzwilliam look.”
“That is from his true mother, whom we came here to stop, who buried his afterbirth here with full rites. And you can guess who his father must be.” Even now he could not bring himself to say it aloud.
Frederica rocked back and forth on the bench, her face hidden in shadows. Finally she said, “For the first time in my life, I am honestly speechless. Though I suppose that would explain the King’s Bond.”
Something inside Darcy broke. “And what in hell are we to do about it?” he said savagely. Then, after a deep breath, he forced himself to add, “Forgive my language.”
“Darcy, this night not only excuses profanity; it practically requires it. I wish Elizabeth were here.”
“So do I.” He ached for the comfort of her presence. Especially when it felt like he was losing Jack again just after finding him once more.