Page 38

Elizabeth strode with purpose to the wall at the edge of the garden, then pivoted and walked to the wall on the opposite side, turned and repeated the action.

The morning air was heavy with dew, and a thick fog hung heavy outside the wall, preventing her from clearly seeing the branches of the orchard behind the cottage.

They had been secluded in the cottage for a fortnight, and her legs itched to walk.

A long, brisk ramble through Oakham Forest and a visit to Herne and the stones would do much to relieve the restlessness within.

How had her father thought she could ever be cooped up for three weeks and survive with her equanimity intact?

She and Fitzwilliam had spent all of their time together whether in bed or finding ways to pass the time they had before the solstice.

Her father had ensured the cottage was filled with diversions.

They had played chess and backgammon several times by now, they had read the books Papa had sent, and of course, they had loved each other.

The last made her cheeks burn. That diversion was, without a doubt, Fitzwilliam’s favourite.

He did not shy away from expressing his desire or love for her and had done so often since they were wed.

By this time, he had surely touched every part of her.

She stopped and covered her face with her hands. If only she could stop blushing!

However, she could not claim she despised relations between them.

On the contrary, he had been determined she would find each encounter pleasurable.

He was also determined to make her be as unladylike as possible.

The more he discomposed her, the happier he seemed to be.

His smug countenance greeted her on several occasions when she opened her eyes after her peak .

She scrubbed her face and continued to pace. When she made to turn once again, strong arms wrapped around her from behind and prevented any further movement.

“What is amiss?”

“I am restless. I have never been so long without walking in the forest. What if Herne’s protection spells have faltered?”

He turned her in his embrace. “You know those charms last until someone removes them. Who would do so? Your father would not, and how many in the area know of the existence of a white stag? I have been the sole person who could see him, and I have questioned more than once if he is magical and allowed me to do so. I have no other explanation for why he is visible to me despite your protections.”

“I had not considered. . .”

He shrugged. “I considered that perhaps the long-standing bond between us was why, but then why would Miss Bennet not be able to see him? No, something greater is at work here. Do you not think?”

“I suppose after I first realised you could see him, I questioned the novelty of it, but I thought nothing more of it as time passed. We had other, more pressing, considerations.” They had their first vision of the thief who would attempt to steal their magic not long after they met.

Their attention had been diverted to other matters.

He brushed some curls away from her face. She had done no more than comb and plait her hair this morning. Those shorter curls in the front were not long enough to join the plait, and she had not been inclined to pin them back.

“I had not considered that you would feel restricted. We have managed to pass our time without much tedium. We have practised duelling since we discovered the increase in our powers. We have not been idle. Are you truly so unhappy? ”

She grasped his dear face in her hands. “No! I am not unhappy. I believe we needed this time to know each other better. I also confess that you have been all that is considerate. The fortnight we have been together has been dear to me, but I cannot help the urge to stretch my legs. Do you not miss riding Hen at a break-neck gallop through the fields?” She was not exaggerating.

She had seen him more than once giving the stallion his head.

The sight had made her turn away. She could not watch if he took a fall.

He sighed. “I do, but I would not sacrifice this time with you for anything.”

She lifted up onto her tiptoes and kissed his lips.

One thing she had never anticipated was how much she would love kissing Fitzwilliam.

His lips were soft and brushed against hers in such a way that her entire body melted.

When he nibbled and caressed other places with them, she found it pleasurable, but when he kissed her lips was by far the most enjoyable.

He could render her senseless with those two soft bits of flesh.

After sufficiently discomposing her with that activity, he drew back. “Should we practise this morning?”

“I do believe it helps with the restlessness. I cannot imagine how I would feel without it—and you—to distract me from the inability to ramble as far and wide as I desire.”

After one last kiss to her forehead, he backed to the opposite side of the garden. “Shall I begin?”

She nodded and shifted one foot back to brace herself for a blow.

They never used dangerous magic, but that did not mean that if one of their spells hit, nothing happened.

Of late, they had practised casting charms in a hurry without speaking them aloud.

The concentration required to do so had never been easy, but of late, they had both become more adept at the practice.

Silent casting was a better method to gaining the upper hand .

Fitzwilliam stood silent for a moment and his head tilted a bit. He was deciding what magic to throw at her. After all, she had witnessed this behaviour more than once now.

His hands shoved forward with a great deal of might, and a shot of violet light hurdled towards her. She threw up her arms. Ceilt! His spell was absorbed by the shield charm just before she threw her hands forward. Dúr!

Before he could protect himself, the binding spell hit him square in the chest, and he fell stiff to the ground. She gaped for a second before hastening forward.

“Bogadh,” she said pointing at him on the ground.

He groaned and sat up. “You threw that quickly. It hit me before I could stop it.”

“Are you well?” She squatted beside him and plucked a dead leaf from his hair.

“It hurt, but I shall suffer no lasting damage. Shall we go again?”

They had both improved greatly since they had started their meetings a few months ago.

Without those mornings spent in Oakham Forest as well as here, they would not be so proficient.

They had not needed to be so quick before the knowledge of a threat, yet she should have been more diligent in her practice.

She was familiar with the spells, but the ones she had not used often did not flow from her with as much ease as those she used every day—like the shield charm.

As soon as they resumed their original places, Fitzwilliam nodded. They swapped back and forth who would attack first, so now was her turn. She shook out her hands and rocked back on her heels. When she pressed her hands forward, she moved her weight to her front foot. Mearbhall!

A white light erupted from her palms and shot towards Fitzwilliam.

He threw up his arms and the spell was absorbed by the shield charm he cast. He threw a charm at her, and she spun away from the blast of yellow light, hurling another binding spell in his direction.

This time, he ducked, and it hit the brick wall behind him, an odd creak coming from the stone as the charm took effect.

The magic would fortify the wall and make it nearly impenetrable.

A hard blow hit her directly in the chest. Her body became weighted as though she had heavy objects tied to her limbs, and she fell backwards just before darkness consumed her.

Elizabeth dodged the spell with ease, so he slashed his arm in front of him. Stiúdú ! A blast of indigo light shot forward and hit Elizabeth in the middle of the chest.

“No!” Before he could reach her, she blinked with a wince and crumpled to the ground. She was so quick. She was supposed to whirl in the other direction and dodge the stunning spell with ease. Why had she not moved?

When he reached her side, he dropped to the stone pathway and pulled her into his arms, cradling her against him.

“Múscail,” he whispered.

Her eyelids fluttered then she heaved in a large breath. She groaned and lifted her hand to her head.

“I am so very sorry. You were dodging my spells so well. I had not expected you to be hit.”

“What was that?”

“I stunned you.” The effects of some spells were obvious. This one could have been a couple of charms, but why was she asking?

“I shall have to remember that one.”

“Blast.” He scooped her up into his arms and carried her inside to the parlour, but instead of lying her down on the sofa, he sat her in a chair near the fire, knelt before her, and brushed her hair back from her face. “Forgive me.”

She grasped his fidgeting hands and held them firm in her lap. “Fitzwilliam, we are practicing duelling. I am not irreparably harmed. I am developing a devil of a headache, but I shall be fine. I also learnt an important lesson.”

“What is that?”

She leaned her head against the back of the chair.

“To never become distracted. When your binding spell hit the brick wall, the creaking of the magic knitting the masonry together caught my attention, and I was not attending you. The fault was mine, not yours, and I take responsibility for what happened as a result.”

He shook his head. “I should not have cast two spells in succession.”