Frederica gasped, “Jasper? What are you doing here?”
“I asked FitzClarence to bring him,” said the colonel.
“Have you run mad?” hissed Frederica.
Jasper, the youngest and least regarded of the Fitzwilliam family, did not seem to hear her, or perhaps he was just accustomed to his family’s disdain. But he was not sporting his usual cocky grin, presumably because of the seriousness of the situation. “You wanted me?” He sounded dubious. “FitzClarence says you want to rescue Darcy, but I don’t know what help I can be.”
Richard clapped his arm. “You are the perfect man for the tasks I have in mind. First, I need you to get the groundskeeper at Rosings drunk, and after that, I need you to make four people in the dark look like an attacking army of the fay using fireworks, noise, and whatever magic Miss Elizabeth, Frederica, and FitzClarence can produce.”
Jasper’s face cleared. “Is that all? That will be easy.”
WAS ROSINGS UNDER ATTACK? God, Darcy hoped so, but he could not tell what was happening outside in the dark. Flashes of light illuminated the window, and inhuman howls and ululations sent shivers down Darcy’s spine. Damn the wards that held him in place and kept him from the window! “Can you see anything?” he asked his guard who was peering out. Not that he could rely on what his guard reported, but it was better than nothing.
“Hard to say. Flying balls of fire and lots of colored lights over on the other side of the garden.”
The other side of the garden? That must mean near the pergolawhere they were holding Aelfric. The young Sidhe could not use magic himself when he was surrounded by iron, so it must be someone else. Was it the fay trying to rescue Aelfric?
None of this made sense. First there had been random gunshots somewhere near the lake, and then this. Bright lights and shouts, accompanied by deafening bangs. Fireworks. Why would the fay be using fireworks?
His hands ached with the desire to help the attackers. He would use anything – a gun, a sword, even his bare fists. But all he could do was to sit in this thrice-damned chair.
He heard rustling, and suddenly his guard collapsed to the floor. “Are you hurt?” Darcy asked.
“Hush.” It was Eversleigh’s voice, sounding as if he were only a few feet away, but the room was empty.
Darcy swung his head from side to side, but he could see nothing. Had captivity sent his mind running mad?
“He is unconscious.” Anne’s voice came from the direction of the window where the guard lay.
They were not there, and then suddenly they were. Sick relief filled Darcy. “What are you doing here?” he whispered.
Eversleigh squatted by one of the stone carvings used for the wards and studied it. “Rescuing you.” He held out his hand near the ward but did not touch it.
“What is happening outside?”
“A distraction. Debenham and Biggins are out there now. This is a blood ward?”
“Made using my blood,” said Darcy. “Debenham says the wards will cut my flesh to shreds but they do not seem to affect anyone else.”
“Can you break it?” Anne asked Eversleigh.
Eversleigh nodded. “I can manage the spell if you can supply the brute magical force.”
Of course. Debenham’s sorcery was far more powerful than Eversleigh’s magery. Anne’s power should be enough to break it, though. At least he hoped so.
Eversleigh said to Anne, “When I point to you, pick up the ward and carry it toward the corner. It will be hard to pull.”
Anne nodded. “Ready.”
Eversleigh began to chant the words of ward breaking. When he reached the conclusion, he pointed to Anne.
She stooped to pick up the ward and froze in place, an expression of horror on her face.
“What is the matter?” asked Darcy urgently.
“I cannot move my body, only my head. Nothing happens when I try.” Her whisper was agonized. “It is his magic. My father’s.”
“No, I assure you, Debenham set the wards,” said Darcy. “Perhaps he worked with your father so his magic seems similar.”
