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.”
