Moonspun Magic (Magic Trilogy 3)

She would tell him when she wanted to. He would not beg her. He would not force her. However, he could and would be as angry with her as he liked, damn her.

What the devil was this blasted ugliness? he wondered over and over before he fell asleep, Victoria’s uneven breaths sounding in the silence of their bedchamber.

The guests were slow to rise the following morning, but Victoria was up early. She fetched Damaris from Nanny Black and took her to the stable. She wanted the child’s uncritical company. Flash was shaking his head as he saddled Toddy for her. “All those bleedin’ rich coves,” he said in the most mournful voice she’d ever heard. “And here I was with itching fingers the whole night long. I keep telling the captain that I’ve got to keep my hand in.”

Victoria tried to commiserate as best she could, going so far as to offer her own pockets for his practice. Flash thanked her gravely for her offer and said he would think about it. Victoria promised that she would carry something of value in her pockets to make it worth his while. They parted amicably.

They rode to Fletcher’s Pond, and Victoria watched Damaris feed the squawking ducks. Clarence, the fat old fellow—at least Victoria assumed he was a fellow, since he was certainly perverse and obnoxious enough to be one—pecked at the little girl’s legs when he felt he wasn’t getting his share of bread.

Damaris shrieked in delight.

Victoria smiled and lay back, breathing in the sweet-smelling grass. Soon the Indian summer would be over and winter would settle over Cornwall. Next week it would be All Hallows’ Night. Perhaps next week she and Rafael could leave Drago Hall. It was a wonderful thought. Her brow furrowed. He was furious with her because she was hiding the truth from him. She had to resolve the matter, she simply had no choice, not anymore. . . .

Victoria jerked awake, momentarily disoriented. She shook her head, calling out at the same time, “Damie! Damie!”

She jumped to her feet. “Oh, my God. Damaris!”

How long had she slept? A moment . . . an hour? She felt terror wash over her and forced herself to take several deep breaths. She looked out over Fletcher’s Pond. Not a ripple. No, she would have heard if Damaris had fallen in. And the water was so very shallow, even for a three-year-old child.

She called her name several more times. No Damaris. With shaking hands Victoria untethered Toddy’s reins and hoisted herself onto her mare’s back. Stay calm, Victoria, for God’s sake, stay calm. Damaris couldn’t have gone far.

What if she fell into Fletcher’s Pond?

Victoria shook her head at the unspoken thought. No, she thought, no, she couldn’t accept that. She urged Toddy forward and began to make a small circle about Fletcher’s Pond. The maple and beech trees were still summer-thick, the leaves just beginning to turn into riotous colors. Every few moments, Victoria called Damaris’s name.

Suddenly she drew Toddy to a halt. Just beyond the woods to her right was the property line. And a fence. And just beyond that fence was Sir James Holywell’s prize bull.

Damaris was fascinated by that mean, surly old bull. Victoria had told her at least a dozen times that she was never, ever to go near the fence.

She kicked Toddy unceremoniously in the sides. Toddy jumped forward. Within three minutes Victoria pulled her to a halt beside the fence.

She saw the bull. Then she saw Damaris.

A scream froze in her throat. The child was walking slowly and quite fearlessly toward the bull, her small hand held out, a piece of bread on her palm.

“Damaris,” she called, trying to keep the abject terror from her voice, “Damaris, come here.”

“I want to pat the bull, Torie,” Damaris called back, not slowing one little bit. “I’ll feed him, just like Clarence.”

Victoria leapt from Toddy’s back, vowing if she could but get Damaris to safety, she would spank her but good. She scrambled over the fence and jumped to the hard ground on the other side. “Damaris,” she called again, her voice as cajoling as she could make it, “come here and help me, won’t you? That bull is silly and doesn’t like children, nor does he like bread.”

“No, Torie,” called Damaris. “He’ll like me just like Clarence does.”

At that moment the bull saw the child. He snorted loudly and pawed the rocky ground with one huge hoof. He was ready to charge.

Victoria began running toward the bull, yelling at the top of her lungs to get his attention from Damaris. She ripped off a piece of her petticoat as she ran, and began waving it frantically, yelling like a Bedlamite.

She stumbled suddenly on a sharp, outcropping rock, and fell hard, onto her knees. She felt a searing pain shoot up her left thigh. She ignored it, coming up again to her feet and waving the material at the bull.

Finally he turned to face her.

“Run, Damaris! Run, do you hear me? The bull isn’t like Clarence, he hates you. Run!”

The child finally paid her some attention. Still, she just stood there, looking undecided.

At that moment Rafael came from the line of beech trees along the perimeter of Fletcher’s Pond. He heard Victoria yelling, saw the bull, saw Damaris, and felt his blood run cold. He wheeled Gadfly about, then turned him sharply and dug in his heels. Gadfly sailed gracefully over the fence, landing on the other side not too far from the bull.

“Victoria,” Rafael called, “run. Grab Damaris and get over that fence.”