Page 53 of Triumph at Pemberley

Someone lifted his arm, breaking the contact and the flow of power. “Stop,” Frederica hissed in his ear. “Do not let the bond dominate you.”

He stared at her, bewildered, as the power receded, flowing back into the land - at least part way. He shook his head to clear it. There; now he was Jack again.

Then he looked down at the sergeant, who was staring at him with alert eyes. Breathing easily, with good color in his cheeks.

“What happened?” Jack asked haltingly, uncertain if his tongue would obey him.

Frederica frowned. “I wish I could tell you.” Then she spoke inside his head. It must be the King's Touch, which can heal. But you were using too much of it. You must save your strength in case Napoleon lands more ships tomorrow.

He moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. He had so many questions, but he could not ask them here, not when every eye and ear was turned to him. And he certainly could not manage a sending to anyone but Gentiane now. If only he had learned mage skills earlier!

The sergeant beneath him moved. “What did you do?” he asked, his voice hoarse but strong, the timbre of a man who could shout commands over a battlefield. He raised the hand he still had left and clenched it, staring at it as if he was seeing a miracle. “Look at this!”

What in hell was he supposed to say?

Thankfully, Frederica took over for him. “Captain Jack used his mage powers to strengthen you. Like many mages, he can only do a small amount every day, but he is going to give a little to as many men as he can.” She gave Jack a sidelong glance. Just a tap on their shoulder, a little power dribbling in, and then stop, she said silently. You must stay in control. Do not let the land pull your strings.

Resentment at her lecturing tone warred with the knowledge that he needed her direction. Instead of replying, he said to the sergeant, “You served me well by saving Lady Frederica. We cannot afford to lose a single soldier, not with Napoleon on our shores. Now build your strength back. We need your help.”

He could do this. He was an army captain in his own right, a well-respected one. He called on that role as he took a step to the boy on the next cot, laid his hand on his arm, and told the land to strengthen him.

Frederica hovered, her hand near his, no doubt ready to grab him away, but he did not need her help. He moved from one wounded soldier to the next, saying just a word or two to each, and doled out his new power as if it were ammunition when the stores were running low.

By God, he would rather be rid of this entire King's Bond, but if this was the price to save these men some pain, he would learn to deal with it like the soldier he was.

Chapter 22

Frederica said nothing as she followed Jack out of the tent, taken aback by his stern look. He strode ahead of her at a pace she could not manage when saddled by skirts in muddy ground, not to mention the sheaf of letters she had promised to send. It was unlike him to be rude to her, but the circumstances were unprecedented, to say the least.

Best to let him go. Presumably he would find her again when he remembered whatever message he had to give her, that mysterious bit about Darcy. What could he be doing here, barely a month after leaving London because it was unsafe for him? And with his dragon, too.

She looked up as a shadow passed overhead. That had to be Coquelicot. She grabbed at her bonnet before the wind from the powerful wings could blow it away. “Clear space!” she cried to the soldiers nearby, waving her arms. “A dragon needs to land. An English dragon.” Heaven knew what they might do if they knew she was originally French.

The men obeyed, but they also pulled out their rifles as Coquelicot circled in for a landing. A good thing that dragons were impervious to gunshot, but it would be a bad precedent, not to mention dangerous to Darcy, perched on the dragon’s back.

“No!” Frederica shouted. “This dragon is one of ours.” But the rifles did not waver, so she brought out her own weapon of words. “He is a friend of Captain Jack!”

The results were instantaneous. The soldiers lowered their guns, a few of them looking chagrined at the very possibility they might have offered a threat to a friend of the sainted Captain Jack.

Frederica pitched her voice to carry as she said, “Welcome. It is good to see you again. You do us great honor by gracing our camp.”

The red dragon swiveled her head from left to right, taking in the scene. “There are a great many mortals here. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

With a dragon of that size, in the middle of an army encampment? She was hard put not to laugh. But she could hardly suggest that she transform into a smaller creature when that would make her susceptible to bullets.

Then Jack was by her side. “Make room!”

And, of course, every soldier disappeared into tents or wherever they went when they were not fighting.

Frederica sighed. “Darcy, what on earth inspired you to make a dramatic entrance among trigger-happy soldiers?”

He slid off the dragon’s back. “It was Coquelicot’s idea. This is her mission, not mine. I am simply here as her companion. What has happened here? I have had no news beyond Napoleon landing.” He looked exhausted, as if he had aged several years.

“We won, at least this time. Jack can tell you more.” She hardly knew where to begin.

Coquelicot said, “Rana Akshaya asked me to deliver this to you.” She held out a small fabric sack in her foreleg.

Frederica took it in her hand, feeling the weight of the magic in it. Heavy, and important enough to send a dragon half the length of Britain. “What is it?” Apart from an Artifact, apparently.