The Marriage Spell Read Free Page A

“Halloo!” from the far side of the covert. Jack whirled Dancer around. “The hounds have drawn a fox!”
    As Jack and Ransom took off, Ashby vaulted onto his horse with amazing speed, no more than a few strides behind the other two. The hunt was on again.
    Jack caught up with the other leaders of the field by jumping a stiff thorn hedge with a ditch on the other side. Dancer soared over with a foot to spare, as eager to fly as his rider. The hounds were in the next field, their white and tan bodies rushing headlong across the hillside and their cries echoing through the valley.
    He urged Dancer faster and they went headlong through a tall bull-finch hedge. Jack held his whip in front of his face to protect his eyes from lashing branches. It was worth the scratches to find himself in the same field with the hounds. Only two or three other riders were so close, though from the corner of his eye he saw Ransom vaulting the bullfinch half a dozen strides behind him.
    The fact that they were friends made the rivalry all the keener. Dancer was equal to the task of lengthening their lead over Ransom and his chestnut. The fence at the far end of the field was an oxer—a rail fence and a ditch with a narrow landing area just large enough to collect a horse and jump a second rail fence. “Are you ready, Dancer?”
    The dark bay flicked his ears back with disdain. Dancer was even keener on jumping than Jack, if that was possible. They thundered at the first fence with reckless exhilaration. Man and horse soared, free of anger, regret, and sorrow. Jack laughed aloud, wishing he could stay in such a moment forever.
    Dancer came down on the narrow band of earth between the ditch and the second fence. As he landed, the soil crumbled beneath his hooves. Instinctively Jack shifted his weight to help the horse regain his footing, but Dancer was too far off balance. As the horse crashed heavily to the ground, Jack pitched from the saddle. He’d had his share of falls and knew how to relax and roll, but his right foot caught in the stirrup. His foot and ankle twisted horribly and prevented him from falling cleanly.
    He slammed headfirst into the rail fence, feeling a distinct cracking of bones as he crashed to the ground. His momentum sent him rolling across the damp grass and he ended sprawled on his back. He blinked dazedly at the pale blue sky and tried to assess his injuries. No pain, only numbness, except for a stinging slash on his cheek from the bullfinch hedge. Breathing was hard, very hard, but it was usual for a fall to knock the wind out of him. Numbness was also usual after a hard fall, with pain coming later. But this felt…different.
    He realized that a horse was thrashing wildly somewhere to his right. Dancer! He tried to push himself up so he could go to his mount, but he couldn’t move.
    â€œJack!” Ransom’s face appeared against the sky. “Are you all right?”
    Jack wanted to reassure his friend, but when he tried to speak, no words emerged. No air in his lungs, no words. Made perfect sense.
    But he could blink, and he did repeatedly as his vision began to fade. Ashby’s voice sounded horror-struck. “My God, there’s so much blood!”
    â€œScalp wounds bleed like the devil.” Ransom gently blotted blood from Jack’s eyes. “I’m more worried about an injury to his neck or back. Jack, can you squeeze my hand?”
    Was Ransom holding his hand? Jack felt nothing. He tried to squeeze. Again, nothing. His whole body was numb. Lucky that Ransom was here. Like Jack, he was an officer on leave from the Peninsula, and he had rough-and-ready field experience with all kinds of injuries.
    Jack flickered in and out of consciousness. Other voices could be heard, one exclaiming, “My God, Lord Frayne has got himself killed!”
    Another voice said, “Lucky Jack has the devil’s own fortune. He’ll be all right.”
    The distant