Page 1 of A Duke Under Her Spell
Prologue
Adark feminine figure raced through the forest clutching a cloth wrapped bundle to her chest. She looked backward over her shoulder for her pursuers, stumbling in the darkness. The sound of clanking metal echoed through the trees. She scrambled back to her feet and took off running once more. She ran until she came to a clearing. In the distance she could just make out the ruins of an old hill fortress.
“Blackleigh Castle,” she whispered into the night.
The sound of approaching horses spurred her into action once more and she flew across the grassy knoll into the castle. She stumbled over fallen stones as she felt her way through the keep’s dark interior. “The witch is in the castle!” A man’s rough voice shouted to his compatriots at the base of the hill.
She moved silently from room to room until she found a loose stone. Removing the stone, she shoved her bundle inside, crossed herself in prayer, and replaced the stone. Heavy footsteps echoed off of the castle’s stone interior, causing fear to quicken her heart once more.
Gathering her skirts, she continued to move through the fortress’s many rooms until she reached a set of stairs. She climbed swiftly to the top and looked down over the side of the tower at the men and horses milling about below. “Ye are good and truly trapped now, witch,” a sinister voice from behind her sneered in victory. “I will now possess ye body and soul.” He moved toward her, the moonlight glinting in his coal black eyes.
“My body may be trapped, My Lord, but ye shall never possess my soul!” she proclaimed, climbing up onto the edge of the parapet.
“Ye would do well to climb back down from there, witch. There is no need for the Devil to have ye in his embrace just yet. We have much to discuss, me and thee,” the man stepped forward holding his hand out to her. The gleam of triumph in his eyes waning somewhat as he realized her intentions. “Where is it witch? What have ye done with it?”
“Ye will never have it, just as ye will never have me,” she promised.
“To sacrifice yourself in such a fashion will be for naught. For I shall find what I seek, with or without your assistance. I will tear this castle apart piece by piece, stone by stone,” he threatened.
The woman shook her head. “Neither ye, nor your progeny, will ever find that which ye seek. Ye will search and search, yet never find peace. Ye will leave naught but the same to your sons and their sons and their sons, but triumph will never be yours!”
“How dare ye lay a curse upon me, witch! After I have used your body up for my own pleasures until there is nothing left of ye but a ghost, I will skin the flesh from your bones and feed it to my dogs!”
She laughed, the wind whipping her hair about her face in riotous tendrils of silken ebony. “Do ye believe that the threat of violating my corpse will frighten me into doing your bidding? What do I care if ye use me thus? This body is naught but a vessel, an empty shell for the soul.”
“The Devil take ye!” the man exclaimed crossing himself at her brazen sacrilegious speech. “I will have what is mine!”
“Nay, ye will not, but ‘tis likely that ye will die in the trying. The Devil and I will anxiously await your arrival in Hell, My Lord,” she chuckled bowing with a flourish. And with that she took a step backwards into the night.
“Nay!” the man shouted rushing forward to stop her, but he was too late. He could do naught but watch as she plummeted to the earth below, her hair and clothing billowing in the wind like raven’s wings, her curse hanging in the air where she had once stood. The sound of her body hitting the ground below echoed back up to him from the base of the tower’s stone wall exterior. “Nay,” he spoke out in denial once more.
The wind howled in fury at the passing of its chosen lady, screaming through the stone ruins as if it bore upon its power the spirit of vengeance. A cold shiver passed along the man’s spine as her curse whispered along his skin.Never…
Chapter 1
Felix Hulford, Duke of Arkley, sat at his mother’s bedside holding her hand. The doctor snapped his black leather bag shut, a solemn look on his face. “I regret to inform Your Grace, but in my professional opinion your mother is dying of a broken heart.”
“A broken heart? What nonsense is this?” Felix retorted angrily, questioning the physician’s diagnosis.
“’Tis not uncommon among the weaker sex upon the loss of a beloved husband,” the doctor asserted.
“What, Doctor, possesses you with the audacity to believe that my mother could in any way be described as a member of the ‘weaker sex’? You are speaking of Eleanor Hulford, Dowager Duchess of Arkley, a beloved favorite cousin of His Majesty the King and His Royal Highness the Prince Regent. You will speak with the respect that her station and familial connections dictate. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, of course, Your Grace. Please forgive my impertinence.” The doctor bowed in humble surrender.
The Dowager Duchess leaned forward and laid a hand on her son’s arm. “His Grace, my son, is simply worried. We have seen a great many physicians in the hope of a cure, and none have been able to offer a diagnosis. You are the best in your field, are you not, Doctor Standish?”
“That I am, Your Grace.”
“All we ask is that you do your very best. If you are not up to the task, all you need do is say so.” The Duchess offered the challenge with a gentleness that belied her words.
“I assure you, Your Grace, that I am indeed up to the task and shall not rest until we have reached a desired conclusion.”
“Thank you, Doctor.” The Dowager Duchess nodded gracefully, leaning back against her pillows once more.
The Dowager Duchess had been suffering from painful swollen knees, irritating skin rashes, terrible headaches, burning fevers, never-ending fatigue, and at times fell into a temporary state of paralysis. The first time that her body had ceased to function properly had frightened the both of them immeasurably. She had collapsed and fallen down the stairs, nearly breaking her neck.
It had all started with the rash, then the fever, then the headaches. The swelling had come next and after it the paralysis. They had seen every doctor within a reasonable distance of the estate. Doctor Standish was a well-respected physician from London and had come highly recommended by the King’s own personal physician. Somewhat unorthodox in his methods, Doctor Standish was well praised for his results.
