Jack said, "Tell him he has to get here on his own, we can't lift him over!"

Of course Jack wouldn't speak French. Cynthia called over the wind, "Find the strength to cross over, monsieur. Your children need you."

That cut through his stupor. With his free hand he reached into the bow of the sailboat, the only part that was still intact, and pulled out a heavy canvas bag. He managed to throw it in the stern of the rowboat. After mustering the last of his strength, he lurched forward so half his body was over the gunwale while Cynthia leaned backward to keep them from tipping over.

Slowly, painfully, the man pulled himself into the boat. He tumbled to the bottom, barely avoiding his son.

Jack instantly pulled away from the rock, turning the bow back toward shore. He looked on the verge of collapse from fighting the storm. "Put your power into warming these people, Cynthia! If you don't, they may not last long enough to get to shore."

"Very noble of you," she snapped, "but you need warmth and weather help as well. I can handle all of it as long as necessary."

She was lying, she was already scraping the bottom of her magical reserves. Desperately she tried to balance all the demands on her magic, helping Jack keep the water smooth, encasing them all in a bubble of warmth, and most of all, warming the child she held in her arms, who was as white and still as a wax doll.

She was a pretty little thing, blond even with the water darkening her hair. Cynthia thought she saw a pulse in the delicate throat, but perhaps she was fooling herself.

Survive, ma petite, she thought with the last dregs of awareness. You are too young to leave.

She could maintain warmth and weather magic as long as necessary. She was a duke's daughter, she was strong enough for anything, She could do this....

CHAPTER 15.

She was drowning, drowning in the cold gray sea ... cold and lost and alone forever....

No. Cynthia's mind cleared and she realized she was cradled softly in a feather bed with warm covers over her. Not at Lackland, this bed was far more comfortable. Where was she and how did she get here?

She and Jack had been riding back to the abbey after the lesson with Lily Rainford. Something had happened. A boat ride? In the storm?

Her attempt to recall was interrupted by the realization that there was something wrong with her. Not a physical injury. More like something missing, like a lost tooth.

Dear God, her magic was gone! Her magic was gone! Her eyes shot open in horror. She was in a pleasant bedroom, the sky was dark outside, and she had no magic!

When she first realized she was cursed with magical abilities, she'd prayed frantically to an unresponsive God to make her different, normal. Now there was only emptiness where her power had been a constant pulsating awareness. Instead of being glad, she felt as if a limb had been chopped off.

"Finally you're awake! Would you like some tea or maybe some soup?"

It was Jack's voice, so she must be at Swallow Grange. Memories rushed in of the storm, the shattered boat, their attempt at rescue.

Jack was lounging in a chair by the bed. He looked tired and thinner, which wasn't surprising given how much magic and physical strength he'd burned in their desperate rescue attempt. He had his usual cheerful smile, though.

Cynthia was about to ask if the French family had survived when horrified realization struck. With her magic gone, everyone could see what she really looked like!

She gave a small shriek and rolled away from Jack to bury her face in the pillows. She wished she were dead.

The bed creaked as Jack sat on the mattress and laid a warm hand on her shoulder. "You're a real heroine, Cynthia. If I'd been alone when I saw the boat wreck, I'd have gone haring off to the rescue in my rowboat and drowned."

She shook off his hand, not lifting her head. "And good riddance!"

He chuckled, unoffended. "Without your power, we never would have succeeded. Adding your weather magic to mine made it possible for me to row out to the wreck, and your hearth magic kept us all from dying of the cold and wet. If you hadn't been able to generate so much warmth and hold it so long..." He stopped, not wanting to say more.

Perhaps she was a heroine, but an ugly, scarred, repulsive one. Face still in the pillow, she asked dully, "The little girl. She's all right?"

"She is indeed. It's possible that her father and brother would have survived without your warming them up, but Marie-Annette wouldn't have made it," he said seriously. "You kept her alive long enough for us to call in the village healer."

There was some satisfaction in that, but not enough to lift her anguish. "My magic is gone," she said dully. "I burned it out."

"No wonder you're in a mood," he said. "But it's only burned out, not gone. Remember how Polly Rainford burned out her weather magic on the other side of the mirror? She not only recovered all her power, but Nick says she's stronger than ever. The same will happen with you. It will just take some time."

"Too long," she whispered. "Now everyone will know how ugly I am."

"You're not ugly." He rolled her over so that she was looking up at him. She screwed her eyes shut so she couldn't see his pity and revulsion, and her left hand rose reflexively to cover her scarred left cheek.

"My mother says you must be a powerful illusion talent." There was admiration in his voice. "Amazing that you've been able to alter your appearance for years even under the Lackland Abbey suppression spell."

She began to sob uncontrollably. Jack's arms came around her and he patted her back and made comforting noises. She gave a brief thought to the shocking impropriety of this. To be in the arms of a young man, and in a bedroom, no less!

If they were part of polite society, they'd have to marry. More likely, given the difference in their stations, Jack would be horsewhipped or worse for his behavior.

But polite society was forever closed to her, and her magic was far more disgraceful than clinging to a commoner. A commoner whose kindness was soothing some of her misery. "I thought ... that if I was perfect and beautiful, my father might not send me away," she faltered. "But he did."

Even more, she'd wanted the duke to love her. She'd failed utterly in that.

"You are beautiful," Jack said. "Not perfect, but beautiful. And far more interesting than when you were only perfect."

"Liar!" she said bitterly. "I'm an ugly slut who should be dead like my revolting mageling mother."

Jack's face froze with shock. "You poor mage-born aristocrat! Did your father say that?"

She nodded, the memory of that scene seared into her mind.

Jack pushed her fingers away and gently traced the thin line that curved from her cheekbone back toward her ear. "He did this?"

She bit her lip. "When my father discovered I was a mageling, he struck me. The scar is where his signet ring sliced my face."

Jack swore under his breath. "I wish I'd been there to teach him a lesson! I don't care if he is a duke, the man is a disgrace."

Cynthia looked up with a glare. "Don't you dare insult my father!"

"Any man who beats his young daughter because of what she is deserves more than insults!" Jack retorted. "Here you're appreciated. The Comte du Bouchard can't wait to thank you for your part in rescuing him and his children."

Attention caught, Cynthia said, "The Frenchman is a count?"

"He has a castle southeast of Calais. Bouchard is a decent fellow, for an aristocrat."

"What on earth was he doing on the English Channel at this season?"

"Running for his life. He learned that he was about to be arrested for treason against the state, and his children with him," Jack explained. "Rather than stay there for Madame Guillotine, he decided to take his chances on the sea since he's a good sailor."

Cynthia remembered the canvas bag the man had thrown into Jack's rowboat. "So he packed the family jewels and as much gold as he could lay his hands on and ran for his life. What about his wife? Was she lost before we could reach them?"

"No, she died not long after Marie-Annette was born." Jack looked wistful. "I'd love to see Castle Bouchard. His son, Philippe, says it's very old with towers and a moat and secret tunnels and hidden rooms to play in."

"If you want secret tunnels, Lackland Abbey has them," Cynthia pointed out.

"That's true," he said, brightening. "Come out and join us for supper so you can meet Bouchard and his children. You must be hungry after using so much magic."

He was right, she was ravenous. But the thought of going out where everyone could see her made Cynthia shudder. "No. Have someone bring some food in."

"You'll have to come out sooner or later," Jack pointed out. "So do it now and get it over with. Food might improve your temper." He slid a hand under her back and lifted her into a sitting position.

"No!" Cynthia twisted around with a wild swing of her left hand. Her palm smacked Jack hard on his cheek.

He rocked back, the imprint of her hand white against his face. They stared at each other.

Jack stood, his lip curling, and stalked from the room. His wide shoulders were rigid as he slammed the door behind him.

Cynthia collapsed back into the pillows and sobbed. Could she possibly make things any worse? Even Jack, who was always good-natured and tolerant, despised her.

The prospect of returning to the abbey and being mocked for her scarred, ugly face made her feel ill. She wanted to run away, but how? She had no money or other resources. Without her magic, she couldn't sell her services as a weather mage.

It would be so much easier to walk into the sea. Then everyone would be sorry!

She didn't hear the door open, but Lily Rainford's soft voice cut through her misery. "Sit up, Lady Cynthia. It's time you ate something."

Cynthia wanted to sink through the floor and vanish. Since that wasn't possible, she rolled over and sat up against the pillows, wiping at her tears with both hands. She must look a fright, with a reddened nose and tear tracks as well as her scars and ugliness.

Looking as imperturbable as always, Lily carried a tray with short legs. She set it over Cynthia's lap. "Eat something before you do someone a serious injury."

Cynthia studied the tray. "There's enough food here for three people."

"You'll probably eat all of it." Lily sat in the chair her son had vacated. "Jack ate twice this much when he arrived home."

Cynthia selected a meat pie and took a huge bite. The beef and onion filling was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted in her life. She gobbled the pie down like a hungry puppy, flakes of pastry crumbling onto the tray.

She washed the meat pie down with a swallow of tea and consumed a chunk of cheese before she was restored enough to speak. "How did Jack manage to return here for help? He must have been on the edge of collapse by the time he reached shore."

"He and Rachel often swam and fished in that cove, so when he sent out a mental cry for help, she sensed where to go and what to do." Lily poured more tea for Cynthia. "She collected several men and a wagon. They reached the cove just after Jack got the boat to shore. You were unconscious, so Rachel took over the job of warming everyone."

Cynthia dug into the sliced beef. "Jack said the local healer was summoned."

"Yes. We had to pry Marie-Annette out of your arms. You saved her life, Lady Cynthia."

"She's so little! I'm glad she's all right." Cynthia kept her gaze on the food. "I didn't mean to slap Jack," she said, her voice small. "He was trying to make me get up and join everyone else. I ... I lashed out at the world, and hit him by accident."

"Jack is not always tactful." Lily's voice was smooth but implacable. "He's right, though. Eventually you'll have to face the world."

Feeling sick, Cynthia said, "I'd rather stay in this room forever."

"I know how you feel, Lady Cynthia. Though things look bleak now, they will get better," Lily said quietly. "I promise you that."

Cynthia blinked back tears. "How can you know what I feel? Commoners like magic. You weren't taught to hate yourself for what you are. I've used my rank and magic to protect myself. Now my magic is gone and since my father disowned me, the rank is as false as my beauty. I'm ugly and friendless and alone and"-she gulped, on the verge of complete breakdown-"and afraid!"

"Let's take those points one at a time," the older woman said calmly. "To begin with, properly speaking, I should be known as the Honorable Lily Rainford." Her smile was compassionate. "So I understand exactly how painful it is to be exiled from everything and everyone I'd ever known."

Cynthia's jaw dropped. Jack's mother was of noble birth.

Cynthia was going to have to adjust her thinking.

CHAPTER 16.

Cynthia studied Lily Rainford with hungry eyes. She'd known that Lily had been an Irregular, but assumed that she was from the village. Instead, Lily really did know the horror of being raised to despise magic and mages only to discover the evil within herself. "How did you get from there to here?" She waved her hand, indicating Swallow Grange and the prosperous, happy life led by its mistress.

"I started out fighting and swearing that I'd be cured and home in no time. In other words, I was much like every other student in the abbey." Lily made a face. "Though it was a difficult passage, slowly I realized that being a mageling didn't make me despicable. And that if I became more flexible, my life would run much more easily."

"How did you manage to learn that?"

"One step at a time, with frequent backsliding. Changing my view of the world wasn't easy, but not changing would have been much worse."

Cynthia suspected that there was a not too subtle lesson in Lily's words. Flexibility had never been one of Cynthia's strengths.

Lily continued. "Secondly, you do have friends despite your prickliness. Among the Irregulars, you are respected for your abilities and the courage you displayed on the other side of the mirror."

Cynthia laid down her fork, appetite gone. "I may be respected, but how many of them actually like me?"

"The ones who see beyond your anger do," Lily said gently. "Jack likes you."

Cynthia winced as she remembered her hand connecting with his cheek. "Probably not anymore."

"You could try apologizing. It's amazing how effective it is to say 'I'm sorry' if you mean it."

Cynthia began to shred a bread roll with tense fingers. She had been raised to believe that the daughter of a duke never apologized. But maybe a disowned duke's daughter should learn how. "I've always been able to get away with many things because I looked beautiful. Now I'm ugly. It will take time to recover enough magic to look beautiful again, and by then, everyone will know the beauty is only an illusion."

"Which brings me to the third point." Lily rose and lifted a hand mirror from the dressing table. Holding it in front of Cynthia, she said, "Look at yourself."

When Cynthia tried to turn away, Lily said sharply, "Don't! When is the last time you really looked at yourself without using your illusion magic?"

Reluctantly Cynthia forced herself to stare at her image. Her fingers went to the disfiguring scar she'd been hiding for years. "I'm ugly! My hair is dull, my face is scarred, my complexion is bad. Ugly!"