The Mirror & The Magic

by Coral Smith Saxe

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Author's Note

  A Faerie Tale Romance

  Coral Smith Saxe

  The Mirror & The Magic

  "Coral Smith Saxe spins and excellent tale!"

  Affaire de Coeur

  ENCHANTED DESIRE

  "I know I'm strange to you," Julia said. "You're strange to me. This is a strange place. Please let me have one familiar thing to keep with me." She placed her hand on Darach's arm. "I haven't yet given you reason to fear me, have I?"

  At the sudden, hot spark that lit his eyes, she wished she had said something else entirely. Was he indeed afraid of her? Because he thought she was a witch? A spy? Or was there some other, more intimate reason?

  She raised her eyes to his. She wanted more than anything to resist the tide that was carrying her toward him, but it was beyond her powers of will. The longing that welled up inside her, the heat of her desire, combined in such a way that she swayed toward him, as if he were the force of the moon and she the waves of the ocean.

  Other Leisure and Love Spell Books by

  Coral Smith Saxe:

  A STOLEN ROSE

  ENCHANTMENT

  The Mirror & the Magic

  Coral Smith Saxe

  For the clans of Smith, Jarvis, and Rognessmy ain folk

  LOVE SPELL®

  April 1996

  Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  276 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10001

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

  Copyright © 1996 by Coral Smith Saxe

  Cover Art by John Ennis

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  The name "Love Spell" and its logo are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Chapter One

  It all happened so fast.

  First the sound, like the popping of champagne corks.

  Then the thunk of limp forms falling to the floor. The crash of steel bowls on the tiles.

  The running footsteps. And the car that sped away in the alley.

  Julia Addison had seen and heard all of it. She'd seen the two killers from the tiny window in the door of the walk-in freezer at Martine's restaurant. She'd heard the sounds of their getaway when she had stepped, terrified yet desperate, out of her frigid hiding place into the kitchen where two mob lieutenants lay dead on the immaculate floor.

  She hadn't been warm since.

  She'd layered on sweaters and good wool slacks and a soft hat from one of the shops in Kinloch Rannoch, but to no avail. She even had leather gloves in the pack about her waist. As she drove up into the Highlands, a constant chill still plagued her.

  "No wonder, Addison," she muttered to herself. "You're the spy who ran out into the cold."

  She gripped the wheel of the rented Morris Minor with gloved hands. The sky rose blue and fair above the dark treetops, but the wind outside had a raw edge. The heater in the car put out the minimum of warmth, barely warding off the chill of a Highland spring and scarcely touching the chill she seemed to carry in her bones.

  Still, her relief at being out overrode any discomfort she experienced. She'd spent the past two weeks closeted in her small but cozy room at the Blackwater Inn. She'd read every book and magazine she could lay hands on, listened to all the BBC Radio gardening shows and musical quizzes she could tolerate, and written lettersletters she could never sendto every friend and acquaintance of her life, including her junior high art teacher. There was a TV in the common room downstairs, but even her passion for movies couldn't tempt her to risk going down there to sit with the other guests.

  Cabin fever had gripped her last evening with a fury, when she'd found herself making paper airplanes out of magazine ads while listening to a droning interview with an expert on ancient Mongol bathing habits. She'd resolved right then to get out this morning, come heaven or hell.

  And here she was, out at last. She should feel exhilarated, she told herself. "Exhilarate, Addison," she muttered. "One, twoexhilarate!three, fourexhilarate! Oh, Lord," she moaned. "All my marbles are gone. I'm talking to myself and answering myself and giving myself orders."

  She straightened up in the seat. Feeling sorry for herself made her feel angry and stupid. She was going to get out, see the beautiful Highlands she'd heard and read so much about during her stay at the Blackwater Inn. She'd enjoy the solitude of the narrow road, knowing safety at last. Mobsters from New York weren't into kilts and woolly cattle. At least she was fairly sure they weren't. All she really knew about people like Monty Gilette and his cronies she'd learned from the movies and a few news stories. Certainly James Cagney and Marlon Brando weren't from around here.

  She compelled herself to relax and take in some of the sights. The road wound about as it climbed, and on all sides she saw larch, ash, and birch trees budding, punctuated by the deep greens of the younger pines and spruces. Here and there, in a sunny patch, a rhododendron flashed a bit of ruffled early color.

  Julia rolled down her windowshe'd never get used to using her right hand for such thingsand breathed in a deep breath of the cool, moist air, ignoring the chill for the moment. Peace settled on her heart, the same feeling she'd had when she arrived so many days before, before she'd gone into seclusion. The countryside was wild and rocky, damp and often gray, but teeming with life: strong, hardy life of a sort that not only survived but thrived in the rough. She liked that.

  She didn't even know why she'd picked this place to come after Martine had hustled her out of the restaurant, tossed a few of her things in a bag, and all but pushed her onto the first plane leaving for Europe. Julia had been too deep in shock to protest. After making a circuitous route through various cities on the Continent, hiding and evading, jumping at shadows, she'd simply picked the next available flight out of Dusseldorf.

  She wound up in Inverness and from there had driven south until she saw signs for Kinloch Rannoch. On a whim, she decided to have a look. She'd been through a great deal in her life, and while she wouldn't exactly call herself rough and hardy, the countryside had spoken to her soul in a way no other place had before. The conical top of Schiehallion, the old and new forest lands, Loch Rannoch itself, had simply felt safe enough and foreign enough to suit her needs and her mood.

  A smile began to tug at the c
orners of her mouth. Maybe things were going to turn out all right after all.

  And then she saw it. Her smile vanished, as did all thoughts of peace.

  A single flash in the rearview mirror, the tiniest glint of metal. Still, that single flash brought Julia upright in her seat, her eyes darting back and forth between the mirror and the road before her.

  Had it been a fluke? An old metal sign, a piece of forestry equipment left among the trees? A broken mirror or a reflecting strip?

  She gulped. There it was again as she rounded the curve. In among the trees, the unmistakable glint of a car's front grille.

  ''Calm down, Addison," she told herself, gripping the wheel once more. "It's probably just another tourist."

  Despite her own admonition, she sped up. She checked her mirror. Had the other car accelerated, too? She gritted her teeth. A barrier of trees blocked her view.

  She slowed, still watching the mirror to see if the car gained on her. A small shock wave of fright coursed down her neck and spine. The car hung back, just beyond the curve, just out of sight, then glinted once more through a gap in the trees.

  She was being followed. "Oh, God."

  She cranked the window up again, knowing as she did it that it could provide no real protection against the sort of people who would be tailing her. Thugs like mob boss Monty Gilette could reach her in a locked vault, once they'd found her. Still, having the window up gave her a brief illusion of safety, and that was enough to keep her going.

  She shuffled through her panicked brain, trying to think what to do. She had no idea where this road ultimately led, and she doubted that she could lose her pursuer in a race. She could double back, but that would only lead himshe assumed it was a man who was giving chaseright back to Kinloch, a dead end where she would be trapped. And if she were trapped . . .

  She began searching the road ahead, looking for any sign of a turnoff, a house, or a village. They wouldn't dare try to kill her in front of a crowd of camera-laden tourists, would they? Or in the parlor of a good Scots farmer? Or would they make it all look like an unfortunate accident?

  She was so unnerved that she didn't see it until the last moment. The merest opening among the trees. She swung the Morris into it, taking the turn on two wheels. Immediately the car jolted so hard she banged her head against the headliner. The so-called road consisted chiefly of rocks and ruts. And where there wasn't rock, there was mud. Sprays of it rose up and dimmed the windshield. Her wipers struggled to clear it as she glanced in the mirror to see behind her.

  Alone! She gave a grim smile. But in an instant, an equally important question arose: Where was she headed?

  She concentrated on navigating the Morris over the rapidly narrowing track. Low-hanging branches slapped at the windows, and several good jolts made her fear for the car's undercarriage. Still, she pushed on. She wanted to burrow into the countryside, putting as much distance between her and her pursuer as she could manage.

  She took another peek in the mirror. Her heart thudded. In between the spatters of mud and leaves she could make out the oncoming vehicle. No way could this be a tourist, out for a morning's drive. This guy was after her.

  "Omigod!" The shout bounced out of her as she came up against the thicket.

  The road had vanished into shrubs and boulders.

  She was trapped.

  "No way." She slammed the car to a halt, its front end half-buried in the shrubbery. Flinging the door open, she tumbled out and leapt over the branches. She landed running, charging up the hillside, ducking and slapping at the branches that got in her way. She heard the other car halt below, heard a man's voice call out. She put on speed, glad she had worn her sturdy walking shoes. Her fanny-pack banged against her hip as she raced for safety, not knowing whereor ifshe might find it.

  She heard a sharp report and a sudden whine. She shrieked as a bullet shattered the slender trunk of a young ash to one side of her.

  But she didn't stop. She was angry now. She'd come too far, evading these bullies. She wasn't going to make it easy for them. This was her life and she intended to live itfor as long as possible. She'd run into the next decade before she'd give up.

  A small stretch of flat ground opened up before her. Some tall boulders stood about in the clearing. If she could get beyond those rocks, she thought, she might have a chance to evade him. She dug in and launched herself across the clearing.

  And then she was flying.

  Suddenly the very air seemed to change. Her body felt charged; she tingled and vibrated all along her limbs. The trees and the massive gray stones stood out in crisp relief, as if she had donned glasses that brought the world into crystalline sharpness. A high-pitched droning, like the sound of a moistened finger running over the edge of a goblet, filled her ears. The smell of exotic flowers hung in the air, though she saw no blossoms, and the bright tang of oranges and lemons nipped at her taste buds.

  All this she experienced in the space of a heartbeat.

  And then she was falling, heading toward the downhill slope on the other side of the clearing.

  She hit the slope with a cry and a thump and was propelled head over heels down the path, gathering leaves and bits of moss as she went. Small rocks jabbed at her but she was rolling with such force and speed that she almost skimmed the ground. Finally she hit a mossy patch at the bottom and tumbled to a halt, feeling like one of the hedgehogs in Alice's Wonderland game of croquet.

  The tingling and euphoria of her flight vanished. She looked up; the sky and treetops were spinning overhead. A face appeared in her line of vision, staring down at her with a fierce frown.

  She scrambled backward, crablike, trying to get to her feet. She came up against a tree trunk. Or so she thought until she looked behind and around her and beheld a forest of strong, hairy legs. She glanced up and saw another fierce face, haloed with wild, reddish hair, and another, and another. All at once she saw she was surrounded by wild men, their faces streaked with dirt, their clothes rough and strange, and all of them wielding large, gleaming swords or knives.

  Somehow she didn't think they were from New York.

  "Well, Niall, is it a lass or no?" one of them said.

  "Aye. Look at the bumps a' the front of her. It's a lass. That or it's the prettiest lad that's ever tried to smuggle twa of our good hens beneath his shirt."

  A chorus of "ahs" emanated from the ring of men, and she saw looks of bright interest mingled with concern on their faces. Julia crossed her arms in front of her and glared at them. "Who are you guys?" she asked, trying to sound braver than she felt. The swords they carried looked as if they could cut down a fairly substantial tree in one or two strokes. "Who are we?" asked the one called Niall.

  "As if ye dinna know," said another.

  "Aye, might as well ask who's yer own mother," added another.

  He got an elbow in the ribs from Niall. "Don't go talkin' about anyone's mam, Ross."

  Ross colored. "Sorry, Niall. I forgot me."

  "Well, lass, just you stand up, slow and careful," said Niall. "Dugan, you bind her. Tommy, make sure she's no' carryin' any weapons or spellcastin' instruments."

  Julia smacked at the hands that prodded and pulled at her clothing. "Back off, buckaroos," she growled. "I'm not public property."

  The one called Tommy, who looked to be the youngest of the group, jumped back, his hands held up. "Buckaroos?" he asked in a quavering voice. "What kind o' devil's talk is that?"

  She glared at him. "It means I won't be pawed at. Get back. I'm a third-degree black belt in aikido." It was a bluff, but one she hoped might give them pause.

  "Niall!" Tommy gasped. "She's the one, all right. D'ye hear her?"

  "Aye," Niall growled. "All the more reason to make sure she can't do her black belting work on us. Do yer job quick, man."

  Tommy searched her rapidly, going through her pockets and removing her fanny-pack. Dugan, who was built along the lines of a Peterbilt truck, lashed her wrists in front of her with some lea
ther thongs and tied a cloth about her mouth, not brutally, but securely. Julia tried to kick out at them both, but for all their size and bulk, they moved lightly on their feet, with the reflexes of cats, and they eluded her attacks with hardly a break in their tasks.

  They bound her and relieved her of all her worldly possessions save the clothes she wore. The pair led her over to the man Niall, who seemed to be the leader of this party of Highland holdouts.

  "Lass, ye've o'erstepped yerself. Ye shouldn't have come onto the MacStruan's lands all alone. I'll warrant even yer magic won't protect ye from the chief's wrath."

  Julia stared at him. The man was clearly nuts. Cold fear coursed through her. This wasn't like dealing with Monty Gilette and his gang, however brutal their methods of doing business. These people were talking witchcraft and trespassing and swordplay. And judging from their somewhat earthy scent and their grimy appearances, their rough wool kilts and the calm conviction in their gazes, they were deeply into their woodland fantasy.

  Niall took her by her elbow and began to lead her down the rocky path. The rest of the men fell into line behind them, while big Dugan went ahead.

  Julia shivered again as she wondered where they were taking her. Who was this chief they had spoken of, and what were the MacStruans? What had happened to the fellow who was following her, the one with the gun? Had they killed him? Had he given up and gone away, confident that his job would be done for him by this pack of renegades from a Sir Walter Scott novel?

  Panic rose within her, but she fought the feeling down. She needed to keep her wits about her. She'd find a way to escape, no matter what. Meanwhile, she needed to learn all she could about her captors.

  She examined the man striding beside her. He stood tall and broad as an oak, as did most of the men, and he wore a kilt that looked more like a long blanket wrapped about him and belted at the waist. His face was clean-shaven, despite his unkempt hair, and he looked as if he had spent his life out in the wind and weather. She couldn't judge his age, though she guessed him to be in his late thirties or early forties. What would possess a man of his age to want to live out in the woods and wear blankets like wrapping paper? She'd seen few men in kilts since arriving in Scotland, and none of them dressed or behaved like the ones surrounding her now. Perhaps they belonged to some kind of club or organization that reenacted Scots history.