The Mirror & The Magic

by Coral Smith Saxe

  Julia watched him go, her heart aching, her feelings stung to the quick. And the sweet warmth of his lips still clinging to hers. When the door was shut, she heard once more the click of the heavy iron key in the lock.

  She ran to the bed and wept.

  Darach prowled about his room. His shadow loomed up the walls in the firelight, which was the only light he wanted. He wasn't sure that he wanted light shed upon the thoughts he was having. Or the feelings.

  What had he done? Against all his better judgment, he'd put what for all he knew was an instrument of evil back into the hands of a witch. A witch who wove webs of lies with the face and demeanor of an angel. A witch who spoke with such sincerity and emotion that he was spellbound. A witch whose kiss was so sweetly passionate that even now his body and spirit raged against him for denying the torrent of need that she had aroused in him.

  He looked above the mantel, where his great-grandfather's sword hung in its place of honor. Darach's father had told him many times of the bravery of his forefathers and how the MacStruans had fought with Wallace and other patriots to free Scotland for the Scots. He'd been entrusted with that legacy. So many of his people had been slain, so many had given their lives for the name and freedom of the MacStruans. His duty was to see that his sires had not shed their blood in vain.

  And yet he couldn't bring himself to cast this woman out. Nor could he bring himself to destroy her and end her threat to his clan forever.

  "Why, damn it?" he growled.

  Big Dog whined, raising his head from the bone he was gnawing near the hearth. Darach pointed at the ragged mutton leg. "I'd better not find rats in here come mornin'," he said sternly, finding a target for his anger. "Finish it or bury it!"

  Big Dog padded to the door, bone clenched in his jaws. He looked balefully at Darach from over his shoulder.

  "Ah, hell." Darach went and opened the door. "Right then, go on. I'll sleep better wi'out yer snorin' anyway."

  Big Dog gave a sniff and trotted off toward the stairs. "Daft animal," Darach muttered, shutting the door. "He's as taken wi' her as the rest of them. Probably goin' to sleep in her room right now. Sleep on her pillow while she . . ."

  He groaned. Saints, he was jealous of a dog!

  He had to be bewitched. Nothing else could have him in such a sweel over a bit of skirt. Somehow she managed to addle his senses every time he got near her. Kissing her and holding her slim little body against his had only made it worse. In that moment, the half-formed thought that he had met her somewhere before had returned.

  Suddenly he stood still. It had come to him at last. He had met her before, but not in any human realm. She was a being straight out of his dreams. Though he'd never confessed it to another living soul, in those rare moments when he would permit himself to have such longings or fancies, he felt the touch of a woman, the scent and feel of her form. He knew what she would be like: fiery, sweet, and wise without guile. A woman made to complement his deepest needs. Julia.

  The very idea shook him to the marrow.

  He needed to get away from her, he thought once more, resuming his pacing. Do some work. What was that quote that Liam had spouted to Tommy not long ago? "Love yields to business. If you seek a way out of love, be busy; you'll be safe then." Even if he wasn't in love, he was perilously close to its dangers. A long, hard day's work, every day would keep him out of harm's way. He'd make sure he stayed away from the house from dawn to dark. That way he wouldn't have to see her or hear her. He'd be able to clear his head and figure out just what to do with her.

  The only trouble was, his dreams were filled with ideas of what to do with Julia Addison. And not one of them involved leaving his own bed.

  That was the hell of it. He wanted her with every sinew and fiber of his body. But was it a desire he might feel for any normal woman? Or had she bewitched him, cast a love spell to ensnare him and render him vulnerable to his enemies?

  His thoughts circled around themselves like a serpent swallowing its own tail. Everything led back to that one question: Who was she?

  He thrust his fingers into his hair, raking it into wild disarray. How could he possibly find out, short of testing her before an inquisitor or going to the Moreston himself? He snorted. As if Craigen Moreston had ever told the truth in his life. And he'd already vowed that she'd not be persecuted for witchcraft while she remained in his custody.

  He wasn't about to hand her over to his enemies, either. If she was one of them, let them come and claim her. He would keep her here, in his own house. With him.

  He went to the table and poured himself a cup of ale. He downed the contents quickly and followed with another. And another.

  He shunned his bed, hoping that the hard floorboards beneath him would prevent those vivid, yearning dreams from disturbing his rest for one night. The ale would aid in his search for oblivion.

  When dawn came, he woke with a smile and an aching in more than his back. He groaned and fell back before the cold hearth. She'd done it again. She'd invaded his dreams. And the images his fevered mind had conjured throughout the night would have awakened passion in a statue.

  He flung himself up and out. He handed the keys to Bruce, who was on the watch. "Tell Julia she has the run o' the house, but no more." Then he was gone, off on a tour of his lands that would take him all day to complete.

  Edana wanted to fling the basin across the meadow. When she had tried the mirror-basin before, she had seen nothing and had known relief. But now she had looked into the basin twice and seen that woman! This was no accident, nor some trick. The woman was there, in Darach's house, and she possessed a mirror of some power. And while Edana had done her best to frighten the woman away, she couldn't be sure the woman would accept her warnings.

  She bent over the waters once more. "Servant. Is my true love's heart still mine to be claimed?"

  The waters muddied and swirled, as if agitated by an unseen hand. "It iss not ssso," the watery spirit replied.

  Edana's heart contracted. Darach loved another? Her Darach? "It cannot be," she said. She spoke over the waters once more. "My love has taken no other to wife?"

  The water smoothed and rippled. "It iss e'en ssso, mistress."

  "Ah." Edana sighed her relief.

  Still, the woman was there. She was not wedded to Darach. She might merely be some whore. Or perhaps she belonged to one of the other clan members. She shook her head. Possible, but not likely. All this time she'd been watching the MacStruan, her basin had never shown her anyone but Darach or one of his men who was in close proximity to him. Whoever she was, this woman was near to him.

  Was she also dear to him?

  Edana looked into the waters. The visions had disappeared; the water was returning to its original state. She smiled at the reflection of her own face floating there. At least the woman wasn't more beautiful than she. She didn't have to worry on that account!

  But she did have to find out who was coming between her and her love.

  And then she'd have to get rid of her.

  Whistling cheerfully, Edana carried the basin over to the window and dumped the water into the shrubbery below. A cat yowled out in outrage from the darkness below. Edana laughed. "Silly old Malkin," she called out. "Serves you right for lying in wait for some hapless tom!"

  Julia spent the next day in the kitchen again, reorganizing the pantries and scouring the place from top to bottom. The work was a good outlet for all the confusion and frustration that had haunted her through the night just past. But it was only a partial success. She wondered if there was enough work in the whole of Scotland to keep her mind off of Darach MacStruan and the fire that had been ignited between them last night.

  She frowned. The fire that had been ignited within her, she thought, correcting herself. He'd set her aside and left without so much as a backward glance. No, that kiss hadn't been nearly so stirring for Darach as it had been for her.

  It was impossible, she told herself for the hundredth time. She couldn't mak
e a relationship with Darach MacStruan. Not only because he was such a difficult man, but because he was a man who belonged in a separate time altogether. How could she possibly have a life with a man who existed hundreds of years before she was even born? She had no idea if she was stuck in this time or if she'd go sailing back to the s or some other time at any moment.

  Ross came in near midday, a young, skinny cat snuggled in his plaid. Julia exclaimed in delight and hurried to find a saucer for some cream.

  "Nay, lass, dinna feed it," Ross said, holding up a hand.

  "But she's so thin!" Julia cried. "Look. You can see her little ribs poking out."

  "Aye. All the better for her to prove her worth."

  "Her worth?"

  He nodded. "This lassie's sae hungry she'll eat a mouse right down to the squeak. Put her in th' pantry, close the door, and in no time the whole place'll be free of the varmints." He grinned with pride at his use of the new word. His grin faded in a moment, however, as he looked about. "Dinna ye tell Darach, though. He's a dog's man and won't hold wi' a cat in his house." He grinned once more. "For all his ferocity, the Big Dog's no' a fine mouser. Won't waste his time on such a tidbit."

  "Well, Little Cat," Julia said, scooping the wary animal up into her arms. "Judging from the evidence I've seen, you're in for a feast." She gave the cat a gentle toss into the pantry and quickly shut the door. "Let's hope she doesn't get into any of the other foods," she said to Ross. ''I think I've sealed up as much as I can." She sighed. "What I wouldn't give for a Tupperware party in the neighborhood."

  "Tupperware?"

  "Yeah. Special containers for keeping food fresh."

  "Ah. I could see if Gordon can make some for ye. He's a fair tinker."

  Julia tapped her chin with a fingertip. "A tinker, eh? You know, maybe he can help me. Can you get him to come here? I can show him what I need if I can find a pen and some paper."

  She spent the rest of the day conferring with Gordon and when he left, she was satisfied that she'd soon have made some major improvements in the kitchen supplies. If she stuck around long enough, she thought with grim humor, she might bring this place kicking and screaming into the Renaissance.

  After Gordon had gone, she heard a meowing and scratching at the pantry door.

  "Little Cat," she said, hurrying to open the door. "I'm sorry, girlfriend. I forgot you were in there. How goes the hunting?"

  Little Cat strolled through the passage with an air of complete belonging and self-satisfaction. She went straight to the hearth, found a corner that suited her, and settled down to have a leisurely wash. Julia laughed. "That good, eh? Well, I doubt that even one of your great prowess could have cleaned them all out in one afternoon, kiddo. Tomorrow you can show your stuff again."

  Little Cat gave her a solemn, green-eyed stare and then, deciding a bath was more important than anything a human had to say, returned to her task. Julia pondered for a moment. How was she going to hide this little fuzzball from Darach? And, for that matter, Big Dog? BD was a sweetie, but would he tolerate another animal cutting in on his territory? Would a small cat fall into the proper size range for a canine appetizer?

  "Looks like you and I have the same problem, kiddo," she told her as she started on the evening meal. "We don't belong here, we aren't wanted here, but here we are. And we're both going to have to walk on eggs to avoid ticking off the powers that be."

  She heard her stepmother's voice once again, whispering to her before some party or family gathering. "Try to fit in, dear," she would say. "No one expects you to be a part of my family right away. But make an effort, all right?"

  Julia sighed. Now that she thought about it, her whole life had been about finding someplace where she belonged, where she fit in. From high school, to college, to Yoga and meditation, chef's school, the I Ching, fire walking, archery, hypnosis, modern dance, disc jockeying, rolfing, organic gardeningthe list was embarrassingly longshe had been searching for a clue as to who she was and what she wanted to do with her life. She thought she had found her niche when her old friend Martine Coburn gave her the job as assistant chef in her new restaurant. She was happy with cooking, liked the city, enjoyed the other people working at Martine's.

  But she hadn't felt as if she belonged there. If she was honest with herself, all she'd done was put in her time there, and gone home alone.

  Cammie had been right. She didn't fit in, no matter how hard she tried.

  And now here she was. In the last placethe last timeon earth where she could fit in.

  She looked about. She'd had Ross and Tommy put up new shelves and pegs to store pots, pans, and utensils. The floor had been scrubbed many times over and she had sprinkled sawdust mixed with dry herbs and grasses to absorb any lingering smells. She'd put in a request for some of the whitewash she'd seen on the walls of the house and the outsides of the lairds' cottages and was planning to add extra lamps to brighten the room. With Little Cat curled on the hearth, bread baking, and a roast of beef turning on the spit, her new workplace was cozy and welcoming.

  But this room wasn't hers. It was Darach's. And Darach had made it plain that she didn't belong. Not in his house, not in his clan, not in his homeland.

  She clapped her hands together. Self-pity was not her style. She needed action. It was time to start thinking about leaving. There had to be some way to retrace her steps and find a way back to her own world and time.

  She jumped as someone cleared his throat behind her. She whirled about to see Alasdair standing in the kitchen doorway, hands on his hips, looking about the room in wonder.

  "Well, well," he drawled. "This place shows a loving hand."

  She felt herself color with pride. "Do you like it?"

  "Mmm." He came toward the ovens, sniffing appreciatively. "If it's ever been cleaner, I canna recall the occasion."

  "Oh, surely when your mother was here . . ." She halted. "Oh. Perhaps you'd rather not speak of her."

  "Why not?" Alasdair stuck his finger in the pot of sauce she was stirring.

  She slapped his hand. "Stay out of that. You want to get usthemall sick again?" She stirred more vigorously. "I only meant that with your mother gone and all, you might not want to talk about her."

  "Oh. Aye, I suppose. Still, she was never much of a hearth dweller. You're the one's made this old dungeon sparkle."

  "Thank you." She took a fresh spoon and dipped it into the sauce. She lifted the brown liquid up for him to taste. "Here. Taste this and tell me what you think."

  He opened his mouth and let her spoon it into him, both of them laughing as some dripped down his chin. She wiped it off with a fingertip.

  "Takin' up cookin', oganach?"

  They both whirled to see Darach standing in the doorway. His expression was carefully bland, but Julia saw a spark of anger dance briefly in his eyes. Alasdair backed away from her, but she held her ground. She put a hand on her hip. "Do all you MacStruans have to come and go like ghosts?" she demanded. "I had a spoonful of hot sauce in my hand. We both could have been burned."

  Darach stepped into the room, his eyes moving quickly from her to Alasdair and back again. "Oh, aye. We'd not want to have anyone overheatin.'"

  She ignored his sarcasm. "Dinner will be ready in about half an hour," she told him. "If the gods of the peat-burning fires are with me. You have time to go clean up." She looked pointedly at his muddy boots, which had already dripped clumps of wet earth on her immaculate floor.

  Darach sniffed the air. "It smells fair. No eye of newt?"

  She tried to glare at him, but she caught the tiny lift of his mouth and couldn't help smiling. "No. No toe of frog, either, I'm afraid. And the only thing I've used the broom for today has been sweeping the floor." She gestured to his feet.

  He looked down at last. "Oh. Ah." He bent down and began to pull one off.

  "No!" Julia cried. "Not in here! Out! Out the back door and leave them out there until they're dry."

  "Ye're a bossy wee thing a' of a sudden," he gr
umbled. But he went to the door and deposited his boots outside.

  He padded back in his bare feet. He sank down onto a footstool and sighed. "Spring's comin' on fast," he said to Alasdair. "The cattle hae been makin' merry up there to the north. Like as not some are breedin' even now."

  Alasdair nodded. "They'll need to be brought down soon. Leastways, the heifers."

  "The sooner the better. I thought we'd go out day after tomorrow with some of the lads and bring them down to the glen by the oak woods."

  "I'll spread the word."

  "Do it. And see to our Bruce while you're about it. His bones are troublin' him again."

  Alasdair left quickly, as if glad to be away. Julia watched him go and then turned back to the vegetables she was slicing for the pot. "Why are you so hard on him?" she asked.

  "Am I hard on him?"

  "You're always treating him like a serving boy. I don't know what an oganach is, but Alasdair didn't like you calling him one, I could tell."

  "It means young man, that's all." There was a pause. "Are ye takin' up my brothair's cause, Julia?"

  She turned with a frown. "Alasdair is a grown man. He doesn't need me to defend him."

  "True enough. But the lad has a lot to learn."

  "Who doesn't?"

  Darach blew out a breath. "It's no' somethin' ye'd understand."

  "No? Maybe you're the one who doesn't understand. From what I've heard around here, you were your father's fair-haired boy. He guided you every step of the way. But who was there for Alasdair? If you ask me, he's done pretty well on his own."

  It was his turn to frown. "Ye don't know our ways. I'm the MacStruan. My father had to make sure I was ready to be chief."

  "And what if something happened to you? Wouldn't Alasdair become the MacStruan?"

  "Aye."

  "Well?"

  He rose from the stool. "That's what I've been tryin' to tell ye. He needs to learn. Bein' the MacStruan doesna mean goin' about at all hours or readin' books or ridin' horses as ye wish."

  "No, it just means telling everyone to jump and expecting them to ask how high on their way up."