She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. Voices floated to her on the wind. Screams. Cries of outrage. Jeers and howls. What was this? She was shaking now, as she opened her eyes and whirled about in a circle. Was what she was hearing real? Was it in the present? Or the past?
Desperation and fear gripped her. She had to get back. She had to find the secret. Something was wrong.
Darach was in danger.
Darach stood in the doorway of the tower chamber, his sword in hand. The woman rose and held out her hands to him.
"Don't you remember me?" she asked, her voice as silken and rippling as springwater.
"Who are ye?" he asked. "Where's Julia?"
The woman shook her head, her red tresses shimmering in the candlelight. "So. It's the same as ever, isn't it? We've met before, Darach. In Edinburgh. At the court."
He frowned. There was no sign of Julia in this place. Had Celandine played him false after all? He peered at the tall, curvaceous woman before him. For his life, he had no idea who she was.
"Ah. Aye," he lied, hoping she would reveal herself. "Edinburgh. That was a while back, but I couldna forget ye, lass." He took a step into the room. "It was Michaelmas, was it no'? A man would ne'er forget your hair by the light o' the candles at court."
She smiled and shook her head. "It was not. And you don't remember me now any better than you did then, though I made every effort to engage your attention." She moved toward him. His eye caught the slight rise of one shoulder and hip. She was lame. Lame. He racked his brain. He knew this was important, but his mind was so concentrated on Julia he couldn't seem to make it work at recollecting this strange woman.
"If I gave offense in those days, lady, it was youthful ignorance and my Scots roughness," he said, taking another step into the room. "I offer my pardon." He made a short bow.
She laughed. The pretty sound was somehow grating and false. "Your Scots roughness has always appealed to me, Darach," she purred. "But I was hurt when you took up with Caroline Farquharson. She didn't appreciate you as I did."
The name jolted him. Caroline! He hadn't thought of her in years. But he remembered her. She'd been Craigen'ssaints, what was he onto here?
"Ah, I see you do recall that lady," she said. She picked up a jeweled dagger and fingered the blade. "Perhaps I can prick your memory."
"Edana," he breathed.
"You do remember me!" she cooed. "Oh, I knew you would. In time. Now that we have our introductions out of the way, let us"
Craigen burst into the room. "Damn ye, witch! Celandine is gone!"
Edana nodded to Darach. Craigen turned and Darach was face-to-face with his old enemy at last.
"MacStruan," he growled, drawing his knife. "Ye're far more stupid than even I believed." "Craigen." Darach raised the point of his sword. "Where's the lass?"
Craigen smiled. "Ye'll never have her, MacStruan. My lady witch here has taken care o' her. As I'll take care o' ye."
"Craigen!" Edana snapped. "You'll do no such thing. He's mine, remember?"
Craigen spoke to her over his shoulder, his eyes still on Darach. "Our bargain is ended, witch. It was broken when Celandine left this tower. She was to be mine."
Darach chuckled mirthlessly. "The twa o' ye make a fine pair. Squabblin' like waistie wanis over what'll never belong to either one o' ye."
Edana waved a hand. "You may laugh at us spoiled and squabbling children, Darach, my love. But neither will you have what you want." She crossed the room and drew aside the tapestry that hung from ceiling to floor.
Darach felt his heart leap up and then freeze. Julia lay on a pallet behind the tapestry, silent and still. Too still. Grief and horror stunned him. The tip of his sword dropped below his waist.
Craigen attacked.
The battle on the meadow was in full pitch. The Morestons, caught off their guard by the women, suffered great losses in the first few minutes of the fight. But when the women fled the scene and the first few flights of arrows found their marks, the Morestons rallied with a vengeance. "To the woods!" Alasdair bellowed as the portcullis began shrieking upward over the great gate. He turned to the Bruce, who stood beside him, as stout as his oaken staff. "Ready, my liege?"
"We'll lead 'em a chase to rival Julia's French Connection!" Bruce cried.
The MacStruans scattered and raced for the trees, abandoning their bows and arrows for their knives and swords. Hordes of Morestons followed their trails, trampling the bracken and hacking at branches with fury.
A high, undulating cry echoed through the woods. A shower of rocks poured down on the attackers, to the accompaniment of unearthly moans and shrieks. The Morestons tried to do battle with their invisible enemies, but their swords only became tangled in the tree branches over their heads. Howling, many retreated toward the meadows, the awful din echoing in their ears. The rest ran on, deeper into the woods.
Mairi called out to her treetop warriors. "Well done, ladies! Now let's be quick. The rest o' these villains are after our men."
MacStruan women dropped from the trees or scrambled down trunks in the darkness. Gordon's tall wife, Annie, lit a torch while the rest hefted cooking pots, cudgels, and battered swords from a pile heaped in the bracken.
"Away the women!" Annie shouted. And they were off, following her torch into the woods, racing toward the fight.
«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»
Julia felt like a stick caught in a whirlpool as she lay on the grass in the middle of the stone circle. The sky spun over her head, the tip of the great standing stone marking the revolutions. One moment it was raining. The next it was dark, but blazing hot. In another moment there was the moon once again, full and cloud-ringed.
She closed her eyes against the whirling sights. This settled her dizziness and brought her a moment of peace. But she was still so cold, colder than she'd ever been in her life.
Then she heard the voices. So near. Darach's voice! A woman's sweet laughter. Another man's rough cries.
What was happening? She couldn't seem to move.
She tried lifting her arm, wiggling her leg. Nothing. Had she been paralyzed? The voices were growing louder. They were here with her!
"Darach!" she cried. "Darach, I'm here!"
Nausea rolled over her once more. It was a dream, she thought. One of those hideous, terrifying nightmares where she was being chased by something awful and yet she couldn't move, and her mouth wouldn't open to free the screams that strained at her throat.
There was the sound of metal on metal, grunting, and a sharp indrawn breath. It was a fight. Darach was in a fight. She had to get to him.
She managed to open her eyes a crack. A woman's face swam before her eyes. The face in the mirror. She knew it at once. Was she, Julia, in the mirror? She caught glimpses of a stone ceiling above her head, saw the flicker of rushlights such as Darach had in his house.
Was she back?
She tried to call out to Darach, to anybody, but she felt a lump in her throat that cut off all sound. She couldn't draw breath to fill her lungs. Panic filled her and she tried to struggle, to raise her hand to her throat. Her hand stayed at her side, heavy and disobedient to her desperate demands.
She heard a man scream and the thud of a body falling to the floor.
Darach!
"They're settin' fire to the woods!"
Dugan came thundering up to Niall and Gordon, who were resting after they had routed the last of the Morestons who'd managed to follow them. Niall jumped to his feet. "Show me!"
The three men didn't need a torch to light their way. The glow of a not too distant fire showed them what was next in the Morestons' arsenal.
"We canna lose the forest!" Dugan said, panting for breath. "The animals. The huntin'."
Gordon was trotting back and forth amid the trees. "It's no' a circle this time," he reported to his kinsmen. "Not sae far, anyway. Julia told me something that we could try."
"No' a movee tale?" Niall demanded.<
br />
"Nay. It's called a firebreak. But we'll need everyone, women and all, if we're to halt the flames.''
Niall put his fingers to his mouth and gave three short, piercing whistles. In a twinkling, the clan was gathering. Alasdair came running, his sword stained, and blood running from a cut on his cheek.
"They're burnin' everythin' from here to the standing stanes," he reported. "We must get back to the clachan before it reaches there."
Niall told him of Gordon's plan. Alasdair listened, dabbing at his wound with his sleeve. The women began to pour into the little clearing, their eyes wide but their spirits undaunted.
"Darach's still in the tower, as far as we know," Bruce told Alasdair. "Ye must be chief in his stead."
Alasdair looked alarmed for a moment, then straightened and sheathed his sword. "Tommy and Ross, ye're the swiftest of us. Run to the clachan and bring back every diggin' tool ye can lay hands to. Mairi, can ye and some o' the others gang to the burn and wet yer cloaks? We'll need somethin' to beat back any flames that get in our way."
Celandine appeared at his side as the clan scattered to their tasks. Alasdair gathered her into his arms and hugged her close.
"Can ye see aught of what's to come?" he whispered.
She shook her head. "All is smoke in my sight, love." She put her hand on his cheek. "But do not despair. You're the chief now. And there's no better man for the position."
He kissed her, hard and swiftly. "Please God ye're right," he said.
A short while later, their weapons mustered, Clan MacStruan set out to do battle with their new enemy.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
"Oh, dear." Edana leaned over slightly, eyeing Craigen's body on the floor. "He never was much of a man." She sighed, clucking her tongue. She smiled at Darach. "Good for you, love."
Darach pushed past her. He cast his reddened sword to the floor and stooped to lift Julia from the pallet. Edana tapped him on the shoulder.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked brightly.
He turned without a word and began to carry Julia's body to the door. He felt a sudden pain in his side. He roared and spun to face the witch, clutching his burden to his chest. "What the devil are ye up to?" he said. "It's over. Yer master is dead. I hae no quarrel wi' ye."
Edana waggled the dagger at him. "Now, now. You know you don't want to leave. You came here because I made you come. Because you wanted to be with me."
He groaned. "Ye're mad, woman." He turned and headed for the door once again.
She was suddenly in front of him, though he hadn't seen her move past him. He halted, sheltering Julia.
"You set me aside once before," she said. A bitter note crept into her musical voice. "You must make up for that."
He eyed her, trying to gauge the extent of her madness. Was it revenge she was seeking? Or an alliance? All he wanted was to get out of this place, to hold his Julia, to wail out his grief. But he had an inkling that this woman was far more dangerous than she appeared.
"I made no promises to ye, Edana," he said. "We scarcely spoke. Besides, ye had Craigen, remember? And he isor wasricher than I could ever hope to be, and more powerful. He was a far better match than I. Ye deserve more."
"You're trying to flatter me." She smiled, perfect dimples showing in her cheeks.
"I'm speakin' the truth. And now that Craigen's dead, ye'll be the rich one and all, for I've no doubt he's left ye well provided. Ye wouldn't want the likes o' me. I'm naught but an ogre and sae poor my clan's wealth could fit in yer shoe." He lifted Julia higher on his chest and moved to pass Edana.
The door slammed shut, though no hand had touched it. He tensed at the sudden awareness that he was dealing with not only a mad, jealous woman, but a witch besides. He would have to fight.
He turned and crossed back to the pallet. He laid Julia down upon it once more, hating to surrender her. He faced Edana. "Now then, witch. What is it ye want o' me?"
The woman's face broke into a lovely smile. "Why, to love you, of course! Why else would I have gone to all this trouble?" She advanced on him. "We belong together, you and I. And now that Craigen's out of the way, I have made certain that you and I shall lead both the clans."
"And if I say nay?"
She looked amazed. "Why would you?"
"Because ye're the devil's ain true love, no' mine."
"Why, you jealous thing, you!" She giggled. "Oh, pish," she said with a wave of her hand. "Once you have a taste of the power I hold, the power I'll share with you, you won't care about the source." She minced up to him, her smile beguiling. "Once you have a taste of my loving, of this body, you won't care about anything else. I know secrets of lovemaking that will bring you ecstasies such as you've never imagined." She slipped her hands up over his chest. ''And don't forget, you owe me. You not only scorned me in Edinburgh, but you stole Craigen's lady love, and now you've killed my benefactor. I know your famed MacStruan honor wouldn't permit you to run away from a debt."
He thrust her hands away. "Ye're too twisted for words, Edana. 'Twas ye that killed Isobel. Ye that preyed upon my people with sickness and mischief. Ye yoked yourself wi' the Moreston and joined him against me, even as he killed my father and my uncle. Ye took an innocent maid and promised her to that monster Craigen, selling her as a brood mare to please his lustful pride." He stepped away from her. "And ye believe I'll give myself to ye? That I'll love ye? I'd sooner share my bed wi' a she-wolf than take up wi' the likes o' ye."
Edana placed her hands on her hips. "Don't make me cross with you, Darach," she said, pouting. "People don't say no to me."
He shrugged and crossed his arms. "I'm through talkin', witch. Make yer move."
The woman's face suddenly changed from lovely and seductive to wild-eyed and harsh. "You won't get another chance!" she cried. "I've already killed your little black-haired bitch. Would you like me to show you more of what I can do?"
Darach nodded. "Aye. Show me what ye can do when ye're no' creepin' about, working mischief in secret."
Her image began to dissemble before his eyes. She shimmered and sparks flew from her burnished hair. The acrid scent of burning sulfur assaulted his nose. In a twinkling she was transformed from an exquisitely beautiful woman to a flame-haired male warrior, his muscles bulging at his cross-braces, a broadsword in his hands. "Try me now, Darach, my love," came the obscenely feminine voice from the cruel, masculine mouth. He lunged forward and the battle was pitched.
Darach fought hard, but his opponent was indefatigable. Every blow Darach landed healed up in a matter of moments, while he himself was bleeding profusely from two slashes that caught him unawares. He had to think, to make a plan, for it was plain that sheer strength and skill alone would not win the day.
"Why don't you give up, my darling, and join me?" Edana taunted. "She's dead. Craigen's dead. Your little ragtag clan is already reduced to ashes. Why go on?"
Why go on? The words rang in his ears even as he slashed back at his foe. What was the point, if he had indeed lost everything? His whole adult life had been lived for others. He had no purpose now. Perhaps he was never meant to have any other use in this world.
He was backing toward the door, on the run from his opponent and gasping for breath. He lost his footing on a loose floorboard and stumbled, receiving a nick on the ear for his clumsiness. Why was he still fighting? he wondered.
Don't you ever get tired of trying to make the world go around? Julia's voice was in his mind now.
I am what I am.
Really? Then what you are is a major lunkhead, which is what I thought the first time I laid eyes on you. . . . What you need is a good, swift kick in the kilt. . . .
Julia's words sank into him as he twisted out of the way of the next blow. A lunkhead, was he? Was he really a man who couldn't change, even when he did receive a good, swift kick to the rump?
Ah, hell, he thought. If he couldn't bring himself to fight for others, he'd fight for himself. He'd let go of controlling the des
tinies of every person he'd ever known or cared about and think of his own survival. Come what may, it would be a fitting tribute to his Julia. He'd change.
He felt a second wind coming on. With a light, dancing step, he spun out of the way of the oncoming blade and wrenched open the door latch. Edana lunged forward, stumbling out into the hall.
Darach pressed her down the hall, their clashing swords echoing off the stone walls and shooting sparks on contact. She was forced into the defensive position now, as Darach cast caution to the winds and fought for the sheer sensation of fighting. If he could get her onto the stairs, he might gain the advantage.
"Darach, what are you doing?" she cried out. "You love me, remember?"
"Aye, witch. I love ye! I plan to love ye straight into hell!" He surged forward, blade raised high.
She thrust out at his unprotected chest. He jumped backward, laughing. "Watch yer footing here, witch!" he called out, kicking at the rough stones. "That lame leg o' yers is near as twisted as yer soul."
She gasped at his words. Suddenly the image of the warrior began to crackle and shimmer. Darach saw the woman behind it begin to form, her hands clutching at the heavy sword. He had the advantage he needed. He rushed her. She stumbled heavily and fell to the floor, just at the top of the stairs. She thrust upward with her sword but she was too late. Darach raised his blade and plunged it straight through her heart.
He stood over the writhing figure, his chest heaving. Her eyes went wide, she stiffened, and died. He left his sword where it was and went back to the chamber.
Julia lay where he'd left her, unchanged. In his most secret heart, he'd hoped that Edana's death might break some spell that she had cast over Julia, returning her to life. But when he held a bit of mirror up to her nose, the glass remained unclouded.
He sank to his knees and howled out his grief.
The Mirror & The Magic Page 29