The Mirror & The Magic

by Coral Smith Saxe

  No one came to challenge him. The Morestons heard the bansheelike cries from the tower and rushed up the stairs. The sight of Craigen's witch, dead on the stairs, impaled on a mighty sword was enough to put them all to rout. With no chief to guide them and no plan for the future, they scattered in all directions throughout the castle. Some looted, some fled the keep. Some tore into the stores of food and drink and made merry long into the next day. None of them saw the tall man stalk away from the tower, the body of a woman held in his arms.

  He marched through the forest, edging around the flames with an almost contemptuous grace. Dawn was coming, but the clouds and smoke hung a curtain against the sun's light. He didn't care. He was alive. He'd fought for his life alone, as Julia had urged him. She'd never allowed herself to give up or to give in to self-pity, even when she was a prisoner, locked in a dank cell in his house. She'd entered into his world like a whirlwind, bringing him back to life with her outrageous and beautiful ways. Now he would have to learn how to live that life alone.

  He heard shouting and footsteps pounding toward him, but he kept walking toward the clachan. The smoke parted and diminished at the far edge of the woods, and there, before him, were his people, alive and well, and covered with dirt and soot. Their joyous cries died on their lips as they saw the burden he carried.

  The lairds formed a ring around Darach, their torches illuminating the limp body in his arms. Some of the women wept openly. Big Dog nudged his way through the circle and came to snuffle at Julia's hand.

  "Get back," Darach said, his voice hoarse and strained. "She canna pet ye now." He moved on toward the village and his house, cradling Julia's body to his chest.

  He bore her inside and carried her to his chamber, where he placed her upon his bed. He stooped and smoothed the hair away from her face, marveling that it could still feel so warm and full of life. What a mockery! He sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands.

  "Darach." Mairi came to stand beside him. He didn't look up. "Darach, she's gone. We must make the burial plans. We canna wait over-lang."

  "Nay!" he roared. "I'll no' have it!" He drew his knife and it glittered in the torchlight. ''I'll no' put my Julia in the ground. And I'll kill the first one who dares to take her frae me."

  He leaned over Julia's body, touching her face and hands. "She looks sae beautiful," he whispered. He twisted about to look at the men. "Why is she so beautiful still? Liam, ye're learnedcan ye tell me? Alasdair?"

  The two men hung their heads. Darach looked back at Julia. "It's as if she were asleep," he murmured. "As if she could waken in a moment."

  He tipped back suddenly. "Bruce!" he cried out. "What was that tale she told us one night before the fire? O' the prince who kissed his lady and wakened her from a sleep of a hundred years?"

  "Darach, lad, ye must come awa'"

  But Darach didn't hear him. He was pressing his lips to Julia's, holding her head up to caress her cheek.

  "Darach!" Mairi's tone was horrified. He ignored her. "Somebody do something!" she commanded. "Let me through! Dammit, let me through!"

  Tommy burst out of the crowd and raced to the bed. Darach looked up at the young man, feeling his hopes draining away even as he held Julia to his chest.

  "No, Darach, that's no' the way. Remember?" Tommy was pulling at his hands, forcing him to lay Julia back on the bed. Darach growled at the intruder and raised his hand to shove him away.

  "Hit me if ye wish, Darach." Darach heard the authoritative note in Tommy's voice. "Hit me," Tommy continued, ''but ye must keep on wi' what ye're doin'. Do ye ken what I'm tellin' ye? Ye must give Julia the kiss o' life. And if ye don't, I will."

  A sudden burst of energy exploded in Darach's chest. "The kiss" He didn't waste time finishing his sentence. He grabbed Julia and pried her mouth open. He heard the gasps of the people around him, but they seemed faint and far away. All that he could see, hear, know, was Julia and what he needed to do.

  He inserted his fingers into her mouth. Mairi gasped. Tommy held up his hand for silence. "That's it, Darach. Check the mouth for foreign objects, she said."

  Darach's heart contracted violently. Her tongue had swollen to more than twice its usual size. He forced his way around it, probing, as he had seen Tommy do it before. He gave a cry. He thrust his forefinger deeper into her throat and felt something dislodge. He brought the object out. Immediately Julia sucked a breath into her body, her chest bucking upward on the bed.

  "What is it?" Tommy asked. Darach handed the lump over to him and began to chafe Julia's wrists and slap her gently on her cheeks. "A bit of apple," the younger man said wonderingly.

  "Is she alive?" Mairi's tough demeanor was melting; Darach could hear it in her voice.

  "I don't know. I think"

  "The kiss, Darach," Tommy urged. "Ye must breathe for her"

  The room fell silent as a soft, feminine voice came from the bed. "Darach?"

  "I'm here, Julia," he said, caressing her hair. "Wake up, love." His throat was so tight he fought to get the words out.

  Her eyes fluttered open. "I made it back," she said with a sigh. "I made it back."

  "Aye, lass." Darach gathered her in his arms. "Aye, ye made it back."

  She rubbed her face weakly against his chest and then drooped. He checked her breathing quickly and smiled in relief. "She's still wi' us," he said to Tommy. "She's only fainted."

  "Saints, Darach, don't tell her she fainted," Tommy said, grinning. "She'll be sae angry she'll feed us all Glue Stew for a month."

  Darach grinned. "I'm afraid, lad, that what my Julia does is no' in my control."

  Conscious or not, furious or purring with pleasure, Darach didn't care, as long as she was alive. He knew it wasn't called for, but just to make sure, he bent down and kissed her, breathing a gentle breath between her parted lips. The kiss of life, he thought. The kiss of life with his Julia.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was a long time before Julia was allowed out of her sickbed by Dr. Thomas MacStruan, as she now called him. For his firm and forceful bedside manner, she added the honorary title of Ogre to his name. And when she was declared fit enough to leave her bed, Darach carried her straight back into it, loving her with such tenderness that she nearly wept with the sweetness of their reunion.

  The fire in the woods had burned out, leaving another blackened scar on the land. But it was a scar that scarcely touched the MacStruan border. Thanks to Gordon's firebreak and the hard work of all the clan, the fire had been turned back before it reached the standing stones. Alasdair and Celandine celebrated that fact, especially. "She's lovely, Darach," Julia said, watching the pair go about, arms twined about one another's waists, living in their own world. "Who is she? She's a Sassenach, is she no'?"

  Darach groaned. "That's no' the half o' it. She says she's one o' the Fair Folk frae over the sea. A Talcott, she calls herself, and says she has the gift o' sight. While our Alasdair has lost his sight for aught save her."

  "Oh, I see. One o' those impossible matches between an outlander and a stubborn laird that never work out." Julia grinned at him and they both laughed. "I suppose all we can do is wish them luck," she said, watching the couple with a fond heart.

  "Aye," he said, slipping his arm around her waist. "It's all anyone can do."

  She looked up at him in surprise. Could this be her Darach? Mr. Duty Calls? Was he actually giving up control over his brother at last? She hugged him and he gave her a grin that curled her toes.

  "Besides," he drawled, "the lass is Craigen's sole heir. She'll be bringin' quite a fortune to Clan MacStruan."

  "Oh ho! So that's why you're sae acceptin' o' the match." She grinned and shook her head. "Ye're a cold man, Darach MacStruan."

  "I'm just lookin' after my ain folk." He smiled down at her, wicked lights dancing in his eyes. "And I'll be happy to show ye just how cold a man I am, if ye wish to gang wi' me back to our bed." She was more than pleased with his demonstration. No question about it, she was wa
rmed through and through. She was home. New York, her old life, was fading like a dream.

  When she was strong enough, Julia led the lairds and some of the women to the stone circle once more and showed them where to dig. She was elated. Her boxes were there, and they were still intact.

  "Good old Styrofoam," she chortled, hoisting one muddy and squeaking container. "Better livin' through chemistry." She handed it to Tommy, who tore off the lid and rummaged through it, excited as a child at Christmas.

  "This one's no' medicines, is it, Julia?" He held up a can with a rich red label.

  "Nay," she said, grinning. "That's for the pantry. Artichoke hearts."

  "ArtyWhat?"

  "Never mind. Just wait till ye taste them. And there's sun-roasted tomatoes, pizza dough, water chestnuts, and"

  "Ah, be wary, lass." Liam wagged his finger at her. "Surfeits slay more souls than swords."

  "Aristotle?" Julia asked, smiling.

  He puffed up. "MacStruan."

  They toted the treasure home to the village, a triumphant procession of squeaking and thumping. Some wild hens strayed across the path, and Gordon and Liam renewed their ancient argument. Dugan snorted and strode away from them, seeking out his new lady love, a strapping young widow by the name of Tessa. Having the women back in the clachan made Julia feel even happier.

  Julia walked along beside Darach, enjoying her success and her homecoming with a contented grin.

  "So," he said, hanging back so that the others were out of earshot. "This looks an awful lot like ye're plannin' to stay."

  She sashayed up closer to him. "I am. Wanna make somethin' of it?"

  "Aye."

  "Oh?" She crossed her arms. "And what might that be?"

  "I'm thinkin' it's time to have the priest up here."

  She froze. "What?"

  "I said it's time we had the priest up to visit. There's somethin' I need him to do, if ye'll be stayin' here."

  "Darach! I thought that was all settled! I thought we were all past this witch business. It was Edana, remember, she was the"

  "Whisht, woman! I said I wanted to make something of it. I want to make ye my wife."

  She gaped at him for a long, long moment until at last she felt his words truly enter her mind. They took a neat turn and sank, like a golden shaft of sunlight, straight down into her heart. "Ye mean it?" she asked softly. "Ye'd want a fasheous Sassenach for a bride?"

  "I'd want ye if ye were Pee-Wee Herman," he said solemnly.

  "Oh, God," she said, helpless against the laughter that bubbled up inside her. "Don't say that."

  "Why not?"

  "Never mind." She went to his arms, her heart so full she thought she might float off like a balloon. "Just say it again."

  "Say what?"

  "Say what ye want o' me."

  "Julia Addison, I want t' make ye my wife." She sighed rapturously. He shook her gently. "And ye say . . ."

  "Oh! Oh, aye. Aye." She laughed and kissed him. "Aye, my ain true love."

  Celandine and Alasdair watched the bride and groom as they danced in the center of the crowd. Celandine took his hand and kissed it, then placed it over her abdomen.

  "What's this ye're tryin' to tell me, love?" he murmured against her hair.

  "It's time, love," she said. "If it's what you want."

  He turned her in his arms. "Are ye sure?"

  She smiled. "You forget what I am." She pressed his hand to her abdomen once more. "Can you not feel it?"

  He closed his eyes. Wonder spread across his face. "Saints. I can! It's like water sparklin' off the loch and stingin' my hand." He opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers. "I'm no' sure I can wait to get ye upstairs to my ain bed."

  She laughed, the sweet music of her voice winding about his heart like a living vine. "You'll have to wait. I've something special in mind."

  He sighed. "Love, ye'll be the death o' me. But lead on. I canna say no to ye."

  A short while later, he was looking about him in wonder. "Here?"

  "Here." Celandine went to the center of the circle of stones and cast her cloak to the ground. Her pale gown shimmered in the starlight as she spun, laughing, her arms outspread. "Here is where it all began," she sang out. "Here is where I want you to love me for the first time. Here is where I want us to conceive our child." She flashed her skirts at him, showing off her slender legs and even a glimpse of thigh.

  Alasdair began pulling his sword free of his belt, laughing at her shameless flirting. She held out her arms as he came to her at last.

  "So, new chief o' the Morestons, what is your will?"

  She smiled. "You know all too well what I will."

  "I'm a loyal MacStruan, ye know."

  "Yes, I know. But as soon as we're wed, I shall be a MacStruan as well. And your clan shall be my clan, and my clan yours."

  "I like the way ye put that."

  She stepped back and pointed over their heads. "The moon is full," she said, letting the last of her garments slide to the ground. "I want our son with us come spring."

  He shook his head. "Have ye been takin' lessons frae my brothair?" he asked, grinning. "Ye're awfully bossy a' of a sudden."

  She sighed and bent down to retrieve her gown. "Well, if you don't want to, I suppose I can"

  She didn't get to finish her sentence. The full moon glimmered from on high and the stones stood solid, their ancient power blessing and protecting the Faerie child who became, in part, a mortal woman in the arms of her love.

  "I'm as happy as anyone has the right to be." Julia sighed.

  Darach nuzzled at her neck as he carried her up the stairs to their bedchamber. "I'm glad. But I'd swear ye've put on a bit o' weight, sweet. That or I'm no' the man I used to be."

  She smiled and tweaked his ear. "Ye're all the man ye've ever been and more, besides. And I'm more than I was, as well."

  "Ye're a MacStruan."

  "Aye, that I am. Ye've got me livin' as one, actin' as one, and speakin' as one." She pressed her lips against his ear and whispered, "And ye've got me lovin' as one."

  Darach stopped then and there and pressed her back against the wall, kissing her breathless where they stood.

  Below them, in the great hall, Liam was engaged in the ages-old tradition of the naming of the ancestors. His audience was well filled with wine and food by this point in the celebration, so few were paying any real attention when he slipped the names Laird Humphrey of Bogart and Queen Ingrid Bergmansdottir into the list. Bess, his birdlike little wife, caught the joke, however, and blew him a kiss from where she sat by the fire, their youngest on her lap, right next to Rose, who was nursing her new infant son, Harrison Ford MacStruan.

  Dugan was demonstrating the waltz, as Julia had taught him, to Mairi MacStruan, who had cast aside her staff for the occasion, to almost no one's surprise. Ross, Niall, Gordon, Bruce, and the new priest, Brother Simon, were toasting the happy couple, the clan, the house, the weather, the furniture . . . happily red-faced and cheery. No one had seen Thomas, as everyone now called him, slip out with his Lara.

  LC and BD were under the long table, content with the fine scraps they'd managed to cadge from an unwary diner or cajole from a well-oiled laird. LC paused in her munching to lick some tasty chicken grease from BD's muzzle, refining her skills in preparation for imminent motherhood.

  Darach pushed through the bedroom door and kicked it shut behind them. He deposited Julia gently on the bed. ''More than ye were, eh? I thought it was harder goin' up those stairs."

  Julia gave him a catlike smile. "That's because ye've put a babe in your wife's belly."

  Darach stared at her, thunderstruck. She laughed. "Don't look so surprised. Did ye imagine after all our sportin' your seed would fail to find its mark?"

  "A bairn," he said wonderingly. "HowWhenCan we still"

  "We'd better," she said, twining her arms about his neck. "Just wait till ye see the surprises I brought ye from the other world."

  His eyes came even more ali
ve with heated interest. "Ye don't mean . . .?"

  She nodded. "I'm no' very far along. I can still fit nicely into some o' those silky briefs and bras ye like sae well. O' course, there might be a wee bit more up top than there was before, but ye won't mind that too much, will ye?"

  "I'll struggle wi' it," he said solemnly.

  "Good," she said with a soft giggle. She sat back and began to undo the laces at the top of her gown.

  "Wait."

  She paused, her hand at her throat, her eyes questioning. "Tryin' to control your wife already, Laird Darach?"

  He shook his head. "Julia Addison MacStruan, I'll say it again and againye're like somethin' out o' my dreams." He placed a hand on the soft, slight swell of her abdomen.

  "Aye, and so are ye, my husband," she said softly, leaning to kiss him. "And are we no' lucky that dreams come true?"

  Author's Note

  The Scottish Highlands have always meant magic to me. In creating the world of Clan MacStruan, I learned that magic, omens, and folklore are as much a part of life in the Highlands as heather and pipes. For example, the practice of "smooring" the peat fires in the rugged stone houses was common until quite recently, and there were numerous incantations that could be said to insure a safe, fire-free night and a quick start in the morning. The roots of the ancient Celtic world, with its standing stones and intimate ties to nature, still run deep in the Highlands.

  Now as for traveling in timemy physicist husband tells me it's simply a product of my overactive imagination. Just the same, I'm not making up my mind just yet, and I think Stephen Hawking might agree with me. Moreover, scholars agree that there's still a lot we don't know about those ancient standing stones and their purposes. But Julia's journey to find Darach and his people, the one place she could call home, was certainly heavily influenced by the magic of the heart. If anything can carry us across the barriers of time and distance, it's the power of love.

  I hope you enjoyed this sgeula-gaoil, or love story, of Julia, Darach, and the Seven Lairds. I love to hear from readers! You can write to me at Leisure Books, and my thrifty Scots ancestors would appreciate the addition of a self-addressed envelope, if ye'd like a reply. May the magic of love be with you always.