A Little Magic

by Nora Roberts

  Manners, she thought, weren't high on the list around here. She dragged a hand through her hair, stunned to find it dry again. Impossible. It had been dripping wet when he'd brought her up here only moments before.

  She combed her fingers through it again, frowning. Obviously she was mistaken. It must have been all but dry. The accident had shaken her up, confused her. That was why she wasn't remembering things clearly.

  She probably needed to go to a hospital, have X rays taken. Though a hospital seemed silly, really, when she felt fine. In fact, she felt wonderful.

  She lifted her arms experimentally. No aches, no twinges. She poked gingerly at the scrape. Hadn't it been longer and deeper along her elbow? It was barely tender now.

  Well, she'd been lucky. And now, since she was starving, she'd take the eccentric Flynn up on a meal. After that, her mind was bound to be steadier, and she'd figure out what to do next.

  Satisfied, she tossed the covers back. And let out a muffled squeal. She was stark naked.

  My God, where were her clothes? She remembered, yes, she remembered the way he'd yanked her sweater off, and then he'd… Damn it. She pressed a trembling hand to her temple. Why couldn't she remember? She'd been frightened, she'd shoved at him, and then… then she'd been wrapped in a blanket, in a room warmed by a blazing fire and he'd told her to get dressed and come down to dinner.

  Well, if she was having blackouts, the hospital was definitely first on the agenda.

  She snatched up the robe. Then simply rubbed the rich fabric over her cheek and moaned. It felt like something a princess would wear. Or a goddess. But certainly nothing that Kayleen Brennan of Boston would slip casually into for dinner.

  This will suit you, he'd said. The idea of that made her laugh, but she slid her arms into it and let herself enjoy the lustrous warmth against her skin.

  She turned, caught her own reflection in a cheval glass. Her hair was a tumble around the shoulders of the deep blue robe that swept down her body and ended in a shimmer of gold lace at the ankles.

  I don't look like me, she thought. I look like something out of a fairy tale. Because that made her feel foolish, she turned away.

  The bed she'd lain in was covered with velvet as well and lushly canopied with more. On the bureau, and certainly that was a Charles II in perfect condition, sat a lady's brush set of silver with inlays of lapis, antique perfume bottles of opal and of jade. Roses, fresh as morning and white as snow, stood regally in a cobalt vase.

  A fairy tale of a room as well, she mused. One fashioned for candlelight and simmering fires. There was a Queen Anne desk in the corner, and tall windows draped in lace and velvet, pretty watercolors of hills and meadows on the walls, lovely faded rugs over the thick planked floors.

  If she'd conjured the perfect room, this would have been it.

  His manners might be lacking, but his taste was impeccable. Or his wife's, she corrected. For obviously this was a woman's room.

  Because the idea should have relieved her, she ignored the little sinking sensation in her belly and satisfied her curiosity by opening the opal bottle.

  Wasn't that strange? she thought after a sniff. The bottle held her favorite perfume.

  Chapter 3

  Flynn had a stiff whiskey before he dealt with the food. It hit him like a hot fist.

  Thank God there were still some things a man could count on.

  He would feed his woman—for she was unquestionably his—and he would take some care with her. He would see to her comfort, as a man was meant to do, then he would let her know the way things were to be.

  But first he would see that she was steadier on her feet.

  The dining hall fireplace was lit. He had the table set with bone china, heavy silver, a pool of fragrant roses, the delicacy of slim white candles and the jewel sparkle of crystal.

  Then closing his eyes, lifting his hands palms out, he began to lay the table with the foods that would please her most.

  She was so lovely, his Kayleen. He wanted to put the bloom back in her cheeks. He wanted to hear her laugh.

  He wanted her.

  And so, that was the way things would be.

  He stepped back, studied his work with cool satisfaction. Pleased with himself, Flynn went out again to wait at the base of the stairs.

  And as she came down toward him, his heart staggered in his chest. "Speirbhean."

  Kayleen hesitated. "I'm sorry?"

  "You're beautiful. You should learn the Gaelic," he said, taking her hand and leading her out of the hall. "I'll teach you."

  "Well, thank you, but I really don't think that'll be necessary. 1 really want to thank you, too, for taking me in like this, and I wonder if I might use your phone." A little detail, Kayleen thought, that had suddenly come to her.

  "I have no telephone. Does the gown please you?"

  "No phone? Well, perhaps one of your neighbors might have one I can use."

  "I have no neighbors."

  "In the closest village," she said, as panic began to tickle her throat again.

  "There is no village. Why are you fretting, Kayleen? You're warm and dry and safe."

  "That may be, but… how do you know my name?"

  "You told me."

  "I don't remember telling you. I don't remember how I—"

  "You've no cause to worry. You'll feel better when you've eaten."

  She was beginning to think she had plenty of cause to worry. The well-being she'd felt upstairs in that lovely room was eroding quickly. But when she stepped into the dining room, she felt nothing but shock.

  The table was large enough to seat fifty, and spread over it was enough food to feed every one of them.

  Bowls and platters and tureens and plates were jammed end to end down the long oak surface. Fruit, fish, meat, soups, a garden of vegetables, an ocean of pastas.

  "Where—" Her voice rose, snapped, and had to be fought back under control. "Where did this come from?"

  He sighed. He'd expected delight and instead was given shock. Another thing a man could count on, he thought. Women were forever a puzzle.

  "Sit, please. Eat."

  Though she felt little flickers of panic, her voice was calm and firm. "I want to know where all this food came from. I want to know who else is here. Where's your wife?"

  "I have no wife."

  "Don't give me that." She spun to face him, steady enough now. And angry enough to stand and demand. "If you don't have a wife, you certainly have a woman."

  "Aye. I have you."

  "Just… stay back." She grabbed a knife from the table, aimed it at him. "Don't come near me. I don't know what's going on here, and I'm not going to care. I'm going to walk out of this place and keep walking."

  "No." He stepped forward and neatly plucked what was now a rose from her hand. "You're going to sit down and eat."

  "I'm in a coma." She stared at the white rose in his hand, at her own empty one. "I had an accident. I've hit my head. I'm hallucinating all of this."

  "All of this is real. No one knows better than I the line between what's real and what isn't. Sit down." He gestured to a chair, swore when she didn't move. "Have I said I wouldn't harm you? Among my sins has never been a lie or the harm of a woman. Here." He held out his hand, and now it held the knife. "Take this, and feel free to use it should I break my word to you."

  "You're…" The knife was solid in her hand. A trick of the eye, she told herself. Just a trick of the eye. "You're a magician."

  "I am." His grin was like lightning, fast and bright. Whereas he had been handsome, now he was devastating.

  His pleasure shone. "That is what I am, exactly. Sit down, Kayleen, and break fast with me. For I've hungered a long time."

  She took one cautious step in retreat. "It's too much."

  Thinking she meant the food, he frowned at the table. Considered. "Perhaps you're right. I got a bit carried away with it all." He scanned the selections, nodded, then sketched an arch with his hand.

  Hal
f the food vanished.

  The knife dropped out of her numb fingers. Her eyes rolled straight back.

  "Oh, Christ." It was impatience as much as concern. At least this time he had the wit to catch her before she hit the floor. He sat her in a chair, gave her a little shake, then watched her eyes focus again.

  "You didn't understand after all."

  "Understand? Understand?"

  "It'll need to be explained, then." He picked up a plate and began to fill it for her. "You need to eat or you'll be ill. Your injuries will heal faster if you're strong."

  He set the plate in front of her, began to fill one for himself. "What do you know of magic, Kayleen Brennan of Boston?"

  "It's fun to watch."

  "It can be."

  She would eat, she thought, because she did feel ill. "And it's an illusion."

  "It can be." He took the first bite—rare roast beef—and moaned in ecstasy at the taste. The first time he'd come to his week, he'd gorged himself so that he was sick a full day. And had counted it worth it. But now he'd learned to take his time, and appreciate.

  "Do you remember now how you came here?"

  "It was raining."

  "Yes, and is still."

  "I was going…"