“I will not love you, Chimera,” he warned.
“Yes, you—”
“No—”
“Sterling,” she squeaked, tears appearing suddenly, “say that you might.”
He felt as if he’d been punched in the gut. He’d seen many, many women cry over him, but their tears had never affected him in the least. As he watched Chimera’s trickle down her cheeks, he realized why they touched him so.
They were real. There was no pretense about the girl who stood weeping before him. She was as open and honest as water was wet. He’d accused her of feminine trickery many times, but he’d been wrong every time. Chimera didn’t even know what manipulation was.
How he wished she really did love him. How he wished he’d never made love to her tonight. Maybe then...perhaps he’d have stood some slight chance of knowing what real love was like. What unconditional love was like.
“Chimera, don’t cry.” His fingers shaking, he touched her wet cheek.
“But I have to,” she sobbed, and laid her head on his shoulder. “Because you see, Sterling, this is the first time in my life I’ve ever felt so sad. I felt bad when Xenia died, of course, but at least she’d lived a long, happy life, and I knew she’d gone to live another one in the great beyond. But this! Sterling, I feel sure crying is what I’m supposed to do.”
She sniffled. “Not that I always do what I’m supposed to do, but in this instance, tears seem just the right thing. I couldn’t bear for you to leave, Sterling. I have to make you love me . Can’t you see that? I have to try. Not doing so would certainly brand me a coward, and—”
“A coward?” Unconsciously, he put his arms around her. He didn’t realize he had until he saw his hands disappear in her hair.
“Yes, a coward,” she said softly. “‘To persevere, trusting in what hopes he has, is courage in man. The coward despairs.’ Euripides. Being a coward is the worst thing a human being can be, Sterling. Well, maybe it’s the second worst thing. The first is probably being a murderer or something equally horrible. So you see, Sterling, I have to try.”
His tired mind tried to unravel the twisted explanation she’d given him with no success.
“You do agree with me, don’t you, Sterling? You do think trying is the only possible course I can take, don’t you?”
“I—Chimera, I can’t even remember what it was you wanted to try to—”
“You see, your approval will make my attempts all the easier. So if you’ll just give it to me, I’ll appreciate it more than I could ever tell you. And I don’t have much time at all. Will you give it to me now, please?”
“Chimera, I—” He broke off, his thoughts so mangled he gave up trying to sort through them.
“Sterling—”
“Yes,” he consented quickly. “Yes, try.”
Smiling, Chimera looped her arm through his and walked to the cabin with him. Sterling heard her soft humming and wondered what the hell she was so damn happy about.
He wondered as he watched her sashay to her bedroom. He wondered as he lay down in his pallet. And he was still wondering when sleep finally closed his eyes.
Chapter Ten
“Damn, it’s hot today,” Sterling said as he sauntered up to the caldron Chimera was tending.
A little over a week had passed since their passionate encounter at the creek, and it had taken almost that long for him to remember what she’d been so happy about that night. But he’d seen no evidence that she’d even begun her attempts to make him love her. It was his experience that women played the game of love by flirting outrageously with him. Chimera hadn’t done that; she was acting the same now as she always had. Perhaps, he mused, she’d given up before even starting. Maybe she’d realized she stood no chance of succeeding. She knew he was leaving before long, that she had very little time, and it was more than likely she’d accepted the inevitable.
She still wanted him; he could see that every time she fixed her huge brandy eyes on him. But she’d made no sexual advances toward him, and hadn’t tried to get him to make any toward her either. Maybe she was too shy. Or perhaps she instinctively understood he would refuse. Of course, he too straggled with desire. Even now, as he stared at the enticing way Chimera’s blouse clung to her full breasts, it was all he could do not to take her into his arms.
But it was best this way, he knew. Their abstinence from lovemaking took the pressure off and made things seem more the way they were before the cursed magic had ruined everything.
He leaned against the sturdy fence post he’d fixed and folded his arms across his bare chest. “What kind of potion are you making?”
“Potion?” she asked, her eyes wide. Sweet heaven, she had to think of some way to get him away from the caldron. “Uh, Sterling, why don’t you do something about that pile of dead branches you piled up over there? You promised to do it.”
Sterling glanced at the high stack. “I’ll get around to it. Sometime.” He removed his kerchief and wiped the back of his perspiring neck with it. He’d been cutting trees down all morning, all the while watching Chimera scurry hither and yon. She’d been to the cabin, the woods, to the creek and the garden, each trip ending back at the caldron, where she’d thrown in pinches of whatever the hell she’d been collecting since dawn. “Are you making a potion?”
She watched him smooth the kerchief down his throat and across his wet chest. It was soaked with sweat. His sweat, she thought excitedly. The kerchief would be perfect. Exactly what she needed. But how could she get him to relinquish it? “Potion? Uh...well, actually, this is really only a bit of—of yawn tonic. I—I yawned seven times in a row this morning, and of course, as everyone knows, seven yawns mean misfortune—Uh...‘Why doth one man’s yawning make another yawn?’ Robert Burton asked that. I’ve no answer, but I do know yawns are contagious. I’d feel just terrible giving this yawning ailment of mine to you and the children.”
“Yawn tonic, you say.” He bent his head and snickered. “If you yawn a lot, you’re tired. Why don’t you just take a nap instead of swallowing that obnoxious mess? It smells awful and probably tastes worse. What’s in it anyway?”
“In it? Um...lots of things are in it. Would you like me to wash your kerchief for you?” She yanked it out of his hand before he could answer. “It’s sopping wet and will stink to high heaven if I don’t get it clean. It is written: ‘Let it be observed, that slovenliness is no part of religion; that neither this nor any text of Scripture, condemns nearness of apparel. Certainly this is a duty, not a sin. Cleanliness is, indeed, next to godliness.’ John Wesley. What a clean man Mr. Wesley must have been.”
Sterling watched as she hurried into the cabin. Yawn tonic. A clean and godly kerchief. He shook his head and returned to his work.
“Boys, wash the dishes,” Chimera ordered. She rose from her place at the table and whisked into her bedroom, leaving the children and Sterling to stare after her.
“She’s been actin’ strange all day,” Snig grumbled, and took his dirty plate to the tub of water. “Runnin’ all around and not talkin’ to nobody.”
“Not talking to anyone,” Sterling corrected him. “She yawned seven unfortunate tunes. Said something about a yawning ailment, bad luck, and being contagious, My guess is she went to bed.” He chuckled and set about helping the boys with the dishes. When the work was done, he sent the children to their room and settled back into his chair to study the new cabin plans he’d drawn up.
Chimera chanced a peek around the door, and when she saw how intently he was concentrating on his papers, she hurried back to her bedroom. Careful not to wake Venus, she lifted the lid from the trunk at the foot of her bed and withdrew a glass bottle.
Love potion. She’d worked on it all afternoon. “Yawn tonic,” she whispered, and laughed when she remembered how quickly Sterling had believed her fib. “Whoever heard of yawn tonic?” She went to the window and set the flask on the sill. Withdrawing the potion recipe from her pocket, she reread it to be sure she hadn’t lef
t anything out.
Willow leaf. She hadn’t found any willow trees and hoped the juniper leaf she’d substituted would work instead. Oil of peppermint. She hadn’t had any of that either, but surely cod liver oil would do the trick. Oil was oil, wasn’t it? Salt from the Dead Sea. She sighed. The only way she’d be able to make it to the Dead Sea was if she flew on a broomstick. She had a broomstick that was supposed to fly, but it didn’t. It swept nicely, though. Someday she’d make one that could really fly to the Dead Sea. But for now, plain old table salt would have to do. Well, who was to say it hadn’t come from the Dead Sea anyway? Sagebrush, one potato eye, an owl feather, and a two-foot-long horse hair. At least she’d found all things, she mused, smiling when she recalled how Gus had jumped when she’d pulled out one of his tail hairs.
And as for something belonging to Sterling...the spell said it had to be a personal and private possession. Sweat was certainly that. Sterling’s sweat could belong to none other than him. She’d boiled his sweat-soaked kerchief in with the rest of the potion when he wasn’t watching.
“And now something of mine.” She thought about pulling out one of her own hairs, but decided against it. There was already a two-foot-long horse hair in the bottle. Too much hair might make Sterling choke. She pinched out an eyelash instead. Carefully uncorking the bottle, she dropped the lash inside, closed the flask again, and held it to the moonlight. The incantation had to be chanted while the moon was bestowing its magical properties into the elixir.
She took a deep breath, steadied her shaking fingers, and stared at the moon, soon finding the benevolent smile she sought within the craters and shadows in its white face. “I want him to look at me with profound emotion flowing from his eyes,” she told the bright crescent. “When he touches me, I want it to be a caress of adoration. I want to hear soft words of devotion spill from his lips before those same lips claim mine in a kiss of the deepest love possible between a man and a woman.”
She smiled. One taste of the potion, and Sterling would be hers forever. After just one sip, he’d fall to his knees, begging for her love, and she would give it all to him, freely and for a lifetime.
She held the bottle higher and felt a shivery thrill race through her. Closing her eyes, she brought Sterling’s image to her mind, where it had to remain until she’d finished chanting the incantation. “God of love, archer called Cupid...” Golly darn, how did the rest of it go? The words eluded her. And the book of witchcraft was in the great room. If she went for it, Sterling would see how nervous she was and ask her what she was up to. Her anxiety would make him suspicious. He’d find out about the potion and refuse to drink it.
Her shoulders slumped. She’d just have to invent the rest of the incantation. She had no other choice. Straightening to her full height, she summoned her confidence and began once more.
“God of love, archer called Cupid. Make Sterling mine...” What rhymed with Cupid? Her shoulders slumped again. Stupid. Stupid rhymed with Cupid, but stupid sure didn’t fit in well with a love spell. Still, it was the only word she had, and if she didn’t hurry up, the potion would grow stale and useless.
“God of love, archer called Cupid. Make Sterling mine—or your arrows are stupid.”
She sighed. What a ridiculous spell. If Sterling had heard it, he’d have had every right to laugh. But ridiculous or not, it would work.
It had to work.
Gathering her courage, she walked to the door, but then remembered the honey. The potion tasted as awful as Sterling had guessed it would. Honey would sweeten it, and he’d think he was drinking some kind of soothing bedtime tea. She went to the bed, knelt, and pulled out the bowl that held the honeycomb she’d found earlier. She suffered four bee stings because of it, but what were a few bee stings compared to a lifetime of bliss with Sterling?
A generous amount of honey added to the potion, she went to the great room, the flask in her pocket. “Thank you for washing the dishes,” she said, and went to a shelf. Concealing her actions from him, she got two cups down and poured the potion into them both. She’d only pretend to drink hers, and, hopefully, Sterling would consume all of his.
“I thought you were asleep,” he said.
“I came out here for a bit of tea. Here,” she said, and walked to him, one cup held out before her. “Join me.”
He accepted it, but put it on the table. “I’ve finished the cabin plans. The new one will have sleeping lofts.”
“A two-floored cabin. How nice. Drink your tea.”
“Yes, two floors. I’ve even planned a separate room for your books. A library. Would you like that?”
“What? Oh, yes. A library. Splendid idea. Splendid tea, too. Why don’t you taste it?”
He picked up the cup and leaned back in his chair. “You don’t sound very excited. I expected some shouts of glee. Some acrobatic flips across the floor. A little jig at the very least. Perhaps you could manage a smile of appreciation?”
She grinned immediately and chastised herself for acting so strangely. “I’m thrilled to death with it all, Sterling. So thrilled that I’m having a hard time believing it’s really true. Imagine,” she said, and sat down beside him, “a two-story cabin. With a library no less! Of course, I could use the library as a tearoom too, don’t you think? I mean, I like tea. Sipping it slowly...it’s so relaxing.” She lifted her cup to her mouth, rolling her eyes in exaggerated pleasure at the taste that never reached her tongue.
He smiled broadly. What a funny bit of female she was, wanting a tea parlor in the middle of these primitive mountains, he mused. He took a long swallow of his tea.
Chimera’s eyes widened when he grimaced and shuddered. “Don’t you...like it?” She set her cup down and waited for him to fall at her feet in adoration as he would surely do in just seconds.
Sterling looked down into his cup and shuddered again. “What kind of tea is this? It tastes like—like fish! Is this fish tea?”
She remembered the cod liver oil. Perhaps she’d used too much. Her eyes widened further in lily-white innocence, she hoped. “Fish?”
“And salt. Fish...salt...what else is in this tea. Chimera? Is this Athena’s tinkle? Is this some sort of magic potion? Is this—” He stopped abruptly. Opening his mouth, he pulled out a two-toot-long hair. “What the hell is—” Again, he broke off. His lips itched. They itched terribly.
The inside of his mouth itched. He could feel his tongue swelling. He itched all the way down to his stomach. The skin on his belly felt strange. His arms, chest, and back...his entire body was beginning to itch.
“Dios mio, Chimera, did you put honey in this damn brew of yours?” he demanded. He stood, yanked his shirt up, and saw the spreading pink blotches.
“Honey?” She watched in horror as the skin on his belly and chest reddened before her very eyes.
He jerked his shirt down and rubbed his arms viciously before reaching down to dig at his legs. “I can’t eat honey, dammit! It gives me hives!”
“Hives?”
“Stop repeating every damn word I say!” She flew from her chair. “St-Sterling,” she squeaked. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know! But surely the hives will go away. I have some salve that—”
“If you bring any more of your damn concoctions within an inch of me, I’ll—”
“Do you feel anything other than itches?” she asked anxiously. “Any sort of deep need to throw yourself at my feet?”
He clawed at the itch on his neck. “The only sort of deep need I feel right now is the one to wrap my fingers around your delicate throat! Water. Cold water. I’ve got to get to the stream!” He stormed to the door. “Honey. Of all the—”
The rest of what he said was lost in the slam of the door. Chimera collapsed into her chair and looked into her cup.
“Sweet heaven above,” she whispered. “Instead of giving him undying love, I’ve given the poor man hives.”
Chapter Eleven
“Sterling,” Chimera whispered in the darkness of her bedroom
, her fingers caressing the pillow she wished was him. It had to be after three in the morning, she thought restlessly. She’d finished sewing the last of the breeches and shirts she’d made for Sterling, counted the stars, and talked to Xenia’s spirit as she often did when anxious or confused. But sleep eluded her.
A month had passed since the catastrophe with the love potion. A month of wanting him, aching for him, of longing for the love she had no idea how to make him feel for her.
He wasn’t cold; nor was he indifferent. He still teased and chatted with her. He’d even opened up enough to tell her about his years at the orphanage. While she helped him with the barn, he’d made her laugh often at the pranks and mischief he’d been guilty of while growing to manhood.
“He’s so wonderful with the children, Xenia,” she whispered, looking at the star-spattered sky. “They defy him every chance they get, and any other man would have given up on them long ago. But Sterling...Xenia, he’s like a father to them. His discipline is tempered with affection, and he guards them as if they were his own. He’s almost finished the barn and the garden. The plants are already bigger thanks to his care.”
She hadn’t believed it was possible that her love for him could grow. But it had. In one month it had become so strong, it almost hurt. Sterling had all the wonderful qualities she could think of: tender of heart, but strong too; kind, but with just the right pinch of sarcasm to spice up his sweetness. He always seemed to know when and how to go about whatever needed his attention.
She sighed, rose, and walked to the window. Opening it she breathed deeply the fresh night air. “I only wish he would give me a different kind of attention. He treats me like a big brother would a little sister. Xenia, what happened to the magic, the fire of passion? What have I done to douse it? I yearn for him constantly. He’s everything to me.”
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