The Mirror & The Magic

by Coral Smith Saxe

  She swallowed carefully before she replied. "I'm from New York. Actually I grew up in Illinois but I moved to New York about a year ago." "Where's Illa Noy?" Darach asked.

  "The Midwest of the United States," she told him, surprised at his ignorance. "Chicago. Lake Erie. You know."

  Darach shook his head. "Never heard of it."

  She smiled and tried to make allowances for his provincial attitude. "It's not unusual. The U.S. is such a big place, most people think that between New York and Los Angeles all there is is cactus, sagebrush, and cowboys." She caught the men exchanging glances up and down the table. "It's a common misconception. Even some Americans think that's how the country's laid out."

  "Sounds like an interestin' place," Alasdair said.

  "Not as interesting as here," she said, hoping to draw them out. "I've never seen a place so well preserved or so true to the period. Ross told me that parts of this house date back centuries."

  Ross sank lower in his seat as all eyes turned his way. He raised his shoulders apologetically.

  "Aye," Darach said, his eyes pinning Julia where she sat. "It's a braw, sturdy house. It's survived many a siege. And no prisoner has escaped it yet."

  She felt her cheeks grow hot. "You take a lot of prisoners, do you?" she retorted.

  He shook his head. "Just those foolish enough to cross us."

  "And if they don't escape, what happens to them?"

  "It depends." "That's not an answer."

  "That's all ye need to know."

  "I think I need to know a little bit more, seeing as how I'm your current prisoner-in-residence."

  "Ye'll have to wait upon the priest."

  "Oh, come now," Alasdair put in. "This is no' a very amusin' conversation. Have ye been to Edinburgh, Julia Addison?"

  She looked at him in confusion. For a moment she had been utterly taken up in the exchange with Darach, so much so that she had almost forgotten they were not alone. She recovered quickly.

  "No, I haven't. I was in Inverness, just for a few hours; then I came here. But I've heard Edinburgh is beautiful, with the castle looking over the city and all."

  "It is a fine place. Darach and I fostered there when we were younger. There's lots of amusement to be found there, eh, Darach?" Alasdair's eyes sparkled.

  "Aye, if a body wants amusin'."

  "And you don't?" Julia asked.

  "I've too much to do to go makin' merry at the slightest whim."

  She rested her chin on her fist as she looked at him. "Hmm. You know what they say: all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

  Darach merely stared at her, his eyes deepening in their intensity. "I'm no' a boy," he said slowly and evenly.

  She felt an involuntary shiver course through her. Once again she felt as if they had left the rest of the company behind and were conversing alone, in some intimate little place. She was such a pushover for that voice! And when he used those tones, she knew indeed that he was not a boy.

  "Are all the lasses sae comely in your America?" Alasdair asked, his eyes dancing.

  She gave him an embarrassed smile. "I wouldn't know," she said, flustered by his compliment.

  "Ye said ye cooked," Bruce said now, leaning in from his place at the far end of the table. "Ye work at an inn, aye?"

  "No. I work in a restaurant that my friend owns." Julia shifted in her seat. She wanted to get away from the topic of the restaurant. She could only deal with one mess at a time. "Do you like to cook?" she asked in return.

  The older man snorted. "Nay, not I. A haunch and cup are all I require."

  "Who made this?" she asked, glancing at the bowl before her.

  "I did," Darach replied.

  "You?" She couldn't keep the astonishment out of her voice.

  "Aye. We all share duties here. Is there somethin' wrong wi' the stew?"

  "No. No, not a thing." The thought crossed her mind that his plan was slowly to poison her, but she pushed the notion aside. Darach MacStruan wouldn't stoop to anything so underhanded, she sensed. If he wanted to kill someone, he'd be more likely just to snap them like a string bean.

  "Good," Darach said. "I'm glad our fare is to your likin'." He pushed himself up from the table. ''I've accounts to see to. Ye'll see the lass to her room, Bruce. Niall, ye're to take her out tomorrow, when ye can spare the time." He nodded curtly to Julia. "Good evenin'."

  He strode from the hall, his broad back straight, his plaid swinging easily. Julia looked at the others. They quickly bent their heads, intent upon finishing their meals.

  "I've an errand myself," Alasdair said apologetically. He rose and gave her a brief salute. "I hope to see ye on the morrow, Julia Addison."

  "Thank you. Good night, Alasdair."

  She watched him go and then turned her gaze to her own bowl. She closed her eyes and pushed it away. She couldn't look at it anymore.

  They finished the meal in silence. Bruce escorted her to her room and locked her in. She sat on the bed for a while, wishing she had a book to read. A good murder story would suit her mood quite well.

  She couldn't sit for long. She decided that if she was going to be confined, she'd have to work harder to stay healthy and fit. She stripped down to her undergown and did a long Yoga session, enjoying the slow stretches and deep breathing after all the tensions of the past days. She finished off and began to get ready for bed.

  There was a basin of water on the table near the window, and a cloth for washing. As she bent to splash water on her face, she caught a glimpse of her hand mirror lying next to the basin. A strange, golden light emanated from its depths. She leaned over it, scowled at her reflection, then gasped as her own face vanished, only to be replaced with the face of a woman she'd never seen before.

  "Who are you?" a sweet, liquid voice uttered from the depths of the glass.

  Julia backed away from the table.

  "Who are you?" The voice still rose from the mirror.

  She took a wild look around the room, looking for signs of hidden camera, hidden video or sound equipment. Was this another test? She saw nothing but the heavy-beamed ceiling, the whitewashed stone walls.

  "Oh, boy." She'd finally slipped her cable. They'd find her in the morning, huddled in a corner, playing with her toes.

  Still, her curiosity was aroused. She crept toward the table again. The pale glow still gilded the tabletop.

  "There you are," the voice said. "Who might you be?"

  "You first." Oh, good, Addison, she told herself. That's the ticket, talk back to your hallucinations. Keep it up and you'll be at the bottom of that old wee loch before you can say "Margaret Hamilton."

  Julia examined the face. Whoever the woman was, she was gorgeous, with exotic, delicate features framed by a cloud of red-gold hair. As hallucinations went, this was a doozy.

  "I think not." The golden glow in the mirror seemed to shiver and the image began to break up. "How did you come there?"

  "I don't know. How are you doing this?"

  " . . . I'll see . . . go back to where . . . find you . . ." The voice was fading, crackling like static on an old radio.

  "What?" Julia leaned forward. "Where are you?"

  The mirror fell silent. The glass went cloudy for a moment, then just as suddenly cleared and showed Julia the image of her own face.

  Julia backed away and sat down on the bed. "Oh, boy," she said again. What the heck was happening to her? After all the talk this morning about witchcraft, had she finally succumbed to the power of suggestion and conjured up some fantasy of talking hand mirrors?

  She shivered. The voice had seemed so real! And the woman had looked so completely therenot like some electronic image or projection.

  Besides, she told herself, when it came to conjuring up fantasies, her natural inclination would have been to dream up the image of Ralph Fiennes or Cary Grant. Not a woman ten times more beautiful than she. And Ralph and Cary would not be demanding to know who she was and how she got there.

  So what had hap
pened?

  She slipped off the bed and approached the table again. Peeking over, she saw only her plain old hand mirror sitting there, its heavy silver back the only thing that bore even a faint glow. In the glass she saw the image of her own face, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. She moved back with a shaky sigh of relief.

  She really had to get away from this place.

  At midday of the following day Niall came to Julia's room and escorted her out, his big hand at her elbow, his sword and knife ominously present. Julia wasn't thrilled with the circumstances, but she was again relieved to be out-of-doors and glad to be doing something other than sitting in her room, avoiding her hand mirror.

  They strolled on the green in a delicate mist. The scents that floated to Julia's nostrils seemed especially clear.

  "Nice day," she commented, at a loss as to how to address her guardian.

  "Aye."

  "Does it rain as much as they say it does here?" She was talking about the weather. Her brain truly was turning to mush.

  He shrugged.

  She was getting annoyed now, with herself and with these men. She decided she'd draw them out, and damn the consequences. She'd go bats if she didn't have a conversation of some sort soon.

  "I always think of Chariots of Fire when I think of Scotland," she said. "Have you ever seen it?"

  He gave her a quizzical look, then shook his head.

  "Oh, it's a great film. It won the Academy Award for Best Picture, you know."

  "Best Picture?"

  "Yes. It was the story of two runners who were competing in the Olympics. One of them was from ScotlandEric Liddle? I thought he was famous."

  "Never heard o' the fella."

  "Well, he was from up here, I guess. And he was this terrific soccer player who could run like the wind. Only when it came time for him to run in the Olympic Games, he found out his race was on a Sunday and he wouldn't compete for a prize on the Sabbath."

  He seemed to think this over. "Runnin' races is good. He's a Scot, ye say?"

  "He was. He's dead now."

  "Hmm. Sad, that. A good runner is a valuable man."

  "Do you run?"

  "Aye." His chest expanded slightly with pride. "I can still keep apace wi' our Tommy."

  They walked around and around the green, talking. Niall described the various races and games the men enjoyed and pointed out hills where they'd competed in the rare air of the Highlands. Julia was fascinated. He had seemed such a stiff, solemn person, but when he talked his face came alight and he strode about with ease and even made a joke or two.

  She was making progress.

  Over the course of the next two weeks, she got to know each of the men by turns. At first they were all standoffish and fearful. But she kept asking them questions and commenting on their way of life, and slowly, slowly, they came around to being civil, in some cases, and downright cordial in others.

  There was Niall, ever the soldier, who lived for a challenge. Tommy was a typical teenager, never totally sure of himself, but interested in everything all at once, believing he was going to live forever and taste it all. Ross was a quiet one, but Julia drew again on her love of movies and her love of food to engage him.

  "And so this Babette, who cooked the fine feast, was really the finest cook in all o' Paris?" he asked, enthralled.

  "Yes. And she had given all those people who had cared for her the best night of their lives."

  "A fine thing," he murmured. "Fine."

  Gordon was as stoic as Niall and Julia had the most difficult time drawing him out. The best she could do was chitchat. He seemed to be the one most suspicious of her. That walk was her most difficult.

  Liam supplied his own conversation. In his case, she did the listening while he chatted on and on about geography, religion, law, philosophy, and anything else that he'd read about. She was astonished at the mass of medieval lore he'd accumulated. Dugan was not into conversation at all, she decided. But he was an excellent listener. And to her delight he took her around the village, introducing her to all the animals they kept. She got to meet the cow that lived in his house, although, she soon learned, the animal actually lived in a stable built as an addition to his house, not exactly inside it. But she had her own window, so she could see out, he'd pointed out proudly.

  The Bruce was perhaps the most pleasant companion of all. He took her arm with sweeping gestures and conducted her about as if they strolled in a royal procession, rather than a large patch of grass variously inhabited by sheep, fowl, and gamboling hounds. He spoke freely of the clan and the days when he was young in these hills.

  "I never walked but I could run," he told her. "And the world was mine to command. Still is, o' course."

  "Did you know Darach's parents?" Julia asked.

  "Oh, aye. Alec MacStruan, there was a man. He could fight all day and dance all night, in his prime. All who knew him knew he was fair and firm wi' every man. And he did well by his sons. Darach was at his side for aye his whole youth, right up until he was fostered to the earl's house in Edinburgh. He might no' have shown it well or often, but he was that fond o' the lad." He chuckled. "Alec feared the boy'd come home in shame, he was sae full of the devil. But our Darach's made his da proud, God rest the man."

  "And Alasdair?"

  "Oh, there's a one. Wild as his brothair, and just as well loved. But more the one for pranks and jokes, is our Alasdair. And he's no' sae firm on his feet as Darach."

  "What does that mean?"

  The lordly old man thought for a moment. "He's aye restless, that one. He's here one moment and gone the next, like a bird that's seekin' his ain nest in the hills. Wanderin' one, I call him. And I pray it doesna lead to trouble." He gave her a shrewd look. "He's a one wi' the lassies, too, if ye hadn't noticed."

  She grinned. "I have."

  He patted her hand where it lay on his arm. "Guard yer heart, then, lass. He's a good man but he's still seekin' his ain way."

  "I'll keep that in mind." She paused. "And what about Darach?"

  "Darach? Now there's a complication, to be sure. He's the chief, lass, and his affairs are all bound up in clan. His feet are well rooted in MacStruan land. But . . ."

  "But what?"

  He frowned. "I'm no' sure the lad has the heart to spare."

  She had wanted to ask him more but Liam interrupted them and their time was at an end. Still, she had much to ponder in her room each afternoon, after her walks with the seven lairds.

  "But how can I possibly use all this to get out of here?" she asked the walls softly.

  Edana paced about her chamber. The vision she'd seen in the mirror-basin the other evening had been so disturbing that she'd come close to throwing the bowl at the wall.

  Who was that woman? And why, when she had cast her vision toward Darach MacStruan, had the woman's face appeared instead? Only another mirror-basin, or some very powerful magic, could intervene against her own spell and throw off her vision. There was some mischief at work. But who would dare to interfere with her magic? Who would possess such power? Moreover, there were no women in Darach's house, or even his village. Not of late, anyway. No one knew where the MacStruan women had gone, but Edana couldn't have cared less about them. She didn't want any women around her Darach. Around her love.

  She pondered her options. She could steal to the MacStruan village somehow and see for herself. She could send one of Craigen's men. One or two of them could be trusted with her secrets. Or perhaps she could send the girl?

  She shook her head. No, the girl was for Craigen. And she was to be Edana's masterstroke in her plan to acquire Darach, the MacStruans, and the Moreston wealth. If anything were to happen to the little chit, Craigen might refuse to marry her, in which case she would be forced to look for another girl that not only suited his fancy but who could be bent to Edana's will.

  No, it was best that she work her wiles from here, to learn more about this woman who had so intruded upon her own territory. Secrecy and sol
itude were always best for these matters.

  Maybe the image had been a mere accident, she thought, a trick of the wind as she'd cast her spell into the mirror-basin. Perhaps the woman wasn't in Darach's house at all. A thought stopped her cold in her pacing. Could this other woman be a witch as well? Was that how she had been able to see her in the basin?

  She'd have to find out. She cursed the provisional magic that only allowed her to use the mirror-basin once between sunrise and sunrise. She'd already used it once today and all she'd seen was the image of the Servant, reassuring her of her power and charm. She'd try again as soon as evening fell on the morrow.

  She'd never permit anyone to steal her Darach. She'd been waiting too patiently. She'd been working too hard. She'd laid the ground for his weakening. Before long he'd be ripe for conquest. Ready for her embrace.

  And anyone who got in her way would rue the day her mother first conceived her.

  Humming and smiling, she sat down at her dressing table and began to brush her luxuriant, coiling hair.

  Chapter Seven

  After her outing with the amiable Bruce, having Darach as her escort was a major change for Julia. He arrived at her door at the appointed time, ready to lead her outside, but the set of his jaw and the darkness of his eyes told her he didn't relish this obligation.

  She went with him quietly. The wind was up outdoors and she was glad of the tartan shawl and scratchy but oh, so warm leggings she'd found in the clothing chest. The clouds lowering overhead looked as sullen as Darach's countenance.

  She was tempted to say it was all right and that he could take her back to her room. But something in her rebelled. She wasn't going to let him intimidate her. She needed to be outside and to experience some small measure of freedom and fresh air. The other lairds had all taken their turn and they'd survived. He could, too.

  They strolled about the green in silence, the wind whipping at their clothes and tossing their hair. Julia was feeling too stubborn to try to engage him in conversation, as she had the others. Let him start it if he wanted to talk, she thought, tugging at her shawl.

  ''Are ye cauld? Would ye prefer to be indoors?"