The Mirror & The Magic

by Coral Smith Saxe

  "Ye're exceptional. And we dunna know if ye're dangerous."

  "You can't still be hanging on to that witchcraft nonsense!" she exclaimed. "You don't really believe I'm a witch."

  "I don't?"

  "No, I don't think you do. For one thing, you didn't ask me to use my witchcraft on that calf today. It I'm so powerful, couldn't I have healed him or made his mother well again? Or produced a bottle of milk out of a hat?"

  "Perhaps I believe that your powers are all for evil and no' for good."

  "I still don't believe it. You're too sensible and straight to believe in that stuff. You may believe I'm a spy but I don't for a minute think you believe I'm a witch."

  "Ah, so ye know me well?"

  "I know your type."

  "I see."

  A flash of light showed her his face. He was leaning close to her and she caught the glint in his eyes.

  She swallowed. He was too close. And when she looked into those eyes, even for that brief second, she felt that he saw into her as no one else ever had. She shifted and brushed at her wet clothes.

  "How long do you think the storm will last?" she asked, at a loss to say anything else.

  "It may let up soon. It may go on all night. Either way, night's fallen and we canna start for home till mornin'."

  "So I guess we'd better just get some sleep." She squinted into the darkness, hoping to spy some sort of a cot or a blanket.

  "Right." She heard movement beside her and suddenly a damp strip of leather was being wrapped about her wrist. "What are you doing?" she cried, indignant.

  "Makin's sure I get a good night's sleep."

  Chapter Eight

  She felt his big hand near hers and knew he had lashed the other end of the strap to his own wrist. He'd bound her to him.

  "You can't do this!"

  "I just have."

  "Untie me right now or I'll scream the roof down!"

  "As ye wish. No one can hear ye way out here."

  "This is outrageous!"

  "I can live wi' that."

  "Why, you smug, sneering"

  "Ye might as well save your breath, lass. I've heard them all."

  She felt a tug on her wrist as he lay down. She refused to be pulled down with him. His hand lay on her thigh, heavy and warm. "Good night, Julia Addison," he said, yawning. "Ye may sleep sittin' up if ye prefer, but I'd no' recommend it."

  "I'm fine where I am."

  "Suit yerself."

  She blinked into the darkness. The lightning and thunder were passing but the rain beat just as heavily on the roof overhead. It was going to be a long night.

  She managed to get the shawl wrapped around her, but not without dragging Darach's hand wherever hers went. He was very obliging and didn't resist. She felt hot with anger and embarrassment as his knuckles brushed first her cheek, then her breast as she struggled with the damp wool. At last she had it wrapped around her shoulders, where it settled in soggy folds. She pushed his hand off her thigh so that both their hands rested at her side.

  She sat, chilly and cross, listening to Darach's breathing in the ink-black space beside her. He was absolutely the most impossible man she'd ever met, she fumed. Suspicious. Stubborn. Arrogant. High-handed. It would serve him right if she did escape tonight. If she was fancy, if she was a witch, and a spy, then she's show him just how tricky she could be.

  She waited more than an hour, she guessed, for his breathing to quiet and slow into the rhythms of sleep. When she was sure he was well and truly out, she leaned forward an inch at a time, her own breath held. She slid her free hand down her bound arm until her fingers touched the strap. She waited to see if Darach would wake, but he made no sound or movement.

  She wriggled one finger under the strap. It might be loose enough to pull her hand free, if she could contract her hand in tightly. She leaned sideways to get a better angle on the task.

  All at once she was jerked over. She came down with a thump on Darach's broad chest, one of his long arms and one strong leg wrapped about her, pinning her to him.

  His voice murmured against her ear. "Were ye thinkin' to answer the call o' nature, lass? If that, would ye look in on the horse before ye come back?" His arm tightened but his voice kept that same husky drawl. "Or were ye thinkin' o' makin' yer escape while I was off my guard?"

  "You're never off your guard," she snarled. She pushed against him, trying to raise herself up. "Let go of me, you big troll!"

  "I dunna think I will."

  She stopped struggling, suddenly aware of the grip of his arm and the strength of his thigh pressed over hers. She caught her breath, taking in with it the spicy scent of him. He felt as solid as the floor beneath her but oh, so much warmer and more comfortable. Even with their damp clothes between them, she knew that his skin would be as pleasing as a fire in winter.

  An odd, liquid feeling came over her as his warmth began to seep into her breasts and hips where they lay in such intimate contact with his body. She felt herself relaxing within his hold, her tensions of the long, stressful day flowing from her. She moved slightly against him, settling.

  She felt his fingers toying with her hair. Good God, she thought with a jolt. What on earth was she doing? She was practically asleep on top of him. She thrashed out and broke free of his hold, rolling to the cold floor with a thump.

  He tugged on the bond. "Ye have the right of it, Julia Addison; I'm always on my guard."

  She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut. The man was insufferable.

  She rolled up into her shawl and her gown as best she could with one hand hampered, and closed her eyes. She willed herself to concentrate on the sounds of the rain overhead. She counted the steady dripping off the eave just outside the window. At long last her body settled down, and her temper smoothed out. She drifted off, with a smile for the little calf and its new foster mother.

  So he was only a semilunkhead.

  He must be as mad as a March hare, Darach thought to himself. Lashing himself to her. He could just as easily have tied her to something else in the place. He could have slept outside with his horse. He could have done anything else but go out alone with Julia Addison. He'd let her goad him into taking her out here. He'd thought the venture would bore her and that she'd shrink from the very idea of getting near a cow. But they'd come upon the calf and its dead mother, and she'd goaded him again to jump in with her and take the calf to another heifer. And she'd acted not the least bit squeamish but rather seemed to have the time of her life.

  The calf had done him in. Julia may not have known it, but her pleas to save it had touched off emotions he hadn't realized he possessed. Most of all, the sight of the little body in his arms, shivering and close to death, and Julia's pleading eyes, had roused him to such anger that he had had no choice but to accede to her wishes.

  He'd seen too much death, lying in his arms just as the calf had lain. Those other times there could be no second chance, and as he recalled them, the anger and pain had bubbled up like a hot spring inside him, prodding him to listen to the woman before him and take the calf away.

  Julia Addison had gone with him every step of the way. She'd even mooed at the creature, unafraid to make a fool of herself if it meant saving the animal's life. She'd cheered their victory and given him such a joyous smile when the calf began to nurse that his head had spun.

  He shifted where he lay and felt the lash that connected the two of them. What was it about this one wee lass that so unnerved him? She was as confusing as strong spirits to his mind and body. One minute she was the sweetest maid, all dainty and fine. The next minute she was a hoyden, tramping about in those trews of hers, mixing in with his men. Then she was as tenderhearted as a dove, cooing to a sickling calf. But before he could grow accustomed to that side of her, she was off again, contrary and contentious, fighting him at every turn.

  And worst of all, her slim little body, with her black waves of hair tumbling from her braid, and her glimmering pale complexionall of her, in sh
ortbid fair to destroy him with desire. When he had held her tonight, he had felt her soften, for a brief moment. And in that moment he had glimpsed paradise.

  Och, ye sound like a lovesick pup. The woman was dangerous. And she made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. A troll, she'd called him.

  ''Bah," he whispered. So he'd made a mistake in riding out with her. So he'd made a mistake in tying her to him. No harm had been done. He would be more cautious in the future. He'd keep his peace of mind by leaving Julia Addison strictly alone.

  He could do that. He could.

  And for his next feat, he'd sprout wings and fly.

  They rose early the next morning. Neither of them spoke much and Julia had only glared at him when he untied the strap that had held her by his side all night.

  They rode home in the mists and damp of the morning, Julia riding behind once more. Darach had handed her over to Ross, who was trying hard to look disinterested at their long absence together, but who failed miserably. Julia ignored him and went straight to her room to wash and change and dry off.

  Dinner that night was Glue Stew, as Julia had begun to call the omnipresent entree. Breakfast the following morning brought a new dish, some dreadful concoction of oats and eggs. For the midday meal: more stew. She couldn't face another bite of the repellent specialite de la maison, and at dinner made do with the bread and ale provided. The men around her ate hungrily. She knew that they'd all been up since sunrise, working in the rare air of the Highlands, but really, she thought, their tastebuds must be dead to the world.

  That evening she turned to Darach, who seemed preoccupied and hadn't touched much of his meal, either. She wondered if this would be a good time to broach the subject of her release, with the men all sitting about, listening in.

  She'd thought of nothing else since their return from the hills. And while part of her was still intrigued by the images and sensations of that night in the hut, she felt more strongly than ever that she needed to get away, back to her own life.

  "Darach," she began. The sound of a chair scraping back cut her off.

  Gordon staggered out of his chair, his face a bleached white, the area around his mouth a pale green. He clutched his stomach with one arm as sweat broke out on his forehead.

  "I'm" he gasped. His body twitched and he made a retching sound, but nothing came out. His eyes went wide with terror.

  Julia was on her feet in an instant. She ran around the table and grabbed Gordon about the waist. With a quick motion, she applied the Heimlich maneuver to the choking man. A bit of the meat from the stew flew out of his mouth and he sucked in air like a giant vacuum. Then he leaned over and was sick all over his boots.

  "Oh, boy," Julia exclaimed. "Dugan, help me, please. Ross, will you clear off a space on the table? I want him to lie down."

  "Should I ride for a leech, Darach?" Ross asked. "What shall I say is wrong wi' him?"

  "I know exactly what's wrong with him," Julia said crisply.

  "A fit, aye, wee Julia?" Tommy wrung his hands.

  "No. Good old-fashioned indigestion."

  "What's that?" Dugan asked.

  "At least I hope that's what it is," she went on, "and not salmonella or some other type of food poisoning."

  "Poisoning?" Darach's eyes narrowed. "There's no one here who could have tampered wi' his victuals."

  Julia motioned for Dugan to lift the moaning Gordon up onto the table. Tommy and Niall hurried to move more of the plates and cups aside. "I didn't say anyone tampered with anything," she said, loosening Gordon's shirt collar some more. "Tommy, get me a pillow or something to lay beneath his head."

  "A pillow?" He looked anxiously at Darach.

  "It's all right, lad. There's a pillow in the chest in my chamber." Darach leaned over Gordon as Tommy hurried away to the stairs. "You say his food was poisoned and yet you say no person tampered with the food," he said in a low growl to Julia. "What kind of riddling nonsense is that?"

  "I said he had food poisoning. Or maybe simple indigestion," Julia said, wringing out a rag in the pitcher of water. She placed the cool cloth on Gordon's brow. "It's not like someone put poison in your food. It's more like your food was poison to begin with." She patted Gordon's hand and held on as he seized up in another cramp. When his spasm had passed, she said, "Something in the stew tonight was spoiled. His body can't digest it. He's going to have cramps and diarrhea and possibly vomiting for a while until his body gets rid of everything he ate."

  Darach squinted at his kinsman, pale and sweating before them. "He'll no' die of this?"

  The gruffness of his voice caught Julia's attention. She looked up and saw the concern in his eyes. "No," she said softly. "I highly doubt it. But he's going to be pretty miserableWhoops!"

  Niall doubled over and staggered to the wall, one arm clasped around his waist. He looked about wildly for a basin. Ross handed him a bowl.

  "Him, too?" Darach looked away as Niall lost his supper.

  "That would be my guess. So that pretty much proves my theory. It's not indigestion, but tainted food. Gordon probably tried to throw up and choked on some of the meat." She put her hands on her hips. "I tasted the stew, but I didn't eat any. It smelled off to me but I thought maybe that was how you liked it around here." She faced him squarely. "I caught a glimpse of your kitchen, too, when I came down to breakfast this morning. No sink, no indoor plumbing, no air circulation except up the chimney. It's practically a Club Med for E. coli."

  "A what?"

  "Oh, please. Don't tell me you don't even know the basics about germs and bacteria and sanitary practices?"

  He scowled. "Perhaps I'm no' as learned as you, but I do know how to cook a stew. I know my way about a kitchen. I've taken care ofAh, hell, here's another," he said as Tommy staggered in with the pillow, gray-faced and sweat-sheened.

  "Thanks, Tom," Julia said, tucking the pillow under Gordon's head. "You and Niall go sit down before you fall down. Your Highness?" she called to Bruce, who sat watching the proceedings with concern and some amusement. "Could you and Ross make up some beds here in the hall? These men will need tending all night and they might as well be all together." She put her hands on her hips and looked around. "We'll need chamber pots and basins. Clean rags and several buckets of water. Also, someone go get me a fresh, fat hen and bring her to the kitchen."

  "A chicken?" Darach asked. "What are you planning, woman? This is no' some heathenish sacrifice?"

  She shook her head. "You're so suspicious. Yes, I'm planning to sacrifice a chicken to the gods of gastrointestinal peace and harmony. Maybe they'll help me out by turning the creature into good, plain chicken broth. Would that be too heathenish for you?"

  He seemed about to retort, then shrugged. "I'll gae and fetch her."

  She turned back to Gordon and began the process of nursing a majority of lairds through the long, smelly, groan-punctuated night. She left Dugan in charge of seeing the men into their bedsthe big fella indeed had an iron-clad gut, she thoughtand took Ross with her to the kitchen. Darach stood waiting there, a fine, rust-red hen cackling and squawking in his hands.

  "Good, you haven't killed her yet," Julia said. "Okay." She rolled up her sleeves. "Ross, you can start by getting out the biggest pot you have. Start heating water in that. Then get out your next-largest pot and heat some more. The big one will be for cleaning up this sty and the other for cooking this critter." She grinned at Darach. "Do you know how this is done?"

  He nodded. "But ye would hae been turned down if it were any later in the day. Killin' a fowl after evenin' prayers brings ill luck and hunger to a house."

  She smacked her forehead with her palm. "Oh my gosh, I had forgotten all about the fowl-killing-after-prayers thing. Good thing Gordon upchucked early on, eh?" She smiled, softening her sarcastic tone. "I think the ill luck has already hit, don't you? I think I can help turn it around with the aid of some good old-fashioned chicken soup."

  He gave her a wary look but nodded his assent.


  She had to give him credit, she thought to herself hours later. He didn't flag for a moment. He killed, dressed, and plucked the fowl, and watched her every movement as she readied it for the pot. He went the rounds with her as she tended the men, and while he grimaced at some of the tasks she set him to, he did them without complaint, and added words of gruff encouragement to his stricken men. He never left her side.

  It wasn't until she returned to the kitchen to tend the slowly cooking broth that she realized what he was doing. "Damn it!" she exclaimed, spinning about to face him as he went to place the dirty dishes in the washbasin. "You're tailing me!"

  Chapter Nine

  Darach turned slowly and gave her a long, level stare. "I'm grateful for what ye've done for my men," he said calmly. "Doubt not that ye'll be recompensed. But no, I canna let ye wander about this place wi'out anyone to watch ye. Ye're a prisoner still, make no mistake."

  She hurled a wilted parsnip at his head. He ducked easily and caught it on the fly.

  "You barbarian!" she yelled, hefting another root. "How can you stand there and say I'm your prisoner when I'm the only thing standing between you and the death of your men? That's right, death! You didn't even know what you put in that stew, did you? You didn't even think that you might have given everyone a case of something deadly!"

  He eyed her. "Ye said it wasna fatal." "It isn't. Not if someone knows how to treat it. Fortunately for you, I do. You were going to set leeches to poor Gordon and make him sicker than ever. If you don't know how to treat it properly, food poisoning can cause complications that can lead to deathnot just a bad case of cookie tossing!"

  "And what has this to do with me watchin' you?"

  She launched another parsnip his way. This one caught him by surprise and she got the small satisfaction of hearing a good, solid thump square in the middle of his broad chest. "Do you think for one minute that I'd bother to help you and your men if I were your enemy? Would I be up at this god-knows-what hour of the night cooking a chicken and scrubbing your hideous old pots and pans if I was trying to kill you all?"