The Mirror & The Magic

by Coral Smith Saxe

  "So ye think ye've come here under magical means no' of your ain makin'? And that there's some magic way by which ye could gae back again?" He considered for a moment. "It sounds as mad as auld mad MacPhee."

  She slumped. "I was afraid you'd say that, too. You're probably right."

  "Just because it sounds mad doesna mean ye're wrong." His smile flashed at her. "Mad MacPhee was the finest cattle breeder in the Highlands. No one cared much that he talked to his furniture, once they'd had one o' his bulls mate up wi' their heifers."

  "You mean it? You'll help me then?"

  He turned the book around his way. "Let's see. Auld John begins wi' the head and works his way down to the feet. Choose a body part, lass, and we shall see if there's a charm that pertains to your problem."

  Julia jumped up and ran around the table to give him a hug. "Thank you! Thank you!" she cried. "I can't tell you how good it feels to have someone not write me off as a nut-case foreigner!"

  He colored as red as a berry and patted her shoulder. "Let's get to work, then," he said huskily. "It would be best to keep this from Darach," he added. "He's no' likely to tolerate any talk o' magic."

  "Tell me about it."

  "There's no time for that. Let's be about it before Himself gets back."

  Chapter Sixteen

  They worked all day in the library, discarding one idea after the other, until at last, as the shadows in the room grew long and Julia began to feel cramped and chilled, she rose and stretched.

  "Well," she announced as Alasdair sat back and looked at her questioningly. "We gave it a shot. But I don't think any of this is what I'm looking for. I know the moment everything changed. It was just before I fell down the hill and the lairds found me. I wish I could recall what it was that was so different about that moment. It was all so weird." She yawned widely, covering her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said.

  "'Tis no matter." He tipped back on the chair, his long legs balancing him perfectly. "But what ye just said pricks my mind. That about the moment when ye say ye went from one time to another."

  "Yes?"

  "Aye. What if ye went back there? To that place? Might it no' tell ye something, give ye some recollection?"

  She gaped at him. "I am an idiot. You are a genius. Of course! That's it! I have to go back to the spot, I'll bet. It was near a bunch of big stones, all in a circle. I'll go back there and then" She slumped into her chair once more. "It's no good."

  "Why not?"

  "First of all, Darach won't let me out of the village. Second of all, even if I could get out of here, I was blindfolded for most of the trip, remember? And I was in a panic to begin with. I couldn't find that place again with a map."

  "Ye won't need one."

  She looked at him.

  "Ye'll have me to guide ye. Besides, those were the standin' stones ye saw. They've been the marker between the eastern limits o' our land and the Morestons' for aye generations."

  "But"

  The door blew open with hurricane force. Darach stood in the doorway, his great shoulders filling the space in silhouette. Even with his face half in shadow, Julia could read the distrust and anger in his eyes.

  "This is a charmin' scene," he growled.

  "Darach" Julia began.

  "Save it." He jerked his head at his brother. ''Get along and help Dugan and Niall. Ye've been sportin' lang enough."

  Alasdair got up slowly, unfolding his long, lean frame and taking a challenging stance that matched Darach's to perfection. "Who says I've been sportin'?"

  "I do. Hangin' about indoors wi' a woman. Behind closed doors. What else would ye call it?"

  "I don't know, Darach. Ye seem to've made up your mind awful young."

  "That's rich comin' from ye, youngster. Now do as I say. Niall and the others need yer help."

  Alasdair seemed about to refuse. Julia held her breath. Then Alasdair relaxed and sauntered toward the door.

  "Thank you, Alasdair," she called after him. "I'm much obliged for your help."

  He turned and gave her one of his brilliant smiles. "Think nothin' of it, lass. 'Twas pure pleasure."

  He strolled out. Darach made way for him, but kept his hands clenched at his sides. When Alasdair had gone, he turned to Julia.

  "So, another of the lairds has fallen under yer spell?"

  "Alasdair is a friend. He was helping me read some of these books. My Latin isn't too good."

  "A lass like you doesna need the Latin."

  She hung on to her temper. "Perhaps not. But I'd think you'd have the good sense to know that even a man like you needs his only brother!" She brushed past him. He caught her wrist. "Don't go yet."

  She glared up at him. "Why shouldn't I?"

  "If ye're lookin' for trouble, ye don't have to go lookin' in my family's books."

  She sighed. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm looking for a way home."

  "What does that mean?"

  She shook her head. "I didn't expect you to understand. Let me go, please. I've got to go see about dinner."

  He pulled her closer. She was held close to his side, looking up into those angry eyes that also seemed to speak of something else, something she didn't want to name.

  "I'm no' a man to be trifled wi'."

  "I'm not trifling with you or anyone else. I'm trying to find a way home."

  "What does that mean?"

  "You figure it out."

  "Ye take chances, lass."

  "I have to."

  He tightened his hold on her, slipping his arm around her waist. "I won't have ye messin' wi' my baby brother."

  "He's not a baby."

  "Nay. He's not. He's as headstrong and stubborn as you are."

  "Is that why you try to bully both of us?"

  His mouth was mere inches from hers, his eyes boring into hers. "Is that what I am, Julia?" he asked, his voice suddenly soft and much, much more dangerous. "A bully?" She swallowed against the rising speed of her heart and breathing, her mouth suddenly dry. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, the steady rise and fall of his own quick breaths. The steely arm that encircled her waist held her fast but not brutally so, and she damned herself for the thought that she wanted to stay right here in his arms.

  "N-no," she murmured. "You're not a bully. But you're close to it." She raised her eyes to his, braving the intensity of their blue fire. "You try too hard to control everything and everyone around you. Don't you ever get tired of trying to make the world go around every day?"

  He flushed a dull, sullen red. "I'm the chief," he said tersely.

  "I know," she said sadly. "I know."

  He let her go abruptly. "Go see to yer meal. Tommy's in there, likely cuttin' his toes off wi' the carvin' knife."

  She took her chance and scurried away, relieved that she was out of the too exciting, too pleasurable circle of his embrace. She ate her supper in the kitchen that night, with only Big Dog for company.

  But when she went to bed that night, the dreams returned, those half-waking, half-sleeping images of Darach: Darach walking toward her, Darach holding her, Darach rising above her like a great, loving force

  She shook herself awake, then got up and padded to the window. She opened the shutters and looked out over the moonlit green. Two fat sheep grazed contentedly on its lush grass. No light shone from any of the cottages that circled the green, though the moon cast a bright reflection off their white-limed walls. Such a beautiful place, she thought. A place of laughter and song, sorrow and tears, hard work and simple rewards.

  And she must leave it. Now. Lest her heart lead her into disaster.

  She turned away and began to dress. She slipped past a snoring Dugan without stirring a hair on his head. Shortly before dawn, the fat old sheep gazed at her with mild interest as she crossed the green and headed up the trail into the woods.

  "It's gettin' nigh onto time, Darach."

  Ross stood before him, his eyes alight and hopeful. Darach gave him a nod and a smile. "So it is," he s
aid, putting the finishing touches on the bridle he was mending. "What say the others?"

  Ross grinned. "They're fair ready to fly up the hills. We can be ready to leave first thing in the mornin'."

  "We'll do some hunting on the way," Darach said. "It'll be time for that, as well. But tomorrow morning should be fine."

  "Are ye" Ross left off, uncertain.

  "Am I what?"

  "Will ye bring Julia?"

  Darach muttered an oath. "Damn. I'd no' thought o' that. She'll have to come. There's no one to stay here to watch over her." He set his tools aside and got to his feet. "I'll tell her to make ready for the trip. Mayhap she can prepare some food to take along."

  "Ye're goin' to tell her . . . the secret?"

  "In time, aye. There won't be a secret once she's been wi' us, will there?"

  "No, I guess not."

  "Call her down, Ross. She's sleepin' late this morn, it appears."

  "Aye, Darach."

  Ross was back soon, his face creased with worry. "She's no' in her room, Darach."

  "Well, then, she's either in the kitchen or the pantry. She's no' allowed to go anywhere else."

  "I looked there."

  Darach frowned. "She has to be somewhere in the house. Ye search again in the kitchen. I'll try the library. Maybe she's taken to the books."

  Darach met up with Alasdair in the great hall. "So, do ye ken it's time once again?" the younger man asked affably. "The men have that look in their eyes."

  "Aye. Have ye seen Julia this morn?"

  "No. I got my own breakfast early, before she'd risen."

  Darach hurried to the library. A quick search told him she was nowhere about. He strode back into the hall.

  "What is it?" Alasdair asked.

  Ross appeared once more, with Niall at his side. "Darach, there's something ye should know." Darach scowled. "I dunna have time"

  Niall raised his hand. "It's about Julia."

  Darach searched their faces. He didn't like what he saw there. "Tell me."

  "While ye and Alasdair were away to the earl's, Julia came out wi' us for some fishin' in the burn."

  "What? Ye took her outwhere are your wits, man?"

  Niall raised his hands again to placate him. "We ken now we did wrong, Darach. But while we were out, Julia slipped away to the meadow, lookin' for herbs, she said."

  Ross took up the tale. "She saw a man, bleedin' at the shoulder and beckonin' to her frae the woods. Ye know Julia, she'd no' hesitate to aid a creature in need. She went to him and. . . ."

  "And?" Darach felt his heart contract with fear.

  "She was attacked. He slipped a strap about her neck and choked her."

  "Dammit! Why did ye no' tell me this before?"

  Niall took over again. "We planned to, Darach. We knew it was our duty. But ye brought home such bad tidings and we got sae caught up in plannin' the raid, it got set by."

  Darach looked about the room, searching for aid in grasping this news. "But I saw no marks on her," he said at last. "And she's in proper spirits."

  "Aye," said Ross. "But we all saw the marks. She could scarce speak a word for three days." "The man," Darach said, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  Niall shook his head. "We couldna find him. Nor no trace o' him. Only the strap." He glanced at Ross and licked his lips.

  "And?" Darach prompted, knowing his men all too well.

  "Julia says she broke the man's leg and that's how she escaped. Tommy showed us how she'd taught him to do it and it could have happened so. But we ne'er could find the fellow, for all the blood she saw and his leg broken into the bargain." Ross shifted on his feet.

  "There's more?"

  "Aye," said Niall. "Because he vanished so and we couldna find him, we were . . . well, as it was . . . we thought it might be that. . . ."

  "Spill it!"

  "We think he might have been a witch," Ross blurted.

  Darach sagged. "Ye don't."

  "We do," Niall said, beginning to rally behind his fellow lairds. "And we think it's somethin' ye should know if Julia's turned up missin'."

  Darach didn't answer. He took the stairs two at a time and burst into Julia's chamber. There was no sign of her there either. The ashes in the fireplace were cold, the bed was cold, and there was no sign of her breeches outfit or her pouch.

  "Damn it!"

  "She's gone, then?" Alasdair stood in the doorway. Ross and Niall crowded up behind him. "Aye." Darach pushed past them and headed for his own room. Alasdair followed. He watched as Darach flung things into his saddle bag and belted on his sword.

  "Think ye she's gone to the Moreston?" Alasdair asked.

  Darach grunted. "I'd never claim to ken what Julia's goin' to do next. Maybe she has. Maybe she's simply gone roamin', lookin' for her america or dumpsters or whatever. But I'll bring her back or know the reason why."

  He looked around the room, making a mental check of anything he might have left. His eye fell on his knife and he picked it up and slipped it into the top of his boot. He turned to his brother. "Ye and Niall lead the men up the hills, as planned," he told him. "I'll join ye up there, as soon as I catch our wild bird that's flown."

  "Ye'll no' hurt her?" Alasdair's eyes were suspicious.

  "Ye take too much upon yourself, lad. Never ye mind what I'll do wi' Julia. Ye get the men safely up into the hills."

  Alasdair caught his arm as he went past, out the door. "I'm just tellin' ye, Darach. Hurt her and ye'll answer to me."

  "Ye alone?"

  Alasdair flushed. "Aye, if need be. But I'll wager the rest of the lads will stand wi' me on this. Julia's grown dear to us."

  Darach gave him a long, steely stare. "Do your job, oganach," he said. And he was gone.

  Julia traveled along the edge of the burn, staying alert for any familiar sights or the sounds of pursuing MacStruans. She'd been walking for hours, going along as best she could by instinct, memory, and the small amount of information that Alasdair had given her about the standing stones.

  Another lovely day, she noted with a sigh. She'd always thought of the Highlands as being wet and cold year-round, but once the morning ground mists had vanished, she was walking through sunny glens and warm, shady woodlands. Flowers and blossoming shrubs sprang up in patches here and there, and she had the feeling that she was part of one of the first mornings of the world.

  She wished she knew where she was going, though. She knew she was looking for one of the ancient circles of stones put up long before even the Romans had marched over the British Isles. Now that she thought of it, one of those self-same stones had probably made her trip and fall, sending her tumbling down the hill and into the hands of Clan Looney Tunes. If she could get back there, perhaps some of this Alice in Wonderland stuff would fade and she'd be back in her own world, with her own car. With lobsters from York chasing me.

  That thought brought her to a sudden standstill. She was still on the run from those thugs who'd been chasing her ever since that chilly day in Martine's kitchen. She was a witness to a gangland murder, and that hadn't changed. She was going to be in danger from them even if she was free of the hold of Darach MacStruan.

  She had another awful thought. What if that man in the woods, the one who had choked her, had been one of the mobsters? Were they trying to make her believe she was crazy somehow, and not capable of identifying the men who'd committed those murders back in New York?

  Oh, damnation, Addison. It was all too confusing. Just get on the road and get out.

  She trudged on, her watch expanding to include gunmen with termination on their minds and woodland assassins with injured legs. Even as she walked, though, she considered her options. If she managed to get back to where she'd started on that strange day that seemed ages ago, what was she going to do? Clearly Gilette's men had tracked her all the way from New York, across the Continent, around some of the Greek islands, and finally, to a village in the Scottish Highlands. They'd find her, no matter what.

 
; She stopped at a fast-running bend in the stream and took a drink. She sat down on a rock and rested, bathing her forehead with the chilly water.

  What would Darach do? she wondered idly. If he'd been a witness to a killing, would he have gone to the police right away? Or would he have hit the road, as she had, shoving his things into a suitcase at the urging of his friend and taking the first flight out of the country?

  Somehow she didn't think he'd have run. He was not above stealing cattle from his enemies; he was not above fighting and killing, or above ordering everyone about as if he were Caesar himself. But to witness a cold-blooded murder and tell no one what he'd seen? Uh-uh. He'd have taken his Conan the Morally Upright self on down to the local precinct and reported in. It would be his duty, as he'd so often said. And, she thought with a sigh as she rose to continue her hike, he wouldn't have tolerated hiding away, as she had.

  She grinned at the idea of Darach MacStruan in hiding. For one thing, Darach would be hard-pressed to conceal his striking face and his warrior's body, let alone his regal airs and arrogant ways. For another, he'd probably just pick up those goons of Gilette's, bang their heads together, and toss them into the freezer, lest they threaten his clan.

  She kicked at a tree root. He was the most irritating man! So damned gorgeous and so damned bossy. She never knew if she wanted to bop him upside the head with a Louisville Slugger or jump his bones. As often as not, she wanted to do both.

  Sadness captured her heart as she thought that she'd never have the chance to do either one. She was going out of his life forever. There would never be a time to learn if his kisses made her world tremble, time after time, as they had done so far. She'd never know the pleasure of being enclosed in his powerful arms and held against that rock-solid chest. She'd never have the chance to learn the answers to all the questions she had about him.

  Would he care? she wondered. Beyond being totally ticked that his prisoner had escaped, perhaps to run to the dreaded Morestons, would he give a flying flip if she disappeared?

  There was a rustling in the brush on the ridge above her head. She glanced up but saw nothing. Still, something made her freeze and listen. She heard panting, like a dog who'd been running awhile.