The Mirror & The Magic

by Coral Smith Saxe

  She gave him a cool stare from her exotic almond eyes. "I have no key. And I've never learned to fly. But you could get in. You're strong enough. A few tools would permit you to pry out some of the stones in the wall and you could come through that way, if necessary."

  "And when I do get in, what will be waitin' for me there?"

  "I can't say. But I know where they have your lady." Celandine drew a quick sketch of the tower keep. "She's here. And she'll be well guarded. But you may come in by stealth, especially if you let Craigen believe that you've retreated. It may cause him to lower his guard."

  "Are ye the witch of the Morestons?" Darach asked.

  "No. I assure you I am not. And even if I were, I'd do anything to help you and insure your safety. I have given my oath on it. To Alasdair."

  Darach strode away from the ring. Clouds had been building, extinguishing the light of the stars. Rain would be falling soon, aiding the Morestons in their efforts to quench the fires his men had set. Each moment Julia spent in that tower, he knew, could mean her life. But who was this woman and could he trust her?

  "Alasdair," he called softly. Alasdair crossed to stand by him. "Where did ye meet this lass?"

  "Here. The night ye were all up at the caves. We've been meetin' here in secret since then. It was she that stood in Julia's place on the parapet. She made a sign to me and I knew that Craigen was playin' us false."

  "Is she to be trusted?" Darach put his hands on his brother's shoulders. "Think well before ye answer. My whole life depends upon it."

  Alasdair nodded. "I'll stake my ain life on it. She's worthy."

  Darach searched his face once more. He could see Alasdair's wholehearted faith written in his eyes. Alasdair might be young and he might be brash at times, but he wasn't a fool. Never had been. Even in the throes of love or lust, he'd always kept his head.

  And if this proved to be the exception to that rule, it didn't matter. This woman held out hope for Julia, perhaps their only hope. Darach had to cling to that hope or go mad.

  "It is well. Let's hear the details and then be off."

  "Darach." Alasdair caught at his sleeve. He waited. "She'll have no place to go after this," Alasdair said. "I want her to come to the village wi' me.''

  "We'll see."

  "You dunna trust her."

  "It isna that. It's the Morestons we canna trust. They'll know it was she that helped us. They'll seek her out in the village first off."

  "You're right. All right. I'll take her up to the caves."

  "That'll do. Now I can no longer tarry here!"

  Celandine had embellished her maps. The two men studied them thoroughly and laid their plans.

  As he mounted up to ride to the castle, Darach looked down at the woman who held his hope in her slender hands. "There's one more thing I need to ask o' ye," he said, his face tight and drawn.

  "Yes?"

  "Is my lady still alive?"

  She put her hand on his knee. "I will not lie to you. I do not know if she is alive. Craigen and Edana would not permit me to enter the room where they have her. But I don't know that she is dead either. Take heart, Darach MacStruan," she said softly. "Your faith will be rewarded."

  He looked at her, but for his life he could find neither hope nor faith in his heart. Only fear and desperation.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  All of Julia's tensions were melting away. The sign on the road told her that Kinloch was only miles away. She was almost home.

  She heard a rattle and a squeaking from the backseat and smiled at the thought of all the boxes of supplies she'd brought along. She'd be praying for them to make the journey with her.

  A journey. Her journey home, through time. She'd known it all along, one way or another, but while she was in New York she'd sought more proof, just for the sake of her own curiosity. She knew there was no way she was going to convince anyone else. But it was nice to know.

  Professor Fergusson had called just before she'd left for the airport, her business with the grand jury at an end, Gilette's men satisfactorily indicted. The professor had dated the small section of fabric she'd left with him, and the cloth was indubitably old, he'd told her. Hundreds of years old. His colleague in the textiles department had been amazed at the piece and had agreed that her examination of the swatch showed it to be, at the least, an outstanding recreation of old weaving techniques. She wouldn't go so far as to give a date, noting that the cloth was in far too mint a condition to be truly old.

  Julia had her answer. The answer she'd known in her heart all along. There was a time and a place where such shirts were the order of the day. And it was thereor thenthat she was headed now.

  She grinned as she reached for another piece of fruit from the basket on the seat beside her. She was hungry all the time these days.

  "Thanks to the MacStruan," she said aloud, patting her abdomen. They'd kindled the common fire, well and truly. She'd taken one of those little tests shortly before she'd left New York and the stick had turned a delightful shade of blue, confirming her hopes and suspicions.

  "Aww," she'd crooned to her belly. "A wee ogre for the chief of Clan Ogre."

  Said chief had better be ready for her, she thought. Because she was on her way back to him and nothing was going to stand in her way. Nothing.

  "He's retreatin'," Ian replied with a grin. "The rain's put out their fires. They know that if they come within reach o' the walls, we'll cut 'em down like weeds in a garden. They're slinkin' away into the night, like good wee MacStruans."

  Craigen didn't share his good spirits. "I dunna like it."

  "Why not? We knew we'd get the better of them, soon or late. We didna have to lift a hand. They've run away o' their ain accord."

  "They left the woman."

  Ian's grin faded. "Oh."

  "Aye. And it's no' like MacStruan to run off and leave her. Edana says he loves this one."

  "So?" Ian's confidence returned. "He left his wee bridie wi' us the last time. He tried to make a parlay wi' us, then refused our offer. He runs off when he kens he's been bested."

  Craigen shook his head. "All the same, I dunna like it. I want the watch to stay at their posts until daybreak. And let no one come or go frae this house."

  "Aye, Craigen."

  Ian saluted and went off to carry out his orders. Craigen paced the room for a while. He hated being cooped up in this tower. He hated being cooped up in this castle, truth to tell. He wanted out. When he was finished with the MacStruans, he thought, he'd go to Edinburgh again. Maybe to Paris. He'd take Celandine with him, unless she was already too far gone with his seed to travel.

  He rubbed his hands. Celandine. What a delicious bit she would be, come the night he'd been waiting for all these weeks. Not like his lovely Caroline, of course, but a worthy substitute as a breeder of heirs. And Edana had practically guaranteed him he'd get a son on the lass the first time he mounted her.

  All he had to do was gain the MacStruan lands. And from the look of things this night, he'd have them before the month was out.

  Darach's horse moved slowly through the mist. Though he'd taken the precaution of wrapping his steed's hooves in sacking, he wanted no telltale pounding of the ground that would alert his enemies that a horse was galloping toward their walls. Impatience rose within him but he tamped it down. He couldn't afford to lose control now. There was still a long way to go before he achieved his goal.

  The hill into which the castle was built rose up suddenly before him. Everything was as he recalled from before. He dismounted and left his horse to graze in the shelter of an oak. Going cautiously in the dark, he traced the landmarks that Celandine had described to him. He found the narrow footpath and began to climb.

  The lass had been right. It was indeed a treacherous climb. He had to admit she had courage, if she had indeed taken this path down from the castle to meet Alasdair. At several points, there was no true path at all, merely a jutting of rock no wider than his palm. He inched along, mist and s
weat beading on his skin. He lost track of time. It seemed he was on the face of the hill for hours, and that there was nothing else in the world but rock.

  At last he clambered over the top. He dropped to the ground for a moment to allow his legs to recover from the strain of climbing and to get his bearings. Through the mists he spied the great bulk of Castle Moreston and knew he had come out in the right spot.

  It was no easy matter to get in once he reached the walls. There was no way to enter from the outside; one had to be allowed in by a guard. It took him the better part of an hour to pick away at the crumbling stones that Celandine had described and make a hole large enough for him to squeeze through.

  He lowered himself to the floor. A snort brought him up short, his hand on his knife. He peered around into the dim passageway. Another snort went up and he made out the form of a portly guard slumped on the floor, his back to the wall. An ale cask sat next to him.

  Thus far, the odd lass Alasdair had found had proven true. But still more dangerous maneuvers lay ahead of him. He set forth to find the tower.

  Niall and Tommy were stealing along the edge of the woods, their plaids wrapped over their heads, the glinting of their swords hidden in the folds. Only a few more yards and they would reach their post directly opposite the main gate of Castle Moreston.

  All about the outer borders of the castle, the MacStruan lairds were taking their places. Their task was to wait for a signal from Alasdair that Darach was ready to leave the castle with Julia. Then they would set up the distraction that, it was hoped, would draw the Morestons from their posts and permit Darach and Julia to make their escape from the postern door.

  "Do ye think this'll work?" Tommy whispered as they crouched under the dripping branches.

  Niall shrugged. "We'll not know till we've tried."

  "But will it be enough of a surprise to the Morestons?"

  "Whisht," Niall growled. "Keep yer doubtin' to ye'self, man. This is no' the time for it."

  A sound from the forest behind them brought them both around, swords drawn. They ducked behind some tall bracken as the snapping of twigs told them that several people were heading straight for them.

  Niall scowled into the darkness. He drew a sharp breath. "What in the name of?"

  Mairi MacStruan stood before him, cloaked in darkness but unmistakable in her stance and demeanor. He rose and opened his mouth to greet her.

  She raised her hand, silencing him. "Niall MacStruan," she said, her voice soft but thoroughly commanding. "What the devil do ye mean, goin' off to war without consultin' wi' the rest o' the clan?"

  "Mairi, Iwe" Niall sputtered to a halt as the forms of other women materialized out of the shadows. "Rose isna wi' ye, is she?"

  "Nay. She stayed up in the hills wi' the bairns. She's fine. But I brought the rest o' the able ones wi' me."

  "Ye must all gang away frae here," Tommy cried, spotting Lara among the group. "It's no' safe!"

  "Bosh," said Mairi. "MacStruan women have gone into battle wi' our menfolk before. 'Twas wee Julia herself who brought it to my mind when she was standin' up to my Darach like a lass out o' the auld tales. Now tell me what plans ye have for facin' a force ten times your ain size?"

  Niall obeyed. She pursed her lips and frowned. "Ye call that a distraction? A bunch o' trees advancin' on the castle and a couple o' flamin' arrows?" She sniffed. "If it's a distraction ye need, leave it to us. Ye see to my son and his lady."

  Tommy and Niall looked at one another. They were outranked and outmaneuvered and they hadn't even entered the fray. They submitted to the inevitable and the indomitable.

  Edana felt him near. She was quivering with anticipation. She hadn't expected to see him so soon, not like this, but she knew that destiny had taken a hand. The hour had come to reveal herself to her love.

  She sat down on a chair facing the door of the tower room and waited for Darach to come to her.

  The path to the tower that Celandine had laid out for him had been treacherous indeed. Darach had fought off several guards, killing four and knocking the others unconscious as he wove through kitchens and hallways. Still, she had warned him it might be so, and he also knew that other, more public ways would be guarded far more heavily.

  Now he was at the foot of the tower stairs, waiting in the shadows for a chance to steal up the winding steps. Soldiers were coming and going in the yard near the tower and there was shouting and hooting coming from the walls that faced the woods. More men began pounding past his hiding spot, bent for the walls. He wondered what had attracted their attention. It wasn't time for his men to go into action.

  He couldn't think about it. He seized the opportunity and raced for the stairs under cover of the confusion. He gained the top and found the door to the inner chambers unlatched and unguarded.

  He drew his sword, sensing a trap. With each step he took toward the door that Celandine had told him led to Julia, he felt the hairs prickle on his arms and the back of his neck. This was too easy. But he had to go on. He reached for the latch, his stomach roiling with the sense of danger that seemed a part of the very air in this place. He glanced about and eased the door open.

  ''Come in, Darach," said the beautiful woman who sat before him. "I've waited a long time for this meeting."

  "Do ye see 'em?" Gordon demanded of Niall and Tommy.

  "Aye," said Niall in a dazed tone, staring toward the castle. "I see it but I dunna believe it."

  Out on the meadow, well within sight of the castle walls, a bonfire burned, its flames casting strange lights and antic shadows on the high, sheer stonework. Round the fire several women danced, their hair loose and floating about them, their feet flashing and capering to the music of wild, sensuous piping. They waved their arms and hands, graceful as sylphs.

  And each and every one of them was as naked as a newborn babe.

  Tommy was all eyes. "She said she'd make a distraction that'd curl the Morestons' hair," he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. His Lara was out there, maid though she was, and the sight of her unclothed, swaying seductively in the firelight, had raised his body heat to an uncomfortable peak.

  "Well, she's done that," Gordon said. He shook himself free of the sight of his own tall, curvy wife frolicking in the nude like a pagan goddess of old. "It's time to do our part." The tops of the walls were lined with Morestons leaning over the edges, cheering and howling. Distracted they were, and the women urged their interest to even greater heights with tempting, teasing gestures. The lairds, gathering for their foray, were hard-pressed to keep their minds on their task.

  "He should be in the tower by now," Alasdair said. "It's time to make these bastards pay for their entertainment."

  They fanned out behind the women, bows and arrows at the ready. They waited, allowing still more men to fill the spaces at the top of the wall. Then, at Alasdair's signal, they raised their bows, took aim, and began to rain arrows on their unwary foe.

  Julia hoisted the last of the boxes out of the trunk of the car and carried it to the circle of the standing stones. She was glad she'd rented a sturdy Range Rover with four-wheel drive this time. She'd never have been able to haul all these boxes over the rocks and mud that lay between the road and the stones.

  She sat and rested, taking long sips from the bottle of fresh water she'd brought along. It felt so right to be here once more. Even the chill she couldn't shake felt right, familiar. In modern times, fewer trees stood around the old circle, she noted, and overhead a jet droned past, but it was the same. She recalled her first perceptions of the Highlands, how they had seemed to be wild and rough, yet full of life. She felt the same way today, only more so. This place was full of her own life now, as well as the life of her clan and their forefathers, all the way back into the mists of prehistory. How odd and wonderful it was to be a part of something so rich and ancient.

  A nagging doubt intruded into her reverie. Was this going to work? During her stay in New York, she'd driven her attending agents
crazy ordering books on physics, time, Gaelic and Celtic history and mythology, Druidic rites, even rocks, just in case there was something special about the materials in the standing stones. Was she going to be able to make the journey she had been dreaming of and planning for all these weeks?

  Another question nagged at her. When she'd returned to the present, she'd only been gone for about an hour, while weeks had passed while she inhabited the past. Would the same thing happen in reverse? Would she return to the kitchen of Darach's house, an apple in her hand, LC wrapping herself around her ankles?

  An apple. She felt an icy finger touch her spine. The apple was the last thing she recalled before she woke in the circle of the standing stones. Had the apple been the key to her return through the centuries? Or was it the stones, as she'd thought all along?

  In all honesty, she didn't have a clue about how this mystery of crossing time operated. She knew there was no guidebook, no recipe for what she needed to do. She just knew she would do it if it took the rest of her life. Her soul was waiting for her in another time.

  She rose and picked up a shovel. Going to the center of the circle, she sank the blade into the earth and began the task of burying the boxes she'd brought. There was no reason why she should do so, she knew. She was going on instinct and hope. And belief.

  When she was finished, she was weary and famished. She got a basket from the Rover and sat down to feed herself and her child, smiling as she dreamed of telling Darach about the babe she carried. She could hardly wait.

  The moon was rising as she finished her meal. Full and bright, it was ringed with clouds that glowed from its light. She took it as a good omen.

  She wrapped her heavy wool cloak about her shoulders, but let a bit of Darach's shirt, which she wore as a blouse, show white in the moonlight. She emptied her mind of all thoughts but those of Darach, and the clan, and the world of clachan MacStruan.

  But something didn't feel right. Instead of flowers, she smelled smoke. Instead of the taste of lemons and oranges, she tasted the bitter tang of burning brush. She searched the landscape around her, expecting to see flames or deep gray billows rising into the night sky. But everything was calm and clear.