Abagail sat staring at the floor, shaking her head, then she looked up at Jamison. “I left that night and never went back. I moved out here as far away from the mess I’d made as I could get. I’ve never gotten over the fact that I killed the man I loved,” she said.
When she found no sympathy in his face, she said, “You’d better go talk to her.”
Jamison got to his feet, his head reeling from what he’d just heard, anger floating somewhere in the mess of emotions. He wasn’t sure where to look for Miranda but then remembered her in the garden at the castle and headed for the front door, trying to think of something to say when he did find her. It turned out it wasn’t hard to spot her; she was standing in the middle of the flower garden, bursts of colorful blossoms opening one after another in a widening circle around her.
He made plenty of noise as he approached. “Hey, looks like Abagail’s garden likes you,” he said, coming up behind her.
She turned to look at him. “What?”
He grinned at her. “Look around you,” he said.
Her eyes got bigger and bigger as she watched the blossoms opening around them, then she looked up at him again. “I’m not doing that, am I?” she asked, a touch of panic in her voice.
“I think you are,” he said. “It happened the night you went walking with Darby in the garden at the castle too.”
“But I don’t want to use my magic,” she said, her bottom lip beginning to tremble.
The garden burst into life, and Miranda burst into tears. “If I can’t control my magic, how will I ever be able to stop using it?” she wailed.
He pulled her into his arms and rocked her gently as she cried, whispering soothing words that came from somewhere, but he wasn’t sure where. When the sobs began to ease, he asked, “Miranda, is it really such a bad thing that flowers bloom when you’re sad? I mean, think about it: you could make it rain or something, or I don’t know, bring a swarm of locust.”
She looked up at him and slapped him on the chest, but she was fighting a smile. “It’s not funny,” she said, but the smile finally broke free. “Okay, maybe it is a little funny.”
Jamison was happy to see her smiling, but knew that it was only temporary. “Do you want to talk about what Abagail just told us? It has to be a big shock. I mean, she seems so nice,” he finished.
“I don’t know,” she said, looking up at him. “Maybe we could just stand here like this for a while, if that’s okay.”
***Miranda***
Miranda couldn’t believe that she’d just asked Jamison to keep holding her, but she couldn’t bear the thought of him removing his arms from around her. She knew it was a bad sign when he nodded his head and pulled her a little closer, knew that they’d crossed a line, and she wasn’t surprised when she looked up at him and his mouth came down on hers.
The kiss was soft and gentle at first, really only a brush of his lips across hers, but it was enough to kindle a fire between them. Jamison ran his tongue across her lips, sending waves of pleasure shooting through her, making her insides clench pleasantly and her nipples harden against his chest. She gasped, and he slid his tongue into her mouth, then kissed her slowly and gently until she was molded to him, her little purrs of pleasure filling the air around them.
But when his hands began to explore her body, rubbing her back, then slowly sliding across her ribs to stroke one swollen breast, the memory of other hands on her surfaced, and she pulled away. Stepping back from him, her chest heaving with pleasure, she felt confusion washing over her, along with the wonderful sensation of his lips still on hers.
“I can’t, I mean, we shouldn’t...you wouldn’t want me if...” she stammered, then turned and fled towards the barn.
Miranda didn’t mean to head for the barn, but she was so confused by what she was feeling that she just needed to escape. It wasn’t the kiss that had made her panic; it was the feeling of Jamison’s hands on her body that had done it. That combined with the sick sense of shame had overpowered the pleasure. She hadn’t realized that somewhere deep inside, she craved the physical pleasure that Jamison promised, or that she’d never be able to accept that kind of pleasure thanks to the Unseelie.
When she got to the barn, her lungs burning, her breath coming in short gasps, she looked around the quiet building for someplace to hide, still feeling slightly panicked. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm herself, reminding herself that she didn’t have to hide, that Jamison wasn’t a threat to her unless she let him be one. The panic receded, replaced by a great sense of loss and the knowledge that she’d carry the scars from the Unseelie and her mother for the rest of her life.
The goat poked its head out of the stall, bleated a greeting at her, then stood waiting, and she couldn’t help but walk over and stroke her velvety nose. “Maybe I should just turn myself into a goat,” she said. “Abagail could just take care of me like she does you; no one would know I was here.”
Mentioning Abagail brought the reality of her father’s death thundering back to her, and her stomach clenched with both anger and frustration. The goat butted her head against Miranda’s hand, and she absently stroked her, replaying all that Abagail had said in her mind. As she thought about it, the anger continued to grow, but she realized that the anger wasn’t aimed at Abagail; it was her mother she was angry with.
The sad truth was that she didn’t have any problem imagining her mother doing the things Abagail had described; she’d bragged often enough about her conquests over other witches. She’d just never imagined that her father had been one of those witches, or that she’d arranged for his death in such a horrible way. But now that she knew the truth, it wasn’t hard to see how Abagail had been just as much a victim as she and her father had been.
There were still so many unanswered questions and she wondered if she’d ever know who her father really was, but at least the mystery of his death had been explained. If it was a difficult explanation, she’d just have to learn to live with it. There were far deeper wounds that she lived with every day. Resigned to the truth, but unsure what she was going to do about Jamison, she thought about going back to the cabin but found she wasn’t ready.
But she didn’t want to hide in the barn any longer; it was a beautiful summer day, and a walk might just be what she needed. Stepping out into the sun, she stood in the doorway, letting it soak into her chilled skin, then saw a path and started down it. The path hugged the cliff, winding its way through the forest to an unknown destination, but she didn’t care; it was a novelty to have the freedom to go where she pleased.
It wasn’t long before she heard the musical sound of running water and came to a stream flowing right out of the cliff. It tumbled through the opening, cascading into a pool before flowing into the clearing and out of sight. Sighing with the pleasure of her unexpected find, she spotted a flat rock that would be a perfect place to sit and watch the water, made her way over, and got comfortable.
She slipped off her boots and dipped her toes in the water, shivering when she felt how cold it was but pleased with the feeling. Closing her eyes, she let the sounds of the forest around her fill her senses, the birds chirping in the trees, the water gurgling along happily, rustling in the bushes, and the wind whistling through the tops of the trees. It was all so much more soothing than she’d expected, and she had a strange feeling that she’d come home.
But the feeling didn’t last long when she heard the sound of footsteps on the path and turned to see Jamison making his way toward her. He was the last person she wanted to see right then, and the feeling of shame and guilt started to surface again, but she pushed it away, determined not to let it rule her. She might not be able to banish the feeling, but she’d learn to control it and the demands of her body which her mind wanted no part of.
Chapter Fifteen
Jamison
Jamison didn’t follow Miranda once he knew she was going to the barn. He was too embarrassed, and horrified that he’d kissed her again. It was so unlike him
not to be able to control himself, but around Miranda, he wasn’t himself, and the kiss had only been the most obvious one of his strange behaviors.
No one but him knew the wild thoughts that had been spinning through his head all morning, visions of he and Miranda together, visions that warmed his heart—and other places. He’d only meant to comfort her, to give her a few minutes to recover from the shock, but then she’d looked up at him, her blue eyes so full of pain, and all he’d wanted to do was make it go away.
Her reaction to the kiss had elated him at first, the feeling of her body pressed against his sending thrills through him. But then she’d stiffened in his arms when his hand brushed across her breast, and pulled away, a look of terror on her face. Now, she was hiding in the barn alone, and it was his fault; instead of comforting her, he’d made things worse.
He was still standing in the same spot when Miranda appeared in the barn door, then took off down a trail. Even from that distance, he could see that she’d been crying, but she had a determined look on her face, and he let her go, deciding to follow. He felt a twinge of distrust as he watched her stride down the path, but soon her steps grew slower, and around her, the forest came to life.
The trees seemed to tremble as she walked by, shaking the birds from the boughs and sending them flying into the sky, chirping and squawking their protest. Small animals emerged from the undergrowth and peeked at her, some following through the scatter of dry leaves that littered the ground. He watched, transfixed at what he could only call magic, keeping as far back as he could so that Miranda didn’t see him.
When she reached a stream and sat down on a flat rock, he saw her shoulders lift with a huge sigh, and the creatures around her melted back into the forest. He stood watching her, trying to decide if he should announce his presence, then feeling like a stalker, he stomped down the path, making as much noise as he could.
The look on her face when she turned and saw him should have sent him back up the trail, but he’d already messed up once, and he couldn’t make it any worse. Keeping his distance, he leaned against a tree and looked at the waterfall shooting out of a crack in the cliff, thinking it had an almost musical quality. Miranda was doing her best to ignore him, but he could see her stealing little glances out of the corner of her eye.
“Did you really have to follow me?” she asked, not looking at him. “I just wanted a few minutes to myself.”
“It’s my job to protect you,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the way his body was tingling all over.
She snorted. “You have a strange way of doing your job,” she said.
“I was just trying to make you feel better,” he said, knowing the words were wrong as soon as they came out of his mouth.
“Well, that didn’t work, so maybe don’t try it again,” she said, finally looking over at him.
He uncrossed his arms, guilt radiating through him, and stepped toward her. “I’m sorry about that, Miranda,” he said, looking for the right words, but not sure he knew what they were. Finally, he settled for the truth. “I shouldn’t have kissed you, but ever since the last time, I’ve been thinking about doing it again. I know it’s wrong, I know you don’t want me to, but I can’t stop myself. I’m sorry if I scared you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”
There was a long silence filled only with the sound of water crashing on the rocks, then Miranda looked over at him. Her eyes were filled with tears. “I wish it weren’t this way, but there are things you don’t know, things that make me...” she trailed off and looked away.
He walked a few steps closer to her, hoping that she’d look at him again, but her eyes were focused on the swirling water in the pool at her feet. “Did you ever think that it might not matter to me?” he asked, coming a few steps closer. “Sometimes things are much bigger in our heads than they are in reality.”
Miranda grabbed her socks and started putting them on, her back still turned to him. Then she struggled into her boots and got to her feet. “Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to talk about it, that reliving it only gives me nightmares? It happened to me, not you, Jamison; you can’t even imagine what it was like. It haunts me with shame and guilt,” she said, then started for the path.
He caught up with her. “Because you won’t talk about it,” he said. “The longer you keep it bottled up, the more it’s going to grow until one day, it’s going to consume you.”
She stopped and looked at him, her eyes searching his face, and he thought that she was going to tell him, but then her face closed up, and she started back up the trail. “Then let it,” she called to him. “I can’t talk about it.”
He ran to catch up with her. “Just answer one question for me,” he said. When she didn’t answer, he asked anyway. “Did you have any control over what happened to you?”
***Miranda***
Miranda stopped, the question; one she’d been grappling with since that terrible night, and realized that her total lack of control was part of what made the experience so horrifying. Anger swelled inside her; at first, she thought it was directed at Jamison, but as she thought back to the terror of that night, she realized that she was angry to have been used so callously. Angry at her mother, angry at the Unseelie, angry at Abagail, who’d shattered her hopes about her father so easily and completely.
It built inside her, a force she’d never felt before, and then came spilling out. “Let me ask you a question,” she spat at him, the feeling of her anger almost pleasant. “How would feel if you were totally paralyzed while a bunch of old men pawed at you? No, I didn’t have any control, thanks to my mother and her black magic. I was completely helpless. What was even better was that my mother stood there and watched them, bargaining my body for the most power she could get.”
Jamison stood staring at her, and she felt the anger fading, replaced by the knowledge that what she’d been so afraid of had happened. Fighting back a sob when his face began to take on a look of disgust, she turned and started running up the trail, desperate to get away. But this time, he didn’t let her go like he had before, and by the time he caught up to her, she was sobbing with humiliation and shame.
He caught her and pulled her into his arms, but she fought him. “I told you,” she said, struggling. “I saw the look on your face.”
“Miranda, stop fighting me and listen,” he said, hugging her tightly to his body. “I’m not going to hurt you like they did.”
She felt the fight going out of her, but she was still sobbing, unable to stop now that she’d started. But he held on, rocking her gently and whispering softly in her ear. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll never let anyone do that to you again, I promise.”
“I don’t know if that’s a promise you can keep,” she said when she was able to talk again.
“What does that mean?” he asked, suddenly remembering how little he knew about magic.
Miranda studied him for a long time, then stepped out of his arms and began unbuttoning her shirt. If she hadn’t been so nervous, she would have laughed at the look on his face, but when she pulled her shirt open and pulled it off her shoulder and turned around, the laughter died when she heard his quick intake of breath.
“Miranda, did they tattoo you?” he asked, his voice hard.
She nodded her head, unable to speak at first, but then she found her voice, knew that she’d come that far and there was no turning back. “When Malcolm realized he’d bargained for a girl and not a woman, he made my mother put that there and sent me away to grow up,” she said. “It marks me as his. I was supposed to go to him at the end of the summer.”
Jamison pulled her shirt back up over her shoulder, his movements very controlled, and she was sure that she’d finally driven him over the edge. “Well, I can guarantee you that’s not going to happen,” he said, his teeth clamped together, anger radiating off him.
“I’m not sure we can stop it; this tattoo, it’s more than just a marker,” she said, buttoning u
p her shirt.
“I think it’s time you showed this to Abagail,” he said. “She’ll know what to do.”
Miranda’s heart fluttered at the thought of seeing the woman who’d killed her father. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see her,” she admitted. “Besides, since when are you a fan of Abagail? I thought you hated witches, which brings to mind about a hundred more questions. Like why are you kissing me anyway? I’m a witch.”
She didn’t know where that had come from, but it felt good to confront Jamison; he’d made her divulge her deepest secret, and she was tired of playing games with him. “I wish there were a simple answer to that question but there isn’t,” he said.
“That’s all you’re going to say,” she demanded. “You’ve kissed me twice, and I want to know why. I mean, it’s not like I wanted you to...well, I mean I did, but it doesn’t make any sense.”
“You wanted me to kiss you?” he asked, his face full of amusement.
She waved her hand in the air. “That’s not important,” she said. “What I want to know is why you’re kissing me if you hate witches.”
Jamison sighed. “Because I guess I don’t really hate them,” he said. “I don’t know, when everything started changing, the Unseelie attacking Ballantine, the crown jewels disappearing, and then Sarah showed up, it just seemed easiest to blame witches.”
“Well, you weren’t completely wrong,” she said. “My mother was to blame, and I’m sure there are more just like her out there. But what you have to understand is that there are also witches like Abagail too, men and women who only use their magic for good.”
Jamison nodded. “I think we lost sight of that in Ballantine. We forgot that without the good magic, there isn’t any balance,” he said. “It’s taken me a while to figure that out, but I think I’ve finally gotten there.”
Miranda studied him for a minute, then held out her hand. “I guess we’d better go see what Abagail has to say about this tattoo on my shoulder,” she said.
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