Entranced

by Marion Clarke

  Hearing the gate creak, Fiona sat back on her heels and saw Charles Harmon approach her with a jaunty stride. He probably wished to speak about the picnic, and she hoped that, like his brother, he wasn't about to decline her company. Who knew what other girls might be coaxing Charles to take them? He must be very popular, with his teasing warmth and merry face.

  Fiona brushed the pile of weeds away and, dusting off her hands, rose to meet him, glad to see that he was smiling when he reached out to clasp her arms with both his hands.

  "I hope you didn't mind the last-minute arrangements between Giles and me, my little Irish beauty?"

  Fiona laughed. "Not a bit. You and I are going to have a grand time."

  "Indeed we are, sweetheart." Charles beamed, his brown eyes on a level with her own. "This is wonderful luck for me. I was hoping to promote something ever since I met you. But Giles said he was going to the picnic with the most wonderful girl in Salem. Of course, I guessed that it was you, but then, well, yesterday…" Charles shrugged his stocky shoulders. "Giles said that he was taking Grace, of all people! And would I mind escorting you."

  Charles laughed, eyeing Fiona up and down. "Mind! Why, I was delighted. But how could he want Grace, instead of you? Oh, well, I'm just going to enjoy my good fortune, although I'm curious. Did you two have a falling out?"

  "Sally just asked me that, and the answer is no. At first I agreed to go with Giles because no one else had asked me, but—"

  Charles made a choked sound. "I would have—"

  "But then today I met Giles out walking with Grace and they said there had been a change of plans."

  Charles's boyish brow knit perplexedly. "Did Giles say why?"

  "Only that he had forgotten a prior promise to take Grace."

  "Oh, I see. Big brother is the soul of honor, and Grace would never let him back down if he had really promised her." Charles chuckled. "I feel sorry for him, you know. There's such a thing as being too honorable, I'd say. Just look where it's landed him."

  Fiona forced a laugh. "Who cares? I'm just happy you want to go with me. Are you sure you didn't break some other lassie's heart?"

  Charles looked a trifle guilty, but only for a second. "Aw, the girls know I love them all and don't take any one too seriously. Not yet. I'm like an enterprising bee, tasting all the honey that I can."

  Fiona gave a mock sigh and shook her head. "I pity the girl who hopes to win your heart forever."

  Charles grinned. "Maybe when I am as old as Giles…"

  You'll never be like Giles, Fiona thought, and knew a flare of anger that Giles favored Grace just for her money. No matter that it was the usual custom. Could Grace ever make him love her? Her mind was not in tune with his. Her person was unattractive, and she was extremely selfish and had a waspish temper.

  Why couldn't Giles find someone else? Well, perhaps he would. He had been back only a short time, and he hadn't proposed to Grace as yet.

  She would like Giles to be happy, Fiona thought wistfully, and since there was no use hoping it could be with her, she hoped he would find another girl, someone nice and sweet—who also had a dowry. However, it was Giles's affair, not hers. Not anymore.

  Aloud, she said to Charles, summoning a bright smile, "Come in and have a glass of milk. Aunt Mercy baked raisin nut cakes last night and there are plenty left."

  Beaming, Charles bounded in beside her.

  Chapter 13

  The day of the picnic dawned bright and clear, and Fiona felt her spirits rise to meet the challenge it held. As long as she could avoid Giles, she would make the best of things and see that Charles enjoyed her company. It was not his fault that he was second choice.

  She and Charles were almost the last ones to arrive in the woods. She had purposely delayed their departure, slowly packing the straw picnic basket, leaving the kitchen when she saw Giles coming, and staying upstairs until he had been led away by a boisterous, triumphant Grace.

  Fiona peeped down at them from her attic window. Giles hung back, staring at the house, while Grace tugged impatiently at his arm.

  "Come on, slowpoke, the others will all get ahead of us," she cried. "You know, the lad who picks the most berries gets a kiss from the girl of his choice." She gave Giles a playful dig with her elbow, which he ignored.

  His brother arrived just then and Giles called to him, "Charles, tell Fiona to hurry up. All the best berry patches will be taken."

  Grace jerked at his arm. "Forget about her. Didn't I tell you—" The rest of her words were lost as the roadside trees cut them off from view.

  Fiona hurried down the stairs. "I'm ready now, Charles," she said breathlessly, tying on her sunbonnet. "I'm sorry to be late."

  "You're not. I just arrived myself." Charles's eyes gave her an admiring sweep. "Anyway, you would be worth waiting for. Who would think pink gingham would look perfect with red hair? I can hardly wait to show you off to the rest of the crowd. Where's the lunch basket, lovey? And what is in it, may I ask?"

  "You may ask, but I won't tell you," Fiona answered pertly. "Aunt Mercy said it should be a surprise."

  When she handed him the basket, he peeked beneath the checkered napkin before she could stop him. "Umm, I smell ham, pickles, chicken pies, apple tarts…"

  "Shame on you." Fiona laughed and tried to snatch the basket from him.

  "Yes, I'm shameless when it comes to girls and food," Charles admitted jauntily, setting off with one hand clasping her arm possessively. Several young ladies passed by and all smiled or simpered at Charles's handsome, merry face. He grinned and winked at every one of them, although their escorts shouted good-natured insults.

  Fiona had to laugh. "Charles, if you were a girl, you would be called a flirt."

  His brown eyes grew round. "That's not so. I always like the girl I'm with the best."

  "I'm glad to hear that."

  "Fiona, you know that I intend to pick the most berries so I'll get a kiss from you." His arm slid around her waist.

  "Say, don't you think we ought to practice once or twice so that we can get it right?"

  "No." Fiona gave him a laughing shove. "If we don't hurry, there won't be any berries left at all. Come on, you silly boy."

  "Aw, no one takes me seriously." Charles caught her hand and they raced down the sunny road to the woods where they could hear shouts and laughter.

  The berries grew everywhere… in the nearby meadows, along a stream, and under trees. Fiona had never seen such fruit. Strawberries fully two inches long hid beneath their bright green leaves and huge blueberries weighed canes clear down to the ground.

  Everyone was given a woven basket, and when one was filled, a tally was marked by one of the girls on a slate. The competition waged keen as plots were plundered and canes stripped bare.

  There appeared to be around a dozen couples, and to Fiona's relief, Giles and Grace were not in view. Probably Grace, jealous as always, had dragged him off to a secluded spot. There was no sign of the afflicted girls, either. This was just a merry, normal group today, laughing, calling back and forth, and friendly to Fiona. Most of them were young, in their late teens or early twenties. Fiona was surprised that there existed a different element here in Salem which seemed normal and wholesome. Perhaps they came from a more outlying district and it was the townspeople who concentrated on the witch hunt.

  But then this was disproved when Sally arrived with Oliver, who looked rather out of place, since he was so much older than the rest. He probably had come only to please his young wife. Sally greeted everyone in her usual friendly manner, but some of the people cast rather wary glances at her and one youth made a remark about some girls who had "pet wolves." Oliver glowered at him and the lad slid off quickly to his berrying. Alas, even here the witchcraft rumors hovered.

  Sally drew Fiona aside and murmured, "Are you having fun? I see Charles is working hard to be the winner." Her eyes roved around the clearing. "Where are Giles and Grace?"

  Fiona tried to look indifferent. "I have
no idea. He came to the house this morning and picked her up. That was the last I saw of them."

  Sally seemed about to speak, but Oliver called her and she hurried off, waving to Fiona. "I'll see you later."

  As the morning wore on, the sun grew hot and the fun became less boisterous. One of the girls put a pail into Fiona's hands. "Will you get some water at the stream? We always need more lemonade, and today is awfully warm."

  "Certainly." Fiona exhaled a deep breath, glad for a respite from scratched hands and aching back. She flung off her bonnet and pushed through the trees, passing the boxes where the berries were dumped after a record had been made of the individual number of baskets picked. The rich, heady perfume of the fruit attracted a lot of bees and Fiona was relieved that they were not placed near the picnic area.

  The bushes suddenly parted, and to Fiona's consternation, Giles appeared, dropping an armload of mulberry leaves to cover the fruit. He gave Fiona a startled glance as he straightened up, and for a long moment, their eyes clung wordlessly. His white shirt fell open to his waist, the sleeves rolled up above the elbow, and his black hair plastered wetly to his brow.

  "Hello, Giles." Fiona quickly looked away her heartbeat quickening, and tried to pass him, but he stepped in front of her. "Fiona—" he began.

  "I—I have to get some water," she said hurriedly.

  "I'll get it." He plucked the pail out of her limp hand and inarched off in the direction of the stream. Fiona was forced to follow him, aware that her pulse raced furiously, just as it always did when he was near.

  The cool, clear water chuckled across a rocky bed, sending up a misty spray into the air. Giles pulled off his shirt, flopped down by the stream, and splashed his face and arms before drinking thirstily. Then he filled the pail and stood watching silently while Fiona, her hands shaking, cupped them and drank some of the reviving water. No one else was about. The only sounds were the chattering brook, the chirp of birds, the leaves rustling overhead in the breeze.

  When she stood up, Giles faced her, bare-chested, his damp skin shining in the dappled sunlight. He was so close she could smell his male aroma and see the droplets quivering on his black chest hair. An urge to stroke the muscled satin of his skin swept over her with a sudden dizzy force. She couldn't seem able to tear her eyes away and became aware that Giles was also devouring every inch of her.

  "Fiona," he said thickly, "you look so lovely—all warm and pink. If only I could touch you—"

  "Why are you speaking to me like this?" Fiona interrupted in a choked voice. "You are escorting someone else. Don't try to flirt with me." Her voice hardened. "Give me the pail."

  Instead, he grabbed her wrist. "Fiona—wait a minute—"

  She jerked away. "What for?"

  "I don't blame you for being angry, but—"

  "Who's angry? You simply changed your mind, that's all. I don't care in the least. Charles is a lot of fun."

  "Fiona, I couldn't help what happened."

  She gave a trill of laughter. "Really? What did Grace do? Point a pistol at your head?"

  Setting down the pail, he shrugged into his shirt, stepped close, and caught her arms, his voice a hoarse entreaty. "Fiona, for God's sake!" His mouth, cold and wet, came down on hers, smothering her soft cry. At his touch, the woods, the crowd, the barrier of Grace—all swept from Fiona's mind and she returned his kisses boldly. But then a twig snapped and Charles bounded through the trees.

  "No, no, Giles, unhand her. She's my girl today. You're with Grace, remember? 'The most wonderful girl in Salem,' isn't that what you called her?" Charles giggled roguishly.

  So he had said that about Grace? Fiona felt the blood rush to her face.

  Giles rounded on his brother. "I didn't mean Grace, and you know it."

  "Really? When I repeated your words in front of her, I didn't hear you deny it. All you did was ask if I would take Fiona. And what a happy chance for me. We're having a great time, aren't we, my little Irish rose?"

  Giles threw him a murderous glance which Charles blithely ignored. With a possessive arm around Fiona's waist, he marched her back to the picnic area, Giles following silently with the pail.

  The girls had selected a picnic spot and began to set out food: sliced pink ham, baked chicken, boiled eggs, pickles, salads, and all kinds of bread, tarts, and cookies. In spite of being partnered, everyone sat together in the grassy shade of a daisy-carpeted clearing.

  Giles and Grace were not close by, but Sally and Oliver sat across from Fiona and Charles, sharing a big checkered tablecloth. A good-humored atmosphere pervaded the scene and Fiona found herself responding. She felt grateful for being a part of Charles's and Sally's banter. Oliver looked on indulgently and finally stretched out with his head in his wife's lap, not caring if some people looked askance at his public display of affection.

  "That looks nice," Charles said, moving closer. "Fiona, could I—"

  "No." Fiona laughed, giving him a shove. "Listen, I think they are going to announce who has picked the most fruit."

  "The girl who kept the tally said I had a good chance," Charles said smugly.

  Giles glanced across at them, then stared down at the ground, and when Charles was announced the winner, he didn't look up, although everyone else yelled and clapped.

  Charles pulled Fiona up into his arms, and to the accompaniment of much joking and laughter from the crowd, he gave her a long, strawberry-flavored kiss upon her lips.

  Fiona hardly felt it, although she laughed with the rest. Her mind kept going over and over Giles's every word and expression. Had he been trying to apologize for switching partners? Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered how he had looked, his skin warm and damp, black hair tangled on his brow, gray eyes devouring her slender-ness outlined in pink gingham. It hadn't taken much until he pulled her yielding body close and took her lips with his.

  Difficult as it was, she dragged her thoughts away from Giles just as Charles leaned closer and slid his arm around her waist. "That kiss made me hungry, sweetheart—for an encore," he whispered in her ear.

  "Oh, Charles, behave." With a little laugh, Fiona shrugged off his arm. "If you're hungry, let's eat lunch."

  Since Giles was in her line of vision, she couldn't help but glance at him as he lounged at Grace's side, his head supported on one hand. Suddenly, his eyes swept up, holding Fiona's gaze for a long, disturbing moment. Then Grace flashed him an angry look and bent to whisper in his ear. He rolled over and turned his back on Fiona, his face an unreadable mask.

  Fiona's mouth tightened, and from then on, she devoted herself to Charles and the rest of the merry group around her.

  Sally and Oliver sat a little apart, although Sally tried to join in from time to time with the animated conversation going on around them. Alas, the witch hunt had cast its long shadow even here, Fiona thought uneasily, seeing the occasional suspicious glances cast at Sally. If she had not been partnered by Charles, would she also have been on the receiving end of some hostility, Fiona wondered?

  When Oliver returned to town, Sally came to sit by Fiona. They watched Charles, Giles, and a few other men go off to the meadow with a large leather ball. "I think they are going to play an Indian game called 'foot ball'," Sally remarked. "It's usually played barefoot on the sand, but today a grassy meadow will have to do. The girls are also starting up some games. They'll probably play 'Blind Man's Bluff, 'I Sent a Letter to My Love,' and 'Thread the Needle.' Do you want to join them? No? Neither do I. Most girls seem so young before they're married. I think I'm the only one here who is." Sally smiled complacently. "There are so many things they don't know about a man until they wed."

  "Such as?" Fiona suddenly felt curious. A young married woman probably could tell her things that her mother's careful instruction would have avoided out of a sense of delicacy. She knew the acts she should avoid until they were condoned by marriage and she blushed, remembering how she had allowed the intimacy of Giles's warm tongue upon her own, his hand pressing on
her breast where the thin dress had been no barrier at all.

  However, Sally's mind dwelt on other aspects of the married state, somewhat to Fiona's disappointment.

  "A husband is still just a man with other matters on his mind besides lovemaking. He is now responsible for a family, and their welfare and safety depend on him. The wife also has her responsibility to keep the home a pleasant place, clean and comfortable, her table a place of wholesome, tasty food. Adjustments to living with someone who is practically a stranger can be difficult. You can't expect those rapturous encounters to continue unabated as they do at first."

  "No, of course not," Fiona murmured. "But it is a lovely experience, is it not? Being wed to one you love?"

  Sally gave her a merry glance. "I'm sure your mother has talked to you about the physical side of marriage. Mrs. Prescott seemed like a very sensible, loving mother when we went on our herb gathering."

  "She has told me the basics." Fiona plucked a daisy and stared at it. "She also gave me some warnings. She knows that—" Fiona cleared her throat. "Well, Giles and I saw a great deal of each other on the voyage and then resumed a close friendship here in Salem. I admit that he attracts me, but he is older than I… experienced with women…"

  "But not with Grace," Sally demurred. "He never would compromise an innocent girl until they had an understanding."

  "So you don't think he and Grace—"

  "I'd swear he seems more interested in you. I could see it when you came to supper. And even today, his eyes followed you whenever possible, and I thought his face looked… tortured. That's why I can't understand…" Her voice trailed off.

  "Why he escorted Grace today?" Fiona sighed deeply. "I think he intends to marry her, in love or not. A young doctor needs a dowry, and Grace has one. I don't."

  Sally sent her a troubled glance. "I'm sorry, Fiona. You were really getting serious about him?"

  Fiona nodded slowly, then looked squarely at Sally. "I know I don't have to ask you to keep this conversation confidential. I feel that I can trust you and that you are my friend."