Spellbound

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “Stay,” he insisted.

  “Iain—”

  “For dinner. Stay for dinner,” he said. “Ma is feeling better. She’ll behave.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Ya will make Uncle Raibeart very happy.” Iain grinned.

  She tried to keep a serious face but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. “Are you sure it won’t be too painful for him after our failed engagement?”

  “I’m taking that as ya are coming,” Iain said. “It’s settled. Ya finish up what ya need to and come inside. I’ll be sure they set an extra place at the table.”

  Chapter 11

  “Who is this?” Raibeart pushed up from a mahogany dining table and looked over Jane with a scowl. She would have sworn the furniture looked different from what she’d walked by hours before. Fine porcelain china place settings had been laid out on the shiny surface, complete with cloth napkins, wine glasses, and polished silver. The MacGregors even dined stylishly, like they lived inside a magazine spread. “Iain, what are ya doing with this woman?”

  Jane started to laugh before she realized Raibeart appeared very serious. Iain’s arm was threaded through hers as he led her into the dining room. She recognized Angus, Murdoch, and Cait. At least this time the men wore clothes and appeared sober.

  “What are ya doing with this one? Do ya dare spit in the face of love, laddie?” Raibeart shook his finger in warning before continuing to lecture Iain in Gaelic.

  “Da?” Iain pleaded, looking at Angus to stop the man’s tirade. Iain’s features were beginning to soften, and he was returning to his normal-looking self.

  “How is the hand?” Cait asked, leaning to look around Raibeart at her.

  “Better, thank you,” Jane answered. She pulled away from Iain and was instantly sorry for it. There was comfort in his touch. She showed her healed cut to Cait. “Your husband was right. Your cream worked. It didn’t even leave a scar.”

  “Put that hand down. There will be no spell casting here,” Raibeart warned as he slapped lightly at Jane’s wrist as if she were a child about to plug a hanger into a power outlet. “Who are ya?”

  “It’s Jane,” Jane said.

  “What’s that to me? I don’t know a Jane.” Raibeart eyed her suspiciously.

  “Um, Shelly?” Jane said.

  “Shelly?” Raibeart suddenly smiled. “My Shelly? Why didn’t ya say? Sorry, lassie, didn’t recognize ya when your face wasn’t dancing around my vision. Hey, ya are a sight prettier and less blurry than I remembered ya being.”

  “Ignore him,” Murdoch stated. “Sanity has never been Raibeart’s burden to bear.”

  “Have ya met the clan, Shelly?” Raibeart asked. He waved his hand over his generation. “These are elders. The children are out playing. I’m the king.”

  “Who are ya calling a child?” Niall entered carrying a large salad bowl topped with wedged tomatoes. He set it on the table. “And, yes, we met the green witch.”

  “This is the wulver I was telling ya about,” Raibeart stated, pointing at Niall. “You’d call him a werewolf. Don’t get too close. He bites.”

  Niall’s expression didn’t change, but Iain stiffened and took her elbow to lead her around to a chair.

  “He doesn’t look very hairy to me,” Jane said. She couldn’t tell if Uncle Raibeart was mentally compromised or just a jokester-troublemaker. Perhaps he was a combination of both.

  “That’s because he waxes.” Euann entered and placed several wine bottles on the table. “Everywhere.”

  “Real metrosexual, our Niall.” Rory brought two large baskets of rolls.

  Niall grunted. With his rugged appearance and stoic demeanor, he was anything but.

  “Behave yourself,” Angus warned Raibeart, pulling the man’s arm to get him to follow him out of the room. Raibeart’s answer was lost in a string of foreign words.

  “Let’s get the rest from the kitchen,” Cait told her husband. They too left.

  “Where are Erik and Lydia?” Iain asked.

  “He’s probably singing show tunes to her or something,” Rory answered with a dismissing wave of his hand.

  “No. They’re with Charlotte,” Euann said. “She’s not feeling well.”

  “I hope it’s nothing serious,” Jane said, taking the seat Iain had pulled out for her. “Maybe I should offer to bring them soup or—”

  “No. Malina has gone to help her. It’s nothing that soup can cure,” Euann said. “She’s having memory, uh…with her…broken—”

  “Heart,” Rory filled in quickly.

  All eyes turned to Iain for the briefest of moments as if by an involuntary tell.

  Iain stopped mid-gesture as he reached for a nearby bottle of wine. He didn’t pick up the bottle. Instead, he took a seat next to her. A pang of jealousy hit her stomach, but she forced it down.

  She leaned into him and asked softly, “Am I missing something about you and Charlotte? Do you need to go?”

  “No,” Euann broke in a little too firmly. “He’s fine where he is.”

  “No,” Iain said more calmly. He gave her a small smile that made her heart do little flutters in her chest.

  Murdoch and Raibeart returned with decorative bowls and platters of food.

  “Why did your brother call me a green witch?” Jane whispered.

  “Ya have a green thumb,” Iain said. “It means a woman who is good with plants and nature.”

  “So it wasn’t an insult?” Jane clarified.

  Iain shook his head in denial. “No. It’s not an insult.”

  “I can walk myself,” a woman chided from the other room. “Quit treating me like I’m about to turn to dust.”

  Murdoch and Raibeart quickly hurried from the dining room.

  “What’s going on? Why are ya looking at me like that?” the woman’s voice continued. Jane imagined someone whispered an answer because the woman then said, “What are ya babbling on about, ya old fool? I always behave myself.”

  Angus led the source of protest into the dining room—Iain’s mother. Though she still appeared wrinkled and hunched over, there was a new vitality to her features that had not been there before as if the age had melted off her skin. The change struck Jane as much more than a quick plastic surgery injection, and she found herself standing up from the table.

  “Jane, this is my ma, Margareta,” Iain stood next to her and angled his body as if he’d put himself between Jane and his mother.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Jane said.

  “What is she doing here?” Margareta asked her husband. She shook her head. “I will not have that—”

  “Margareta,” Cait said loudly, hurrying in with a bowl of potatoes. She passed them off to Angus before taking the upset woman by the arm. “It’s all right. We talked about this. Jane is our guest.”

  “She grew the tomatoes Malina used in the salad,” Iain offered, his voice begging his mother to behave.

  “My daughter is careless,” Margareta muttered. “If we’re not careful, Malina will kill us all.”

  Iain looked as if he would apologize. Jane shook her head and mouthed, “It’s all right.”

  Jane wanted to say something polite to Margareta, like she looked like she was feeling better, but no manner of phrasing sounded right in her head, so she stayed quiet. The family began helping themselves to the food. Jane followed their lead, passing serving dishes around and putting small portions on her plate. She had the feeling the MacGregor table wasn’t normally so quiet.

  “Where’s the thing?” Raibeart demanded as he grabbed a wine bottle. The voice sounded abnormally loud in the quiet room. “Ah, never mind. Shelly, do ya want to see a trick?” Not giving her a chance to answer, he placed the flat of his hand over the corked top and slowly lifted. The cork came out of the bottle. Grinning, he dropped the cork on the table and poured himself a large glass of merlot.

  “How—” Jane began, awed.

  “So, Jane,” Euann interrupted. “I like the plans
ya have for the gardens.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Raibeart stood and leaned over the table to pour wine into her glass. She made a gesture that he should stop. He didn’t and filled it nearly to the top.

  “Have ya always had a green thumb?” Rory inquired.

  Jane nodded. “Ever since I was a child.”

  “Why—?” Euann asked.

  “Stop interrogating her,” Iain broke in. He slipped his hand onto her leg under the table. She wasn’t sure if he was showing support or attraction. “Jane is my guest.”

  “I was only going to ask why she liked plants so much,” Euann defended.

  “Plants are simple.” Jane looked at the tomato slices in her salad. “If you know how to listen, they’ll always tell you what they need, and in return they feed us.”

  When no one answered, she looked up to see all eyes on her. She noticed everyone had taken salad but no one was eating it. In fact, the salad bowls were pushed forward away from their plates.

  “Iain, did ya tell her about the putting green?” Niall inquired, his voice gruff.

  “We don’t need a putting green,” Euann countered.

  “Iain, did ya tell her about the puttin’ green, laddie?” Raibeart asked. “We have to have the puttin’ green.”

  “Jane has it all in hand,” Iain assured them.

  “We don’t need a putting green,” Euann repeated.

  “Och, ya are not a real MacGregor!” Raibeart declared, leaning forward to poke his fork past Niall toward Euann. Then, to punctuate his point, he stabbed a tomato wedge. “And ya get no say.”

  Raibeart opened his mouth to bite the tomato.

  “No! Don’t eat that.” Margareta inhaled sharply and waved her hand toward Raibeart from the far side of the table. Blue light shot out of the woman’s palm and caused the fork to fly from his fingers, taking the uneaten tomato wedge with it. The silverware hit the wall with force, and the tines stuck in the wood briefly before it dropped to the carpet.

  Jane pushed up from the table. The chair tipped over behind her, and she almost tripped on the wooden legs. She closed her eyes briefly and breathed, willing herself not to fall into a full-blown delusion. When she opened her eyes, all hints of the blue light had gone, and she made her way for the door.

  “Jane, wait,” Iain moved to follow her retreat from the room. “I can explain.”

  “I can tell when I’m not welcome,” Jane said. She looked at Margareta, hurt. “I’m sorry you don’t like me. I’m not sure what I did to you, or if you simply don’t like me because I’m American, or poor, or—”

  “Or trying to kill my son,” Margareta muttered.

  “Kill?” Jane answered. She grabbed a tomato slice between two fingers and held it. “I don’t even use chemical pesticides in my gardens.”

  “Ya tell her, Shelly,” Raibeart cheered. Everyone ignored him.

  She turned to Iain. “Thank you for inviting me, but in the future, I think it’s best if we keep to a strictly working relationship. I hope this does not affect my employment.”

  “Of course it won’t,” Iain said softly.

  “Thank you.” Jane nodded once and walked with as much dignity as she could from the MacGregor home.

  Once the night air hit her, she inhaled deeply, trying to fight the tears that threatened to fall. Logically, she knew it was stupid to get worked up over tomatoes, but they had been her tiny contribution to the meal. Everything she had went into her work. Her plants were part of her, and the rejection she felt was keen.

  The message was clear. The tomatoes she grew were not good enough to eat. Iain’s family didn’t think she was good enough to dine with them. His mother clearly thought Jane wasn’t good enough to be with her son.

  A cold chill worked over her. “Go away. I’m not in the mood.”

  Childish giggles rang out around her. Jane moved faster, charging down the side of the hill in the most direct path toward home. She felt the spirits following her. Lydia Barratt’s old Victorian came into view. Jane stopped on the edge of the property. The air was decidedly colder, and she could instantly see the reason for the change in temperature. Spirits had gathered around the home, standing on the lawn as if they waited for something.

  “Shoo,” an older female ghost ordered. Her translucent form glittered when she moved through the spirit crowd. The unusual sparkling came from her emerald green ball gown. “Get off my lawn. Go on now. Get outta here. There’s only room for one spirit here, and that’s me.”

  “Gramma Annabelle, what are you doing, you crazy old bat?” Charlotte Carver ran out of the side door of the home. She worked for Lydia’s lotion-making business, Love Potions. Jane had heard someone mention Charlotte had just moved into the old Victorian as Lydia’s roommate. If Annabelle thought this was her house, it must mean she was Lydia’s dead grandmother. Continuing after the ghost, Charlotte grumbled, “What are you doing out here?”

  Jane didn’t move. What had the MacGregors meant when they said Charlotte was sick? The young woman didn’t look too heartbroken or ill. The ghosts on the lawn turned toward Charlotte. Jane watched to see if Malina, Lydia or Erik would join them. No one else came.

  Jane always thought Charlotte had a bit of a hard edge to her. Maybe Jane only assumed the woman had an attitude because she was so exotically pretty—tanned complexion, dark brown hair, light brown eyes. Or maybe the attitude was because Charlotte had the same secret Jane did. They both were constantly trying not to acknowledge ghosts.

  Charlotte chased the sparkling Gramma Annabelle across the yard. She gasped in pain and then hopped onto one foot while holding the injured foot in her hands. The gathered specters surrounded the woman, but Charlotte didn’t seem to notice them. Maybe Charlotte wasn’t like Jane after all. Charlotte could only see Annabelle.

  “Jane the gardener,” Annabelle said, catching her spying on them.

  Jane quickly averted her eyes.

  “Jane?” Charlotte repeated, dropping her foot as she searched the shadows. When her gaze found Jane, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

  Jane tried to smile and focus on Charlotte. It was hard with all their undead company. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was taking the shortcut down the hill. The MacGregors hired me to do some work for them.”

  “Do you see…?” Charlotte looked at Annabelle and then Jane.

  “Yes, she sees me,” Annabelle said. “There’s something interesting about this one. She’s glowy.”

  It was only with years of practice that Jane managed to pretend not to hear the ghost. Annabelle drifted before her face. Jane focused her eyes through her at Charlotte. “Do I see what?”

  “Uh, well, a ghost?” Charlotte gave a nervous laugh and again glanced at Annabelle as the ghost drifted away from Jane toward the others.

  Jane pretended to look around the yard. She felt the eyes of those gathered on her. The last thing she wanted was for the crowd to follow her home. “No, sorry, I don’t see anything out here but us. Though I once saw a white dog running in the shadows and was convinced it was a spirit until it tried to lick me. I’m sure it’s nothing to be concerned over. You’re probably just seeing shadows.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Charlotte said.

  Seeing the woman’s lost expression, Jane almost relented and told the truth. She knew what it was like to be surrounded by the unknown. Even if Charlotte couldn’t see her undead crowd, that didn’t mean they weren’t affecting her. “Do you feel haunted? I know I sometimes feel like there are a hundred people around when I’m all alone.”

  “No, not a hundred, just one very big pain in the ass,” Charlotte muttered.

  “Hey,” Annabelle protested. “Who are you calling a pain in the ass? I’m only trying to help you and my granddaughter.”

  “How is jumping inside me and wearing my body as a human suit helping?” Charlotte demanded under her breath. Then, as if catching herself, she said louder to Jane, “So, the MacGregors.”

  “Yea
h.” Jane nodded with a long sigh. “The MacGregors.”

  “I don’t get what the big deal is with them,” Charlotte said.

  “If you saw under their kilts, you would get what the big deal—” Annabelle tried to break in.

  “I mean, I’m happy for Lydia.” Charlotte talked over the ghost, clearly determined to ignore her. “Erik is a catch to be sure, but the rest of them…” Charlotte gave a delicate shiver. Frowning, she added, “Especially that Niall. There is absolutely nothing redeemable about him.”

  “He’s a little rough around the edges,” Jane agreed, trying to be diplomatic.

  “Rough? He’s a beast. He bought my apartment building and, when I was in the hospital, he had me served with an eviction notice.” Charlotte’s gaze wandered to the trees beyond the yard.

  “I think he likes you,” Annabelle said, drawing Charlotte’s drifting attention back. “You should wear something pretty and ask him out on a date. Get a feel for what a Scotsman wears under his kilt. And by feel I mean a handful.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes.

  Jane pretended not to notice. “I’m sorry to hear that, but this is a nice house. Lydia seems like she’d be a fun roommate.”

  “Yes, it…” Charlotte’s voice trailed off, and she again looked at the trees. Her expression fell. “They’re out there, you know?”

  “Who?” Jane asked. “Erik and Lydia?”

  Charlotte’s eyes glazed over. “They have a bag. No eyes in the bag. No breath. Only dark. Dark. Basement.”

  “Charlotte?” Jane hesitated, not wanting to go near the ghosts wandering close to the woman.

  “Drink this,” Charlotte told Jane, holding out her empty hand. “Choke it down. Choke.”

  And there was Charlotte’s illness. Not a broken heart, just broken.

  “It burns when it comes in,” Charlotte insisted.

  “What burns? What happened?” Jane asked.

  “Go,” Annabelle ordered. The short command startled Jane, and she met the ghost’s eyes. It was then she realized the grandma ghost had not been fooled by her act for a second. “You’ll only confuse her more if you ask questions. I’ve got this. Her episode will pass once she gets some sleep. It’s no wonder. That Malina was poking around in her head again.”