Chapter Fourteen
Muira waited until the household was asleep before she slipped into the stillroom and closed the door behind her.
She locked it, then barred the shutters at the window as well, making certain she was alone.
She lit a candle and set it on the scrubbed surface of the table that stood in the middle of the room.
The bundles and bunches of herbs cast spiny shadows on the walls and floor, adding their dusty tang to the pungent scent of freshly gathered herbs.
The ghosts watched the old servant breathe deeply for a moment before she set to gathering pots and jars, bowls and measuring spoons, setting everything out on the table.
“This isn’t part of your plan, is it?” Angus asked Georgiana as Muira passed right through her to get a bowl.
“Don’t you believe in magic?” Georgiana asked.
“O’ course not. I’m a man of reason,” Angus replied, then recalled that he was a ghost, which was hardly reasonable. He folded his arms stubbornly and leaned against the door, out of the way. He watched Muira select a bundle of flowers. “What’s that she’s got there?”
“Periwinkle. If she chooses seven blossoms or more, then she’s making a love charm.”
“I count nine. Is that good?” Angus asked.
“Depends,” Georgiana said. “Does she know any real magic?”
Angus rubbed his beard. “Probably. Old Muira has birthed babies, healed the sick, and tended the dying for years now. Learned from her mother. No one would cross her, for fear of a curse. You can see how canny Devorguilla is around Muira.”
Georgiana smiled. “Then it’s good indeed.”
“What’s this love charm for?” Angus demanded. “I canna see how nine purple flowers can make anyone fall in love, especially a man of sense.”
Georgiana smiled. “Muira thinks she’s making love charms for the girls, so they’ll dream their true loves. She also thinks she’s thwarting Devorguilla’s plans to marry them to English lords by making them fall in love with local lads.”
“Aren’t they a wee bit young for such things? They should be playing with dolls, or spinning wool, or tending the sheep.”
“They’re young women, Angus. I was Megan’s age when I was already wed to Somerson. Would you see your granddaughters married away to Englishmen?” Georgiana asked.
Angus’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Nay, I would not.”
Georgiana smiled. “Nor would Muira, I think, but her plans for now will have to go awry. There are those more in need of immediate help this Midsummer.”
“Who?” Angus said like an owl, reading something arch in his true love’s eyes.
She grinned like a sailor with a secret. “Alec and Caroline, of course.”
He pushed his bonnet back on his forehead and approached the table. “Come now—Alec is a sensible lad. He’ll not be fooled by such nonsense! It takes more than a few purple pansies to make a man—”
“Periwinkles,” Georgiana corrected.
“It takes more than a few periwinkles to make a man desire a lass is what I was about to say. That’s why I pushed her into his arms in the tower. Did you see the way he looked at her?”
Georgiana dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. “He must know her as his true love.”
“And yon purple flowers are supposed to bring all that about, as if he had no will, no wit of his own? Perhaps there’s another braw lad meant for your Caroline, another lass meant for Alec.”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course they’re meant to be together. That’s how the curse will end,” Georgiana said. “I thought that was clear.”
“Clear as mud,” Angus muttered. “What’s that Muira’s got now?”
Georgiana leaned over the table. “Starwort, to attract love, and chicory, to transcend obstacles. For the girls, chicory will help their mother understand their choice, but for Caroline, I think we’d best have an extra dose of that.
” She nudged Muira’s elbow, and the pot in her hands tipped, dropping half the contents into the bowl.
Muira simply shrugged, and turned for the next herb, stripping lacy white flowers from a thick stem, filling the room with a cloyingly sweet scent.
“Elderflower, to make wishes come true,” Muira whispered, making a sign above the bowl, and Georgiana smiled. “Rose next,” she whispered in the servant’s ear, and Muira plucked the petals from a wild rose and sprinkled them over the rest of the ingredients.
Muira’s ancient hand hovered over the jars on the table. “Figwort, the herb of Venus, I think.” She opened the stopper and sniffed deeply. “Good and strong.” She cackled.
Angus wrinkled his nose. “He doesn’t have to eat this, does he? It looks vile. It’s more likely to kill him than make him fall in love.”
Georgiana tilted her head fondly. “The girls will wrap it with a lock of their hair in a handkerchief and make a wish. The rest will find its way into the ale to be served at the bonfire. Alec will drink it, but he’ll never even notice.”
Angus sighed, and the wild roses shivered in their vase. “A man never notices until it’s too late. Any herbs for caution, or good sense, or warning?”
Georgiana laughed. “We were never cautious or sensible, Angus. Do you remember?”
“Was it a spell?” Angus demanded. If it was, it was on him still. Georgiana shimmered in the light of the candle, and he felt desire smoke through him. He curled his hands against the inability to touch her, felt the old familiar loss of her.
“Of course not. We never danced around a bonfire at Midsummer, or drank wine together.”
“Meadowsweet,” Muira murmured, and they turned to watch her.
“There you are—pure magic. Meadowsweet is for casting love spells,” Georgiana added. She pointed a sheer white finger at a pair of jars on Muira’s left.
Muira turned to look. “Coriander and damiana,” she murmured. “Well, why not?”
“What’s that for?” Angus demanded.
“Desire,” Georgiana sighed.
“For lust,” Muira murmured, as if she’d heard the question too. “Lust never hurt anyone. What’s love without lust?”
“More of that, then,” Angus said, and tipped Muira’s hand himself this time. The pot overturned in the bowl, and the three stood and stared at it.
“No matter,” Muira said blandly, and retrieved the pot, and left the herbs.
“It won’t harm the lasses, will it?” Angus asked.
“Not if they don’t drink the ale,” Georgiana said.
Muira plucked a leaf from a green plant growing in a pot. “Smells like the kitchen, that does,” Angus said.
“ ’Tis basil,” Georgiana said. “For fidelity.”
“His or hers?” Angus demanded.
“For both, forever, undying devotion.” Georgiana sighed.
“Undying indeed,” Angus muttered bitterly, staring at his invisible hand.
They watched Muira mix the herbs. She took small pinches and made up three tiny muslin bundles, muttering a spell as she tied them closed with red thread.
She added the rest of the herbs to a jug of ale, and stared into the depths of the golden liquid as she swirled it, muttering an incantation, watching the herbs absorb the wine, and sink.
She set the pitcher on the shelf and turned to fetch another bowl.
“Now what?” Angus asked. He watched Muira take down a jar of poppy.
“ ’Tis a sleeping draught,” Georgiana said.
“Och, I recall nights when I couldn’t sleep for thinking of—” He shut his mouth before admitting that once he lost Georgiana, sleep became his enemy, because his dreams were filled with her.
Every time he woke without her made it worse, until he didn’t want to sleep at all.
He roamed the castle at night, took long cold baths in the loch, and still couldn’t forget.
Georgiana obviously understood well enough. She smiled softly at him, her head tilted, and he might have blushed if he’d been able. Suddenly he wished for his grandson all the magic, the passion, the life he himself had missed out on. He rubbed a hand over the ache in his chest.
“I think the sleeping draught is for Devorguilla,” Georgiana said. “So the girls can go out tomorrow night. Now all is in readiness, I think.”
“Will it work?” Angus asked. “Will it bring Caroline and Alec together?”
Georgiana sighed, and the shutters rattled, making Muira look up, squinting at the shadows. “I hope it will—but Muira has no idea that the potion is for them. She made it for the girls, a love charm, and for the lads and lasses who will dance around the fire tomorrow night.”
Angus shook his head. “They’re all lost, aren’t they?
Those fine braw lads who have their freedom, and their whole life ahead of them.
They’ll wake up in a woman’s arms after the bonfire has died and wonder what on earth happened to their good sense.
Heaven help a man when women start meddling with his life. ”
“Love spells don’t work on those who have no desire, or need. True love has its own magic and it cannot be created or destroyed where it does not belong. You can’t blame love on herbs or the season, Angus.”
“Oh, can’t I?” he grumbled.
Georgiana’s laugh made the candle flicker wildly for a moment until Muira blew it out and left the room in darkness.