Remember the Magic Read online

  She moved closer. “You are fearless and daring and yet—” She paused, gently placing her hand palm up near his mouth. “I think you are a loving creature. Finn. Yes, I will call you Finn. It is a powerful name and I think that your power may just equal that of the legendary Finn.”

  He sniffed her hand and just when she thought he would accept her offer of friendship with a gentle lick, his head shot up, he showed his teeth and he growled low and steady.

  Sydney tensed herself for she it wasn’t her who had alarmed him.

  Someone else was in the woods with them. She remained calm and listened. Although her ears were not as sharp as the wolf’s, her senses were and she was fully aware that the intruder stood a distance behind her.

  She felt no wrong intent from the person and with quick, reassuring words she passed her knowledge to the wolf.

  “It is all right. No harm is meant.”

  The wolf grew silent, though he walked up to stand directly beside her.

  “I see that human males are not the only creatures you bewitch.”

  Sydney grew breathless and her heart lost its natural rhythm. Anticipation froze her as still as a stone statue, or was it fear? No. Fear was often times of one’s own making and fear was not at all familiar to her.

  With her usual courage she turned, certain she was ready to face the man she had loved and lost.

  “Duncan.” His name was but a whisper on her lips and the sight of him made her all the more breathless. He was no longer the young man she had known but a mature man in features and form. His prideful stance had remained the same and made him appear taller than his six feet, almost five inch height. His chest seemed broader, his arm muscles thicker, his legs solid, and he wore the green, blue and yellow plaid of his clan Tavish, wrapped solidly around him, a white linen shirt beneath it.

  His dark chest-length hair bore no signs of gray, but a fanning of lines around his eyes told her he was no longer the twenty-five year old she had once loved. He was well into his thirties, near to forty by now. While she had thought him handsome when he was young the years had matured him beyond handsome. He could steal a woman’s breath and heart in one glance.

  He remained where he was, staring at her as if he could not believe she stood there a few feet away from him. “Are you real? Or do I imagine you as I have time and again?”

  The idea that he had thought about her caused her heart to race. “I am real.”

  He shook his head. “Nay, I but imagine you. You left”— he paused— “thirteen years now.”

  Thirteen years to him and hundreds of years to her. “I have returned.”

  “Why?”

  A fair and simple question that had no fair and simple answer. How could she tell him after all this time how much she had missed him and loved him? It would make no sense to him. He simply would not believe her.

  He shrugged at her silence. “It has been thirteen years. What does it really matter?”

  How did she explain it had been hundreds of years and that only through divine intervention was she able to return?

  And yes—it mattered a great deal.

  She took a chance and said, “I have missed you.”

  For a brief moment his guard dropped and he looked as if he wanted, wanted badly to believe her. But he took a firm stance. “Thirteen years is a long time. Much can happen.”

  “Aye, that it can, but love can survive separation and grow stronger.”

  “Or it can break a heart and never allow it to mend.” He allowed her no time to respond. “Why, Sydney? Why have you returned now after all these years?”

  It was her turn to shrug for she had no definitive answer. How could she? He would not believe that she traveled through time from the future to return to him. It was difficult enough for him to accept her being a witch, but a witch that had lived over five hundred years? No, he would certainly fear her then.

  She followed her shrug with a shake of her head. “I felt the need.”

  He rubbed his chin and then raked his fingers through his dark brown hair. “I often thought of a moment such as this. A moment when I would meet with you again and I would speak my piece.” He shook his head. “Yet words fail me, for your presence as always overwhelms me.”

  A faint smile appeared on her lips. He had always been honest with her that was one thing she loved about him. She felt she could trust him for he would always speak the truth to her even if it hurt to hear it.

  She wanted to tell him that they could start over again that they deserved another chance. But there were thirteen years to mend. “Speak, I will listen.”

  “You never fail to tempt me.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “Do you still claim yourself a witch?”

  She recalled how he had always warned her about casting spells on him. She attempted many times to explain that spells were like prayers—if the results were beneficial and meant to be then a spell like a prayer would be successful. If not, the spell was useless. But she also recalled that there were many who would point accusing fingers at those who worked with and worshiped nature. If thirteen years had passed since their first meeting that meant it was 1564 and in 1563 during the reign of Mary the Scottish Parliament had made witchcraft legally punishable.

  She had returned during the burning times.

  It would not do her well to admit her heritage, but she found she could not completely deny it. “I am a woman wise in the ways of nature. Does that brand me a witch?”

  “You bewitch the wolf.” He sounded more curious than accusing. “I know of no wild beast that would stand by a human’s side in protection.”

  She patted Finn’s head and his growling ebbed. “We are all God’s creatures and as such should treat each other with due respect.”

  “That is not the common belief.” Again there was no accusation in his voice, only curiosity.

  “It should be.”

  He stood silent, staring at her for several moments.

  “What troubles you, Duncan?”

  “That this is all a dream that I have dreamed before and will wake disappointed again.”

  She sensed his hurt and his regret.

  “This is the part where I tell you how much I have missed you.”

  She remained silent, letting him continue.

  “You remain silent as always but I see in your eyes, those beautiful eyes that captivate my heart that you miss me and I wonder why. Why? But there are only more dreams without answers.”

  “You still believe me a dream.”

  “Of course,” he said, “I would be foolish to think this is real. That I stand here in the woods that I have come to day after day for thirteen years and suddenly you are here. You are real. And though I know it is only a dream, I wish for it to never end for once it does you go away until I dream again.”

  “I am not going anywhere.”

  “Familiar words you say often to me and you repeat in every dream.”

  Had he had repeated visions of this meeting? Had he known instinctively she would return to him? Had he waited for this day? She slowed her chaotic thoughts, for in chaos she lacked clarity and now was not the time to lose that.

  “But you always leave.”

  She smiled. “I always return.”

  “Aye, you haunt me,” he said with a laugh that faded quickly. “I look forward to seeing you even if it is but a dream.” He stared at her, his eyes full of sorrow. “You will leave soon. You never stay long.”

  He actually thought her a dream. He did not believe her real. She doubted there was much she could say that would convince him differently. And having only arrived a short time ago, perhaps it would be wise to take time to once again acclimate to her surroundings—and plan.

  She mentally shook her head. No plan was necessary, she had cast the spell; what was to be would be. She did not however wish to leave him just yet; after all, it had been hundreds of years since she had last seen him. She wanted to look upon him awhile longer, w
atch the familiar way he would rake his hair with his fingers or shrug his broad shoulders. And his hands, how she had missed them, long, lean, strong yet gentle. They had soothed her with tender touches and had grabbed at her and swung her around in play. They had tickled her, teased her and tempted her. And she had loved and greatly missed every tickle, every tease, and every tempt.

  “I thought to stay awhile.”

  His features brightened. “I wanted you to say that.”

  “Then I heard you.”

  He laughed. “But I said not a word.”

  “I heard your heart.”

  “My heart betrays me.”

  “Your heart does not betray you; it is honest and sincere.”

  He sighed. “How I wish you were real.”

  “Wishes do come true. All you need to do is believe.”

  “You speak of magic,” he said.

  “I speak the truth. Believe and have faith and your wish will come true.”

  He shook his head. “Wishes are for children.”

  “Of course they are.” Her soft laughter floated along the warm spring air like a gentle melody. “Children believe and have faith so they wish and they wait and they wish again and then—magic.”

  “I am not a child and I do not believe in magic.”

  “A child resides in all of us. Find the child, wish and believe.”

  “Help me.” He sounded as if he challenged her.

  “You do not need my help, you merely need to believe.”

  He reached out. “I wish to touch you once again, to feel your soft skin against mine, to have you respond so quickly, so willingly, so joyfully. I wish—” He closed his eyes. “Oh lord, how I wish.”

  He opened his eyes and she was gone.

  Chapter Three

  “I am insane. I talk to a woman who is not there.”

  The rustle of the leaves and a whisper of warm spring air across his cheek was his only answer.

  These visions had haunted him since Sydney had left. They had started when he had come to the woods in search of...

  Sydney.

  He had searched for Sydney day after day, hoping she would return to him, that she would suddenly appear in front of his eyes—and every day she had appeared—and then she had disappeared.

  Still he returned, for though she was only a vision, at least he was able to see her, speak with her, but he could never touch her.

  How could he?

  She was not real.

  His sigh echoed deep in his chest. “Why can I not forget you? Why must you forever be in my thoughts?”

  He walked over to an old felled tree and sat, the thick decaying log groaning with the weight of him.

  “Perhaps Gwen is right.” His sister had insisted that Sydney had cast a love spell over him and that was why he had difficulty letting go of her. He, however, believed himself in love and remembering Sydney and her honesty he was certain she would not resort to spells with him, especially since he had warned her that to do so would prove disastrous to their relationship.

  She had always been completely honest with him, even in admitting that she was a witch. And she had been good to the clan and those who sought her help. She often would attempt to explain her beliefs, her ways to him. Foolishly, he would interrupt her or had only half-listened.

  “Damn.”

  He was angry with himself and with Sydney, angry that they both had been too stubborn to settle their differences.

  They both had lost.

  He braced his arms on his bent knees and stared out at the woods. This place had become his haven. Oak, beech and birch trees grew in abundance. Ash and willows grew closer to the streams, their roots always thirsty for water. Sparrows were busy with their nests and hawks circled high up looking for prey. Blueberries grew thick and juicy and would soon be ripe for picking and the wildflowers turned their colorful blossoms to the sun for nourishment.

  And though the woods teemed with life it offered him solace and solitude. The solitude brought a degree of understanding and a minimum of peace and he anxiously sought both day after day.

  He sensed a presence in the woods before he heard the footsteps. Sometimes he thought he could actually hear the person’s heartbeat. If the beat was firm and steady then a friend approached, if erratic then a foe hovered nearby. He had always been aware of his surroundings but over the years his awareness had grown and he found himself sensing and knowing much more then was explainable.

  “I do not want to disturb you. You look at peace.”

  Duncan did not look up at his boyhood friend Thomas; he simply slapped the spot beside him. “Join me in peace then.”

  Where Duncan was a man tall and thick in muscle, Thomas was but five feet, seven inches and solid in his girth.

  The log groaned, moaned and a snap could be heard here and there when Thomas lowered his weight on it.

  “Dora says I am to make haste with the message and you.”

  Duncan smiled. “And what has this woman of yours promised you if you do as she says?”

  Thomas laughed. “You know me too well.”

  “We know each other well, but how can we not—we were birthed on the same day and have been friends since we could walk.”

  “Aye, that is why I do not rush you from this place. I see peace in your eyes when you are here, though I do not think it reaches your heart.”

  Duncan did not know what he would do without Thomas. He was more like the brother he had never had. They talked, laughed and had cried together when Thomas’s son was stillborn. Thomas had two daughters and Dora was expecting another babe in summer but Duncan understood that his friend would never forget and always mourn the loss of his firstborn son. Especially since the young son had so resembled his father, a thatch of bright red hair had capped his tiny head and he had had rich dark eyes, almost black. The women had gossiped that black eyes such as his could have only meant doom.

  Dora had told them to hush, that he was but a babe, his new spirit free of such nonsense. Later she had confided in her husband that she had wished Sydney had been there, for she had known in her heart that Sydney would have saved little Thomas from dying. Sydney had the power.

  “She is always with you, is she not?” Thomas poked at the ground with a stick.

  “Thirteen years. You think I would have forgotten her by now.”

  “Sydney is not an easy woman to forget.”

  “Nay, she haunts me endlessly and...” Duncan grew silent, his own thoughts disturbing him.

  “You do not want her to stop haunting you, do you?”

  Duncan shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “I fear she will stop haunting me.”

  “Then it will finally be over.”

  “Aye, it would be done.”

  Being boyhood friends they could say things to each other that many could not. “It will be done if you foolishly marry this woman your sister has chosen for you.”

  “Is that the message you were sent to deliver?” Duncan asked with a laugh.

  Thomas tossed away the stick. “I am to tell you that Eileen of the clan Carron is expected to arrive within the hour. Your sister wants to make certain you are presentable to your future wife, which means get yourself home for inspection.”

  “You do not think I should marry this woman?”

  “God no!” Thomas muttered beneath his breath, a habit of his when he turned to swearing and one his wife Dora would not tolerate, thus he kept it beneath his breath at all times not wanting to accidentally spew his favorite words in front of her. “You do not love her.”

  “Love hurts.”

  “You sound like a woman, do not disgust me.”

  Duncan punched Thomas in the arm with a firm fist.

  “I speak the truth as I have always done.”

  “The truth you say? Then tell me the truth about love,” Duncan challenged.

  Thomas threw up his hands. “I cannot answer that and I doubt there is anyone who can.”

 
“Sydney could.”

  Thomas heard the sorrow in his friend’s voice. “Sydney knew much.”

  “I should have listened more to her.”

  “Hah!” Thomas gave a hardy laugh. “You were too busy kissing and touching her every chance you got.”

  Duncan closed his eyes briefly and smiled. “And it felt good, so very good.”

  “You loved her that is why it felt so good.”

  Duncan’s eyes opened wide. “I thought you knew nothing about love?”

  “A little,” Thomas admitted, “very little. I know how I feel about my Dora and that is what I know about love. I look forward to her smiles, her laughter, even when she yells and orders me about I know I cannot do without her. And when I take her thin body in my bulky arms I sometimes shiver with the fear that I may be too strong and hurt her.”

  “Hurt Dora?” Duncan looked startled. “She is stronger than you think.”

  “Aye, I realize that, but—” Thomas looked away as though he decided against speaking his mind.

  “You love her,” Duncan finished for him with a satisfying grin.

  “That I do,” Thomas said with a thump to his chest. “I love my Dora.”

  Duncan slapped him on the back. “I am glad for you, for you make a perfect pair.”

  “We make a perfect pair because we love.” Thomas placed a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Do not marry this Eileen if you have no love for her. You will be miserable.”

  “I saw Sydney a few moments ago,” Duncan confided to his friend.

  Thomas ran a curious glance around the area. “Where? Where was she? Where did she go?”

  “She vanished into my dreams as she always does,” Duncan said, his hand slipping off Thomas.

  “You still think you see her?”

  “Nay, I do see her, clear as I see you sitting here with me. Sometimes I think that if I will it enough she will return to me.”

  Thomas spoke low and cast a glance around to make certain no one lurked near. “Do not speak such nonsense. You have heard the talk that has reached the Highlands. They are burning people who they believe to be heretics. Such talk could bring difficulty and not only for you, those that follow you.”

  “Witches have always existed and have helped many in the Highlands. Why should we now turn our backs on those who have helped us in time of need?”