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 fewperiwinklesto 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.”
