Page 86 of Stealing Sophie
“They had three sons. Each one inherited a bit of their mother’s magic—the Sight, the gift of healing, the gift of conjuring whatever one desires. She showed them how to use their talents. Then one day her people came for her, and she had to return. But she left behind a cup of hammered gold, shaped by the fairies, set with crystal stones. A few stones were made into jewels—a ring. A brooch. A necklace.” She touched hers. “When a MacCarran child inherits the fairy’s gift, it is not in every generation, and is not always known right away,” she explained. “Then that child is given a stone to carry with them.”
“What sort of magic did you inherit?”
“A kind of healing, I think. I can make things grow—flowers, plants. It is a strange little gift, not very remarkable compared to the stories of fairy magic in my family. Most plants will grow on their own anyway, but they do seem to thrive when I garden. At times they grow quite fast,” she added.
“An important gift for a gardener...and a lady who is married to a farmer.”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
“For—?” He raised a brow, once again puzzled by her gratitude. But he understood her better now, knew this was a wonderful part of her, that ability to appreciate and make another feel good, feel proud. He loved it. Loved her.
He did, he realized, and he could admit it to himself. But only that, just now.
“For not laughing at the fairy stories. For finding some sense in it. I have never thought the gift very useful beyond helping flowers to grow. Others in the family have shown true healing abilities, or the Sight, knowing what is to come. My gift felt small. Even incomplete, as if the blood did not take hold in me properly, as it did in others.”
“Sophie,” he said. “There is a sort of magic all around you, I know that. But I did not know the reason behind it.” He smiled gently. “What you have is very useful. Gardens bloom easily for you. Flowers, fruit trees...”
“You should see the weeds,” she said.
He laughed, drew her close, put his arms around her. “And what is a weed, but a plant? We will clear out the ones that need it and keep the rest.”
She melted against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He leaned back her face with his thumb, wiped tears from her cheeks. Then he kissed her gently, a strand of simple kisses as pleasing, if not more so, than any he had so far tasted of her. Settling her well into his arms, he rested his head on hers, drawing comfort from the embrace even as he sought to comfort her and ease the hurt of her brother’s probable death.
“How did you first know,” he said, “that you had this gift?”
“My parents knew it, seeing my eyes, they told me. MacCarrans born with the fairy’s touch in their blood have eyes that are very light in color, sometimes green or blue or gray, but large and rather pale.”
“Unusually beautiful eyes. And you have them.” He studied them, their changeable colors like sea and sky.
“My sister has similar eyes. I suppose it is no wonder you made a mistake.”
“No mistake,” he said. “I see that now. What of the wee crystal that you wear? Does it bestow some magical talent?”
“Not exactly.” She touched it. “The stones help the ones born with the ability. It can further the gift, sometimes even create a miracle, or so they say.” She shrugged.
“A miracle?” He frowned. “Has that happened?”
She shook her head. “I hope it never does. They say its price is high.”
“How so?”
“The miracle, if it comes, only happens for the sake of love. True love.”
“No ordinary affection,” he said. “Love that is rare and destined.”
“You know the legend?”
He shook his head. “Just thought—but the magic would surely help your family? Your brother?”
“I do not know. My crystal is the sort that brings true love. That is all my parents told me. Now they are gone, and Kate and Rob and I do not know the whole of the story. I always thought Kate would make good use of the power, with her stronger nature. But she has not found love. Though now that we—” She glanced away.
A feeling stirred in his heart; words formed, and he nearly spoke. True love. For a moment, he could sense it in the air, like a warm blanket cocooning them. That sort of love, according to the legend, could change her—change him, their lives. And it could benefit her clan too.
If it was so. He stepped back a bit, not sure he was ready for the depth and scope of this. “I hope your crystal brings you a miracle when you need it, and safely so.”
“They say it can happen, though I do not know if it has ever been proven in the family. There are records and diaries at Duncrieff about the family. I hope someday to read them. Well,” she said, “at least the little bit of power I have seems to help tulips. But I do not think it can help Robert.” Tears pooled in her eyes.
He wanted to believe in fairy magic so much in that moment, wished it truly could make all things right for her. For himself, he could plod along as he always had. But he wanted her to be happy. “If only I could wave some wand for you, I would,” he said. “This has not gone according to plan, any of it.”
