Into the Woods (3 page)

It was completely dark when a firm knock sounded at her door. She wasn't surprised. When people wanted a cure, a special tea, or just advice, they almost always came to her under cover of darkness. It wouldn't do for their neighbors to know they'd consulted a witch, even though many of their neighbors were frequent visitors to Matilda's cottage as well.

She opened the door expecting to see a familiar face, someone who came to her on a regular basis for a healing ointment, or a cure for a baby's rash, or an herb tea to prevent another baby from coming too soon.

The door swung open on a very tall man she had never seen before. He was dressed in a finely cut dark suit that should have made him look civilized, but somehow... didn't. Well-groomed, with a clean-shaven jaw and very dark brown hair cut in a precise short style, at first glance he almost looked like a gentleman. Almost. His shoulders were too wide; this man had done physical labor and done it often. His features were handsome but sharp, tense, as if he were never at peace. His hands were large and lightly calloused, and his eyes... his dark brown eyes were much too passionate and fierce to be gentlemanly.

"Yes?" she prompted.

"I must have the wrong place," he said, taking a step back to glance at the cottage, and then looking past her into her home. "I'm looking for the Candy house."

"This is the Candy house," she said softly.

He shook his head. "No, I'm looking for Mrs. Matilda Candy." Annoyance crept into his voice. Matilda found herself thinking that a gentleman would have more patience than this man possessed.

"I'm Matilda Candy."

His fierce eyes narrowed suspiciously. His clean-shaven jaw clenched. "Impossible."

Matilda smiled at his obvious confusion, as she realized his mistake. "You must be looking for my grandmother."

He sighed, almost in relief. "Your grandmother. Yes, of course. Is she here?"

Her smile faded. "She passed away two years ago."

The tall man in the doorway looked saddened, but not devastated. Still, she was warmed to see the flash of true dismay in his eyes. A true gentleman wouldn’t reveal his feelings so easily.

"I'm sorry to hear that." His warm eyes roamed her face. "Your grandmother was a wonderful lady. I haven't seen her in years, obviously, but I was rather hoping she might help me with a... small problem. I'm sorry to have bothered you."

Her heart softened when he called Granny a "wonderful lady," and she couldn't help but wonder what "small problem" had brought this man to her. A rash? A persistent stomachache? Trouble sleeping, perhaps. She wanted to know, so she spoke before he could turn to leave.

"My grandmother taught me much of her craft in the years I lived with her. Perhaps I can help you."

Once again the man looked past her, and she knew what he saw. Tables and shelves heavily laden with books and jars of precious oils. Earthenware pots and wooden spoons. Glass jars of herbs and roots. It was a room for working, not visiting. A laboratory of sorts. There was no traditional parlor for entertaining in the Candy house, no vases of flowers or useless knick-knacks on the tables. Matilda worked at her tables.

She had long ago accepted who she was, and she apologized to no one. Not ever. She fearlessly looked this almost-civilized man directly in the eye when he returned his full and somehow unnerving attention to her.

"Perhaps you can," he said, determination in his voice. "Miss Candy, I need a love potion."

Chapter 2

For a moment, a split second perhaps, Declan had actually believed in magic. The woman who'd come to the door was enough like the Matilda Candy he remembered to give him pause, if only for a minute, when she'd said that she was the woman for whom he'd asked.

Her small stature was the same; neither Matilda Candy stood taller than five foot two. The pigtails were the same, though he remembered gray braids instead of golden. He'd never seen the old Miz Candy wear shoes, and this one's small feet were bare against the smooth wooden floor. The eyes were... similar, a green he remembered from years ago. But as he looked closer he realized that this Matilda Candy's eyes were rimmed in darker blue.

And those eyes laughed at him now. "A love potion," she repeated. "Really, Mr...."

"Harper," he said. "Declan Harper."

"Mr. Harper," she said, her eyes dancing with an amusement she could not, or would not, hide. "While it's true that my grandmother passed on quite a bit of knowledge to me, I must confess there were no love potions included. I'm sorry." She looked as if she were about to gently close the door in his face.

To prevent that from happening, he reached out and grabbed the edge of the door in one hand. "Can I come in?" he asked. "Just for a minute."

With a barely disguised sigh, she moved back and invited him to enter. He stepped into a room he remembered well; not much had changed. The rug at the center was a bit more worn than he remembered, and there were more books on the crowded shelves, but all in all it was very much the same. The room was magical, interesting, different, as was the woman in it.

"I used to visit your grandmother," he began, looking around the familiar room. He'd never felt such a warm fondness for any place he'd called home. He smiled at the colored jars filled with God-knew-what, and at the books so old the spines were falling apart. "I'd spit in her potions and she'd give me hard molasses candy."

"Really?" There was a touch of genuine interest in the woman's voice, a new lilt. "Why, just today..." Abruptly she stopped speaking, and when he turned to look at her she pursed her lips. "It's not important."

"Mrs. Candy was always very kind to me," Declan said softly.

"She was a kind woman."

Intrigued, Declan studied the young Matilda Candy, looking her up and down. She wasn't what one might call beautiful, but she was very pretty, in an odd sort of way. Already he'd discovered that she had an expressive face. She smiled, she wrinkled her nose, her eyes told too much. Her manner of dress was unconventional, but the skirt and plain blouse she wore showed off a shapely, uncorseted figure. Her hairstyle, those golden braids, while definitely not the height of fashion, suited her. She had a face like a pixie, and pigtails to match. Yes, she belonged in this strange room as much as her grandmother had, was an integral part of its charm.

"Miss Candy," he said in answer to a question he felt was unspoken between them, his voice stern. "I do not believe in witchcraft."

She lifted her eyebrows again, pinning glittering, amused green and blue eyes on him. He was surprised she didn't out-and-out laugh.

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I believe your grandmother had a gift." He reached within himself for patience, which was never easy. When he wanted something he wanted it done without unnecessary explanations!

Her smile faded, and he wondered if he'd said something wrong.

"Call it a talent or a skill, if you like," he said tersely. "Whatever you call it, the fact remains that she knew more about herbs and natural cures than anyone I've ever met or even heard of. If there was a way to make a woman turn her attentions to a particular man, a powder or a pill or a..."

"Potion," she finished as he faltered.

"Yes. Perhaps there are notes in one of these books." He pointed to the nearest shelf, wagging one impatient finger.

"I don't have time to..."

"I'll pay you well for your time," he said before she could refuse him again. He had money to spare, and any knowledge that the old Matilda Candy might have gleaned would surely be worth having as an ace in the hole. "Whether you find what I'm looking for or not, I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

Her strange and beautiful eyes no longer twinkled with amusement. They were dead serious as she stared up at him, studying him as blatantly as he had studied her earlier. She scrutinized him as if she expected to find answers on his face.

"Mr. Harper," she finally said, her voice low and calm. "There's no such thing as a love potion. There's no magical recipe I can concoct that will affect the workings of the heart. My granny taught me that much."

His little bit of patience fled. "But..."

She held up a small hand to silence his protests. "However, I might be able to find something in the way of an aphrodisiac that will meet your particular needs."

"An aphrodisiac."

"A tonic that will—"

"I know what an aphrodisiac is, Miss Candy."

She smiled again, but without the withheld amusement. "A lust potion. Will that work?"

He considered the possibility. In truth he didn't care why Vanessa Arrington agreed to marry him, only that she did. He had no qualms about doing whatever was necessary to achieve his goals.

"How can I be sure this potion will be, ummm, guided in the proper direction?"

"You want to make sure this woman's attentions turn to you and not to just any man, is that it?"

"Yes."

He could see a bright curiosity light Matilda Candy's eyes, as he saw the way she fought back the urge to smile and ask him outright who his intended victim—recipient was a better word, he decided quickly—would be.

"Be present when she takes it," Matilda said sensibly. "Stay with her until the aphrodisiac takes effect." She glanced at the books on a far shelf. "This is, of course, assuming I can find something that will work properly."

Declan felt a rush of great relief, as if he'd handed his problem of how to deal with Vanessa to someone else. Of course, he'd always found it wise to delegate those chores he found distasteful.

"When do you think you might have this aphrodisiac ready for me?"

"Come back on Monday." Matilda walked to the door and opened it for him, signaling, without question, that their visit was over. "After dark," she added in a low voice as he passed. "I'm much too busy during the day to devote much time to your... special project."

"Thank you," he said as he stepped through the door. "I really appreciate—"

She closed the door before he could finish his thanks. He scowled at the door. The old Matilda Candy had never been so rude!

* * *

Matilda leaned against the door and closed her eyes. What an impossible man! He couldn't simply take no for an answer, and now she had another chore to accomplish. A love potion! How ridiculous.

She heard his horse galloping away. Even though she did not care for Mr. Harper or his demanding, persistent type, he didn't look like the kind of man who would have trouble attracting women. What on earth did he need a love potion for?

A love potion. Ha. If she were smart, she'd concoct an un-love formula, a tea or powder or pill to make someone afflicted return to a sane state of mind. Love? As far as Matilda could see, no good had ever come from the affliction.

Her grandfather had sworn to love Granny, or so she'd said, but in reality he'd found he couldn't live with her special talents. He certainly hadn't loved her enough to dismiss the rumors of her witchcraft or the uncanny moments when she claimed to know something she should not have known. One day, when their only child—Matilda's father—was eight years old, Granny's husband had climbed on his old horse and ridden away. He'd never returned.

Some, of course, had whispered that the old witch had done away with her husband, or turned him into a toad. Those nasty rumors had followed Granny all her life.

Matilda's father had left home years later, certain he could not build a normal life in this place where he was known as the witch's son. He'd become a doctor, married a woman he loved very much... and a few years later that horrible war had taken his life. Matilda had watched her mother grieve until she'd died of a broken heart.

Yes, an un-love potion made much more sense. If only Matilda had had such a medicine to give her mother....

She knew most of Granny's books well, but there were some that were so old and dusty they looked as if they hadn't been touched in a hundred years. Matilda pulled a chair to the shelf where those books were stored, stepped up and onto that chair, and stood on her tiptoes to reach the top shelf. She carefully grabbed the largest book by the cracked spine and drew it from its place. Dust tickled her nose and made her sneeze viciously. The chair she stood upon rocked slightly, teetering on one slightly short leg. When that episode had passed, she stepped down, moved her chair to the nearest table, and sat with the book before her. Very carefully, she opened the book and leafed through the brittle, yellow pages.

Some of these recipes called for ingredients she'd never heard of, and some she knew she could not obtain, such as ground silver and crushed pearls, ash of oleander leaf and burned nasturtium. Fascinated, she almost forgot what she was looking for as she perused the cures. In this old book there were potions for barren women, cures for diseases she'd never heard of, elixirs for eternal youth.

And, more than halfway through the book, she came upon a precious lotion for "a man impotent in the ways of love."

As she turned the page, she saw a piece of newer paper, stark white against the old yellowed pages, folded and stuck into the crease. Matilda, in Granny's hand, was written on the outside of the note.