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While the men retired to the library, Morag led Joyce upstairs. “I want to check on Meg,” said Morag. “She should be asleep by now, if she’s not still awake reading. She’s quite the scholar. Like her -- Morag’s voice faltered. “Like her father.”
“I missed her at dinner,” Joyce said.
“Well, I – I – “ Morag stopped outside her daughter’s bedroom door. “I gave Meg her dinner early. There was someone I dinna want her to see.”
Joyce looked carefully at her hostess. “I take it you don’t mean Father Ramsey.”
“No.” Morag’s discomfort was plain to see. “Wolf was here earlier.”
“I know,” Joyce confessed. “Ru – Mr. Giles and I overheard you speaking with him. I half-expected to see him at dinner.”
Morag nodded. “He wanted to stay to dinner, but I asked him not to.” She let the subject drop and continued on into Meg’s room.
The only light in the bedroom came from the full moon, although Joyce could see some light coming from beneath a connecting door to another room. She could clearly see the eight-year-old curled up in bed, sound asleep. Soft gold brown curls were splayed across the feather pillow and Meg’s mouth drooped open just a bit. She reminded Joyce so much of Buffy at that age that tears came to her eyes. Morag smoothed the covers over her daughter and stroked Meg’s hair, then leaned down to place a kiss on the child’s forehead. As she stood up again, Joyce noticed that Morag’s unconsciously placed a hand on her abdomen.
[She’s pregnant] Joyce realized. Suddenly some things began to make sense. Morag must be having some difficulties with her pregnancy. She’s weak. And then this business with the mirror must be causing a terrible strain on the woman.
Joyce decided not to say anything, understanding that women of this time might not wish to discuss such private matters. At the same time, she suspected that this pregnancy might be part of the entire mystery as to why she and Rupert were called to Mort Grange.
As they stood in the dark, the door opposite them opened. A young girl with red hair came into the room. Joyce judged her age to be about 17 or 18. The girl was very pretty and had sharp, intelligent eyes, though Joyce couldn’t tell what color they were in the dim light.
“I thought I heard something,” the girl said softly.
“Aye,” whispered Morag. “We just came in to check on Meg. This is Mrs. Summers. Joyce, this is Meg’s nanny, Deborah.”
The girl nodded and did a little curtsy but said nothing. Joyce nodded in return.
“You can go on back to bed, Deborah. Goodnight.”
Deborah disappeared back through the door.
Morag lingered long enough to take one last look at Meg, then led Joyce out of the room. “Deborah’s a Highland lass, as well,” she commented as they walked downstairs again. “Meg adores her. And I know that Deborah loves Meg. She’s only recently come here. I give Meg her lessons, but Deborah helps in other ways.”
Joyce decided to take a chance and voice her suspicions. “And I’m certain that she’ll be even more help when the baby comes.”
Morag stopped short. Her obvious surprise soon vanished, however. “Aye,” she sighed. “As another woman ye were bound to see it. I am with child.” Morag’s hand wandered again to her stomach. “Gussie and I will have a son in September.”
“A son?” Joyce asked. “Are you so sure?”
“Aye.” Morag’s eyes took on a faraway expression. “That I am.” But just as suddenly as her eyes softened, a look of fear came to Morag’s face. “Joyce, Gussie doesn’t believe that I should tell you. But I must. It’s important that you know something. Please. Come with me.”
****** Giles walked Ramsey to the door. “Remember,” said the older man, “don’t trust Wolf Fergusson. We don’t know why he wants the mirror or what he would do with it.”
“Believe me,” Giles replied, “after hearing him speaking with Morag, I don’t trust him for an instant. Perhaps that’s why Joyce and I are here. To discover his motives for wanting the glass and stopping him.”
“Perhaps,” Ramsey agreed. “But know that the man is ruthless. He’s suspected to having had something to do with the disappearance of Lord Creighton’s half-brother.”
“Morag mentioned the disappearance. And something about a ‘ghostly rider’ on the moor.” Giles shook his head. “I thought it was just fanciful on her part.”
“Oh, no. Too many people have seen the rider. Many believe him to be the ghost of Creighton’s brother, looking to avenge his death.”
Giles couldn’t help smiling. “And you?”
Ramsey returned the smile. “I reserve judgment on anything out of the ordinary. It’s my job to be open to all manners of unusual occurrences. I’ll be going then.”
“You’ll be careful?” Giles asked, suddenly worried for the older Watcher.
“Oh, yes. And you should be, as well. Especially with your lady.”
Giles felt his face reddened. “Oh, she’s not my lady,” he protested.
Ramsey simply smiled as he turned to leave.
****** Confused, Joyce followed a near frantic Morag into the drawing room. The looking glass reflected their movements as Morag fumbled for a lamp, shaking so hard that she had trouble striking a match. Joyce took over, lighting not one but two lamps. “Sit down,” she told Morag. Whatever the news was that the woman wanted to relate, it must be very serious. Joyce was worried for her hostess. But she somehow knew that it was important to hear Morag out, that somehow all of this was related to the reason that she was there.
“Can I get you some water?” Joyce asked as Morag sank into a chair opposite the mirror.
“No. If we delay this, I’m not certain that I’ll have the courage ever to tell you.” Morag motioned for Joyce to sit. Still, it did take a moment for the Scotswoman to say anything else. Finally, she looked at Joyce, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“First, I want to say that Gussie loves Meg as much as any father could love a child. I know that in my heart,” Morag said. “But – but Meg is not Gussie’s daughter. She’s – she’s – “ Morag’s voice broke. “She’s Wolf’s daughter.”
That was the last thing that Joyce had expected to hear. She knew that her face reflected the shock that she felt. Morag turned away. “I canna blame Wolf with all of this. I canna accuse him of taking advantage of me or attacking me. I entered into it of my own free will. I know what you must think of me,” she said quietly.
“Morag,” Joyce replied, “I am surprised, but I certainly do not judge you.”
Turning back to Joyce again, Morag shook her head. “I never trusted Wolf. And yet, one night, while Gussie was away, I gave into him. Even after all I knew about him. I allowed him into my bed. My marriage bed! I betrayed my husband!” Morag stood and paced the room. “The next morning I was so ashamed. And then, weeks later, when I knew that I was with child, I also knew that it was Wolf’s child. I confessed everything to Gussie, thinking that he would turn me out of his home. But – “ Fresh tears came. “But he forgave me. He loved me and he forgave me. And he loved and claimed Meg as his own.”
Sudden realization shook Joyce. She slowly got to her feet. “Morag, you said Wolf is my ancestor. Meg is, too, isn’t she?”
Morag nodded. “Aye. Meg is your great-great grandmother.”
Joyce closed her eyes. “Why didn’t I catch on?” she murmured. “I’m named for her! My father told me that. He remembered her, loved her. Mom chose my first name, but Dad chose my middle name. Joyce Margaret McAlister!”
“I thought you might be,” Morag said. “When you told me your name, I realized exactly who were.”
Joyce walked over to the mirror and gazed at her reflection. Morag was in the background, watching her. “You’re my great-great-great grandmother,” Joyce said quietly. She turned around. “Does Wolf know about Meg’s being his daughter.”
Morag sat down. “He has asked. Gussie and I have always denied it. But, yes, I believe that he knows, deep in his heart. He always wants to see her. If there’s any good in Wolf, it’s connected to Meg.” She looked up at Joyce. “But there’s a bit of selfishness, too. Wolf thinks that Meg – and perhaps the child I carry now – can help him control the glass. She does have powers, stronger than my own. Perhaps she inherited some from Wolf as well as me.” Morag stood and crossed the room, taking Joyce’s hands. “I believe that you’re here to stop Wolf, not only from taking the glass, but from taking Meg, as well. I’m afraid that one day he’ll take her. We watch her constantly and have the manor guarded at night, but I’m still so frightened for her. Wolf would never harm her in any way, of that I’m certain. But to lose my child…”
Joyce put her arms around Morag. If there was one thing she completely understood, it was a mother’s fear and anguish for her child. “Of course I’ll do anything I can for Meg. And for you and Gussie.”
Morag pulled away. “But you don’t understand. I don’t think both of you will survive. I believe that you will die in trying to save Meg.”
****** Buffy and Angel talked over a plan of action once they emerged on the other side of the mirror, wherever that might be. “First, we’ll have to make certain that Mom and Giles are there,” Buffy said. “Then we tell them what we’ve discovered.”
“I still am not happy with this plan,” Wesley interrupted. “There is too much risk of the two of your altering history in some way. Not to mention what Mr. Giles and Mrs. Summers might already have done.”
Before Buffy could snap back a reply, Xander spoke up. “Even if they do, who’s to say that it’ll be worse than what happened before? Maybe it’s like Quantum Leap.”
“Yeah,” agreed Oz. “Maybe they’re supposed to make things better or right.”
“All I care about is my mom’s safety,” Buffy said. “And Giles’s. I want them back here and in one piece.” She turned toward Angel. “Are you ready?”
Angel was once again examining Morag’s diary. “Hang on,” he said.
Buffy’s patience was wearing thin. “You’ve already read that thing a dozen times. Nothing’s going to change.”
Looking up, Angel shook his head. “But it has.”
“What?!” The question came from everyone else present. They crowded around Angel to try for a glimpse at the book, not caring that no one else would be able to read Gaelic.
“What do you mean?” Buffy asked him.
“I mean that the last entry has changed. Something different happened than had happened before. In fact, Morag’s last sentence in the diary is, ‘They left this morning. God be with them and bring them safely back to us.’” Angel closed the book. “It looks like she was referring to Giles and Joyce. They – or someone else – must already have done something to alter history.”
Buffy looked into Angel’s eyes for a moment. He didn’t have to voice his question. She knew that he was silently asking her, “Do we still go?”
“All we know now,” she said slowly, “is that they might have survived that night. But they still might need our help. We go.”
****** Philan managed to escape from his hiding place in the library and sneak past the night watchmen outside the manor house. He hurried to the woods, finding his master waiting for him. “What have you learned?” Wolf demanded.
The servant smiled. “Much that you would like to hear.” He held out a hand.
Wolf glowered at him but dug into his coat pocket. “Here,” he said harshly, tossing a bag of coins to the spy.
Philan gave Wolf the desired information. As he spoke, he saw the other man’s eyes turn cold, even more cold than usual.
“We’ve no time to lose,” Wolf finally said. “We move tonight. Get the wagon. I’ll let our little ‘comrade’ know the plans."
****** After Ramsey left, Giles looked for Joyce. Instead, he had found Malcolm, who informed him that the lady had “repaired to her room.” Going to his own bedroom, Giles had found the place made ready for the night. The bed had been turned down and toiletries had been laid out on the dresser. A lamp burned low on the nightstand and the fire was lit, warming the room against the chilly night.
Although the hour was early by 20th century standards, it seemed quite late to Giles. The clock in the hallway chimed ten as he prepared for bed. He’d heard Joyce moving about in the room next door but was hesitant to bother her. Yet he knew that they had to discuss the events of the day in private. Gathering the books that he’d managed to sneak out of the library, he donned slippers and a dark red robe over his pajamas, glad that he wasn’t stuck with an old fashioned nightshirt to wear. Walking over to the connecting door, he tapped softly.
“Come in,” Joyce called.
Trying the doorknob, Giles discovered that the door was indeed unlocked. He entered the lady’s chamber of the suite.
Joyce, too, had changed into nightclothes, a white gown, robe, and slippers. She was standing by a window, looking out on the fields and brushing her hair. Giles stood for a moment in the doorway, a bit awestruck by her. He’d always considered Joyce to be a beautiful woman, but this moment almost took his breath away.
A single lamp on the nightstand was lit and a fire crackled in the hearth. All together, it was a most welcoming setting. Leaving the door open, he walked further into the room. Whatever his emotions, he had to remember that this was the Slayer’s mother and that they were here for some special
purpose.Yet he couldn’t forget the feeling of holding her in his arms and the sensation of her kisses.
With some reluctance, he put those thoughts aside, Giles walked toward the window. “You’re settled in then,” he said.
Joyce didn’t acknowledge the statement. She kept looking out the window. “Mort Grange,” she murmured. “Death Farm. Someone had a strange sense of humor. Or maybe a strange sense of truth.”
Her mood alarmed him. “What is it, Joyce?” he asked, drawing closer to her.
She turned to face him. “Morag and I talked this evening. She said that Wolf wants the mirror.”
“We knew that.”
Joyce held up a hand. “There’s more. He also wants Meg.”
This news was a shock. “Meg? Why?”
“It’s a long story. Let’s sit down.”
****** Joyce sat curled up on the settee and related all that Morag had told her. She was worried, not for herself, but for the Fergusson family – and for the man who sat next to her. “I’m not afraid to die, Rupert. Especially not if it means that Meg – and Buffy – will live. But I don’t want anyone else hurt.”
Rupert reached for her hand, enveloping it in both of his. “We don’t know that anything will happen to you. I’ll do everything in my power to prevent it.”
His touch was comforting. It reminded Joyce of that night, when she’d been so scared for the newborn babies that were taken from the hospital. Rupert had held her and assured her that they’d be fine. His care meant so much to her that night – just as it did this night.
She looked into green eyes, charmed, as always, by the brown patch in his left eye. More than anything at that moment, Joyce wanted to rest her head on his shoulder and feel his arms around her. This man whom she had once hated now meant something special to her.
“I know you will do everything that you can, Rupert, but – “ Joyce hesitated. “But if something does happen, I want you to do everything possible to get home and – and to take care of Buffy. I know she’s 18 years old and very mature and strong, but –”
“I won’t leave here without you,” Rupert said flatly.
Joyce placed her fingertips to his lips. “Please. Promise me that if I die, you’ll look after Buffy.”
For a moment Rupert looked into her eyes. She thought that he was about to agree. Instead, he reached up to move her hand a bit. He kissed her fingertips and then her palm. “I won’t leave here without you, Joyce Margaret McAlister,” he whispered.
His touch, his kiss, his voice thrilled her. Joyce caressed his face. “Rupert.” Her heart raced as he turned his head to kiss her hand once more. Then he pulled her close, tilting her head back to kiss her.
His kiss.
Joyce had kept the memory of Rupert's kiss from that night months ago. Strong. Sure. Tender. Arousing. She felt herself melting into his arms, just as she had done that night. And she returned his kisses, wordlessly asking for him to continue.
Rupert pulled back, searching her face for any sign of reluctance or uncertainty. "Joyce?" Again she silenced him, touching his lips with one fingertip. She had no doubts about what they both wanted, and she didn't want him to, either. Reaching for his glasses, she slipped them off his face and placed them on the table behind her. Joyce kissed him again, parting her lips to tease him with her tongue. Rupert responded ,his tongue exploring her mouth and taking her breath away.
As wonderful as Rupert's kisses were, Joyce gently pushed him away. His puzzled expression was quickly replaced by a quiet smile as she untied the sash of her robe. She opened the garment, knowing that the thin silk gown she wore beneath it left little to the imagination. Her arousal was evident, and Rupert cupped one breast, rubbing his thumb over the nipple. Her breath was becoming more ragged as she leaned back against the arm of the settee, offering him more access to her body. Rupert's hand moved past the low neckline of the gown. He teased her nipple more, rolling it between thumb and forefinger and causing her to moan.
Blindly, she reached for the sash of his robe. "I need to touch you,” she whispered. He pulled away long enough to shed his robe and pajama top. Joyce ran her hands over his chest, tracing little circles around his nipples with her fingernails. He gasped out her name. Leaning forward, she kissed him again. Her hands wandered downward to explore him more intimately. He was already erect and she stroked him through the thin material of his pajamas. Rupert moved her hand away. "Not yet," he said.
He got to his feet, pulling her to him and kissing her deeply. Joyce pressed her body to his, wanting to feel his arousal, wanting him to know how much she desired him. They walked to the feather bed, Joyce took off the robe, then eased the straps of the gown from her shoulders, letting both fall to the floor. She stepped out of them and kicked them aside. Rupert's eyes wandered over her body, but she felt no embarrassment. This was a man with whom she had made love before, but this time was different. This time they were truly themselves. Adults who understood the chances that they were taking with their emotions and the trust they were granting each other.
"You are incredibly beautiful," Rupert said softly. He pulled her into his arms again. Joyce kissed his mouth briefly, but then moved to place little kisses on his neck and along his collarbone. She felt his touch on her shoulders and back and finally on her hips, moving her tightly against him. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, Joyce reached for the waistband of Rupert's pajamas. She looked into his eyes as she pulled them down and let them drop. Wrapping one hand around his erect penis, she took the head into her mouth. He groaned and began to thrust gently into her mouth but almost immediately stopped. He eased away from her. “Lie down,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
Joyce took his hand, pulling him down beside her as she lay down. This was so different from the last time they were together. That night had had an almost magical quality. She knew now that that was the candy’s doing. But at the time, they had felt like kids, having reckless fun, causing trouble, and fucking each other for the hell of it. There was a certain sweetness and tenderness to that time, but nothing like this. Now Joyce felt that there was something akin to desperation in their actions. They were driven by desire, yes; but there was also fear. Fear of losing each other. Fear of not taking that next step. A longing to acknowledge what they’d known in their hearts ever since that night. That they wanted to start over and do things right the next time.
But time was what they didn’t have. And they couldn’t take the chance on never acting on their feelings. They were rushing things, and back in Sunnydale, if this moment had ever come, it would have taken a long time. Here, they moved forward, because they couldn’t afford not to.
Rupert leaned over to kiss her. Joyce ran her hands through his hair and down to his shoulders and back. The kiss became deeper and she felt Rupert’s hand moving down her body. She opened her legs, inviting his touch. He began to lightly caress her inner thighs, arousing her even more. Joyce grasped his hand, guiding him to more intimate places. Breaking off the kiss and smiled down at her. He followed her lead, stroking and then finally entering her. At the same time, Rupert lowered his mouth to her breast, sucking and biting at her nipple.
Joyce bit her lip to keep from crying out loud as an orgasm shot through her body and mind. Before she could catch her breath, Rupert moved over her and entered her in one motion. Oh, god! the feeling of having him inside her again! They fell into rhythm together, matching each other’s movements, clinging to each other as if it might be the last time.
A second climax was building within her. Joyce did cry out this time, unable to hold back. Rupert pulled her to him as he came, groaning loudly and murmuring her name over and over.
They lay in together, their arms and legs wrapped around each other, not wanting to leave the comfort of the other’s embrace.
****** He should have had regrets. A rational, logical part of Giles’s brain told him that. But he could never regret what he and Joyce had done or how he felt about her. Council rules strictly forbade a Watcher becoming involved in any way with the Slayer’s family. Well, to hell with Council rules. There was much about the Watchers’ Council that he disagreed with of late.
Looking down at the woman who lay curled at his side, Giles contemplated what had changed his mind from a decision to keep a respectful distance to desperately wanting to make love to her. The answer was quick in coming. Morag’s concern that Joyce might die had triggered an absolute fear in him. He didn’t want to lose her. And he didn’t want any chance to show his feelings for her to pass. He had made that mistake with Jenny. Giles wasn’t going to let the opportunity tragically slip through his fingers again. And he wasn’t about to leave Joyce’s fate in the hands of Whomever. Giles would not give her up without a fight.
Joyce stirred beside him and began lightly running her fingers across his chest. It tickled some, but she was the one who started laughing.
“What?” he asked.
“I was just thinking,” she replied. “Do you think we’ll ever have safe sex?”
Laughing out loud, Giles observed, “We do seem to keep getting caught short of ‘supplies.’” He held her even closer as she giggled again.
“It’s not just that,” she said. “We keep choosing odd times and places. First, on the hood of a police car, on a public street. Now, with the possibility that, at any time, Wesley could pull us back through the mirror and into the school library.”
“Good lord!” He looked into Joyce’s eyes. “Buffy would never forgive us!” Joyce laughed again and reached up to kiss him. But as she settled into his arms again, Giles could feel her mood change. “What is it?” he asked.
“I was just thinking about what Morag said. That we won’t be leaving until our ‘mission’ is accomplished.” She propped herself up on one elbow to meet Giles’s gaze. “I think she’s right. Whatever we’re here for, we won’t leave until the mirror says we can.”
Giles considered Joyce’s statement. It was a strong possibility that she was right. “I know,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “But we’ll be going through it together.”
Joyce lay down beside him again. They said nothing more, but lay in silence together until they fell asleep.
****** “Rupert! Rupert! Wake up!”
Giles awoke at the sound of Joyce’s voice and the feel of her shaking him. Instantly alert, he sat up. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “Something. Something’s wrong. Get up and get dressed.”
A sense of urgency swept over him. He didn’t doubt her intuition this time. Going to his own room, Giles scrambled into clean clothes. He’d no sooner finished dressing when a loud commotion outside got his attention. As he looked out the window, he saw people running back and forth and shouting.
“Fire! Fire!”
Giles didn’t wait for confirmation and ran back into Joyce’s room. She was dressed and pulling on a pair of riding boots. “Joyce!”
“I heard. Let’s get out of here.”
They rushed out of the room, nearly running into Malcolm. The butler was sweating and his face was smudged. “There’s a fire in the stable,” he told them. “We’re trying to keep it confined there. But I do suggest…”
Giles nodded and took Joyce’s hand. As they headed down the staircase, another sound stopped them, a sound different from the cries of the people outside the house.
“Meg!!! Meg!!!”
Joyce turned and looked back upstairs. “Morag,” she whispered. She ran back toward the little girl’s room.
Morag and Gussie stood in the middle of Meg’s room, their arms wrapped around each other. Morag continued screaming. “Meg!!! Meg!!!”
Before they could ask, Gussie told them, “Our daughter! She’s gone! And Deborah, as well! They’ve gone!”
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