Captivating the Scoundrel

by Darcy Burke

  “Your theories are quite sound,” Septon said with a twinkle in his eye. “Do you think Morgause was her sister?”

  “Probably, but I admit I haven’t pursued that research.”

  “Your father would be delighted to have proof that Morgan was aunt to several of Arthur’s knights, including Gareth.” Septon’s gaze flicked to Gideon.

  “Morgause was mother to Gareth?” Gideon vaguely recalled that.

  Septon nodded. “Along with Gaheris, Gawain, and Agravain.”

  “So I could be related to Morgan le Fay,” Gideon said, glancing toward Daphne and wondering if that had anything to do with why she was eager to let her father marry them off.

  “I would say you most likely are.” Septon looked toward Daphne. “I’d like you to see something.” He flipped back to the second page and moved aside so Daphne could take his place.

  She perused the poem, and since she was now standing close enough to nearly touch Gideon, he knew the moment she read Morgan’s name. Her body tensed, she drew in a sharp breath, and she leaned forward, her hand floating above the book so that it nearly touched the page. “She’s here,” she whispered in awe.

  “Much earlier than Geoffrey’s tale,” Septon said. “This is the rest of the Elidyr poem. I believe you have the fragment?”

  She withdrew the paper from her riding jacket with great care. There were several thick pieces of parchment folded around the fragment, which she gingerly revealed. She sent Gideon a glance tinged with apology. “I’m afraid I didn’t bring a pair of gloves.” She set the fragment next to the book on the trunk. “I had thought this was from the ninth century, but it must be earlier than that?”

  Septon adjusted his spectacles and read the page. “Oh yes, it’s much older than that. The sixth century, I should think. This is extraordinary. Wherever did you get it?” He looked over at her.

  “I found it several years ago in my father’s library. It was tucked into a book, likely forgotten. I didn’t want to tell him about it for fear he’d take it from me.” She looked a bit guilty.

  “Don’t feel bad about that,” Septon said with soft encouragement. “We all do what we must to protect antiquities.”

  She gave him a tentative look. “May I read the entire poem?”

  “I insist. Stratton and I were just reading it, but I’ve read it before, and now I’ve seen the missing piece. You two read it together.” Septon flipped the poem back to the beginning and stepped aside.

  Daphne glanced up at Gideon before starting to read. Because he’d just read the start of it, Gideon spent more time looking at her than the text. Her dark auburn hair smelled of orange and spice instead of the floral fragrances most women used. It gave her an exotic air.

  It was difficult to stand this close to her and not think of the kiss they’d shared the day before. Or the dream he’d had the past two nights…

  He forced himself to look at the page and stop thinking of her. They were at odds. They might both want the cloak, but she would give it to her father, and Gideon would keep it from him. Furthermore, she believed her father would reward her discoveries, or at least recognize them. Gideon doubted she’d ever be allowed into the Order and didn’t for a moment think Foliot would advocate for her.

  When she got to the point where he’d been interrupted earlier, he focused entirely on the poem. In its completed form, it told the tale of the healer, Morgan, and how she obtained a cloak from the monks at Beckery Chapel. She “blessed it to protect the wearer.” Arthur then came to the chapel where she gave it to him, and they left together. It implied he went off to fight a battle with his knights. There was also a great deal of other information woven in regarding healing and general health.

  Daphne looked over at Septon. “Beckery Chapel existed during their lifetimes?”

  Septon’s gaze brightened with admiration. “You’ve heard of it? Few people know of its existence. I daresay your father must have told you. It’s perhaps the earliest monastic community in Britain.”

  Daphne glanced back down at the text. “If Morgan associated with the monks and ‘blessed’ the cloak, does that mean she was Christian?”

  “No, I can’t imagine she was,” Septon said. “Christianity was here, of course, but a woman like Morgan le Fay would have worshipped differently. And her manner of ‘blessing’ could be just what it means—saying a prayer over the garment. However, I believe it was more than that.”

  Gideon suspected he knew what Septon meant, but wanted him to elaborate. “In what way?”

  “In the past—and even in some places today—there are those who associated healers, especially women, with magic or witchcraft. There is a bit of truth to the association, at least in some instances. We know it was the case with Merlin and likely with Morgan. Both were healers, and both are linked to magical items or activity.

  “Merlin?” Gideon asked. “Is he somehow related to the cloak or the other treasures?”

  Septon gave a slow, single nod that carried an air of skepticism. “Some think the treasures are buried with him, but as I told you before, they are not.”

  “Where are they?” Daphne asked.

  “An island—and probably not this island,” Gideon said. “Though no one can say for sure.”

  Daphne looked to Septon as if for confirmation. And he gave it to her, nodding.

  Gideon wanted to hear more about the cloak. “So you believe Morgan enchanted the cloak so that it would make the wearer invisible?”

  “That’s my theory.” He gave Daphne his full attention. “What do you think, Miss Foliot?”

  Daphne practically bloomed in response. It seemed her ideas and expertise weren’t in demand. Gideon really despised her father. He wanted to know why he hadn’t enlisted her to find the cloak—or any of the other treasures.

  “I think you’re probably right. That makes the most sense to me. I wish we could know for sure.” She briefly looked down at the text. “Where did you get this poem, Lord Septon?”

  His eyes twinkled in the lamplight. “Ah, now that is an interesting tale. Lord Pritchard was my mentor, and many of the most valuable antiquities in my collection came from him. Pritch was obsessed with Arthurian lore—more than me, if you can believe that.” He smiled at Gideon, who might have argued with him, but then he hadn’t known Pritchard.

  “I can’t imagine anyone being more obsessed than you.”

  Daphne threw him a wry glance. “Then you don’t know my father well enough.”

  “I do know him well enough, and you’re right. He is more obsessed than Septon.” Because he was willing to put people in danger and exact any price to get what he wanted. All in the name of Arthur. Or, perhaps more accurately, the Thirteen Treasures.

  Gideon looked at her for a moment, wondering how she could be so loyal to a man capable of such malfeasance. She had to be ignorant of his crimes and transgressions.

  “Back to my tale,” Septon said. He directed his gaze to Daphne. “Allow me to tell you about Pritch—that’s what I call him.” His gaze grew a bit unfocused as he reminisced. “Pritch was a high-ranking member of the Order, a descendant, and recruited me after I demonstrated exemplary academic achievement at Oxford. He believed the Isle of Avalon was located in Glastonbury and spent a great deal of time in the area, where he came to know many people. He became rather interested in some documents the monks had at Glastonbury Abbey and which were subsequently dispersed after the abbey was stripped in 1539. Many of the manuscripts went to a local family, but not all. In fact, there was a group of documents—the Beckery Texts—that went missing for quite some time.

  “They were written at Beckery Chapel?” Daphne asked.

  Septon nodded. “Yes. And it is thought by some, myself included, that Elidyr was a monk there.”

  “So Rhys Bowen’s Elidyr text came from Beckery?” Gideon asked, wondering if Rhys knew this. He planned to ask him along with how Rhys had come to have the manuscript.

  “It’s very likely. There is much we
don’t know about them. How did Elidyr come to write these tales? Did he travel with Arthur? Did someone tell him the stories?” Septon was quite passionate about this subject, but then he was about all things Arthurian. “During a trip to Glastonbury, Pritch met a woman who first told him about Beckery Chapel. He visited her several times and they grew…close. Eventually, she gave him the partial text that you just read, which he in turn gave to me. It was all she would let him have, or so he told me.”

  “Does that mean there are more writings by Elidyr?” Gideon asked.

  “That’s what Pritch said. He wanted to introduce me to the woman, but she refused. She became upset that he’d told me about her and ended the relationship soon after.”

  Daphne frowned. “What a shame. I would love to talk to this woman, assuming she is still alive.”

  Septon’s expression turned grim. “I am not sure she is. I’ve tried to see her a few times, but have always been told she is out.”

  “Then you know where to go,” Gideon said.

  “Yes, but I’m not sure I’d advise paying a visit.”

  Daphne looked at him earnestly. “We have to try.”

  We. She meant herself and Gideon—or so Gideon believed. But they couldn’t go together. If they found the cloak, he couldn’t let her have it.

  Septon cocked his head and nodded. “Yes. I think you must. Pritch always said she was part of a group of women—healers like Morgan—and that if he’d been a woman, they might have been more open to his interest in their history and the Beckery Texts.”

  “Well, I am a woman,” Daphne said, rather unnecessarily but sparking Septon’s laughter.

  “Yes,” he said through a wide grin.

  Gideon did not laugh. He was far too aware she was a woman. One he was supposed to marry.

  “All right,” Septon said, still smiling at her. “I’ll tell you where to go.”

  He would tell her. Not Gideon, though he’d make it clear he would be going. Apparently, he needed her to accompany him if these women would be more amenable to sharing information with a woman.

  “We’ll leave as soon as our horses can be prepared. If you’re up to it.” Gideon hoped she would say no so that he could go without her, but he knew she wouldn’t.

  She beamed at him. “Excellent.”

  It was not excellent, but it was the best he could do. As soon as he learned… What did he hope to learn? He focused on Septon. “Do you really think it’s possible any of these Beckery Texts will help us find the cloak?” Or the other treasures?

  “Certainly. But you’ll have to gain admittance to their library, and that will be quite a feat.”

  “We will,” Daphne said firmly, her gaze confident.

  Gideon did appreciate her optimism. It counterbalanced his pessimism. He was already thinking of how they might sneak into this library if necessary. “Where are we going?”

  “To a house on the southwest edge of Glastonbury near the River Brue. In fact, it’s called Brue Cottage. Though I would describe it as more than a cottage.” Septon inhaled and pinned Gideon with a dubious stare. “If you could gain access to their library, that would be quite an achievement for the Order. It would do much to improve your standing.” He flicked a glance toward Daphne and then shot his attention back to Gideon, who tried to silently communicate that Septon shouldn’t say any more.

  Thankfully, Septon understood. They couldn’t discuss Camelot or the fact that they knew her father was leading it and—probably—planned to stage an internal coup. Gideon had no idea what she knew or didn’t know, but he was still willing to bet she had no idea of her father’s crimes.

  Daphne sent Gideon an inquisitive stare but said nothing. He felt certain she would ask him about his standing later. Perhaps he would try avoiding her for the remainder of the day…

  Somehow, he doubted that would be possible.

  Septon opened the book to where the page was missing and looked at Daphne. “Would you mind returning your page to its home? This is a copy, of course, but I will ensure it’s reunited with the original manuscript. In exchange, I would be happy to transcribe the entire text for you.”

  It was a more than generous offer, especially from Septon, who guarded his antiquities closely. Gideon was pleased to see the genuine appreciation light up her face.

  She picked up her page and slid it into his book. “Thank you, Lord Septon. I would be delighted to return this orphan page to its parent.”

  “I am eternally grateful,” Septon said with earnest enthusiasm. “And if I may beg another favor? This library is secret. I only share it with family and the closest of associates and friends. Stratton, of course, is family. If you two marry, you would be family too. But if you do not, I humbly ask that you not share what you’ve seen or that you’re even aware of it. I’m sure you understand that many people would seek to gain entry and even to steal from me.”

  “I want to say that I can’t believe someone would do such a thing, but my father keeps guards for the same reason.” Was that what he’d told her? Not that in addition to stealing his antiquities—and his collection paled in comparison to Septon’s—there were people who wished him harm?

  “A wise choice.” Septon didn’t tell her that he also had guards, but they stayed hidden unless they were needed—or unless Septon was hosting a large event. Foliot had them out in the open all the time, medieval festival or not. For him, it was more to demonstrate his power and to intimidate. At least that was Gideon’s perspective.

  Septon picked up the book and replaced it on the shelf. He looked expectantly toward Gideon, who understood the silent communication.

  Gideon turned to Daphne. “Come, let us repair to the formal library downstairs.”

  “Yes, we’ve many things to discuss.” Her gaze took on a guarded quality. “Please, lead the way.”

  Many things to discuss, while he privately worked out how to part ways with her—for good.

  Daphne slid surreptitious glances toward Stratton as they made their way downstairs. He’d offered her his arm, and she’d considered not taking it. But if he would be gracious enough to present it, she would be gracious enough to accept it.

  Even while she harbored a healthy ire toward him.

  When they reached the library downstairs, she took her hand from him and folded her arms over her chest. Then she fixed his back—because he’d continued into the room—with a haughty stare. “What is your plan for us to travel alone? When we were going to marry, it was not an issue. Now, it’s a potential scandal.”

  Stratton turned, his reaction nonexistent. His gaze was as cool as ever, his features impassive. “If you’ve no plans to wed, does it matter? I’m fairly certain you don’t spend your time in London Society.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Heavens, no.”

  “You would have had to if you’d become my countess.”

  “Yes, well, that doesn’t seem to be in danger of happening,” she said flatly. She wasn’t upset that they weren’t marrying, though she had convinced herself that he would be better than most. She was upset that he’d left without a word and had planned to cut her out of finding the cloak. She suspected he still might, and was certain he’d go to Brue Cottage without her if Septon hadn’t pointed out that her feminine presence might be helpful.

  For the first time, being a woman was actually working in her favor.

  She unfolded her arms but didn’t relax her stare. “Since we aren’t married, how do you propose we travel together? You’d mentioned traveling apart and meeting up. We could do that, I suppose.”

  His eyes blazed with indignation. “God, no. It’s bad enough you rode here alone. I’m not allowing you to ride to Brue Cottage that way.” He raked his gaze over her from head to toe. “We could pass for siblings.”

  “You don’t get to allow or disallow me anything. You are not my husband.” She blew out a breath and with it a measure of her frustration. “We’ll use aliases, then. And if we’re recognized? That’s a distinct p
ossibility in Glastonbury since I grew up there.”

  He frowned at her, his brow furrowing. It should have made him unattractive, but she realized—annoyingly—that was impossible. “You’d prefer we pretend to be married.”

  It would be less risky, but she could tell he thought she meant to trap him somehow. “We can be siblings. What are our names?”

  “Mr. and Miss Morgan.”

  She tried not to laugh, but a small one escaped. And she was fairly certain she detected a slight flash of humor in his gaze. “What if I want to be Mrs. Merlin?”

  “That’s fine, but it might be a little too…strange.”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly. “I was joking.”

  His mouth barely ticked up, but she caught it. “I know.”

  “There is a very real chance we’ll be seen, and my father will be looking for us.”

  “Will he?” Gideon asked. “I thought you told him you’d gone to meet me.”

  “Yes, but when we don’t return today, he’ll know I was lying.”

  He studied her intently. “And why did you?”

  She lifted a shoulder and walked to a bookcase to peruse the spines of the books. Or at least pretend to. “I didn’t want my father to be angry with you. I was—am—still hopeful we will work together.”