Love in a Mist

by Patricia Grasso

  Morgana’s smile was angelic yet inviting. “I do believe I know of such a place.”

  “I’m sure you do,” Rhys said, his voice husky. He turned to his sister. “Will you excuse us?”

  Before Keely could even acknowledge what he’d said, the unlikely couple walked away. Keely could only stare after them.

  How did Rhys have the courage to admit to his ignorance about dancing? She’d been mortified beyond endurance. The answer came to her then. Rhys was legitimate issue and a baron. While she was merely a—

  “Good evening, countess.”

  Keely turned toward the voice.

  Willis Smythe stood beside her. His gaze, fixed on her cleavage, made her feel naked.

  “Good evening, my lord,” Keely said, pasting an insincere smile onto her face. She felt as shallow as the other courtiers in the chamber. If she forced herself to mingle with a man she disliked, mingling with the others would be easy.

  “Has your husband deserted you again?” Smythe asked.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I believe the pavane is your favorite dance,” Willis said. “Shall we?”

  “The pavane is my only dance,” Keely said, placing her hand in his.

  Keely suppressed a shudder as he led her onto the dance floor. Willis bowed to her in courtly manner, and she curtsied in return.

  “You look lovely tonight,” Smythe complimented her, his gaze on the swell of her breasts as the pavane began.

  “I’m flattered that you appreciate the cut of my gown.”

  Smythe gave her a smile meant to melt the frigid look in her eyes. “I understand that congratulations are in order. How is the mother-to-be feeling?”

  “Wonderful, at the moment. The morning sickness prevents me from eating breakfast.”

  “Isn’t skipping breakfast unhealthy for the babe?” Smythe asked. “I would have thought an expectant mother would fill herself with eggs, cheese, milk, and ham.”

  “Eat ham?” Keely crinkled her nose to emphasize her revulsion. “I heartily despise pork in any form. ’Tis one of Richard’s favorites.”

  Keely swayed to the right to touch her left palm to his and stopped short. Beside the baron stood her husband. Her angry husband.

  “I warned you, Smythe,” Richard said, his voice low, his eyes glinting with murderous intent.

  “Give over, Devereux,” Willis said. “’Tis merely a dance.”

  “You did leave me to fend for myself,” Keely reminded her husband, as the dancers around the three of them inched closer to eavesdrop on their confrontation.

  “I forbid you to dance with this man,” Richard said. “Choose another partner.”

  Of all the unbridled gall. Her husband could dance and flirt with whomever he pleased, but she must stand alone until he attended her?

  “My lord, you do make a spectacle of us,” Keely said, forcing a calmness into her voice.

  “Do not provoke me,” Richard warned, reaching out to grab her wrist.

  Keely stepped back a pace, lifted her right hand in the air, and gave her husband the fig. Whirling away, she marched out of the hall. When she reached the corridor, Keely lifted her skirts and sprinted the rest of the way to their chamber.

  How dare her husband order her to mingle and then publicly reprimand her for doing so. How dare he—the door crashed open.

  “Stay away from Smythe,” Richard ordered, advancing on her. “Cease encouraging the attentions of other men.”

  Keely opened her mouth to reply, but Richard was faster.

  “Do not deny it,” he warned. “I have eyes in my head to see how those men look at you.”

  “I am not the Devereux whose private beauty mark is known and universally admired by every female at court,” Keely shot back.

  That stopped the earl’s intended tirade. “I have heard enough. You will pass the remainder of the evening in this chamber, where you will reflect upon the error of your ways.” At that, he stormed out of the chamber and slammed the door behind him.

  Keely glared at the offending portal. “I hope you break your big toe.”

  Keely heard a shout and a crash in the corridor. She yanked the door open and stared at the sight that greeted her.

  The earl sprawled among the rushes on the stone floor. Slowly, he raised his gaze to hers. “My haste tripped me.”

  Keely slammed the door shut. She covered her mouth with her hands and dissolved into muffled giggles, but the thought that her marriage was a failure sobered her.

  Keely sat down in the chair in front of the hearth. She had always yearned for two things: a father and a home. Winning her father’s acknowledgment and love had happened so unexpectedly, she couldn’t be lucky enough for both dreams to come true. That special place called home would forever elude her.

  Born and bred a Welshwoman, she could never fit into this strange English society, but she would remain in England for the sake of her child. Keely could accept life without her husband’s love if he proved a loving father to their children. An imperfect world sometimes forced the heart and the soul to make do with what was offered. Living at the Tudor court, however, was an entirely different matter. Remaining amidst its superficiality even for one more day seemed like an impossible task.

  Keely needed the sun warming her shoulders. She needed the wind caressing her face. What she needed most of all was to worship at the sacred site in the earl’s garden where the yew, the birch, and the oak conversed.

  Keely decided to return to Devereux House in the morning with or without the earl.

  The power of her positive thinking lifted her spirits. She packed a few belongings in her leather satchel and went to sleep in a much better frame of mind than when she had awakened.

  * * *

  Hoping to avoid another argument with his wife, Richard returned to their chamber later than usual. He undressed in the darkened chamber, tossed his clothing onto the floor, and climbed into bed. Snuggling against his wife, he joined her in sleep.

  Only a few moments seemed to have passed before Richard swam up from the depths of unconsciousness. A hammer—no, a battering ram—pounded inside his head, and his eyelids felt too heavy to open.

  Seeking the comfort of his wife’s body, Richard inched closer to the middle of the bed. Keely wasn’t there. Then he heard her humming softly as she moved about the chamber. “What time is it?” he moaned.

  “’Tis early.”

  Sensing her presence beside him, Richard opened his eyes just as she set a sheet of parchment down on the pillow. Blinding sunshine streamed through the window behind her. He squinted against the painful brightness.

  “What is this?” Richard asked, his gaze sliding to the parchment.

  “A note for you.”

  “A note from whom?”

  “From me.”

  Richard cocked a copper brow at her. “What does it say?”

  Keely lifted her leather satchel off the floor. “I’m going home.”

  Richard groaned. The last thing he needed this morning was a runaway wife. Why couldn't the witch wait until his head cleared before she started creating new problems?

  “I forbid you to leave this chamber,” Richard ordered.

  “Dearest, mix feverfew herbs in a mug of warmed cider for your headache.” Keely gave him a sunny smile and then quit the chamber.

  Richard leaped out of the bed and marched across the chamber. He yanked the door open but stopped short.

  A passing serving wench winked at him and giggled. “’Tis true,” she exclaimed. “You do sport a freckle on the tip of—”

  Richard slammed the door shut and hurried across the chamber to fetch his discarded clothing from the previous night. Because his industrious wife had already folded and put them away, Richard wasted five minutes searching for breaches, shirt, and boots.

  When he opened the door again, Richard nearly tripped over the breakfast tray, which had been delivered while he was dressing. He paused for a moment and then picked it up. The tr
ay was laden with hard-cooked eggs, cheese, bread, and a small mountain of ham slices. Richard looked at the tempting slices of ham, but the thought of eating sickened him. Too much wine the previous night had stolen his appetite.

  His impetuous wife had no concern for the babe she carried, Determined to return to Wales, she would endanger their child by starving herself. Richard intended to cram her breakfast down her throat, starting with the ham she despised. Then he’d lock her in their chamber.

  Reaching the lawns outside the palace, Richard spied his wife up ahead. Keely walked along almost leisurely, an unusually slow gait for a runaway. A smile flirted with the corners of his lips as he admired the gentle sway of her hips. His headache dulled to a minor throb, the sight of his wife a balm to his health and well-being.

  Lecturing and ordering hadn’t once bent the independent witch to his will. Would his fabled Devereux charm be more persuasive?

  Richard walked into the dimly lit stable and saw his wife standing in front of Merlin’s open stall. At least she’d had enough sense to refrain from lifting the heavy saddle.

  Hew was readying Merlin for travel while Odo was trying to persuade Keely not to leave. All three looked at the earl when he approached.

  “Breakfast is served,” Richard announced, gifting her with his devastating smile.

  “I never eat breakfast,” Keely said, seemingly immune to his masculine wiles.

  “Don't forget the babe needs the nourishment.”

  “I’ll dine later.” Dismissing him, Keely turned toward the stall and stroked Merlin’s forehead.

  Richard set the tray down. Trying to hold his patience, he counted to ten and then added another twenty for good measure. Though he’d never before suffered from a quick temper, his wife brought out the worst in him. And the best.

  “You’re riding to Wales alone?” Richard asked.

  Keely snapped her head up and looked at him. “Wales is not my destination.”

  “Tell me, what exactly is your destination?” Richard asked.

  “Devereux House.”

  Richard relaxed and stepped closer. “Could we speak before you leave?” He drew her away from the stall.

  Keely nodded. “What would you like to discuss?”

  Richard opened his mouth to speak, but heard Odo shout, “No, Merlin. Bad horse.”

  Keely looked over her shoulder at the horse devouring their breakfast. “Never mind. Let her enjoy it.”

  “Keely, why are you leaving?” Richard asked.

  “Living at court doesn’t agree with me.”

  “Why?”

  Keely dropped her gaze to his chest. “Living here is destroying our marriage. You either ignore me or fault me for whatever I do. Perhaps I will not displease you so much if we live at Devereux House.”

  “You do not displease me.” Richard tilted her chin up, his gaze locking on hers. “In truth, the court holds no appeal for me, but I promised Elizabeth we would remain through Twelfth Night. We’ll return to Devereux House when the court moves to Richmond for the winter.”

  “Another two weeks in this place will surely kill me.”

  “Do not exaggerate,” Richard teased, tracing a finger down her silken cheek. “If you stay, I promise to wear my ceremonial robe when we go home.”

  Keely stared into his eyes for several long moments and considered the sincerity of his offer. That her husband was bribing her to stay was obvious. If he cared enough to do that, perhaps their marriage could succeed after all.

  “Come, love,” Richard said. “I’ll let you watch me eat breakfast.”

  An agonized screeching rent the air behind them. Whirling around, Richard and Keely saw Merlin stagger against the side of the stall, fall to her knees, and then flop onto her side. Shrieks of pain burst from the shuddering mare.

  Concerned for his wife’s safety, Richard grasped her upper arms and held her captive, but desperation gave her strength. Keely pulled out of his grasp and dropped to her knees beside her mare.

  “Richard, help her.”

  Richard glanced at the empty breakfast tray and then at Odo and Hew, who nodded in unspoken agreement. “Easing her death is all I can do,” he said, reaching for Odo’s dagger. “Wait outside the stable.”

  “I’m staying,” Keely refused. “Do it quickly.”

  Richard knelt beside her and slashed both sides of the mare’s neck, severing the main arteries. Heedless of the sea of blood, Keely held the dying mare’s head in her lap and whispered words of comfort to ease Merlin’s passing. Within minutes, the shuddering horse stilled and silence reigned inside the stable.

  Only when the horse lay in peace did Keely succumb to her tears. “I don’t understand,” she sobbed. “What happened to her?”

  Richard drew her against the solidness of his body. “Someone poisoned the food.”

  “Who would poison my horse?”

  “Dearest, whoever did this harbored no intent to poison Merlin. Let me take you to our chamber now.”

  “Rhys gifted me with Merlin for my twelfth birthday.” Keely caressed her beloved horse, nodded at her husband, and stood with his assistance.

  Richard lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the stables. Keely wrapped her arms around his neck, hid her face against his shoulder, and wept.

  Crossing the lawns toward the palace, Richard halted when he saw two people hurrying toward him. Dressed for riding, Rhys Lloyd and Morgana Talbot advanced on him. This was all he needed to make the worst morning of his life complete.

  “What happened?” Rhys asked, staring at the blood.

  “Someone poisoned Merlin. I had to—” Richard broke off when his brother-in-law nodded in understanding.

  Morgana opened her mouth and shrieked. “There’s a poisoner at—?”

  Rhys covered her mouth with his hand and yanked her against his unyielding body. The blonde struggled in his arms, but only muffled squawks of protest escaped her mouth.

  “Congratulations, baron,” Richard said. “I’ve wanted to do that or a long, long time.” Without another word, he headed toward the palace.

  “You son of a Welsh bitch.”

  Richard paused and looked back in time to see Morgana slap the Welshman’s face. Rhys crushed Morgana against his body and kissed her until she went limp within the circle of his embrace.

  Richard turned toward the palace. Willis Smythe, his gaze fixed on the kissing couple, stood there.“

  “What’s happened?” Willis asked, his gaze sliding to the bloodsoaked clothing.

  “Someone poisoned my wife‘s horse,” Richard answered.

  Willis paled. “A poisoner loose at court?”

  Richard nodded.

  Concern etched itself across the baron’s features, and worry shone from his eyes. “Are you well? Is there aught I can do to help?”

  Remorse and guilt for distrusting his friend swelled in Richard's chest. “Please send a page to find my wife’s women.”

  “I’ll fetch them myself.” Willis hurried away.

  Gaining his chamber, Richard set Keely down on the bed and then sat beside her. He brushed the tears from her pale cheeks and tried to reassure her with a smile.

  Keely turned her head to the side and kissed the palm of his hand. “Someone poisoned our breakfast.”

  “I know.”

  “What will you do?”

  “There’s nothing to fear,” Richard soothed her. “I intend to speak with Burghley and Elizabeth as soon as May and June arrive to keep you company.” He leaned close and planted a kiss on her forehead.

  “I hope you’re going to change before you see the queen,” Keely said. “She’ll faint at the sight of all that blood.”

  Richard gave her a quick kiss and then collected a clean shirt, breeches, and doublet. He buckled his leather belt. “Where’s my dagger—the one with my insignia?”

  “I haven’t seen it,” Keely answered. “You’ve lost a button on that doublet.”

  “So I have.” Richard changed
his doublet and then returned to the bed.

  “What do you think the queen will do?” Keely asked.

  “Burghley will advise her to keep this incident as quiet as possible while his agents investigate,” Richard answered. “Panicking everyone at court would serve no good purpose. Though, I’m almost positive Elizabeth will banish the Italians.”

  “The Italians? Why?”

  “The Italians are known for their expertise with poisons,” he explained. “’Tis their preferred method of assassination.”

  “Why would any Italian wish to assassinate us?”

  “I don’t know and probably never will.” Richard smiled in an attempt to keep her calm, “Trust me, darling. The danger has passed. Whoever poisoned our breakfast will not dare a second attempt, because now our guard is up. Those few courtiers who discover what has transpired will only eat food their own servants have brought from the kitchens.”

  The door swung open. May and June entered on the run.

  “I shan’t be long,” Richard said, rising from the bed.

  Keely grabbed his hand. “You will be careful?”

  Richard nodded and turned to his cousins. “Do not leave your mistress alone. Accept no food unless you personally fetch it from the kitchens.”

  Richard left the chamber. Once outside in the privacy of the corridor, he paused for a moment and leaned against the wall, the frightening enormity of what had almost happened hitting him with the impact of an avalanche. What if he’d crammed that food down his wife’s throat as he’d intended? Keely would be lying dead in the stable instead of Merlin. Whom had the poisoner meant to dispatch? Keely or himself? Or both?

  Chapter 16

  “Happy Christmas,” Keely whispered, her lips hovering above her sleeping husband’s.

  “Happy Christmas, dearest.” Richard kept his eyes closed and savored the comfortable feeling of his wife’s weight on top of him. “How about my Christmas kiss?”

  The man was insatiable, but Keely didn’t mind. She pressed her lips against his and poured all of her love into that single, stirring kiss.

  Richard wrapped his arms around her, imprisoning her against the muscular planes of his body, and returned her kiss in kind. “I love Christmas, especially its kisses.”