Love in a Mist

by Patricia Grasso

  “Where’s Keely?” Richard asked Odo.

  “Safe with Rhys in Wales.”

  Thank you, God. Relief surged through Richard’s body, and he placed a hand on the big man’s shoulder. “Thank you, cousin.”

  “You’re welcome,” Hew called before his brother could say anything. “The young marquess is with her.”

  “Keely sent us back to clear your name,” Odo said. “We decided to stop here first and kill the baron for daring to strike her.” The giant turned to the duke and added, “’Twould seem Henry’s been a hero waiting to happen. He risked his life to bring our little girl outside to safety.”

  “Thank you for sharing that with me.” Duke Robert grinned and puffed his chest out with pride. “I always believed he’d eventually take after me.”

  “We can detain Dudley for a few days while you fetch Keely,” Uncle Hal suggested to Richard, who nodded.

  “What about me?” Roger asked, flicking an anxious glance at his father.

  Richard looked from Roger to the irate Earl of Eden. “Fledgling, His Grace and I would never consider leaving without you.”

  “Let’s take their horses,” Duke Robert suggested. “ ‘Twill save us the time of saddling ours.”

  “We’ll ride our own,” Richard said.

  “One moment, my lords.” When they turned to him, Odo blurted out, “Rhys is holding Keely and Henry for ransom.”

  The Earl of Leicester and the Earl of Eden looked at each other and hooted with derisive laughter.

  “My brother-in-law holds my wife for ransom?” Richard echoed.

  Odo nodded.

  “How much?”

  “Rhys don’t want your money,” Odo answered, then turned to the duke. “Baron Lloyd desires the gentle and b-b-beauteous—I think ’tis the word he told me to use—the beauteous Lady Morgana in honorable marriage.”

  Duke Robert smiled. “Baron Lloyd is welcome to my daughter and a handsome dowry.”

  Richard and his father-in-law started walking in the direction of the stables. Realizing the boy wasn't beside him, Richard called over his shoulder, “Are you coming, fledgling?”

  Roger grinned and hurried to catch up.

  “Get back here, son,” the Earl of Eden shouted, though he dared not move with the giant’s sword poised to pierce him. “Obey me, or I’ll beat you within an inch of your life. I’ll disown you.”

  Richard stopped short and turned around. Placing an arm around the boy’s shoulder, he said, “Roger has more integrity in his little finger than any ten nobles put together. Touch even one hair upon his head, and I’ll see you paupered before Midsummer’s Eve.”

  “Is that a threat?” the Earl of Eden challenged.

  “Consider it a promise.”

  The Earl of Basildon, the Duke of Ludlow, and the queen's page headed for the stables. As they rounded the corner of the priory and disappeared from sight, their voices drifted back to the others.

  “Why don't we lake their horses?” Roger asked.

  “Fledgling, always anticipate your opponent’s next move,” Richard said. “If we take their horses, Dudley will try to persuade Elizabeth to hang us for horse thievery.”

  * * *

  Twenty-five miles northwest of Smythe Priory, the Lloyd keep nestled in a secluded mountain valley south of Lake Vyrnwy. Spring arrived late in these mountains of Wales, but that particular day had dawned cloudy and unusually cold in spite of the fact that the first of May was hours away. Winter seemed to be reminding the world of men that he hadn’t yet been vanquished.

  Keely wandered into the Lloyd great hall just before the noontime dinner hour. She carried a heavy woolen cloak slung across one arm and one of her mother’s old Beltane baskets. Setting these on the high table, Keely sat down beside her brother.

  “You’re beginning to look like you swallowed something whole,” Rhys teased, winking at her. “How is your hand?”

  “Much better.” Keely glanced down at her swollen belly and blushed, but then an expression of worry shadowed her features. “Do you think Odo and Hew arrived safely in London?”

  “If you were a brigand,” Rhys countered, “would you attack two giants?”

  Keely shook her head. “How long do you think ’twill take to free my husband?”

  “That depends on the English queen,” Rhys answered. “Wales is your home, sister. Remain here as long as you want. Forever would please me.”

  “Thank you for that.” Keely smiled at him.

  With Madoc dead, she did feel that she belonged at the Lloyd keep. No one called her a bastard. In fact, all the Lloyd clansmen and retainers seemed friendlier than they’d ever been. Perhaps they’d really liked her all along but had feared Madoc’s wrath.

  “I cannot stay here indefinitely,” Keely said. “My husband and my baby need me and each other. Though he is terribly flawed, I love Richard.”

  Rhys cast her a sidelong glance. “In what way is the earl flawed?”

  “His Englishness prevents him from seeing beyond the horizon.”

  Rhys bit his lip to keep from laughing in her face. His sister was delightfully illogical. After all, the only people he’d ever known who were farsighted enough to see beyond the horizon were Megan and Keely. Others here-abouts believed his late stepmother possessed special powers, but Rhys himself was more pragmatic by nature.

  Keely scanned the hall’s occupants. “Where’s Henry?”

  Rhys winked at her. “Communing with his newest best friend, Elen of the big teats.”

  Keely rolled her eyes. She really ought to have chaperoned her younger brother, but in view of the fact that he’d saved her life, she hadn’t had the heart to keep him from celebrating their survival with his own brand of fun.

  “I must gather the Beltane branches,” Keely said, reaching for her basket and her cloak. “I intend to visit Megan afterward.”

  “’Tis a tad chilly today,” Rhys told her. “Don’t stay outside too long, or ’twill sicken my nephew.”

  “You mean your niece,” she corrected him as she left the hall.

  Outside in the courtyard, Keely breathed deeply of the pure Welsh air. A low overcast colored the sky a depressing gray, but tiny pockets opened occasionally and allowed sunlight to filter down to the earth. Gazing at the drooping clouds, Keely knew that winter struggled in vain to retain its grasp on the land and its people. She knew that spring was hiding behind those threatening clouds.

  Keely drew her cloak tighter around herself and walked into the woodland surrounding the Lloyd keep. With her Beltane basket hooked over her left forearm, she foraged for the nine types of wood branches needed for the sacred Beltane fire.

  First, she chose oak and birch, representing the God and the Goddess, symbols of fertility. Branches of rowan to protect against evil followed those into her basket. Next came hawthorne for purity, hazel for wisdom, berry vine for joy, and fir for rebirth. Last and most important, Keely selected apple wood for the magic of love. Beltane celebrated the sexual joining of young lovers, and the apple wood was the most sacred ingredient on this particular holiday.

  With her task completed, Keely returned to the clearing in the valley and headed in the direction of her mother’s grave. She passed the hallowed ground of the Lloyd graveyard and walked toward the grassy incline where three gigantic oaks stood together like old friends. The solitary grave beneath them faced the east, the sacred direction of the rising sun.

  “Good day,” Keely greeted the three majestic oaks who, like sentinels, guarded her mother’s resting place.

  Keely knelt in front of the grave and recalled happier times. No matter the season or the weather, Megan and she sat together on this very spot. Here her mother taught her the Old Ways, passing the Golden Thread of Knowledge to her. Feeling a presence beside her, Keely looked up.

  “Papa!”

  “Thank God, you’re safe.” Duke Robert knelt beside her. He drew her into a sideways hug and planted a paternal kiss on the ebony crown of her head. />
  “’Tis Megan’s grave?” he asked, glancing at the marker.

  “Her body lies here,” she answered, “but her spirit is enjoying the Great Adventure.”

  “An arrogant English pup—who thought he knew everything—traveled to Wales eighteen years ago,” Duke Robert told her, a soft smile of remembrance touching his lips. “He fell in love with a beautiful magical woman, a descendant of ancient Welsh princes, and married her. Life intruded upon their love and separated them for a time. The pup proved a very great fool who believed his father’s lies. You are my legitimate heir, Keely, and I intend to acknowledge you as such.”

  “I lived my whole life a bastard,” Keely said. “Condemning my brother to suffer what I did serves no purpose. Besides, I am a bastard no longer. I am the earl’s wife.”

  “I had a feeling you’d say that.” Duke Robert lifted her bandaged hand and kissed it. “You are Megan, both inside and out.”

  “Thank you, Papa.” Keely smiled with love at the English duke who had become her father in truth. “Please try harder to persuade Elizabeth to release Richard. I know he doesn’t really love me, but I cannot allow my daughter to live without her father. Experience has taught me how heartbreaking ’twould be for her.”

  “Elizabeth did release your husband to house arrest, merely hours after Smythe convinced you to leave Devereux House.” Duke Robert removed his dragon pendant and placed it in her hand. “Richard loves you more than life and deserves to wear this as a symbol of the love you share.”

  “If that’s true, why did he send you to fetch me?” Keely asked, unable to mask the misery swelling in her breast. She felt relieved that her husband was finally safe, but—

  “If you look over your shoulder,” Duke Robert said, “you will see a man whose love incited him to risk the queen’s wrath by escaping house arrest.”

  Keely whirled around. Her husband stood at the bottom of the grassy incline and watched her.

  “I need a moment alone with Megan,” Duke Robert said close to her ear. “Go to your husband, child.”

  With the assistance of her father’s steadying hand, Keely arose and started down the incline toward her husband. Unaccountable shyness slowed her step, and then she recognized the love shining from his emerald eyes. Richard opened his arms to her. With a cry of joy Keely lifted her skirts and sprinted the remaining distance to him.

  Richard crushed Keely against his body as if he would never let her go. His mouth captured hers. He poured all the love he possessed into that single stirring kiss.

  “I love you,” Richard said. “Por tous jours.”

  “And I love you for always.” Keely glanced at the dragon pendant in her hand and placed it over his head. “This belongs to you.”

  “Thank you, dearest.” Richard touched the gleaming dragon pendant. “I will cherish it and your love forever.”

  “Can we stay for the Beltane celebration?” she asked, her violet eyes sparkling with excitement. “’Tis the day young lovers leap over the fire.”

  “Aye, and we’ll join their celebration,” he answered, pulling her against him. “I’d leap over a thousand fires for you, my love.”

  Keely turned within the circle of her husband's arms and watched her father sitting at Megan’s grave. He appeared a lonely and sad figure of a man.

  “Mother, he loved you so,” Keely whispered, giving voice to her thoughts. “Send him a sign.”

  A sudden rumble of thunder rolled across the horizon. Tiny pockets opened in the cloud cover, and thin fingers of sunlight reached for the world. Huge delicate snowflakes fluttered down from the yawning clouds and laced the air.

  Duke Robert glanced up at the sky. A smile touched his lips and banished the melancholy expression from his features.

  “’Tis thundering and sunning and snowing,” Richard said. “All at the same time.”

  Keely gazed up at her husband through violet eyes wide with wonder. “Did I do that?”

  “No, dearest. Megan did it.”

  Epiloque

  She arrived on the tenth day of August, and they named her Blythe. Six weeks later, on the twenty-first day of September, English hedges and gardens misted with purple Michaelmas daisies. Their strange fragrance wafted through the air, announcing the full Harvest Moon and the autumnal equinox, when day and night balance perfectly.

  At midnight, London’s Christians had already eaten their St. Michael’s Day feast, and the farmers in the countryside had celebrated their Harvest Home. England was a sleeping land—except for one of the great mansions in the Strand.

  “You’re satisfied with a daughter instead of a son?” Keely asked the tall white-robed figure standing beside the cradle.

  “I love Blythe and you,” Richard gazed at his sleeping daughter and complained, “I cannot like the look of her, though.”

  “Yea, Blythe is uncommonly beautiful.” Keely crossed the bedchamber to stand beside him. “She’s the nectar of our love.”

  “’Tis God’s vengeance upon me for seducing so many—I’d rather she’d been blessed with a plainer face.”

  “Why?” Keely asked.

  “England has too many glib-tongued rakes whose sole purpose in life is stealing a maiden’s virtue,” Richard answered.

  Keely smiled at his anxiety. “Is this the man no woman could refuse?”

  “One did, and I fell in love with her,” Richard said, pulling her against the side of his body. “Which doesn’t solve the immediate problem of keeping those young swains away from Blythe.”

  “Immediate problem? She’s only six weeks old.”

  “Being prepared is always wise,” Richard told her.

  “Darling, you cannot stop the bees from tasting, the flower’s nectar,” Keely said.

  “Let them taste someone else’s nectar—not mine.”

  “Do you plan to worry about this for the next fifteen years?”

  “Probably.”

  In the great hall below, both family and friends waited for Richard and Keely to appear with Blythe. Twelve of them wanted to participate in the magical night ceremony when the Goddess would bless baby Blythe. Duke Robert and Lady Dawn spoke quietly with Richard’s parents before the hearth. On the other side of the chamber, Henry and Roger shared sweet memories of their stay in Wales with Elen. Odo and Hew stood with their wives, June and May. Jennings, the earl’s majordomo, had insisted upon being included in his little Blythe’s special night. With Jennings stood Mrs. Ashemole, whom Keely had recently hired to help with Blythe and whatever children followed.

  Except for Richard’s three sisters, who lived in foreign countries, Keely’s stepbrother and half-sister were the only absent family members. Morgana Lloyd, heavy with a difficult pregnancy, was unable to travel from Wales. Her adoring husband, Rhys, refused to consider leaving her behind in that delicate condition.

  After pulling up the hood of her ceremonial robe to cover her head, Keely handed each of her guests a candle. The various colors of the candles signified the personal traits she desired for her daughter. Every quality from health and courage to true love and great fortune were represented in those candles.

  While her husband waited with their daughter cradled in his arms, Keely lit each loved one’s candle. In silence, she led the procession outside to the garden where the birch, the yew, and the oak stood together.

  Keely used her holy stones to form a large circle, leaving only the western periphery open. Between each of the stones she set wild berries of elder, whortle, sloe, and damson. Everyone filed into the circle from the west. Keely closed it behind with the last holy stone, saying, “All disturbing thoughts remain outside.”

  Keely led Richard and Blythe to the center of the circle. Their loved ones held their candles high and formed a circle around them.

  At his wife’s nod, Richard lifted Blythe toward heaven, and Keely called, “Great Mother Goddess, fierce guardian of all your children. Behold Blythe, the jewel of my life, conceived and born in love. Bless and protect her.
Keep her feet planted solidly in the earth, while her spirit soars upward to seek the wisdom of the stars.”

  Keely took Blythe from her father’s arms and cradled the infant against her breast. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Open my heart, that I may see beyond the horizon into my precious one’s future.”

  Long silent moments passed. A satisfied smile touched her lips and then vanished.

  “I thank the Goddess for passing her wisdom through me,” she said, ending the ceremony.

  Keely handed Blythe to Duke Robert, then walked to the circle’s western periphery and broke the enchantment. “Mulled wine and spiced cider will be served in the hall,” she said as the invited guests left the sanctity of the circle.

  Everyone but the proud parents started back to the house. While Keely walked around the outside of the circle and collected her holy stones, Richard wandered down to the edge of the fog-shrouded Thames and waited for her.

  “What do you see?” Keely asked, slipping her arm through his.

  “Beyond the horizon.”

  “You must possess the incredible sight of a soaring hawk.”

  “I’ll need hawk eyes to keep the rakes away from our daughter,” Richard said.

  Keely smiled. “Darling, you’re about as sensitive to the invisible as a brick.”

  “’Tis the reason I married you,” Richard said, laughter lurking in his voice. “You keep me from tripping over things I cannot see.”

  “You are very funny.”

  Richard drew her into the circle of his arms and kissed her thoroughly. “I do love you, dearest.”

  “And I love you.”

  He lifted her up, and she entwined her arms around his neck. As he carried her across the lawns to Devereux House, Richard asked, “What did you see in Blythe’s future?”

  “One brother,” Keely answered. “And six sisters.”

  Richard stopped short. “Seven maidenheads to guard?”

  “Holy stones! Don’t drop me!”

  “I will never let you go,” Richard promised with love shining from his eyes. “Por tous jours.”

  “For always,” Keely whispered, then pressed her lips to his.