Druid's Daughter

by Jean Hart Stewart

  He grinned more widely and said he did not, but somehow he’d recently conceived quite a desire to do so. Morgan gritted her teeth and scowled at them both as her mother began to explain and Dellafield settled back to listen.

  “The word witch comes from the word ‘wicca’, which means wise woman. True witches have always worked for the good of all. The main foundation of witches’ belief is simple, above all do no harm.” She smiled as if at a promising pupil. “The dominating rule commanding every action is ‘And you harm none, do as you will’. One must never do harm to oneself, nor to any other. Anyone who harms another is not a true witch.”

  Morgan rolled her eyes. “All very true, my mother, but I can’t think a Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard is interested.”

  “But I am,” interrupted the Chief Inspector. “I find this fascinating. As I’ve always found my title ridiculously long. I’d be honored if both you ladies called me Lance.”

  “I don’t think so,” snapped Morgan. When her mother looked her surprise she added, “But perhaps Lord Lance, if that’s agreeable. Although you said once you didn’t like your title as well as that of Chief Inspector.”

  Her glance, laced with honey, was directed more at her mother than Lord Lance.

  “I’d be honored to have you call me whatever you like,” said the Chief Inspector.

  Morgan admitted to herself he’d outmaneuvered her. She waited, now smiling sweetly as both her mother and Lord Lance leaned back against the squabs. Then she added words that should squelch him and alert her mother.

  “You are wasting your time, mother. This particular man will never understand what it means to be a witch. He even thinks Druids and witches are one and the same.”

  Lord Lance flushed at her implied conviction of his arrogance. He turned again to Mrs. McAfee.

  “Please go on,” he said in a sincere voice. “I would appreciate anything you could say to enlighten me. I know I’m woefully ignorant on the subject of Druids.”

  Viviane McAfee laughed at them both. “No, I think not. At least not now, maybe later. Actually witches are much simpler to understand than Druids, which is why I started with them. Many, many people confuse the two. But there, my gates are coming near, Lord Lance.”

  “I fear I need much enlightenment,” said Lord Lance as he tapped with his cane on the roof of the cab. “I trust you’ll continue your teaching another day.”

  His driver swung between the black iron gates, while Lance and Mrs. McAfee smiled at each other in perfect accord.

  The dwelling beyond the gates was the most gracious townhouse Lord Lance had ever seen. It was not large, but every golden brick seemed to proclaim welcome. Lance could not discern exactly what made it so pleasing. He turned to Viviane to compliment her on her home and found her looking at him with a complacent delight.

  “You do not disappoint me, Lord Lance. I’m glad you appreciate our London home. I know your father and your mother and you are a credit to them both. Now if you would just escort us to our doorstep, Ambrose and I will bid you goodnight.”

  A very proper butler threw open the doors, as Viviane McAfee and Ambrose paced through. She must have signaled somehow for the butler closed the door behind them.

  Lord Lance and Morgan were left standing on the threshold. Alone. With Morgan still fuming.

  “Your mother is most attractive,” said Lord Lance, but Morgan noticed his eyes suddenly fastened on her agitated breasts. “And seemingly as much a mind reader as you.”

  “Of course she is both those things,” snipped Morgan. “Right now I think she’s a Judas of the first degree.”

  Morgan was bubbling with indignation.

  “She left us here alone with unanswered questions filling your mind. Just the kind of situation where a man grabs a woman merely to calm his confusion. She’s very wise about people, so she deliberately set us up for some kind of confrontation. I think it too bad of her.”

  “I don’t,” said Lance in a soft voice. “I agree she’s very wise. She recognizes you and I are attracted to each other.”

  Morgan gasped. “I’m not attracted to you, you narrow-minded member of the aristocracy I dislike. You have no idea of the kind of woman I am.”

  “Don’t I indeed?” murmured Lance in a stronger tone as he reached out a long powerful arm and grabbed Morgan to him. “Perhaps I’d like to find out.”

  His arms wrapped around her, yet she didn’t feel trapped. This was the consoling comfort she never realized she’d been seeking. She raised her face to his in wonder and looked into blue, blue eyes blazing with a spark of heat in their depths. His lips came down on hers, his eagerness restrained as if waiting for her response.

  She surged against him, contrary to what she’d thought was her will and lifted her hands to plunge them into his thick dark hair. He needed no more encouragement and he kissed her deeply as she responded with innocent ardor. He pressed kisses over her face and then coming back to her mouth, kissed her again. Then he parted her lips with his tongue. At first he was gentle, silently asking her to let him inside. She drew back in shock and leaning a little away, looked at him with eyes flared open.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, leaning his face against her hair. “I went too fast.”

  He loosened his tight hold on her slightly, but did not release her.

  He drew a very deep breath. “Have you ever been kissed, Morgan?”

  She struggled to get free and he let her go. But not far. She tried to step away, but that he would not permit. He held her lightly imprisoned against the door with one arm on each side of her shoulders, making a cage that did not touch her. A cage only he could open.

  “Of course I have.” Her indignation made him smile.

  “Not by a friend, my dear. By an amorous man who might like to do more than mere kissing.”

  Morgan turned aside. “I think this is a ridiculous conversation and I don’t care to answer.”

  “You have answered me,” the Chief Inspector said in a soft, pleased voice. “I’m sorry I rushed you, Morgan. I’ll not make such a mistake again.”

  There was a short pause, while Morgan adjusted her skirts and her hair and refused to look at him.

  Lord Lance stared at her a long time and then spoke in his usual crisp manner.

  “Again you completely surprise me. While we seem to agree on very little, I would like to get to know you and see if our differences are as great as you think. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the opera Saturday night? I believe they’re singing La Traviata.”

  Morgan’s reactions flitted expressively across her mobile face.

  “I adore the opera,” she said, “and La Traviata is one of my favorites. But you cannot be serious. You are the son of a Duke and a respected official, a highly respected official of Scotland Yard.” She fastened her green eyes on him and continued in a serious tone. “I’m a known psychic and Druid and am thought by many to be at worst a witch and at best slightly deranged. You cannot wish to be seen in public with me.”

  He was silent for some time, trying to read the thoughts behind her words.

  “That is rather my concern than yours, is it not?”

  He knew his voice was huffy, but he resented with surprising force her thinking he cared about such ridiculous things as others’ opinions.

  She flushed at his anger.

  “But it’s my concern as well. I know in my heart we will work together again on another criminal activity. I also know it will be best if we don’t deepen our friendship.” She took a long breath as if it were an effort to go on. “I realize even this is asking you to believe in me when I know you do not.”

  Lord Lance looked at the beautiful girl before him, her eyes meeting his with candor. Still he thought he saw a spark of desire she wasn’t experienced enough to hide. That lack of experience intrigued him beyond words. He found it hard to believe at her age she’d never been thoroughly kissed. How old was she, twenty-two or three? Had her reputation frightened away
men of the quality she deserved? Even ignorance of her true value didn’t seem enough excuse. Had her mother protected her somehow? Or was it just a sweet and beautiful innocence not common at all in today’s dissolute world?

  Blazing hell if he wasn’t beginning to believe in the possibility of spells! Either that or he was losing his mind.

  Maybe both.

  He kissed her lightly on the forehead and left her.

  Chapter Five

  On the ride home Lance suddenly remembered Viviane McAfee’s words. She knew his parents well enough to consider him a credit to them? This was definitely something an experienced detective of Scotland Yard should check out.

  With a smile, Lance rapped on the roof of the cab with his cane and redirected the driver.

  Before long the cab drove up to the ducal home on Park Lane. A large and impressive mansion, it was a place Lance loved. Not for its architecture, which was too ornate for his tastes, but for the people who lived there. Only his next older brother resided here now with his parents, but at one time he and his three brothers filled the home with noise and laughter when the family was in London. On reflection, Lance was not surprised his parents might have known Viviane McAfee. They’d always been, to his delight, far less stuffy than their contemporaries. They’d also encouraged their children to ferret their own way through issues of the day and not accept even their parents’ opinions. Mealtimes often featured rousing discussions clarifying everyone’s mind.

  He dismissed the cabbie and strode to the door, where the butler admitted him with a smile.

  “Lord Lance, how nice to see you. You will indeed be welcomed by the whole household.”

  Lance handed over his hat, coat and cane with a grin.

  “I don’t come often enough, I know, Bradley. Have you been well? How is your arthritis?”

  “Very well, my lord, thank you.”

  The butler’s voice was suddenly eclipsed as his father, a bear of a man almost as tall as his son, strode forward.

  “Lance, it’s high time you came calling on your ancient parents. What brings you?”

  He hugged his son, shook his hand vigorously and led him to the parlor where the Duchess greeted him with equal delight. As Lance kissed his rather delicate mother, he again remarked to himself on her fragility. How on Earth had she produced four strapping sons? And how under heaven could he be excused for not seeing her more often?

  “Madam, I think I’ve been more negligent than I realized if my father wants to know what motive I have for coming.”

  His mother, her voice as light as her graying blond hair, tugged on his hand so he would sit beside her.

  “Well,” she grinned. “Tell us the reason, then.”

  Lance threw up his hands.

  “I often wish I could hire you two on my staff.”

  The Duke went to the door and called for three glasses and a bottle of brandy. He’d never believed women should be denied the pleasures of good spirits while men drank alone. His lady wife heartily agreed.

  When they were all settled with their glasses in hand, his father looked expectantly at the son who so much resembled him in appearance.

  “Well,” he said. “Who is she?”

  Lance could feel himself blushing, for the first time he could remember since he was a callow teenager.

  “Gerald, I’m ashamed of you. Let the boy talk in his own time.” His mother tapped his father lightly on his nearer arm.

  His father now looked almost as abashed as Lance felt, although the grin stayed on his father’s face. Somehow the atmosphere settled into easiness again.

  “Actually it is a woman,” Lance said. “Or two women. Morgan McAfee and her mother Viviane.”

  “Two excellent women,” his mother said. “Although actually I do not know the daughter and only met the mother briefly. I imagine Viviane has raised and trained her daughter well.”

  Lance looked his surprise. “Am I hearing things? We are discussing here a self-proclaimed Druid and her daughter who claims to be a psychic and wants above all else to have witch’s powers. I’m not only amazed you know them, but astonished you esteem them.”

  The Duchess smiled at the Duke and tapped him lightly on his arm.

  “As for me, I esteem Mrs. McAfee highly. I believe your father thought favorably of her at one time and she was too wise to allow a relationship to even begin. Naturally I think her exemplary.”

  The Duke’s possessive smile at his wife warmed the room.

  “As you well know you are and have always been my only love.” He turned to his son as he continued. “Your mother was in the country with you children and I met Viviane while riding in the park here in town. She knew a great deal about everything and I learned to value her opinions. She’s unusually interesting to talk to.”

  He took another sip of his brandy and seemed lost in reminiscence for a moment.

  “I wanted to be friends, although there was never a suggestion of anything else with either of us. She’s a highly moral woman, as I imagine is her daughter. I thought her the second most intriguing and beautiful woman I’d ever met. Although I never had any desire to be unfaithful to my wife.”

  His wife tapped him lightly on his knee.

  “A very astute addition, my lord husband.”

  The Duke smiled at his wife.

  “She knew this and we could have been friends in other circumstances. I think your mother and she would have been friends also. At one point Viviane very gently made me realize our relationship could go no further. She was concerned about the same issue you are now, I imagine, Lance.”

  Lance watched his mother’s hand reach out and grasp his father’s.

  “How very interesting.” Lance’s voice was a low and enthralled murmur.

  His father favored him with a shrewd glance.

  “And so how can we help you, Lance? You must know by now Viviane and her daughter follow the Druid teachings. The name Viviane comes from the name of one of the most revered and powerful priestesses in Druid history. No one can really quarrel with the learning Druids impart, nor diminish the good Viviane does with her medical knowledge. Yet still she is ostracized to a certain extent.”

  Lance lowered his blue, blue eyes. “I didn’t know any of this. I only know a girl who has helped me immeasurably with what she calls her psychic powers has caught my interest. In spite of the fact she talks to stuffed animals.”

  His wry grin did not conceal to his parents how important this conversation was to him.

  “Of course,” the Duke said. “Perhaps you’d best study Druid lore, Lance. Druids believe trees, plants and animals have feelings of their own. They often talk to them. I can see how the lady might extend the premise to a stuffed animal. I find the thought charming, myself.”

  Lance raised his eyebrows. “Now that does surprise me.”

  His father only grinned back at his son. “But many think the Druid teachings are beyond ridiculous. It’s generally acknowledged to be a good thing civilization stripped Druids of most of their powers, although I’m not at all sure that’s true. They might have produced a more peaceful world, as well as a most interesting one.”

  Lance sat looking at his parents with eyes that seemed to see them for the first time. True, he had always known, growing up in the rigid world of British aristocracy, that his parents were remarkable for their care and communication with their sons. Still, the fact his father had been friends with Viviane McAfee and found Druid lore admirable amazed him.

  “I’m astonished,” he said.

  His parents looked at each other and as was often the case, an unspoken communication seemed to take place.

  His father cleared his throat. “Make no mistake, Lance. I realize your questions are tentative. But being interested in a girl like Morgan McAfee has untold complications. She would not advance your career at all.”

  “I know,” Lance said quietly.

  He kissed his mother and shook his father’s hand. On the way out he turned ba
ck.

  “Life is interesting, isn’t it? Did you know Commissioner Randall is quite familiar with Viviane McAfee, to an extent that surprised me? They seem the best of friends.”

  With a smile for them both, he again started out.

  “Lance,” his mother’s voice called him back.

  He wheeled slowly and faced her.

  “Don’t flirt with her, Lance. I know you’re not the type to trifle, but I would imagine she is unsophisticated and unspoiled and very tempting. She might not understand a flirtation for what it is.”

  Lance looked at his mother, thinking she was wise as usual. But he’d already given himself the same advice and he wasn’t sure it was working.

  “I know,” he said and continued out the door.

  Was the Commissioner jeopardizing his career by his relationship with Morgan’s mother? Did his parents feel their son should be wary of a relationship with Morgan solely for her sake? No, they were concerned for him, too.

  How had meeting and knowing one slight girl so thoroughly upset his deliberately circumscribed existence?

  * * * * *

  Lance went to Scotland Yard the next day, determined to attack this personal problem with his significant intelligence. He called in one of his constables, a lad new to his division. He did not want anyone who might have seen Morgan to put pieces of a puzzle together. Shriver would catch on immediately.

  He’d just ordered Constable Madison to go to the nearest library and bring back any books he could find on Druids, when Constable Rainley burst into the room as Shriver threw the door open for him.

  His face white and his eyes staring, Rainley stood just inside the door, obviously in a state of semi-shock.

  Lance immediately rose to his feet.

  “What’s happened, Rainley?”

  Rainley gulped and then gulped again, an obvious and arduous effort to keep himself from casting up his accounts on his chief’s valuable Persian rug.

  “I’ve just gone out to see about a note a boy brought into the office, Sir. It’s horrible, Sir, horrible.”