Druid's Daughter

by Jean Hart Stewart

  Now was different. Not his discomfort, but Jamie’s safety was involved.

  “I will give you two days to get your things together, Cynthia. You will then move either to your brother’s home in Sussex, or to a hotel. I will stand your expenses in a hotel for a month if that is your choice.”

  Her fresh outburst of tears did not move him, except with a revulsion he tried to mask.

  “Do not waste your time asking me to change my mind. I will never forgive the fact you were so uncaring of Jamie’s wellbeing you forced him to flee his own house for a friendlier one.”

  “Marian would be heartbroken to see me treated this way,” she sobbed, her face made even more unattractive by her uncontrolled weeping.

  Devon neither knew nor cared what his former wife would have thought. He doubted Cynthia was correct. Looking back, he remembered Marian had never been overjoyed when her sister announced a visit. He surmised Marian realized Cynthia was selfish from top to toe. None of that mattered now. Nothing mattered except Jamie’s safety and happiness. He did not even bother to answer her accusation.

  “Let Millson know when you need help with your luggage.”

  With that he’d gladly left the room. He hoped he’d never have to see her petulant face again.

  Since then he’d pondered a variety of solutions.

  Millson could guard the boy for a while each day, but he knew he must find companionship and warmth for his son. Hiring a stranger wouldn’t do, any more than sending him away to school. He needed love and affectionate guidance.

  Of course that meant Viviane.

  He envisioned a kind of triumvirate care system, Viviane and Millson during the first part of the day and himself during the afternoon. He would have to delegate more of his duties. There were certainly plenty of ambitious aspirants eager to help him lessen his load. His deputy commissioner would be delighted. In addition, he’d long wanted Lance to accept the rank of Commander, but Lance had not cared to leave active investigating. He’d try once again to persuade Lance so there’d be an exceptional policeman coming up the chain of command. Lance would make a superlative Commissioner some day. With his ability and his connections he’d be assured to reach that goal if he so desired.

  Now he needed to approach Viviane. Viviane, whom he wanted beyond reason for his wife. He well knew the more he enchained her with Jamie, the better off his chances of claiming her in the future.

  Viviane said no word at first when he approached her about committing time to Jamie daily.

  Then she smiled and barely touched his cheek with one finger.

  “You’re a reprehensible rogue. But I love Jamie and agree he needs stability in his life. I’m well aware of your hidden motives, but your main concern is genuinely for your son.”

  Devon had endured so much stress in his life lately he exploded against the one he loved.

  “Damn it, of course I have other motives. I’ve loved you for ages and want you in my home. I also love my son. Blast if this isn’t a regrettable situation where I have to beg you to help me, even though it’s the very thing I want. I just don’t want you here under a compulsion of pity.”

  Viviane walked over to him and pulled his face down for a brief kiss.

  “My dear, you’re not talking coherently but I understand what you’re saying. You’re so loveable sometimes I don’t know how I resist you.”

  Her smile glowed as welcome as water in the desert.

  He grabbed her shoulders and held her a little away from him. She was dressed in a rust colored outfit that fit her perfect figure snugly. He wanted to run his hands over those fetching curves, but knew that would frighten her away. He kissed her forehead and contented himself with holding her lightly. She always smelled like heaven.

  “What scent are you wearing, my love?” He nuzzled her auburn hair.

  “I distill my own fragrance. This is from the daffodils of spring. Shall I tell you what daffodils mean? I’m an expert in the language of flowers and herbs. They have their own language you know.”

  He sensed this was important to her and so kept his grasp light and his mind attentive.

  “Of course I want to hear. Anything about you fascinates me.”

  “Daffodils mean ‘the sun shines when I’m with you’.”

  Warm eyes looked at him directly, with no equivocation.

  He dropped a kiss on her forehead and tried to grasp her to him but she used both hands to stave him off. He threw his own up in despair.

  “Viviane, Viviane, what can I do to persuade you to come help me and my son and never go home? You say you love me. Is my job stopping you? I’m willing to quit if that is what’s needed to persuade you. Is that it? Shall I resign? I’ll leave the police force tomorrow if that’s what you want.”

  She turned and went to the window, looking out at the passing scene. He followed her. A premature few leaves of autumn were now spiraling in a desultory manner slowly to the ground. They had not yet begun to change color. The window was open a little and a soft breeze rustled the curtains. Smells of roasting chestnuts wafted in from the street vendors.

  Her voice was muffled as she placed her hands on the window ledge and her forehead against the pane of glass.

  “I think it’s time I tell you the truth, Devon. I have to tell you sooner or later. You deserve to know my shortcomings even though they shame me. Part of the problem is I’m quite simply terrified. I’ve never known a man except for the brief encounter that produced my darling Morgan. That encounter was not pleasant and nothing I want to repeat. You’re worldly and experienced. I know you’d be disappointed if you took me to bed and I couldn’t respond as you have a right to expect. I couldn’t stand your scorn. I just couldn’t. I’d rather we stayed the best of friends. That’s what I ask of you now. I hope very much we can always be friends.”

  Devon thought his emotions in the last week had bounced around like a rubber ball. Yet never in his life had he experienced or even imagined the flood of tenderness that swamped him at Viviane’s words. The sight of her, her proud head leaning against the window as she confessed her most secret fear, nearly unmanned him.

  He rushed to her and turned her to face him, taking her in his arms and holding her cheek against his shoulder with a tender, strong hand. He brushed a lock of her auburn hair from her forehead and touched her quivering lips with one gentle finger.

  “Viviane, my dearest love. Don’t you know teaching you to enjoy your body would be the greatest pleasure I could ever imagine? You’ll have no distaste or displeasure with me. Your warm heart and loving soul proclaims a passion you’ve never suspected. Let me help you find the joy you deserve. You can trust me to be both gentle and patient.”

  She wrenched free and moved a small distance away.

  “Even if that were so, I’m still a Druid. I was trained to be a Priestess, as you already know. I really can do magic and will if it will help someone. I also am versed in Druid medicine and am an exceptional healer. Many people depend on me. I don’t want to change, in fact I don’t think I can. Have you truly thought how your world will change if you marry a witch? Even a good witch?”

  Before he could frame words of denial she moved farther away.

  “I’ll be here tomorrow to take Jamie to the park.”

  She left so swiftly he still hadn’t been able to think what best to say. Why was he tongue-tied at the very moment he needed all his persuasive powers? He knew there was a compromise. There had to be. He simply loved her too much to let her go.

  He was a novice at love. Not of sex, of course, but of the kind of deep love he felt for Viviane that would only increase through the years. Growing old with Viviane would be a pleasure. This kind of love was indeed new since it seemed to have thoroughly tied his diplomat’s tongue.

  Her nonsense about sexual inexperience didn’t worry him, he was confident he could take care of that and delight in doing so. Although he’d love to find that ex-Druid priest and wring his bloody neck. Or preferably more s
ensitive parts a little lower down. The bloody bastard had virtually raped her. Still he must direct his mind to thinking of answers to her other concerns.

  Pacing around the room, he thought it a good sign she’d talked so frankly to him. He wouldn’t come home early tomorrow, she’d be expecting that and have her guard up. The day after tomorrow he’d waylay her in his home and settle all her objections. He’d surprise her before she could get her defenses in place.

  She’d be in his arms and he’d never let her go.

  * * * * *

  He wrestled with his impatience and waited a day before going home early. Bounding up the steps the next day shortly after noon he hurried to the dining room where Viviane and Jamie usually took lunch. Jamie was there and Morgan. No Viviane.

  Suddenly apprehensive, he sat in the chair beside Morgan.

  “How nice to see you, Morgan. Is your mother upstairs then?”

  Morgan’s green eyes looked back at him with a hint of pity.

  “You know she’s not, don’t you? But I will fill in for her until you can make some other arrangement. We both love Jamie, you know.” She directed a smile at Jamie, who seemed unnaturally subdued. “Jamie misses my mother right now, but I hope he’ll come to find me acceptable.”

  Jamie slipped from his seat and ran to her.

  “Oh, Miss Morgan, you’re wonderful. I’m sorry if I’ve been most dreadf’lly impolite.” Jamie went to her and hugged her.

  “You haven’t been impolite at all, sweet boy. I’m glad you love my mother so much.”

  Devon had had enough.

  “Where is she, Morgan?”

  Morgan’s mischievous smile twinkled at him.

  “I’ve been expecting that question, which I promised not to answer. Although I didn’t promise not to agree if you guess the truth.”

  Devon’s tension loosened a little even as her smile took on the aspect of a devilish grin. He must call on his intelligence, it seemed. Unfortunately his intelligence seemed to fly out the window where Viviane was concerned.

  He rose and started to walk around the room, Jamie staring at him. Morgan sat there waiting, obviously hoping he’d succeed in his quest.

  “I don’t think she’d want to go to a strange place to escape me. I think she’d head for somewhere she could be at peace and think things over. And where she can be of use. She can’t stand being idle. Your country place…has she left for your home in the country?”

  Morgan beamed. “What an intelligent guess, sir. She is well loved by the small town where we live. Not only do many of its inhabitants work for us but she does much doctoring there.”

  Devon blinked. Many inhabitants? How big a place did she own? He was glad he had an excuse to visit, since this was a part of his love’s life he needed to know and understand.

  “Well, missy, will you give me directions or should I get out my maps of Kent?”

  Morgan sat there glowing at his response.

  “Of course I’ll direct you and I’ll stay here at your house with Jamie ’til you return.”

  Devon sighed with relief as he kissed and hugged his son. “You’re a darling girl, Morgan. I’d love to be your papa if I can work things out. Hush, Jamie,” he said as Jamie came out of his seat and started to explode. “I’ll do my best to bring Mrs. McAfee back with me but I can’t promise anything now. Wish me Godspeed and good luck, both of you. I might be gone a while.”

  He gave Jamie an extra hug, kissed Morgan’s cheek and hurried out of the room even as he called for Millson to come help him pack.

  He was determined to lay siege to Viviane at her home until he’d secured a fiancée.

  Chapter Ten

  Lance shoved back from his desk with a frown and a sigh. He disliked himself intensely. He’d tried to become interested in three different girls, all lovely, all raised in his own milieu. He found every one sweet, anxious to please him and boring. Not one of them looked him in the eye and defied him. Not one of them made him laugh or long to kiss her. Not one of them was Morgan.

  He walked over to the table and glanced at the neat piles of paper and frowned again. He’d caught up as much as he could, another boring fact. To top it off, depression was his constant companion.

  Restless, he rose again and paced to the window and opened it. In the last few days the early autumn air was touched with a cool hint of the season to come. The ever present smoky scent of London air seemed muted by the brisk breeze ruffling his hair as he leaned out. A gray sky echoed his mood. Damned if he wasn’t getting morose.

  He was absorbed in his thoughts and did not at first hear Shriver’s knock. To his astonishment, his sergeant threw the door open wide.

  “Sir,” he blurted. “Miss McAfee is here.”

  Shriver saluted Morgan briskly, as he held the door open for her and then closed it after her. His beautiful Druid was dressed as impeccably as usual. A blue-green skirt and jacket with a pristine white shirtwaist. The skirt rustled a little as she walked in, her big eyes locked on his.

  An instant delight swelled from his heart to every other part of his body. In fact his body hardened just at the sight of her. He seemed to be powerless in his physical response to her. His second reaction was worry she looked abnormally pale.

  He strode to her swiftly and took her hands.

  “Morgan, I’m so very glad to see you.”

  Her brilliant green eyes seemed larger than usual as she pinned him with her direct gaze.

  “Yes,” was her slow response. “I think you are. I’m surprised. I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

  Lance opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him.

  “Whatever you feel is immaterial, I think. I only came to tell you of my vision. A horrible vision.”

  She started to shake and Lance quickly pushed her into a chair.

  “What I feel is definitely not immaterial, but I won’t press the subject now. Morgan, you’re as pale as a sheet of vellum. You’d better catch your breath and then tell me what brought you here.”

  He pressed his fists to his side to keep from drawing her into his arms. His weeks of striving to forget her were useless and forgotten. One look and his lust for her pounded in unabated force. In fact desire welled stronger than ever. She aroused him so easily as to be pathetic. Now he’d better concentrate on getting his blood back to his brain where it belonged. His body was even more traitorous than his mind and his mind was bad enough!

  “Lance, I…” She swallowed and started again, throwing her head up and obviously forcing herself. He waited, not wanting to hurry her. “I’ve had a vision. I saw a fence made of vertical boards, at the end of what appeared to be an alley. The boards at the end of the alley had once been painted white, or else white-washed, I’m not sure. Boards on one side of the alley were a faded green, on the other they’d not been painted and were weathered to a dirty gray.”

  She swallowed again and then drew a deep breath. It was obvious her vision had upset her to the point of almost desperation.

  “On the boards facing me were three notations of verse, all from the Bible. The vision didn’t last long enough for me to read them all, but the one in the center was the largest. Romans 2:23. They were all scrawled in either red paint or blood, I couldn’t tell which. I rather think blood, as there was a brownish cast where the writing thinned.”

  She shuddered again and then sat back in her chair.

  “Did you look the verse up?” Lance was intent on her story and spoke more sharply than usual.

  “Of course I did,” she said with a ghost of a smile. “Even pagans study the Bible. The verse is a most familiar one, ‘the wages of sin is death’.”

  Lance walked to the chair behind his desk, his long stride effortless as his brain began to function again. He would have to make amends to Morgan, but not now. He willed his voice to be dispassionate.

  “Is there any other detail, no matter how small, you can remember?”

  “Nooo,” she drawled out as she wrinkled he
r forehead and tried to remember. A little of the light came back into her eyes as she exclaimed, “Wait! Yes, I do. I could see the sun setting behind the spire of St. Paul’s Cathedral, directly over the center verse. The church was quite far away.”

  “You wonderful girl!”

  They smiled naturally at each other for the first time since she’d entered.

  Neither one thought it unusual the Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard took for granted his informant was handing him a valuable clue.

  “Now what we need is a detailed street map of London. We know exactly which direction to pinpoint. We just have to find all the alleys where you can see St. Paul’s to the west.”

  Morgan stopped smiling. “What a horrendous task, Lance.”

  “Merely the minutiae of paper work, my dear. Not at all horrendous. Would you like to stay and watch? I might have more questions to ask if you could wait.”

  She beamed again and Lance thought her smile the most glorious sight he’d ever seen. He grinned back at her and went to the door to call Shriver.

  * * * * *

  Shriver quickly recruited three more officers and sent them scurrying to buy maps from different shops, while he and Lance bent over the ones in the office. It soon became apparent more detail was needed, so they kept working, but without much hope until the first of the officers returned. Shriver spread a very large map over the center table and all three men bent over it. The other men returned with more maps, but they all decided the first one showed the best details.

  Morgan watched with fascination. Lance hadn’t needed to admonish her not to interrupt. Completely absorbed in observing Lance at work, she admired his concentration. He showed himself as impressive in this as in every other facet of his personality. Quietly in control, his men trusting in his judgment and eager to obey. She let go of her determination not to allow him to ever affect her again and sat in silent respect. He exuded domination over his mind as well as his body, as he moved around the table, correcting an angle for one man or making a suggestion to another.