Rose of the Mists

by Parker, Laura

  Sir Richard stroked his scraggly beard; the dullness had left his eyes. “Do you believe young Butler nourishes such hopes?”

  John recoiled. If he did, then Butler was in danger of losing his life, but Atholl must not suspect it. “Upon his return to England, Butler is to be betrothed, with the queen’s consent. Some other man must marry the girl.”

  Sir Richard gazed up at John. “One such as you?”

  “Why not?” John stood up and began pacing. “I’ve the military experience to raise and maintain an Irish army in the queen’s name. She gives that right to men like Peter Carew who are too old and stupid to accomplish the task. Yet, he was given lands any portion of which would set a man up as finely as a duke. Once assured my claim, I would pacify Ulster within a score of months.”

  “Ambitious plans,” Sir Richard murmured.

  “Aye, ambitious. Is there a man abroad who does not look covetously upon this green land? There,” he said, pointing to the surrounding country. “Those forests could be cleared to raise corn and wheat. Over there, that rise is a perfect site for a fortress. A small standing army could protect the eye’s distance.”

  “All of this for want of a witch.” Sir Richard slowly shook his head. “’Tis a temptation she has visited upon you. This thirst for riches ’tis her thrall upon you.”

  John caught the wistful note in the man’s voice and replied, “Is it less dangerous than the lust she inspires in Butler? You have seen it, the naked longing that looks out from the lad’s eyes whenever he gazes upon her. Her flesh is ripe for mischief.”

  John moved closer, his voice coloring with the dark timbre of desire. “Have you not glimpsed a naked thigh when she dismounts? Her skin is like fresh cream. It shimmers lewdly. Does she not at every opportunity press herself, wanton that she is, to Butler? In the saddle, I’ve seen her hands reach—”

  “Enough!” Sir Richard rose abruptly, his long face stained by two brilliant spots of color. “Enough of such wicked talk. You tempt yourself and me with the false beauty of that Hell-bound she-serpent.”

  John drew a deep breath. It was true. A sheen of sweat had broken out on his brow. He must have her. He must! “There’s a way of drawing her venom, Atholl. Marriage with a true Christian Englishman is the antidote. Butler is too weak a vessel. He is infected by Irish blood. He will succumb to her and she will drag him into everlasting damnation. A true Englishman can defeat her, beat her into submission if necessary. I would strip her of every false pretense, bare her sins and rout them by force.”

  “Yes, yes!” Images stirred behind Sir Richard’s closed lids, images that he could not give voice to for fear of his soul. “Smite the devil within her! Flog the evil out of her. Purify her soul with mortification!”

  John wiped the sweat from his face, amused by the trembling man before him. So, he had found another of the parson’s weaknesses. The image of Meghan stripped and helpless had its attraction, but he doubted Atholl’s methods would be his own.

  “We must be clever, Sir Richard. The girl has so enticed Butler that he’s loath to leave her side. We must lure her away, and you must help me. Distract Butler at the noon meal and I will begin my campaign to win her trust. Perhaps she can be persuaded to ride with me awhile. I know all the whore’s tricks and will play them against her. ’Tis she who will be snared by her own lust.”

  “And that will save young Butler’s soul,” Sir Richard said. “I came to save a lost soul. ’Twas my only desire for this journey.”

  “You will accomplish that in aiding me,” John replied.

  *

  Though it was still spring, the warmth of the sun was felt beneath the rare, blue-vaulted sky. Having shed her mantle while walking, Meghan paused to gaze up at a stately oak. It was a temptation she knew she must resist. Revelin had lectured her at the noonday meal about the differences between being a child and being a lady. One of them had stuck in her mind: A lady was genteel.

  The very word made it sound like a difficult thing to accomplish. Ladies did not climb trees, he had told her as an example.

  Meghan lowered her gaze. So many things were changing so quickly that she could not keep them straight in her mind. One thought had preoccupied her more than all the others. She was no longer a nameless bastard, a changeling without parents. She was the daughter of Shane O’Neill. She had had a mother and father and was even a member of the Irish nobility. She was someone important.

  Meghan hugged herself. Perhaps now she had a chance of winning Revelin’s love. Revelin liked ladies; he had said so. So, she must try to become one to please him. He had not told her that, but she was not stupid. She must learn to speak English and act as English ladies did.

  She must forget the past. That meant never mentioning the vision that had occurred at Lough Neagh. Revelin had said she had dreamed it. That was not true, but if he wanted her to pretend that it had been a dream, she would. She would do anything to please him.

  A friendly, wet muzzle nudged her behind the knees, and Meghan squealed in surprise.

  Ualter barked and circled around to jump up on her.

  “Ach! Get down, ye great beast!” Meghan cried as she staggered under his weight. The dog obeyed instantly, and Meghan shook a finger at him. “Bad dog!”

  “He’s rightly named, that brute. Ualter means ‘wolf.’”

  Meghan looked up and saw John standing there, his thumbs hooked into his belt.

  “Aren’t you afraid he’ll gobble up a tender morsel like yourself?” His dark eyes moved slowly over her until they came to her bare legs. “I’m certainly tempted.”

  She did not understand his words, but she did not like the look in his eyes. He was a murderer, though she had not confided that to Revelin because he would not have believed her. As he grinned at her, she shook the wrinkles from her leine so that the shapeless garment better covered her.

  “Ah, why did you do that? We’re just getting acquainted. Butler’s not the only man who knows how to please a girl.” He reached into his jerkin, then held out a few dried prunes and took a step toward her. “I’d be more than happy to please you.”

  Meghan shrank back a step at his advance.

  Ualter’s ears flattened and his tail dropped in response to Megan’s reaction. He did not growl, but the hair on his spine stiffened and his upper lip lifted.

  John saw the dog’s actions and hesitated. He hated the filthy animal, but he could not expect to win the girl’s confidence if he ran the cur off. She had a fondness for the miserable flea bag.

  “A fine dog,” he said, wishing that he had a smattering of Gaelic beyond the vulgarities he had aped after Flora. Perhaps they would serve him later with the girl, but now her ignorance was a stumbling block. “Dog,” he repeated, pointing at Ualter. “Ualter. Dog.”

  Meghan nodded once, wondering what the man wanted. “Ualter. Dog,” she said.

  “Good.” John pointed at himself. “John. Man. John.”

  Meghan cocked her head. She did not mind Revelin’s lessons but she resented this man’s tutelage. After all, she was an O’Neill; she needed no murdering Englishman’s help. “Man,” she repeated slowly and smiled. “Revelin.”

  John’s eyes narrowed at her smirking expression. The little wretch was having a private joke at his expense!

  Lord, but she tempted him! Her face was flushed and her body trembled with delicious fear. The raw ache, the raging inferno of lust that threatened to consume him each time he was in the presence of a beautiful woman, flamed within him. He took another step toward her. If not for the dog he would have grabbed her and kissed the smirk from her face.

  “Meghan, pretty,” he said in a coaxing manner. “Have a sweetmeat, sweeting. My desire…is you,” he added in an undertone.

  Meghan watched his strange expression and remembered the day he had nearly fought Revelin. A shudder passed through her and she reached out for the reassurance of Ualter’s broad back.

  Alive to every nuance of the girl beside him, Ualter smelled he
r fear and moved to block John’s path.

  John’s lids flickered and his hand went automatically to the dagger at his waist.

  In response, Meghan drew the skean Turlough had given her, the one that had belonged to her father, Shane. “Well, now,” John said, the smile on his mouth not reaching his eyes as he stared at her naked blade. “How would you fair, my lovely, were you not so well guarded?”

  “Has idleness reduced you to bullying children?” Robin questioned pleasantly as he strolled into the clearing. “For myself, I wouldn’t stroll half a yard with you had I not whetted my sword’s edge. Now you have a child blinking back tears.”

  Though it was too late, John moved his hand from his hilt. “The girl is slow-witted, Neville. I merely offered her a sweetmeat and she took it into her head that her life was in danger.”

  “How odd,” Robin remarked. “I wonder what they breed into young girls these days that they start at every rutting boor who happens along.” He moved closer to Meghan, inclined t his head in a regal manner, then put out his hand to Ualter. “If Revelin’s dog snaps at me, I’ll be bound to call you out for provoking him. Ah, there, he licks me. We’re all safe, I believe.”

  “Some more than others,” John grumbled. He had lost his opportunity, but to leave the girl with another man seemed a defeat. “I would leave, Neville, but I’ve my doubts about your trustworthiness with the girl.”

  Robin looked at John with a smile of incredulous delight. “Why, Reade, ’tis the most flattering thing you’ve ever said to me!”

  John turned and stalked away spewing curses.

  Robin turned back to Meghan, who had sheathed her weapon. “Don’t mind Reade. He cannot help the fact that all his brains are in his breeches.”

  Meghan responded to his bantering tone with a half-smile. Perhaps it was because he was small, only a few inches taller than she, that she liked him. Looking at his freckled face, which was pink with health, she was reminded of the night Turlough had nearly killed him and his sick-hearted look of fear. She had understood that. It was a shared experience between them.

  Encouraged by her smile, Robin held out a hand to her. “I owe you an apology, little one. I behaved as a knave would toward you, and yet you risked your life for mine.” When she placed her hand shyly in his, he brought it to his lips for a light kiss. Struck by whimsy, he quoted from Cicero, “Amid probantur rebus adversis.”

  The words were scarcely out of his mouth before Meghan replied softly in Gaelic-inflected Latin, “‘Friends in adversity’ should remain friends always.”

  Robin’s mouth worked up and down but no sound would come out, and his comic expression drew Meghan’s laughter.

  “But of course!” Robin managed finally. He had thought the woman in Turlough’s camp was an exception. Of course, Meghan knew Latin, too. She was a follower of the Roman faith. Thrilled by his discovery, he threw his arms about her waist and lifted her off the ground with a sweep.

  The discovery Revelin made as he came upon the pair was a distinct shock. Meghan was laughing, her head thrown back and her blue-black hair streaming out like banners in the wind as Robin swung her around and around.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”

  Meghan and Robin stumbled to a halt, looked at Revelin’s stern features and then at each other, and dissolved into giggles like a pair of conspirators.

  “A happy discovery, Rev,” Robin volunteered when he recovered. “’Twould seem we’ve underestimated the Irish. Our little fairy speaks Latin!”

  Revelin frowned, more interested in Robin’s hand on Meghan’s waist than in her ability to speak Latin. “I thought you feared fairies, Sir Robin.”

  “That!” Robin scoffed. “I’m no less a fool than most men.”

  “No doubt,” Revelin murmured.

  Robin squeezed Meghan affectionately, and to Revelin’s further irritation she looped an arm about the young nobleman’s waist. “Think of the splash she’ll make in London. Many at court have never laid eyes on a native Irish lass. With her wild beauty, she’ll make a most persuasive ambassadress.”

  “An oddity, you mean,” Revelin corrected as he strode toward them. “She’s not a wild beast to be paraded about on a golden leash, nor is she some New World aborigine to be displayed for the amusement of your dissolute friends.”

  He knocked Robin’s hand from Meghan’s waist. “And while we speak of such things, keep your hands off the lass. I’ll not see her seduced and ruined by some libertine.”

  Robin looked at his friend in surprise. “Is it something I’ve done? Twice this day I’ve been accused of having designs on the girl’s virtue. I hope the aura lasts until we arrive in Dublin.” He lowered his eyes for a moment, and when he looked up again his gaze was bright with mischief. “If there’s danger, ’tis not from me. You’d do well to search closer to home.”

  Revelin’s face flushed, despite the cold fury in his voice as he said, “Do you seek to teach me manners?”

  “Rev, John’s tactics are rubbing off on you,” Robin chided.

  Meghan stepped close to Revelin, troubled by his look of anger, and laid her hand on his arm. “Have I angered ye?”

  Revelin looked down into eyes the color of forest violets and a little of his jealousy receded. “Nay. ’Tis only my temper strained by bad company.” He looked at Robin. “I apologize. Sir Richard spoiled my meal with talk of London politics.”

  Robin’s gaze sharpened. “What could Atholl possibly have to say on the subject?”

  Hearing the interest in Robin’s voice, Revelin contrarily changed his mind about confiding in him, though he had just been seeking him out for that reason. “Nothing that matters. He’s in need of a long rest.”

  Robin did not pursue the matter directly. “Will you be sailing for London with the rest of us?”

  Revelin shook his head. “After presenting myself in Dublin, I must take Meghan to Kilkenny. I have relatives there who will understand her needs better than the English.”

  “Do you believe the queen will indulge the delay?”

  “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.” Revelin could not stop the irritated rise in his voice. When Meghan’s hand tightened on his arm, he turned to her, his face stormy. “Take Ualter and go back to the horse! And, for god’s sake, don’t run off again because I’ve barked at you.”

  Meghan looked not at all abashed by his temper. “Ye’ve a nasty mood on ye and I forgive ye it. Only, ye should not blame the little man for what he did.” She smiled at Robin. “He’s a nice lad.” She beckoned Ualter with a snap of her fingers and walked off.

  Revelin followed her with his eyes, unable to dampen his appreciation of the way her hips swayed gracefully as she walked. Belatedly he recalled Robin’s comment about his own conduct. He looked back. “I will say this once only. Leave the lass alone. She doesn’t know better than to think every man’s interest is innocent.”

  Unoffended, Robin said, “Allow me to ask how she is to learn if you guard her as jealously as a she-wolf with a new cub? She must learn of the world, Rev, if she is to survive. She could use a few friends.”

  Revelin looked skeptical. “You would be her friend?”

  “Would you prefer Reade or Parson Atholl?”

  Revelin smiled.

  “You are new to mothering,” Robin said sympathetically.

  Revelin swore. “I’m no mother or father, come to that. She’s too near a woman for my own peace of mind.”

  Robin curbed his tongue this time. “You could do worse, you know.”

  “Worse than what?”

  “Meghan has good bloodlines, and she’s beautiful despite the devil’s trick that mars her cheek. Yet, even that seems to fade from one’s mind after a few days. But if court gossip of an impending engagement between you and Lady Alison be true, then you had best let the girl be drawn from your side while you practice a better liar’s face. You give yourself away every time you gaze on her, Rev.”

  Revelin turned
away. “I don’t think I asked for your advice.”

  “And I don’t often offer it,” Robin answered smoothly. “Perhaps ’tis only my sudden fondness for the lass that makes me speak out of turn.” He added more seriously, “You’re familiar with love’s sting and will not be fatally wounded. Not so with Meghan. When she looks on you there’s worship in her eyes.”

  Revelin turned on him. “She doesn’t love me!”

  “Does she not?” Robin raised his hands in a gesture of futility. “Tell me you’ve done no more than kiss her, and I’ll be silent.”

  Revelin looked away.

  Robin patted Revelin’s shoulder. “You did me a good turn in the O’Neill camp. I told you things I’m already regretting, but that’s another matter. Let me help you with Meghan. I can be a friend to both of you.”

  Revelin resisted the urge to shrug off Robin’s touch, for he knew his irritation was with himself. The grand plans he had been fashioning on the morning ride had been toppled by a few words of insight. Meghan felt something for him. How could she not? He was her link with the world. If it was not love, it was dangerously close.

  What he felt he no longer knew. Alison’s features refused any longer to resolve themselves in his mind. He had been so certain that he could not forget her. Now he needed to gaze on her gold-and-rose beauty and be reminded of the feelings that he had carried with him across the Irish Sea, feelings of a promising future and useful service to his sovereign.

  When he looked up, there was new resolve in his expression. “If you do not object to bearing Meghan in your saddle this afternoon, I could do a bit of sketching. Turlough kept the maps I made, and I need to commit my poor memory to paper before it fades altogether.”