Lost in the Mist of Time

by Karen Michelle Nutt

  Lost in the Mist of Time

  By Karen Nutt

  © 2005 by Karen M. Nutt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  First printing

  This is a work of fiction set in a background of history. Public personages both living and dead may appear in the story under their right names. Scenes and dialogue involving them with fictitious characters are of course invented. Any other usage of real people’s names is coincidental. Any resemblance of the imaginary characters to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-906806-44-6

  Digitally Published by TheEbookSale Publishing

  A special dedication to:

  My wonderful family, my husband Greg, my children Kendra, Katrina

  (my most devoted reader), and Vincent.

  To my father and mother, Jim and Margaret.

  To my brothers, James and Thomas, my travel buddies in Ireland, and to my sisters Barbara and Margaret.

  To Cathy and Stephanie who have shared in many adventures from tea parties to ghost tours…thanks for the exceptional memories!

  …And last but not least, to those with an adventurous heart.

  And God stands winding His lonely horn,

  And time and the world are ever in flight….

  –W.B. Yeats

  Chapter 1

  Sixteenth Century Ireland

  “What is it, old woman? Why have ye summoned me?” He was civil though to anyone that knew Dougray Fitzpatrick, they would have known that he was not pleased to be beckoned forth in the middle of the night.

  Neala, the woman of the glen was not a fool. She was well aware that this man was strong enough to crush her with one powerful blow. Yet she was not afraid. She knew him better than perhaps he knew himself. He would grumble and threaten, but he would never raise a hand to do harm. Her high-pitched cackle was proof enough that she feared him not.

  “Milord, ye speak gruffly, but I’ll forgive ye. Come follow me, so only ye can hear what I have been destined to reveal.”

  Dougray could not help but roll his eyes wishing that he had stayed back at the castle where he was nice and warm with the fire burning hot and his goblet filled to the brim. He sighed, knowing if he didn’t let the old crone speak her mind, there would be no end to this charade. Reluctantly he made his feet move to follow her.

  She waved a crooked finger at him, so that he would lean ever closer. “Well, woman?” He threw up his hands. “I lose patience.”

  “Then listen well, young lord, for ye will have to keep the wits about ye, when ye are cast from this place and time.”

  “What are ye babbling about?”

  She shook her head, but continued determined to make him listen to her. “Ye will be sent to another place and time for it has been written. Learn what need be so that ye can save yer future born.” He was about to give her an unpleasant retort but she silenced him. “I have more to say to ye before ye go wagging yer tongue.”

  He gave her a rather unpleasant snort letting her know just how annoyed he was with her prattling. When she folded her arms against her chest and narrowed her silver-gray eyes at him, he finally gave in with an irritated harrumph, nodding for her to continue. “Ye will meet a lass that will believe yer tale. She will be the vision, a dream. Do not rush what should not be.

  Listen to yer heart, and ye will find yer true love. Do ye understand me Fitzpatrick?”

  “Aye, aye,” he said with impatience to be gone. He wasn’t one to believe in fanciful tales, and most especially if they involved matters of the heart. “Ye will do well, young lord.” She placed her gnarled hand on his. “Please pray ye will not tarry long in this other world.”

  Tarry? Dougray couldn’t help but chuckle. “How is it, old crone, that I will be thrust from this time and place?” Neala was well aware that he was just humoring her, but all the same she felt it was her duty to answer him.

  “A mist like no other will appear covering ye like it were a woolen blanket. When ye finally come out of its heaviness, ye will be where yer destiny has sent ye.”

  Once more, Dougray’s deep vibrant chuckle filled the night air. “I’ll take heed, old crone. If ever I see such a mist, I’ll do as ye bid. Now if that is all, I would like to get back to the warmth of my fire.”

  “I have spoken.” With a wave of her hand, she turned away from him with her dismissal.

  He shook his head wondering why he allowed her to give him orders. He straightened his mantle and strode back to his horse thinking no more of the old woman’s prediction. “Magical mists!” he exclaimed. “Dar Dia!”

  Murrough didn’t miss the Lord of Dunhaven’s scowl. He had known the man long enough to realize that he was not troubled but rather perturbed. Obviously the old witch had not given him bad news, only information that thoroughly irked him. “So what did she say of our meeting with the Butler?” Dougray shrugged his shoulders. “It seems, my friend, that we were summoned out here for no reason at all. She had no news. Rather she wanted

  to warn me of a magical mist.”

  For a moment, Murrough just sat there upon his horse wondering if he were joking. Neala was known for peculiarities, but this? “Milord, surely ye jest.”

  “Ah, that I were. It seems the old woman has dipped into the spirits this night. She babbled about me finding my true love.” He chuckled, though it was the troubled laugh that Murrough recognized all too well. Neala may have been talking nonsense, but she had hit a sore spot.

  Dougray had been married once to the beautiful fair-haired Ella, the daughter of his now hated enemy, Fingham Butler the Lord of Castlehold. It had been a good match for the clans, ending the petty quarrels that had plagued the land. The marriage was even approved by the Tudor King bestowing favor once more to the inhabitants of Dunhaven. By the stars, their love had been of youth’s strong devotion, but tragedy befell Ella only a few weeks after the blessed nuptials.

  Dougray vowed that he would never love again. As far as Murrough knew, he was holding strong to that promise.

  As for Ella’s father, he blamed Dougray for her death, and was determined to avenge her. The raids and skirmishes were now a weekly occurrence to that pledge.

  Tomorrow marked the anniversary of Ella’s death, and Fingham summoned a meeting. He proclaimed that he just wanted to converse, but Murrough didn’t trust it. He had the men well prepared in case of trickery. If only he could convince Dougray to finish the deed, but his friend wouldn’t force Fingham to the death. He still insisted that they try to find peace.

  “We best head home.” Dougray clicked his mount into motion.

  They rode in silence for a while before Murrough sparked a conversation wondering if Neala wasn’t right to have spoken of a new love. “Are ye ever going to open yer heart to another?”

  “Why do ye continue to ask me this? You know Ella was the only woman for me.”

  “Aye. Ye loved her, but she is gone but one year now. You need to think of the future. What of an heir?”

  “An heir can be sought without love. When the time comes, I will choose someone that will make do this task.”

  Murrough shook his head. “Do ye not think that a woman would want more than to lie down and take your seed?”

  “Perhaps.” He chuckled at the way Murrough was so concerned over his personal life. “Maybe I will ask Fiona to do the honors. She has been more than willing to give in to my needs without promise of more.”

  “Aye,
and she is willing with half of the keep.” This won Murrough a sideways glare, which he chose to ignore as he continued, “Maybe this mist would be a godsend.”

  “Don’t tell me ye believe the old crone?”

  Murrough sighed not knowing if he believed it or not. Neala was of the old ways and was known to have a second sight. “Stranger things have happened.

  In ancient times, an O’Donoghue of the Glens was supposed to have gone over to the fairies. According to the legend on May Day, he glided over the Lakes of Killarney on a white horse. And the unearthly music could be heard while his troops of spirits scattered flowers.”

  “Dar Dia! I would loathed to go into battle, worried that my back was not covered because ye were looking for the wee folk, or worst this mist the old woman speaks of.”

  Murrough’s red, bushy brows furrowed with irked displeasure. “I must tell ye that I take offence to that statement. Have I ever let ye down?”

  Dougray hadn’t meant for his teasing to offend him and immediately tried to make amends. “Never, my friend. Ye’re the only one that I have ever trusted. I know without a doubt that I would never have to worry as long as ye’re at my side.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “Good. Now tell me Murrough, why have ye not married?”

  “I am not cut out for marriage. Women are of a troublesome breed.” He said this with such venom that it caused Dougray to laugh.

  “Ye had another argument with Rhiannon, didn’t ye?”

  “Bah! The woman has a bite. I’ll tell ye. She was put out because I had forgotten to take home the shirt that she had made for me. Come morning, I went straightaway to her door, and the foul woman nearly spit in my face. She said that I didn’t love her, that I didn’t care a wink about her feelings. Can ye believe this? Me?” He pounded his chest. “I do everything, but kiss that woman’s…well ye know what I’m saying.”

  “Bring her some flowers and she will surely welcome ye back.”

  “I’m not crawling back to her. I’ve done so much groveling, that my knees are near worn thin.”

  Dougray let his friend vent, but he already knew that Murrough would be at Rhiannon’s door as soon as they returned to the keep. It was Murrough’s way. He didn’t like any dispute to last more than a day’s time, and unfortunately Rhiannon also was aware of this. She’d pout for a while then she’d forgive him. He was sure that come tomorrow’s light, when they rode out to meet the Butler, Murrough would be wearing a satisfying grin.

  Chapter 2

  Dougray adjusted his leather jerkin as he headed outside and to his mount. Once upon his large gray, he went out to meet his men. He could tell by the morning fog that the visibility was not going to be good. This left him with an uneasy feeling.

  “Good day, milord.” Dermot eagerly greeted him. Dougray acknowledged him with a nod as he rode by. The man was loyal that much he knew, but he tried too hard to be liked among the men. So much so that he became more of a nuisance than anything else.

  Dougray saw Murrough in the distance and he came forward to ride beside him. “There is a heavy mist this morning.” Murrough spoke the obvious but there was also a bit of a hidden meaning behind it.

  “Aye, Murrough. I can see it well enough.” He eyed his friend with a half- cocked smile. “Tell me, ye aren’t thinking that this is the mist the old crone spoke of?”

  Murrough squirmed uncomfortably in his seat indicating that it had crossed his mind. “Just stay near me. I would be hard press to explain how a mist came and swept the Lord of Dunhaven away.”

  “Aye, that it would prove a most difficult task.” He leaned near and clasped his friend’s shoulder. “Do not worry. This world has proved far too troublesome for me. I have no wish to explore others that could possibly be far worse.”

  Murrough gave him a quick smile. “Aye, but what if it were better?” “Then I would hope for this mist to take me posthaste.”

  The moment that he spoke the words a gush of cool wind caused the low clouds to thicken around him. Everything seemed to disappear behind the filmy white blanket. Even Murrough’s voice seemed to fade as though he had moved far away. Then just as quickly the haze glided hence. Murrough was looking at him, seemingly waiting for him to make a reply.

  “I am sorry, did ye ask something of me?”

  Murrough nodded. “Only that I was wondering if we should not send some of the men ahead to scout out Fingham’s position.”

  “Aye. We’ll send Dermot and Cormac.”

  “Pardon me for asking, but did ye say Dermot?”

  “That I did. The lad wants to prove his worth. Now is the time.”

  “Aye.” Murrough wrapped his mantle closer as the wind blew stronger. “Are ye cold, my friend?” Dougray asked.

  “Aye, it is the devil himself that has made me leave the warmth and comfort of my bed.”

  Dougray gave him a wry look. “And is there someone keeping those blankets warm come your return?”

  Murrough’s contented smile spoke for itself. “My sweet Rhiannon. She is my only comfort.”

  “I see she has forgiven ye…yet again.”

  “A good woman she is. One day, I plan on marrying her.”

  “Aye and ye best do it soon before ye fill her belly with a child. Ye think that Rhiannon has a temper. If her father gets a hold of ye…well more’s the pity.”

  “I can handle old Padrig.”

  “I hope that this is true, for I hate to lose a good man.”

  Murrough smiled. “Are ye talking about me, my friend, or the blacksmith?” They both chuckled.

  Fingham Butler waited upon his steed for his nephew Tremain to return. He was impatient and chilled to the bone from being out in this damp weather. He pulled his mantle closer around him hoping to gain some warmth. Finally through the shifting haze, he saw Tremain riding toward him.

  “Well?” Fingham barely let the man catch his breath. “He comes, milord.”

  “Aye.” He nodded his head. “I knew that he would, but how many men?” “Could not say for sure. The blasted mist covers almost everything.” He paused a moment unsure if he dared to speak so boldly, but he had to try. He cleared his throat before he began. “This mist is not a good sign to commence

  a fight.”

  Fingham’s frown made his aged features more pronounced. “We will hold our ground, Tremain.”

  His nephew hid his apprehension and nodded. Fingham then raised his hand and with a quick swipe lowered it as he moved his mount forward, his men following behind.

  As ordered Dermot and Cormac had made a quick sweep of the area and knew that the enemy was moving toward the designated spot. As far as they could see, which was not saying much, they could detect nothing out of the ordinary.

  Armed men on both sides were ready to lift their swords if someone even breathed the wrong way. Dougray with Murrough at his side move forward to meet Fingham who had Tremain at his right hand. The fog swirled around them, making the approaching figures look more like something out of a dream than of flesh and blood.

  “That is far enough, Butler,” Dougray called out to him. To his surprise Fingham actually pulled back on his reins. “I know that ye are anxious to draw blood this day….”

  “Only yers, Fitzpatrick,” he interrupted.

  Dougray sighed wearily. “Then take it and be done with it. Why do ye plague me with these assaults? Ye’ve killed innocent men that otherwise would be home with their wives, warming themselves in front of a roaring fire.”

  Fingham let out a laugh that was no more humorous than this meeting. “That is why I make ye watch for I know ye suffer with each throat that I sever.”

  “If ye believe that I care so much for my people, then why can ye not see how much that I cared for Ella?”

  “Do not speak my daughter’s name!” he bellowed, shaking his closed fist in the air. “Ye are not worthy to have her beautiful memory spoken from yer deceitful lips.”

  “I loved her.” Dougray knew that it was
useless to try and reason with the man, but still he had to try. He wanted peace, peace for both of them.

  “Love? Surely ye jest. If ye had loved her as ye so claim, ye would have not sent her to her death.”

  He flinched at his words as though he had been physically assaulted. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to block out the anguish. “I wish that it were I that had died that day.”

  “As do I,” Fingham flung back.

  They both eyed one another, their horses moving uneasily, anxious to charge. “I would like to grant ye yer wish, Fingham, but alas I must decline the offer this day. I will not endanger my men in this mist. We will meet another day of yer choosing.”

  Fingham’s blood ran cold with the anger that surged through his body. How dare the man decide that today’s fight would not commence? He had no rights here. He was at his mercy and only lived because he fancied it. Before Tremain could stop him, Fingham let out a blood-curdling yell as he charged

  forth.

  Murrough and Dougray at the same time pulled their swords from their scabbard. Men from both sides ran forward to guard their lord, while the fog swirled around their heads, thick and foreboding.

  Murrough jabbed his sword into a man, knocking him to the ground. He looked to his right expecting to see Dougray, but the mist was like a wall, blocking his view. He was not even sure if he was still locked in a fight with Fingham.

  Chapter 3

  Present-Day Southern California

  Beverly Johnson had arranged for the book signing months ago for Aislinn Hennessy to promote her bestseller, To Trust Again. She expected all her writers to show up bright eyed and cheery no matter what was happening in their hectic lives. A.J., as they called her, was there smiling, and chatting pleasantly with her fans, but Bev saw the signs, dark shadows under her gorgeous, almond-shaped eyes, and she had cut her hair almost pixie style, short and above the ears. To anyone that truly knew her, the radical change signified that once again her love life was in shambles. Such a shame too, A.J. was an intelligent and charming woman, and to top it off she had a body that men couldn’t help but want to touch. Unfortunately, she picked guys that could only look that far, and had no interest in the mind that was behind that perfect combination of curves.