Love in a Mist

by Patricia Grasso

  “Leave me a—” Keely broke off when she saw who it was.

  Richard flicked a meaningful glance at the curious servants, who understood his unspoken command and dispersed. “You mustn’t let Morgana upset you. Spitefulness rules her tongue.”

  “The other courtiers will assume a similar attitude,” Keely said, starting to slip the betrothal ring off her finger.

  “Don’t you dare.” Richard stayed her hand.

  “Marrying me is a terrible mistake,” she said.

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Richard drew her into the protective circle of his embrace and traced a finger down the side of her silken cheek. “You’re upset with Morgana at the moment, and ’tis understandable.”

  Keely sighed and relaxed against him. “My lack of patience worries me as much as what she said. How can I ever atone for that sin?”

  “You needn’t worry about atoning for sins, dearest. You’re a saint.”

  Keely gave him a lopsided smile. “Perhaps you’ll add a chapter about me in Lives of the Saints?”

  Richard planted a kiss on her cheek. “Go to bed, dearest. Remember, if you should execute Morgana, Queen Elizabeth is an intimate friend of mine.”

  Meanwhile, Duke Robert pulled Morgana down the corridor in the opposite direction from the foyer and kicked the library door open with his booted foot. Shoving his daughter into the chair in front of the hearth, he warned her, “Move, and I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.” Duke Robert grabbed an old Bible from a bookshelf and thrust it into her hands. “Read this and reflect upon the error of your ways.” He stormed out of the chamber.

  How humiliating to be treated so crudely in the baron’s presence, Morgana seethed. This is the bastard’s fault. She’s stolen my gowns, my intended husband, and even my father‘s love. Morgana flung the Bible onto the floor. An old yellowed parchment fell from between its pages and fluttered to the floor. Without much interest, she picked it up and glanced at it.

  “Oh, my lord,” Morgana gasped in horrified shock. Hiding her face in her hands, she wept uncontrollably.

  The library door opened. Willis Smythe crossed the chamber, glanced at the Bible on the floor, and knelt beside her chair. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. If you would only try to be civil to—”

  “You don’t understand,” Morgana sobbed. “Oh, whatever shall I do?”

  “Once Lady Keely’s wed to Devereux, no one will dare—”

  “I don’t give a fig about her.”

  “What has brought you to this sorry state?” Willis asked, his blue eyes shining with sincerity. “Trust me, gentle lady.”

  Morgana passed him the yellowed parchment and studied his expression as he perused it. Bewilderment crossed his face first and then recognition.

  “’Tis a marriage document,” Willis said as he read. “That Duke Robert wed Lady Keely’s mother upsets you?”

  “Her mother is only recently dead,” Morgana whispered, unable to meet the censure she was certain she’d see in his eyes. “Keely is my father‘s legitimate heir, while Henry and I—” She broke off, unable to voice the horrible truth.

  “His Grace will never jeopardize Henry’s inheritance,” Willis assured her. “Your tragic secret is safe with me.”

  “Burn it,” Morgana said.

  “We dare not destroy it here,” Willis said, folding the parchment and putting it into his pocket. “Trust me to take care of it.”

  His mouth swooped down and covered hers in a passionate kiss. Then he pressed her head against his shoulder and stroked her back.

  “I do trust you, sir,” Morgana said, relaxing against the comforting solidness of his masculine frame, “with all of my heart.”

  Chapter 9

  I do love him with all of my heart.

  That staggering thought hit Keely with the impact of an oak tree falling on top of her.

  “Por tous jours. For always.”

  Keely stared out the window in her bedchamber and waited for sunrise. She shivered with the early morning chill, but duty was more important than physical discomfort. False dawn brightened the eastern horizon, heralding the sun’s impending appearance.

  When had the English earl become so important to her? He’d weathered the previous evening’s storm, but she knew that a man’s affection was as constant as the fickle moon. Would his tender regard for her survive the tempest at court?

  Keely didn't trust him. Yes, the earl had kept his promise regarding her cousins, and he appeared unashamed of her less-than-honorable beginnings, but her mother had trusted Robert Talbot and had suffered for it.

  “Trust the king who wears the fiery crown and possesses the golden touch . . .”

  Richard Devereux wore a fiery crown, and the queen called him Midas in honor of that legendary king with the golden touch. Was the earl the one whom her mother had seen? What if she gave him her trust and he proved unworthy? Would her life be endangered or merely her heart?

  The turmoil in her mind and heart made her yearn to sneak outside and feel the rising sun as well as see it. Keely needed to ask the Mother Goddess to bolster the earl’s inner strength. Ignoring the poisonous tongues set against her would require patience and fortitude.

  The solemn sanctity of that rare holy place in the earl’s garden would insure a successful intercession. Where the birch, the yew, and the oak conversed dwelled powerful magic. Without bothering to change out of her nightshift, Keely grabbed her ceremonial robe and wrapped it around herself, then padded on bare feet across the chamber to the door. Excitement coursed through the life’s blood in her body. She hadn’t properly worshipped since the evening before she’d met her father. No wonder her mind seemed cloudy and her heart heavy.

  Pressing her ear against the door, Keely listened for footfalls in the corridor. There were none. She opened the door a crack and peered outside. No one was about, the hour still too early for the servants to rise. She stepped into the corridor and closed the door. Hugging the wall with her back, Keely glided down the corridor and then started down the stairs. Reaching the bottom, she saw that the path across the foyer to the door was clear. Unless an early riser loitered in the courtyard, she would escape outside undetected.

  Keely scurried across the foyer. In one swift motion she opened the door and flew outside. The courtyard was deserted.

  Keely glided like an angel of the night through the heavy mist that clung like a lover to the earth. She stopped once to verify that no one watched her progress, then slipped down the path that led to the earl’s estate.

  Keely stopped short. She‘d left her golden sickle and magic stones behind.

  Keely glanced over her shoulder but then decided that forward was the only way to go. The duke’s servants would be rising by the time she reached her chamber and retrieved what she needed. She’d never make it back here without being seen.

  Towering above the mist, the three holiest of trees stood together like old friends. Keely smiled at the shining whiteness of the sacred birch, the dark evergreen spikes of the sacred yew, and most sacred of all, the majestic oak. Keely pulled the hood of her robe up to cover her head and advanced on the holy place. Worshipping at nature’s sacred shrine made her the most fortunate of souls. As she walked toward the trees, Keely chose eight common rocks at random.

  Casting the enchanted circle, Keely set the rocks in their proper places: northwest, north, northeast, east, southeast, south, and southwest. She entered the circle from the west and closed it behind her with the last rock. “All disturbing thoughts remain outside.”

  Reaching the center of the circle, Keely turned in a clockwise circle three times until she faced the east, where the sun was beginning to reach for the world. She closed her eyes and focused her breathing.

  “The Old Ones are here, watching and waiting,” Keely spoke into the hushed dawn air. “Stars speak through stones, and light shines through the thickest oak. One realm is heaven and earth.”

  Keely paused to gather the proper emotion, then opened
her arms to implore, “Spirit of my journey, guide me to hear what these trees say. Spirit of my ancestors, guide me to hear what the wind whispers, Spirit of my tribe, guide me to understand what the clouds foretell. Myrddin, greatest of Druids, open my heart that I may see beyond the horizon.”

  Long moments passed. And then it happened—

  Strong hands grasped her upper arms in a steely grip and whirled her around. Her hood fell off in the movement, revealing the ebony mane that cascaded to her waist. At the same time, her eyes flew open and focused on the earl’s face.

  “What the bloody hell are you doing?” Richard growled.

  “Breaking the sacred circle is forbidden. You’ve ruined my—”

  Richard’s expression mirrored his shock. Without warning, he scooped her into his arms and carried her across the lawns.

  “I can walk.”

  “Shut up,” he snapped.

  With Keely in his arms, Richard marched past his sleepy-eyed servants, carried her into his study, and slammed the door shut with his booted foot. He set her down in front of a chair and then shoved her into it.

  “Why were you spying on me?” Keely demanded in her sternest voice.

  “I’ll ask the questions,” Richard shot back. “Remember, my lady. You trespassed onto my property.”

  “Why, of all the—” Intent on escaping, Keely started to rise.

  “Sit,” Richard ordered, pressing her back on the chair.

  Keely stayed where she was.

  Richard stared hard at her for an agonizingly long moment. “Are you some kind of witch?”

  “Surely, you do not hold with such absurd superstitions,” Keely said.

  “What I believe is unimportant,” Richard said. “I want to know what you believe. Were you practicing witchcraft on my property?”

  Keely looked him straight in the eye. “I would never do that.”

  His gaze narrowed on her. “What exactly do you believe?”

  “Has the Inquisition landed in England?”

  “Answer my question.” Or else was left unspoken.

  “I was baptized a Christian,” Keely hedged, dancing around the truth.

  “You haven’t answered the question, my dear. What are you?”

  Realizing she had no choice but to tell him the truth, Keely lifted her chin a notch and met his gaze. She uttered one word, a single word that sent shock waves crashing throughout his entire being.

  “Druid.”

  “Good Christ, I’m betrothed to a pagan?”

  “I do have certain knowledge,” Keely boasted.

  Richard closed his eyes against her incredible stupidity and shook his head in disgust. When he looked at her again, contempt had etched itself across his features.

  “Knowledge without common sense is a dangerous thing,” he said.

  Keely opened her mouth to protest his insult, but Richard grabbed her chin in his hand. “Keep your mouth shut, and listen to me.”

  Like a general before his troops, Richard paced back and forth in front of her and delivered a stinging lecture. “You are the most foolish woman I’ve ever met—even sillier than my sisters—and lacking common sense enough to insure your own survival. Do you know how many people believe in witches? Do you? Thousands! Why, even the queen believes in the supernatural. Do you realize you could be burned at the stake? Do you? Frightened people always act first and ask questions later.”

  Keely gave him a serene smile. “My lord, none of us really dies. Our souls pass into the Great Adventure.”

  His words were falling on deaf ears. He needed a different approach.

  Richard crossed the chamber to his desk and poured himself a dram of Scots whisky, then downed it in one long gulp. Now he understood why his brother-in-law enjoyed the drink. It fortified a man when dealing with that illogical creature called woman.

  Richard returned to where Keely sat, too nervous to move. He knelt on one bended knee in front of her and warmed her hands with his own. “Dearest, I fear for your safety. Believe what you will, but flaunting yourself before an unforgiving society can be fatal.”

  Keely couldn’t credit what she was hearing. “Do you mean you accept my beliefs?”

  Richard forced himself to nod. “Most in this land are dangerously intolerant. Your beliefs must remain secret.”

  “Very well.” Both Megan and she had always avoided offending others.

  Richard visibly relaxed.

  “What were you doing outside so early?” she asked.

  “I wanted to watch the sunrise because I knew you’d be watching it.”

  That tender admission brought a smile to Keely’s lips.

  “I never imagined you’d be cavorting in my garden and chanting incantations,” Richard added, making her giggle. He stood and offered her his hand. “I’ll walk you home.” Relieved that she needn’t keep her secret from him, Keely placed her hand in his. Together, they walked outside and headed down the path toward Talbot House.

  “I’m taking you on a tour of London this morning,” Richard informed her when they reached the courtyard. “Be ready to leave at ten.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Would you prefer passing the day in Morgana’s company?”

  “I’ll be ready,” Keely said, and disappeared inside.

  Richard turned to leave but spied the duke walking up the path from the stables. Blood and dirt soiled the ducal shirt and breeches, but the man was smiling.

  “My favorite mare has foaled,” Duke Robert announced. He glanced at the door through which he’d seen his daughter disappear. “Isn’t it early to be calling upon Keely?”

  “I found my betrothed cavorting around the trees in my garden,” Richard said, watching for the other man's reaction. “She was mumbling incantations.”

  For one brief moment, Duke Robert seemed at a loss for words but quickly recovered. “Sleepwalking,” he said, his gaze skittering away from the younger man’s.

  “Sleepwalking, my arse.” Richard gave him a lopsided smirk and shook his head with disapproval. “You know, don’t you?”

  Duke Robert nodded.

  “How can you allow Keely to endanger herself? Forbid her—”

  “I had no part in her sorry existence for eighteen years,” Duke Robert interrupted. “Megan instilled her own strange—but harmless—beliefs in her daughter. We cannot change the past, Devereux. We can only look to the future.”

  “You’re her guardian now.”

  “Would the pope renounce the Church of Rome?” Duke Robert countered. “I think not. Neither will Keely renounce what’s been ingrained in every fiber of her being. My daughter would prefer death to straying from her chosen path. You know the Welsh have always lacked expediency. ’Tis their custom to die for what they believe in their hearts.”

  “Those who are different at court attract attention,” Richard said. “That can be deadly as well as disgraceful.”

  “Keely needs a husband strong enough to keep her safe, even from the queen,” the duke said. “If you aren’t capable of the task, step aside. I’ll find another who is.”

  Richard bristled at the insult but said nothing.

  “Is the wedding on or off?” Duke Robert asked.

  “On.” Without another word, Richard marched back the way he had come.

  * * *

  Autumn wore its prettiest expression when Keely stepped into the courtyard at the appointed hour. Vanquished by the radiant sun, the morning mists had evaporated, and a gentle breeze tickled her face and flirted with the bottom edge of her cloak.

  Keely wore a violet wool skirt and white linen blouse beneath her black wool cloak. Her ebony hair had been parted in the middle, woven into one thick braid, and then knotted at the nape of her neck.

  “Good morning again,” Richard greeted her with an easy smile. “Your beauty does brighten my day.”

  Keely returned his smile. From beneath the thick fringe of her sooty lashes, she admired his stark masculine appearance. Dressed in b
lack, the earl reminded her of a bird of prey, much nobler than those rouged peacocks at court.

  “You shouldn’t be riding astride,” Richard said, lifting her onto Merlin’s back. “English ladies ride sidesaddle.”

  “We Welsh are not simpering Englishwomen,” Keely said. “I do love the feel of Merlin between my legs and would be unable to ride properly otherwise.”

  Richard flushed. Though spoken in innocence, her arousing words hardened his manhood. He stared at her, but Keely only gave him her ambiguous smile. Did she know how suggestive her words were? No woman of eighteen could be that naive—could she?

  Turning their horses northeast, Richard and Keely rode at a leisurely pace down the Strand. Londontown lay to the east.

  “Your lips look much better today,” Richard remarked. Then: “Did you know Merlin is a female?”

  “Yes. What is your horse called?”

  “The horse has no name.”

  “Every creature needs an identity,” Keely said. There was no mistaking the censure in her voice.

  Richard flicked a sidelong glance at her. “You name him, dearest.”

  Keely looked at his handsome black horse while she considered the matter.

  “Pepper.”

  Richard smiled. “Pepper is no fitting name for an earl’s horse.”

  “You require a name suitable for a man?”

  Richard nodded.

  “Let me see. How about Stupid?”

  Richard snapped his head around and saw her mischievous smirk, then gifted her with that sunny smile of his. “Black Pepper, it is.”

  As they rode down the length of the Strand, Richard pointed out places of interest. On the left stood Leicester House, separated from Arundel House by the Milford Stairs. On their right sat Durham House, where both Edward VI and Jane Grey had lived at separate times. Up ahead rose Westminster Hall and Abbey. Old King Henry lay there beside his beloved queen, Jane Seymour.

  Richard and Keely veered to the right at Charing Cross and rode into London proper. Here the crowds of Londoners grew increasingly larger, forcing them to pick their way carefully down the narrow twisting lanes.