Druid's Daughter

by Jean Hart Stewart

  Their seats were as well-placed as those she and Lance once had enjoyed. No, she wouldn’t remember that. The seats must have cost the colonel a good deal, for they were excellent. At intermission she couldn’t stop her traitorous eyes from looking up at the Dellafield box. To her horror, it was occupied. The Duke and Duchess of Lambden, a haughty-looking blond woman and Lance.

  Morgan quickly averted her eyes, although she felt her whole body blush with embarrassment as blood thudded in her ears. She scarcely heard a note of the last act, although her attention swung back to the stage at the magnificent Triumphal March. As the horses and chariots proceeded across the stage in victorious array, she succeeded in concentrating once again on the opera. She saw Wesley looking at her in puzzlement and as the final scene began he reached over and took her hand. His grip was warm and comforting and she smiled at him sincerely. He was a thoroughly nice man.

  When she and Wesley left their seats she let him guide her out of the auditorium with no premonition of disaster. Surely such a prestigious party as the Duke and Duchess would have a secluded passage to and from their box. She was not likely to encounter Lance.

  She laid her hand lightly on her escort’s arm and chattered about the dramatic triumphal march.

  “I tend to think this March was a trifle overdone. I suppose they have to be impressive, but it seemed a little ostentatious tonight.”

  Wesley smiled down at her and started to speak when Morgan heard a cultured, sweet, feminine voice.

  “My dear Miss McAfee. I was so glad to see you in the audience tonight. I wanted especially to talk to you.”

  She looked up, directly at the face of the Duchess of Lambden.

  She dropped into a hasty curtsey, not realizing that every move she made was more than graceful. She felt Lance’s eyes fastened upon her and she rose from her curtsey with, she feared, a well-developed blush.

  “Your Grace,” she said. “I thank you for the honor. May I present Lt. Col. Thorndike to you? He’s currently in Her Majesty’s Coldstream Guards.”

  The Duchess extended her hand to Thorndike, who bowed and kissed the air above her glove.

  “You don’t know my husband, I believe, although you do know my son.” The Duchess was still smiling warmly. “And this is Lady Belinda Cartwright.”

  The Duke nodded warmly as Morgan dipped in another curtsey and he gave her his hand to help her rise. Lance nodded stiffly and Lady Belinda not at all.

  Morgan glanced at Lady Belinda’s frozen face and wondered if she ever smiled at another woman. Maybe it was just Morgan she snubbed. She’d wager the blonde beauty smiled at Lance often enough. Belinda was tall and stately, her copious hair drawn sleekly back, formed into a impressive coil at the base of her swan-like neck. Morgan hated her on sight. In fact, she’d hated her at that hasty glimpse to the Lambden box.

  The Duchess took Morgan’s hand in a startling gesture of friendship, although it did not seem to surprise the Duke.

  “We wanted you to convey our most sincere congratulations to Commissioner Randall on his marriage to your beautiful mother. Will you please extend our best wishes to them both?”

  Morgan was touched they’d evidence such goodwill to her and in such public surroundings. She glanced at Lance, who gave a slight smile and murmured something about hoping her parents were well. Belinda the Beauty still didn’t smile. She did, however, give a possessive tug to Lance’s sleeve.

  “Shall we go, Lance? I’d like to introduce you to a few of my friends tonight. You have such a wonderful reputation. Too, too impressive and they’re dying to meet you.”

  She smiled up at him, patted his arm and tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. Lance stiffened, chagrin at her lack of manners evident to anyone who knew him well.

  Morgan had had enough. If the beauty had nodded even once she might not be quite so enraged. She consulted furiously with her inner self and decided a slight spell might teach the blonde beauty compassion for others and therefore be good for her. She muttered a few words under her breath.

  Suddenly every blonde hair seemed to loosen at once from Lady Belinda’s impressively smooth chignon. Each sleek hair was now kinky and curled impossibly tight. Each hair seemed to stand by itself, reaching out in a wild halo from her head.

  She was an amazing sight. Even Morgan was surprised, mostly at how successful she’d been. The Duke and Duchess covered their faces to try to stifle their laughter, although Lance didn’t even try.

  Lady Belinda shrieked, put her hands to her head and shrieked again. She turned around and saw Morgan standing there, her hands to her lips, her eyes startled.

  “You did this to me,” Lady Belinda shrieked. “It had to be you. You’re a witch!”

  Morgan replied with perfect condescension. “As a matter of fact, I think I am. However, I’m a good witch. Good people have nothing to fear from me.”

  She turned elegantly to the still amused ducal pair.

  “Your graces, it’s a true honor to meet you. You are the perfect gentlepeople I expected you to be. I’ll be most happy to convey your greetings to my parents.”

  With a curt nod to Lance, who was now snorting into his handkerchief, she took the Colonel’s arm and swept out.

  The Colonel was looking at her with what she thought was a blend of amusement, much awe and approval.

  As they went down the steps outside Covent Garden he asked her only one question.

  “Did you really do that?”

  “Yes, I did. And I’m not ashamed yet. Maybe I will be tomorrow, but not tonight.”

  “You shouldn’t be tomorrow either. How you did it, I don’t know, but she’s an obnoxious woman.”

  Morgan gave in to a few giggles and then smiled her glorious smile at him. A very nice man indeed.

  What a shame he wasn’t Lance.

  * * * * *

  Try as she might, Morgan couldn’t summon up anything but pleased amusement at her impulsive actions of the night before. She knew she’d put on a display that would doubtless revolt the Duke and Duchess when they had time to think about it. But they would never have accepted her as Lance’s wife in any case. She knew in the deepest part of her soul she wanted marriage to him and only him. But that was now completely hopeless. As it had always been.

  Perhaps she should quit seeing the nice Colonel. His amazing acceptance of her actions alerted her to the possibility his affections might be engaged. He’d stood there with an amused smile on his face and never mentioned the incident after the one question at Covent Garden. He was interesting to talk to and a dear man, but she did not want him.

  She was still at breakfast when the knock sounded and she heard a deep voice. She paled as Jackson ushered Lance into the morning room.

  “Jackson, will you please bring more coffee and scones? Would you have a seat, Lord Laniston? From my limited experience I find men can always enjoy a second breakfast.”

  She smiled sweetly at him, a little alarmed at his serious expression.

  “I did not have a first breakfast, so thank you, Morgan. I would like something light.”

  He pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “If you are about to chide me for my actions last night it’s not necessary. I can’t say I’m sorry, but it was rather childish of me.”

  “I’ve not come to chide you, Morgan. You responded rather magnificently to undue provocation. I’ve come to do some explaining of my own. I must find peace. I can’t work properly, I’m not eating or sleeping well, I’m not even a good Chief Inspector.”

  Morgan knew her astonishment was evident. Lord Laniston Dellafield, talking to her in such a manner! She felt as if somebody had put her head in a paper bag and shaken it ’til the contents were muddled and floating around.

  “I find this hard to believe, Lord Laniston.”

  He looked at her in semi-despair. “Please call me Lance again. I don’t think I’ll get through this if you don’t at least pretend to be my friend.”

  She took one of h
is large hands in her two small ones.

  “I’ll always be your friend, Lance.”

  His half-smile came and faded quickly.

  “I want to confess to you why I disappeared with scarcely a word after your caring for me so sweetly when I was injured. I’m not at all proud of myself.”

  She withdrew her hand and raised her head in her newly won pride. She’d found she was a good Druid, a good witch and a good healer. She did not need to hear his confession to be sure of herself.

  He smiled at her uplifted nose. “Please, Morgan, hear me out. I feel I must tell you to gain my own peace. Why it’s so essential I don’t know, but it is. Then I’ll leave you alone. You’ll want nothing to do with me afterwards, anyway.”

  This astonished her so she looked at him closely. Yes, he’d actually said what she’d heard. She couldn’t imagine anything he could say would turn her against him. She motioned for him to proceed.

  “Have you ever heard me say the name ‘Justin’?” he asked. His eyes were cast down when he started talking, but now he raised them. His blue, blue eyes were clouded with misery.

  She saw no point in prevarication. “When you were injured and feverish you mentioned him.”

  “I thought I had,” he said grimly. “I also fear I took ungentlemanly advantage of you the night you cared for me. I don’t remember exactly, but the pleasure of my dreams haunts me. But let me have my say. Justin Ashcraft was with me at Eton. He was two years younger and of much slighter build. I did not know him until several months after he’d arrived at school.”

  He stopped and put his head briefly in his hands. “This is horror story, incidentally, so be prepared.”

  When he looked up again Morgan felt as if she were looking into his very soul. His cobalt eyes were clouded with misery and his hair was thoroughly disarranged, even to the white streaks at his temples. He was making no attempt to hide his feelings, painful as they obviously were to him.

  Morgan put both her hands on his to try to stop him, but he shook his head, although he grabbed her hands with a painful grip.

  “Justin was assigned to fag for one of the biggest bullies in the school. This scoundrel had two bosom friends, as mean and degenerate as he. I did not know how Justin was being treated until I found him one day huddled in a corner of the hall of my dormitory trying to get up courage to speak to me. He’d heard I was fair-minded.”

  His pain roughened his lowered voice. He was silent for a long moment.

  “The trio were mistreating him miserably. Almost nightly beatings, forcing him to eat garbage, all sorts of cruel abominations I won’t distress you by listing. Justin told me he’d tried and tried to be a good sport, but everything got too much for him. He was going to run away and hope his parents forgave him. He wanted someone to know the truth in case he didn’t make his way home. He swore he’d commit suicide if he were forced to put up with any more. I believed him.”

  Lance took a long drink of his coffee and Morgan poured him more. He’d not touched his scones.

  “I promised to protect him. I called on each of the trio and did my best to put some fear into their wicked souls. I thought I had, Morgan, I truly did. One day when I was playing a cricket match they took revenge on Justin.”

  His voice hardened, as did his expression. He was no longer looking at Morgan, but watching his hands.

  “They lay him face down over a windowsill and two of the bullies thrust the window pane down on the middle of his back to hold him still. Then they beat him bloody. When they let him up he threw open the window and jumped out.”

  Lance again buried his face in his hands. “I’ve never told anyone this, Morgan, not even my parents. They know Justin is a cripple, but not why. This is very hard to tell even to you.”

  Morgan patted his knee, but couldn’t say a word.

  He waited a few minutes and then continued. “They were on the second story. Justin broke both legs and dislocated his spine, among other lesser injuries. One leg never healed properly.”

  The silence time stretched on ’til Morgan found her voice.

  “What’s happened to him, Lance?”

  His attempt to speak calmly twisted her heart. “He manages my country estate. He’ll never walk properly and he has a good deal of pain, but he’s an excellent manager. My wonderful parents gifted each of my brothers and me at birth with our own estate. Mine is in Kent, actually not too far from your mother’s, although I’ve spent little time there.”

  His face twisted. “I can hardly face Justin, even now.”

  They were both silent for quite a while. Morgan was content to wait. She knew he needed time to regain his usual detached equilibrium and she needed to digest all this. To her these gruesome facts explained a great deal. No wonder Lord Laniston Dellafield cast his lot into punishing the cruel and the wicked. No wonder he was such an excellent policeman and leader of men.

  She wanted desperately to comfort him, but didn’t know where to start. Even more surprising than the story was his admission he’d not told his parents all of the horrifying details. She thought his parents could not be more tolerant. Lance’s shame must run very deep and had haunted him far too long. But why was he telling her all this and at this time?

  Lance sat staring straight ahead and Morgan was sure he saw nothing in front of him. Still she was silent, desperate to say the right words and afraid of the wrong ones. The recitation must have brought back every horrifying feeling as his face was etched with pain and regret.

  “Thank you for listening, Morgan. I don’t blame you for being revolted. I’ll let myself out.”

  He took a very shaky breath, raising his eyes to her and then dropping them as she still said not a word.

  As he got slowly to his feet, the suffering on his ravaged face broke her silence. She ran to him, turning him toward her and grabbing his hands, willing him to stay with her until she could help him.

  “Lance, I wish I could ease your pain as I do some of my patients. I truly think you have no blame. You couldn’t watch over Justin every minute of the night and day. Those horribly wicked boys would have found him sometime, someplace. Wicked people are intent on finding their victims, as you and I well know.”

  He looked up at her with a flash of hope in his distressed eyes, which soon died out. “No, Morgan. I gave my word and did not keep it. No matter the circumstances, I let Justin down and he paid the price I should have paid.”

  “Lance, you’re wrong. Terribly wrong. I think you’re not only wrong but overly hard on yourself. Lance, sometimes circumstances break our word for us.”

  “That’s my Morgan,” he said, his twisted grin breaking her heart.

  “Lance, I’m honored you told me this, but why did you? I haven’t heard from you for some time and I’m puzzled. Do you mind my asking you?”

  He stood stiffly in place. “No, I don’t mind anything from you. It’s simple. Your honesty last night when you faced down Belinda put me to shame. You held your head high, used your unusual powers and then frankly admitted them. In a public place. No matter you were facing my parents, a Duke and a Duchess, as well as me. I, on the other hand, have been too cowardly to be honest with you or anyone.”

  She refused to let go of his hands and he finally looked directly at her. The suffering in his eyes held her speechless again. Why could she not think of the right words to ease his pain?

  “I’ve withdrawn and neglected you with no explanation, Morgan. That is the height of cowardice. I feel you deserve to know why I cut off our relationship. You were getting too close to me. I didn’t want you to know my secrets. Surely you now see I’m not honorable and not worthy of you.”

  He started toward the door again and then turned around.

  “I suppose I must marry someday, but I’ll put it off as long as I can. Your image is always with me now. Every minute of every day. After a while I’ll probably marry another Belinda.”

  His voice was low and bitter. Then he looked straight at her with his
beautiful cobalt eyes and shattered her senses.

  “I want you to know I love you, even though I hope to never see you again.”

  He strode out the door.

  “Lance, wait.” Morgan ran after him but he did not turn around again. She knew she couldn’t catch him and she went slowly back into the house.

  What should she do now, in the face of those last bitter words? How strange to know he thought her witching ways were honest and brave. But how to handle such a reluctant and wonderful declaration of love?

  Dear Goddess, she needed all the guidance she could call on to persuade Lance his guilt was as excessive as she’d once thought his pride.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Morgan felt as if the Earth had turned over under her feet and was still shaking. She’d never been as bewildered and astonished as when Lance bared his heart to her. She spent the night trying to determine what to do, but came up without an answer. Although her heart was singing with the joy of his now-acknowledged love, she knew he never intended to see her again. He wouldn’t want to see the one person who knew the secret he thought so shameful.

  All through an early breakfast, she debated with herself. What on earth was he thinking? That he was not worthy of her? She’d never heard anything any more ridiculous. Yet he’d seemed so convinced and so unwavering in his resolve to cut her out of his life.

  She needed time to think this through. One thing she knew for sure. She would not let Lord Lance Dellafield get away with such a ridiculous assertion as saying he was unworthy of her. How could he be convinced she would hate him now that she knew his deepest secret? That he couldn’t face her again after that heart-rending recital of what had so marked him at Eton? Lance, her strong, straight-thinking Lance, was far askew in his thinking on this one matter. Of course his honor was important, but he could not lose that vital element by an incident over which he had no control.

  She knew she’d force him to see her as soon as she could, but she was far from ready for a confrontation. She must be completely prepared when she saw him again.