Druid's Daughter

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Druid’s Daughter

ISBN 9781419908477

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

Druid’s Daughter Copyright© 2007 Jean Hart Stewart

Edited by Helen Woodall.

Cover art by Philip Fuller.

Electronic book Publication: April 2007

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The
characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Chapter One

London, July, 1898

The black dog bared his teeth at the sergeant guarding the
doorway, growling deep in his massive throat.

Morgan reached down and patted his silky head. “Ambrose,
this gentleman is only doing his duty. Quite evidently the Chief Inspector
wasn’t expecting you to escort me. Sergeant, will you please tell the Chief
Inspector that Miss McAfee is here?”

She had to give him credit. The sergeant stood his ground,
even though Ambrose advanced on him and slowly backed him against the door,
rattling the hinges.

“Sorry, Miss, I wuz told to let you in when you came. I got
no orders about a beast like this. Cor, that’s the biggest Labrador I ever did
see.”

Morgan laughed, just as the door opened and Chief Inspector
Lord Laniston Dellafield stood glowering in the doorway. A man as imposing as
his title was cumbersome. A mouthwatering male—large, handsome and gloriously
masculine. Also a male looking at Morgan and Ambrose with unambiguous disdain.
His hazy aura was a deep gray shot through with yellow of disbelief in her
abilities.

“I assume you’re Miss McAfee. Step in, please. Sergeant, get
rid of the dog.”

Morgan chuckled as Ambrose ruffled his fur and turned to
growl at the Chief Inspector.

“Ambrose is quite gentle unless provoked. I think you’d be
wise to let him in. He’ll tear the place apart if you try to separate him from
me.”

Chief Inspector Dellafield gave her a disgusted look and
then held the door open. Morgan and Ambrose entered, although Ambrose uttered a
vibrating “grrr” as he marched past the Chief Inspector. Dellafield waved her
to a chair in front of his big uncluttered desk and seated himself behind it,
laying his folded hands on the surface. Large hands with long, strong fingers.
Morgan could feel his waves of antipathy. She was used to disdain for her Druid
abilities, but she regretted his hostility was consuming so much essential
time.

After all, the missing child was more important than the
personal feelings of either of them.

His implacable face made her furious, although she gave no
sign. He was wasting valuable minutes when every second was needed to find out
who’d kidnapped the little boy.

Dellafield went on the attack immediately.

“I understand you are a Druid, Miss McAfee and claim to have
psychic visions. I did not know you claimed to be a witch. At least I take it
the dog is your familiar.”

Morgan tried to keep her sigh of exasperation silent.

“You are wrong, sir. Ambrose is my companion only, although
I rely on him to help me. However, I am not a witch. Druids and witches are
very different, as I would explain if you cared to listen. And if I were not
more interested in finding the child.”

Dellafield quirked his heavy eyebrows. “But I understand one
of your visions is why the Commissioner asked me to work with you. That you had
a vision showing the hiding place of a necklace stolen from Commissioner’s
mother?”

His delaying tactics were annoying her to the point of
lashing out and telling him so. Only the fact they must work together stopped
her.

“That is true. I saw it hidden under a pile of laundry and
Ambrose immediately found and uncovered it.”

His dark brows raised in disbelief.

“And the Commissioner expects you to have another vision,
but this time one that reveals where the kidnappers are keeping his son?”

This time her anger flushed her face, as she looked into
those cobalt blue eyes with a disdain to equal his.

“Commissioner Randall is a good friend to my mother and me.
I understand he also is a friend of your family. You must know he is not the
sort to expect impossible deeds. If I have a vision, it will be welcome. I
cannot call them at will and he knows this. He is only expecting I do my best.”

Her expertise in reading small involuntary movements caught
the slight lifting of his dark brows. So. He hadn’t known the Commissioner’s
request was personal.

“But I thought—”

“That I can command a vision to appear? Of course not.” She
let a little of her impatience show in her peremptory tone. Sinfully handsome
or not, she was getting more and more irked at His Muscled Elegance.

“I am not a magician, nor a witch, as I’ve said. I am merely
a Druid, trained in Druid ways. And now, if it’s not too much trouble, could
you fill me in about Jamie? I know he’s been missing two days and the
newspapers haven’t yet learned of it. I would appreciate anything you feel you
can reveal.”

His heightened color showed he was finally embarrassed. She
didn’t need to check his aura. His basic feeling was antipathy. He resented her
and the fact he must at least make an attempt to work with her and had not the
slightest belief she could help. Not for the first time, she wished she could
call up a vision at will. His brain was too bound by prejudice to accept
anything less than a miracle.

“I pray to the Goddess of us all I am granted a vision,” she
said quietly.

Her soft tone seemed to reach him and he finally leaned back
and answered.

“The boy. Jamie.”

He hooded his eyes, but not before she’d caught the flash of
pain. Some personal affection, then. She liked him a little better for that
brief, unguarded reaction.

His magnificent body was still tense, but his voice softened
as he surrendered and began to talk about the child. He steepled his hands and
stared down at them.

She sat quietly, watching and listening. She’d heard
Dellafield was called Lucky Lance by his men, although never to his
aristocratic face. May the Goddess preserve his luck by helping him find Jamie.

“Jamie was taken to the park two days ago by his nursemaid.
He chased a ball into the bushes and never came back. After searching the maid
came home and police were called. Naturally we questioned the nanny thoroughly,
but I’m convinced she knows nothing. Jamie is six years old.”

He paused as if unsure how to go on. No, it was distress
that had stopped him. Good for him.

He cleared his throat and raised his eyes to hers.

“There were few others in the park and no one saw a thing.
There has been no ransom note, so we truly have no clues. I fear not sending a
ransom demand is a deliberate ploy to make the Commissioner more frantic.”

As he talked Morgan rose and went slowly to the window. When
he finished speaking she turned and scrutinized the room. She found his office
informative.

Dellafield’s office was spacious. Books lined one wall,
their papery smell blending with the aroma of the red leather chairs. A small
Turner watercolor of a scene in Wales hung over a three-legged table placed
against a wall. A large walnut table dominated the center of the room with some
papers in neat stacks. Good taste and good work habits.

Her respect for his abilities went up a notch. Only a
valuable man could commandeer this much space. Being the fourth son of a duke
would count for something, but not this much in the police hierarchy. He had to
have earned his reputation through intelligence and hard work.

She scrutinized the man once again. Her impression of his
physical strength was not wrong. She doubted he had a soft ounce on him. His
sable hair showed a few white hairs at the temples. That hint of white
surprised her, since the Commander had mentioned he’d just turned thirty-two.

She liked his looks, as any breathing woman would. Darkly
handsome as a brooding Zeus. She loved his resonating baritone. His imposing
air of competence definitely was appealing. An aura of power clothed him like a
second skin. So far though, she didn’t much like him.

She grinned at the last thought and watched him frown in
reaction. He waited for her to speak, so she obliged him.

“I don’t know what you’re planning, but I’ll try to help. As
I told you, I can promise nothing.”

He looked skeptical again, but said no more about her
abilities. Or lack of them.

“You are not what I expected. However, it seems we must work
together. What do you want of me, Miss McAfee? I would not have it said I was
uncooperative.”

Morgan felt a sudden spurt of anger. “I’m not likely to
report on you to the Commissioner, my lord.”

He put down the pen he’d been twirling between his fingers,
looking embarrassed. “I spoke rashly and I apologize. And please, I prefer to
be called by my police rank rather than my title.”

She always thought better in motion. She began to circle the
big walnut table while he watched her from under half-shut eyes. On the third
round she stopped in front of Chief Inspector Dellafield.

“I need to visit the boy’s room as soon as possible.”

Dellafield’s thick eyebrows rose. “Are you sure this is
necessary? I hesitate to disturb the family. There’s an aunt, Lady Cynthia
Thornton, who cares for the boy since his mother died four years ago. Lady
Cynthia is completely distraught. I’m loath to go against her wishes.”

“I appreciate her feelings. I’m not insensitive. But I must
insist on this. The more I know of his habits and his interests, the better my
chances of helping.”

The pen was back as he twirled it again with his fingers.

“I am very much against this, Miss McAfee.”

His skepticism and hostility were again in place. He stared
at Morgan and she stared back. She was not going to be the one to blink first.

“I can do nothing without my own awareness of the child. His
room will tell me much.”

Her voice was quiet, but as firm as his.

The Chief Inspector looked down his nose, but said nothing
for a long space. Probably seconds, but it seemed like minutes to Morgan.

She could not quite grasp his essential aura. Now shimmering
a brighter shade of grayish blue, but still too hazy to pin down. His scent
swirled around him, a combination of sandalwood, soap and potent masculinity.
Common enough ingredients and not unusual except he smelled so clean. The aroma
held nothing to betray the inner essence of his thoughts. Merely a sensuality
she could discern by looking at him.

What a shame anytime she found a halfway attractive male his
prejudices marked him as out of bounds for even friendship. No one, especially
an arrogant Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard, would ever comprehend the
mystical world into which she’d been born. He’d find it effortless to attract
any woman of his own sphere. He’d consider a psychic Druid as anathema. An
abomination.

She stood silently for a moment, then half-turned to leave,
her own nose as high as his.

“Let me know as soon as I can go to Jamie’s room. I assure
you my request is urgent.”

Putting all personal thoughts into a separate pocket of her
mind, she gathered her skirts in one hand and swept toward the door. She
noticed Chief Inspector Lord Laniston Dellafield staring before she started to
swish away.

He could stare as much as he wished. She detested his haughty
attitude. Still his superior, Commissioner Randall, wanted her to help. Her own
mother seemed on quite friendly terms with the Commissioner and was anxious for
Morgan to do what she could. There was no question but she would try. This went
far beyond the recovery of a necklace. Far beyond her personal reactions.

A precious child was lost to dreadful danger.

She could feel those frigid eyes boring into her back as she
left.

She gave her skirt an extra little flounce as she and
Ambrose marched out the door.

* * * * *

Morgan and her mother were enjoying a leisurely breakfast
the next morning when the footman brought in a note. Chief Inspector Dellafield
sent word he’d escort her to Jamie’s home at ten o’clock.

Surprised, she folded the note into a small square and
turned to her mother.

“I don’t think I’ll take Ambrose. I don’t want to distract
the Chief Inspector, Mama and he’s perfectly safe. Aggravating, but safe.”

Not smiling, she sped upstairs. He’d wasted time and the
delay worried her. Still she could only do her best. Doubtless he resented her
every bit as much as she’d suspected. Probably he’d chased down every possible
clue before turning to her.

She took more care than usual in dressing, which amused her.
Finally she chose a dark green skirt trimmed in yellow braid. Her shirtwaist
sported yellow and white stripes and she carefully tied a large green bow at
the collar. Turning around several times in front of her mirror, she decided
she would do. She’d loved bright green long before being told the color matched
her eyes.

She smoothed her skirt over her slim hips, thankful its
fullness allowed her freedom of movement. She pinned a simple straw sailor hat
onto her thick hair. Yellow roses decorated the brim and green ribbons floated
down her back.

One more twirl before her cheval mirror and she felt ready.
At least Dellafield couldn’t fault her appearance. He might consider her a
charlatan but she was a stylish one.

She went downstairs to await the maddening Chief Inspector
Lord Laniston Dellafield. He arrived exactly on time. His punctuality didn’t
surprise her, but the carriage and driver did. The driver was a sergeant from
Scotland Yard, the same one who’d admitted her into the office yesterday. The
luxurious carriage obviously belonged to Dellafield. She leaned back against
the velvet squabs with a small sound of contentment.

“Do you usually travel in such style, my lord?”

She’d meant the statement half in earnest and half
teasingly.

Dellafield raised his patrician nose. She was beginning to
watch for this habit of his. It expressed displeasure even though his words
were dispassionate.

“I do indeed furnish my own coach, but using a sergeant as
driver is quite ordinary in the force.”

“I did not mean to criticize, my lord,” she said. Her own
nose went up just a trifle. “I quite enjoy such comfort. If I fault you, it is
for the length of time you wasted before calling on my help.”