Druid's Daughter (22 page)

She pulled the reins tight and jerked them to rear her
horse, as the youngster scooted to safety. Lily stopped abruptly, bucking
slightly in protest. She could have easily maintained her seat had she not
looked up and caught sight of Lance. His carriage was just entering the Park
and with him was another beautiful blonde. That perfidious scoundrel! The very
day after he’d said other women paled beside his thoughts of her!

Her hold on her reins loosened as she gradually lost balance,
slipping slowly to one side and then to the ground. Luckily the mare was
well-trained and stopped the moment she felt the weight go off her back.

Lance looked up just in time to see her fall. He immediately
pulled up his team, throwing the reins to his companion.

He ran to Morgan, frantically patting her over as much of
her as he could reach. She chuffed at his ridiculous pawing. She’d not fallen
hard, for heaven’s sakes, why check her whole body for injuries?

She was also completely mortified.

“Morgan, my love, are you hurt? Shall I summon a doctor? Can
I take you home?” Lance looked as anxious as if she’d been mortally wounded by
a gunshot.

“Get your hands off me, you big oaf! I’m fine. I like taking
falls. I do it most times I go riding just for practice in falling gracefully.
Go back to your companion, my lord. Another blonde, I see. You must really have
a fixation on such light hair. Too bad mine is so much darker.”

She stood and dusted off her riding habit, keeping her eyes
down. She would not, she absolutely would not let him see the tears of chagrin
in her eyes.

He took a step toward her and she yelled at him, “Leave me
alone.”

Leading Lily next to a fallen log, she quickly mounted. She
didn’t even glance at him as she rode away, her head as high as she could
manage and still ride safely.

If she’d taken a moment she would have seen him grin as his
eyes followed her out of sight. She might even have heard him speak quietly to
himself before he went back to his carriage.

“Never again, my dear. I’ll not leave you alone ever again.”

* * * * *

The more Lance thought about Morgan’s fall the more
bewildered he became. Why had Morgan ranted so at him? He was merely trying to
check her for injuries! Surely she didn’t expect him to go riding blithely by
when she fell? At the remembrance of exactly why she’d lost her seat, his lips
twisted up a little. She’d been protecting the threatened child, of course. Yet
her pride wouldn’t allow her to be happy that anyone, especially him, had seen
her unwilling descent. Even though she fell as gracefully as she did everything
else.

His love was a maddening, unpredictable, strictly adorable
girl. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she confounded him. He
loved her for her every vagary. The life he now was determined to share with
her would not be dull.

The fall merely reinforced the feeling constantly clamoring
at his mind, refusing to stay buried. He’d tried without success to hide his
love for her deep in his soul. He now knew his battle with his emotions was
well and truly lost. The shock of seeing her plummet to the ground made him
realize without any doubt that he had to have and protect her. All his
misgivings had fallen away as he’d watched her pitch off her horse. He’d almost
panicked with fear. No matter she wasn’t hurt. The very fact she could have
been crystallized his thinking in one powerful moment.

If she didn’t love him surely she wouldn’t mind so much that
he witnessed her fall.

One amazing fact he’d been trying desperately to believe
also surfaced and was now a sure remembrance.

His love had heard his confession and not turned away. In
fact she’d run after him as he left. She did not despise him for his sins. If
she, the soul of honor and honesty, did not scorn him, then perhaps he was not
so bad.

She valued him for the person he was. Not his title, not his
riches, not his high place in society. If anything, the advantages any other
girl would prize meant less than nothing to her. They might even be detriments
in her straightforward way of thinking.

She was one in a million. No, the odds were longer than
that. Even his parents had agreed on her worth. After the opera, the ducal
carriage had dropped off a still ranting Belinda. He’d escorted her to her
door, bid her a terse goodnight and returned to the carriage. The Duke and
Duchess had spoken almost in unison.

“Morgan is a lovely, lovely girl, Lance. No, a lovely
person. I like her so much. Her honesty is unusual and admirable. She is very
much herself.”

This from his mother. From his father, a paternal grunt and
the comment that Morgan was exceptional. He’d been so astounded he didn’t say a
word. Thinking back now, he could see that Morgan’s characteristics and
independence were exactly those of his mother’s, although the Duchess had
learned to mask her unconventionality. Perhaps his unhappiness also influenced
their clear approval of Morgan.

Could Morgan learn to accept the life of society? It didn’t
really matter. He already chose to avoid most social functions and her beauty
and character would embellish the few they favored with their attendance.

Nothing else counted but the unadorned truth that he needed
her for his own. Much more than need. He had to have her.

He’d really made a mess of courting her. In fact he’d tried
for weeks to drive her away from him. Now he would have to put all his mental
abilities into convincing her he’d changed his mind. No, that was the wrong way
to think. He’d come into his right mind.

The best place to start was to call on her just as soon as
he could get to her house and try to convince her of his love.

Everything else could wait.

* * * * *

Morgan took Lily back to the stables and jumped to the
ground.

A boy came running up to her to take the reins, but she
shook her head.

“I want to rub Lily down myself today.”

She managed a smile for the worried boy. “No, you’ve been
doing a good job, Stanley, it’s just that I need the added exercise. Please
lead Lily to her stall and I’ll see to her.”

She spent more time than usual on grooming Lily, loving the
horsey smell and familiar feel of the slick and glowing coat. When she finally
entered her room, she looked at her riding habit in dismay. She brushed off
much of the dirt from the park as well as Lily’s hair and then threw the
garment down. It would have to be thoroughly cleaned by an expert.

All her physical effort hadn’t squelched her mortification.
She pulled on her gardening outfit, a pair of men’s trousers she’d bought for
freedom of movement and a loose shirtwaist. She needed, really needed, to dig
in the earth. Getting her hands deep in the soil and reaffirming her Druid
connection with nature was always her best comfort. She’d often wished everyone
had a small portion of dirt to run between their fingers when they needed
peace.

Maybe she’d been unduly upset that Lance had seen her fall.
But out riding with a new blonde! After telling her the day before he loved
her. Of course he had said he’d someday marry and not her, but she thought he
could have waited just a little before beginning his search. The deceitful
lout!

She calmed a little with each step she took toward her herb
garden. Her plants seemed to be thriving and she’d decided to plant a holly in
one corner. The holly, also revered by the Druids, was needed to make her
garden complete. Soon she would have the most sacred Druidic spot in London.

With a hoe, she marked off the area where she wanted the
holly. That meant moving a few herbs to make space. On her knees, she began to
dig at the rosemary she decided to transplant. Next she’d use a small spade to
turn over the soil.

She had no warning. Why wasn’t her alarm antenna working?
Did anger block her perceptions? Absorbed in her digging, she suspected nothing
until she heard a grating voice.

“Stand up, you bitch. Now!”

She did so, slowly, trying to orient herself. A disheveled
older woman stood before her, pointing a gun directly at her heart. A blood red
aura surrounded the unknown foe. A relentless and frightening scarlet.

The woman was poorly dressed, her clothes not only shabby
but dirty. Her gray hair was loosely pushed behind her ears, straggling and
uncombed. She had a wild look in her eyes as she darted them around the garden
and then focused on Morgan.

“You’re the bitch who led the police to my son. He told me
all about how you tricked him with your evil witchcraft. Did you know they
hanged him this morning? Would you like me to tell you how his heels kicked in
the air and his body jerked? Would you?” Her voice was shaking and vicious. “Do
you know I can’t even retrieve his body for burial? That I don’t have enough
money to give him a decent grave? He was still hanging there when I left.”

Even the hand holding the gun shook, but not enough. At this
range even a shaking hand could hardly avoid hitting Morgan.

Everything came together in Morgan’s mind. Tomlinson’s mother
and as demented as he was, although perhaps she had more reason. The same
frenzied air. The same manic edge to her voice. Morgan tried to batten down her
fear. Guns frightened her even more than knives.

“What do you mean to do, Mrs. Tomlinson? I assume that’s
your name, ma’am?”

Mrs. Tomlinson laughed, not pleasantly.

“Don’t tell me you’ve sent more than one man to the gallows.
Can’t be sure who I am? No wonder he called you a bitch. You’re a whore, too.
Look at you, dressed in men’s trousers.”

Morgan tried to think how to defuse the situation. “I only
assist the police occasionally, ma’am. Your son was taken into custody when he
tried to kill me in this very garden. I would hate to have you suffer the same
fate. My staff check on me often when I’m out here.”

“You’re lying, you bitch. They think you’re safe now my
son’s been hanged and will let you grub away in peace. You’re usually out here
for an hour or more. Lucky for me you make it quite a habit.”

The thought that this madwoman had been spying on her shocked
Morgan to the point that she felt herself begin to quiver. Had her longing for
Lance so blunted her cautionary instincts she’d not felt this vicious woman
nearby?

“Do you mean to shoot me here? You know you won’t get away.”

The rictus that twisted her face could hardly be called a
smile.

“Do you think I care? Got nothin’ left to live for anyway.
But my Tommy will be laughing loud and hearty-like. I can hear him now, he’ll
be so pleased.”

She didn’t know what to say that might possibly calm the
woman a little. Nothing she could think of even made sense. She couldn’t
remember a single thing about her murderous son that was complimentary.

She thought of screaming but knew that would be her death
knell.

Then once again and unbelievably, she heard the deep voice
she loved. Trying to save her from danger yet once more. Lance must be more
receptive to warning signals than she to be here when she needed him. Needed
him to save her from a second Tomlinson.

“I see I’m a little late,” he drawled. Throwing a bunch of
flowers down, he stood, unmoving now, at the edge of the house.

Mrs. Tomlinson cackled. “My God! The dreaded Lord Lance! Not
so lucky, this time. Maybe I can get both of you before I’m caught.”

“Why don’t you just settle for me?” Lance moved a little closer,
but still in a position where she would have to swing her gun around to get him
in range. “I’m the one who testified in court against your murderous son.”

She gave a shriek of rage but never moved the gun from
Morgan. “I know that, you bastard, but you’ll suffer more if I shoot her first.
Neither one of you will get away this time.”

Morgan kept quiet. Lance was deliberately pushing the woman
to her limit. Why? Did he have a reason besides trying to divert the rage onto
himself? Was there any way she could help him?

Lance’s eyes glanced just for a second at the ground at
Morgan’s feet and then faced the insane woman with a smile.

“If you’d like to know more I can tell you all about the
women your son murdered. Exactly how he savaged them and wrote messages with
their blood.”

Another cry of rage, a more guttural sound than the last
screech. Mrs. Tomlinson started to swing the gun and Morgan’s brain started
working. She snatched the hoe at her feet and hurled it at her. The hoe caught
Mrs. Tomlinson in the arm, exactly where Morgan had prayed it would.

As the gun fell to the ground Lance swept it up. The woman
was now raving and grappling with Lance for the gun. Morgan picked up the hoe
again and using the wooden handle, brought it down hard on the woman’s head.
Mrs. Tomlinson didn’t crumple, but she did jerk and pause long enough for Lance
to grab her in a headlock. He quickly wrestled her into submission.

Lance looked at Morgan as he clutched the insane woman, his
relieved glance like a kiss on Morgan’s face.

“Bring me something to bind her hands, Morgan.”

She removed an oversized handkerchief from her pocket, one
she used to wipe off sweat if she worked too long. Now she effectively
immobilized the woman’s hands as Lance held them, although she was trying to
kick Lance anyplace she could reach. Her rage gave her undue strength and
Lance, with a sigh, finally rendered her unconscious with the same pressure
point he’d used on her son. He stripped off his cravat and secured her ankles.

He straightened with a twisted smile. “I wonder if any more
members of this hellish family are alive. I’ll check it out immediately. I
don’t want to meet any more of them in your garden.”

He stood still for a moment, looking at her with undisguised
love and relief.

Tears ran down Morgan’s cheeks. “I can’t stand it, Lance.
You’re in constant danger. I can’t stand it.”