Druid's Daughter (7 page)

Lance looked at her downcast and troubled face.

“My dear,” he said. “I spoke the simple truth. I chose these
seats because I wanted you to myself and to have the chance to get to know you
better. I would like you to meet my parents, but not necessarily tonight.”

She kept her eyes on her hands for a while and then to his
great relief, looked up and smiled at him.

“I thank you for the thought. Now, are you prepared for the
exquisitely melodious death scene? I always think I’m ready and then even
though I know every word and note, dissolve in emotion.”

He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

“Then let us dissolve together,” he said.

* * * * *

Lance had instructed his driver to bring his carriage to the
front of Covent Garden and in spite of the jostling of horses and cabs, he and
Morgan didn’t have long to wait. Once inside the cab, she turned to him with a
tremulous smile and gave him back his damp handkerchief.

“I did warn you, you know. I’m a ridiculous water bucket
when they reach the last scene.”

Lance half-frowned as she scooted to the corner of the seat.

“I think the more of you for being affected by the beauty of
the opera. You would have a heart of stone did you not.”

After a long moment of silence he put out his hand and took
hers.

“Have I offended you in any way, Morgan? I can feel you
withdrawing from me with every clip-clop of the horse’s hooves.”

She flicked a glance at him and then away.

“No, of course you haven’t, my lord. You have given me a
wonderful evening filled with beautiful music. You have my most sincere
thanks.”

Her eyes were on her lap as she spoke.

“Morgan. Look at me.” He reached over and forced her chin up
and her eyes to meet his. “What have I done?”

She shook herself out of his grasp. “Nothing, my lord.
Nothing. I do not blame you for the circumstances that exist. We are simply too
different to continue to be friends, even though my heart tells me I would like
to. I don’t think we should see each other socially again.”

The blazing anger flushing his entire body startled Lance.

“Do I have no say in this matter, my lady?”

He deliberately emphasized the last two words to tell her
how much he disliked her using his title and how he considered her his equal.

She surprised him once again, as she suddenly sat forward in
her seat and focused her intent glance on him. He didn’t think he’d ever been
subjected to such an examination as she now gave him, the green of her eyes
occasionally visible in the flashes of the passing gas lights.

She eventually sighed.

“I might be mistaken about this. Though your aura would be
more clouded if I am. You are a fine man. I think you will soon want me to
consult with you at Scotland Yard. There I will never deny you any aid I can
give you, my lord Lance.” She looked down again at the hands in her lap as she
continued in a soft voice. “But our friendship should remain businesslike.”

Lance was too angry to speak. The hell with what she wanted.
He desired to know her and learn what made her able to take hold of his heart
and shake it like a limp muff. No woman had ever done this and he needed to
understand her. He leaned back for a silent ride to her townhouse. Surely there
was nothing wrong with a deepening friendship.

Of course, there was no question of going beyond friendship.

Maybe it was time he started learning about the history of
the Druids so he could talk sense into just one of them. He truly wanted to be
her friend. No more than that.

* * * * *

The next morning, Dellafield regarded the books Madison
brought in from the library. There were quite a few, but still it was a
surprisingly sparse stack. Evidently Druids were no longer the main interest of
the British public, even though they’d played such a vital part in their
history.

Sitting at his oversized walnut table, Lance read with his
usual meticulous care, making notes and marking sections he wished to check
again. To his utter frustration the information was fascinating in one book and
he formed a grasp on the people and their religion. Only to have all he’d
learned contradicted in the next. The Druids were responsible for the mighty
slabs at Stonehenge, or they were not. Most authorities thought not. They once
practiced human sacrifice, or they had not. But if they had it was only in a
religious ceremony when the victim was willing. They could work magic, or only
illusions.

One story was especially interesting, the Druids sponsored
the legendary King Arthur and propelled him to power as one of their own. They
turned against him when he broke his vow as their priest and accepted the
Christian religion, probably at Queen Guinevere’s urging. Arthur’s power
supposedly diminished from then on.

A solitary, shining premise in all the books riveted his
attention. The Druids believed in One Goddess and her consort the One God, who
encompassed all religions under her banner. All Gods were one and all religions
were welcomed and accepted by them. Part of their downfall could be traced to
this tolerance. It was anathema to the Romans and then the Christians who
wanted to force universal belief in their own one God.

A truly magnificent belief, this idea that all gods were
equal. He could agree with his whole heart. How wonderful the world could be if
everyone united on this simple concept. Wars would be brought almost to a
standstill. Most intriguing of all, Druids were credited with using their
knowledge only to serve and protect, never to harm as Viviane McAfee had
plainly told him.

Yet many Druid priestesses were reputed to work magic and
cast spells. This idea Lance didn’t like at all. While he was fascinated by
Morgan, he didn’t want to think he was ensorcelled. Still she’d made it plain
she only wished she could do magic. He threw down his books, no more sure of
what he felt about his green-eyed enchantress than before he’d started to read.

He hoped he’d learned more about Druids, but he wasn’t even
sure of this.

He’d seldom known his mind to be so muddled. Well, Morgan
wanted them to be only business acquaintances. If he would agree, life would be
easier for them both. Easier, but not nearly so interesting.

Dammed if he was ready to agree to so prudent a solution.

* * * * *

Morgan found her mother still up and reading when their
butler let her into the townhouse. She smiled at Jackson as she handed him her
long velvet cloak and her gloves. She felt completely bemused. Was her mother
meddling in her affairs? It was not like her if she were, but Morgan’s
incipient feelings toward Lord Lance Dellafield were too important for her to
take a chance.

She went into the sitting room and sat opposite her mother.
Her clear green eyes were fixed on the vibrantly stylish woman in her gilded
chair. The sumptuous golden cushions would have swallowed up or dimmed a lesser
woman, but Viviane shone brightly as the only worthy sight in the room. Her red
hair glowed in the light of the gas lamps.

“Mmmm,” said Viviane putting her book aside and looking up
with the special smile reserved for her daughter. “You smell wonderful.”

“Did I use too much scent? I hope not.” Morgan appeared as
alarmed as she felt. She hated overpowering perfumes and was careful to apply
her own lilac scent lightly.

“No, of course not, love. You know how I can smell anything
within ten feet.”

Morgan grinned as she sat. “And I remember how I used to be
upset when you instantly knew when Cook had slipped me an extra biscuit.”

Her mother laughed, a low and attractive sound Morgan had
always loved.

“And for a while you wondered how I always knew. Chocolate
biscuits have a very loud smell.”

Viviane paused and then motioned to her daughter. “Come sit
by me and tell me what’s bothering you, my dear one.”

Morgan’s answering chuckle was rueful. “I’m sure your mother
was equally talented and knew what you were thinking most of the time. It does
take a bit of getting used to though, when you’re young and trying to get away
with some kind of nonsense or other.”

“But now I no longer invade your privacy, Morgan, as I think
you know. I only used that power on occasion when I worried about your safety.
Now I can feel emotion radiating from you and since you’ve just been out with
the handsome Lord Lance, I assume your thoughts concern him. But I don’t know
for sure.”

Morgan’s sigh was heartfelt. “I do thank you for telling me.
I guess you’ve already given me my answer. I needed very much to know what Lord
Lance and I feel for each other comes from our hearts alone.”

“No wicked witchery, you mean. Don’t blush, dear, it’s a
natural thought in a family such as ours. I would not interfere in anything
this important unless you requested me. And maybe not then.”

Viviane reached out and took Morgan’s hand.

“You two have a natural and rare attraction for each other.
What you do with such a feeling is up to you. I think, however, such unusual
appeal could delight you or wreck you. I would you be very careful. If you
possibly can.”

Viviane stroked her daughter’s hair and added in a pensive
voice, “I will confess I interfered just a little when Lord Richfield made
plain his interest in you. You were just sixteen and newly thrilled at being a
beautiful young girl. He was a hardened rake, as I think you now know. I let
slip to him I still had some witch’s power, if I chose to use it. Notably I
could destroy the erect status of one’s manhood.”

Morgan hooted. “You are a wicked woman! I knew you’d
frightened him off somehow, but I never dreamed of such a diabolical threat.”

The two heads, one chestnut gold shot with red, the other a
deep auburn slightly shot with silver, came together as mother and daughter
threw their arms around each other, locked in merriment.

Finally Morgan gasped. “Could you do that, could you
really?”

“I don’t know,” her mother said between chortles. “But I
would have tried if he’d pursued you any longer. That’s when we got Ambrose to
help safeguard you.”

“But you were married at sixteen.”

Viviane stopped laughing. “No love, you were conceived when
I was sixteen. I was under orders in my training to be a Druid priestess and a
false priest convinced me I owed my virginity to him. All part of the Goddess’s
plan, he said, for the religious festivities of Beltane.”

Morgan had not heard the unmarried part before, although
she’d never seen her father. “What happened to him,” she asked. “Do you know?”

“Not really.” Viviane’s soft voice grew even softer. “He was
banished from Druid training and disappeared. When I learned he’d tricked me I
didn’t care to see him again in any case. Maybe I should have tried some wicked
witchery on him, but I was very young to cast a good spell back then.”

Her charming smile lit up the room as she added, “And as you
know, I’m sworn to help people, not harm them, no matter the provocation.”

Morgan tried to mask her surprise. She was surprised, but
not shocked. Her mother was always perfect in her eyes. If she ever met her
father she’d try to pull off a wicked spell herself.

“Have you ever discussed your talents with the Commissioner?
Does he even realize how gifted you are?”

“Not really. We met at a friend’s party and he’s been
pursuing me ever since. He knows I’m a Druid and would have been a priestess in
olden days. He doesn’t seem to mind, but I fear greatly associating with me
might hurt his career. I’m not sure he knows what my training entails. We’ll
have to see. I worry about him most of all.”

Morgan got to her feet, her fluid grace slowed by her
anxiety. Her mother with the same problems as she! A more wonderful woman than
her mother had never existed. Any man should be honored if she were even
interested in him.

She would pray for her mother’s happiness. Her father had
been false to his vows and to any sense of decency. She could not mourn his
absence from her life. She never had.

For the first time Morgan wondered if her beliefs made sense
in the world she lived in. Perhaps it was better to acknowledge the old rites
had vanished. She certainly would never submit to giving her virginity to an
unknown man, no matter the phases of seasons and the dictates of the Goddess.

But those days were surely over. Druids might no longer have
any place in the modern world. Still the Druid central premise that all gods
were one would solve many of the world’s problems if it were universally
accepted.

Even less acceptable today seemed to be the Druid belief
that each person’s deeds were counted in contributing to improvement of one’s
position in his next life. This made perfect sense to her, but seemed difficult
for others to accept. Yet how else did anyone have a chance of achieving
perfection?

She was out of step. Totally. She’d been raised in and
esteemed a world that no longer existed. Yet she could not give up the values
she treasured.

Was she out of step with Lord Lance Dellafield?

Definitely. She and Lord Lance were poles apart and always
would be. They could never agree about the essential purpose in life, the very
basis of her existence. He was a born aristocrat, no matter his current
occupation. He would always champion his class. His interest in her was simply
a fancy that would pass and he’d eventually go back to his conventional
existence.

She slowly climbed the stairs to her room, wondering why her
thoughts depressed her quite this much. All the joy had gone out of the night.

* * * * *

Lance could make no sense at all of the newly found murder.
That she was a prostitute was established. Her name was Polly Adams and she
worked the Covent Garden area, evidently on her own. She’d been very young.
Operating on her own was unusual, as the girls in this area generally worked
for a pimp who directed a bevy of prostitutes. Perhaps that was one reason
she’d been easy to entice into the dark alley where she met her death.
Definitely her lone status made the search for her murderer more difficult.