Rose of the Mists (47 page)

Meghan struggled free of Piers’s grasp when a skean slid under his nose, then she ran to Revelin. “Ye mustn’t fight! I won’t have another death on me conscience.”

Revelin turned to her in surprise. “You cannot prevent this, lass. Here and now, or later, Reade and I will settle the matter of Robin.”

Meghan bit her lip. “Ye might be killed.”

Revelin shook his head. “Not by him.” He looked about. “I do not understand it, but if it’s in your power to do so, call off these men.”

Meghan held his gaze a long time. She had just found him again; she could not lose him. He did not know of her dreams where John, as the wolf, tore out his throat. Yet the feeling of foreboding was lacking as her gaze moved from Revelin to John. John stood before her as a man, no more and no less. When she looked again at Revelin she felt his confidence flowing into her. “Whatever ye say, Revelin,” she said softly and waved the
bonaghts
back.

Revelin looked at his uncle. “Take her away from here, Piers.”

Grinning, Piers clapped an arm about Meghan’s shoulders and turned her away. “Don’t be long about it, lad. I’ve grown quite fond of the lass.”

Meghan tried to free herself, but Piers held her in his muscle-bound arms and clapped her so firmly against his broad chest that she thought she would suffocate.

Revelin turned back to Reade. “You slew an untried courtier in Sir Robin, a man more accustomed to scented bowers than the battlefield. You won’t find me so easy a conquest.”

John’s dark eyes gleamed. “I had hoped you would protest. I have waited for this moment for quite some time.” He flung his cloak away. “Stay back!” he ordered the men about him. “Under no circumstance are you to interfere until one of us is dead.”

When the sharp ring of metal meeting metal broke the silence, a sob escaped Meghan.

“Not to worry, lassie,” Piers assured her gruffly as he half-carried, half-dragged her from the clearing. “I saw to Revelin’s early training with arms meself. He’s nae lacking in skill or strength. He’ll come to no mischief.”

Meghan closed her eyes tightly. Revelin would come to no mischief. Where were her visions to warn her whether that was the truth? The steady beat of blade on blade became fainter as Piers led her into the thick of Carew’s camp. His stride was short but he covered an amazing amount of distance quickly, and Meghan knew at last that chains were not what had kept Piers from escaping.

Meghan trembled. The sound of the swordplay was weaker still, drowned out by the return of the last of the wounded, but her ears seemed attuned to the distant sounds of the duel between Revelin and John. If not for Piers’s iron grip on her, she would have run back. She must have been mad to call off her
bonaghts.
Revelin did not know the man he fought. Reade was ruthless, a schemer, he would use any trick that came to mind to best him.

As the minutes ticked by, more slowly than any other moments in her life, she did not notice that the other Butler men had gone to watch or that Lady Mary and Lady Elenore were regarding her with sympathy. She heard only the tinny beat of the blades on and on and on until, finally, they missed a measure.

Meghan held her breath, waiting for the spasm of pain that would tell her that Revelin was dead. An eternity of seconds passed, excruciating in their length, and then there were footsteps nearby.

“Release her. It is done.”

Revelin’s voice sounded with incredible sweetness in Meghan’s ears. Piers’s arms fell away and yet she could not move. It took every ounce of her strength to raise her eyes to his face and see the reality of him standing before her.

He was not even wounded, but the look of black fury on his face told her that Reade had not died easily and that there were things between them that she would never know.

Revelin sheathed his sword before approaching her, and he hoped she could not see the blood on his hand as he held out an arm to her. He sighed in gratitude that she did not shy from him but came straight into his embrace. His arms closed hard on her and he knew he must have hurt her but she did not make a sound.

*

It felt strange to be back in the saddle again after so many days of walking, Meghan decided as she shifted her weight to ease the ache in her lower back. Kilkenny lay beyond the next rise, she had been told, but she no longer held any hope that she would one day call that place home.

She glanced forward to where Revelin rode silently beside his uncles. Two days had passed since Carew released them, but Revelin had been as distant as if they were strangers. The moment in the glade when he held out his arms to her might never have happened for all the attention he now paid to her.

’Tis my fault. Because of me he killed a man.

Meghan lowered her head. She was responsible for so many deaths. From the moment the cow herder died in the forest of Louth, she had feared that she was tainted by evil. Now she believed it fully. The cow herder was the first, then Una. Robin was dead, and Colin, and John. All of them had died as a result of her actions. Only Revelin had escaped unscathed.

I
must leave him.

It had come to her during the night, the knowledge that she must protect Revelin by leaving him. He might have died in his fight with John. She had expected it. The vision of the wolf had been as vivid as any of her dreams. She did not understand why Revelin survived but hugged the knowledge to herself. Perhaps she was being given a chance to save him by giving him up. If she did not, he might not survive another battle. She would take no chances; she would leave Revelin as soon as the Butlers were home. She had not asked it of him, but she hoped that Piers would help her. If not, then she would depend on the loyalty of her
bonaghts.

She turned her head to smile at the Scots mercenary who rode at her side. There were eight of them in all, and they surrounded her when threats along the road to Kilkenny did not require their attention. It still amazed her that the soldiers had left Carew’s camp to follow her. They swore that she had protected them from death these last weeks and that as long as they were faithful they would not be defeated. Were they right? She wondered. If so, they were the only ones ever to benefit from her dubious powers. Their leader, Colin MacDonald, had died defending her.

The splatter of raindrops came as a welcome relief to the unusual heat of the August day. She lifted her face to the gentle rain and felt the grime cracking on her cheeks as she smiled, enjoying the cool wet upon her skin.

“Ye’ll come to mischief, mistress, if ye’re wet through,” the
bonaght
said gravely as he swung his great mantle from
his shoulders and draped it about her. “We’re nae so much fond of anything as we are of a wee bairn.” He winked at Meghan’s shocked face, and then she shot a fearful look at Revelin, but he rode too far ahead to have overheard the man.

Meghan gathered the hot stinking wool more closely about her so as not to give offense to its owner, but she did not like the thought that the company of soldiers knew of her pregnancy. If they had guessed and the Butlers knew, it would not be long before Revelin heard of it, though she had begged his family to keep it from him. What would she do if he would not release her? After all, the child was his, and he was entitled to want it.

Misery settled over her. She had not considered that giving up Revelin might include giving up his child when it was born. The child was to be her consolation. Could she give it up? How could she not, if it meant its safekeeping?

Amethyst mauves and watercress greens tinted the early-evening sky as the spire of Saint Canice’s and the Norman towers of Kilkenny Castle came into the view in the valley beyond.

A roar went up from the company, led by Sir Piers’s cry of,
“Buitiler a buadh!”
Spurring their horses, the Butlers headed home in full gallop.

“I’d nae do that, mistress,” Meghan’s bodyguard advised, catching her reins in his hand as she moved to join the others.

Vexed, Meghan dropped her reins. “I’m nae a bit of glass-work. I will nae break!”

“That’s so, mistress,” he said gravely, but his face was split in a wide smile.

She looked at him, realizing for the first time that a very young face lay behind the bushy tangle of dark blond beard and shoulder-length hair. What was more, he was flirting with her. “What’s yer name?” she demanded as he continued to stare back at her openly.

“Conn,” he said, making two syllables of the one.

“Well, Conn, ye’d best keep yer eyes in yer head, or I’ll shrivel yer most precious treasure!”

So saying, she snatched up her reins and urged her horse toward the town gates. Conn’s laughter flowed behind her, and the pleasant sensation of seeing herself reflected with warmth in a young man’s eyes raised her spirits. Sometime within the last days her
bonaghts
had lost their horror of her. It had changed into fondness. It was a better feeling than fear. Perhaps their friendship would make up a little for the loss of Revelin.

She did not notice that Revelin had fallen out of the gallop toward Kilkenny until she came abreast of him.

“A good evening to you, mistress,” he intoned formally with a nod.

Meghan looked at him in surprise, never quite certain of what she should answer when he treated her like a lady of the court.

“We are nearly home,” he continued as he urged his horse into step beside hers. “No doubt you will go straight to bed. But in the morning, I would ask that you grant me an hour of your time. We have been long apart, mistress, and there are matters to be decided between us.”

“Aye,” Meghan answered solemnly, and, as there seemed nothing else to say, they rode into Kilkenny in silence.

*

“But you are dead!” Revelin protested.

“Am I? And here I thought I looked the picture of health. Ah, what matters your opinion? I rather think the ladies of Whitehall will favor my pallor.”

Revelin swept his friend up in a bear hug. “Robin, you never change!”

“I should hope not!” Robin returned brightly, but he groaned when Revelin released him.

“Did I hurt you?” Revelin asked contritely. “Here, sit down, man, before you collapse.”

“I think I will,” Robin said breathlessly as he resumed his
seat. “Reade tried to split me in half and he very nearly succeeded.” He held a hand to his middle as he gingerly sat back. “The leech they call a doctor says I’ve more stitches than his aunt’s best quilt.”

Revelin stared at Robin, his eyes dark with concern. “I killed him; I killed John in a fair fight.”

Robin heard the distress in Revelin’s voice and knew that it had not been as easy as it sounded. “Well, a fair fight is more than he gave me. We met on the street, and when I told him that I was a guest at the castle he slashed me open without a blink of an eye.”

Revelin’s green eyes glittered. “I wager you exchanged a few more words than that.”

“We did, now that you mention it.” Robin shot Revelin a measuring glance. “I believe he ran me through just after I told him I had accompanied Meghan O’Neill.”

Revelin nodded. “Did you know of his passion for the lass?”

Robin’s eyes glinted with laughter. “Were you surprised to learn of it? Come, Rev, what do you feel when you look at her? Why should you doubt any other man with breath in him feels the same?”

“You’re a man with breath in him,” Revelin said slowly. “What do you feel when you look at Meghan?”

“If I told you, you’d run me through, too, and I haven’t recovered sufficiently to merit your ire.”

Revelin’s mouth straightened into a hard line. “There was gossip of an ill nature in Dublin. Some say the lass is breeding.” His eyes narrowed on Robin. “What do you know of it?”

“Have you not asked the lady?” Robin’s mirth bubbled over. “That’s priceless!”

Annoyed, Revelin rose from his chair and went to stand before the fire, bracing himself with a hand on the mantel. “The general gossip in Dublin is that the child is yours.” His voice was cool, but Revelin felt as though he had stepped into the flames dancing in the grate as he waited for Robin’s answer.

Robin did not reply. He studied the tall, broad-shouldered
man before him. Even in his travel-stained clothing he was a most excellent example of a man. In profile his face was breathtaking, the handsome angles and high cheekbones bronzed by the same summer sun that had bleached his hair an even riper shade.

Revelin Butler was everything Robin was not: tall, handsome, brave. Yet, he had a weakness: he was not certain of himself with Meghan. But then, what man could hold the wind or keep the seasons in his pocket? She eluded definition. Most women would have run to their lovers in expectation of a wedding or with bitter tears of recrimination. Revelin’s speech had told him that Meghan had done neither.

So, Robin thought with satisfaction, his lie had worked. All believed that he had fathered Meghan’s child. If he told Revelin that the lie was the truth, Revelin would leave without questioning the girl. A Butler was too proud to beg a woman’s favor. With one simple sentence he could win Meghan for himself.

And yet, that was not why he had told the lie. He had told it to protect Meghan from unwanted advances and outright ostracism. It was considered outrageous for a single woman suddenly to be pregnant, but there was a certain amount of acceptability when one’s mistress came to bed with a child.