Druid's Daughter (17 page)

She didn’t lie. Her mother had thought of the curse. Just
the threat seemed to be having some effect. She watched her tormentor carefully
as he blanched and looked wildly around the herb garden.

“I don’t believe you, bitch.”

He fingered the knife again, his fingers tightening on the
hilt as he seemed to control an impulse to slash at her a second time. He
grinned a lascivious grin, which widened when he noted her shudder.

“Go ahead, whore. I’ll give you one try. After all a man
doesn’t like to take a chance with his balls. So prove to me you can work
magic.”

Morgan hoped her fair skin wasn’t blushing at his crude
language. She lowered her head as if thinking. Nor an act, as she really had to
think. What under heaven’s name could she do now?

“Aha!” Her tormentor grabbed the edges of the scarf again.
“You can’t do magic! You’re a bloody liar like all the rest of your sex.”

As he moved to tighten the scarf, Morgan coolly put up her
hands and inserted them under the edges of the material.

“Don’t be so rash. I don’t really want to curse you. Such a
cruel fate for any man. But to do magic I have to say the proper spells first
and you mustn’t hear those.”

Tomlinson dropped his hands and stepped back a few inches.
“I’m waiting, you lying slut. But not for long.”

Morgan knew she had only a few minutes. She frantically
looked around for inspiration. Suddenly a great calm stole over her. She smiled
as she realized her mother had somehow divined her daughter’s danger and was
speaking to her inside her mind. The soothing words flowed over her.

“Remember, love, I am with you and you are under a rowan
tree. A tall oak is just beyond you, as well as the mistletoe. Absorb the authority
of this sacred spot and then look for some easy object to magic. Do not attempt
anything too hard.”

Morgan felt a confidence, a certainty, she’d never felt
before. She was under a rowan tree, the most sacred tree of the Druids. She
lifted her eyes to the oak, another revered tree.

She’d edged over and placed herself more deeply in the shade
of the rowan. Now for something easy. Was this the reason she’d failed before,
she’d tackled subjects too difficult for a beginner?

Her gaze fastened on a smaller tree, a chestnut, along the
back of the house. Squinting, she thought she saw a tinge of yellow on a few
leaves. Perhaps they’d already lost some of their vigor, although the tree was
full and bushy. She would not hurt that particular tree.

She muttered several nonsense words under her breath and
turned back to Tomlinson. His manic glare jangled her. Even so, she refused to
say something nonsensical like “abracadabra”. Her brain didn’t help her much
and she came close to that ridiculous word.

She took a deep breath, as deep as her swollen throat
allowed and threw her head back.

“I’m ready now. Do you see that tree near the house,
centered in front of the middle window? It must have thousands of leaves. I
will make them all fall off in one instant.”

Tomlinson peered through the bushes at the tree and gave a
derisive snort.

“Go ahead, bitch. Nobody can do what you say you’re going to
do. You only have one chance and then we play the games I like to play. You
might not like them at all, but I will. Yes indeed I will.”

He sniggered obscenely and fingered his knife as he leered
at her. Morgan’s calm did not desert her. She felt the all-pervading love of
her mother suffuse her mind and heart. She, Morgan, was the daughter of a long,
long line of Druids. She knew she fully possessed the support of the Goddess of
the Druids. She would not fail.

She raised her head high and lifting her hands intoned as
calmly as if she were ordering tea.

“Goddess of Druids, hear your child’s plea

Make all the leaves fall from yon chestnut tree.”

There was a pause and then loud swooshing sound as every
single leaf fell from the tree. She watched in fascination and delight. She was
a true Druid at last! She could work magic. Behind her she heard a loud gasp
and she turned to see Tomlinson lose all color. He paled and took a step away
from her as if she were a poisonous snake.

Before she could figure out how to use this to her best
advantage, to her utmost astonishment she heard a familiar, deep voice coming
from the side of the yard.

“Put down that knife, you sick bastard. I’m coming for you.”

Lance, large, solid and impressive, was charging across the
lawn, not letting anything get in the way of his reaching the killer. Morgan
screamed, a hoarse sound that made Lance momentarily flick his eyes toward her
although he never paused in his attack.

Morgan saw he was breathing harshly and she kept her
delighted eyes fixed on him as he rushed over the lawn.

“You can’t stop me, can you, Tomlinson?”

He was deliberately goading the killer, his tone mocking and
his every phrase insulting.

Suddenly Tomlinson threw his knife straight at Lance’s
chest. Lance swerved and ducked and took the knife in his shoulder, but never
slackened. He grabbed the knife from his body and threw it behind him, even as
he ran. His triumphant face showed his tactics were consciously planned to rid
the killer of his murderous knife.

“You bloody bastard, stop or I’ll kill your whore.”

“No, you can’t,” panted Lance, as he reached Tomlinson and
threw a hefty punch that landed accurately on the killer’s chin and knocked him
to the ground. Lance stood over him a second while Tomlinson cursed and tried
to get up. Then Lance reached over and pressed a spot in the murderer’s neck
and rendered him unconscious.

Then and only then, did he hold out his arms to Morgan.

“My brave, brave girl,” he murmured, holding her a little
away from him, but with his face buried against her hair. She tried to snuggle
closer but he held her off.

“You don’t want to ruin what’s left of your pretty blouse,
do you?”

Looking up, she noticed the tension in his darkened eyes.
She looked down quickly to see blood streaming from his shoulder.

“I guess I should have left the knife in ’til I could get to
a doctor,” he said. The corners of his mouth turned up, but the rest of his
face wasn’t smiling. “I’ve got to secure this miserable ruffian first, Morgan.
Shriver will soon be here with the carriage and can take him to jail.”

He picked up her hands and kissed them. “There’s no doubt
he’s our killer, but I’m sorrier than I can say you were forced to endure a
minute of his vile presence. He disgraces even the word ‘criminal’. Few are so
vicious or cruel.”

He gently put her aside and leaning down, took off his belt
and used it to wrap around and bind Tomlinson’s ankles. He secured those
murdering hands with the scarf used to choke Morgan.

Lance turned to her, running his fingers over the swollen
ridges in her neck, cursing under his breath as his fingers moved in a touch so
light as to be a caress. As he stared at the slash on her chest his cursing
grew louder. His eyes flared as he saw her partially exposed body, but he made
no move beyond reaching down and drawing the edges of her ruined blouse
together.

Morgan loved his deep concern and she moved closer. She
wanted to lose herself in his arms and try to forget the last hour. Lance was
sanity, honor and warmth after an experience of cold and unbelievable cruelty.
She needed him to hold her close. Then she saw the streaming blood wasn’t
slowing and knew she couldn’t stop to express her feelings or let him utter
his. They’d wasted too much time already.

“Forget about me, Lance, I’ll be fine. We’ve got to get you
to a doctor. How I wish my mother were here.”

She stared at the crimson flow and wished she’d absorbed
more of her mother’s great knowledge of herbs and medicine.

“But I am here, my loves,” came the familiar voice of
Viviane McAfee as she walked down the garden. “I knew you needed me and Ambrose
and I are both here with you. Ambrose, stand watch over this pitiful excuse of
a human while I take Lord Lance into the house and stitch his wound.”

The big black Lab nosed the bundle on the ground with a
growl of disdain and then sat squarely on Tomlinson’s stomach. Morgan laughed
for the first time that day and even Lance smiled. She’d love to be around to
see Tomlinson’s expression when he woke to find Ambrose sitting on him and
literally breathing down his neck. And himself helpless with tied hands and
feet. But she wanted more than anything to go with Lance and help if she possibly
could.

He was losing far too much blood.

Lance refused any help from the women and got himself to the
front of the house. Then Jackson ran down the steps and carefully placed his
arm around Lance’s good shoulder. With marked reverence he helped the man who’d
saved his young mistress into the parlor.

Now it was up to Viviane.

Chapter Twelve

Viviane looked her daughter over with care but some haste.

“You’ll be fine, my dear, you only need some of my special
salves. What’s more important is I get this excellent man’s bleeding stopped as
soon as possible.”

She turned to Lance, now lying propped up on pillows on the
sofa where Jackson led him. He was still breathing more heavily than usual, but
whether that was due to exertion or his wound Morgan couldn’t tell. She didn’t
know how long he’d been running before he found her and the murderer in the
garden.

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. His eyes flew to
hers in surprise, although he smiled a little.

“That was to express my thanks to you, my lord Lance. It was
only a question of a short time before Tomlinson turned on me again. I could
see the fury building in his eyes.”

Her voice shook as her whole body shuddered with the
remembered terror and Lance reached up and caught her hand and held it to his
lips.

“It’s over, Morgan. You’re safe.”

If Viviane noticed the intimacy in his tone, she made no
comment. Instead she busied herself opening the bag she’d brought with her,
bringing out a little bottle.

“The wound itself is not large since the weapon was so
narrow. But you tore the entry slit when you jerked the knife out. That was
quick thinking, incidentally. No way could he get past you to retrieve it.”

“Thank God he didn’t turn on Morgan. That was my biggest
fear and why I goaded him so. What a horrible specimen of humanity. He makes
one ashamed to be called a man.”

Lance voice was steady although his eyes still were shadowed
with his fear for Morgan.

“I wonder what he’ll come back as in his next life. I can’t
think of anything low enough.” Morgan’s musings made Lance smile again.

“A worm? A piece of algae?”

Morgan shuddered again. “You are maligning both those good
creatures,” she said quite seriously.

Viviane smiled at them both, even as she rummaged in her
kit. “I will have to stitch the wound, of course, after I cleanse it. I would
like to give you something to dull the pain, my lord.” Viviane was readying a
needle and coarse thread as she spoke.

“I need nothing, ma’am,” Lance said. “Go ahead, I’m quite
ready.”

Viviane looked at him carefully. “At least let me get you a
glass of wine. No, I’ll get it, stay with him, Morgan.”

She disappeared toward the kitchen, calling for Jackson as
she went. Entering the room after a short while, she handed Lance a small glass
of wine.

“I would have thought the condemned man deserved a larger
glass than this,” he joked after he’d swallowed the contents.

“But then I’d not have been sure of how many drops of
mandrake to use, would I?”

She smiled sweetly at Lance, who glared back.

“Madam, I resent extremely your taking my decisions into
your own hands. I am quite capable of choosing whether I wish to be sedated or
not. You had no right to take that choice from me.”

Viviane patted his hand. “I’m going to have to finish
ruining your clothes. The knife has slit them anyway and I’d like to cut them
off. It will be easier for you that way.” When she was done she pushed him back
against the pillow of the couch and looked closely at the wound.

“You are right, my lord, I’m a reprehensible woman by
keeping you from involuntarily jerking,” she grinned at him as his glare grew
more intense, “I said involuntarily, my lord. I do not question your ability to
withstand pain. I am just trying to make this easy on myself.”

Lance relaxed a little, a wry grin on his stoic face.
Whether he accepted her remarks or the opiate was starting to take effect
Morgan couldn’t tell. Although she was glad to see him lie back against the
pillows as her mother took the needle in her hand.

She put it down. “I’m truly sorry, Lord Lance, but I must
trim the edges of the wound a little. Morgan, bring me a glass of brandy.”

Lance started up. “I will drink no more of anything, madam.”

Viviane and Morgan both laughed.

“The brandy is to cleanse the scissors and needle of any
impurities, Lance.” Morgan moved over and smoothed the hair off his forehead
with a tender hand.

“You only drank wine and few drops of an old herbal remedy,
my lord,” she whispered.

With a sheepish grin, Lance lay back again and the stitching
proceeded. Lance, in a half-daze, was perfectly quiet and Morgan was well
pleased with her mother’s clever trickery.

Viviane bandaged him carefully and when she was done, went
to the door and called for Jackson.

“Do you think between us can get this hulk of man up the
stairs? I want him here for at least two or three nights, or until we are sure
he has no fever.”

Between them all they managed well enough, with Lance
reviving enough to help but not enough to protest. Jackson divested him of the
remainder of his outer garments and put him to bed in his underwear. He wore
only the underpants, leaving his chest bare except for the bandages. Since
Jackson’s nightclothes would be much too small there was little choice. Morgan
smiled to see Lance half-conscious, or else he’d be having a tantrum at his
semi-nudity. Morgan and her mother tucked him in and then Viviane turned to her
daughter.