Rose of the Mists (38 page)

Forgive me the lie, Mistress Meghan,
he thought. For, as he gazed at her he could only wish that it were so. Her simple gowns were not in the height of fashion, but there were such tempting compensations. Praise be!—he had discovered quite by chance, when she had embraced him upon her arrival at Dublin Castle, that she wore no corset! After that, several men who prided themselves as experts in such matters were quick to point out that, like the most bold of courtesans, Meghan wore
nothing
to restrict her charmingly proportioned figure.

Yet he alone knew that she was totally unaware of her effect on other men. She loved Revelin completely, without reservation or hesitation.

“Poor Meghan,” he murmured, remembering the letter in his pocket.

“Now that that is settled, I have a small surprise for you.” He produced the letter with the seal still intact. “It came this morning.”

Meghan took it, running her finger over the Butler seal pressed into the wax. She recognized it as a copy of the shield that hung over the mantelpiece in Revelin’s home. Eagerly she tore it open, then sighed in disappointment. It was written in English. Reluctantly, she handed it back to Robin.

Robin took it and began to read, a grin growing on his face.

“Dearest Meghan,

I regret my words must come to you through Robin’s lips but my Latin is abominable and, dearest, I do not know the extent of your reading skills.

The queen has much business to deter Her and I must wait upon her pleasure. ’Tis my cherished hope to be with you by the end of the month. Alas, I cannot promise. To that end, my uncle has arranged for you to go to Kilkenny at the first opportunity, where you will be safe with the Butlers.”

Robin paused, reading the next sentence silently.

“Robin, friend, I trust you will take my lady there. It is better if Meghan is not in Dublin when I return.”

Trouble there,
he thought, before finishing aloud.

“Meghan, lass, I am as always.

Fondly,

Revelin Butler

“Well, that’s a stingy love letter!” Robin commented disparagingly, only to have Meghan snatch the letter from him and hold it to her heart.

“Perhaps, I am overcritical,” he amended with a rueful smile. She loved Rev, the lucky bastard!

“Revelin is coming back!”

Robin gazed at her joy-flushed face, wondering why Revelin wanted her away from Dublin when he returned. “Of course he’s coming back. Did you ever doubt it?”

Meghan frowned, sorting out the English phrases, and then smiled. “I do not wish to go to Kilkenny. I will wait here for Revelin.”

“But, mistress, Revelin would prefer that you do his bidding.”

Meghan shook her head. “Revelin will come back to Dublin, yes?”

“Aye, he will,” Robin answered reluctantly.

“I will wait in Dublin.”

Robin did not pursue the matter. Meghan was as stubborn as a mule when it came to sticking by a decision. As for Revelin’s desire for Meghan’s removal from Dublin…

God’s light! I wonder if he’s married Lady Alison!

*

Meghan sat up in bed gasping for breath, her eyes wide with staring long before consciousness focused them. For an instant there was only the blind terror of a remembered dream. No, not a dream, a vision…the first since her arrival in Dublin.

She closed her eyes and opened them again. She was awake. She felt her pulse pounding rapidly in her throat, the bite of her nails into her palms, and the clammy cold sweat that enveloped her.

Gradually the blackness softened into the shape of the tower room she shared with two young ladies of the castle. On one side, the faded red-orange glow of embers warmed the darkness. Faint, milky-white light filtered in on the other side, outlining the shuttered casement window. Nothing had changed during the night. She was still in Dublin Castle.

She pressed her hands to her abdomen as a wave of nausea swept up and over her. As the wave of bile crested in her throat, she swallowed rapidly over and over until it subsided into the uneasy trough of her stomach. With a trembling hand she wiped sweat from her brow. Visions had frightened her before but none of them had left her feeling so weak and sick at heart.

She slipped from the bed, leaving the covers trailing onto the cold stone floor as she raced to the window and opened one of the shutters.

Moonlight spilled silver currents upon the dark waters of
the river below. She rose on tiptoe, tempted beyond the ordinary urge to escape from the stone walls that held her prisoner. The river beckoned, its glassy surface undisturbed by barge or car-rick at this hour. She longed to feel the waters gathered and pushed away by her arms as she swam. It had been so long since she had been free to ride or to climb a tree or even to sit and simply watch the world. Dublin was a big dirty city where people and houses and wagons and noise drowned out all sense of the land.

She was a prisoner. No one barred the gates to her, but where had she to go? She knew not a soul outside the castle walls but Revelin, and he had put the distance of the Irish Sea between them.

She fixed her eyes on the water, slipping willingly into the tremulous twilight of the vision. Revelin was nearby; she felt his presence like the radiant warmth of the sun after a rain. Yet, there was another presence, something dark, slope-backed, skulking in the shadows of her joy. She closed her eyes, conscious of the brush of her lashes against her cheeks.

The creature of the vision had black eyes gleaming like wet river stones above its pointed snout and yellowed fangs.

She gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth as she forced her eyes wide again. It was only a dream. Revelin had told her her visions were only dreams, fears that fed on her imagination. It was only unhappy coincidence that reality occasionally bore a mocking resemblance to her dreams. She could not cast spells or predict the future.

She dropped her hands and took a deep breath. A tremor passed through her and then another. If Revelin were here, he would hold her, warm her body with his, and make her believe as he did. But Revelin was not here and she was afraid of the vision that had awakened her.

She did not reason out her decision. She snatched a dressing gown from a chair and raced for the door.

When she reached the main stairway, she did not hesitate.

She had spent many afternoons in Robin’s room poring over English lessons.

The door was shut but unlatched. It opened soundlessly with a rush of warm air from a fire laid to last the night. Rich tapestries threaded with emerald, sapphire, gold, and scarlet lined the stone walls. A massive bed stood against the far wall and from its depths came deep sonorous sounds.

Meghan crossed to the bed on silent feet. Robin’s head was propped up on a red satin bolster. A matching red satin coverlet had been thrown back during the night and his naked limbs gleamed like alabaster against the brilliant cloth in the firelight. Meghan came closer, unabashed by his nudity. He seemed larger without clothes, his body well knit for all its slenderness.

She reached out and shook his shoulder. “Sir Robin!”

Robin stirred, a smile forming on his lips. “No, darling, ’tis too soon.” He reached out to pat the bed beside him. “Rest, darling, rest. Later…we will frolic again…later.”

Meghan shook him a second time. “Sir Robin, wake up! I must talk with ye!”

Robin opened his eyes reluctantly, certain that he was dreaming. It was a pleasant dream, no doubt of that. Meghan had come to share his bed!

Meghan bent lower and whispered, “I must talk to ye, Sir Robin. Now!”

“Meghan?” Robin sat up in a single fluid motion, taking in the reality of Meghan standing beside his bed and his own nudity. He grabbed the coverlet to pull it up to his waist. “Mistress Meghan, what brings you here at this hour?” He gaze flew to the closed door. “Are you in trouble?”

Meghan sank down in the bed beside him and threw her arms about her neck. “You must help me! Revelin’s not coming back to Dublin!”

The sensation of having a beautiful girl weep upon his bare chest was a new one but Robin found himself quite pleased by the experience. He embraced Meghan tenderly and patted
her back. When her sobs subsided, he said, “Of course Revelin’s coming back.”

Meghan leaned away from him. “You know that he returns? When?”

Robin smiled at her, wondering if she was aware that her gown had fallen open to reveal one shapely breast. “Mistress, do you often visit gentlemen in the middle of night dressed as Mother Nature made you?”

The gentle jest was lost on Meghan. “Only Revelin.”

A whimsical smile appeared on Robin’s lips. “Do you know what the castlefolk say about us? They think we are lovers, Mistress Meghan. At times, I quite indulge in the fantasy myself.”

Meghan stared at him in complete seriousness. “Why?”

“Because, lovely creature, I would like to make you happy. That,
ma cheri,
would make me happy.”

She considered his statement as she wiped the last of the tears from her eyes. “You love me, too?”

“Too? Oh, of course Rev.” Robin looked away, a new tone in his voice. “If Revelin did not return, what would you do?”

Meghan shook her head and a great emptiness seemed to fill her chest. “I would die.”

Robin turned his head away. “Die? Of a broken heart? It hardly ever happens, mistress.”

“Is Revelin married?”

Robin’s eyes widened as he turned to her. “What makes you think Revelin is to be wed?”

“He told me, before we come—came to Dublin.”

“Did he, the bastard!” He sobered immediately when he saw her head move in a quick, restless gesture. “Ah, Meghan…” He reached out to brush a lock of hair from her face, and his fingers stayed, resting on her cheek. “Revelin is the most honest man I’ve ever met. He is honest to a fault. I know you don’t understand all I say, dear sweetness. He loves you, I do not doubt it. As to whether he can bring himself to take what he
wants, I cannot say. I hope to God he cannot, for then you will need to look elsewhere for a protector. Do you understand any of what I say?”

Meghan held his gaze, his eyes like twin opals in the darkness, and felt a twinge of self-consciousness for the first time. “You want me to love you?”

Robin smiled a lopsided smile. “Some such foolish thing, mistress.”

“I do.”

Robin’s fingers trembled slightly as they moved to the tie that held her gown closed at her neck. “Do you? How do you love me, Meghan? As a woman loves a man?”

Meghan shook her head. “I do not understand.”

Robin’s other hand came up to join the first and they rose to cup her face gently. “You once teased me about my kisses and I promised to prove myself to you. The time is now. Kiss me, sweeting.”

As he bent to her, Meghan leaned toward him, part from genuine curiosity and part from a motive new to her but urgently strong. Revelin would not like it if she kissed Robin. She did not like it that Revelin had been gone so long. Perhaps Robin would tell Revelin that she had kissed him, and maybe, just maybe, that would bring Revelin back to Dublin.

Robin’s kiss came as quite a shock. She had not thought about the hair on his face until it brushed her cheeks as their lips met. Shyly, she lifted a hand to quest his springy red-blond beard and moved to touch the curls above his ear. When his hand moved to fumble open the front of her gown, she drew back abruptly. “You said kissing, you did not say honey-making.”

Robin grinned at her in bemused bliss. Lord! One kiss and he was standing at attention. “Honey-making? Where did you hear such a quaint term?”

“’Tis how I feel, melting inside, when Revelin kisses me,” Meghan answered matter-of-factly.

“Did you melt when I kissed you?”

She shrugged, suddenly shy before him. “A little, only not so much as with Revelin.”

“Perhaps we should try it again,” Robin suggested with great enthusiasm, only to have Meghan draw back.

He rested his hands on either side of her face and leaned his forehead against hers, chagrined by his thoughts. He was behaving like a lecherous courtier. “Why are you here, mistress, other than to tempt my virtue from me?”

“Do you know when Revelin comes back to Ireland?”

Robin raised his head, his eyes only a hand’s breadth from hers. “If I do, and if I know that Revelin does not want you here in Dublin when he returns, what then?”

Meghan ignored the twinge of pain his words wrought. “Tell me true.”

Robin sighed. “I would not have told you, and I’m motivated by purely selfish reasoning in doing so now. Revelin is expected in Dublin next week. He returns with Sir Richard Atholl…and Lady Alison Burke.”

The pang returned with new intensity in Meghan’s middle and the tide began to ebb in her stomach. “’Tis married he is?”

Robin could not lie to her. “He is not married, but, mistress, he is still engaged.”

Meghan rose from the bed, reverting to Irish as she attempted to explain herself. “I thank ye for the truth, though ’tis not overly to me—me liking.” The tide gathered strength. “I—I do not like this engagement. I do not understand it. Revelin loves me, he said so.” The swell of bile continued to build, gathering force as it rose. “If ’tis Revelin’s wish for me to go to Kilkenny, I will go now, only…” Meghan swallowed convulsively as the wave crested. “Only… I nae want to go…alone. Could ye, would ye—Oh!”