Rose of the Mists (50 page)

Sir Richard smiled, increasing the tension in his face. “I am not lost, lad. I’ve found my path at last. You are to be wed, I hear.”

Revelin raised a brow. Black Tom had wasted no time in disclosing the news, it seemed. “Aye, that’s so,” he answered cautiously.

Sir Richard lifted his decanter. “I would drink a toast to your health, my son.”

Revelin glanced back at the bed, where Meghan sat half-naked. “’Tis not a timely idea, Par—Sir Richard.” He smiled deprecatingly. “My lady is not prepared to receive guests at present.”

“Is she not your bride in the eyes of God, if not yet in the eyes of the Church?”

“That is so,” Revelin replied, wondering what wild hand directed the man’s actions.

“Then I do not shun to look upon anything that has the sanction of God’s will.”

“A moment,” Revelin murmured and closed the door. “Here, take my mantle,” he directed Meghan, scooping up his short Spanish cape to hand to her.

Meghan swung the scented leather garment about her shoulders and tied it under her chin.

Revelin looked at her with warm laughter in his eyes. With her tousled hair and slightly swollen lips, she was the embodiment of every tender dream of love and every eager, lustful urge of which he was capable. He shook his head slowly. Sir Richard would be scandalized to the bone.

“A rare surprise,” Revelin said as he opened the door to his guest. “You are the first to congratulate us, Sir Richard.”

Sir Richard entered the room slowly, his eyes averted from the bed, which occupied the bulk of the small space. Without seeing her, he could feel the bitch’s heat. The faint effusion of love twitched in his nostrils. They had lain here in this room coupling like animals, this beautiful boy and the witch of Ulster.

“Sir Richard, you look unwell,” Revelin observed solicitously.

Sir Richard waved him away. “I am tired from the long journey. I must be brief.” He shut his eyes for an instant and then turned to the bed. He held out the half-filled goblet. “A toast to you, my dear,” he said hoarsely and brought the goblet to his lips.

“Now ’tis your turn,” he invited, holding it out to her.

Meghan lifted her eyes to gaze up into the man’s face and the room suddenly darkened until there was only a pair of silver-white eyes staring malevolently down into hers. From far away she heard Revelin’s words of encouragement, but her muscles were locked in place and she could not even open her mouth to protest.

Revelin saw her pupils expand until the deep blue of her eyes was swallowed by the pupils, and he frowned. She was frightened of Sir Richard. Well, he did not blame her. The man often made his skin crawl. “My lady is not particularly fond of wine, especially in her condition.”

Sir Richard’s head snapped toward Revelin. “What?”

Revelin squared his shoulders. “I know ’tis wrong to take one’s pleasure before the union has been sanctified, but our courtship has been unusual. I intend to rectify the matter shortly. As soon as a priest can be brought to the castle I will wed Meghan O’Neill, and the child will be my lawful heir.”

“A child,” Sir Richard repeated faintly, and the decanter slipped from his nerveless fingers. Glass splintered and red wine ran like blood over the white stone floor. “She is to bear your child?”

Revelin smiled tolerantly. The parsimonious man had some scruples he could not mask. “Aye, she is, and proud I am to own it to the world.”

“No!” Richard shook his head, the fine fringe on the top of his head lifting as air passed through it. “No! ’Tis wicked!”

Fearing another accident, Revelin scooped the wine goblet
from the man’s hand. “I am sorry if you do not approve, Sir Richard,” he said coolly. “But I cannot see that it matters.”

Sir Richard looked at him blankly. Was there nothing he could say to the boy to prevent this disaster? Was there no way to best the harridan who would drag his soul to Hell? He began to tremble. “I apologize, my dear boy. I drank a toast to your bride, did I not? Will you not do likewise?”

Annoyance flickered through Revelin’s expression. He did not like the way Meghan sat in the bed like one in a trance. He longed to shove the man out the door. But if drinking a toast would rid them of his presence as quickly, he would finish the wine. “As you suggest, ’tis an excellent idea.”

Meghan stared at Sir Richard; she could not pull her eyes away. His face was a mask as Revelin lifted the cup to his lips. It dawned on her that she had once seen that same fixed look in the eyes of a diseased she-wolf. Her fur had been sparse and picked out in places, like the bald patches in Sir Richard’s scalp. The female had fastened her purposeful gaze on a young hare in the brush with the same single-mindedness as that with which Sir Richard now watched Revelin. She had waited patiently until the hare turned its back, and then had sprung, tearing the soft fur and strewing the ground with bright red blood.

Revelin tilted back his head and a pearl of red wine appeared at the corner of his mouth and then slid down his chin like blood as he took a swallow.

Blood!

“No! Don’t drink!” Released from the nightmare of paralysis, Meghan sprang from the bed and knocked the goblet from Revelin’s hand.

“Don’t drink! ’Tis, ’tis…” She turned quickly on Sir Richard. “’Tis poison ye meant for me!”

Sir Richard pulled his dagger free. “Get back! Stay back from me!”

Revelin looked from Meghan to Sir Richard, the burning
in his middle beginning. He had taken only a swallow, but he knew instantly that Meghan spoke the truth. “Meghan?” he said uncertainly as he reached for his dagger, only to find it missing. The burning in his belly rose into his throat and he moaned.

“Ye would have killed him!” Meghan screamed at the tall man threatening her. “What manner of creature are ye?”

“A holy man!” Sir Richard spat back, the white showing all about his irises. “The Lord sent me to smite you and yours. You’ll not bring another creature into this world marked by Satan if I can help it!”

Meghan pulled her skean free, unafraid for her own safety. Tears streamed down her face as she heard Revelin moan again. “If ’tis me ye want, why did ye let Revelin drink?”

Sir Richard wiped the sweat from his brow with an anxious hand. His breath was short. “I had not meant him…to die. But he was lost… I saw it in his eyes. He would have married you. Married to a witch!” he cried, sending his eyes heavenward. “I’d sooner have him dead than breeding more abominations like you, with the bloody mark of Satan on them.”

Meghan lunged at him but he was agile enough to elude her. “I love him,” he murmured brokenly. He turned to Revelin, smiling at the man’s pain-etched face. “I loved you, truly, but I failed you.” Tears streaked down his gray cheeks as he glanced at Meghan. “Now,” he said softly as hatred replaced the suffering in his pale gaze, “now I will lose him. ’Tis you who’ve killed him, you and the demon that grows in your belly!”

Meghan lowered her guard. If Revelin was dying, she had no reason to live. She crossed herself and then, without thinking of what she was doing, she touched her birthmark, then held out her hand toward Sir Richard.

“If Revelin dies, ye’ll die likewise. If I’m the demon ye believe, then I curse ye forever. All the pains of Hell will not sear from yer thoughts the murder ye’ve done this day. Into eternity I curse yer shriveled soul!”

Sir Richard fell back before her words. “No! No! I’ll not…accept…that!” He turned and ran, stumbling down the narrow stairwell.

Meghan did not try to stop him. She threw her weapon from her and fell to her knees beside Revelin, who had slumped to the floor. “Revelin, me darling, dinna die!” she whispered, as she gathered him in her arms.

Revelin moaned softly and then spasms of nausea bent him double.

*

“God’s blood! Had the young fool drained the cup, he’d not be here to complain of his pains,” Piers roared irritably as Revelin’s moans issued from the room above. For a day and a half he had lain near death with only Meghan’s vigilance keeping him from slipping away.

“I wonder if ’tis true the O’Neill lass has the power of the fairies?” Tom questioned musingly. The miracles he had heard attributed to her in the last days astounded him.

“If she does not, then I do not wish to learn of it,” Lady Mary answered forthrightly. “I am not one to encourage superstition, but Mistress Meghan has earned the Butlers’ respect and protection; and I’ll wrestle with the Devil himself to defend her!”

“Well spoken!” Piers smiled tolerantly at his wife. “I like her, too. If Revelin does not pull through, I will set ye aside and take her meself!”

It was a callous joke, but it was all they had left.

Robin rose to his feet. “If you will excuse me, I will offer once again to spell Mistress Meghan.”

“She won’t have it,” Tom warned.

“I know, my lord, but I will feel better for having made the offer.”

The sour smell of the sickroom pricked his nose, but Robin tucked his pomander away lest he offend his friend. When he pushed open the door he saw what he had seen each time he
entered. Meghan sat at the bedside, one hand in Revelin’s and the other on her cheek.

“Meghan?” he whispered as he came to her side.

Meghan shook her head. “He has not come to his senses.” She looked up, her dry eyes red and swollen. “If he dies, ’tis me fault. I killed him.”

Robin held her gaze but it tore at his heart to do so. “You saved his life. Sir Richard wanted him dead.”

Meghan’s face turned hard with rage. “I hope he roasts in Hell!”

The color drained from Robin’s face as he looked upon her face, marred not by the birthmark but by the poison of hate.

“No, Meghan, you must not say that. You’re a force for good. If you allow bitterness and anguish to warp you, you’ll lose the thing Revelin loves most about you.”

He reached out to pull her hand away from her cheek. “Atholl has disappeared. He’s mad. He’s found his own kind of Hell. He needs no help from you. Let it go, Meghan. Let the anger go. Your love is what keeps Revelin alive. You must not allow anything to interfere with that.” He smiled as her hand curled tightly on his. “The Butlers look to you for another miracle.”

Meghan shook her head. “I have no more miracles. I have no power. I don’t know what to believe any more.”

She looked down at Revelin’s face so ravaged by pain and poison that his skin was yellow and his eyes were ringed by purple bruises. “When first I saw him, I thought him the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Even now he’s lovelier than anything I’ve ever known. I cannot lose him. He’s all I have.”

“Then you won’t,” Robin said with conviction. “Lie down beside him and I will keep watch awhile.”

Meghan looked up at Robin. “Thank you.”

Robin watched her sleep a long while, wondering how a man recovers from the love of a lifetime. Even now, watching her sleep beside the man she loved, he could not suppress a
pang of regret, or the whisper of a secret desire he would not give acknowledgment. Revelin must live, for his sake as well as Meghan’s, or guilt would destroy them both.

*

The taste of bile was the first sensation Revelin was aware of. Then the aching of his ribs and belly began. The chill dampness of his skin came shortly after, and the feel of weights upon his eyes. Raising his lids took his full concentration.

The ceiling was not a rousing sight. With great difficulty, he inched his head toward the left and saw that a banner of blue-black silk ribbons lay under his cheek. Raising his eyes, he saw the shape of a tender breast beneath the bodice of a white gown. Looking higher, the sharp contours of her beautiful face came into view. “Meghan.”

Meghan jerked awake at the sound of his voice. Looking down, she found herself gazing into startling green eyes. The instant their gazes met she knew that she would never want anything more of life but to be looked at by those wondrously deep green eyes.

“Revelin?” she whispered huskily as she reverently touched his pale cheek.

“Aye, lass.”

Tears blurred her vision as she bent to place her lips against his. “I thought ye would leave me!” she whispered against his mouth. “Ye were right, I’ve nae power at all.”

Revelin raised an unsteady hand to touch her cheek. “Nae, lass, ye’re wrong. Ye’ve the power of miracles. ’Tis a miracle ye love me and ’tis a miracle ye’ve survived, what with me needing so much of ye help.

“Love, love, don’t cry,” he chided softly. “I’m too near tears myself, and how would it look?”

Meghan sniffed back her tears, wiping away the ones that had spilled onto his cheeks. “I love ye, Revelin! Ye’ll never be rid of me. I’ll protect ye always!”

He smiled wanly. “I’m afraid we’ll need yer
bonaghts
to
keep us both from harm. If I cannot protect one wee lass, how will I ever protect the brood of bairns we’re bound to have?”

Meghan’s eyes clouded as she remembered Atholl’s baleful prediction. “Will ye, could ye love them, if they’re born marked like me?”

Revelin reached out to trace the mark on her cheek. “I will love them even more, love, because they will be as beautiful as you. Now kiss me before I fall asleep, my Irish Rose.”