Rose of the Mists by Laura Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

Revelin murmured, then whistled appreciatively as he unfolded the cloth and realized it was a linen shirt like the local peasants wore. She had been naked. This must belong to her. So she was real after all. The thought gave him a warm rush of pleasure.
    He folded the garment and tucked it into the front of his doublet. But when he had pulled on his hose and boots, he found himself staring out across the marshy waters in thoughtful contemplation. He had a desire to see the girl again. No, it was more like an urgent flood in his blood, quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before. Yet he did not know where to begin. She could be a member of any family within miles. The memory of wide blue eyes, unbound silky black hair, and an astonishingly lovely face would be of little help.
    Revelin closed his eyes, pushing impatiently against his lids with his thumb and forefinger. There must be something he could remember that would make his search easier. The memory came back so quickly and sharply that it made him laugh out loud.
    “She wears a rose!” he said, bending over to lift Ualter’s muzzle and bring the dog’s eyes to meet his. “She has a blood-red rose upon her left cheek! With that mark we shall find her, Ualter. That we shall!”

Chapter Three
    “Ah well, it’s home ye’ve come at last,” Una remarked at the sound of footsteps. “Come in, lass.” She beckoned the shadow that paused in the doorway. “I’ve saved ye a wee morsel.”
    Reluctantly, Meghan moved into the range of the dull glow from the smoky peat fire in the center of the floor.
    “What’s—?” As Una’s gaze swept her niece’s nakedness, the handle of the butter churn slipped from her hands and she rose from her stool. “May — geen!”
    Belatedly, Meghan raised her hands to shield the parts of her body not hidden beneath the cascade of her hair, but she could not hide the fresh scratches on her arms and legs or the leaves and thistles that had caught in her hair as she ran home through the forest. The excitement and terror riding high and hard within her had crowded out consideration of anything until now.
    A look of innocence came into her eyes. “Ach, Una. ’Tis not so bad as ye be thinking.”
    “What am I thinking, lass?” Una pinned her with the full scrutiny of her canny gaze. “Ye run off before sunrise without a word, and now ye come back looking like the fairies pulled ye backwards through a bog. And where’s yer leine? Have ye no shame? Take me mantle and cover yerself,” she commanded as she swung the garment from her shoulders.
    Guilt and misgiving chased across Meghan’s features as Una placed the mantle across her shoulders. The rough woolen fabric chafed her outraged skin but there was also warmth within its scratchy folds and she accepted it gratefully.
    “Now…let’s have a look at ye.” Una gripped Meghan’s chin and tilted her face to the light to study her overly bright eyes. Where she was not splashed with mud, Meghan’s fair skin was rosy with exertion—or perhaps something more. “Well, lass? What’s become of yer tongue?”
    Not for the first time in recent months Meghan tingled with resentment of Una’s authority over her. For a moment she stared stubbornly at the ceiling of the tiny wicker-work hut. Was she never to have secrets to keep or share as she chose? She was exhausted and sore, and her feet ached with cuts and stone bruises. Despite that, a warmth encircled her, an emboldening warmth fed by the memory of a man with amber hair and green eyes. No, she would not tell Una of the meeting at the pond. It was too special, her emotions too fresh to expose them to the older woman’s harsh judgment.
    “I was attacked by a wild beast,” she blurted, not knowing where the words came from. Lowering her gaze, she met Una’s look of disbelief. “Truly!” Born with a fertile imagination and raised on Gaelic lore, Meghan’s lie quickly matured into the full fabric of a story. “’Twas a