Treasure of the Celtic Triangle (38 page)

Gwyneth glanced back and forth in bewilderment between Percy and her father.

“Gwyneth, lassie,” said Barrie, “that’s why young Percy came looking for you. You are not only Lord Snowdon’s granddaughter … you are also his heir.”

“Your father is right,” nodded Percy. “Your mother, Morvern, whom your father married as Morvern O’Sullivan but who was really Morvern Westbrooke, was the daughter of Avonmara O’Sullivan and Roderick Westbrooke. You are the daughter of his firstborn and his heir. So we have to get back to Wales without delay.”

“Back to Wales … why?”

“Courtenay’s birthday is in a matter of days. He is about to inherit the title and the entire estate. Once he does, it will be too late. It may have been to prevent Courtenay from becoming viscount, seeing what sort of man he was becoming, that prompted my uncle to tell me of his past and send me on a quest to find his rightful heir. Having found you, I must complete that quest.”

“But I have no desire to take it from Courtenay,” said Gwyneth hesitantly. “I am happy where I am.”

“Of course you are,” said Percy. “But there is your duty to consider. If this is indeed the fate that has fallen to you, can you neglect it? You little know to what Courtenay has sunk. He has threatened to turn my Aunt Katherine out of the manor. I believe you have a responsibility to your grandfather’s wish. That was simply that you as his true heir, if you could be found, should inherit in place of Courtenay. I think he knew that you would do right for everyone, for the village, and especially for his wife. I do not think he believed that would be true if Courtenay became viscount.”

Gwyneth was quiet several long minutes. At length she rose, walked slowly across the room, and left the house.

“The lassie’s suddenly got much for her mind to weigh,” said Grannie when she was gone. “She was always a thoughtful lassie. But she’s never had a worry or care in her life. Now there’s a great burden on her shoulders. She’s got to be a grown-up woman. It’s likely a fearsome thing for her innocent heart.”

“What should I do, Grannie?” said Codnor, still not pausing to reflect what change Percy’s revelation might bring to his own life.

“Let her be, laddie. She’s been building strength into her soul for twenty years. It strikes me as likely that it’s all been preparing her for this moment. She’s a strong lassie and getting stronger, I’ll warrant, even as we speak. She’ll see her way through to what the Lord would have of her. When that time comes, nothing will stop her from the doing of it.”

Though the water in the kettle had been boiling for twenty minutes, tea had long been forgotten in the rush of the conversation and Percy’s startling words about the viscount’s first marriage. As it now grew quiet, the practicalities of the corporeal man began to make themselves felt. The man of the house realized that for some time he had been aware of the aroma of mutton roasting in the oven. Grannie, too, seemed to notice it. Slowly she rose and walked to the stove. From the bin she took two handfuls of potatoes and plopped them into a steaming kettle of water.

“Where are you staying, Percy, lad?” asked Barrie.

“With the young Catholic priest in Arklow, Father Abban.” “When were you to return to him?”

“I made no arrangements. I said I would walk back into town.”

“It is a long way. You have come down on the far side of the mountain. I will take you back when the time comes. So you must join us for Sunday dinner and the afternoon.”

“Nothing could delight me more.”

“Then come,” said Barrie rising, “I will introduce you to my sheep and dogs while the potatoes are boiling.”

They left the cottage. In the distance, Percy saw Gwyneth walking away from the house. She entered a small wood near their home and disappeared from sight. The two men continued toward the sheep.

Thirty minutes later, Codnor Barrie began a walk down the hill on an unexpected mission. As he did, Percy made his way toward the wood.

It was with a mingling of strange emotions that he felt himself closed up in the shadows of the tall firs and pines a few minutes later. He hardly considered the significance of the moment, for it was not at all by accident that Percival Drummond now sought Gwyneth Barrie in the fir wood. Deeper into its depths he went.

She seemed to sense his presence behind her, even before she heard his footsteps behind her. She stopped and turned.

Her heart leaped at the sight. But she was not surprised. For how could she wonder to see before her eyes the form of which her soul was full? She stood watching … and waiting.

Percy approached slowly. “Gwyneth!” he whispered then held out his hand to her.

She took it. They walked on amid the tall trees in silence.

“Are you in love with him?” Percy asked at length.

“He is the man my father chose for me to marry,” replied Gwyneth.

“But are you in love with him?”

“I will learn to love him.”

“But … if there was someone else …”

She dared not glance at him.

“Gwyneth,” he persisted, “
if
there was someone else … someone who loved you with all his heart …”

Tears began to rise in her eyes.

“Gwyneth …
must
you marry him?”

“It is what my father—”

“I
do
love you, Gwyneth,” said Percy. “I think perhaps I always loved you, though it took me some years to know it. I have spoken with your father,” he added. “He is on his way now to your betrothed with a request to relinquish you … if such is your wish. He has given me permission to ask … if you would be
my
wife instead.”

S
IXTY
-T
WO

New Friends

H
aving written his urgent request to Percy, Steven Muir’s anxiety was only temporarily relieved.

An unintentionally overheard argument between Florilyn and Lady Katherine, during which he heard the words, in a rude and angry voice, “old enough to marry without your permission … Colville says … perhaps not even wait until summer,” was enough to convince him that he must delay no longer. To act was imperative. He might not hear back from Percy for a week, maybe two. It could be months before he was actually in a position to return to Wales. By then it would be too late.

After two more days, therefore, Steven sought his mistress in her quarters. “Lady Katherine,” he said, “I have what might seem a strange request. Before I make it, I must ask you a question.”

“Of course, Steven,” said Katherine.

“I apologize if I am interfering in your personal affairs, but I would very much like to know if you are in favor of Lady Florilyn’s marriage to Colville Burrenchobay.”

“Need you ask, Steven?”

“I have some idea how you feel, Lady Katherine, but I must be certain nothing has changed.”

“Nothing has changed. I abhor the very idea. As much as it is possible for a Christian to say such a thing, I fear I loathe that young man. The thought of Florilyn marrying him is disgusting to me.”

Steven listened somberly. It was as he suspected.

“Sadly, she no longer listens to me,” Katherine went on. “She cares not a feather what I think. There was a time when young people sought their parents’ wisdom and counsel in the matter of marriage. Apparently that time, at least in this family, is long past. I cannot prevent the sense that Colville has been subtly prejudicing her against me.”

“I think it is entirely likely,” nodded Steven.

“Why do you ask?” said Katherine.

“Because with your permission, I would like to speak with Lady Florilyn.”

“Do you think it would do any good?”

“Perhaps not. She is entirely changed toward me as well. But I must try. I am considering speaking to her with another whom she was also once close to. I would rather not divulge more.”

“You have my blessing, Steven,” said Katherine. “I will be deeply grateful for anything you are able to do.”

Steven left his mistress and walked briskly to the stables. Within minutes he was on his way in the two-seater buggy into Llanfryniog. Fifteen minutes after that, the buggy sat on the street in front of the Lorimer home, and Steven was walking toward the door. Ten minutes after that, Steven was guiding the horse out of town with Rhawn Lorimer seated at his side, her son in the care of her mother. The question he must put to Florilyn’s onetime friend required quiet and solitude.

He led about a mile inland, on the dirt track that led in the direction of his former home in the hills, then reined in. They sat a few moments in silence, taking in the view of the sea in the distance.

“I realize you do not know me well, Rhawn,” Steven began. “There have been few occasions through the years where our paths have crossed. But it is my sincere hope that you will consider me a friend and will be able to trust me.”

“Everyone thinks well of you, Stevie,” said Rhawn. “If I did not know better, I would think you were the viscount now.”

Steven laughed. “Hardly that! It is merely my wish to serve Lady Katherine faithfully. I hope you will know that it is from that same heart of service that I requested to speak with you.”

“I know that, Stevie. Even though you and I have never been close friends, I know there is not a selfish bone in your body. What do you want to talk to me about?”

“Your son, Rhawn,” replied Steven. “I need to know who the father is.”

The bluntness of his statement took Rhawn off guard. She sat for a moment in silence. “I trust you enough to know that you would not ask unless you had a good reason,” she said at length. “But I made a vow to myself three years ago that I would not divulge his name. I would rather my son have no father at all than to have a reluctant father who is unwilling to acknowledge him.”

“I understand, and I respect you for that,” said Steven. “But there are others involved. It may now be that you have to consider your silence in light of wider considerations than your son alone. I am thinking of Florilyn and our responsibility to her.”

They continued to talk. Steven explained the burden that had been growing on his heart and what had come into his mind to do about it. His request coincided with a great longing that had arisen in Rhawn’s heart in recent weeks for the father of her son to acknowledge the boy—even if it should be only to herself. By now she had all but given up hope that there would ever be more.

It was not long before Rhawn was in tears. Soon Steven knew the whole story. Steven’s great arm around her as she wept quietly gave Rhawn a comfort she had never experienced in her life—the comfort of a caring, loving brother.

Steven pulled up in front of the Lorimer home an hour later.

Rhawn turned to look at him and smiled through eyes still moist and glistening. “It feels good to have told someone,” she said.

“I hope it was not too hard for you.”

“Good things are sometimes hard. No, it was not too hard.”

Steven jumped out of the buggy and helped Rhawn to the ground. “Be ready at a moment’s notice,” he said. “I will look for an opportunity. When it comes, we may have to act quickly.”

S
IXTY
-T
HREE

Confrontation

I
t was a rare day that Florilyn Westbrooke and Colville Burrenchobay did not see one another, if not spend most of the day together. Colville had been so successful in subtly creating division between Florilyn and her mother that Florilyn no longer apprised Katherine of her movements or plans. She came and went as she pleased, ordered the servants about with the same hauteur that had been characteristic of her young teen years, and in general carried herself as if
she
rather than her brother were about to come into the title and property.

It is hardly surprising under these circumstances that she and Courtenay resumed their former bonds. There was no more talk of Florilyn leaving the manor after Courtenay’s birthday. They openly laughed about their mother building a grand new home and living in it by herself. They were equally mocking of Steven Muir, Courtenay counting the days when he could order him to pack his bags and they would never see him again.

Though both Katherine and Steven shrank from small stratagems, they were nonetheless enough convinced of the rightness of what must be done that they were watching and waiting together. Without divulging the secret he had learned, Steven had taken Katherine into his confidence sufficiently to gain her approval a second time. Thus it was that she came to him about one o’clock one day upon learning from Mrs. Drynwydd that Florilyn had ordered afternoon tea to be served for herself and a guest at four o’clock in the sunroom. None had any doubt who that guest would be.

Steven was on his way into town within a quarter hour.

Their tea, with cakes and scones and biscuits, was well under way, Mrs. Drynwydd having departed a few minutes earlier, when the sunroom door opened. Florilyn and Colville glanced toward it, and the laughter died on their lips.

Rhawn Lorimer and Katherine walked in with a young boy between them who had just turned three.

Not having seen Rhawn for months and constrained by her presence from flying off the handle at her mother, for a few seconds Florilyn was merely flustered at the unexpected interruption. “Rhawn!” she said, “What are you … I mean, it is nice to see you, but … you can see that I am—”

Struggling to regain her poise, Florilyn’s eyes darted back and forth between the two. Rhawn and her mother had not accidentally barged in upon her tête-à-tête with Colville. Something sinister was afoot.

The next moment, Katherine took the youngster by the hand and led him from the room. Florilyn’s eyes flashed with suspicion. Rhawn’s lips quivered then flitted toward Colville with an expression of silent entreaty.

He had been so thoroughly taken by surprise that nervousness overcame him. Hardly knowing what he said, he fell back on trying to make light of the awkward encounter. “So … Rhawn”—he half laughed, affecting cheerfulness—“I don’t recall that we sent for a child. Nice-looking fellow, though.”

Rhawn turned white at the rebuff.

Not one to lose her equanimity for long, Florilyn drew herself up to her full height. “What is going on here, Rhawn?” she said in a demanding tone. “Something tells me this is no coincidence. You came in here knowing full well that Colville and I were having tea. Did my mother—”