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Druid's Enchantment — Millie J. Ragosta
It was a time of magical mists and primeval forests, of powerful chieftains and white-robed druids who called themselves mediators between humans and the ancient Celtic gods. And it was in the house of the King and Queen of Ireland that Marda, their beautiful young foster daughter, learned her fate; to marry Lucat-mael, the King's chief druid, a man old enough to be her father and notoriously cruel. But it was Keagh, the court physician, who had won Marda's heart. Handsome Keagh of the curly brown hair, warm eyes, and cleft chin who also loved her in return. But how could they win out against the powerful and sinister Lucat-mael?
The lovers learned of a man named Patrick who could possibly help them. He lived far away in the north of Ireland and preached a strange new religion.
“Don't try to elude me, Marda. We have to talk. Indeed, ‘tis talking we should have been long since, it seems. I've been a great fool.”
Marda looked at him uncertainly. Her heart had been quickening ever since he's arrived and, indeed, the expression in his dark eyes when Breeca told him that she, Marda fancied him, had made it lurch painfully as if it wanted to cry out her love for Keagh.
“Tell me Marda, did the old woman speak the truth? Do you want me?”
“I am only a charioteer's daughter,” she said quietly. “That is not what I asked, Marda. Do you love me, girl?”
Marda lifted her chin pridefully. “And if I do. What then? You are the ardri's own physician and son of a great chief. You would not be refused if you asked for the King's own daughters…” Keagh grinned triumphantly.
“Say it, then, beloved,” he murmured.
Marda gasped at the endearment. Her eyes flew to Keagh's and clung. Humor and tenderness mingled in their dark depths. “Aye, little one, I will say it first,” he chuckled. “You would have had no need of love charms anyhow, Marda, for I love you with all my heart.”
The lovers learned of a man named Patrick who could possibly help them. He lived far away in the north of Ireland and preached a strange new religion.
“Don't try to elude me, Marda. We have to talk. Indeed, ‘tis talking we should have been long since, it seems. I've been a great fool.”
Marda looked at him uncertainly. Her heart had been quickening ever since he's arrived and, indeed, the expression in his dark eyes when Breeca told him that she, Marda fancied him, had made it lurch painfully as if it wanted to cry out her love for Keagh.
“Tell me Marda, did the old woman speak the truth? Do you want me?”
“I am only a charioteer's daughter,” she said quietly. “That is not what I asked, Marda. Do you love me, girl?”
Marda lifted her chin pridefully. “And if I do. What then? You are the ardri's own physician and son of a great chief. You would not be refused if you asked for the King's own daughters…” Keagh grinned triumphantly.
“Say it, then, beloved,” he murmured.
Marda gasped at the endearment. Her eyes flew to Keagh's and clung. Humor and tenderness mingled in their dark depths. “Aye, little one, I will say it first,” he chuckled. “You would have had no need of love charms anyhow, Marda, for I love you with all my heart.”
