The Duke and the Enchantress

Chapter One - Connor Keep

Preface

“She left? What do you mean she left?” Liam’s booming voice echoed through the lavishly decorated stone chamber.

The maid’s eyes were practically bugging out of her head with fear as she cowered before the lord of the castle. Liam Connor was intimidating on a good day, but to have to stand before him and deliver news that was sure to anger him was absolutely terrifying.

“And the baby?” He demanded, his huge hands curling into fists on the arms of his chair.

The maid took step backwards, her eyes darting around the room nervously. “Sh-she left the baby, m’lord.”

“What kind of woman walks away from her own child?” He didn’t even know it was possible for a woman to go through the rigors of childbirth, and then get up from her bed and leave the very next day. He pushed himself out of the chair so that he could pace the room, and expend some of his nervous energy.

Liam knew that Hillary hated him. She’d made no secret of it throughout their two-year marriage. She’d been a pretty woman, with big blue eyes and soft golden hair, but she was a cold-hearted b***h with a tongue as sharp as a horsewhip. But to leave her own child? How could she be so cold? So inhumane? He could only shake his head in disbelief.

“Has the child been provided for?”

“The nurse has gone to fetch for cows’ milk, m’lord.”

Liam gritted his teeth. He had not yet been to see the child himself. He knew he should. He knew there were whispers and conjectures, but he just couldn’t bring himself to look at the child he had sired.

“Fine,” he waived his hand dismissively. “You may go.”

The maid made a quick curtsey and scrambled from the room as fast as her small feet would carry her.

Liam sank back into his chair and rubbed at his aching head. It seemed like problems were pressing him from every side. The sun had been scorching the fields for neigh on three months now. The farmers were crying that there would be no crops. They couldn’t feed their families, let alone pay their taxes. Raiders had been seen in the south-lands, stealing livestock, and reportedly absconding with at least two young girls. The Priesthood was still stirring up trouble in the villages with their righteous rhetoric, and his father was still breathing down his neck.

By now the senior Connor had probably heard that the child was a girl. Liam had still failed to produce a proper male heir. And now there was the scandal of his run-away wife. He would have to proceed with a divorce immediately. “Eisen!” he bellowed.

His most trusted guard appeared at the big arching doorway. He was a smallish man with curling red hair, but he was as fierce in battle as a lion, and loyal to a fault.

“Yes, your grace?”

“Send for my solicitor,” Liam growled. “And gather some men to search for the duchess.”

“The duchess?”

Liam scrubbed his hands over his face. “The duchess has run away. Keep it quiet and low key, and if she is found bring her back immediately.”

Eisen inclined his head, “I will see to it myself, your grace.”

“With discretion, Eisen.”

“Of course.” He bowed slightly and then hurried away.

Once the guard had disappeared, Liam bellowed again “Mrs. Short!”

His head housekeeper came bustling into the room, her skirts swishing around her. Mrs. Short was not short, rather she was a tall woman with a long nose and a perpetually sour expression. Her greying hair was twisted into a severe knot behind her head, and she always wore high collared dresses buttoned up to her chin. However, she was a very competent housekeeper, and she kept the staff in good order. At least that one little part of his life was running smoothly. Mrs. Short curtsied and waited for his orders.

“Bring wine to my bedchamber,” he said tiredly. “And instruct the staff that I am not to be disturbed.”

Chapter One

Connor Keep was not the biggest nor the most beautiful of castles, as far as architecture went. The great, great grandfather who had erected the original structure had been far more concerned with security than aesthetics, and each generation of Connor had added to the structure, creating a blocky, asymmetrical monstrosity. There were four turrets on the outer wall, one in each cardinal direction. Inside was a courtyard garden, and the manor itself spread like an upside-down T, filling the space inside the walls.

The thick stone walls of the interior were covered with heavy tapestries to try and reduce the drafts and the chill. But even with all those layers of rock, the wail of a newborn baby seemed to echo down every hallway, and reverberate in every room. Liam couldn’t escape the pitiful sound, even at night when he was trying to sleep. He covered his head with his pillow, but still, he could hear her cries.

In the morning he emerged, bleary eyed with another pounding headache. It had been five days since the child was born. He hunched his shoulders as he went down the stairs and followed the familiar route to the dining room. Mrs. Short had already prepared the table for him. He slid into the chair and eyed the food with contempt. He had no appetite. How could anyone enjoy their food with that never-ending noise coming from the nursery? “Mrs. Short!” he yelled.

The middle-aged woman came into the room, moving silently except for the sound of her skirts swishing against her legs. “Yes, your grace?”

“Why is the baby still crying?” he bit out between clenched teeth.

Mrs. Short actually looked a little anxious, a most unusual expression on the woman’s stony face. She clasped her hands together in front of her waist. “I’m sorry, your grace. It seems the child is ill.”

He felt a chill creep up his spine. He had not seen the child, nor had he given her a name yet, but the idea that the baby could die after all made his blood run cold. “Call for the physician immediately.”

“Yes, your grace.” She bobbed in assent.

He leaned his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands.

Hillary had not been found. Her family had been questioned, and her father had been mortified. “She has shamed this family,” he declared, “And she is no longer my daughter.” Liam was assured that they would not harbor her there. The advocate had drafted up letters of divorcement. Since the woman could not be found, copies were delivered to her father, and also to the Priesthood.

The Priesthood sent their bishop to Connor Keep. Mrs. Short had just cleared the untouched food from the table when the bishop swept into the dining room, trailing his pretentious blue velvet robe behind him. He was a tall, fat man. His head was shiny and bald on top, with just a fringe of hair around his ears. His nose was large and bulbous, like a man who had indulged in too much wine, and his eyes were small and pig-like. A heavy, solid gold triangle hung around his fat neck, the symbol of the Priesthood. Liam hated the Priesthood in general, and the bishop in particular.

“Your Grace,” Bishop Frasier spread his hands in a benevolent greeting.

Liam eyed the fat man coldly.

“A most unfortunate turn of events, regarding the duchess,” the bishop continued, as though Liam hadn’t slighted him. He sat uninvited in the unoccupied chair, arranging his blue robes around himself. “The Priesthood must discourage divorce, of course, as it is contrary to God’s plan. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.”

Liam ground his teeth together in frustration. “However, the priesthood has made exception in cases of adultery and abandonment,” the duke ground out.

“Yes, yes,” The Bishop waived his hand as though he were swatting at an annoying insect. “There are always necessary exceptions. And since the duchess has behaved so grievously against you, your grace, we have granted your divorce petition.” The man fished a folded document out of the folds of his robes and pushed it across the table to the duke. He grinned at the duke, “or shall we say, former duchess?”

The duke took the document and opened it, his eyes quickly scanning the contents. He would have his solicitor check the document carefully. The Priesthood was known for its trickery, and for using people’s ignorance against them. He would make sure there were no hidden meanings, no conditions, no requirements that would come back to trip him up later.

“Thank you Bishop Frasier.” Liam said the words without any intonation of gratitude. “Can I interest you in a glass of wine before you return to the abbey?”

“Yes, thank you. I could do with a bit of refreshment before I start the journey back. As I recall the Connors have exceptional vineyards.”

Liam motioned for Mrs. Short to pour the wine. He wished he could have switched out the beautiful fruity wine for sour vinegar, just to spite the man. He himself did not drink, but pushed his glass aside. “I thought the Priests were forbidden to take strong drink, Bishop?”

The man smacked his lips. “Ahhh, yes.” He tipped his glass at the duke, “But I have risen above that station. I have proven my spiritual strength and am no longer required to abstain.” He went on to drain his glass, not at all perturbed by Liam's cold and unwelcoming demeanor. Mrs. Short made a move to come and refill the glass, but Liam stopped her with a slight negative shake of his head. She retreated back to her corner, a look of disapproval on her face.

Liam was beyond caring who approved or disapproved of his actions. He wasn’t going to entertain the fat Bishop, or let him get drunk on the house wine. What he wanted was the bishop to leave Connor Keep. “Well Bishop, we don’t want to delay you, I know you have a long journey ahead. Thank you for delivering this personally.” He tapped the divorce decree. “Allow my man to escort you back to your horse.”

The bishop narrowed his beady eyes at Liam. “Indeed. And I’m sure that we can expect a sizable donation this quarter, your grace?”

“The donation must be in proportion to the economy,” Liam said coldly. “The drought has hit everyone hard.”

The bishop bobbed his head, making his double chins wobble. “Terrible thing, this drought. We believe that God his punishing the land for the sins of our people. We are praying every noon for evil to be purged from the Isle.”

“Great. Wonderful.” Liam couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Keep up the good and faithful work Bishop. We will be seeing you again, I’m sure.” He stood, giving the signal that it was now time for the unwelcome visitor to leave. Just as the bishop stood, a door opened somewhere in the castle, and the baby’s wails could be heard echoing down the hall.

“Be sure to have that child baptized, your Grace. He must be cleansed, less the curse of the mother fall on him.”

Liam said nothing, but waved a hand for Eisen to escort the man out of the castle. When the blue robe had disappeared, he sat back down, and pulled his own glass of wine closer. “Not “him.” Her.” he mumbled to the glass of wine. “I have a daughter.”