Dougray adjusted his leather jerkin as he headed outside and to his mount. Once upon his large gray, he went out to meet his men. He could tell by the morning fog that the visibility was not going to be good. This left him with an uneasy feeling.
"Good day, milord." Dermot eagerly greeted him. Dougray acknowledged him with a nod as he rode by. The man was loyal that much he knew, but he tried too hard to be liked among the men. So much so that he became more of a nuisance than anything else.
Dougray saw Murrough in the distance and he came forward to ride beside him. "There is a heavy mist this morning." Murrough spoke the obvious but there was also a bit of a hidden meaning behind it.
"Aye, Murrough. I can see it well enough." He eyed his friend with a half-cocked smile. "Tell me, ye aren't thinking that this is the mist the old crone spoke of?"
Murrough squirmed uncomfortably in his seat indicating that it had crossed his mind. "Just stay near me. I would be hard press to explain how a mist came and swept the Lord of Dunhaven away."
"Aye, that it would prove a most difficult task." He leaned near and clasped his friend's shoulder. "Do not worry. This world has proved far too troublesome for me. I have no wish to explore others that could possibly be far worse."
Murrough gave him a quick smile. "Aye, but what if it were better?" "Then I would hope for this mist to take me posthaste."
The moment that he spoke the words a gush of cool wind caused the low clouds to thicken around him. Everything seemed to disappear behind the filmy white blanket. Even Murrough's voice seemed to fade as though he had moved far away. Then just as quickly the haze glided hence. Murrough was looking at him, seemingly waiting for him to make a reply.
"I am sorry, did ye ask something of me?"
Murrough nodded. "Only that I was wondering if we should not send some of the men ahead to scout out Fingham's position."
"Aye. We'll send Dermot and Cormac."
"Pardon me for asking, but did ye say Dermot?"
"That I did. The lad wants to prove his worth. Now is the time."
"Aye." Murrough wrapped his mantle closer as the wind blew stronger. "Are ye cold, my friend?" Dougray asked.
"Aye, it is the devil himself that has made me leave the warmth and comfort of my bed."
Dougray gave him a wry look. "And is there someone keeping those blankets warm come your return?"
Murrough's contented smile spoke for itself. "My sweet Rhiannon. She is my only comfort."
"I see she has forgiven ye ... yet again."
"A good woman she is. One day, I plan on marrying her."
"Aye and ye best do it soon before ye fill her belly with a child. Ye think that Rhiannon has a temper. If her father gets a hold of ye ... well more's the pity."
"I can handle old Padrig."
"I hope that this is true, for I hate to lose a good man."
Murrough smiled. "Are ye talking about me, my friend, or the blacksmith?" They both chuckled.
Fingham Butler waited upon his steed for his nephew Tremain to return. He was impatient and chilled to the bone from being out in this damp weather. He pulled his mantle closer around him hoping to gain some warmth. Finally through the shifting haze, he saw Tremain riding toward him.
"Well?" Fingham barely let the man catch his breath. "He comes, milord."
"Aye." He nodded his head. "I knew that he would, but how many men?" "Could not say for sure. The blasted mist covers almost everything." He paused a moment unsure if he dared to speak so boldly, but he had to try. He cleared his throat before he began. "This mist is not a good sign to commence a fight."
Fingham's frown made his aged features more pronounced. "We will hold our ground, Tremain."
His nephew hid his apprehension and nodded. Fingham then raised his hand and with a quick swipe lowered it as he moved his mount forward, his men following behind.
As ordered Dermot and Cormac had made a quick sweep of the area and knew that the enemy was moving toward the designated spot. As far as they could see, which was not saying much, they could detect nothing out of the ordinary.
Armed men on both sides were ready to lift their swords if someone even breathed the wrong way. Dougray with Murrough at his side move forward to meet Fingham who had Tremain at his right hand. The fog swirled around them, making the approaching figures look more like something out of a dream than of flesh and blood.
"That is far enough, Butler," Dougray called out to him. To his surprise Fingham actually pulled back on his reins. "I know that ye are anxious to draw blood this day...."
"Only yers, Fitzpatrick," he interrupted.
Dougray sighed wearily. "Then take it and be done with it. Why do ye plague me with these assaults? Ye've killed innocent men that otherwise would be home with their wives, warming themselves in front of a roaring fire."
Fingham let out a laugh that was no more humorous than this meeting. "That is why I make ye watch for I know ye suffer with each throat that I sever."
"If ye believe that I care so much for my people, then why can ye not see how much that I cared for Ella?"
"Do not speak my daughter's name!" he bellowed, shaking his closed fist in the air. "Ye are not worthy to have her beautiful memory spoken from yer deceitful lips."
"I loved her." Dougray knew that it was useless to try and reason with the man, but still he had to try. He wanted peace, peace for both of them.
"Love? Surely ye jest. If ye had loved her as ye so claim, ye would have not sent her to her death."
)
Aislinn Hennessy's love life was almost laughable, with a trail of disastrous relationships to show for it. She long ago gave up thinking a knight in shining armor was going to sweep her off her feet, but then she never expected to run him off the road either. Sir Dougray Fitzpatrick, Lord of Dunhaven already buried one wife and had no wish for another, but it was foreseen that he would go to the future to seek a vision, a crucial venture to secure his future born. Only he hadn't bargained on it being a woman that would insist on battling against him at every turn. Dougray finds that Aislinn is fearless in the face of an enemy, but shies away from what her heart holds true. Aislinn discovers that Dougray is honest and brave to a fault. He would die for her if necessary. They were thrown together by a twist of fate, a magical mist that sends them back to sixteenth century Ireland where conspiracies, feuds and unexpected violence are commonplace threats, but along the way, they discover a few surprises that neither one expects: a chance for love even when they're: Lost in the Mist of time.
