ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One (21 page)

“Any arguments?”

Muted head shakes answered him.  Jessy definitely did not want responsibility for it and was nervous about even wearing it onstage.  There was something strange about that circlet and even stranger was how she had felt wearing it.  Michael had meant it for her, but she found the gift more frightening than thrilling.

‘Oh! In all the excitement about the, now known to be real and expensive circlet, I forgot you have one more present to unwrap! David I brought the package you had me pick up.  It’s over there on the table,’ Sean gestured to a small and far more ornately wrapped present near the punch bowl.

David picked it up and tossed it lightly in his hand.  He eyed Jessy speculatively as she sat back on the bench, with the great shaggy head of Trystan’s wolfhound on her lap.  Maybe the circlet was a huge surprise, but if he knew his girl, this would mean much more (even though much smaller) and of less monetary value.

“Here darling and happy birthday,” he smiled as he handed it to her.  He watched her nimble fingers make quick work of the pretty bow and wrapping to find the box inside.  She peeked up at him once more before lifting the lid. He watched her face go pale as death before erupting with a light brighter than the lanterns around them.

‘David!” she choked out before startling the sleeping wolfhound when she exploded off the bench.  With a woof of concern, Boru padded over and stuck his long nose between them, for Jessy was clutching David for all she was worth. She reached up to place her hands on both sides of his face, her eyes filled with tears.

“You found it.  You finally found it,” and with that she placed her forehead against his chest and cried.  He patted her back and made the same kind of sounds he would make to a nervous horse, feeling both elated and ineffectual at her reaction.  Jessy was
not
one of those weepy females who forever got teary eyed over just about anything.  He hadn’t seen her cry in years.

“I was looking in all the wrong places turns out.  Figured I would find it in a pawn shop or a jewelers but I found it in the strangest place,” he turned her about so he could place the locket about her neck.  

“Well where was it?” Sean asked astounded for he and David had searched every place they could think of for years.  There had never been any sign of the locket.  Jessy had sold it to a jeweler shortly after she had run away to London, pregnant, scared and with little money.  It had been the last thing she had sold, and with great sorrow, for it was the present her father had given to her mother on their wedding day.  The jeweler she had sold it too had no memory of the transaction, or at least so he said.

As Jessy admired it laying against her riding habit, stroking the gold and enamel with shaking fingers, David told them the story of how he had found it.

“I was down along the river near Westminster, when I noticed this strange bell over a store’s door.  Trick of the light I know but it seemed like the salamander on the bell that it-well-
winked
at me. I walked over to take a closer look and this time the light reflected off something in the window.  I looked closer and laying on top of a book of old Celtic fairy tales was the locket.  The strangest part is that it wasn’t a jewelry store but an apothecary catering to gentlemen, full of all kinds of strange things.  A shop of curiosities I would call it I suppose.  Chap who ran the place was a bit of an old odd one too but quite nice, seemed to know what I came in for instantly.  I never even had to ask for it, he just went and got it and wrapped it up for me,” he looked bemused remembering. “I asked how he knew what I wanted and he just smiled and shook his head like I had asked a silly question.”

“Well that’s why we never found it then; looking in all the wrong places,” Sean smiled. “Let’s get a better look at it,” he said and Jessy held it up for Sean and Maureen.  It was larger than most lockets with a scene of a mountain, a meadow and a river so detailed one would think it must be an actual place and
not just an artist’s imagination.  Jessy remembered asking her mother if it was a real place, only to have her mother smile and tuck the locket away beneath the bodice of her gown.

Jessy had only seen the inside of the locket once when she had found it laying on her mother’s bedside table as she bathed.  With curiosity overwhelming her, she had peeked around the corner to her mother’s dressing room, to be certain she was still in the bath, before tip toeing back over to open the precious locket.  She had expected to find the usual miniature portraits but found instead a lover’s knot.  Two colors of hair twined with what looked like dried clover.  She was surprised as the locket was so deep to find so little.  Even more intriguing was to see her mother’s recognizable hair (the exact shade as her own) but that her father’s hair seemed to have bleached with time.  She had been touched by the romantic simplicity of the contents and now wondered if the knot was still there.  She wouldn’t look now but save that moment for later and privacy.  It was almost too much to hope it was still inside, intact.

Boru startled her suddenly by letting out a deep growl and dashing off into the shadows beyond the lanterns.  David and Sean instinctively moved to shield the women not knowing what had set the dog off.  David slapped his hand where a sword would have been, the habit ingrained after his years of military service. His empty hands clenched and then relaxed as Boru bounded back with something in his mouth.

The big dog dropped a dark and feathery bundle at Jessy’s feet and she took a quick step back.  David bent to find a raven, a very large raven, and as the others wondered at the wolfhound acting so strangely, and also being quick enough to catch a bird, David felt another chill settle over him.  His sense of alarm was not unwarranted.  Sebastian had told him about the ravens and who used them.

‘Good boy Boru, good boy indeed,’ he scratched the dog along his rough back and took the giant paw offered to him.  The attack at the theater, the glimpse of the pale, hooded face and now a raven at Mallory’s End that Boru would feel impelled to kill.  He, for one, never believed in underestimating an animal’s instincts, especially one as devoted as Boru. He needed to talk to Sebastian more urgently than ever.  It had to be this circlet they were after and the sooner it was removed from the vicinity of the children and Maureen the better.

The women joked about the raven being big enough to make a pie and started to oversee the cleanup of the party.  Boru was rewarded with tasty table scraps and had laid down to enjoy a pork hock when David told Sean it was time they got back to the city.  Sean started for the stable to see the barouche readied and Abellius and Adlais tethered to the carriage to walk behind.  He suddenly stopped and turned back to David.

“What is it David?” he put a hand on David’s arm. “Do you feel something is not quite right too? I saw your face when Boru dropped the bird.  You know I...sense…things sometimes, I can’t explain it any more than my sister or brother could explain to you what they can and could do.  I’ve had a sense of something coming, strange dreams among other things.  What happened at the theater, the crown and then that bird, feel like they are connected.  I had the strongest feeling that what happened at the theater was not a rival but something...else.” Sean looked him straight in the eye and David had that uncanny feeling one occasionally had with Sean that his eyes saw something beyond and through you.

David chose his words carefully, not wanting to cause distress for no reason.  However, he would be doing Sean a great disservice to be dishonest and not put him on guard.  Sean needed to know enough to keep alert and look after himself and his family.  They had become his and Jessy’s family too, made by love and not blood.  

“I can’t be sure right now, I need to look into this, talk to someone, but take great care.  I’m not certain you are wrong, I’m not sure at all why, but there is a chance there is a threat of danger,” he forestalled the questions he saw about to pour out of Sean, “No, my friend, I can’t say more, it would be nothing more than speculation.  Just keep your eyes open, especially for more ravens. Now let’s get ready to go home shall we?  I promise to have a talk with Mick tonight about Jessy and securing the house, but I want you and everyone here at the End to be on guard too.  I will feel better once we get
this,
” and he gestured at the box holding the crown, “away and locked up.”

“We’ll be gone in a trice never fear.  Between my feelings, the things my sister has been seeing in her bowl of late, what has happened today, we’d be fools not to take a care.  But if you ask me? It seems too much a coincidence all this has begun just when the Earl of Redsayle returns,” he said with a grim look before turning about and heading for the stable.

Yes, David thought, little got by Sean Powers.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sebastian had sat for maybe ten minutes within his protective circle.  The amethyst was warm in his hand.  Gradually he felt the sense of his own body fade as the crystal begin to expand his senses further and further beyond the normal range of human perception.  If he had to liken it to anything, he would say it was the way he imagined a bird felt soaring far above the ground, it’s keen eyes able to perceive what no human eye could.  The first time he had managed it the thrill had been so amazing he had forgotten the point of the exercise and had a difficult time coming back.  Fortunately he had greater focus now than he did then.

The amethyst grew hotter in his hands and vibrated deeply.  He was not alone out here. Danger lurked somewhere in the grounds of Menwith.  He focused more deeply and found the source of the disturbance like a speck of rot in a ripe fruit, a darker blot in the gathering dusk.  He should have known he would not be the only spy watching and waiting.  The nature of the darkness he sensed told him it was one of the Gooar.  England was becoming lousy with the damned priests.  He kept in mind, as he closed his circle, what Bishop had warned about their powers being stronger without the counter of the Ladies magic to dampen their own.  

He checked his dagger and that it pulled smoothly before retrieving several more weapons from the saddle bags of his horse, including a longer blade for his boot and the pointed throwing disks.  The disks were deadly and useful in case the priest had a raven with him.  He had not sensed one of the feathered spies, but one never knew.  It had taken him nearly a year to successfully master taking one out in flight.  If there was one out there tonight he would need, more than ever before, to not miss his target.

The priest, unaware of the danger closing in upon him, was holed up near the south side of the estate in a small copse that touched close to what he knew these English called a folly; a small Roman inspired grotto of the kind so popular a century ago.  He looked about himself and found this fake recreation of a place sacred to an old god, though not his god, a violation.  He found nearly everything about this country offensive.  The fat land, dotted relentlessly with the churches of the one god, The White Christ, was an abomination.  The people were a mixture of every kind of blood and seemed not to care.  Norman, Saxon, Angle, Briton, Celt, Norse and, who knew what else, all co-mingled.  It made him shudder.   

He bitterly hated being here but was also proud to at last be chosen for a mission to serve his Gooar, to serve the bloodline of Odin.  And so he watched the man, this false king, pace, seemingly deep in thought while he fondled the dagger in his hand.  He had strict orders to watch and not act, but the urge to plunge his dagger into that body was nearly overwhelming.  He longed to feel the blood of his enemy pour over his hands.

His mission in London had turned up nothing, he had torn the theater apart after setting the distraction of the fire, and now he sat here as eyes for his master.  He was determined to prove his worth to Olav and to the man who would be their true Viking king and the woman who would be the vessel of purity.  He longed for the day that all the Celtic filth, those Rhiannon worshipping fools, would be destroyed and the island purified for his people. 

They would finally free the kingdom and dedicate it entirely to the Norse gods.

Odin would bless them for their efforts, their unfailing faith and dedication.

Sebastian gathered the sense of the darkness, folding it about him like a cloak, breathing in smoothly and letting the night fill him as the priestesses had taught.  He would not be invisible, but he would blend into the world around him as nothing more than a shadow.  On silent feet he worked his way quickly and silently in a looping path through the trees and down the hillside.  The priest crouched intent on the king, and as long as the priest watched the king, his senses would not be tuned toward any threat behind him.

As he closed on the un-walled part of the grounds and the priest hidden in the trees he slowed, and once again opened his senses.  Closer now he would know if a raven kept watch in the trees but felt nothing other than the priest whose back was still turned toward him. The robed figure was focused intently
on the grotto.  The king had wandered back inside.  Sebastian could only hope the man would know to stay put until he could come to him.

With an explosive burst of speed, drawing his Cauldron steel blade, he launched himself at his target.  At the last second the priest detected him and whirled out of his crouch to face Sebastian.  He had only a glimpse of that ghastly white face and blue lips before he was on him, blades slashing crosswise for the throat.  He lashed out with his booted foot going for the knees to bring down his prey.  The priest was fast, faster than one would be on Celtica, just as Bishop had warned.  His blade caught only the edge of the throat and the small spurt of blood was black, which was not the dark of the night, but the blood itself.

He met the vicious onslaught of the priest who had rolled and leaped to his feet.  Dagger clashed against dagger, the Cauldron steel drawing sparks from the lesser blade.  The priest was not the knife fighter he was but had the advantage of speed and agility.  He struck out with his blade while striking Sebastian’s face with his free fist.  Sebastian felt the power behind the blow and nearly lost his footing on the leave strewn ground under the trees. Sebastian closed in again and feinted overhand with his right while stabbing upward and to the left.  Having judged correctly that threatened with the right handed move the priest would evade to the left, he caught the man under the breastbone.  He felt the expulsion of air and heard the grunt of surprise and pain. 

Sebastian pressed in, using one hand to twist the deadly, poisoned blade from the priest’s hand while driving his own blade higher and deeper into the man’s heart. He shoved the priest to the ground, knee pressed into the man’s chest as nearly face to face he watched the life, the fury rise up in one last spurt as blood gushed from his mouth. His last word on the bubble of blackness from his lips;
you.
He died with an expression of surprise having replaced the hate that had burned bone deep and sharp as his blade.  At the last moment of victory, Sebastian had lowered his cloaking shadows to reveal himself clearly to his foe.  He gathered them about him again as he could not afford for anyone from the house to see him.

It was not the first time Sebastian had seen that surprise, it was one of the reasons he was so successful.  He was the last person the priesthood would expect to drive in the fatal blade.  He wiped the black blood from his dagger on the robe of the dead priest with a feeling of relief that he
was
still a surprise.  He sheathed his blades and stood slowly, eyes meeting those of the man who had watched the rapid and brutal fight from the grotto.

Sebastian made his way down the leaf strewn slope.  He found himself, at last, face to face with the man England hoped to place back on the throne of Celtica.  He admired the man’s good sense to not interfere but, he also knew the king had just had a good exhibition of his capabilities.  He wouldn’t only be evaluating the king, the king would be evaluating him.

Conal had felt the compass in his pocket grow warm nearly an hour ago. He found an empty room and had slipped inside to see it turn upon his palm as Ciara had explained it would, pointing him toward a friend.  He knew they would not allow him to be alone long, but with Gavin’s help he had slipped from the house. Following the faint glow of the amber across the dark grounds it had led him to the grotto where the compass had suddenly gone dark.  He knew to expect his first contact would be with the one called Rook but had not thought to meet with him until he arrived in London.  Something must have happened to bring anyone here so soon.

He had sensed the presence in the woods moments after he arrived at the grotto but when the compass stayed dark he knew, uneasily, it was not friendly.  The sudden clash of noise, unmistakable as that of blade against blade had drawn him out, one hand reaching for the dagger on his hip.  He need not have worried.  The man he thought must be Rook, made efficient and bloody work of the figure he saw was a priest of Odin.  He was impressed and felt a greater measure of confidence grow in this endeavor.

“I have never seen anyone finish a priest that fast,” he told the tall dark figure that approached him still cloaked in what was known as shadowdark.  The shadowdark was enough for him to know this man was trained by the Ladies.  He watched as the darkness melted from the tall man, returning to the woods and night he had borrowed it from. Revealed was a formidably tall man with broad cheekbones, a slash of dark eyebrows above a knife edged nose and long mouth. His eyes in the dim light of the now glowing compass, were as amber gold as the compass itself.

“He was not of high rank, luckily for me, not among the more experienced. You’ve never seen Bishop fight your majesty.  I will admit I am only second best,” Sebastian smiled in the darkness and gestured that the king precede him deeper into the grotto.  He leaned against the stone wall and surveyed the man many, including himself, were willing to risk and sacrifice so much to return to his throne.  He found himself facing a powerfully built, muscular man of a height just short of his own, with bright and ill cut hair, overly long but, not as long as the Viking custom.  It struck him as amusing that the Celt was fair and he, the Viking, was dark.  It was a world reversed from ethnic casting. 

It was a strong and ruggedly handsome face with high cheekbones and a bold nose below eyes of a sea blue green. They shone clearly in the compass light that illuminated the grotto.  It was not a face that gave much away and, unlike England’s king, this man’s skin was weathered and tanned with deep lines radiating from the corners of his large, intelligent eyes.  The broad hands were strong and, even in these shadows, clearly calloused.  This man would lead from the front, sword in hand.  He would not sit in some silk tent, as so many European royals had been want to do over the centuries.  This man was a warrior.

“What is your chess piece?” he asked and Sebastian answered as Conal expected.  He relaxed slightly even though he hadn’t really had any doubts as to his identity.  “So what do we do with the priest? Hide the body?” 

It was a practical question and made Sebastian take a sudden liking to him, maybe since it reminded him of the first time he met Bishop; men who did what needed to done.  This wasn’t a king who didn’t expect to get his hands dirty.

“No sire, let them find him.  It will serve a notice that not only are you well protected but make the traitor inside that house behind us uneasy with wondering.”

‘Ahhh, so that is why the visit so soon.  I suppose it was too much to hope that all involved in my return would be loyal,” one long and strong hand beat a light rhythm against his leg and Sebastian waited as the king thought through the implications. “I would like to say there are those here I trust completely but, in truth, I have only been among anyone from my old life for a matter of days.  My instinct is to think I could trust Gavin and Brendan with my life.  Is that a question you can answer or do you already have some idea of who this traitor is?”

“I wish I could reassure you your majesty” and here Conal cut him off.

“Please, I would prefer you call me Conal.  I am not king until I sit upon the throne.  I shall be “your majesty’d” to death I am sure when I reach

London, for just a little longer I would have my name again.  No one has called me by my true name since I lost the kingdom.  I was called Bryan for so long in the village I had to remind myself every night of my real name.”  He didn’t add that every night he had in his mind rode or walked all the roads, the byways, and deer tracks he knew, visited and named in his mind every village for fear of forgetting.  That was for himself to know only.

“Well, Conal,” Sebastian felt kinship for a man with whom he had something elemental in common.  They had both lived as someone other than their true self for too long. “I would like to tell you that you can, my instinct says you can, I know your men and know nothing to suggest they are not committed to you and to Celtica, but I have to advise you to fully trust no one.”

“Only what I expected to hear and proves to me that maybe I do have one person I can trust after all; you.  Not only did you kill that priest but you haven’t asked me to trust you.  People who say “trust me” are often the last one a person should trust.  So Rook, I keep my eyes open, watch my back and shall be thankful our enemies were not so bright as to wait until the suspect pool was larger,” he said with a rather crooked and charming smile as he unknowingly echoed Bishop’s own thoughts.

“We wouldn’t have known this soon if two priests hadn’t made an attack on Bishop in London.  His identity is known to so few it was stupid of them to act against him.  It coincided exactly with your arrival.  We don’t believe in coincidences. At least from that priest’s response to seeing me, my identity is still not known to our enemies. We will have agents keep watch on the actions and whereabouts of everyone in that house once you reach London, but we will have to put a great deal of trust in you as well to guard your own welfare.”

“Well, forewarned is forearmed is it not?” Conal tried not to sound as tired as he suddenly felt.  His uncomplicated life in the fishing village was already a life time away.  The old lines were in his head before he could stop them; heavy is the head that wears the crown. Responsibility weighed heavy indeed.  He could not help but remember how he had once walked the glens with his love, pretending they were simple people who knew nothing of royal obligations.