ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One (9 page)

“Tell me what’s put that sadness on you now, as if I couldn’t guess.”

“He’s back Nanny,” Jessy said simply.

“Aye, I know it.  The gossip about that one flew on wings today.  Came looking for you did he?  I thought he might have had the good sense to keep away, at least for a bit.” 

“No such luck.  He came to the theater.”

“Humph.  That did not happen to your hair at the theater.  You may have seen him there, but he got his hands on you sometime later I’m thinking,” Nanny didn’t bother to keep the scold out of her voice.

“Oh Nanny what am I going to do?” she embarrassed herself by nearly wailing.

Nanny put down the brush and wrapped her arms around Jessy.

“We do what comes next.  What matters is that you tell me the truth.  All these years later after seeing him again, do you still love him?”

Jessy turned on the seat and looked up at the person she trusted most in the world and whom she had never lied to in her life. Birdie
would
get right to the heart of the matter without allowing her a moment to prepare.

“I shouldn’t! But I do, oh I
do
.  I don’t want to!  I hate him at the same time.  What’s wrong with me?  What is going to happen when he finds out about-“

Nanny cut her off.

“You always knew there was a very strong chance he would come back one day.  I should have taken a stronger hand at the time.  It’s a right cock-up and no mistake about it.  When your husband made it clear that you were not to be following through on what were the reasons for your marriage, we all went into a panic. Not that it has been a bad arrangement.  I want to know now, and what is most important, is how does the Earl of Redsayle feel about you?  Besides the obvious,” and Jessy didn’t see her lips quirk as she spied the small bite mark on her girl’s collar bone.

“Oh how should I know,” she sighed with exasperation.

“You’re a woman now.  Give me a real answer,” Nanny demanded.

“As you surmised from my hair, it’s clear that he wants me.  It’s unfortunately not one sided either.  Beyond that?  I truly don’t know.  He’s so much the same and yet something has changed about him.  I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s there.  I used to think I understood him, but I haven’t been sure about that in a long time.”

“I think you understood each other just fine, two halves of the same coin I always said. Anyone seeing you two together would have had to be blind not to see you suit each other like bread and jam.  It was that witch of a mother of his we all underestimated.”

“She always seemed so kind and she was mother’s friend.”

“Hah!  The way a spider is friend to the fly?  The Dowager Lady Redsayle is a piece of work and, make no mistake, she was never your mother’s friend.”

“How can you say that? She was forever at the house and seemed so caring for mama.”

“Ever heard the expression keep your friends close but your enemies closer? I think some Italian might have said that.  Sounds like something an Italian would say anyway,” she mused. “Your mama didn’t exactly know what that woman was, but she had her suspicions.  Your Sebastian is a wild one, but not a bad one like his mother, no matter how hard she tried to make him in her image.  What all these years in Celtica have made of him I can’t say but, he had a good heart and I hope they didn’t manage to poison it.”

“It used to hurt me that you were never angry at him like I was.”

“Grant me a little more experience of life than you young ones.  That boy loved you, really loved you but he was hardly more than a boy. He was always too much under his mother’s thumb.  How do we know what she did to make him leave?  I always felt he was judged too hastily.  A boy who rescues wet kittens, writes bad poetry, and helps build a tree house for a girl who always wanted one, a boy who would wake you up at dawn and sneak you out to see the first daffodils is
not
a bad boy.  I have a hard time seeing him turn into a bad man.  He just has those wicked dark looks and tried hard to make people think he
was
bad.  He was a good lad,” she said with certainty as she plaited

Jessy’s long hair for the night.

“I worried something fierce about him when he disappeared but then I had you to worry me sick too right after.  Between the two of you I aged a decade in a matter of few weeks. I lost my last bit of hair with any color.  You two turned me white.  I just want you to consider he might have had his reasons.  If you are wise, you’ll take the time to find out his side of the story and put that temper aside.” 

Nanny turned her about and with a damp cloth removed any last vestiges of cosmetics with rather more vigor than necessary.  When it suited her, Birdie could make her feel about five years old again. The idea that any reason could justify leaving her worried and abandoned raised Jessy’s ire.  She hadn’t unpacked her bag for two weeks!  She hadn’t believed he could leave her without a word, until she had no choice

“He asked me to be his mistress tonight.  Right off!  Not five minutes back and he offered me the
carte blanche
.  No apology, no remorse, just “come be my mistress” like I should fall at his feet,” anger and outrage were so much easier than all the other feelings his return had stirred up. “Is that the action of a ‘good lad’ as you called him?”

“Now, now.  There’s always two sides to every story and I know you. 

You’ve had years to stew about this and you were never born to be a saint.  What Nanny wants to know is what you did to cause him to make you an improper offer,” Nanny eyed her shrewdly eye to eye.

Jessy felt a flush creep up her fair skin.

“I’m not talking about that.”

“Ha! As I thought! You let your temper get the best of you.  You may look all polished with the town bronze on you these days and perfectly mannered, but the heart of a person rarely changes.  You have your parents’ fire and recklessness and it always will lead to trouble. Headstrong is what you are.”

The word parents, plural, caught Jessy’s attention.

“But papa was completely mild mannered.  He used to tease mama all the time about her hair and what he called her summer storm temper. He most certainly was not reckless.”  While he had died in a riding accident, it hadn’t been due to riding neck or nothing.  It had been a freak accident that had taken her father away less than a two weeks after Sebastian left her.  That had been a month of pure hell.

Nanny’s face had taken on a frozen quality and she avoided Jessy’s eyes, making a sudden production of tidying away hair pins, lotions and brushes.

“Nanny,” Jessy made her voice as ominous as years of acting could make it, “what have you not told me about Papa?”

“Oh now we are all a bit reckless and wild when young are we not lamb? Who’s to say your father was any different?” and she turned to pick up the evening dress off the bed with straight lips and a closed face.  It was a look that had always said she was done talking.

CHAPTER NINE

The wind had kicked up strongly and the long cape he wore snapped and cracked around his long frame.  With a hat pulled low on his brow it was difficult to make out his features.  A small group of men clearly armed to the teeth and on edge stood in a half circle on the beach.  It was their duty to protect the caped man and each was prepared to give their life for him.  They had not come this far and waited all these years to fail now through a lack of vigilance.  

The enemy could be anywhere and, while not likely that Ulrich’s spies would yet have caught wind of his enemy’s return from the dead, it was not impossible.  They were more worried the Gooar would know of Conal’s return to ‘life’ by now.  They would be safer to assume the news was out and keep their guard up and weapons ready.

The ship, with Ciara Govannon at the helm, was still a shadow against the horizon.  She had said she would not leave until she knew him safely delivered.  After the days on board with her he felt a renewed confidence in this endeavor.  His band of old friends and her own crew were a tough lot and Ciara, as well as Gavin, had taken turns training with him.  He had needed it after not handling a sword in so many years.  

Gavin he had expected to beat him easily to start, but the cat like reflexes, unyielding determination and skill of Ciara had left bruises on him after their first few encounters.  That woman wielded a sword like it was part of her own arm and with the swiftness of her own thoughts.  Conal could tell that, as much as she relished her mission, she was eager to return home to Celtica. She had stepped into her father’s shoes with her coming of age and worried leaving the rebels too long without her needed presence.

She was also sick with concern for her sister Caitlin.  She had yet to find a way to rescue her from Ulrich and Olav’s clutches.  With the whispers of the horrible experiments, the dumped bodies of young women over the cliffs of Olav’s tower at the palace, it was no wonder she was often distracted on the voyage.  He knew when he saw her looking off into the distance her eyes fierce and yet worried, it was Caitlin of whom she thought.  

Caitlin had been scouting, spying on a Gooar ritual, and failed to miss the raven that had spied her hiding place.  She had been gathering information for the priestesses on the incantations and rituals being used on captured girls when she was taken.  Conal promised himself, if she lived (as Ciara believed), he would do all in his power to see her safe and free.

“Sire!  I hear horses approaching,” Brendan’s voice interrupted his thoughts. The men waited a moment, so still it seemed no one breathed.

“Give the signal,” the Conal ordered but his body tensed with worry.

A dark lantern was raised and the small shield that guarded its light lifted, once, twice, it flashed.  With a single held breath they waited for the answer prepared to dash for the boat drawn up onto the sand of the cove.  Three beats of light pierced the darkness from beyond the beach and they exhaled.  The men grouped more closely about the caped man, hands on swords and daggers.  Galloping hoof beats tore down the rocky incline to the sand; dangerously fast for the dark conditions with the moon shying behind swiftly moving clouds.

With a spray of sand the lead horse reared to a halt and the rider leapt from the saddle.  The man tossed the reigns to another man who also dismounted into the wet sand.  With long, eager strides the Duke of Tamworth approached Conal who stood as a dark and silent figure among his men.

“Your Majesty!” the Duke of Tamworth knelt low in the sand, his head bowed before the caped man.  He obviously had no doubt which man was the king. He had not seen Conal since he was ten, taken to Celtica when his father had served as England’s ambassador to the kingdom, but there was no mistaking him.

“The password?” the man asked in a deep voice with lightly accented English.  His voice was deep and possessed a faint lilting accent, like a wisp of smoke over dark water.

“
Dochas
,” the Duke answered.

“You must be Tamworth.  You have the look of your father,” said King

Conal of Celtica. “And it isn’t wise to kneel to me yet for many reasons.”  

“I am indeed Tamworth your majesty, and on behalf of my government I welcome you to England.  Of course, we must exercise every caution, pardon me. We have all waited far too long for this day, but now I am happy to say England is able to support you and your people in the restoration of your throne.”

“It has been far too long indeed and England’s support is welcome.  However, now that we have been introduced, I suggest that we quit this beach as quickly as possible,” he turned to Brendan to signal the ship it could now safely leave.  They would not see Ciara again until they returned to Celtica.  She would be returning to an island in even greater turmoil once it was known he was not only alive, but seeking to recover his throne.  

He gave a silent prayer for her safety and that of her men.  She had a dangerous job to accomplish back on Celtica rallying not only the Celts and

Britons of the kingdom but the Vikings who had secretly turned against the Gooar.  It was the Viking families he should fear for the most.  He knew Olav would do far more than kill them if caught.  His love of performing the Blood Eagle was well known and Conal had seen the evidence of it himself in the past during the war.

“Somewhere more discreet would be wise in which to continue our discussion.  We have only begun a long task and we both know Celtica’s road to restoration is beset with enemies. The less time we spend in the open the
better,” Conal informed the Duke.  He could not get a good read on the man in the darkness and looked forward to sitting down with him to take better stock of this new ally.  He had known Tamworth’s father, a good and loyal friend to his kingdom, but he knew nothing of the son.  He had a bare memory of a young, brown haired boy constantly by his father, the ambassador’s, side.

“We have prepared a place near here for you and your men to rest before we continue on to London.  We can talk in perfect safety there.”

“You are absolutely certain of the loyalty and discretion of the owners of this place?”

“It is mine your majesty,” Tamworth stated simply.

“Then lead us on,” the king commanded and leapt into the saddle of the great bay horse that their welcoming party had brought for him.  What it cost to make such a leap? Well, he would ignore the twinges.  He hadn’t ridden a horse in over two decades and he would need to remember (like it or not) he wasn’t as nimble as he once was.  He was, however, determined to start acting and thinking like a king and leave the fisherman behind.

And so, a small procession of men of England and men of Celtica rode quickly through the damp English night.  They pushed their horses to speed them to the safety of the country manor that was the first stop on the road to what Conal had no doubt would be war.  The Gooar and their Black Axes would
not fold at the news that England was backing his own claim to the throne they had stolen.

The ride was hard and Conal felt it in every bone. By the time the lights of the large manor appeared at the end of the long drive down which they cantered, his legs and arse were feeling the effects.  He grimaced to himself that now being in his forties and having led the life of a fisherman for so many years there would probably be quite a few things that would not come as comfortably anymore.  Being called
your majesty
and
sire
were among them.  A part of him still expected when hearing those words to see his father, but his father had died long ago. He had been killed by the hands of the usurper he must now root out of his kingdom like a foul weed; him and that bloody bunch of priests. 

His father had been killed by Ulrich’s men in during the coup under what was supposed to be flag of truce, to discuss a negotiation.  Conal was only twenty two at that time and for two months after his father’s foul murder he had fought a bitter battle against the Black Axes.  He had only been called king for only two months of his life.  He had been a failed king, too young, too unprepared to battle the fanatic Nordic element of his country to regain the throne.  For thousands of years his family had ruled, for the most part peacefully, over a small kingdom of steep mountains, green valleys and rich fishing grounds.  The unbroken line of Llyr kings and queens had ended with him and he had felt the responsibility and regret burn in his gut every day since he had gone into hiding.  

This journey to England was the first step on a long road to redemption, if this English Duke could be trusted.  Conal had learned to trust few in all these years, to be cautious to an extreme.  It had kept him alive and Ulrich ignorant of that fact.  That would change in no time at all.  He would not be surprised if Ulrich knew of his return from the dead in less than a week.  He knew very well how excellent that man’s intelligence network was across Europe and England in particular.  Ulrich’s cozy relationship with Napoleon had put Celtica in bed with any number of unsavory, but highly skilled people and government officials.  It was only with the end of that war and relative domestic stability that England had been able to turn its attention to assisting their time honored ally, the Ancient and Royal House of Llyr.    

It had taken years of careful negotiations, patience and extreme secrecy to bring him this far.  It was thanks to the resolute spirit of those loyal to the House of Llyr that he could be here now.  The men with him had acted for him with the English government as he remained incognito in that remote village.  It had not set well with him to hide out in relative safety as those loyal to him actively worked against Ulrich and set up their own intelligence network and resistance forces.  

It had taken the council of Ban, Prince of Govannon, his father’s most trusted general and advisor to convince him to remain “dead” and then Ulrich had taken even Ban away.  The General had been captured and cruelly executed over a decade ago now.  Conal missed that tough old man every day. 

He had often wondered how Ban’s daughters faired after his death.  Now he had seen how Ciara had turned out and knew her father would be proud, but he feared for the daughter in Ulrich’s hands.  He had no illusions about what was probably being done to her.  Ulrich’s tastes and reputation as a sexual deviant were well known.

Conal knew he would have only one real chance to regain his kingdom.  They had laid this groundwork as carefully, as thoroughly as they could.  But they could not take the kingdom back from Ulrich and his stranglehold of Black Axe warriors without help.  It meant he had to trust the English with not only his life, but that of his loyal band and all the network of resistance fighters within and without Celtica.  He had only learned recently how much the alliance with England had come into play.  His own people had set up supply, intelligence and escape networks with the assistance of sympathetic English smugglers, fisherman and country people.  The English government, while bound by alliance to support the House of Llyr, was doubly interested in removing Ulrich as he had allied with Napoleon and still continued to attack English shipping.

This alliance with Napoleon had cut off valuable fishing grounds and metal trades that the two countries had traditionally shared, not to mention the assistance of the formidable warriors of Celtica not being able to fight with the English forces.  Ulrich had even managed to plant a large number of
well-organized spies throughout England to funnel information to Napoleon.  Gavin, as they had sailed East to England, told him that for years the English had known that someone, someone well placed in England, had been actively passing valuable information first to Ulrich and Napoleon and now just to Ulrich to use or sell as he saw fit.  Among other reasons for helping him regain his throne, the English hoped that Conal’s return would help smoke out the traitors in their own government.  

They had arrived at the front steps of the mansion and Conal gratefully slid down from the saddle, sharing a wry smile with Gavin as they both stretched aching bodies.  Conal had no problem with being England’s bait as long as he survived long enough to free his kingdom and the English gave him the resources he needed.

“Welcome to Menwith House,” Tamworth smiled as he gestured the king up the broad shallow steps up to the great double door that was thrown open by a stout but very proper English butler. “We will stay here for two days at most, just to rest up and well,” he looked mildly embarrassed, “see that you and your wardrobe are prepared for your re-emergence.”

The wide foyer was oak paneled, marble floored and graced by a double curving staircase that arched into the shadows of an upper floor.  It was obviously a house of wealth and comfort, but Conal knew that this was a minor property of the Duke of Tamworth.  Gavin had told him that Tamworth’s house on his ducal holding in Cornwall was nearly the size of Celtica’s royal palace.

“If you would lead us to your library or estate office Tamworth, I believe we should talk, at least briefly, before worrying about our clothes or sleep,” Conal suggested politely, but with a subtle ring of command that he was pleased to hear he still had.  It hadn’t sounded quite like the confident command of a king, but it hadn’t been the deferential speech of a fisherman either.   It would come, he assured himself.

“Certainly.  I will order some food brought to the library and a fire lit.  If you will follow me?” And he walked off down the hallway to their right passing numerous doors and niches full of vases and statuary until they reached an open door revealing a large book lined room. The room had obviously been prepared for their meeting with a large and long table, many leather upholstered chairs and a series of maps and navigation charts taking up the one wall devoid of books.  A well-stocked sideboard held a number of crystal decanters and glasses.  The room also held two other gentlemen who had not ridden to the beach with Tamworth and his secretary (as the duke referred to him) Mr. Burnell.