ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One (28 page)

The words were out of her mouth before she could think them but only feel them.

“I love you,” and she surged from the chair to throw herself at him and found herself caught in his strong arms, his face buried in the wreck of her hair. Her ladylike ensemble, a dress, pelisse, and very stylish bonnet she had really adored, had been totally destroyed in the events of the day and he didn’t seem to care about the black and red blood that spattered her bodice. She wasn’t going to fight or pretend or try and talk herself out of it.  Even when she thought he had abandoned her she had still loved him and now that she knew he hadn’t left her willingly, her heart had burst wide open with untainted relief and joy.

“I love you too,” he told her his whole heart in his words as he quickly squeezed the breath out of her, “Now let’s find out what is with this satchel shall we? We can get to the romance part later,” and they both smiled like sunlight escaping the clouds.  A sniffle was heard from near the fireplace, but as Birdie never cried, it couldn’t possibly be her.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

              Birdie wasn’t the only one with a tear in her eye or holding knowledge yet to be shared.  At a gentleman’s apothecary an old man watched in a clouded sphere what was unfolding and while he knew danger and challenge yet lay ahead, he now had hope.  Love was the magic that the Gooar would never have at their command and watching the outpouring of love, a truth finally known, warmed his ancient heart for the member of his family now with a chance of happiness.  But as events unfolded at one house, he now kept careful watch on another.  There the most important person in all this complicated, dangerous game went about life possibly unaware of the threats converging.  He knew this one was more than he seemed so it was possible he did have an idea of what was coming.  He wouldn’t be able to judge what power was there until they finally met.  It would be soon.

              At Menwith, the king beginning the contest for his throne watched everyone discreetly.  Knowing there was danger so close, possibly within these walls, was wearing on him and he was glad tomorrow was the day they would start for London.  He was done with waiting.  Numerous letters of plans, promises and assurances had gone back and forth between himself, Tamworth, Coughlin, Rathborn, King George and Lord Liverpool, the Prime Minister.

              He had little to pack, for he literally owned nothing beyond the items he had raised from the box on Celtica and the clothing he had acquired in the last few days.  A tailor, never told who he was fitting, had arrived from London. After being thoroughly vetted and never left alone with the king, he had turned him out several fine suits of clothes.  He at least looked like a gentleman now.

              What he found the most curious, however, was that nothing had been said about the body of a priest of Odin being found dead upon the grounds, that any dead body had been found. He asked no one, not even Gavin about it, but it was a strong tell that Rook was right and a traitor was among them.  Anyone with his interests and safety as a priority would surely have been alarmed, set more patrols and kept him informed.  His instincts were telling him that the trip to London posed the most danger to him.  It would be too easy to be rid of him along the way, too easy for assassin or kidnapper to set an ambush.  Knowing the Gooar, it was not unlikely they had plans other than his immediate death. 

He now began to worry about the safety of his own men.  As Tamworth had informed him when he arrived, at least one of the men and usually two of the English King’s emissaries was at Menwith at all times. He found it hard to think any of his own men could be traitors and when he considered all the angles, he felt pretty strongly about who the traitor actually was. He was saddened by it for very personal reasons.  A man, a good man had once stood witness to his marriage, despite danger and the need for absolute secrecy.  He
had trusted that man with his life and now, well, it seemed that blood had become tainted.

              He was at a point, the worry in his gut so heavy, that he needed to make a decision.  He had made some discreet inquiries of his own and what he had found settled for him pretty firmly where the threat lay.  He feared he may be the only person who had any idea.  Being the only person with vital information, when life expectancy was chancy, was probably not wise. He would have to take the chance of taking his men into his confidence and devise some plan.  He was the fly in the web and the spider was closing in but, with intentions he could not quite divine.  If it was his immediate death that was wanted, he could easily have been killed before now.

              Before he could change his mind he gathered his men outside on the pretense of enjoying some fishing in the small river that bordered the south side of the property.  The excuse he gave was that he would have no such opportunity for a favorite sport once London was reached.  Tamworth seemed concerned for their safety but as they were all armed with far more than fishing poles there wasn’t much he could say.  As far as anyone supposedly knew (he thought with sarcasm) Menwith was a haven of safety.

              Once they had found a suitably deep hole below a tall river bank and shaded by an overhanging tree, a guaranteed spot for good fish to hide, they dropped lines in the water. He shared what he knew with his men, and what he suspected.  There had been no sign of any ravens or other people about so he felt fairly secure they were unheard and unseen.  In fact, it was the very absence of ravens, when by now his whereabouts must surely be known, that convinced him his suspicions were correct.  When he told the tale of Rook killing the priest, their own opinions were sealed in favor of his beliefs and course of action.

              Gavin had not seemed terribly surprised but the others could not contain their shock that they would no longer be relying on these Englishmen to negotiate the help they needed.

              “It could be any one of them you know sire.  Each of their families has had ties of one kind or another to Celtica before the coup, they are all well placed in this country’s government,” he shrugged. “I’d say it could still be a toss-up but, it doesn’t matter at this point beyond the fact we need to get out of here and keep you alive.”

Nothing more had been questioned other than how they were to make their escape.  They were all men of action, warriors, they would fight their way free if need be.  Conal hoped to avoid the danger of such a confrontation.  He knew as he sat here surrounded by these men he had grown with, trained with, that still one of them could be in league with his enemies but, the only way to know for sure was to see what happened when they made their break for freedom.  He had quickly come to see this estate as a gilded prison. While it was possible that another priest could have removed the body or someone had
not wanted the king to worry that his safety was threatened, nothing else really held up against his suspicions. 

Now they had to refine the plan and hope for the best.  As he thought about escaping his English “friends” a large owl suddenly swooped through the trees and settled on a branch across from him.  It was of unusual size, white with delicate brown tracery and jewel like eyes, it nodded its head once and then he was sure.  He would take it as a sign Rhiannon had given her approval and that was enough for him.  Now he just hoped the compass the High

Priestess had given him would lead them to another refuge…

They made their way back to the house, slightly wet, a good catch of trout in tow and laughing (as instructed) with the appearance of easy camaraderie.  Conal looked up to see Tamworth in an upper window watching their return and he waved cheerfully to his host.  Coughlin and Rathborn were lounging on a bench near the maze enjoying a smoke. Tonight, Conal thought, it would have to be tonight or it may be never.

Back in London at the apothecary shop Emrys had a visitor.  She didn’t come through the front door but simply appeared in the same comfortable chair Bishop had sat in just the other day.  Pulling back the hood that covered her dark hair she smiled at the old man who calmly waited for her to fully materialize, something she could do in the magical safety of this place with none being the wiser.

“Emrys my dear,” she held out her hand to him and with a smile full of love he took her hand in his, bending to kiss the long delicate fingers.

“Nimue my love, as beautiful as ever,” he pulled up a chair and sat across from her.

“Thanks to you my darling Merlin, my Welsh hawk,” she said with equal tenderness and love in her voice.

“I see the spell continues to work? No complications?” he asked with concern.

“Nothing other than being tired of the transformation from one incarnation to the next and your insistence I should always look the same when I visit,” she laughed a little.

“I loved the way you looked.  If the world were to change around me I wanted what I loved most to at least stay the same.  Maybe when all this is done I shall return to my own appearance for you, but for now this serves well enough,” he sighed. “What I hate is the way the story was twisted to make you out to be some soul sucking evil witch who ensnared me,” he grumbled.

“The story has served its purpose, all the stories since have served their purpose. Mallory did just as we asked him and confused it just enough to throw any off the scent, yet preserve the faith in the blood, in Arthur.  Surely that was the most important darling? It also helps that people believe, Gooar included, that you’re trapped in a cave of crystal uselessly asleep.”

He sighed, ‘Yes, of course but it is sometimes hard to see you so lovely and me so old.  It also is hard to see book after book, tale after tale told of me being a silly old man beguiled and tricked by a heartless, ambitious woman. Who knew that the Cauldron would be latched onto so easily as a cup belonging to someone else? We had no idea what we were starting with that story,” he shook his head in amazement. “So many lies my darling,” he said sadly. 

“We have waited so long for this to end, to be free, our people free, a little more patience and I believe we shall be together again.  I think we both grow impatient with age,” she joked as they both were nearing their fourteenth century of life.  So many years were a burden.  She could never understand why, without vital purpose, anyone would want to live forever.  She thought briefly of Flamel and his obsessive work to achieve immortality.  It was not a boon but a curse for those who lived it. If she didn’t know his history, she would wonder why Olav would desire to live so many years.  She wondered sometimes if he had hoped with time he would forget, or his pain would lessen, but her senses told her it was not so.  Some events, some loves, some hates remained as acute, as fresh to the mind and eye as if they had happened yesterday.

“Much as I love to see you Nimue, what has happened and what do you need me to do? I have kept watch, I have laid the trail as we agreed. This must be a special request as I have continued to do my usual work.  Did you watch in the wee hours and today? Wasn’t it lovely?” he smiled at the recent memory of what he had seen in his sphere.

“It was enough to renew all my faith.  Nothing ever goes on the path we set exactly.  While we had planned it to unfold otherwise, it is their lives after all.  Free will is a beautiful gift. Events once again move in new and unexpected directions,” she paused. “While their danger grows we have another we must help sooner my dear.  Today Conal and his men shall need help getting free of Menwith.  I cannot do a spell of that magnitude outside the Kingdom.  I need you to put all at Menwith to sleep but for Conal and his men.”
             

“Can you guide him to safety once I cast the spell?”

“He has one of our compasses and if he will follow, I will lead him where he needs to be,” she stated simply.

“Then exhaust yourself no more my dear,” he patted her hand gently seeing the toll it took to project herself here with him.

“The next visit is your turn Merlin Emrys,” she admonished him saucily with an impish smile.

“As soon as I have them all to you I shall be there, but I can’t leave until they are all in your hands now can I?  Responsibilities must be met here, and I cannot leave anything undone,” he smiled gently and kissed her fingers one last time before she faded, leaving behind a soft whisper of love.

He got up and began the preparations for what he must do tonight, heavy in thought.  He had not performed a spell of this magnitude in many years and he would need a great deal of preparation. He stepped outside to have a small talk with a certain salamander over his door.  He passed on his instructions for the day and night while the jewel bright eyes took in his words.  He could trust his little friend to keep good watch and protect him as he worked.

Back at Jessamy’s house the satchel had been unloaded and they all sat staring at a stack of journals dating over twenty years of entries.  To read them would be a daunting task for which they hadn’t the time right now.  The two boxes worried Sebastian the most.  He wasn’t willing to open them in Jessamy’s parlor and part of his mind was detached hoping that Mick had managed the delivery of the priest’s body to Bishop. 

The vicar for Martin’s church had already shown up and the undertaker had come for his body.  Sebastian had insisted, despite Jessy’s protests, to pay for the burial and a headstone.  He somehow did not think any of them would be able to attend a service.  He felt sad for that, but each member of the house had provided something to be put in the coffin with him, small and personal things to show their appreciation for the young life taken.

He needed a space to cast a circle, but he had noticed as he stared at the boxes that Jessamy was eying him with a considering look as if she was trying to make up her mind about something serious. He could clearly see that telltale crinkle above her nose.  It was frankly making him uneasy.  He did not want to
find out her declaration of love was either going to be rescinded or not lead to her accepting that she would be marrying him properly as soon as possible.  

He also did not want any questions about his expurgated version of the past years events, especially related to anything he had done to her last night.  He had to remind himself to focus.

“I can’t do this here,” he stated to the room. “It may be too dangerous.  Considering that you have now revealed to me your parents were either crazy or smart enough to not only steal away most of the treasury of Celtica but then left it sitting in a vault in a common bank?  Who knows what they put in these boxes!”  He was still shaking his head over what a feat it was to have spirited away most of the kingdom’s treasure.  Jessy had also shown him the protection symbol traced garnet necklace that he absolutely knew had to have belonged to the Lady of Rhiannon.  Her parents had been even deeper involved than Bishop had ever let on, if even Bishop had known.