ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One

by Julie Harvey Delcourt

  The timing was, of course, suspicious but he did not underestimate

  Bishop’s abilities. It was entirely possible he had engineered this feat.

  Sebastian had not been sure how he felt about leaving. It was long past time, too late for any of his past personal plans, but yet he still wanted to go. He needed to see her, even if it was just seeing, and not loving or touching or even talking. He had done all those things in the past night without finding any promise of a future. In his heart he wasn’t sure what England had to offer him anymore other than a job to do for Celtica. He was surprised how alien he felt in the land of his birth.

  A knock sounded at the door and David’s valet stood in the doorway holding a large tray. The smell of coffee wafted into the room along with that of fresh bread. It was heaven. Armstruther had just endeared himself to Sebastian forever.

  “Breakfast my lord? Lord Carvell has already gone out but asked I bring you a tray,” he intoned with the priggish correctness of all great gentlemen’s gentlemen.

  “By God yes man! Put it on the table by the window,” Sebastian followed the smells coming from the tray like a hound. He now noticed the scent of bacon mingling with the aroma of the coffee. Surely bacon was the greatest food ever discovered by man. Sebastian, at times, found strange thoughts, like feeling a bit badly for the animals who provided it, cross his mind. People would think him mad or religious if he voiced such an idea. Maybe it had something to do with the blood on his own hands that he had a new found respect for the pig’s sacrifice that provided his beloved bacon.

  “I have taken the liberty to have your boots polished and clothing pressed for you as well your lordship. When you have finished your meal simply ring. I will be glad to return and assist as you are without a valet.” he bowed himself from the room and quietly closed the door. Stiff old bastard, Sebastian thought but he was grateful for the good service. He supposed he was going to have to get on finding his own lodgings and acquiring a man of his own. He’d have to clear that with Alastair. He had no idea how long he would be in England and how lengthy a time he would be expected to play ‘dissolute nobleman.’

  He desperately wanted to go and see Jessy but he was afraid he may have already put her in danger from the Gooar Odin with the attention he had shown her. He had no reason to fear they suspected him, but until he met with Alastair he had better start exercising more caution. He had yet to pick up a trace of any priests on his trail but the escalating situation required he exercise more care.

  The Gooar Odin were not to be underestimated. The priesthood had come to Celtica with the first Vikings, an influential religious order with powers ordinary men did not possess. Indeed, it was due to them that the Vikings were on Celtica at all. Black robed, silent, and as sinister as anything he had ever encountered, they fought like fiends and their skills with knives and various forms of torture was legendary. Horrible, the lot of them. The only thing that had kept them at bay, from completely over running the kingdom, were the Ladies of Rhiannon. They were the polar opposites of the Gooar but just as dangerous in their own way.

  Thinking of the Ladies, those mystical and secretive priestesses, he clasped the green crystal that hung around his neck on a simple leather cord. It had been given to him by the Lady for a time of great need. What that need might be she never said of course, and his mouth quirked. She had also given him a few other things that might be useful, including the ability to contact her. He knew that any use of powerful magic ran the risk of the Gooar sniffing him out so he would not reach out to her except under the direst of circumstances.

  He finished off his coffee and stuffed the last of the bread and bacon in his mouth. Rising he yanked the bell pull. Best to get the day, and his work, started. At that moment he realized there was more than bacon in his bread. Carefully, though messily, he extracted what he had bitten into. A now rather damp folded paper peppered with bits of bread and bacon was dropped onto a plate. He looked toward the door Armstruther had exited with a small smile. In the tradition of all great gentlemen’s valets, Armstruther was more than he appeared.

  He gingerly unfolded the paper to read the message which, not surprisingly, was from Bishop. His plans for the day now included a visit to a shop near Westminster. As he stood there waiting for Armstruther to return to assist him, he heard a flower seller calling through the street below and heard a word that had once been magical in itself; daffodils. He threw open the window and without allowing himself to reconsider, bought every daffodil the old dam had to sell. He tossed the money down to the pavement and told the woman to wait.

  When Armstruther returned with his boots and clothing, cravat so stiffly starched it could have stood on its own, he gave the man a note and instructions for delivery. He had thought to write something poetic, something begging for forgiveness but in the end the note said only,

  I was an idiot

  S.

  He watched out the window as the old lady’s eyebrows went up when given the address and she saluted him from the street below with a cackle and a wink. He watched what had to be at least eight dozen daffodils trundle their way out of Jermyn Street to Jessy’s house on Welbeck. He just hoped she wouldn’t throw them all away when she realized who they were from. It would be a sad waste of one of spring’s best promises.

  Another thing he probably shouldn’t have done but he had to do something. He couldn’t show up on her doorstep and he had to focus on Bishop’s instructions. Getting to the destination in Westminster undetected could be interesting. He always carried a selection of knives but if he was to begin putting a mark on his back with potentially suspicious behavior and acquaintances, then he’d better start carrying a few more arms about his person. He couldn’t be certain, with the game begun in earnest, that his cover of the ne’r do well nobleman wasn’t going to last much longer.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  At Jessamy’s house situated just off Oxford, Sean exited the breakfast parlor passing another visitor who breezed in without invitation. She had to swallow an urge to tell Mick to bar the front door every morning until 10:00. Not that any visit from Henriette was not entertaining but, she really could have used a few more quiet moments. She felt a bit worn and worried. Determined to hide it, she smiled and stood to hug her friend and co-worker from the theater. Jessy had grown up without any close female companionship, her world had been David and Sebastian. The village of Throckwell had not held any girls of interest to her when she had the boys and the fens to entertain her.

  She had discovered it a surprising pleasure to have a woman friend in her life. After a couple of airy kisses to each check and a dramatic flounce into one of the chairs, Henriette took the cup of tea Jessamy offered. She was, as always, fashionably turned out and looked stunning in a cherry colored gown with navy insets and peeks of creamy lace at throat and cuff. She noticed that the waistline of her friend’s dress was a bit lower and the skirt a touch fuller. It was clear the latest edition of Belle Assemble had informed this choice. With this new style she would need some new gowns if she was not to be seen as unfashionable.

  Henriette pointed an accusatory finger a Jessy, “You were not honest with me cherie and you find me quite put out!” she announced dramatically.

  Henriette pouted for a moment fixing her with big, sad, melting brown eyes. They quickly changed to light with a devilish twinkle as she leaned forward eagerly.

  “Now you will tell me everything about the handsome and evil Earl of Redsayle!” she chuckled and tapped her nail against the tea cup Jessy set in front of her. Cocking her head to the side she gave Jessy a considering look, “I think you did not tell me all the truth about his lordship did you? As a friend it is now your duty to undo the wrong you have done and tell me the real story. You are still in love with him and him with you,” she said with decided satisfaction.

  Jessy nearly choked on the mouthful of tea she had been trying to swallow, “How ever did you arrive at that conclusion?” Jessy eyed her dear, flamboyant an
d very French friend as calmly as she could while daintily wiping her mouth and trying to stifle the panic that rose up and clutched her throat.

  Maybe there was a down side to female friends after all.

  ‘Pfft!” Henriette waved her hand as if whisking away a fly, “No man leaves looking like he did and is not in love! He was too angry for that to just be lust. I was just around the corner from your dressing room and had a very good look at him,” she stared off into the corner with a small sly smile on her face, “he was upon leaving quite aroused shall we say? And you two were a bit loud,” she laughed at the mortified look Jessy wasn’t quite quick enough to hide.

  Henriette reached for Jessy’s hand and grasped it warmly across the table.

  “We are women darling and if we are not entirely stupid, or want the same man, we help each other. You, I am thinking, need my help. You are practically an ingénue, which is shocking at your age, but no more than the truth. And I? I need all the delicious details you would not keep from your dearest friend.”

  Jessy sighed and sipped her now cold tea. She supposed if she was to confide in anyone and get the help she was afraid she badly needed, Henriette would be the person. Her friend was certainly adept at handling men. Henriette had come to England at the end of the war with her English husband, who it turned out had a wife already. She had been a star on the stage in Paris by the age of seventeen and had no problem convincing Sean to give her a job at his theater.

  She had needed employment when the real wife showed up and tossed her out of their mutual husband’s lodgings. She had found herself alone in a strange city with no money but a great deal of talent and shrewd intelligence. She was an immensely talented actress and the only thing that kept her from top billing was the fact she was French. Henriette still struggled in larger parts to mimic an English accent for long speeches.

  Henriette managed the green room with flair, juggling men with a natural ease, creating no rancor but a great deal of rivalry between her admirers. She liked men, understood them but also had an almost maternal disdain for their intelligence when it came to women. Her own experience had also taught her to guard her own heart well.

  She had the kind of beauty that Jessy envied; gloriously curling brunette hair and rich dark eyes against an ivory complexion and full rosy lips. She was curvy yet managed to convey a delicateness that suited her rather petite stature. She was a delicious and exotic bonbon of a woman that London’s gentlemen wanted to gobble up. She made Jessy feel nearly Amazonian and graceless in contrast, not to mention under endowed. They made a study in contrasts and it made Jessy smile rather than feel any jealousy.

  Truly if she was to find a way through a maze that seemed to not have an exit, Henriette could be her savior. The only problem was she was certain Henriette would want to know what outcome Jessy was looking for and she wasn’t at this moment quite sure of that answer.

  “Well?” Henriette tapped her foot impatiently.

  “Not to be put off are you?” Jessy laughed.

  “Not at all! So, first you will tell me if he kisses as well as that mouth promises and if you think all the stories we have heard about his mistresses are true.”

  “Considering the source of the stories about him were from the gossip rags here, recopying them from the ones smuggled out of Celtica, I can’t say.”

  “Hmmmm….he is deliciously bad is he not? He must be. I refuse to think a man who looks like that did not actually have a ménage a trois with the

  Italian and French Ambassadors’ wives! I love the story about how when the

  Italian Ambassador went looking for his wife and found them all in bed Redsayle just told him he was welcome to join them! Too deliciously scandalous is it not?” Henriette sighed.

  “Delicious,” Jessy muttered feeling gloomy. Henriette just patted her hand and smiled.

  “Do not mind what he did before, all that matter is what he does now,” she said wisely and with perfect French practicality. “I do wonder why we never heard if the ambassador accepted the invitation,” she mused. “I would like to know this. I knew him once upon a time. He was not an adventurous man.

  Quite staid in fact,” she said sadly.

  “Pardon me darling, but I most definitely do not want to know! If you are to help me, while I don’t mind confirming that he is indeed a most skilled kisser, I do not think that discussing his past escapades will do me any good whatsoever. I do not possess your aplomb for dealing with such things.”

  “Of course not! You are not French,” Henriette said and calmly smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. “Now let us be practical and decide what you do the next time you see him, and whether you wish to enrage him again,” she smiled impishly.

  “We must also be practical cherie. Tamworth will no doubt make another offer soon, especially as a contender has presented himself. Redsayle does not possess equal title, or equal wealth but he is a very handsome and eligible man. You must decide soon Jessamy. Do you take the bird in hand, even though romance and passion is not in your heart? Or do you risk all for the one I am thinking is your true love? It is not fair to marry one man when your heart belongs to another. At least,” she amended, “if the duke is honest and wishes to have your heart. It is not usually so in the ton. I cannot see if it is not love why the Duke would so diligently pursue a women with little fortune and a small grasp on the rung of society’s ladder.”

  “I have always had the feeling Henriette you do not really approve of the

  Duke, or am I wrong?” Jessy asked with curiosity.

  Henriette became unusually serious and thought for a moment before she spoke.

  “I,” she hesitated, “have to wonder at his real intent and purpose in pursuing you. Maybe he does love you,” she shrugged “but there are times I think there is something missing in his eyes and what I see absent when he looks at you, I maybe see for someone else.” She firmed her lips and went quiet.

  “Well with who for goodness sake? He pays me such marked attention. Who does he look at that way Henriette? Why would he keep proposing if he has feelings for someone else? Why not propose to her whoever she is? She can’t be less acceptable than I am! Unless she is a courtesan?”

  But Henriette refused to be drawn out which baffled Jessy as no one could be more willing to share gossip (discreetly) than her dear friend. Shortly after, still refusing to offer more information, Henriette departed in a flurry of kisses and one last admonishment.

  “Follow your heart my dear Jessamy. You have not the coldness to take satisfaction in simply wealth and position. I would prefer to see you marry a poor man than to find yourself unhappy. So, think deeply about what course you take. Don’t let being unable to forgive stand in the way of true happiness.”

  Jessy sat with cold tea in hand staring at the door her friend had passed through. It had gone from the usual fun and frivolous visit to one with a strange turn indeed. She had wrestled so long with the decision over whether to accept the duke. Just when she thought she could trust and rely on him enough to accept his suit and care for him, if not love him, the world seemed to be telling her path lay elsewhere after all. Who would have expected Henriette of all people to advise her to follow her heart and not title and fortune, even when it came with risk?

  She’d be a fool not to trust the instincts and the sharp eyes of Henriette, but who in the world could Henriette be willing to allude to but not name? She had been mysterious indeed. Her thoughts came to a jarring halt when she heard what could only be termed a screech of delight from Henriette at the front door. She rushed out having never ever heard her friend make a sound like that. What she saw was a poem by Wordsworth in her front hall. Oh yes, she knew it well and could hear Sebastian’s voice as if he stood beside her.

  I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high over vale and hill

  When all at once I saw a crowd, a host of golden daffodils.

  Mick handed her the note that came along with what appeared to be an entire field worth of f
lowers and, with fingers she hated to admit shook, read the simple and honest words. Henriette had plucked the note from her fingers before she had a chance to pocket it.

  “I think Jessamy darling you don’t need my help after all. You have already succeeded where most women fail,” and with a laughing kiss and plucking a daffodil for the buttonhole of her pelisse she tripped down the steps and away. Jessamy felt deserted among the host of dancing golden flowers swaying in the breeze caused by the closing front door. Damn him, she thought, oh damn him! She fled upstairs where no one would hopefully see her cry. If he was an idiot, then so was she.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sebastian had not expected to see Bishop in person so soon and the directions he had memorized and then eaten (they were after all covered in bacon grease, and had already been in his mouth) would take him into the bowels of Westminster. It was disorienting to be back in London after so many years. He had never had a chance to spend much time here. He was barely done with university before his forcible removal to Celtica and he found the city strange after years in a place so vastly different.

  The crowds, while significantly cleaner and better mannered than most of the Vikings he had lived among, were large. The constant clatter of wheels, hooves and hawking of merchants was nearly deafening. There was no open space to be seen for miles and the choke of smoke from thousands of fires caught at his throat. He had to admit that despite his polished appearance and love of certain comforts he wasn’t much for the big city. His childhood among the eastern fens with Jessy and David was far away but he found himself longing for the salty fresh air and open miles. He also realized he missed the countryside and shorelines of Celtica. As a younger man he had thought nothing could be better than to be a man about town in London and he didn’t recognize that person anymore.