As Maureen and Boru welcomed the arrivals, whom Maureen had instantly recognized as the man in her scrying bowl, the children and the rest of the dogs came tumbling from the house. The horses were taken to be watered, fed and stabled after their hard work. All the dogs took turns inspecting the visitors with wet noses, heavy sniffing and wagging tails. They all passed the dog test, as it where, no growls or baring of teeth at anyone.
Conal noticed nearly all the children, girls and boys, though varying in age and size, were clearly the children of this woman he now knew was Maureen Mallory. Two of the children were different. One was a young dark haired girl but, the boy with a tumble of black hair across his brow gave him pause. This boy hung back and eyed him. Conal had to admit the stare of a child had never unnerved him before, but this one did. He beckoned him closer and the boy came with caution and curiosity.
That was when Conal started with surprise. There couldn’t possibly be any way this child was not Rook’s. Those amber eyes were unique in themselves, but the features, and the way he held himself were all too familiar. He caught Maureen’s eyes on him and she shook her head subtly. So, he would not say anything then. This was an interesting mystery but maybe helped explain why he had been guided here.
He and his men had been fed a substantial and delicious meal. The men left to fan out around the boundary of the walls. He stayed and sat with his hostess enjoying a mug of the cider she made herself here at this small estate.
Maureen had told him she knew something was coming and had prepared. She didn’t think what had set her and Boru on alert was him and his men for these men posed no danger to her or her family. She also told him the boy, he now knew was named Trystan, said his mama was coming too so the house was about to become very full. She did not explain how this interesting child knew this and he didn’t ask.
He found it refreshing that with this woman did he not have to hide who he was, where he was from, or the magical connections of his life. She was remarkably easy to be with, a comfortable and yet entertaining companion. He found her a calming presence to sit with and wait. They talked and he found himself pouring out the years of solitude and broken hope in the fishing village and his concerns about not only the fight ahead but his own fitness for the work. She talked of her husband’s death at Waterloo and their life here in her husband’s ancestral home. It had passed to their eldest son, still so small, when his father was killed.
He realized he had not enjoyed such honesty, peace or ease in a woman’s presence since he had lost his wife. He now found himself wishing he had possessed the courage when told of her death to ask of her life. Depending on what happened here, he may never have the chance to find out what her life had been after her escape. The more he talked with this woman across the scrubbed wooden table from him, the more he worried what had been brought to her doorstep. He worried for the children. He had asked if they should be sent away and she had emphatically refused. She had utter faith in the people coming and in the fate that had brought him to her house.
“You were not brought here to die your majesty or endanger my children,” she had smiled with certainty.
“How can you be so sure? I will never forgive myself if I have brought tragedy to your doorstep. I had no expectation I would be brought to a family’s home with children.”
“My bowl,” she gestured at the silver bowl on the kitchen sideboard, “has never led me wrong and I saw not only you. I saw Trystan’s father turn into a shadow eating dragon. If you won’t trust in your Lady leading you here then trust in my own absolute faith.”
“Trystan’s father –,” he began only to hear the sharp friendly bark of
Boru outside and Maureen cut him off to start a dash out the door.
“They’re here!” she cried with relief as she ran off to the gate. He could hear a great commotion even from here inside the manor and had to think more than just one woman had arrived. It sounded like a battalion had landed on the doorstep of Mallory’s End.
CHAPTER THIRTY
In London the Duke of Tamworth, was standing before the large, ornate desk of the Prime Minister, Lord Liverpool. His sallow features were an unhealthy red, even to the scalp visible beneath his thinning hair.
“Explain to me Tamworth why the King of Celtica would feel it necessary for him and all his men to leave your custody?” he asked with rage and menace in his voice. “How indeed did they manage to leave without anyone in your household knowing it?” he pounded one fist on the desk.
Tamworth was quite certain that telling the Prime Minister that the king had escaped by the use of a powerful magical spell was not going to go over; despite what they all knew about Celtica. He needed to think fast to save his own neck and political career, not to mention his own plans. He didn’t think that offering Coughlin or Rathborn up as sacrifices would work either as it was his house at which the king had been staying.
“My lord, they used the ruse of a fishing excursion along the river bordering the property. I believe they had friends, other allies waiting with horses and their weapons to leave from there. No one, and I mean no one, saw them. We had no reason to suspect that a man who had come to us for help would abandon us in this way. He is a king after all and my power as a Peer only extends so far when dealing with royalty.”
The Prime Minister eyed the man standing before him. He had known this man’s father and while he had never been given any real reason to doubt his capabilities or trustworthiness, he had known deep down this man was not the caliber of his father. It had been his father’s own past as ambassador to Celtica that had swayed him to include, indeed head, England’s plans to restore the Celtic King and dethrone that duplicitous bastard Ulrich.
England needed the right king on the throne of Celtica for England’s own economic health and most of all they needed to root out the Viking sympathizers who had and were still, wreaking damage to his country’s intelligence network. He would not, as long as he had breathe in his body, tolerate any Englishman working against his own country, or supplying their enemies with information.
“My lord,” Tamworth thought quickly, “I have to regret to say that I believe the agent known as Bishop may be behind this. You know he is of an eccentric and unorthodox character, maybe his wits have at last come loose? Who else would have the trust of the king’s men to encourage such a rash action? I, do not know him myself of course,” and to the Prime Minister, Tamworth sounded hard put to keep the irritation from his voice over that lack of trust by the Foreign Office, “but one hears things in my position.”
Liverpool turned his back on the duke and stared out the large windows of his office. He did not want the man to read his face at this moment. He was not an idiot, you didn’t become Prime Minister, survive an assassination attempt and hold onto this position by being a fool. This man behind him was playing him as if he was. He knew Bishop far better than Tamworth could possibly imagine. In fact, Tamworth had just handed the Prime Minister the piece that settled for him that the duke was no longer to be trusted. There was something else going on here and he would find out what it was. When he left this office, Tamworth, and the other men who had been at Menwith, would be watched every hour of the day.
He turned back around and said with a conciliatory smile, “Well possibly you are right Your Grace and it is something to consider. We will send out men to search for the king, your own too if they are not already looking, and surely we will bring him back to our fold soon,” and with that he dismissed Tamworth.
He quickly dispatched instructions to several agents he trusted to follow these men who had now become of greater interest to him. With the first report back he found it very fascinating indeed that the place one of them went first was the house of his sister. Now why would a man with such urgent work to be done go first to his sister’s house, especially when the master of the house, who could conceivably be of help, was not there? Maybe it would behoove them to turn one of the servants of that household to their own purpose
s. It was a thought he wished he had had sooner in this enterprise.
At Mallory’s End a cavalcade had arrived at the gate. Two carriages, several horses, at least ten people and another horse dashing up behind them. This caused some alarm, until they heard Rook’s voice call out a welcome to the last arrival and they relaxed. His men looked to Maureen. They had their swords out and at the ready barring the way through the gate.
‘Let them in gentlemen. These are the friends and family I expected. Quickly now everyone get through the gates, don’t dawdle, I set up a protective boundary.” Maureen shooed with vigorous hand motions until she had everyone through and only noticing the elderly man riding pillion on the last horse when he spoke to her.
Maureen could see the shock and then resignation flit over the face of the man she knew must be Redsayle as he saw the armed men (who seemed to recognize him) opening the gates. He rode past them shaking his head.
“A fine job my dear girl, a fine job,” the old gentleman addressed her. “I think I detect your bloodline already in the work you’ve done. You won’t mind if I add a little something to your spell work will you?” and Maureen felt her mouth fall open slightly. Not only did he recognize her as a witch as casually as that, but he himself would seem to be wizard.
Maureen stared a bit dumbfounded at this man who looked quite old but had jumped from the horse with decent vigor and spoke with a strong voice. Like a gong going off in her head a name resounded as their eyes met, but-but it couldn’t be, could it?
“Yes it could,” his eyes twinkled at her but she was not blind and she saw an awesome power held in check behind those lake grey eyes. If what was coming was as bad as her senses told her, this man was welcome beyond measure. She felt a little bit of weight lift from her shoulders. While swords were well and good, the magic and malice that was trickling toward them like a slowly building stream, would require more than steel and her own magic to be fended off.
The trip had been made in silence and Jessy had fretted the entire way. She had almost ridden in the carriage to get started on the journals but, David had insisted she ride Abellius, knowing there was probably not a horse in England that could catch him if she needed to make a run for it. Of course, what she didn’t say was there was no way on this earth she would leave her loved ones alone to face an attack.
She was sick that there had been no chance of preparation for either Sebastian or Trystan and here they were at the End. This wasn’t right and she found herself doing something she hadn’t done since a child; chewing her nails to a nub. She practically threw herself at Jem when she didn’t see Trystan right away.
“Jeremiah,” she said and that caught his attention. His full name meant he was in trouble or in for serious business. Aunt Jess’s face was a picture of urgency but not anger, so he figured she didn’t know yet he had given Abellius those sugar cubes during the birthday celebration. That was an absolute rule he had broken.
“I need you to find Trystan immediately and take him inside and keep him there! It’s vital,” she practically shook the poor boy by his bony shoulders.
But he wasn’t looking at her any longer but at the tall man who had dismounted in the forecourt and he felt his breath hitch. Jessy noticed he was not paying attention to her anymore and heard that quick breath as well.
The silence behind her was a premonition she was too late, she had run out of time and she may have just walked into the worst error of her life. What if he didn’t forgive her? What if Trystan didn’t forgive her? She was literally sick with dread as she turned slowly, unable to draw a breath. The tableau that met her eyes was of something she had dreamed, fantasized about, but with both man and child ready and knowing, not like this. Not like this! Her heart cried out.
Facing off only yards apart, one topping six feet and one maybe four and half feet, were Sebastian and Trystan. Identical falls of black hair across their brows and matching amber/gold eyes were assessing each other. She couldn’t move. She didn’t know what to do. The world slowed and then narrowed to a pin prick. She felt for the first time in her entire life that she was going to faint, and then David was there holding her up. It was obvious to anyone and everyone that this had to be father and son and then, like everything else this day, it did not go as expected.
“Papa,” Trystan said calmly with a small, shy smile and glowing eyes, “I knew you would come soon,” and then he had raced the distance and Trystan leaped to hug Sebastian with a muffled cry. Sebastian stood utterly still for a moment, his eyes swinging to meet Jessy’s and her look begged for all the forgiveness she could put into it, all the love she felt for them both. With a smile that nearly shattered Jessy’s heart he swung his son up and held him tightly against his chest. The two dark heads together, two sets of arms, large and small holding tightly. They looked as if they would never let go.
David was so shocked he forgot to hold onto Jessy who had sat down hard in the dirt, her legs giving out entirely. She watched Sebastian, tears coursing down his face as he held his child. It wasn’t until she saw the water dropping like rain into the dirt in front of her that Jessy realized she was crying too. How Trystan had known right away she couldn’t explain, but it mattered not, all that mattered was that she had indeed done the right thing by not telling him Michael was his father. His real father was clutching him like a lifeline and, she had known while there would be explanations demanded, she would undeniably be forgiven for holding this one beloved secret.
Conal felt Maureen who stood close to him sag with relief and looked down at her with a question in his eyes.
“No, neither of them knew. Redsayle left before he knew Trystan’s mother was pregnant. They had never met nor known about each before,” and she pulled out a rather serviceable hanky to dab at her wet eyes.
“I knew the minute I saw that child he had to be Rook’s son. You called him Redsayle? I knew when I met him there was Viking blood there. I even knew his mother. My father actually suggested I marry Rook’s mother,” and he laughed at the pure satire of it all. “How ironic the son of a Black Axe family would be among my strongest and most loyal allies. Especially the child of a woman as fanatic as Astrid Haraldsdotter,” he mused with a smile.
“Well, I think you just answered a question. Raised on fanaticism it can only go one of two ways. It’s like a crucible; the child will find their identity forged either way. In this case, I would say he saw the truth of his mother’s beliefs and came out a better man. Wait…Rook? Why do you call him Rook?
You mean like a bird?” Maureen asked puzzled.
‘No, I mean like a chess piece. He’s a spy and has been working and risking his life to help me get the throne back.” It was then he noticed the tall, blond, well-tailored and ridiculously handsome man hurrying across the yard to help up a woman sitting in the dirt. A dark haired man was talking to her and trying to get her up on her feet.
His heart literally stopped. He found himself clutching his chest. Maureen took in the look on his face and the hand clamped to his heart. She thought maybe the king was having a heart attack. She nearly panicked. Maureen reached for him and tried to lead him to sit on the stone bench near the front door.
“Conal! Your Majesty! What is it? Are you all right?”
He found himself raising one shaking finger to point at the young woman now being united with the dark haired man and child, her copper hair tangling in the enthusiastic embraces of the man and child.
‘W-who is th-that?” he found his voice shaking.
Maureen looked between Jessamy and the king bewildered.
“My sister in law, Jessamy Powers,” she answered.
“Sister in law. She had another name then? Powers is her married name?” he asked urgently.
“Yesss,” she said slowly.
“What was her maiden name? Tell me quickly!” he urged so vehemently she was taken aback and almost frightened at the intensity burning in his face.
“Grace, Jessamy Grace, daughter of the Baron and Ba
roness of
Pemberly.”
He stood up suddenly, his whole mind and heart ablaze with incredulous joy.
“Oh Blessed Rhiannon, Clara!” were the last words he spoke before Conal, the man who would be king, felt his eyes roll up and blackness rush over him. He landed like the large and solid man he was; a ton of bricks. Maureen was just relieved he had missed hitting his head on the bench. She certainly couldn’t have stopped his fall. Even for a witch and mother of five, this was all a bit too much. Once she got this king back on his feet she was having a strong drink and getting more answers than good intuition and her scrying bowl had provided.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Everyone had rushed over to the fallen man, even as Sebastian had fixed Jessy with a lit up and yet stern look mouthing we will talk later. This would be a pure disaster if after all that happened, and the work of so many people, the king stuck his spoon in the wall.
Emrys took a quick look at him and pronounced with a quivering laugh in his voice that the king had only fainted.
“Even kings can only take so much in one day you know and she does look exactly like Clara,” he continued to smile.
ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One Page 28