Jessamy, and pretty much everyone else within hearing, looked at him like he had lost his mind, and maybe he had after all the events that had unfolded. But right now he didn’t care. Right now a laugh felt good, love felt good, having a son felt beyond good He wanted nothing more than to tuck his son into bed as the hour had grown late and make love to a princess. If this woman Maureen was right, they would have company soon of the worst kind. He didn’t know how long they would have to, not only enjoy the moment, but to prepare for what would be their next moves.
He would need to sit down with everyone and figure out how the hell they were to get out of here. Between David and Bishop surely something clever would be produced as they must return to Celtica. The only safe place for his son was with the Ladies of Rhiannon and they had a king to put back upon the throne. The real struggles had only just begun and he knew it like a painful rattle in his bones. The moments they had now were but a bubble in time. At least the news could be shared soon with the king that he was no longer a beggar at England’s table. In a bank vault in London was all the money they could possibly need to fund and raise their own army.
But before he worried about that, with all the other men patrolling the property and Emrys involved in some spell craft (Boru by his side), he figured there was a little time to remind Princess Jessamy exactly what it felt like to be thoroughly loved. Emrys and Maureen had both rather slyly informed him that if he had plans of any kind he had some time yet to fulfill them. He was starting to have an odd feeling about the old apothecary but, figured if his wild hunch was correct, he would be told if and when it was time.
Strangely, Jessamy was not in the bedroom Maureen had set aside for them. They had tucked their son in together, two hands stroking dark hair on a small and precious head. Trystan had accepted him as if he had always known him, as if he had always been there. It was a blessing he didn’t know if he deserved, but would do his best to be worthy of from here on out. He had thought she had headed for the bedroom but he found a note with one word in her small familiar script; treehouse. He laughed and ran back down the stairs and outdoors where, after a few moments of impatient searching, he found what he was looking for high in an ancient oak.
He wasn’t a boy at university anymore but he didn’t feel silly in the slightest to climb the rope ladder. They had made Trystan and so many other wonderful memories of pleasuring each other, or simply talking and holding each other, in the big treehouse at Pemberly. It seemed appropriate to start over in one too. He could still barely trust that the truth had so effortlessly set him free, that she sincerely welcomed and loved him. Probably more wisely, than the open hearted girl who had trusted and believed in the callow youth he had been. She and his son saw something good in him and he would believe too, he would be truly himself for them at long last.
When he reached the top and opened the trap door, candle light and white skin met him. She was a wood nymph standing in nothing but the cloak of her glorious red gold hair and a smile. She opened her arms to him with a promise of glory shining in her eyes. He stood still for a moment feeling what had once been and had come again for them; a river of love bursting its banks. They had no way to know that that the two that made her had felt the same once upon a time.
Today had been so full of blessings he felt tears sting his eyes at the wonder of it all. He didn’t even try to hide them. So, for the precious few hours his son slept safe and peaceful, his parents found each other again through touch and word and the sharing of souls. For this, for this woman and their child he was prepared to battle anything. Olav, his priests, and the Black Axes waited in their near future, but for now they were safe, and for now he would revel in all he had gained and all he now had to love and protect.
EPILOGUE
Lyradon, Celtica the same night
Olav felt his knees buckle under the weight of the wrenching pain in the heart that beat beneath the scar. One of his priests ran to help him but he waved him angrily away. He straightened and headed for the black globe of glass set over the small fire in the temple. The price he paid for his form of immortality was to experience himself the strong emotions of the one whose heart he possessed. He had thought to keep this one much longer as, even for him, the process of the Blood Eagle was excruciating. Once used only for torture, he had discovered with his powers a way to use it to prolong his own life.
The explosion of triumph and joy that had ripped through his chest came not from him. It came from the previous owner of this vital organ. What was elation for the enemy whose heart beat for him, was pain for him and a sign that he must have suffered a great defeat. With his replenishment of ravens still on their way to England, his own hrafn having been killed by that cat, he had been blind. The last thing Olav had seen had been the uncanny, yellow eyes, pupils like a snake, of an orange cat. Its mouth and fangs had dripped, fur coated with the black blood of one of his own men. Since coming to Celtica he had come to despise cats. The Celtic refuse that littered this island, defying him, used the very large wildcats to hound his warriors and his ravens.
What the black orb revealed to him was unclear, as if a thick window of heavy glass obstructed his sight. He knew then a powerful magician was hindering him. He could not control the orb and what it showed like a true reader could, so he used it rarely. It was one of the many reasons he had to rely on his ravens. The most he could make out was a tangle of limbs, a glimpse of hair that tugged a memory he could not place, and while he could not see the faces, he watched a man and a woman’s body meet in a languorous and tender rhythm.
Why this would bring such delight to this heart that beat for him was not clear. There was more here, he knew it, but with increasing frustration could not force his power to see anymore. Not for the first time he regretted not having worked to breed a reader for this orb. But the risk of a woman seeing what he could not, usurping any of his power was an untenable thought. He had learned long ago that women were unpredictable and rarely trustworthy creatures. If they worked for you, the job done was rarely good enough, and if they worked against you? Well, he would not underestimate any woman.
He would not rely on a woman for anything more than he had too. The red headed bitch of Govannon locked in the cell beneath him had yet to produce what he needed. No matter how many times Ulrich had lain with her, and despite all his efforts to reverse the spell cast a millennium ago, she had yet to quicken with child; the child needed for the blood sacrifice that still eluded him. His best priests and warriors had failed to bring him the bitch’s twin, Ciara Govannon, and it enraged him that this Celtic shield maiden had yet to fall into his hands.
He was trying to peer closer when he jumped back in surprised shock as the orb cleared completely and unexpectedly and he found himself staring face to face with a ferocious wolfhound. It snarled and seemed ready to leap through the crystal and tear at him. It stared straight into his eyes, huge canines bared and its howl echoed around the tower chamber. As his orb went black, like a light extinguished against his will, he could swear he heard a man’s laughter soft and sly in his ear. Oh there was indeed a powerful wizard at work here. He had yet another rival commanding magical powers. The challenge was growing with every day and he would need to carefully examine the auguries. His own plans had to succeed. He was feverishly determined they would.
Back at Mallory’s End Merlin Emrys patted the head of Boru who still softly growled. Whistling for the great beast to follow him they walked into Maureen’s house following the scents of fresh bread and brewed ale. One always ate well at an earth witch’s house. How fortunate this lovely home with the charming witch was where fate had led them all. Having prepared the protections as well as he could, and had his bit of fun with Olav, a late night snack would be pleasant.
Tomorrow would be another day of new trials, but for tonight they could all sink pleasantly into the soft air of love and joy that suffused the End in its invisible magical light.
The End…for now
Table
of Contents
CHAPTER ONE Spring 1822, the Celtic Kingdom
CHAPTER TWO London, One Week Later
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN A Thousand Years Ago… Freya’s Story
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
EPILOGUE Lyradon, Celtica the same night
ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One Page 30