Maureen had more common sense than the rest of them put together and instincts never to be ignored. This visit would have to include more than picnics and games with the children even though they were celebrating Jessy’s birthday. The party was a day early so they could all be together with the theater closed on Mondays.
This visit they would have to decide when Sebastian would know he had a son and how to break the news. David’s mind blanked at the thought and he wished he could even begin to know what Sebastian’s response would be to the news.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
After dispatching assorted children, dogs, chickens, horses and giving Maureen’s cook the boot to help run herd over the children, the three adults settled in the kitchen. David often wondered how stunned his acquaintances at Brook’s and Tattersall’s would be to see him so at home in a country kitchen. He watched Jessy looked longingly after Trystan as he ran off to the back lawn, cricket bat in hand. It was not the usual Monday rhythm. To not spend every minute with the children was not ordinary and the children, all being a canny bunch, knew something serious was up. He’d made sure the large double windows were firmly closed and both the door to the kitchen garden and hall were shut tight as well. He wouldn’t put it past that gang to have some plans to eavesdrop. He would have attempted the same as a child, he admitted to himself.
Maureen, tucking one wild curl of pretty brown hair behind her ear got right down to it, her bright hazel eyes serious as he had ever seen them.
“So, he’s back then,” she stated and after having just sat at the table jumped up to pace the large kitchen. Sean’s sister was a widow, like Jessy, also having lost her husband, Major Robert Mallory, at Waterloo. Both women had received the news the same day back at the small Power’s family estate in Ireland where they had waited out Jessy’s pregnancy and delivery. They had been closer than most sisters ever since and Maureen viewed Trystan as much her own as any of her and Robert’s own children.
“You heard that quickly? Did Sean tell you? I thought he was seeing Henry last night, and we have always agreed nothing in writing,” Jessy questioned with a note of worry in her voice.
Maureen waved an impatient hand with a dismissive snort of disgust.
“I have my own ways of knowing,” and she pointed at the side board where a silver bowl of water sat. “Woke up two nights ago knowing someone was coming. Didn’t think it was him at first to be frank, had a strange feeling it was someone else, something else. Then last night, once I got that draggle tag gang settled for the night, I did a bit of scrying. Paid for it with a worse than usual headache. Good thing I keep willow bark on hand,” she smiled a bit tiredly.
“The more I know about the Power’s family the more I realize your ancestors were very properly named,” David sighed. Being Welsh it wasn’t like he had a strong denial for things of a magical nature but he often felt what he admitted was a twinge of envy. His own mother had the “sight” but he turned out to be just a plain man with no more special ability than to breed horses and handle a sword decently. He had a bit more of an intellectual bent than the average aristocrat and did have an aptitude for making money but, none of that was exactly “special.”
He was feeling a bit sorry for himself. His Monday’s, and the family he had helped to nurture here, were going to move beyond him. The women had started to make noises about his own lack of marital status or children anyway. He was getting to an age when he did occasionally find himself feeling a bit wistful for one woman to love and his own children about him. He’d never had quite the desire for the life of a rake his best friend had once professed.
Maureen, unable to sit still had taken herself to a scrubbed wooden table and began the motions to make bread. He had noticed whenever she was agitated she pounded pastry. Sometimes it was quite vigorous and he had to think it miraculous her breads and pastries were melt in your mouth delicious when subjected to such violence. It was useless to try and make her sit so David leaned back and took the mug of cider Jessy passed him. Jessy sat over the mug she had poured for herself looking more than slightly worried. The crease between her eyebrows and the wrinkle at the top of her nose were the deepest he had ever seen them.
“What did you see this time Maureen?” Jessy asked with reluctance. Maureen’s power of scrying was not to be dismissed as some parlor game. If the water called then it spoke to her true.
Maureen paused in the measuring and her eyes lost focus as she stood still. David felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up for something in the sudden stillness in the air around her felt like the moment before a lightning strike. He had stood too close to a tree once near Jessy’s childhood home when a storm was coming and there had been a moment of absolute quiet.
Jessy’s voice screaming his name had seemed to come from a long distance. The air had lit illuminating everything around him unnaturally before the bolt had struck the tree beside him. He had felt the lightening sing right through his body as he had laid stunned upon the ground.
He felt rather like that now. He realized his knuckles had turned white around the cup he held. He knew this had not been an “average” scrying as he felt the air move about Maureen even though she didn’t scry now but only recounted what she had seen.
“I saw a dark sea and a man with a sword of history, it sang in the old language. The language I have never heard spoken but understood. I saw your Sebastian and the shadow of Michael behind him and Michael too spoke to me but it was as if something stood between us like a pane of glass and I could not hear him. I saw Trystan with a terrible shadow over him and Redsayle turned into a dragon and the shadow screamed as the great beast swallowed it. It was a scream I hope never to hear again.”
The room seemed to breathe again and Maureen pounded the dough she had turned out with passionate punches that seemed to express a deep resentment. The more agitated she was the more bread was baked and the better the house smelled. It was a bit of an indication of her present state that he could count six loaves had already been baked and were lined along the counter. The children would have no shortage of bread and jam for tea tomorrow.
Jessy put her mug down and rose to place her arms around her dear friend. Maureen reached around to place one flour covered hand on Jessy’s.
“I don’t know what to tell you about what any of it meant. I wish I could. I have felt more cursed than blessed by this since I was a child to see and not truly know. Oh, bits and pieces are often clear but I’m just a woman of simple wants, why bother me with this ability? Why? I just wanted to hear Michael’s voice and it was the one thing denied me. He was desperate to tell me something and I couldn’t hear him. Why couldn’t I hear him? And why always these warnings of threats to Trystan we have no answer to?” And she pounded viciously down on the bread dough as her freckled cheeks flushed angrily.
Jessy felt her pain right through her own heart. She often had moments when she almost felt as if Michael was there by her if she only had the eyes to see him. She missed his humor, his kindness and often couldn’t help but wonder what life would have been like if he had lived. She had built this life as it was around these unexplained and vague threats to her child; first from her father as he lay dying, knowing without being told she was pregnant, and then from Michael.
None of it had ever made any sense but they had taken two dying men’s word for it that a threat did indeed exist. She too wished her friend could have heard Michael’s words. It would have been a comfort to his sister to hear his voice one more time.
David watched the two women comfort each other but while they concentrated on Michael and Trystan for the moment, he was intrigued by what he was sure was Maureen’s vision of King Conal. Now why would the powers that she possessed show her that? He was beginning to think the threads that connected them all were beginning to at last weave a pattern, what it was he wasn’t yet sure, but something, somehow was coming together.
“Well,” Maureen said with determination, “get me a mug of that ale whil
e I sit the bread to rise. If nothing else was clear from the vision one thing was,” she looked at them both as if she expected complete understanding to be obvious.
“What one thing would that be? I found it left me feeling little but that
Michael and my father were right to tell me to protect my son at all costs. Shadows hanging ominously over my son? That is not the first time you have had that vision but this seemed to have shaken you more than usual,” Jessy took a rather large gulp of her cider and then set it down to go and pour something stronger from the sideboard with slightly shaky hands.
“Jessamy Powers don’t play stupid with me!” Maureen nearly barked and
Jessy spilt a little of the whiskey she was attempting to pour.
“Sebastian Redsayle turning into a dragon and destroying that evil shadow makes it clear as day that you no longer have a choice. Sebastian must be told, sooner than later and that means Trystan too,” she said in a tone brooking no argument. “Our boy’s father will protect him my dear despite whatever you may think of him right now. I sense that the reasons for what we have done all these years are about to become clear.”
“I know we were hurt and bewildered when Michael wrote that letter changing his mind. We all agreed to the marriage so he could protect you and Tristan, give you both a name. I think now his reasoning was sound, he knew something my little brother did. David agrees with me too,” she looked smugly at a startled David. He hated when she did that. Sometimes it really was like this remarkable woman could read minds. But, he would be lying if he disagreed. He had been glad that Jessy had not taken the easy way out to claim that Trystan was the child of Michael Powers. Maybe part of it had only been that he hated the idea of the lie, but he thought it more likely that he couldn’t bear the idea of his best friend never knowing he had a son.
‘So, what is changing or going to happen soon that could be influencing all this? Why now and not years ago or years in the future?” Jessy was frustrated and starting to feel rather vexed. The whiskey she had downed was burning like a hot coal in her belly and she regretted having drank it.
David and Maureen sat in silence for a few moments before they started to toss out ideas.
“Sebastian’s return seems likely don’t you think?” was David’s contribution. Both women looked at him uneasily and he didn’t blame them.
How they were going to handle that situation was like blindly mixing potentially volatile chemicals with no idea what the outcome would be.
“Your birthday is tomorrow Jessy. Don’t you get access at last to your mother’s vault at the bank and the rest of your dowry? I never did understand why your father neither told you the details nor set up a trustee with access to the vault. Maybe there is something there? We’ve always agreed it was odd that your inheritance from her wasn’t released to you upon your marriage,” Maureen said thoughtfully.
‘Well the children won’t wait forever, they have waited long enough to have your birthday celebration. We’ll discuss this more after they are full of cake and tea and we can send them out to play with all those presents you brought them. You’re such a love. It’s your birthday and you bring them presents when this is your day for gifts. You spoil them all,” Maureen dropped a kiss on top of Jessy’s head before pushing her out the door to the garden and calling the children. David stopped Maureen from following with a hand on her arm.
“What did the sword say?”
“What?” Maureen looked back distracted at him.
‘What did the sword say? You said it spoke in the ancient language yet you understood,” he said intently with serious eyes boring into hers.
Maureen tucked a curl behind her ear and with equal gravity answered him, “The body shall reveal, blood will sing to steel.” She turned to head out the door but looked back over her shoulder at him, “Not very comforting words are they?” and she walked into the sunlight leaving him unnerved in the dim of the kitchen.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
He had made good time out of London. Bishop had provided him with a horse, a map and very specific instructions on how to not only approach the King of Celtica but, what information to pass on to his majesty. He had a great curiosity to meet the man that so much rested upon. He also felt a certain satisfaction. Things were truly happening now, with a purpose and an end in sight.
They had done the best they could to prepare the rebels back in the kingdom before leaving. Only the handful of resistance leaders knew the king was alive. The rest would know soon enough. Ciara, her ship’s crew and only the King’s own small band of men knew within Celtica that he had traveled to England. Ciara had been passed the knowledge of the king’s survival and his location before her father was executed. It was a sacred inheritance, to protect and defend. He knew they could trust her to handle the news of his return from the ‘dead’ and start quietly organizing the rebellions forces.
The sun was barely reaching noon as he turned down a tree lined lane. The trees were so tall and old they made deep green canopy overhead, their leaves reaching for each other and sheltering him from the light rain that had kept him damp the entire ride. It reminded him of the Old Roads in Celtica. One almost felt the trees watching and that the air rustling the leaves was the breath of old, rooted green giants. He knew the Vikings found the Old Roads a place of unease, often clutching the little stone or wooden talismans they wore around their necks if they had to travel those paths. The Gooar, interestingly enough, would not take those roads and therefore they were a perfect way for the rebels to move about the island.
The light faded suddenly and too quickly under the trees, much too abruptly and he felt his heart accelerate. A shiver ran over his skin, electric and alive. It was the oncoming rush of power. He had felt it too many times to not recognize what it meant. Something magical was coming.
He slowed his horse who snorted and pulled against the bit, nervous as he sensed the same change as his rider. Sebastian scanned the woods, tense and with one hand reached for the long slim Cauldron blade in the sheath on his leg. It was unlikely that whatever was coming his knife would be protection against. The feel of the blade was more a comfort. He had other resources at his command but also strict orders not to use them unless there was no other choice. He knew this feeling but it was impossible to know yet whether it was caused by friend or foe…
A movement through the trees caught his eye and his grip tightened on the blade. A pale, gleaming shadow leaped along through the forest to his left and then stepped delicately through the trees and into the road before him, blocking his path. A tall graceful doe that seemed made of silver and shadow, with a garland of mistletoe about its throat pawed the dirt of the lane and then stepped toward him. His breath slowed and his grip on the blade relaxed.
Only one being could take this form. As a symbol of the goddess it could not be taken by any other.
As the doe moved closer the shape seemed to unfold like a twisting fall of water, shifting liquidly from the animal to the tall form of a woman. Sebastian felt the woods turn completely silent around him, as if everything held its breath. He had learned through his years of living on Celtica that messages did not always arrive on paper. But when they came in this form, they were usually not good, but requiring urgency and necessitating the risk.
“My Lady!” he bowed from the saddle. She raised a hand and pushed back the hood that hid her face. It was a face of strikingly unusual beauty, serenity and a frightening power. It radiated from her in an aura he could feel, but not see. She lifted one hand, held before her as if making an offering. An apple, perfect and deep red appeared in her hand and she offered it to the horse who took it gently and ate it with relish as she stroked its muzzle.
“Now you are just showing off!” he smiled. She smiled in return with a little shrug of her shoulders. The smile was lovely and had a sweet impishness that somehow did not dim the fierce intelligence and power that illuminated her face. Olav was justifiably worried by this woman and had yet to ever try
and force a confrontation.
“There is danger on this road for you Rook,” she spoke simply as she continued to stroke his horse. He had the sense she did not mean just the road he was upon at this minute.
“There is always danger my lady. You must have more to tell me to have taken this risk and use so much of your gift. It is dangerous for you too,” he said with concern in his eyes. He had come to respect the courage and power of this woman above all others. If they worked and risked for the cause she truly lived for it and dedicated every moment to protecting the Celtic Kingdom. While appearing to be only about his own age, near thirty, she was the head of the priestesses and had undergone the ritual of transfer like every Lady before her. She held not only her own power and knowledge but, in the last moments of life, each passed on to the chosen successor all her knowledge as well, and maybe something more. He had heard rumors.
“Always,” she sighed. “You think too often you are not a good man Rook but here you are worrying about my safety and less of your own,” she smiled at him with real warmth. “A vision came to me.”
“Llyr himself spoke,” she touched her forehead briefly and her eyes looked troubled. “No lady in the last thousand years has heard the voice of Llyr. Rhiannon I could expect, but when the sea god himself speaks, it is more than unusual. You must take ever greater care my friend. The Gooar grow more powerful than we ever imagined. It is never as clear as we would like, hearing the voice of the gods, but hear well the words I was given.” She looked up at him and met his eyes. He found himself drowning in pools of silver that flooded his vision and the world around him slid away like a receding tide he was powerless to resist.
ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One Page 16
