ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One

by Julie Harvey Delcourt

Brendan pushed his way forward along with Gavin and seemed predisposed to have a go at Maureen who stood her ground in the face of two angry Celtic warriors.

  “What did you do woman?!” Brendan demanded.

  She eyed them back with a spark of fire in her eye and was aware that the old gentleman, who she didn’t want to openly name, was still chuckling as he settled on a bench along the wall of the yard.

  “All I did was answer his question, that’s all!”

  ‘Well what the bloody hell did he ask that the answer would cause him to faint?” Gavin nearly shouted.

  “He asked for Mrs. Power’s maiden name. He seemed quite struck by her appearance.”

  Jessamy suddenly found herself the focus of all eyes as she stood in the circle formed by her son and Sebastian on each side of her. They had both pressed closer when everyone had turned to stare as if to protect her from the attention.

  ‘Did he say anything before he fainted? I thought I saw his lips move before his eyes rolled back,” Gavin demanded.

  “He said the name Clara and then he went over,” Maureen knew who had held the name Clara and it suddenly fit. She gasped in wonder. In the way her quick mind worked she knew what had just happened. She knew why the crown had come to Jessamy and why the king had been led here. Her sister in law was not the child of the Baron Pemberly but the man unconscious in the dirt at her feet.

  She also thought she may finally have the answer to the question as to what had gotten her adored little brother killed. Michael had been given that crown for a reason, he had told them to hide Trystan among her own children for a reason, and here it was. She had been sheltering the grandson of the true King of Celtica and she wanted nothing more than to deny it could be true, for her sweet Trystan’s childhood was about to change forever.

  The name Clara rang over in over in both Jessy and Sebastian’s heads.

  The woman at whose knee they had sat through childhood, teaching them of Celtic myth, history and the Caelig language had known the king well enough for him to faint seeing her daughter. No man reacted this way to just seeing a woman who resembled someone he had no powerful care for. Her mother was her mother Jessy thought but the Baron, papa, had maybe not been her father. The man’s hair in the lover’s knot in the locket was the exact shade of the man lying in the dirt. Papa was not papa?

  “Of course he was my dear,” she heard the old man she had seen tell her, unaware he had walked up to her little trio. “He bandaged your knees, he protected you with his life, he loved you as his own, and he put you on your first pony. He was your papa child in every way that matters. Don’t hold it against him you weren’t told. He and Clara protected you and loved you with everything they had to give.”

  “Thank you-“she realized she didn’t know his name.

  “Emrys my dear child, just Emrys,” he took her hand gently.

  “Thank you Emrys, you told me exactly what I needed to hear. He did love me and they surely had a reason to not tell me,” the question in her voice was clear.

  “Oh yes indeed they did, which if his majesty will come around and get to his rather large feet, you shall have an answer to, once he convinces himself it is true. The rest of us have already figured it out, but then we’ve been conscious,” he chuckled and wondered off to check on the king again.

  The servants meanwhile had been unloading the carriages and David had dropped the satchel thoughtlessly in the dirt when he had seen the king go down. The journals and boxes had slipped partially out of the bag to lay on the ground. As they watched Maureen put a cold cloth on the king’s head, he began to stir. With the return to awareness came a momentary confusion as to why he was laying in the dirt, followed quickly by embarrassment and then, being at eye level with the satchel and the spilled contents, he sat abruptly upright.

  “You!” he pointed at David, “Bring me one of those journals!”

  David started at being pointed at but did what the man asked. He grabbed the one that had slipped furthest out and then stopped to look at Jessy. She just shrugged her shoulders.

  “Those are my mother’s journals sir- I mean - I think your majesty, yes?” No one had yet had a chance to introduce everyone but, after what Sebastian had revealed, and a manor littered with armed Celtic warriors, there was no doubt this man was King Conal of Celtica.

  He held the leather bound, pale green book reverently, stroking his hand over it gently.

  “How old are you Jessamy Grace?” he asked softly.

  “I just turned twenty six sire,” she answered and watched the king close his eyes briefly.

  “And how long after your mother returned from Celtica where you born?” he now stood directly in front of her looking down intently with his bright sea colored eyes.

  “I don’t know for sure,” she answered confused and unsure.

  But then Birdie strode strongly across the yard to reach the king.

  “Six months after they returned your majesty,” and everyone who knew her was shocked to watch her kneel at the king’s feet.

  “Birdie,” the king smiled softly, “Always faithful, still among us.” “I promised you didn’t I? And then her,” she said stoutly.

  “So it is true?” he asked quietly with a desperate edge of hope to his voice.

  “Aye,” Birdie smiled.

  “Why didn’t she tell me or you tell me?”

  “It was too risky when we need fear for their safety and it wasn’t looking good was it? You told her you probably wouldn’t come back from that last battle, and you didn’t. We thought you dead and kept the secret thanks to the Baron,” and here she touched her forehead and heart, “Rest his good soul.” The king walked slowly to Jessamy and placed his hands on either side of her face looking deeply into her astonished eyes. He then folded her into his arms and after a moment she found her own arms wrapping around his strong form. She could feel the locket trapped between them. The Baron would always be papa but this man was indeed her father.

  She remembered her mother’s eyes when she would hold the locket and now felt she understood the look of her eyes, so very far away. She had loved this man and, Jessy realized with a pang, had missed him every day despite the sweet companionship she had shared with the Baron. Without speaking she lifted the locket out of her bodice and showed it to the king. His eyes lit and then softened as he held it gently in his big rough hand.

  “I loved Clara with all my being daughter, she was my wife and she was the heart of me. I have always suffered to think that when I regained my throne, the seat beside me would be empty, but she has given me you,” and he smiled tenderly into the face the mirror of her mother’s.

  “Wife?! You mean you married my mother?’ Jessy asked in astonishment then realized she could have just seriously offended her new found father. But he just laughed.

  “Of course I did,” he said gently. “I am not the kind of man that would lay with the woman I love and not marry her! Lucky for me, she said yes. The ceremony was a secret. Only a handful of people were there. Among the witnesses were Birdie, Prince Ban of Govannon, your grandparents and the previous Duke of Tamworth. I believe his son was outside holding the horses for us.”

  Sebastian and Jessamy both felt simultaneously shock roll through them, along with Bishop, and the other’s there who knew Tamworth had been courting her. He knew! He must have known all along! What he had planned by courting Jessy she could not know, but the lie, the withholding of truth marked him as an enemy. They had no chance to say anything about Tamworth yet as the king looked about the curved drive of the house with purpose and drew his sword.

  He stepped away from everyone and beckoned to Jessy who went as if in a dream. She stood beside him as he raised his sword. Trystan twitched but Sebastian held him still. The king drew a circle in the dirt of the drive and then holding the sword high proclaimed loudly:

  “Hear me now you who stand as witnesses. This woman’s mother was born Clara Arden. She was Princess Clara of the House of Llyr and this woman
is our daughter. I am the true king of Celtica, she is the true princess of the Royal House. I swear this in the name of Llyr and Rhiannon. From today she is Princess Jessamy of the House of Llyr and my rightful heir. Hail your princess!”

  Shouts from Conal’s men, Sebastian, Emrys, Bishop (who had stood silently watching the tabloid unfold) the children and servants rose into the air of Hail Princess Jessamy! Jessamy felt it wash over her like a shout of benediction and fealty. She tried desperately to lock her shaking knees in place.

  Next the king pinned Rook with a stern look and the king, not the fisherman, was very much in evidence.

  “Am I to assume my grandson is not legitimate? That you had knowledge of my daughter without making your vows to her Redsayle? She carries another man’s name and is not your countess,” and Sebastian for the first time understood the thousands of years of royal blood that flowed in this man. He was quite sure if he wasn’t able to give the right answer the King’s Blade would be severing his head from his body.

  He walked forward with his arm around Trystan and they both knelt outside the drawn circle. Now the rest of the truth would be told.

  “Sire, Trystan is legitimate. By the laws of Celtica we were hand fast. Jessamy and I pledged our vows to each other under the summer solstice moon and bound our hands together in the old way, sharing our blood. Trystan is my son by blood and law. Jessamy is my wife by sworn bonds predating her marriage to Michael Powers. England does not recognize this but now, only the laws of Celtica matter,” Sebastian watched Jessy’s mouth drop open and then her face light as she looked at her son. Not a bastard, not a lie, not to be illegitimate after all. All the questions and stigma that this country would have tainted him with now would no longer matter. Her heart sang and danced, her feet could have floated above the ground. The weight she had carried all these years had fallen from her shoulders at last.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  The king drew himself up further and a sense of majestic, and mystical gravity infused the air. The import of what was occurring was felt by everyone, even Boru held himself stock still and proud next to Emrys, who knelt outside the circle with everyone else. The Celtic warriors were on bended knee with their swords pointed down into the earth and their hands folded upon the pommels.

  “Step inside this circle Earl with my grandson and receive my blessing,” The man and boy stepped inside the circle and knelt again, Trystan vibrating with excitement. The King’s Blade was laid upon Sebastian’s shoulder and for a moment he swore he felt the blade vibrate. The king pronounced him his son in law and now to be titled Prince of Anglynn of the Kingdom of Celtica and Defender of the Realm.

  “Here me now,” he commanded, “The wars and division that have poisoned our kingdom are not that of Viking against Celt or Briton, but that of good versus evil. I hold no hatred for those of Viking blood and pledge, as did my father, to protect all that are loyal to Celtica and who disavow the Gooar Odin.”

  “The people of Celtica need not swear to worship only Rhiannon, the

  Goddess herself would have our people be of free will and free religion. Our

  war is to free our land from oppression. This man,” and here the king gestured to Sebastian, “is both Viking and Prince of Celtica. He stands as my proof that I will see our land united, as he and my daughter are united, and stand for no more prejudice against one another. Celtica shall be a kingdom of people to live and worship freely and without fear. The reign of terror of the Gooar and the Black Axe shall end. We will defeat the evil that has infected our kingdom and restore it as a beacon of peace and harmony. This I swear in my own blood,” and with the sword made the ceremonial cut across his forearm. With the blood that welled from his arm he marked the forehead of his daughter, his son in law and now his grandson.

  He smiled down at his small grandson and the pride and love were already clear in his face.

  “Trystan, child of the Royal House of Llyr, son of the Prince of Anglynn and Princess Jessamy, I name you heir after your mother and Prince of the Celtic Kingdom,” and he touched the King’s Blade to the slim shoulder of the boy but, when the blade touched the child a miracle happened. The image of the blade wavered and then erupted in a shaft of light so bright they were all momentarily blinded. A burst of sound like a wondrous, wordless song rose from the earth, the air and all around them. When the light faded to a glow the blade was no longer the same. The sword itself had transformed, altered into another sword before their astonished eyes.

  The stone in the center of the Sign of the Light now glowed an unearthly blue/white light and the blade itself was awash with the same color. A complexity of runes burned golden bright along the blade and Sebastian heard the voice of Emrys speak.

  “An rí atá ar ais arís, na fuil Arthur,” and the reverence and satisfaction in his voice were clear, but held no surprise. Sebastian translated silently to himself, the king who returns again, the blood of Arthur. It appeared the blood of Arthur had returned in the form of a not quite seven year old boy and his father was absolutely, completely terrified.

  Sebastian heard the gasps from all the people gathered beholding the miraculous transformation of the King’s Blade into the greatest sword of myth and legend, a sword it turned out, which was very real indeed and hidden in plain sight for over a thousand years.

  Now even the king knelt with awe as he handed the blade to Trystan who took it without fear or hesitation, though it was heavy across his small hands.

  “I have dreamed all my life of this sword. It speaks to me in my dreams and tells me its name. The stories in books call it Excalibur, but that is not its name. It was crafted by the smith Wayland in the Great Cauldron to be the great defender, to unify the blessed lands. But grandfather, I am not ready for it,” he said softly but earnestly. “You must carry it for me and take the kingdom. I will use it for the people, but not in battle, not yet. I am still just a small prince and you are the king,” and he handed back the miracle blade to his tall grandfather with absolute faith.

  When Conal alone touched it, it returned to its original appearance, all sign of its true nature erased. The king sheathed it silently with a nod and placed his hand in a salute over his heart. Conal’s family had carried this sword for centuries and never known what it was they held. This blade of legend had been carried by every King of Celtica completely ignorant of its truth. The Lady of Rhiannon was just as clever as Ciara had said, a canny one indeed. The last place the Gooar would ever expect to find the sword they sought would be in the recorded King’s Blade of Llyr. It was beautiful, lethal but never showing signs of anything exceptional; just a sword.

  The terror in Sebastian had grown to choke him. He had just found his son only to discover his son and his woman were royalty. As if that was not enough he and Jessamy had somehow created the weapon, the sacrifice that Olav and the Gooar had spent centuries trying to create. Viking blood and Llyr blood had made a child. Now one child was the answer to the prophecies of both the priesthood and the Ladies of Rhiannon.

  How the blood of Arthur ran in his child he did not know. That must be why he and Jessy had been able to make what no one else could. His child could end up either destroying the kingdom and fulfill the ancient Viking prophecy or free Celtica from evil powers for all time. It was a terrible weight for such a small boy to carry, and maybe even more so for the parents who loved him. He had everything to learn about his son but, if the calm and aplomb when the king had recognized him was anything to go by, he would probably handle it better than Sebastian would.

  He put his arms around both Jessamy, whom he intended to properly marry as soon as possible, and his son, praying he could keep them both safe. He watched everyone else scatter alone into small pairs to find something to occupy themselves, needing he knew, to adjust and digest all that had happened this day. They also seemed to know that the small and new family needed time to themselves.

  He heard Sean behind him say, to the young Frenchwoman Henriette, with a tinge of sadn
ess that Jessamy would not be playing Boadicea after all. Sebastian almost laughed at the morose tone and that, rather than being amazed he had been starring a princess on his stage, he was worried he was losing his star actress.

  Bishop seemed to be muttering about having had some very vital information kept from him (and didn’t seem happy about that) and walked off muttering something about how he and the Lady or, and he turned and eyed Emrys who looked back innocently, maybe someone closer, needed to have a little talk. Tim was already running about looking for likely targets for his prized slingshot. Everyone seemed to have their own thoughts to mull and actions to take.

  He had no idea where David had gone but he noticed the satchel was no longer laying in the dirt. He was probably finding someplace to hide it while his thoughts wove together the threads of the wild and scattered days he had just survived. Sebastian could trust that if anyone could put all this together and devise a strategy to get them to Celtica, it would be David. Since childhood David had been the brilliant one. David had already had the forethought to put his old regiment on alert after all.

  Sebastian had never once managed to beat him at a game of chess. How many hours they had spent in the library as children, Sebastian growing increasingly discouraged. He smiled at the memory. He thought of all the times, even as a small orphaned ward at Redsayle, he had managed to outwit the Countess without her even knowing.

  Then it hit Sebastian, as thoughts of childhood back at Redsayle had filled his mind. All the years his Black Axe mother had played spy and false friend to the Grace family, the lengths she went to keep him and Jessamy apart, if she had let them be together she could have delivered to Olav the one thing his followers wanted more than anything else. Oh the irony! He couldn’t help but laugh out loud knowing that when his mother’s failure was found out Olav would see she got what was coming to her. The responsibility for dealing with her traitorous acts was no longer his and while it might be cowardly, he felt relief. He would be happy to never see that harpy again.