My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga)

by Tamela Quijas

  Although, what Leslie lacked wasn't dealt his son. The younger Nathan reflected the solid stamp and his arrogant grandfather, due to the resemblance, worshiped the youth. Leslie choked back a bitter and familiar surge of envy.

  “I wish to speak to young Nathan.” The old man stated in weary tones.

  “Are you requesting I leave the room?” Leslie demanded roughly, although he never inherited the impressive quality of his sire's booming intonations. “Do you wish to malign me further?”

  “No, Leslie, I don't believe your son will permit me.” He breathed petulantly. “Despite all, your son respects you. You should be pleased.”

  “Is this true?” Leslie received only the curtest of nods from his son. Awkwardly, Leslie patted his son's broad shoulder, the action stilted. Leslie's lax jowls quivered and he raised his nonexistent chin before turning back to his father. “Nevertheless, he's incapable of understanding what you may wish to discuss.”

  “Don't demean the young man!” The earl berated in his warbling tones, his expression menacing.

  “But…”

  He closed his eyes, the conversation taxing. “He's my namesake and capable of comprehending everything set before him.” The earl cut his tirade short, a gasping cough tearing from his chest.

  The silent youth hurried toward his grandfather. He coaxed the frail form upright with gentleness far beyond his youthful years. Jaw set, he cupped his large hand on the bent back and executed a few strokes that eased the crackling cough. As the elder Nathan settled on the linen sheets, his coughing spell relieved, his grandson frowned. Silence filled the room as the youth pressed a goblet full of water to his grandfather's lips.

  “It would be wiser if I stayed.” Leslie persisted with dogged determination.

  “He will, as I'm certain, understand what I have to say. Is this not true, my boy?”

  “Yes.” Nathan affirmed in a deep baritone, rising to his feet. He set the goblet aside and moved toward the windows, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Are you a mutton head, my boy?” The man's voice held a tremor undifferentiated as laughter or scantily checked anger.

  “I am most assuredly not, Grandfather.”

  “Thus, Leslie, your son is not an addle wit.” The earl answered mockingly, his brow furrowing before his eyes hardened. He raised an imperious hand and pointed toward the open doorway. “Begone, Leslie, and speak to the vigilant priest anticipating my demise. Pray for my damned soul, if it should please you. I'm certain, as you would agree; I have become a genuine pain in your backside.”

  “I would never do such!”

  “Enough, Leslie,” a weak but oddly indulgent smile curved the earl's lips. “You might ask the man to absolve you for the lie.”

  Leslie turned on his heel, his body quivering with each indignant step as he stalked away. He shut the doors with a substantial bang that echoed throughout the manor house.

  Neither the infantile action, nor sound, startled either man.

  “You shouldn't taunt him,” the younger man chastised in a subdued whisper. He approached the immense bed and negligently leaned against the carved cherry wood poster. Burrowing his shoulder into the wing of a carved cherub, he folded his arms across his chest in resignation. He pursed his lips and set his jaw in a mutinous mirror image of the man.

  “It has become the sole pleasure of my day,” the earl chuckled. “I admit I shall miss tormenting him. Although, perhaps, not nearly as much as he'll miss irritating me.”

  “That as it may be, Grandfather, but you send him into a rage.”

  “Leslie's conniptions can be damned.” He observed with candid brutality, frowning. Nathan stifled a threatening burst of laughter, his grand sire's scowl resembling that of his father. “I grow weary of his tantrums.”

  Nathan's arms fell to his sides and he shook his head. “My father could be a good man, if given the opportunity.”

  “Leslie had the opportunity, years ago. Even then, it was in him to turn his back on responsibility and bask in the wealth without the toil. It was what his addle-witted mother had taught him.”

  “You're unjust in your judgment, Grandfather.” Nathan protested.

  “No, I'm not. I've been lax in my duties since becoming bedridden. Ill I may be, stupid I'm not. I'm aware who has taken charge of Colinwood, meets with the estate manager, ensures payments, and accounts for the tithes. Likewise, I know who would prefer to be in London, relishing the season.”

  Nathan grimaced. Even from his deathbed, the man was mindful of the events surrounding him. “My father hasn't the head for the estate. He prefers other distractions. Since your illness, I believed it my duty that the estate operates as smoothly possible.”

  “I was barely twenty when I inherited.” The earl pointed out. “You are eighteen, still a callow youth in many eyes, to have assumed the duties.”

  “Not as a Ravensmoor, it isn't.”

  The earl radiated with satisfaction at the response. Wearily, his eyes closed, and his burst of strength appeared to dissipate. Nathan waited for his grandfather to speak and, as the silence grew, he sighed.

  “Do you understand the meaning of love?” His grandfather asked suddenly, his words a lazy whisper. Stunned, Nathan said nothing, but a slow grin lit his face.

  “Oh, yes.” The grin widened. His thoughts filled with the image of the saucy downstairs maid with generous breasts and a swishing backside. “Molly Sinclair makes it easy for a man to fall in love.”

  “Ah!” The earl opened his heavy lids and his lips twisted. “Easy is an appropriate word. Molly is a casual tumble and a tart. She delights in sating her jaded desires on many a young and gullible lad.”

  “She does have certain attributes I enjoy.” Despite the carefree grin, the youth's face flushed a brilliant shade of scarlet.

  “I'm confident she does,” the earl emitted a rueful chuckle before sobering. “What she does is not love, only lust.”

  “Is there another?” The boy asked with the ease of youth.

  “The love, of which I speak, has little to do with the loins. I speak of a love that stirs the deep recesses of your heart, which never vanishes and steadily grows.” He remarked in a faraway tone. “I speak of a love which happens betwixt two souls but once an eternity.”

  The smile disappeared from Nathan's face. “May I ask the direction of this conversation?”

  “As you're aware, the title of Ravensmoor is in your future.” The earl became dreadfully serious, his expression darkening as he spoke. “As well as the estate and other responsibilities befalling the title, I have a far more priceless undertaking to pass to you.”

  “Ah, does the task have to do with love?” Nathan smirked, sobering immediately at the sight of his grandfather's rapidly blackening countenance.

  “Yes, my boy, the task is a labor of love.” The earl agreed, appearing to calm.

  Once again, he heaved a great sigh and his magnificent eyes misted. His watery gaze journeyed over Nathan's disheveled locks, sun-kissed skin and work stained shirt. He had known, from the moment of his namesake's lusty entry into the world, he would be the one.

  “Listen to me with a clear and open mind, my boy. I have a confession to make before I depart this earth.”

  “Do you want to summon the priest?” Nathan started forward, concern etching his face. “Father Donovan is more competent than I.”

  “All committed with a pious ear in hopes of salvaging my black-hearted soul. I will not, and shall not, confess to an over-zealous hypocrite what I'm about to divulge to you.” His grandfather retorted bitterly. His twisted fingers plucked at the coverlet as he looked at the boy. “Are you a dependable man, Nathan?”

  “You know I am.”

  “Would you abide by any task I may set before you?”

  “Yes.”

  “No matter how trying it may prove?”

  Carefully, Nathan considered the question before nodding.

  “This favor I request shall be a mighty responsib
ility for the next Earl of Ravensmoor.”

  “I am prepared for any task you set before me.” The lad vowed fervently.

  “I set a task before you and your chosen heirs. Not just any heir, either.” He hastened to furnish, accentuating his point by raising his hand up in supplication. “Solely the heir you trust with your title, the estate, and your life. Do you understand?”

  “I'm honored,” Nathan admitted, his broad shoulders straightening. “I shall do whatever you desire.”

  “Excellent.” The word was ragged, the old man's eyes dancing with a delight. His attention moved to the shrouded portrait propped on the far wall. “The painting….”

  There was only one item on the estate termed the painting.

  “The one you insist on keeping hid from human eyes?” Nathan interrupted, awarded an astonishingly energetic nod.

  “None other.”

  “As a child,” he mulled aloud, his voice carrying across the room as he moved toward the shrouded image. “I wondered why this remained concealed. Truly, is it as hideous as the whispers claim?”

  “Ah, far from it.”

  Nathan turned to the earl at the change in his voice. The worshipful gentleness in the man's tone wasn't lost, and his grandfather's eyes glowed.

  “Nathan, remove the shroud.”

  His mouth fell open. “No hands have touched this painting, since long before my birth.”

  “Far longer, my boy, it has been far longer.” His grandfather assured.

  “Sir…”

  “The painting was commissioned before your birth, or that of your father. The shroud has been its mantel since my duty-bound marriage to your grandmother.” The earl provided the information with an abbreviated shrug. “Remove the cover, Nathan, but be cautious. What lies beneath has not been seen by another's eyes, save my own.”

  Nathan nodded, words escaping him. He lifted the heavy drape of black velvet from the painting, his curiosity overwhelming. It wasn't a simple task, the gilded frame making the towering painting heavier. Nathan removed the shroud with a wrench, steadying the tottering artwork with his shoulder. His actions coated him with a choking cloud of dust before the heavy material fell to the floor. Expectantly, he turned toward the elderly man for instructions.

  A sudden transformation overcame the dying figure, astounding Nathan. The waxy skin flushed with invigorating color, the lucid eyes danced, and a trembling hand lifted from the coverlet in mute appeal. His grandfather appeared to be reaching for his redemption, pleading for his life with red-rimmed and tear filled eyes.

  “Peer onto what I prohibited all others, for the last half century.”

  Nathan turned his head. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and a cold sweat formed on his unlined brow. He gazed at the painting, as commanded, and stood speechless. Although commissioned long ago, the image whisked his breath away.

  The woman's elfin features beamed with convincing touches of life. Her cheeks were flushed a becomingly shade of rose, kissed by an invigorating spring breeze, and emerald eyes danced with unmistakable devilry. Her coiffure was in revolt of the time, lacking the more common stiff powder. Instead, loosely pulled from her face, a fat ringlet of red-gold rested on one bare shoulder. Her ivory skin was a striking contrast to the sparkling sapphire pendant hanging from the simple gold chain about her throat. Nathan knew the piece, a jewel concealed in the family vault and never worn by either his deceased grandmother or mother.

  “Is she as repulsive as you believed?”

  “She's….” He faltered, at a loss for words. Nathan gulped, and the sound echoing in the quiet. Slowly, he backed to the edge of the bed, the raised daïs banging into his calves.

  “She's sheer perfection.”

  “Perfection,” Nathan repeated obtusely, sagging onto the bed. He spared a glance at his grandfather. “Who is she?”

  “My only love, Kaitlyn,” the menace of tears remained apparent at the issuance of her name.

  “Kaitlyn,” Nathan repeated, turning to the wizened figure. “This is the love of your life?”

  “She is and will be, always.”

  Nathan frowned at the thoughts racing through his mind. “Did my grandmother know of this woman?”

  “I know not,” he replied with a shrug, the corners of his mouth tugging downward. “Nor do I care.”

  “What of your Kaitlyn?”

  “Regrettably, marriage was inconceivable.” His tone filled with a heart wrenching sorrow. “She was a servant, employed by my mother. As the forces of nature ran, she was never destined to be mine.”

  “Albeit….”

  The earl allowed for a weak laugh. “You're filled with questions and I'm delighted. It may make your task far simpler.”

  “You have for me but a simple task?” The boy's brow rose skeptically and he folded his arms across his chest.

  “All I ask, all I beg, is wait for my Kaitlyn. The request seems absurd to the logical, but it's all I ask. If the duty means every Ravensmoor is involved until the end of time, so be it.” He was silent as his glistening gaze returned to his beloved. “A Ravensmoor heir must wait for my Kaitlyn to return.”

  Young Nathan was perplexed, the emotion apparent on his burnished features.

  “I'm not suffering from delirious wanderings on my deathbed, my boy.” Notwithstanding the denial, his voice was feverish in intensity. Nathan sensed his grandfather's unexpressed desperation.

  “I'm to wait for a woman who has, believably, met her maker?”

  “Never!” The earl bellowed, and his features distorted with rage before a convulsive spasm of coughing overtook him. He refused the assistance of his grandson and slowly, gasping, recovered his breath. “She may have passed on, I cannot say. I have hazarded a guess, after all these years, she would have never left me willingly. I made a vow, decades ago, to wait for her. Alas, my time is at an end.”

  Tears ran in streaming rivulets down the lined features. Nathan's heart wept and, in an effort to calm his beloved grand sire, he leaned in closer. “What do you wish?”

  “Place her portrait in a position of glory. She deserves the honor I could never offer.” The earl hesitated, deep in thought, raising a hand to his cheek. He was dumbfounded by the moisture he found. “Place her in the ballroom, above the mantel, for all to see.”

  “Grandfather?”

  “She's my only love.” The old man continued and his words echoed with pain. “She never could be easily swayed by pretty words or proclamations of undying love.”

  “May I remind you she was but a servant?” Nathan pointed out, his voice filled with regret. “My father will have a seizure, should he spy her.”

  “Inform our Leslie she's a dear ancestor we’ve chosen to honor. Since he knows naught, all will be well. As for the others, the story shall be the same. This is why she wears satin, as she would have, as my wife. When the gentry spy her loveliness, they'll merely inquire about her identity.”

  “What should I respond?” Nathan asked curiously. “Must I submit to such lies?”

  “Only you and your selected heir shall know the truth of my Kaitlyn. Until then, she's the Raven's lady.”

  “I'm to allow speculation?”

  “Ah, come, Nathan.” The old man berated. “We're of the landed gentry. Speculation and deceit go hand in hand with those of our class.”

  “You seem confident her soul will return.” Nathan's doubt was obvious.

  “You may believe me crazed, boy, but she will.” His eyes clouded and he shut them wearily. A grimace contorted his face as he recalled the final encounter with his beloved. “She vowed her soul was entwined with mine, eternally. I don't know when but she will return.” He opened his eyes and gripped the younger man's wrist, the pressure overpowering. “Do you vow, Nathan?”

  Nathan read the longing in the trembling voice and tear filled gaze.

  “I vow, Grandfather,” he nodded, his words impassioned. “As long as there is a Ravensmoor in existence, we shall await your Kaitlyn”<
br />
  Pleased, the earl smiled and released his grasp. He collapsed into the pillows, his energy spent.

  “You've done me a great service, Nathan. I'm honored.” His voice dropped another octave, becoming a mere rustle of air in the stillness. His gaze flickered and he heaved another sigh, this one a barely detected whisper as he reached toward the distant portrait. “I haven't failed you, my love. I promise though, somewhere, sometime, I shall find you.”

  With those softly uttered words, a heavy, bone-rattling sigh escaped him, and his limp hand fell to the coverlet. Silence filled the chamber, interrupted only by the distant chirping of birds. The younger Nathan sat on the bed, his large hand reaching to the familiar pair. He didn't wipe the unashamed tears from his face and let the droplets fall, unheeded.

  The true Earl of Ravensmoor, his adoring gaze on the ethereal features of his beloved Kaitlyn, had succumbed to the cloying touch of the specter awaiting him.

  Chapter One

  Present Time

  He roused with a smothered gasp, his body heaving upwards. His heart performed a furious drumbeat within his chest, threatening to explode as the shadowy fingers of his dream slipped away. He shoved aside the cotton softness of the sheets, attempting to gather a treasured breath of air. Greedily, his leonine head thrown back, he gulped each smothered gasp into ravenous lungs. Issuing an anguished moan, he slid quaking hands over his face, sweeping a damp sheen of clammy sweat from his skin.

  For so long, he had attempted to confront the solitary figure haunting his nights. She was a lone woman astride a bay colored roan in the distant meadow. Mentally, as only one could do in dreams, he pleaded with her not to vanish. So often, she escaped before he neared. Always, he watched her, the baritone notes of his voice strangled in the depths of his throat.

  The dream burnt into his memories, never changing, but ever elusive.

  For more years than he could recall, the woman always lifted her face to the brightening break of day. Her eyes would close, her cheeks flushed as she savored the rapidly awakening day. She would turn in her saddle, her sad eyes fascinating him from the across the meadow. As rapidly as she appeared, she would vanish into the morning mist, leaving him to wait for another night, and another dream.