My Lord Raven (The Ravensmoor Saga)

by Tamela Quijas

  “Santiago de Guglielmi was honored to have his work commissioned by Countess Isabeau, having been a young and struggling stonemason at the time. This work and that of the Countess Isabeau's oldest son brought the stonemason immense wealth and fame. When the Countess received the summons to return to her creator, Guglielmi carved her tomb gratis.”

  “The tombs belongs the Countess and her son?”

  “Her husband is the larger, older knight.” He supplied.

  Kate nodded. “I gather Countess Isabeau was famous?”

  “Isabeau Launceleyn was the young widow of Baron Ralph Fitz Harold De Sudely, childless and destined for a convent with his demise.” He indicated the nearby tombs with a sweeping gesture, motioning for her to follow.

  Kate was in speechless wonder and halted at the alabaster image. If she hadn't known otherwise, she would have sworn the voluptuous woman was sleeping. The tomb displayed the same exquisite delicateness of the knights nearby, the work clearly a labor of love by the selfsame Italian artist. Kate released a low whistle of appreciation at the beauty, the woman's features captured in ethereal relief.

  “Countess Isabeau was a woman ahead of her time, educated, well versed in fields typically only studied by men.” The priest continued with his obvious praise.

  “Apparently, her knowledge was well appreciated.”

  “Not particularly. De Sudely's family found her a contradiction for the time and attempted to dispose of her, before she arrived at the priory.”

  “How horrible,” Kate interposed, her gaze trailing to the pair of appealing knights. There was something about the pair that drew her attention, she realized. The priest noticed the direction of her attention and gave her an indulgent smile.

  “As I said, these are the tombs of her son and husband.” He continued, strolling to the alabaster tombs. “Lady Isabeau's son perished in the middle part of the sixteenth century. His tomb was placed near his father, who died a few years earlier. Countess Isabeau specifically requested the two men to be placed side by side, their connection to one another having been quite close.”

  Kate presented him with a small smile. “I assumed men of that era didn't have much to do with the family.”

  It was the priest's turn to nod. “Lord Campion's sire was a famous knight in our region. He was rumored to have been at the Battle of Bosworth and his battle cry was feared throughout the land.” He supplied, his hands laced behind his backs. “His father fought in many a tourney, winning his spurs, a prestigious title and estate and the hand of Isabeau Launceleyn.”

  “A wife?”

  “As the tale has been told, the recently widowed Countess Isabeau was awarded to him by the crown for his loyalty and bravery.”

  “She was the prize?” Kate shook her head in disbelief. “I thought she was meant for the convent.”

  “She may have been, if de Sudely's nephew hadn't chosen to send an assassin to dispatch the lady.” The priest supplied with an amused smile. “The man was incapable of committing the deed, having fallen in love with her.”

  “What a predicament.” Kate commiserated.

  “Forces greater than man placed her in the path of our errant knight, I believe. She was meant to guide him and to ensure his absolute loyalty to the king.” The priest mused aloud. “The convent wasn't her place, much to our eternal regret.”

  Silent, Kate nodded and turned to the larger knight's reclining figure, irresistibly drawn the carved image.

  “As it was, the bequeathing of Isabeau Launceleyn was a commonly accepted practice at the time.” The priest continued. “Our knight was an unsavory figure, and he kept close company with an infidel from the East. He had strayed from the embrace of the church before the gentle hand of the Countess Isabeau guided him into the fold.” The priest moved around the length of the tomb, his hands tracing the delicately embossed edging. “Our prodigal knight commissioned the reconstruction of St. Gabriel after the great fire of fourteen eighty-eight, when the last attempt was made on the lady's life. He employed numerous artisans from neighboring regions and abroad. He proved himself, time and time again, a worthy and generous man under the gentle guidance of his lady wife.”

  The sudden ray of dappled sunlight struck the tomb and gave Kate pause. The glow illuminated the pale marble of the reclining figure, touching the cold stone with warming touches. Kate peered at the reposed figure, noticing features unapparent a moment earlier.

  There were birds carved into a recess at the knight's side, wrapped, and coiled about the man's armor, curving about the bent arm and helmet. The ornate images scattered down one long leg and gathered in a small flock at his feet, and weren't the small and sweet voiced variety one would wish to have accompanied them on their journey to the hereafter. It was an assemblage of heavy bodied birds, their beaks pressed together and their solid breadth of their wings spread wide. Kate moved across the short distance and halted before the knight's previously unexplored face. A groan of disbelief escaped her as she stared into the time-less but familiar features.

  “This is your Countess Isabeau's husband?” She inquired aloud. Her fingers traced the sharply defined planes of the knight's face, gliding over full and pouting lips. She swore she could feel the warmth of his breath at her touch. The heat of unshed tears filled her eyes as she stared at features she missed more than her heart could utter aloud.

  “Yes, that is the knight.”

  “What was Isabeau's husband's name?”

  “Tarquin de Burroughs.” The priest provided, puzzled by her reaction. “The first Earl of Ravensmoor.”

  ***

  “You're too quiet,” Adam interrupted, his breath evident in the chilled air of the idling vehicle. He had noticed the deep frown on his sister's brow from the moment they had left St. Gabriel. He waited for her response, backing the car out into the street.

  “You're imagining things, Adam.” Kate forced the words out. She clipped her seat belt on, using the distraction to avoid looking at him.

  “Kate, you never could lie.” He pointed out with an aggravated sigh, his lips twisting. “You changed the moment we left the church.”

  She wished her brother wasn't so perceptive, shaken by a culmination of tormenting dreams, ravens in the fields, and tombs. She couldn't escape the man and a shiver snaked through her that hadn't anything to do with the winter weather. O'Toole's predictions were beginning to run true.

  “I don't want to talk about it, Adam.” She grumbled.

  “Are you certain?”

  Blindly, Kate reached for the radio knob, longing to fill the car with some other sound than her brother's questioning voice. Kate shut her eyes, pausing on a station playing the final notes of a contemporary tune.

  ….latest breaking news, Leslie Burroughs, Earl Ravensmoor, was involved in a serious car wreck outside of Oxford. Ravensmoor condition is unknown, but considered grave, as a spokesperson from….

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Kate pushed past the heavy double set of glass doors of the bleakly painted hospital, impatiently rushing past wheel chair bound patients, and uniform garbed employees. She looked over the crowded waiting room, her thoughts chaotic. Desperately, she searched for the signs indicating the general direction of the elevators. She barely registered the wailing of crying children and sniffling patients with varying degrees of illnesses.

  She grimaced. Immediately, Kate regretted the action, detesting the antiseptic smell filling her burning lungs. The repulsive odor was prevalent, lingering with almost a vicious nature about halls of the overly bright hospital interior. Every medical facility seemed to have the same overly sterile odor and it wouldn't be long before the flavor of the industrial strength disinfectant to feel pasted to her tongue. The odor reminded her of the life sapping illness and despair she associated with her mother's own lingering demise.

  Bitter tasting bile rose in her throat and Kate swallowed heavily, focusing on the signs posted on a far wall. As she spied the opening elevator doors, Kate broke o
ut into a mad dash, dodging patients. She pushed her way in, sliding past a towering food cart and the silent hospital staff intent on their rounds.

  She pressed an unsteady finger to the wall panel, selecting a floor. As the elevator began its slow and almost leisurely ascent to the upper floors, Kate sighed in frustration. A slow trickle of perspiration rolled down her spine, despite the coolness of the winter weather and the frigid interior of the medical facility. Her impatience grew and she felt the elevator had taken on a life of its own. The doors to the fifth floor widened with an infinite and irritating slowness, revealing yet another brightly lit hall.

  Bounding out, Kate examined the posted wall signs. Desperately, she moved in a clipped stride down the brilliantly lit hall. She ignored the posted sign at the nurse's station, boldly announcing the necessity of immediate relationship and the visiting hours for the patients. Guiltily, the tips of her ears burning, she slipped past the desk. Kate hoped the nurse remained too wrapped up into her telephone call to notice her.

  Kate glanced at the young woman who stepped into the hall from further down the sterile corridor. She would have recognized the girl anywhere, from the graceful movement of the long legs to the bountiful thickness of the ebon black hair. Anne's dark head was bent downwards as she pulled the hospital room door shut behind her. Her thoughts appeared morose and she kept her eyes lowered to the floor.

  “May I assist you?” The stiffly polite voice questioned abruptly.

  “No, thanks,” Kate issued the vague response before she spun about lightly on her heels. The rubber soles of her tennis shoes squeaked loudly on the overly waxed linoleum.

  “Visitation on this floor is restricted.” The nurse provided, each clipped syllable tightly enunciated. She looked over Kate's denim clad form and heavy jacket. Her obvious displeasure was apparent as she came about the desk, her features tightening.

  “I know.” Kate snapped irritably, lifting a desperate hand to flag Anne. She paused in mid wave, wondering if the girl would choose to ignore her entirely. She couldn't fault her, if she did. Frowning, Kate turned toward the nurse. “I'm family.”

  “I have to see some manner of identification.” The nurse persisted.

  Kate looked back at Anne, the girl wrapping her arms about herself. The girl pressed her forehead to the cool hospital wall, her anguish obvious. At that moment, Kate chose to ignore the tenacious nurse. She sprinted down the corridor, ignoring the nurse's harsh commands to halt or the threat of hospital security.

  There was the tinny chime of opening elevator doors and the sound of a heavily booted stride that interrupted them. The comforting sound of Adam's resonant tones soothed the irate nurse, his obviously American drawl coaxing. Each syllable suffered a deliberate Southwestern enunciation as it was intentionally used to charm the young nurse. All Adam was lacking, Kate mused as she continued down the hall, was the cowboy hat to slap against his thigh.

  Adam knew his sister was intent on the dark haired woman standing further down the hall. From the corner of his eye, attempting to placate the irate nurse, he watched Kate halt. She reached out, her hand hovering for an uncertain moment before she touched the girl's arm.

  Adam exhaled a tightly pent up sigh of relief, only half hearing the nurse's criticism, as the young woman turned toward his sister. Her features were hidden, but there was not any mistaking the heartfelt sob of relief. The girl flung herself at Kate, seeking reassurance as she collapsed in his sister's embrace.

  The nurse, who was sternly admonishing Adam's mute form, ceased in her hushed tirade. “Apparently, she's family.” She grumbled beneath her breath, turning back to her desk.

  ***

  “I didn't think you'd know, Kate.” Anne managed in a watery tone. Reluctantly, she pulled away, running her shaking fingers through her hair, her eyes filled with grief. “I didn't know how to reach you. I haven't heard from Adam, so I didn't know if I could e-mail him with the news.”

  “I heard about the wreck on the radio, Anne. I think it’s being broadcast on nearly every station.” Kate’s hands dropped to her sides and her face paled. She paused to wipe an unsteady hand across her cheek, erasing the sign of the tears before she glanced at the door leading to Dante's room. “How long has he been here?”

  “A few days,” Anne supplied in hushed tones and leaned her back against the hospital wall, her dark hair in stark contrast to the gray enamel paint. She wrapped her arms about her, striving to remain warm. Her youthful exuberance and energy seemed drained from her, leaving her pale and drawn.

  Kate followed suit and moved to her side, thankful for the steadiness of the wall as she leaned into it, her legs feeling suspicious weak.

  “A few days?” She repeated, her dazed senses understanding Dante had arrived at the hospital days after she had left Colinwood.

  “Four days.” Anne supplied glumly, her eyes fastened to the closed doorway.

  “What happened?”

  Anne lowered her head, her hair concealing her pale features. She clasped her arms more tightly about her.

  “I don't know what happened between you and my father, Kate, but he regretted knowing he was at fault.” Anne began in a low and gentle voice. She winced and recognized the same abject feelings of hurt within Kate's troubled eyes. “My father was en-route to London, desperate to find you.”

  Kate exhaled a shuddering breath. She didn't know how to respond, her heart aching with the knowledge and tears filling her eyes. Kate glanced at Anne, realizing that the girl was watching a rapidly approaching stranger.

  The girl straightened, and her gaze swept over the oddity of pointed toed and worn cowboy boots and equally faded jeans before settling on the weathered leather jacket. The man was darker than her father, boasting an obvious Latin descent. He wasn't much older than she was, Anne mused as she took in the dark brown thickness of his straight hair.

  For the briefest second, she felt a bitter and inconsolable rush of anger rise up within her. She wondered if he was the reason Kate had left, and she wanted to rile against the injustice. Her father was broken and damaged, possibly lost to her forever, his last thoughts having been of this woman. Instead of being grateful for Kate’s return, Anne wanted to strike out, to yell, and scream her outrage.

  “Hey, Annie,” the stranger provided, the obvious twang of the greeting causing her to halt before she opened her mouth. He leaned forward, his hand extended in greeting. Anne paused, the anger seeping from her as he gave her a brief smile and took her hand.

  The smile undid her, the familiar quirk causing her to relax. She couldn't pull her eyes away as he pumped her hand before releasing it. He returned to his sister's side, his hands disappearing into the thickness of his jacket pockets.

  “Adam?” Anne questioned numbly. Mistily, she knew there was only one person who would address Anne Elizabeth Graciela Burroughs by the childish semblance of her name. It was his method of responding to her many e-mails, and she chastised herself for failing to note the resemblance between the pair, but found the action impossible. The two were as different as night and day. Kate was fair-skinned and light haired, while Adam was darkly bronzed and equally dark haired. It was solely the greenness of the eyes and the warmth of the mischievousness smile the two shared.

  “I'm sorry we couldn't have met under better circumstances, Annie.” He offered beneath his breath, lounging against the wall. He wasn't a tall man, perhaps a hands height taller than she was. His body was more compact, lacking the slenderness of his sister, but his shoulders were broad and his legs long.

  “As I am,” Anne offered with unsteady politeness, feeling stunned. She wished she had met him under better circumstances. If the situation had been different, Adam would have had definite possibilities.

  “Anne?” Kate prompted impatiently.

  “My father went to find you.” Anne watched Kate's reaction, recognizing the abrupt paling of the woman's already wan features at the revelation. Anne felt her lips quiver and she strove to regain her co
mposure. “I knew you were in London, visiting Adam, and my father wanted to speak with you.”

  “Why?”

  “For the same reason you're here?” Anne questioned with a quirk of her brow, her head cocking to one side.

  “I was angry when I left.” Kate admitted in a hushed and quivering voice. “I didn't mean for anything like this to happen.”

  “It wasn’t you that did this, Kate. My father has never been a truly patient man and this…”

  “You know better, Kate. You didn't cause him the harm, Kate.” Adam reassured her, staring at the high gloss of the floor.

  “I did, indirectly,” she argued. “I didn't know he would come after me.”

  “As if he would not?” Anne inserted cryptically. She knew her father would go wherever Kate would lead. “It had begun snowing the day you left.”

  Kate nodded, recalling the endless vistas painted with the glow of the season.

  “Papa took the road up toward Oxford, on the way to London,” Anne leaned her head back. “He was desperate to find you before you returned to Arizona.”

  “Why would he think something like that?”

  “Sensible was on neither one of your plates.” Anne managed with a quirk of her brow. “I assume he was driving far faster than he should have and became distracted. He lost control of the car.”

  Kate closed her eyes at the sudden image. She had driven the route just once, from London to Upper Chilternden. She knew the two hundred and fifty some miles from Colinwood to London were strenuous, with the benefit of a bright autumn day, let alone a wintry one.

  “My father must have encountered a patch of black ice. From the marks left by the tires, he went into a heavy skid and over-corrected. The automobile, as the local constable reported, rolled a number of times before landing upside down.” Anne remained quiet, her arms tightening about her slender frame. She had seen what had remained on the sleek automobile her father drove and was amazed he survived the wreck. “There isn't much traffic on that stretch of road, especially during this time of the year. I'm not sure how long it was before he was found.”