ROOK AND RAVEN: The Celtic Kingdom Trilogy Book One (12 page)

Rhiannon herself told Freya she would birth the child, but with the help of the Viking woman they would charm, she would be thought to birth twins, only the other child would be of an older and greater bloodline.  Olav would believe that both children were of Harald’s bloodline.  The second babe would be sent to England to be raised while one would stay in the kingdom.  There was no way to rid the kingdom of the Vikings now without untold bloodshed but, according to the prophecy of the goddess, Freya would be the key to one day unifying the island and defeating the Gooar.  The Lady, once the goddess had left her, held her hand and looked deeply into her eyes with great and gentle sympathy. It was clear the priestess was exhausted from the experience.

“Love is the reason we make the greatest sacrifices of all.  You sacrificed your own body and honor for your loved ones, and now you will sacrifice again for the man who has your heart.  Know this Freya Haraldsdotter, what you will do has the power to one day save this kingdom and destroy the man who did this to us all.  Your sacrifice will see your spirit saved and walk among the halls of your gods.  I promise you, you will not be forsaken.”

So, Freya allowed herself to be caught with her brother in bed.  She had torn the heart of her beloved prince nearly from his body in his grief.  Her brother had been slain but she allowed to live as she was with child. She was thrown from the castle, repudiated, her name destroyed as she grew large with child.  The prince, she heard, went nearly mad in his pain and burned everything that had been hers on a great bonfire.  Oh, how her heart wept.  Olav and his priests watched over her night and day as she increased.  

Though the plan to take the kingdom had been thwarted, she would birth the purest blood of Harald and offer another path Olav believed would lead to
eventual triumph.  As Freya lay dying after childbirth, the child of the third bloodline was slipped past the be-spelled priests, the Viking midwife swearing Freya birthed twins.  Under the charm work of the Celtic priestesses the Viking midwife brought in the herbs for which Freya asked.  She knew that the same herbs that could cause one to lose a babe could also cause a woman to bleed to death if taken immediately after child birth.  

She would not be used again by another brother or by her own father.  This would be her last act and, hopefully sacrifice enough, to allow her admittance to the great halls beyond.  Maybe her namesake herself would take her in to her own great hall of Sessrumnir.  Freya slowly bled to her death after watching both children taken away.

Olav took the two infants with a look of deep gratification despite not getting the crown for his earl.  This kingdom, he thought, had been too stupid and weak to try and expel them.  He would see it a pure blood Viking land one day.  He did not see the young mother, with her last sight and breathe, smile at him with her own satisfaction.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Jessamy’s first thought on waking was of the Earl of Redsayle.  She had lain awake last night not seeing the canopy of her bed but a starry sky on a summer night eight years ago.  Sebastian had shown up at her window very late to beg her to come and watch the stars fall.  It had been like the heavens were putting on a fireworks display just for them.  They had sat on the roof of the treehouse he had built for her. 

She had never been more aware of him sitting so close in the quiet of the night and the shower of stars lighting the sky above them. To this day she didn’t believe he planned it to be their first time. They had come together without a word and as naturally as wind blows or grass grows.  One moment their faces were turned up to the night’s extraordinary light show and the next they were falling into each other.  The night around her and the sky above had all blurred into one as their lips met.  Without question or even thinking twice they had opened the trap door into the treehouse and climbed down into a playhouse that had seen them through childhood and now beyond.

She could still remember the way they both shook with desire equally tender and then wild as an unleashed storm.  They had neither wanted nor needed words of reassurance or explanations, she had just wanted him and he her.  The wanting was all.  A simple blanket on a wooden floor had been their
bed and without any shyness she had let him undress her as they laughed, for she was trying to undress him at the same time.  

The wind had picked up and sighed along with them, the storm had rolled in as their passion and desperation grew.  By the time he had entered her, lightening was crashing so close it could have struck the tree and they wouldn’t have been able to stop. Dear god how they had loved each other, body and soul.  All she had wanted was in her, part of her and there was nothing else in the world she could have asked for, nothing more to need or want. She would never erase from memory the sound of his voice when they lay tangled and peaceful together,
mine, and forever mine. 
She had thought them the most miraculous words in the English language.  Forever had been painfully finite. 

That was then and she had to think of the now. She had to put it behind her and focus on today. She had nerves over the new play Sean was hinting at producing and the pure pleasure that was her Monday excursion to Chiswick. 

Sebastian would
not
take center stage again.  There was more to her life now. She had best start by rousing herself out of the bed.  A light spring rain drizzling against the windows and the cozy warmth of her bed was proving to make motivation difficult.

A light knock on the door announced the arrival of Mary, her house maid, bearing her morning coffee and followed by Tweenie who went to build the fire.  Tweenie, though possibly about sixteen was the size of a twelve year old girl due to years of starvation and neglect on London’s streets.  She had a
happy and well fed look about her nowadays, but it was unlikely she would grow much taller.  

“Not like you mum to still be abed!  Are you ailing then?” Mary asked with concern.  She eyed her mistress with worry as she tied back the bed and window curtains with brisk efficiency.  

“No Mary, just feeling a bit lazy this morning.  The weather makes me want to just pull the covers over my head.”  She had yet to tell anyone, not even Sean or David about the strange dream.

She rolled over and stretched until she felt her spine nearly snap.  Mary started to reach behind her to rearrange the pillows so she could sit up for her tray but Jessy knew she would never want to get up if she didn’t get up now so waved her away.  She threw her legs over the side of the bed and felt the cold morning air rush up under her night dress.  She grabbed her robe, tossed it on and practically scuttled for the chair before the fireplace.  The waves of heat were sheer heaven compared to the damp cold of the rest of the room.

Tweenie brought her a cup of coffee, sweet and light, and held out a letter.  It was reminder from Herriot’s Bank she had an appointment, as if she would forget!

“Best get moving this morning Miss Jess, Mr. Sean will be here early,” Tweenie informed her firmly.  Sean had won the girl over forever by giving her bit parts as children in plays and paying her well.  Now nothing would interfere
in Sean’s efficient running of the theater if Tweenie had any say.  Why she was practically a star in the world of downstairs thanks to Mr. Sean.  No one could say a word against him or she would turn into a little spitfire.    

Jessy could have hired a properly trained lady’s maid and had been thinking of it the day she had found Tweenie staring in awe at what was a simple silk dress in the wardrobe.  Watching her stroking the fabric lovingly, she had known she had to let the girl give it a go.  Birdie was there if she needed her, and when she came home late, but otherwise Birdie was busy and happy ruling the household. Jessy hadn’t regretted her decision for a moment.  

She hadn’t the money for a staff that only did one job or had the rigid hierarchy of a noble house and that suited her fine. No one complained about pitching in and, with the exception of Birdie making it clear who was in charge, there was little formality.  Most ladies maids would not be caught dead lighting a fire or helping as needed in the kitchen.  Tweenie cheerfully went about helping in any way she could.  The income from investing her late husband’s small inheritance in the theater had been a wise decision.  While her dowry had bought a home, it was the theater income that kept them afloat.

When Jessy had turned back up at her childhood home widowed and with a marriage certificate the trustees had no option but to hand over her dowry.  Most women would have used the money to catch another husband but Jessy just wanted her own home and independence.  She had thrown every shilling into establishing a real home for herself and the odd collection of
people who had become her responsibility after Michael’s death.  She had added a few of her own over the years, like Tweenie and Tim.  She loved them all.  She received a great deal of personal satisfaction from knowing she could provide a safety and stability for those with whom she shared a home.  

Before Jess even had finished her first cup, her clothing was laid out, the water brought up and Tweenie giving her a stern look that clearly said “get a move on.”  It made Jess hide a small smile.  Obviously, it was time to get ready.

She had barely begun on her toast in the breakfast parlor downstairs when the door burst open and Sean rushed in clutching a fist full of parchment.

“Done!” he cried dramatically.

“Really Sean I haven’t even had a piece of toast.  It’s barely qualifies as daylight, how can you be full of verve so blasted early?” she grumbled as his tall, golden good looks and obnoxious cheerfulness filled the small room.  It held only an Adams side board, an oval dining table for six and a small table between the casement windows that held a vase of mixed spring blooms.  She always noticed how the pale blue walls set him his looks off to perfection and wondered if he planned visiting her in this room for precisely that reason. 

Truly, for Sean, all the world
was
a stage.

“Now my sweet.  Not all of us can soar with the owls and sing with the morning birds like I can,” he dropped a kiss on her head as he passed behind
her chair in search of food from the sideboard.  He was always hungry just like a growing teenage boy. “I stayed up until nearly dawn finishing the script for your benefit.  You are required to love my cheerfulness and feed me as I have written you an absolute masterpiece!”

She angled her head to read the title off the top of the bundle of manuscript he had tossed with such flair upon the table.  Her face went pale.

“Boadicea? My God Sean! She was a horse riding, chariot driving queen! You are not seriously proposing bringing horses onto the stage are you? You know what happened when the Garden tried that last month!” he studiously avoided eye contact with her and gave her a vague “hmmmm” as he piled eggs on his plate.  “Sean! Are you listening to me?  No horses!”

He gave her a truculent smile as he sat down and tapped one long finger against the papers.

“This my dove is the masterpiece that will see you finally surpass the great, legendary Siddons so don’t talk to me about what the Garden did wrong.  Really, they used a thoroughbred they got off of Sir Porsonby-Martin! How inauthentic is that? Thoroughbreds didn’t even exist in medieval times! Have no fear my pet, in the days of the Roman invasion no such high steppers were around.  We shall use some perfectly placid hacks and we, unlike some inferior play houses, shall not trample anyone or set the stage on fire.”

For Sean that seemed to settle it but Jess wasn’t so sure.  She could picture all kinds of things going wrong and in the quest for each play house to outdo the other she knew better than to even suggest they use props for horses.  The audience would never forgive them.  Every Season the hunger for new and amazing spectacles grew.  It was their job to satiate that hunger or find profits dwindle. 

“Besides,” he comfortably reasoned, “the theater will be packed as everyone will be just hoping for such a disaster.  We can’t go wrong! This is your annual benefit so I would think that anything that fills the seats would meet with your approval and
not
negativity,” he aimed a mock glare at her skeptical face.  Abandoning his eggs he leaped gracefully up and began pacing the small room looking like a caged lion.

‘Picture it darling!” his arms opened up dramatically as if embracing the room, “You, the brave, and tragic queen who chooses death over defeat.  The greatest queen of our history in armor behind the reins of a chariot, your hair flowing behind you! You face down the Romans,” Sean paused and acted as if he brandished and shook a spear, “who admire you as much as revile you, they are stunned by your ferocity and blood thirsty beauty! Even the Romans regretted Boadicea’s death. It will be our greatest triumph! I swear,” and here he pulled out and flourished a handkerchief, bringing it to eyes that suddenly sported a bright sheen of tears. 

“There will not be a dry eye in the house.  I wouldn’t be surprised if London doesn’t rally a force to march on Rome demanding vengeance!” He whirled toward Jesse and planted his hands on the table, “I am taking you from princess to queen my darling in one night. A queen who shall crush all play house competition.  No one will want to see anything else for months!” It was hard to resist Sean when he had such enthusiasm.  As he practically leaped and violently and expansively gestured his way across the parlor she really could see it.  He was a talented play wright but also his own worst critic.  If he was calling it a masterpiece then very likely it was worth chancing a fire or being trampled to death by horses.  She sighed inwardly, she hadn’t when embarking on this career that acting could so often require risk to life and limb.  She supposed she would find sword and spear masters showing up on her doorstep any day to start her training.  She had to admit that would probably be fun.

“Fine.  Make the copies and I will start working on my part.  If you say it’s a masterpiece than it must be,” she smiled up at Sean but grabbed his hand as he passed, “We’ll just have a good long talk with Mr. Ferris to do his best not to let anyone get killed during the production.”

“Why do you think I hired Ferris and pay him so well to be the stage manager? He’s never let anyone die yet!” and with that Sean sat down to polish off his now cold eggs with gusto.

As Sean enjoyed his breakfast in Jessy’s pretty parlor not too far away another stretched and woke.  In one well-appointed home in a fashionable neighborhood a woman slid sensuously under the silk sheets of her large bed.  As she slid her hands along her skin she felt the numerous small bruises along breasts and legs as well as one distinct bite mark on the inside of one white thigh.  Her lover had shown up near the breaking of dawn and she now felt very well used indeed.  Having a husband who spent so many long hours at

Parliament, often staying at his rooms there, had its distinct advantages. 

Having servants too terrified to talk was even better.

Her lover, while always vigorous, had been bordering on vicious in the gathering light of the rain soaked morning.  When he had slid the sheets off her sleep warmed body and whispered his news her own exultation had risen to meet his own.  Soon oh so soon now all their years of work, the planning, their doing the bidding of the Gooar would come to fruition.  It had now truly begun and their blood had burned hot at the thoughts of the violence and triumph to come.  The promises they whispered to each other paired with pleasurable pain.  Together they could achieve anything.  All their dreams from birth, their lives spent in pursuit of fulfilling the glorious prophecy, all re affirmed in the pleasure they took from each other.  

Naked she had knelt before him on the floor as he freed himself from his trousers.  His hands had grasped her hair and pulled her head back delectably painfully.  He dominated her effortlessly, asserting his authority and it never
failed to arouse her.  She found him magnificent in his cruelty.  They had both been trained from birth to know cruelty, to deal it out without mercy.  Mercy, gentleness were signs of weakness.  He twisted her hair tighter, the pain intensifying as he shoved her face closer to his cock which trembled with eagerness, hard as stone.  Her tongue flicked out to touch and taste, her nipples were achingly tight and her breasts swelled with the want of his hands.