My soul soared and there was an energy that flowed out of me as I laid my hands on the lichen-dappled granite wall. I felt it dance outwards in greeting to the day.
“Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning, fisherman’s warning.” An all too familiar voice came to ruin my moment.
I frowned back at Gideon, looming behind me.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a saying the common folk use. A red sky in the evening usually means the following day will be fine. A sky like this often foretells bad weather.”
He couldn’t have just let me enjoy the view. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and while cold, what did it matter when we were finally under a roof again? With Devyn on the mend, it wouldn’t be long before we would have to push on to the Lakelands. I stamped my feet to put some life into them. Even the thought of being back on the road anytime soon was enough to make a shudder run through me.
“We should go inside, m’lady.” There was a note of censure in his voice. I rolled my eyes. Gideon’s attitude towards me had noticeably changed since he had learned who I really was. Was I now too fragile for fresh air? Not so long ago he would have happily dumped my arse on the road to walk all the way to Carlisle on my own if the opportunity had presented itself.
But the wind was more than a match for the cloak I had wrapped around my long nightdress. I made to step around him. Caesar’s teeth, he was tall.
He stepped into my path.
“Your brother comes.”
“What? When?” I felt suddenly short of breath.
“You think he would allow the Oathbreaker to hole up in his ancestral lands and not come to fetch him? It was only a matter of time. Word was received last night that he would be here this morning.”
“Right.” I braced my shoulders and pointedly stepped around him.
I clunked my way back to my room.
What should I wear? It wasn’t every day a girl met her only family in the world. I ran my hand over the few options available to me. Beyond the nondescript travelling clothes Callum had donated, I had a couple of serviceable woollen dresses that Rhodri’s household had found for me. Serviceable because I was pretty sure the previous owners had been in service, the rough hems and neat patching speaking of hard wear and able fingers. The dark-red one fit me better than the green and the finicky ties cinched in my waist. What did the Britons have against zips, for the gods’ sake?
I pulled off Devyn’s boots and the two pairs of socks I was wearing. One of the pairs wasn’t too thick to fit into my own boots. If I tucked Devyn’s boots under my cloak, I could smuggle them quickly back to him before the Mercians got here. No time to do anything more with my hair than drag my fingers through it to detangle it before letting the gold and copper tresses hang loosely over my shoulders; at least it was clean.
I ran back along the hallway and tapped at the heavy wood of Devyn’s door. It was opened almost immediately by a servant I didn’t recognise.
“I was looking for Devyn,” I said unnecessarily, as I stood at his door not long past the crack of dawn, a fact that certainly wasn’t passing the serving lad by. He opened the door wider to allow my entry.
Devyn sat there, loose limbs stretched before him, beside the freshly stoked fire, eating some of the delicious little griddle cakes I had become addicted to at his father’s house.
“Cass, good morning.”
“Ah, good morning.” My cheeks heated as I bumped into a misplaced chair; his eyes were full of mischief. I was utterly thrown by the presence of the boy, who bustled about behind me, dressing the bed that I had helped to get to its current tumbled state.
I checked to make sure the boy wasn’t looking my way as I bent to put Devyn’s boots under a chair, rearranging my cloak to hide my activities. Snagging a cake as a reward for my task accomplished, I settled back into a chair, somewhat shy as I finally met Devyn’s eyes.
Devyn’s lips curled at my attempts at discretion. I took a bite of the still warm cake, the raisins bursting with flavour, the sugar a delight against the starchy goodness of the cake itself. My mind blanked at that smile. Why was I here?
Oh yeah. The cake was suddenly too dry in my mouth to swallow. I coughed as it stuck in my throat.
“Here.” Devyn handed me his hot drink. I took a sip and nearly groaned as the rich coffee hit my taste buds. I raised widened eyes to Devyn.
“We are in one of the wealthiest castles in Cymru. Traders come here all the time,” he explained.
“Shadowers?” I asked, thinking of those who lived in the wider imperial province. It had long been rumoured in the city that they crossed the borders unofficially to trade with the Britons, though Gideon had said that they were not permitted this far north.
“Once perhaps, but now mostly traders from Eireann, the Americas, and other free lands. I’m sure you’ll find fancy fruit in the kitchen if you ask nicely. They come from all over to trade with the druids on Anglesey, and many continue here to Conwy too.”
My mouth watered at the thought of fruit. Devyn’s addiction to coffee was second only to my adoration of exotic fruits not native to this island, pineapples and mangoes being particular favourites. His teasing reminded me of the days we had spent in Londinium in coffee shops observing the sentinel patrols. I had loved to poke fun at his joy in the rich drink, the boyish pleasure he couldn’t hide despite the reserved mask he presented to the world.
“Surely there’s some cook from your youth to whom you might want to say hello?” I batted my lashes in a way any elite female would be proud of.
“We’ll see.” His tone was more proper than mine and he glanced at the lad, who seemed to be taking an overly long time dressing the bed.
I loved seeing Devyn like this; he was always so intense, but right now he was as relaxed and at peace with the world as I had ever seen him. His eyes were warm, his words teasing, the light-hearted morning-after of my dreams. My news would be sure to break the spell.
Right on cue, a bell rang out. Devyn was immediately on alert and reached for his recently returned boots. I laid an arm on his shoulder as he grasped them. He continued his movement and retrieved his boots, but looked up at me questioningly as he straightened.
“The King of Mercia is here.”
The light dropped from his face as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun. He nodded.
I stared at him. Don’t you dare change your mind. His dark eyes locked on mine and his lips softened. My shoulders dropped as a breath I wasn’t aware I had been holding was released.
His eyes flashed to the boy now tending the fire before he said carefully, “We are agreed. We will need to wait and approach him in private. We need to give him time to take in the news first.”
I nodded and swung from the room to find Marcus. I was about to meet my brother properly. I drew a new breath. I had Devyn and soon I would have a brother too.
Everything would be fine. We just had to take it one step at a time.
Chapter Nineteen
My heart fluttered like that of a tiny bird as the horses clattered across the bridge towards us. The entourage was small enough to travel fast but large enough that I could feel the tension in the Gwynedd guard as the Mercian warriors filled the courtyard.
There he was, halfway back in the group, the man from the masquerade. Today he was a blond warrior, tall and stern and dressed for hard riding. Without the mask, he was recognisable from the vision I’d had when I visited Fidelma at the forum. There was little of the laughing man I had glimpsed in my vision of the world that might have been. I looked over at Devyn, who had placed himself at my side; my hand brushed his in a whisper.
The Mercians parted to allow their leader to ride to the front, now that they were inside the walls, but they spread out ever so slightly so that he was protected on all sides. If attacked, he would be back at the heart of this force in moments.
He cut a stern figure, mounted on his horse and sweeping his flinty gaze across the group that had as
sembled to meet him. And then the skies opened and rain began to spill in great droplets. I glanced towards the equally stone-faced Llewelyn. I had thought Mercia and Gwynedd were allies because they both spoke of Anglia with dislike. Was not an enemy’s enemy a friend? But it appeared not – and just when I thought I was getting a handle on Briton politics.
Gideon stepped forwards to hail his liege lord but halted in his tracks as narrowed blue eyes flicked to him before travelling onwards past the Prince of Gywnedd to his nephew. They passed lightly over the rest of us before tracking back to Devyn.
“You have forgotten the way to Carlisle, Glyndŵr?” His tone was cold, expressing indifference at best on reuniting with his boyhood companion, the weeks of delay in our journey north deeply unappreciated.
“My lord.” Devyn bowed his head and kept his gaze on the cobbles as Rion Deverell dismounted and came to a stop in front of him.
“You no longer kneel before your king?” queried the soft, cool voice.
Devyn dropped to his knees on the wet cobbles, his head bowing even further as the rain dripped off his dark curls. Marcus gripped my hand tightly as rage ripped through me.
“Dev,” his uncle growled at Devyn, a clear indication to rise. Rhys laid a restraining arm on Llewelyn’s shoulder, visibly calming him as he bristled in outrage.
Glacially cold eyes flicked at Llewelyn.
“Twysog.” Rion nodded courteously, greeting Llewelyn in the local language. The wind whipped around the courtyard, the dark storm that Gideon had promised as nothing compared to the one I was about to raise.
“Breathe,” Marcus said under his breath. This was their world, their customs. Don’t interfere. Don’t overreact.
Gideon appeared at the king’s shoulder as he scanned us, his brow lifting at the unfamiliar faces in the group. “My lord, this is Marcus Plantagenet.”
“Your Highness.” The golden-haired Mercian reverted to the common tongue, behaving for all the world like we were standing at a summer party. His manner was formal yet friendly as he greeted Marcus, as if Devyn didn’t remain on his knees at his feet.
“Rion, this is…”
I flashed Gideon a warning look; if I were to release some of the energy that burned in my blood right now, it would incinerate him where he stood. Right now, I would rather flatten Rion Deverell than recognise him as kin. Gideon glanced down at where Devyn still knelt and grimaced as he looked back at me. He was not happy at concealing my identity from the lord he served, especially as he knew my reaction was in defence of a man he did not respect. My lips thinned. Whatever Gideon did or didn’t think about lying to his lord, he thought better of introducing him to his long-lost sister when she looked ready to gut him rather than embrace him.
“Cassandra Shelton,” Gideon finished and then added, “His Highness’s betrothed.”
“Ah, yes.” Rion Deverell smiled in recognition. “We met at the ball in Londinium.”
I did not return his smile.
“Devyn is still recovering,” I found myself saying.
His eyes went flat.
“He’s still breathing,” he said coldly. “I would say his health is more robust than it deserves to be.”
Llewelyn’s intake of breath was the only sound in the courtyard. “Rion,” Bronwyn called as she tripped down the stairs towards us, her hood up against the rain as she flew into his arms. “I’m so sorry we didn’t make it all the way to you.”
She trailed off as she became aware of the tension in him and turned to survey the rest of us. Her head went back as she took in her cousin on the ground, her eyes widening. “Oh, Rion, please, can’t you—”
Whatever she was about to say in Devyn’s defence was cut off. The King of Mercia had obviously had enough of our objections to Devyn’s treatment.
“Another word of this and he will stay there until the wind and rain weather his bones. Am I understood?”
“You are in my home,” came a growl from the Prince of Gywnedd. Rhys’s restraining hand was violently shrugged away.
“He is mine to command as I will,” came the answering growl.
I was going to fry him where he stood. This… this was the brother I had longed to meet? Bronwyn laid a gentle hand on Rion’s chest.
“My lord, I beg you,” she started.
“By rights he should be in chains, not standing free to greet me,” he said flatly, looking directly at his host. Given the severity of his crime, Devyn was considered an outlaw. As soon as he had crossed the borderlands, we had stayed out of sight as much as possible – for all our sakes. Gideon and Devyn had warned me how his return would be received. I had been lulled into a false sense of security because the first households we had entered had been Devyn’s own family.
“Rion,” Bronwyn spoke more firmly. “Devyn is barely recovered from the poisoning.”
That caught his attention, his stiffness unbending sufficiently to ask, “What poisoning?”
“On the road north,” Bronwyn explained softly. “He nearly died.”
Glacial blue eyes flicked to Gideon who nodded in confirmation.
“I sent word with your men.”
“I did not meet them. I received word of your detour by other means.”
Without looking to where Devyn knelt, he threw his chin up in a signal to Gideon who stepped over to Devyn and reached under his arm to raise him from the ground.
“When we leave, he leaves with us.” The king spoke directly to Devyn’s uncle.
Llewelyn’s jaw set mutinously and he neither agreed nor disagreed, indicating instead that they should all continue inside.
My chest was tight as we followed them inside. A servant took my dripping cloak as we entered the hall. My hair and face were wet, but with the heat that was burning through me, I half expected to see steam rising.
Llewelyn was near shaking with rage as he answered whatever Rion Deverell had said to him as they walked in.
“You will have the trial here.” His accent was so strong it sounded as if he would trip over the words as they were catapulted violently out of him.
I couldn’t hear the king’s response from where I was, but it only served to enrage Devyn’s uncle further.
“You will have the trial here,” he repeated. “Or there will be no trial and you can be on your way now.”
Everyone froze as the two lords faced off.
What trial?
“You would break the laws of our land?” came Deverell’s low voice.
“He’ll get no fair trial in the north. If justice must be done, it will be done here,” Llewelyn rejoined decisively. “We can send for the High Druid from Anglesey. You can find no fault with that.”
My heart thumped against my chest. What trial?
Those frozen blue eyes flicked to the spot outside where Devyn had knelt before turning back to the small, fierce figure before him.
“I agree,” came that low voice again. Calm and formal.
My eyes caught Bronwyn’s. She looked worried. I searched for Devyn but he hadn’t followed us in, choosing to make himself scarce following the confrontation in the courtyard.
“What was all that?” I whispered to her as we followed through to the great hall.
She checked to see if anyone was close enough to hear.
“I don’t know,” she started. “I had hoped… I did not expect him to be so…”
It appeared that Bronwyn was as shocked at the scene that had taken place as I was. Why?
“You people never stop telling me that Devyn is beyond the pale.”
“Yes, but Rion loved him once,” she returned, pulling me aside into an alcove as everyone continued on. “It looks like we defied the Lakes by bringing Devyn to his family.”
“Then explain,” I said fiercely, “that we would never have made it to the Lakes.”
“I will, but we should have sent you and Marcus ahead. He won’t understand why we didn’t. He’s not to know that you put Devyn’s life above…” She stopped, her br
ow furrowing. “Oh gods, we put his life above everyone else. Above yours. When he learns who you are, he’ll kill Devyn for sure.”
“Devyn was barely conscious; it was hardly his decision,” I protested. I followed her logic, unwillingly, but I did follow it. What Rhodri had done in saving his son instead of the lady would be deemed unforgivable. Rion Deverell would be beyond reasoning with if he felt Devyn had repeated his father’s sin.
“Devyn knew who you were. So did I,” she moaned softly. “Another betrayal by our house. Putting our own blood ahead of yours. What have we done? What should have redeemed him has damned him utterly.”
Her eyes looked wild as the full impact of our actions hit her.
“Then we don’t tell him.” What he didn’t know couldn’t be used against Devyn in this trial. History repeating itself would condemn him in the eyes of everyone here.
Bronwyn blinked.
“No, we have to tell Rion,” she began.
“We don’t have to tell him anything. This would hurt Devyn at the trial?”
She nodded slowly.
“I think so. It is a miracle he found you. That alone would have saved him, had we gone north directly. But if they are gathering a court for a trial proper, the lords will never be able to look past history being repeated.”
“It wasn’t exactly his choice.” I threw my eyes up in the air. How could I reason with people if they wouldn’t listen to logic? It was the same here as in Londinium. It wasn’t about the truth, it was about how the truth was presented. If leading the newly recovered Lady of the Lake on a detour was a hanging offence, then we would remove the offence.
One small snag though.
“I’ll make sure Devyn agrees to go along with keeping my identity quiet,” I promised. One way or another I would make sure of it. “But you two aren’t the only ones who know.”
“Marcus?” she guessed, her face tightening as if she had just eaten something bad. The only woman in the land who didn’t like Marcus.
“Yes, but he’s not the problem.”
“Then who?” she asked.
“Gideon.”
“What?” Her exclamation was overly loud in the quiet hallway. “How?”
Curse of the Celts Page 28
