Curse of the Celts

by Clara O'Connor

  “He figured it out on the way to Dinas Brân.” How to explain that Gideon and I had had a brief truce? “I’ll talk to him.”

  “We’re doomed.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” It wasn’t like it was a matter of life and death to get Gideon to continue to keep my secret from his friend to save a man he despised… Ha. “I’ll figure it out.”

  I winked at her as I whirled out of the alcove. And I’d thought today was going to be such a good one. Red sky in the morning indeed.

  We rejoined the party in the great hall, where the new arrivals were throwing down warming drinks provided by their still hostile host. I sat demurely by Marcus as the tale of our journey north was laid out for the king of Mercia, who listened intently. He gave no sign that he hadn’t already dismissed the events outside entirely from his mind.

  He questioned Gideon and Marcus closely, directing an occasional icy query at Bronwyn when they got to the point where we had decided to split up. Bronwyn’s initial embrace outside had suggested that they were usually on friendlier terms, proving our guess that Deverell’s anger at having to hunt down Devyn himself had not been well received.

  His gaze rested on me with mild interest at points when I was mentioned in the tale, but he didn’t ask anything of me directly. I felt Gideon’s amber gaze linger on me from time to time, but I refused to meet his eyes.

  Rion Deverell sat straight in his chair, deigning to turn his head from time to time and subjecting the talker to his considered gaze. His unwavering attention took in not just what they said but what their choice of words left unsaid, what their body language added, and the expressions of those around them as they listened. Here was a man used to following every move on the chessboard, one who liked to know all his available moves and the motivations of each player.

  His eyes were cobalt blue where mine were aqua, and his hair lifted in a wave from a wide forehead already showing lines, even though he was only a few years older than me. Where my hair was tawny, his was caramel and gold, long in the same style as his warriors but pulled back and constrained at the nape of his neck. His strong jawline was stubbled – the only real evidence of having been on the road. Occasionally a glimmer of warmth broke through and his lips would tug slightly up at the right where I could almost see a dimple. It was barely there and, like mine, visible only on the right side. He dropped his eyelids often as he listened, concealing his thoughts, his chin always lifted at an arrogant angle. He was utterly self-contained and off-puttingly regal in his bearing. But every now and then, his eyes flicked to the door, his fingers fidgeting with a ring on his left hand.

  His jaw flexed as he was told of Gideon’s knife being thrown at the end of the fight with Bronwyn, his eyes flinty as he checked Gideon. It was the first sign of emotion I had spotted as I sat taking in every detail I could. Was he annoyed at Gideon’s recklessness or because he had hurt Devyn?

  Gideon met his lord’s censure with an insouciant smirk but gave the lie to his defiance by explaining that we now knew that the knife had not been the source of the poison. Bronwyn added that had Gideon’s knife not drawn and exposed the poison to the surface, we would never have known it was there until it was too late.

  Those blue eyes widened slightly as the tale continued to the episode where the hounds of Samhain had pursued us.

  He nodded at the decision to split up, expressing interest at the cuffs that had required Gideon to take the city pair while Bronwyn had retained his warriors to keep the slower party protected.

  His head tilted slightly as Gideon told of our passage through the valleys with the hounds in pursuit. Gideon failed to mention that we had received aid from York on the road, but I had the uncanny notion that Rion Deverell was already making a note to speak further to Gideon in private. Did he deem that the decision to use the warriors to protect Devyn had put unnecessary risk on Marcus?

  His lids almost concealed those sea-storm eyes entirely as Bronwyn described the events at Dinas Brân. He barely moved as he listened, almost as if acknowledging the fact that Rhodri Glyndŵr still lived would be to give him too much consideration.

  “Why continue west after?” He spoke without inflection, but his hands splayed out in his lap then curled back into tight balls. His fingers again twisted the gold ring.

  Bronwyn cast a glance at me then back at Deverell.

  Her expression was soft and her palms came up in a gesture that begged forgiveness.

  “We had no choice. There was only so much Madoc could do to hold off the poison. We needed Ewan’s greater skill.”

  “So you carried an outlaw even further into his family’s stronghold.” His pinched expression left no one in doubt of his opinion on this decision.

  “Rion, he wouldn’t have made it to the Lakelands,” Bronwyn said.

  “And now he may never,” Deverell gritted out as he brought himself up to his full height and without another word, strode from the room.

  “What did that mean?” I asked into the silence.

  Bronwyn shook her head, her eyes flicking to the servants lingering around the room. Later then, I thought, but her brow was furrowed and she looked as worried as I had ever seen her. This was not an encouraging sign considering that most of the time I had spent with the Kernowan was while we were being hunted by the vile hounds and her cousin lay on the edge of death.

  Gideon rose and I hurried after him. The hall was empty when I got there and my shoulders dropped. Where did he go? I needed to speak to him before he told Deverell the truth of my identity.

  I kept going and as I reached the alcove Bronwyn and I had ducked into earlier, a hard hand reached out and grabbed me.

  I found myself yet again at eye level with Gideon’s broad chest and had to crane my neck back.

  “Why did you not tell him who you are?” He glowered down at me.

  I’d had plenty of time to plan it out while they were recounting our adventure. Saving Devyn’s neck was not an argument that would sway Gideon to hold his tongue.

  “I don’t think it’s safe.”

  “What?”

  “You said it yourself.” I hurried through my explanation. “Somebody tried to kill us. We need to find out who it was. What do you think will happen as soon as Rion Deverell learns I’m alive?”

  “He will make sure you are safe.”

  “I’ll never be safe as long as the poisoner is out there. Think about it. Whoever it was got close enough to nearly kill Devyn. Maybe they were after Devyn, or maybe it was meant for one of us. But if Devyn is imprisoned and Marcus is in York, and I’m rolled in cotton wool in a tower in Carlisle, we’ll never know.”

  “That sounds like an acceptable outcome to me.”

  I exhaled audibly.

  “Well, I can’t live like that for ever. I won’t live like that,” I underlined before throwing down my trump card. “You said you wouldn’t reveal my identity.”

  His eyes narrowed at the reminder.

  A small tic pulsed at the corner of his jaw. He would not forgive me for putting him in this position, especially when he realised that I was doing it for Devyn.

  “Unless it puts you at risk… If it becomes necessary, I will tell him.”

  “For now, I think it’s in all our best interests to keep my return from the dead quiet,” I bargained.

  “Or you could tell him now.”

  There had to be an argument that would sway him. I went through everything I knew about Gideon. He had a mind like a steel trap; he had figured out who I was on the slightest of evidence and he could argue his way through any logic I might present. The man was like a rock, completely invulnerable… No, that wasn’t true. He had a weakness.

  “What about your father?”

  “What about him?”

  “What will he do if my brother takes me north? You know that Marcus and I can’t be separated. How will the Steward of York feel about his prince being taken to Mercia? All that power back in Britannia, in the hands of your friend. What
happens then?”

  Gideon stilled. Who said I didn’t understand Briton politics? Because I knew what would happen next and so did Gideon. York would gear up for war. Gideon’s blood family against his sworn loyalty. Which side would he choose? “Bad time for Briton lords to be fighting amongst themselves.” I pressed home the advantage while I sensed him weakening. “War is coming. Will you be ready, or will you be too busy fighting each other?”

  “You are asking me to lie to my liege lord.”

  “No. I’m just asking you to delay telling the truth,” I said.

  “For how long?”

  How much more could I reveal before I gave away too much? He wouldn’t agree to this indefinitely.

  “We need to find a way to get these bloody handfast cuffs off. Then Marcus can go to York and I can go to Mercia and everyone is happy.

  “You’ll tell him before you leave here.”

  I nodded.

  His eyebrow rose. Damn it.

  “Your word on it, m’lady.”

  I sighed. I weighed up my options. There weren’t many – more than we’d had in the arena though. I shrugged.

  “Fine, you have my word on it.”

  So many promises. So many secrets.

  He moved fractionally closer, invading my space. I had to crane my neck further back to maintain eye contact. He was way too close. Gods, he was large.

  “I give you my word that I will tell my brother who I am before I leave Gwynedd.” It was the first time I had acknowledged him out loud as my brother since he had arrived. From the moment he had got off his horse and forced Devyn to the ground, he had become a threat to be dealt with – just another problem that stood between me and Devyn. But he was my brother. When he discovered how we had tricked him he would be angry. Disappointed. I was so over disappointing family. It wouldn’t be the best start, but he was the one who had come here and attacked Devyn.

  “I will hold you to that, city girl,” Gideon stated flatly. “Interesting, though, that you’re planning to separate from your dear betrothed.”

  “Calchas and the council put us together. We have no interest in staying together. I’m here because I’m a Briton and I want to go home.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “Things got more complicated than when we originally planned our escape,” I admitted.

  “You and Devyn.”

  I needed to stop talking. How had we got here?

  “Yes.” I tilted my head, looking at him as if I didn’t quite follow. “He’s the one who found me and told me the truth. That’s all.”

  “Of course it is.” Gideon didn’t say anything more. Don’t fill the silence, I told myself. Nothing more I could say would help. I had got him to agree for the time being. That was enough.

  I backed out of the alcove.

  “I like these boots better.” The taunt followed me down the corridor.

  My boots. I didn’t have another pair of boots.

  I stopped.

  A soft chuckle sounded behind me.

  Chapter Twenty

  “You need to convince Devyn of our plan,” Bronwyn whispered to me as she took her place beside me at dinner that evening.

  “I can’t find him,” I returned under my breath. I had been everywhere and there was no sign of him. The antipathy the inhabitants of this castle felt towards me as a citizen didn’t help my search as all enquiries were met with a shrug. Devyn’s room was empty. Frustration and worry fizzed through me.

  “He’s in the dungeon.”

  I gaped at her. Was she kidding? They had thrown him in an actual dungeon?

  “He’s under arrest until the trial,” she said as if that explained everything. He was barely recovered. I couldn’t help but glare in the direction of the head table where the Prince of Gywnedd was busily playing the convivial host. “It’s not his fault.”

  I continued to glare until Llewlyn’s partner Rhys caught me and I lowered my eyes to my clenched fists. They sat there merrily eating and drinking in the warm hall while Devyn rotted in some dank dungeon. At least, I presumed it was dank – weren’t all dungeons? A bloody dungeon. Devyn was Llewelyn’s family.

  “Cassandra, never mind them. You need to talk to Devyn before Rion does or our plan is blown,” she said, pulling my attention back.

  “What do you mean?”

  She exhaled noisily. “He is refusing to conceal your identity, even if it’s the only hope of saving his neck.”

  Of course he was.

  “Go down there and get him to do as he’s told.”

  “What’s wrong with him?” I grumbled.

  “He’s stubborn,” Bronwyn replied equally sourly. “And too damned honourable. Now focus. See the girl over there by the door in the black skirt?”

  Scanning the edges of the hall, I saw a girl with long brown hair and a black skirt watching us.

  “She is supposed to take his dinner down. He is still the lord’s nephew after all. She’ll lend you her cloak and you can carry his tray down. Don’t wait too long,” she commanded. “The guards will be suspicious if the serving girl delays too long with him.”

  I slipped from the table before Bronwyn had even finished speaking. I got it. I wasn’t an idiot. I followed the girl to the kitchen and she handed me her cloak and tray with directions to cross the courtyard and take the guarded door to the north tower before descending to where Devyn was locked up like a criminal.

  I gritted my teeth as I smiled sweetly at the Mercian warriors standing by the door.

  Unlike the cell at the arena, this was a prison more equipped for regular detention. Balls of light bobbed above my head as I went down and down.

  I made my way past two empty cells before finding an occupied one. Sensing my arrival, Devyn was already at the bars.

  Anger rolled off me but Devyn smiled mildly back at me.

  “Calm down, Cass, it’s protocol. I’m awaiting trial. I told you, I’m considered a criminal here.”

  He waited while I wrangled my temper under control, cursing the burn in my blood which made my emotions so volatile.

  “Fine,” I said slowly. “I’ll be calm if you’ll be quiet.”

  “No,” he responded, catching my meaning instantly. “I will not deceive him.”

  “It’s your best chance,” I argued. “Bronwyn says you have no hope if they learn we put your safety above mine.”

  His eyes darkened. “That seems fair to me.”

  “Devyn. You promised.”

  “I did not promise to deceive my liege lord.”

  “No, but if you tell him then he will never let us be together,, and then you break your promise to me,” I argued.

  “Maybe.” He shrugged.

  Was he out of his mind?

  “If you do this, I will deny it,” I said fiercely, yet also as quietly as my temper allowed. This was taking too long. “I will deny everything. Without evidence of my power, why would they believe you? Which is easier for them to believe – that you’ve gone mad in search of a dead girl or that Marcus Courtenay’s betrothed is just a lost city girl trapped by the handfast into coming here against her will?”

  I could feel him steeling his will against mine.

  “If they won’t let us be together I will have no reason to stay. As soon as this cuff is off, I promise I will return to Londinium. Let them do with me what they will. What will I care?”

  His eyes darkened at my threat.

  “They will kill you if you go back,” he stated starkly.

  “Maybe.” I shrugged.

  “Touché.” His lips tugged unwillingly upward.

  “And what if whoever gave you that poison was trying to hurt me? Who will protect me and get their own stupid arse poisoned next time?” It was a stretch; it seemed most likely that Devyn had been the intended target. That would never occur to him though.

  “Fine,” he agreed. “Just until the trial is over.”

  I followed up, sensing him already regretting his cap
itulation. I heard footfall on the stone stairs – one of the guards coming to see what was taking me so long.

  Devyn’s lips twisted before he finally nodded in agreement with my proposal that he keep his mouth shut. I flashed him my teeth in victory and spun on my heel, apologising blithely for the delay as I passed the incoming guard.

  We broke our fasts in the great hall. The tables heaved with crusty bread and tea – the herbal tea was acceptable but coffee was available if you asked really nicely. I spread strawberry jam across the bread and sank my teeth into it.

  It was barely past dawn, but the King of Mercia and a number of his warriors had been halfway through their breakfast when I arrived, the golden lord sitting beside Gideon, speaking of nothing.

  I waited tensely, trying to catch the eye of the serving girl in the fading hope that today she would give me a sign that I could take the tray to Devyn, when I sensed him approach. Bronwyn had pleaded with Deverell and Llewelyn for the last three nights that Devyn be allowed back to his room given the state of his health. Apparently, Rion Deverell’s anger had cooled enough that they had even gone one step further and granted him the freedom of the castle. Arriving to breakfast late, he paused momentarily in the doorway. He blinked at the suddenly silent company gathered there and then the doorway was empty again.

  Chatter resumed before the door had swung closed. I almost jumped a foot in the air as the clatter of a fist slamming on the table rang out like a shot. All eyes turned on the King of Mercia who had remained so determinedly relaxed all morning. The force with which he had pounded the table gave lie to that indifference. Bowls were still spinning after they found the surface of the table again.

  The hum of conversation did not cover the silence this time as the door swung closed in the departing king’s wake.

  What did Deverell want? Was he going after Devyn? After waiting for as many minutes to pass as I could bear, I made my way to the door.

  In my soft indoor shoes, I took off along the corridor, almost running, my skirts swirling around my legs. I paused at the end of the hall – stables or bedroom? There was no way anyone was going out in the lashing rain that had continued through the night.