Curse of the Celts

by Clara O'Connor

  His face clouded at mention of the disgraced Griffin.

  “There can be nothing between you and Devyn Glyndŵr, do you understand?”

  Okay then, we were clearly done with the “I’m so glad you’re alive” small talk. I was more than happy to be direct as well.

  “No.”

  “He is an Oathbreaker. His father failed my mother. Our mother,” he corrected himself. “He was just convicted of it and sentenced to death. He may be your protector, but I own his life.”

  “They can’t possibly mean to kill him now?”

  “The sentence can be lifted.” He straightened into his full height. His expression was carefully blank once again. “He will be allowed to exist in the shadows, but that is all. If I do not reverse the decision of the court then he will be shunned. Am I clear?”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “I am the King of Mercia. He is my subject.” His blue eyes were glacial in his regal formality. “If you want him to continue to breathe, you will do as I command.”

  “As you command?”

  “You will marry Marcus Plantagenet and unite the north.”

  I stared at him. I felt as if I had been punched. All the air left my lungs in one go.

  Queen to king. Checkmate. His move was final, but I didn’t have to play on his board.

  “You do not get to command me to do anything. I am your sister.” But my voice shook; he was my only family and all he was concerned about was what he might use me for – like everyone before him. “I am not your subject. I will marry who I choose. Not the Empire. Not you.”

  My anger was met head on.

  “You will do as I tell you. ” He looked down at his desk, his voice still cool. I had noticed that it was something he did when his control was starting to slip. I was beginning to sense that his temper was every bit as volatile as mine; he just hid it better. And my refusal was definitely triggering him. He was not used to being defied.

  He took a deep breath before rounding the desk and resting back on it, his body leaning towards me as he granted a single concession.

  “He can remain your protector. But he is an outcast. He ranks lower than the cur at my heel. And you will accept that, or I will have his head separated from his body.”

  His face was utterly expressionless. He was in deadly earnest. The power of life and death lay in his hands and here in the Briton world, there was no mitigation by the commons. His word was law.

  My hand was shaking as I held it out to him. A denial, a plea, I couldn’t think. My vision blurred.

  What could I say to make him change his mind? He couldn’t do this to us.

  He took my hand in both of his and pulled it to his chest. His face softened.

  “Catriona.” He caressed the name in awed tones, as if now that the hard part was out of the way, he could take a moment to acknowledge me as his sister again.

  “Please, don’t do this.” My voice cracked.

  His jaw flexed.

  “I warned him that I would not forgive him a third time,” he ground out. “I warned him. And he lied to me.”

  “He didn’t lie,” I rushed. “He just couldn’t tell you yet.”

  “And why, dear sister, could he not tell me?”

  He knew precisely why. This was why I hadn’t seen him last night; he had been cooling off. Thinking. Examining the moves on the chessboard. Deverell had figured out the reason for our delay, thus compounding our initial mistake. I hadn’t thought through to the next move on the board. He had. I said nothing.

  He flung my hand away and kicked the chair beside him, sending it crashing into the wall. I could feel the suck of energy. By this man’s side was where Gideon had learned to soothe the powerful; the icy control was a veil my brother drew over a power that felt as wild as my own untutored kind.

  “He has deceived me for the last time. I never want to hear his voice again.” He was vibrating with emotion. “It is enough that I allow him to stay with you. He is the Griffin; it is his gods-bound duty, and I will not break that. But no more shall he have.”

  I saw my life stretching out in front of me. Locked into marriage with Marcus as yet another regime manipulated us for their own purposes while Devyn was consigned to the shadows of my life. At least in the city I had been trapped in a cage spun with sugar and pretty promises. Here, I was being propelled into the same future against every fibre of my will. Blackmailed into submission by threats against the one thing I cared about. At least my parents had pretended to love me, even though we shared no blood. Yet here stood my full-blood brother, destroying me with every word. My parents had disowned me and I had understood that somehow. But this action by this man whom I did not know inspired more heartbreak than my abandonment by the parents who had raised me. In this moment, I had never hated anyone more.

  “I regret that this is hard for you, but my decision is final.”

  I left the room without another word, making my way to find Marcus. He wouldn’t agree to this. He needed to tell them.

  I found him in Ewan’s room, messing about with potions. When I told him what had happened, he didn’t seem surprised. “It seems that everyone wants us to marry except you and me.”

  “Tell them you don’t want to marry me. They can’t marry us if you refuse,” I urged. How had I not thought of this before? Marcus was the Prince of York; he could not be forced into this against his will.

  “Devyn will be pardoned as long as you go along with this,” he reminded me. “I will agree because it will buy us some time. We’ll figure out the rest.”

  “How?”

  “You doubt that I can fix this? Here in the Wilds, where we know no one and understand even less, with these infernal cuffs tying us together and everyone watching us?” His lips twisted wryly. “I’m hurt.”

  A laugh bubbled inside me. He was right, but we had been in tighter spots before.

  I finally pulled myself together and answered him.

  “Okay, husband-never-to be, let’s get us out of this.”

  That evening I ate alone in my room, pleading a headache. The next day, Bronwyn and I met as usual for our morning ride, barely out of the bailey gate before she rounded on me.

  “Cass, I need to talk to you. About you and Devyn,” she started.

  “Did my brother send you?”

  “What? No.” Her face was heavy with concern under her deep hood. “When I told you before that you and the Griffin can’t be together, I thought that you understood.”

  “I do understand,” I said tightly. Marcus was going to figure it out. I just needed to appear to accept it. To pretend, even to my friends. “Rion has made it perfectly clear. I’m to marry Marcus, just like the Empire wanted.”

  Bronwyn brows drew together, even as her shoulders relaxed at this news. “Oh.”

  “Yes. So if we could just enjoy our ride…?” I nudged my horse forwards into the grey wet day and there was little further conversation.

  Day after day dragged by, while at night I was forced to face everyone again and sat at the high table, stiffly aware that I was the subject of everyone’s gaze in the hall. Everywhere I went, servants and guests alike watched me with bated breath as I walked by. Where previously I had been subject to a kind of veiled resentment, now they all looked at me like I could walk on water and light the sky with my touch. And what did I know? Maybe that was something within the gift of the Lady of the Lake.

  For now, I just felt awkward and watched, like an exotic animal from the far reaches of the Empire sitting in a cage in the forum. Unlike everyone else going about their normal life, I was a useless marvel whose only purpose was to be pointed and wondered at. Marcus sat on one side of me, effortlessly engaging his neighbour in conversation; he had lived his whole life in the spotlight and probably didn’t even notice the attention he attracted here, never mind the extra that my new status attracted. Rion Deverell sat on my other side, giving up after his attempts to engage me were frostily rebuffed. I looked out acro
ss the great hall. Long tables were filled with people laughing and talking loudly with each other, and servers bustling between the tables. As always, no matter how hard I tried, I realised my gaze wasn’t aimless but scanned the room with purpose. Searching, always searching… Where was he?

  I hadn’t seen him in the days since the trial. The Mercian king had issued a reprieve of the capital punishment but had not forgiven the crime, so every time I asked anyone where Devyn was, they either acted like I hadn’t spoken or replied that they had no idea who I was referring to.

  There. He was leaning against the wall in the shadows, an absence rather than a presence. He was so still he was barely detectable except for the fact that the noise and bustle of the hall seemed to be repelled in the few feet surrounding him. Just as the nobles ignored him, so the lower social strata also gave him a wide berth. His outcast status was a tangible thing. No longer using the skill which had allowed him to blend in with any crowd in Londinium, here he was a beacon in every room. His intensity and sheer physicality were impossible to ignore and yet they clashed so severely with his lowly status that as soon as he entered a room it was like a loud bell going off, as everyone studiously persevered in their efforts not to acknowledge him.

  It made me furious, but that didn’t make it any easier for Devyn to bear either. I took another sip of wine, watching him from beneath lowered lashes. As I watched, a rather shapely server crossed into the no-go zone around him; apparently not everyone steered clear of him. I saw him return her smile and had to stop myself from clenching my teeth.

  Devyn had been physically avoiding me for days, but he’d also been blocking me out. Did he plan to comply with the law of the lands he had returned us to, despite all his promises? Was he giving up? But what I had learned over the course of our trials so far was that if an emotion was strong enough, it could cross any barrier he put up. And this far into the handfast with Marcus, nearly all my emotions were strong.

  Concentrating, I recalled the first time we had danced together – or nearly danced together – at my father’s house. I had tried to flirt with him – my way of getting past the mask he showed the world – and I’d hoped that a kiss would induce him to drop that mask. My body warmed at the memory. I followed it by recalling our first frantic kiss in Londinium’s stews, the fire that had ignited between us, leaving us both shell-shocked. My breath shortened as I began to sift through the memory of the night before my handfast, the night Devyn and I had… I drew a lazy hand across the bare skin of my neck, retracing the path of his fevered kisses.

  Devyn’s lazy stance against the wall changed. His body became alert and even though he steadfastly refused to turn in my direction, I could tell his face bore a scowl. I squirmed in my seat; my attempts at provocation had rebounded back on me and I was every bit as affected now as he was. I saw his lips twitch in hidden salute to the change in emotion as my desire became tinged with frustration. I stifled the giggle that suddenly bubbled up through me, hiding it by taking another hasty sip of wine. I snuck another glance in time to catch a warrior walking past Devyn startled at finding himself on the receiving end of a full grin from the usually serious Griffin.

  I sat back satisfied and caught Gideon watching me.

  “More wine, my lady?” he asked, leaning across Rion and giving no indication that he had watched the interplay between me and the disgraced Griffin at the end of the hall.

  “Thank you,” I said demurely and smiled my best society smile.

  At the end of the meal, Prince Llewelyn stood and the hall hushed to hear him speak. I felt rather than saw Devyn stiffen. I had no idea what was coming next.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “as you all know, the Lady of the Lake has been returned to us. Her brother has graciously accepted my invitation to remain with us for the Winter Solstice festivities to welcome in Yuletide and celebrate in her honour.”

  A cheer went up around the hall, and I smiled stiffly. Rion Deverell stood and raised a cup in my direction. I refused to meet his eyes. He could say whatever he liked but I would not make this easier for him. He had decided. But I had never agreed.

  “Twenty years ago, my mother and sister were lost to us, and the legacy of the Lakes was snuffed out. My sister’s return is indeed a blessing I could never have hoped for. To have her returned safely to us is a boon to my house, my country and our entire island. With her, she brings another bloodline we had thought lost to us. With the joining of Lakes and York, we honour the gods who bestowed their great gifts on our blessed people. Such a tie can only strengthen all our lands and bring to an end the warring between our tribes. To the marriage of Catriona of Mercia and Marcus of Anglia.”

  The announcement fell a little flat in a hall full of Celts of Gwynedd who had no cause to celebrate such a union.

  He stepped back and made his way to the end of the table where Bronwyn was now standing. I felt Marcus stiffen beside me.

  “Before the twelfth day of Yuletide we shall also celebrate the joining of my house with House Cadoc of Kernow. The lovely Bronwyn has consented to become my wife when we return to Carlisle.”

  Deverell wrapped an arm around her and dropped a kiss on her cheek as the hall erupted in approval. Bronwyn hadn’t told me. But then, I hadn’t exactly given her an opportunity since I had lied to her face about my relationship with Devyn.

  How neatly he had united all the great tribes south of Hadrian’s wall. No wonder he had been furious that I might disrupt his plans by refusing to marry Marcus. With his announcement, for the first time in centuries, the major houses of the province of Britannia had been neatly brought together, concentrating power and uniting the various forces. Londinium and the council would hear of this.

  I could barely think as I sat there, trapped, at the high table. He couldn’t do this. I didn’t want this. My blood boiled in my veins. My earlier silent flirtation with Devyn had been crushed by my brother’s high-handed announcement.

  At the end of the meal, Fidelma came over to me and took my hand in her delicate ones, attempting to give me comfort.

  “The Griffin is not for you,” she said. “It is better if you accept this.”

  “Better for who?” I asked bitterly, shoving my chair back from the table. I was tired of everyone telling me I couldn’t be with the man I loved. I stumbled from the noisy hall and down an empty corridor. I needed to be anywhere but there.

  Then suddenly my shadow was there, tangled around me as we crashed through an open door into a chamber off the corridor. We kissed, lips hard against lips, his fingers tangling in my hair and pulling it back, the better to expose my throat to him as his teeth grazed across the vulnerable skin. His mouth returned to mine, taking, owning, demanding, and I met him stroke for stroke. His anger met with my ferocity.

  He lifted his mouth and pulled me tight against him, his muscular body taut and coiled against mine. I needed to bring him back and so I softened my body into his. We were one. We would find a way out of this together.

  “I thought you had given up on us again,” I said accusingly into his warm neck.

  “I told you I wouldn’t,” he reminded me. “I thought we would have time. I thought that if we let Rion cool off, he might come around. But it looks like we are out of time. There is no way out of this.”

  “There is. There has to be,” I insisted.

  “No. He has announced it publicly. For you to break it off now would be a political disaster. He has promised you to York and York will not let you go.”

  “Marcus is York and he will be happy to release me.”

  “Not yet he isn’t. The steward has ruled since the last Plantagenet died. Gideon’s father is ruthless, and having a Plantagenet on the Anglian throne again gives him power and it is to York’s benefit if you marry Marcus. ”

  “There is still a chance for us. I haven’t had time to work on Rion.” He was my brother; surely I could persuade him against adding to York’s power? “I was caught by surprise before, but I’ll—�
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  “You don’t understand. Allowing me to live is as far as he can push it. To break the betrothal in my favour…” Devyn stepped back from me, running his hands through his hair. “It would be suicide for the King of Mercia even to consider such a thing.”

  I shook my head, my breath coming fast, as his initial reaction had cooled to resignation. I could feel him closing himself off.

  “No, no, let’s talk about this. There must be a way.”

  “There is a way.” Marcus appeared in the doorway, his abrupt intrusion scaring the daylights out of us both.

  Devyn’s expression revealed nothing, but he waited for Marcus to speak.

  “Get married.”

  “What?” I asked. What on earth did he mean?

  “You and Devyn. Present them with the deed done and then Rion can’t be blamed,” he suggested. “It’s one thing to pressure you into fulfilling a contract already made, but it’s another for him to force you to break a more serious one, no matter how fresh it is.”

  “But how? No one here would dare defy the the King of Mercia’s announcement.”

  “We’ll go to the Holy Isle before everyone departs after the Winter Solstice. They can do it there.”

  “What about the handfast cuff?” We knew it was supposed to come off when we married, but until then it couldn’t even be cut off.

  “I’ve been looking into that. Ewan took a look at mine. He was very interested to examine one up close. They don’t use them out here,” he said, referring to the Britons, as he always did, as they, as other. “Apparently the cuffs just drop off upon marriage. He thinks it’s a contract charm and he’s fairly certain that the marriage doesn’t have to be to each other. Once the contract has been completed by one of the parties, the cuff is released.”

  “He wasn’t suspicious of you asking him that?”

  “He had no reason to be.” Right, because as men of science, discussing possibilities about how things worked didn’t necessarily mean there were ulterior motives. If only all people worked like that.

  “No.” Devyn had heard enough.