Curse of the Celts by Clara O'Connor (most romantic novels .TXT) 📕

family. He had barely looked at me yesterday, beyond that moment where realisation had sunk in.

“Dammit.” A large hand circled my upper arm, bringing me to an abrupt and unexpected halt.

I scowled up at the manhandling oaf. We were back to this?

His jaw had a tic jumping at the side; the careless Gideon was really worked up. I tilted my head. How curious.

He exhaled roughly.

“Fidelma is…” He ran a hand over his jaw roughly. “You shouldn’t trust her.”

““Why not?” I asked. Where was this coming from?

“I’m not saying she’s your enemy, just that she…” He shrugged. “She has her own reasons for doing things. I see how you… Just be careful.”

Be careful? Out of all the Britons I had come across, she was one of the few who had ever helped me. The High Druid had been the only person apart from his uncle to have tried to give Devyn a fair trial. I frowned as Gideon knocked on the door and the call to enter came from within.

Rion Deverell hadn’t paid me a great deal of attention since his arrival; I’d had a chance to study him though. But I couldn’t even guess at his reaction to his sister’s return from the dead. My existence shifted the balance of power in Britannia, but would that bother him? Would he be glad?

He was sitting at a desk when I entered the room and made no move to come around and greet me. It felt like I was entering the principal’s office for a dressing down for some sort of misbehaviour.

He looked up at me, his expression collected and formal as he gestured with a snapped wave of his hand for Gideon to leave. Ouch. No wonder Gideon was off with me. Helping to conceal the truth of my identity must not have gone down well with his liege lord.

“I apologise for not summoning you sooner,” he started, his composure even.

“Summoning?” I echoed. Seriously?

He stood, shaking his head slightly.

“I didn’t mean… that is, yesterday I was angry. Not at you. That is, I was taken by surprise.” He stopped, a wry smile tilting at his lips while his blue eyes met mine. “In all these years… He always said… I never allowed myself to really believe… To dream…”

I stared as the oh-so-dignified and regal Rion Deverell disintegrated in front of me. I had had time to think about what this might be like and had been observing him for nearly two weeks. This was clearly a shock for him.

I smiled back, a goofy, lopsided thing that spoke to everything swirling around inside me. He returned it and got up to come around the desk.

His eyes surveyed me intensely, taking in every feature, every expression, as I did the same to him.

“I can’t believe after all these years you will really be coming home.” He hesitated, a flash of uncertainty crossing his face. “Fidelma would like you to join her community in Glastonbury, to train to tend the leys as the lady has done for generations. I was hoping that first you might come home.”

Home. The word thrilled through me. I nodded.

“I’d like that,” I said, and a broad smile lit up his face. “What is it like? What was it like to grow up there?” I had so many questions.

“Beautiful,” he said, his smile fading. “Empty.”

He had grown up without the family that should have been his.

“How old were you when…?”

“I was four when Mother died. Father held on until I was in my teens but he was a ghost after she died. He was all heart, and when she was gone, so was he, really.”

“Do you remember her?”

“A little,” he confirmed. “Feelings mostly – her laughter, her sheer force of will. You have her temper, and her way of… I don’t know how I didn’t see what was right in front of me.” he exhaled. “Catriona.”

He pulled me into his arms and it felt right. It felt like the welcome and security of home. Finally, a home. He was family, someone who would love me unconditionally, simply because I existed.

I pulled back. I wanted, needed, to see his face. Did we look alike to others? Did we look like brother and sister.

“Rion and Catriona?” I asked.

“Yes, my— our mother liked the way they paired.” He smiled again, as if unable to hold his happiness to himself. “Ridiculous, I know. The Lady of the Lake usually has a more traditional name.”

“Like what?” I asked, only vaguely focused on this conversation. Most of my mind was still marvelling that this was really happening. I felt giddy with it.

“Like Nimue, after the lady who aided Arthur back in legend, or Evaine, or Viviane, like Mother.”

“Viviane,” I sounded it out just to feel it roll off my tongue. “Catriona, Cat… Devyn calls me Cass. Do you think it’s because it sounds similar?”

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