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

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 across 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