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

The praetor raised his hands to quiet the crowd’s cacophonous reaction to Calchas going straight to sentencing, reversing yesterday’s policy of insisting we kneel and have our misdeeds displayed for the city’s entertainment.

“People of Londinium and the Empire. Three among you have been found guilty and sentenced to death for their crimes. Despite the depth of their insults to the city, we shall offer them that which is always offered to the condemned on their last night on this earth.”

My eye snagged on Governor Actaeon. His expression was thunderous. He clearly did not deem us entitled to the single last wish offered by tradition.

“Marcus Courtenay. Speak. What would you have on this, your last night on earth?”

Marcus looked miserable and in shock. He shook his head, asking for nothing.

My knees threatened to give way. I couldn’t fall now. An arm reached under mine, steadying me. Unthinking, I turned to thank the guard for his assistance. The not unsympathetic eyes of Kasen met mine.

“Cassandra Shelton, what would you have as a boon on your last night on earth?”

I blinked, trying to extract a coherent thought from my scrambled brain.

“Lord High Justice, it is my wish to spend my last night in the arms of my lover.” I spoke clearly, projecting my voice so my answer was heard. I smiled as I turned to my partner in amorous crime. “The Briton, Devyn Agrestis.”

If I was going down, I might as well make sure that the full extent of my crimes was disclosed to the city. As the crowd erupted at this latest revelation, the governor grabbed hold of Calchas, forcing him to turn and face him, no doubt telling him how to deal with the unruly cat I had just let out of the bag. What would they do now that Devyn’s true origin was revealed? Would he get a stay of execution? My aim had merely been to stick one in the eye of the oh-so-clever praetor, but I smiled as I realised the bonus effect of my revelation.

Praetor Calchas had not named Devyn as a Briton when judging him yesterday, calculatingly remiss for the sake of the peace. The Britons could not protest the execution of one of their own if the council could plead ignorance. Publicly killing Devyn as a Briton, while not in violation of the terms of the 1772 Treaty, would be diplomatically disruptive.

Calchas stepped forwards once more, raising his arms until the furore calmed.

“Donna Shelton, your claim appears to be a desperate attempt to delay justice being done. We found nothing to support such spurious claims in our investigations into your friend’s activities. However, we would welcome anyone who can come forward and substantiate such a claim.” Calchas smiled to the audience in what would appear to be a magnanimous manner; they had already begun hissing their displeasure at this perceived generosity, hungry for the promised blood. Calchas raised his hands once more to quieten the growing grumbles.

“Devyn Agrestis, unfortunately, there can be no last wish for you while this matter is open. For now, a stay of execution is in place.” Again, his sodding pause for dramatic effect. “You have until noon tomorrow, after which your blood will stain the sands as your lover burns.”

So much for my plan to outwit Calchas. Nobody would step forward, not if they valued their own lives. No one from beyond the walls would confirm his origins – word simply wouldn’t reach them in time – but the Praetor would be seen to have tried to discover the veracity of my claims when the Britons came to learn what had happened. All too late, of course.

With a wave of his hands, we were pulled from the sands. I felt numb, disconnected from my body, slumping to the floor when we returned to our cell.

Marcus didn’t recreate his light when the door closed. I was glad; I couldn’t face them, couldn’t have them see me. I needed the moment to fall apart. Devyn had risked his life to find me and Marcus had tried to help us escape. Now we were all going to die.

The heavy silence was broken by the sound of someone opening our door. But no solitary guard stood outside with our dinner. In his place stood many heavily armed sentinels with Alvar at their head. He was glaring in at us. Involuntarily, I curled in on myself away from the sliver of light coming in through the open doorway. It was too soon. I locked eyes with Devyn. I wasn’t ready.

I wasn’t ready.

Chapter Four

I stood up in the freestanding copper bath, its scented waters swooshing as I stepped out and reached for the towel. Laid out on a chair by the window was a beautiful deep-blue satin gown. I pulled it on and turned to look at my reflection. I barely recognised myself in the alluring, sophisticated gown. Unlike the usual gowns I wore on formal occasions, there was no hint of the innocent debutante to this low-cut dress. It was a thing of mystery and seduction. It looked like my last boon was actually being granted.

The brand-new cosmetics laid out for me by the sink were all my preferred colours and brands. I needed little though; my eyes sparkled, and my cheeks were flushed. Apparently impending death agreed with me, or perhaps it was anticipation of the night I had been granted. One last night with Devyn before the guards inevitably came to return me to the sands where I would be burned at the stake. My chest tightened at the reminder, the horror of such a death tingling at my flesh. I put it to one side. There was no point spending my last hours on this earth worrying about the pain ahead of me. I should enjoy what time remained to me. Time with Devyn.

After the Mete, the sentinels had taken Marcus, then an hour later they returned for Devyn, and an interminable time after that