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

And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb

How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

— The force that through the green fuse drives the flower, Dylan Thomas

Chapter Nine

Devyn beckoned us over from the barn he had just checked out. I sighed in pleasure at the sight of the hay in the corner; it looked like it would be infinitely softer and warmer than the cold ground we had slept on as we trudged north in the increasingly cold and wet weather. I could barely remember the last time I felt warm. Devyn had set a punishing pace since we left Oxford, barely speaking as we trudged over never-ending miles, keeping away from small towns and avoiding travellers as we pushed on.

Sitting down with a sigh, I struggled to pull off my boots to begin what had become our evening ritual. Devyn would disappear to scout the area, and he would bring back firewood and foraged food – late autumn berries, nuts and such mostly, but occasionally some fish which he would then cook.

Tonight, he had nowhere else to be. We had leftovers from the bounty he had secured from a farm for dinner and firewood was piled in the corner of the barn ready for the winter.

I paused, taking off my boots.

“Aren’t you going to light the fire?” I asked, unwilling to have him watch while I extricated my feet from the torture devices that were my boots.

“Later,” Devyn said.

Marcus knelt at my feet. “C’mon then, let’s get it over with. The sooner you do this part, the sooner it’ll be better.”

I nodded, bracing myself as he undid the laces before easing the boots off my raw and bloodied feet as gently as he could. I winced as my socks followed.

“What in the— What are you doing?”

I opened my eyes to see a furious Devyn looming over me.

Marcus gritted his teeth as he continued his unpleasant task of releasing my feet before he healed them back to blessed normality.

“What?” I asked back, all innocence, even though I had done everything I could to hide this from him as we trekked north.

“What?” he echoed, astounded. “What cursed foolishness is this, Cass? How long has this been going on?”

“Uh… since we left Oxford.”

“You’ve been walking on bloody feet for most of each day and then hero boy here is fixing you up in the evening,” he said, watching as Marcus ignored him and got on with the business of healing my feet. “How could you be so stupid?”

“Stupid?” I asked.

“You’re never going to build up hard skin if you keep making it as new every night.”

Marcus stood until he was face to face with Devyn.

“Excuse me, but you hadn’t even noticed. You think she should sleep in pain each night and then push on with her feet still raw the next day?” Marcus’s voice was barely controlled.

Devyn looked down at me, taking a breath, considering what Marcus was throwing at him. But Marcus wasn’t done.

“You bring us out here and you don’t tell us what’s going on. Where are we going? Who’s chasing us? Who is it exactly that Callum believes Cassandra to be? Why are you…?” Devyn stepped back, allowing the city boy to rage at him. Whether it was because he was still off balance at learning of my feet or in surprise at Marcus raging at him was unclear.

As Marcus backed him up against the wall, Devyn locked eyes with him and remained silent.

“I’m so sick of this. Of you. Of everything.”

With that, Marcus went crashing out through the door of the barn into the already black night.

The atmosphere grew increasingly heavy after Marcus stormed out. It had been brewing for a while. The two were so different, and we were all struggling to come to terms with life since the city. The easy, charming Marcus I had known had all but disappeared in his grief at his father’s death; their toxic relationship and his father’s unexpected sacrifice must be tearing him up. He was already struggling with the responsibility his power to heal put him under in a land ravaged by illness, especially when his ability to help was limited to so few.

It was Devyn I most wanted to reach. Since Samhain and Callum’s cryptic parting words, I could feel him pulling away from me. I needed to reach him, but I didn’t know how. I still knew so little about him.“Devyn,” I started. This was my chance. The prickle that had started in my arm indicated that Marcus had gone further away than he should. News I wasn’t planning to share with our surly guide anytime soon in case he decided we had to go after him. Marcus wouldn’t go much further, knowing that it would hurt me. He might be angry but he was still at heart a doctor, and I believed in my friend.

Devyn lifted his head to look at me from where he was tinkering with his pack on the other side of the barn. His dark gaze was inscrutable.

“He didn’t mean it,” I assured him.

“Oh, but I think he did.”

Silence descended once more. I ran over scenarios in my head, different approaches. How could I get him to tell me what was going on in his head? I had given him time, waited for him to tell me, but that hadn’t worked. I got up and went over to him, my steps crackling on the straw. I laid a hand on his tangled dark head, his lengthening black curls a magnet for my fingers. I felt like I hadn’t touched him in an eternity. Thinking about it, I hadn’t really. He had taken my hand that first day, but since that night in the forest on Samhain, we hadn’t been close. The space between us was growing.

“What’s going on?” I asked softly.

“Nothing’s going on.” He continued about his task, putting everything neatly back into his pack. I crouched down beside him, reaching for his cheek to