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

“Just looking for my travelling companion,” Devyn replied, coolly edging his way around the horse in order to reach Marcus’s side. “‘All’s well?”

Marcus tore his angry eyes from the armed rider in front of him.

“Fine. I was just telling these folks that we are merely passing through, on the lookout for new trading opportunities.” Marcus repeated his story. I couldn’t see Devyn’s expression from here, but I’m sure he was less than pleased with Marcus right now for attracting the attention of these riders. Were they the ones that Callum had said were coming for us?

“Long way from the shadow of the wall out here,” the scarred warrior on the horse nearest Devyn answered. “Don’t get too many traders this side of the borderlands. Spies, perhaps.”

Devyn laughed, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “Spies? My friend here ain’t clever enough to be a spy, and I am from Powys; I’m a Celt through and through. I have no love for the Empire.”

“That so? You folks been on the road long?”

“Not too long. We were in Bath for Samhain. Been on the road since then,” Devyn continued to saunter across to Marcus, stopping when he reached his side. He stood ever so slightly between him and the dismounted warrior’s drawn sword.

“Your friend said you were in Oxford,” the woman said, raising the sword so it lightly touched Marcus’s chest. She had a scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face against the driving rain, but you could hear the flash of false smile in her voice.

“We stopped in at Oxford on our way,” Devyn explained, his voice betraying none of the irritation I sensed through the bond; he had let the barrier between us down a touch, no doubt to use it as a way to tell me to run if things went badly. Run. As if I would leave them. Where would I go without them? Marcus, I couldn’t leave. Devyn, I wouldn’t.

“Quite the circuitous route.” The tall warrior nudged his horse menacingly forward, hedging them in. His skill was apparent as he manoeuvred his horse with a featherlight touch of his big tattooed hands.

“No crime in that.” Devyn smiled back. “We got plenty of time, nowhere in particular to be.”

“You meet many others on the road?” a third rider asked. Like the others, he wore a dark cloak with the hood up, but long red hair was visible from underneath.

“Some, aye,” Devyn responded shortly.

“We’re looking for two men and a girl,” the red-haired rider said. “Probably dressed as Shadowers. You seen anyone like that on your travels?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Devyn replied calmly. “Now, if it’s all right with you, friends, we’ll be on our way.”

Devyn started forwards and Marcus moved to follow him. The sword against his chest held firm, and Marcus was forced to stay put.

“But it’s not all right with us,” the woman at the other end of that sword said softly. “Your Shadower friend is going to come with us. I’d like to enjoy his company a little longer.”

“Didn’t get enough last night, did you?” Marcus taunted the hooded figure. The rider was holding the pointy end of a reasonably substantial looking sword to his chest, and he thought the best way to defuse this situation was to offend her further?

“That’s right, and I decide when a man leaves my bed. Can’t recall any man sneaking out before. That makes you… interesting. So, we’ll hang on to you for a little while. See if you don’t get a little chattier with some of my friends here.”

“I do apologise for my friend’s poor manners but we have to be on our way.” Devyn drew the sword Callum had supplied from its scabbard and the dismounted rider somewhat reluctantly pulled her sword away from Marcus’s chest to defend against the new threat. What was Devyn thinking? It was six against one. If you didn’t include Marcus, which I didn’t. In fact, at this point, I’d happily beat the crap out of him myself.

At a gesture from the woman on the ground, who seemed to be their leader, the riders pulled back, making space for the pair to fight. Rather than use their extra numbers, they seemed happy to let her have at it, confident that Devyn and Marcus, two humble travellers on the road, proved no real threat to any of their company one on one.

She and Devyn circled one another, each taking in the other, the terrain, and the space available. The girl feinted first, Devyn easily deflecting her strike. Then they went at it, trading blow for blow. The girl was fast and, despite the size of the sword she wielded, never seemed to tire. Her footwork was better than Devyn’s. Devyn had spent the last decade in the city; when was the last time he had used a sword properly? The few days he spent showing Marcus the basics were not going to count against this warrior’s evident skill.

Marcus’s attempt to fade into the trees while the group’s attention was on the fight was blocked by the scarred rider who smiled wolfishly down from his horse as soon as Marcus took his first couple of backwards steps. I needed to do something. Devyn was not going to beat the girl, and even if he did, I sincerely doubted that her friends would be happy just to let them walk away.

Callum had said I should try to avoid using powerful magic when I was out in the open. The hounds of Samhain had my scent, and he felt they were unlikely to give me up so easily. Apparently, they were not bound to either the borderlands or that night. Nor would they be caught unawares as they had the first time. But what choice did I have?

I sucked in a steadying breath and stepped out from behind my tree. I focused, as Callum had taught me, letting my consciousness flow out as I exhaled and dragged in energy from the forest around