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

it all. The Britons were not as united as they had appeared from the other side of the wall. The country beyond the imperial province was divided between various kingdoms. Devyn was from Cymru which was to the west of us, while we were headed north towards Mercia.

I had assumed Anglia and Mercia were allies. They had both been ruled by the same house for a period; the two Houses of Plantagenet had joined forces to form the Rose Union, the central force that had finally pushed the Empire back, leading to the dominance of the Tewdwr dynasty. It appeared that alliances had shifted in the centuries since.

It sounded like reaching the Mercian capital would see us protected from the York forces who pursued us. I didn’t know a great deal about the Mercians. They didn’t usually attend the Treaty Renewals, mostly keeping to themselves, and as far as I knew were little involved in the warring that frayed the Anglian–Cymru border. Mercia was left alone by the other kingdoms, no doubt for fear of the famed power of the Lady of the Lake. Devyn hadn’t spoken of Kernow to the southwest, but I knew that was where Bronwyn came from. But was she here as a representative of her region or as Devyn’s cousin? What her relationship was to the Mercians was unclear, even as she rode in their company.

I ground my teeth in frustration at how ill-informed Marcus and I were. Devyn had barely spoken on the road since Oxford, apart from instructing us as necessary. Marcus had also been totally shut down. I sighed. Maybe our current circumstances were an improvement… or not, I thought, as a slice of pain leaked through my connection with Devyn when Bronwyn’s horse’s gait jarred his shoulder. It caused me, in turn, to stiffen and pull away from the thug who had injured him.

Explanations from Devyn as to what the Anglians wanted had been met with tight lips, though he had admitted that Marcus was their primary interest and they would mean him no harm. He had warned that falling into their hands would not be ideal for either of us though, especially with the risk that more people might discover my true identity. No more had been forthcoming. Devyn had promised Matthias that he would deliver Marcus to York, where his ancestors were from, but he was insistent that we should get to Carlisle first, then deal with York from a position of safety.

I wondered if I should try to interrogate my travelling companion but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. I combed over the titbits of information to see if I could make any more connections as we made our way across the countryside in the wintry grey light of the day. Bronwyn had said that this Gideon was a friend, though not one she trusted. Why didn’t she trust him?

My head hurt. Devyn was barely speaking to me, Marcus had retreated into his grief once more and wasn’t talking to anyone, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask the warrior behind me, with his scar and his glinty, watchful eyes. I would just have to wait and try Bronwyn when we made camp. In the meantime, my mind played with the facts like a nagging tooth.

I had completely melted into the broad-chested warrior by the time we stopped to make camp.

“Wakey-wakey” was whispered into my ear, the breath warm against my cold skin. I started awake; we had ridden on in the dark, the early evening an inconvenience we could ill afford. We had continued on in the pitch-dark countryside, moving more slowly with a view to caring for the horses, but we had not been able to camp as early as the winter sun had set.

As he dismounted behind me, I sat helplessly on the horse, pretty confident that when I got off this creature, I was going to crumple in a heap on the muddy ground.

Gideon looked back up at me, assessing my situation, and without asking put his great paws around my waist and swept me off the horse. He held on to me while I found my balance, using the moment to step into me, crowding me against the horse. I glared up at him. What did he think he was doing? He leaned down to me.

“You’re welcome,” he said, mocking my lack of thanks for his help. Exhausted beyond measure, I just glared harder. He chuckled as he released me and stepped back.

Back on solid ground, my eyes did what they were best at and looked for Devyn. I didn’t need the connection to read the anger emanating off him at Gideon’s little display; his fists were clenched as he watched, narrow-eyed.

Good.

I looked up and to Gideon’s surprise flashed him my choicest smile, my hand coming up to touch him lightly on his chest as I stepped around him. He instantly looked suspicious and, somewhat cynically, I felt, for a man who had only just met me, surveyed the camp to see who that little display had been for. I cursed myself for my tired stupidity. So much for not drawing attention to myself and Devyn, but hopefully our little byplay had been missed by the rest of our audience. I steeled myself not to seek him out and made my way over to Marcus. To my shame, I realised that after all the drama yesterday, once he had stitched Devyn up, I had no idea what had happened to him. I wasn’t sure I was yet over my anger at him that it was his fault Devyn had been in a fight at all. Or at his escapades of the night before. I didn’t know what to feel. It was exhausting and, once I met his eyes, irrelevant.

Marcus looked deeply unhappy. I slipped my hand through his to give him comfort, and immediately felt guilty that it crossed my mind that doing so helped with our official story