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

him. Bronwyn said we should come here because you have a healer who might be able to do something for him.”

Rhodri paled.

“Our druid left yesterday and he is not expected back for another week at least. I should have gone with him, but I stayed here, just in case.”

I shook my head, confused. “In case of what?”

“In case my son came home.”

“I thought you had no son,” Gideon said with a smirk.

Lord Rhodri shook his head wearily. “I did not know who you were and ’twould not be wise to tell strangers at my door that I waited… in case he might seek a night here on his way north.”

“How did you know we were coming?” Marcus asked, speaking for the first time, I realised.

“Well, Marc of Oxford, the entire country is buzzing with news of the York prince fleeing the city with the Griffin’s son, risen from the dead, leading him home. People expect Marcus Plantagenet Courtenay to go to York, but Devyn’s fealty is to Mercia. Once beyond the border, he would have a duty to go there directly.” The tired, dark eyes looked towards the fire. “I am an old man and I waited here in the hope that he would seek shelter on his way. I would like to see him once more.”

He turned towards me. “And so now that we are all being a little more honest, I take it your name is not Catriona?”

I hesitated. I so wanted to tell him. This man had been destroyed by what had happened twenty years ago but I bit my lip and shook my head.

“Cassandra,” I offered up, sticking to my promise to Callum and to Devyn to conceal the truth.

“Cassandra, it is my pleasure to host you.” He bowed his head, waving in a waiting serving woman. “Now, I’m sure you are tired. Meg will take you to your room.”

While it had been warm beside the fire, the temperature quickly dropped as we circled up into the tower where I was shown to my room. This room too showed signs of disuse but, like its lord, hints of former pride and grandness were still visible under the surface abandonment. I wondered what Gideon had made of the man who used to be the greatest warrior in the land, a man I recalled he had once admired, though his frame had become frail and seemed as discarded and uncared-for as his home.

I quickly washed as best I could, using the cloth and icy-cold water which had been left for the purpose, before climbing fully dressed beneath the somewhat musty, heavy covers of the four-poster bed. The throw at the bottom of the bed caught my eye, its geometric burnt reds and yellows far from the swirling blues and greens more typical of the Celts. It spoke of Mediterranean Africa; was this one of the few remnants of Devyn’s mother, who had died too soon after escaping the Empire? Devyn. My mind raced in worry. Where was he? They should have made it here before us. Even delayed by Devyn’s wound, their route should have been half the distance of the one we had taken. Where could they be?

I lay there, unable to relax despite the relative comfort of a bed, when the door opened again. I turned slightly, expecting the servant who had brought me here. But in the doorway, in the light of the single candle he held aloft, stood Marcus.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, I’ll be fine,” he spoke to someone in the hallway before entering the room and closing the door to the stairwell.

“Cassandra, I…” He hesitated.

I smiled in amusement at his consternation.

“It appears the Celts don’t keep to the same rules as the city when it comes to unmarried couples,” I observed dryly.

“It appears not,” he responded carefully.

“I’m okay if you are,” I offered quietly when he made no move to come closer.

He nodded and crossed the room, leaving his candle on the table by the bed before he too cleaned up with a fresh pour of water and the cloth I had used before him. He pulled off his outer layers of clothing, fastidiously folding them and placing them on a nearby chest before climbing in beside me. He quenched the candle with a soft huff of breath.

The room, which had been so empty before with only my thoughts rattling around in it, now felt suffocatingly small. I dragged back my consciousness from the forests where Devyn lay somewhere, suffering but still alive, I was sure. I would feel it if he were gone; he was closed off, distant, but still breathing. I knew it with the same certainty with which I drew my own breath.

Being this close to Marcus made the inevitable awareness in my blood begin to heat as the handfast went to work. We had worn the metal cuffs for months now, longer than anyone I had ever heard of and the effects were impossible to ignore – for me at least, unprotected by my lost charm or by Devyn’s proximity. My fingers curled into my palms, digging into the skin to distract my mind from the attraction of the warm body on the other side of the bed.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a hand gently brushed my shoulder.

“Are you all right?” came his voice, soft in the darkness.

I remained silent. I didn’t know what to say. No, I was not all right, and his touch made me at once furious and maddened with the need to turn into his arms. I hated the cuffs with a strength that would bring down the mighty stone walls of the keep if I released it.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The darkness allowed the words to linger in the air.

“It’s not your fault,” I finally managed to breathe into the cold air.

“No,” he said dismissively, “not for this – well, maybe a little for this, but I’m sorry for what happened.”

I stayed silent. Let him say it. I wasn’t going to let