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

mountains, Mercia was almost entirely crushed. John Plantagenet of York was a king in name only, seeking refuge in Carlisle after he lost three brothers to the Romans. Henry, Richard and Geoffrey were all killed in the battle of Reeth. Mercia held on for another decade but it too was on the verge of annihilation after losing the siege of Alnwick.”

He checked to see that I was still following his tales of battles and places I had never heard of. I was aware that the Empire had stretched almost to Alba but how and when the tide was turned was not something we dwelt on in our history lessons. It was pretty much summarised as the Lady of the Lake arrived and used magic to massacre the imperial legions.

“Fleeing Alnwick, King Belanore of Mercia came upon a lake surrounded by apple trees and there on its shores he met Nimue and her sisters.”

“The same Nimue from before?”

Rhodri nodded. “Time moves differently in Avalon, and Nimue and her sisters are unaging while they stay there. Belanore knew they had taken pity before so he begged their aid, vowing to be true unlike the Pendragon King. The Lady Evaine was moved by his words. She came and united the druids to their cause and they succeeded in pushing back the invaders. Belanore and Evaine fell in love, they married and she bore him four children One of their daughters, Olwen, inherited her mother’s gifts when she reached maturity and their eldest son, Adelon, inherited the throne. When their parents both fell under the Roman sword they continued the fight.”

His words were barely audible over the crackle of the fire, which was the only noise in the vast, empty room.

“At the battle of Leicester, the Romans cut down Adelon and had trapped the lady Olwen when the armies of Cymru took the field. John of York’s daughter Joan was married to Llewelyn of Gwynedd and had pleaded with him to join the fight.”

“I thought that Gwynedd and Anglia hated each other?”

“They bear no great love for each other today, but this was many centuries ago,” Rhodri explained before taking up the tale once more. “Llewelyn arrived just in time and fought his way to Olwen and protected her with his own life. They won the day but the loss of Llewelyn ap Iorweth was a great blow to the people of Cymru. Avalon rewarded the prince’s bravery and his youngest son, Gruffyth, was given gifts that made him the greatest warrior in the land. Gruffyth could sense when the lady Olwen was in danger and he vowed to protect her in memory of his father. He had no child, but a nephew in his house displayed similar gifts when he came of age and became Olwen’s bodyguard; it has been the honour of House Glyndŵr to serve ever since. Our line has always produced a boy destined to become the Griffin and he is sent to protect the Lady of the Lake.”

“Why are they called the Griffin?” I asked. “In memory of Gruffyth, who was the first?”

“Yes, in part. The Griffin is both eagle and lion, a creature born to keep safe our most precious treasure.” A shadow crossed his face before he took up the story once again. “He is given various skills to better serve his lady. It is said that Gruffyth ap Llewelyn could turn into a griffin in battle.”

“Then you are descended from Gruffyth? Is Devyn not the next after you?” I was obviously missing something. Why had Rhodri been annoyed that Gideon had addressed Devyn with the title.

“No, I am the last.” The sadness in those dark eyes was endless, the lines in his face seeming to be carved in an expression that spoke of regret and shame. “There was a new lady, but she was killed as a baby. They had bonded, so Devyn knew what it was to feel that connection, to live in the knowledge that you drew breath in service to another. He would have become the Griffin on his sixteenth birthday but that didn’t happen. He never bore the mark, was never truly made Griffin, for what is it to be a protector to something that is already destroyed? With no new lady to serve, I am the last Griffin.”

Gideon had called Devyn the Griffin before he knew I was Lady of the Lake, not to show respect but to mock him, to remind him of the gaping hole where his honour and duty should be. Fury surged through me. How dare he.

He dared because the sin was unforgivable. If the legend was to be believed, the Griffin’s failure to keep her safe would have ended the matriarchal bloodline.

Rhodri had shared the same bond with my mother that I did with Devyn; he would have felt her terror and yet still he had turned tail and run, leaving her to be mowed down. I closed my eyes to hide the anger and disgust that ran through me. This was why Devyn and his father had been cast out, dishonoured; his father had broken that sacred bond and left my mother and me to die.

“He was always convinced she lived,” he continued, unaware of the tumble of emotions his story was causing in me. As far as he was concerned, I was a Roman citizen and this was all myth and legend to me. It was a story he couldn’t tell to people here, who would have their own opinions and judgements, those who still served him in this nearly empty keep, those who had stayed with him when all the kingdoms of Briton had recoiled from his actions, from his failure. “He couldn’t sense her through the bond, but he believed it anyway. I was so full of my own grief, so angry at her for leaving us. I understood all too well why he didn’t want to believe her gone. I thought with time he would come to his senses; he swore