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

The sky this morning was a spectacle that reflected my joy, great swathes of crimson and burnt pinky orange lighting up the sky as the sun lifted off the horizon.

My soul soared and there was an energy that flowed out of me as I laid my hands on the lichen-dappled granite wall. I felt it dance outwards in greeting to the day.

“Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning, fisherman’s warning.” An all too familiar voice came to ruin my moment.

I frowned back at Gideon, looming behind me.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a saying the common folk use. A red sky in the evening usually means the following day will be fine. A sky like this often foretells bad weather.”

He couldn’t have just let me enjoy the view. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and while cold, what did it matter when we were finally under a roof again? With Devyn on the mend, it wouldn’t be long before we would have to push on to the Lakelands. I stamped my feet to put some life into them. Even the thought of being back on the road anytime soon was enough to make a shudder run through me.

“We should go inside, m’lady.” There was a note of censure in his voice. I rolled my eyes. Gideon’s attitude towards me had noticeably changed since he had learned who I really was. Was I now too fragile for fresh air? Not so long ago he would have happily dumped my arse on the road to walk all the way to Carlisle on my own if the opportunity had presented itself.

But the wind was more than a match for the cloak I had wrapped around my long nightdress. I made to step around him. Caesar’s teeth, he was tall.

He stepped into my path.

“Your brother comes.”

“What? When?” I felt suddenly short of breath.

“You think he would allow the Oathbreaker to hole up in his ancestral lands and not come to fetch him? It was only a matter of time. Word was received last night that he would be here this morning.”

“Right.” I braced my shoulders and pointedly stepped around him.

I clunked my way back to my room.

What should I wear? It wasn’t every day a girl met her only family in the world. I ran my hand over the few options available to me. Beyond the nondescript travelling clothes Callum had donated, I had a couple of serviceable woollen dresses that Rhodri’s household had found for me. Serviceable because I was pretty sure the previous owners had been in service, the rough hems and neat patching speaking of hard wear and able fingers. The dark-red one fit me better than the green and the finicky ties cinched in my waist. What did the Britons have against zips, for the gods’ sake?

I pulled off Devyn’s boots and the two pairs of socks I was wearing. One of the pairs wasn’t too thick to fit into my own boots. If I tucked Devyn’s boots under my cloak, I could smuggle them quickly back to him before the Mercians got here. No time to do anything more with my hair than drag my fingers through it to detangle it before letting the gold and copper tresses hang loosely over my shoulders; at least it was clean.

I ran back along the hallway and tapped at the heavy wood of Devyn’s door. It was opened almost immediately by a servant I didn’t recognise.

“I was looking for Devyn,” I said unnecessarily, as I stood at his door not long past the crack of dawn, a fact that certainly wasn’t passing the serving lad by. He opened the door wider to allow my entry.

Devyn sat there, loose limbs stretched before him, beside the freshly stoked fire, eating some of the delicious little griddle cakes I had become addicted to at his father’s house.

“Cass, good morning.”

“Ah, good morning.” My cheeks heated as I bumped into a misplaced chair; his eyes were full of mischief. I was utterly thrown by the presence of the boy, who bustled about behind me, dressing the bed that I had helped to get to its current tumbled state.

I checked to make sure the boy wasn’t looking my way as I bent to put Devyn’s boots under a chair, rearranging my cloak to hide my activities. Snagging a cake as a reward for my task accomplished, I settled back into a chair, somewhat shy as I finally met Devyn’s eyes.

Devyn’s lips curled at my attempts at discretion. I took a bite of the still warm cake, the raisins bursting with flavour, the sugar a delight against the starchy goodness of the cake itself. My mind blanked at that smile. Why was I here?

Oh yeah. The cake was suddenly too dry in my mouth to swallow. I coughed as it stuck in my throat.

“Here.” Devyn handed me his hot drink. I took a sip and nearly groaned as the rich coffee hit my taste buds. I raised widened eyes to Devyn.

“We are in one of the wealthiest castles in Cymru. Traders come here all the time,” he explained.

“Shadowers?” I asked, thinking of those who lived in the wider imperial province. It had long been rumoured in the city that they crossed the borders unofficially to trade with the Britons, though Gideon had said that they were not permitted this far north.

“Once perhaps, but now mostly traders from Eireann, the Americas, and other free lands. I’m sure you’ll find fancy fruit in the kitchen if you ask nicely. They come from all over to trade with the druids on Anglesey, and many continue here to Conwy too.”

My mouth watered at the thought of fruit. Devyn’s addiction to coffee was second only to my adoration of exotic fruits not native to this island, pineapples and mangoes being particular favourites. His teasing reminded me of the days we had spent in Londinium in coffee shops observing the sentinel patrols. I had loved