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

The tables heaved with crusty bread and tea – the herbal tea was acceptable but coffee was available if you asked really nicely. I spread strawberry jam across the bread and sank my teeth into it.

It was barely past dawn, but the King of Mercia and a number of his warriors had been halfway through their breakfast when I arrived, the golden lord sitting beside Gideon, speaking of nothing.

I waited tensely, trying to catch the eye of the serving girl in the fading hope that today she would give me a sign that I could take the tray to Devyn, when I sensed him approach. Bronwyn had pleaded with Deverell and Llewelyn for the last three nights that Devyn be allowed back to his room given the state of his health. Apparently, Rion Deverell’s anger had cooled enough that they had even gone one step further and granted him the freedom of the castle. Arriving to breakfast late, he paused momentarily in the doorway. He blinked at the suddenly silent company gathered there and then the doorway was empty again.

Chatter resumed before the door had swung closed. I almost jumped a foot in the air as the clatter of a fist slamming on the table rang out like a shot. All eyes turned on the King of Mercia who had remained so determinedly relaxed all morning. The force with which he had pounded the table gave lie to that indifference. Bowls were still spinning after they found the surface of the table again.

The hum of conversation did not cover the silence this time as the door swung closed in the departing king’s wake.

What did Deverell want? Was he going after Devyn? After waiting for as many minutes to pass as I could bear, I made my way to the door.

In my soft indoor shoes, I took off along the corridor, almost running, my skirts swirling around my legs. I paused at the end of the hall – stables or bedroom? There was no way anyone was going out in the lashing rain that had continued through the night.

And yet. He had been cooped up for days.

I ducked my head against the driving rain that stung my face like needles. I ran across the courtyard, hunching against the weather.

I paused as I entered the stable, and after shaking off the rain as if I were a half-drowned dog, I centred myself and felt for Devyn. If he was here I should be able to… There.

Passing by the horse stalls to the end, I found Devyn putting a saddle on a horse.

“What are you doing?” I asked, aghast.

“Going for a ride.”

“In this? What is wrong with you? You’ve barely recovered from the… you know, nearly dying.”

“It’s better for everyone if I stay out of sight. I need to be outside these walls for a couple of hours,” he said in a controlled manner. I went to him as he fixed the girth, laying my hand on his arm.

“He’s looking for you.”

Devyn’s muscles tensed. He was wound as tightly as I’d ever seen him. I recalled his face when he’d opened the door to find Deverell at breakfast. He didn’t want to face his former friend, didn’t want to lie to him. But lie he must.

“Are you sure?” His eyes flicked behind me to the entrance.

“Well, no. But he’s been watching that door all morning, so I assume he knew you weren’t in the dungeon anymore. He seemed upset that you decided not to join us and stormed out after you.”

“Right,” he sighed. “Now he wants to talk.”

“Devyn—” I started to remind him that he couldn’t say anything.

“Stay here,” he cut me off abruptly, pushing me firmly back into the stall as he made his way out of the tack room.

“Leaving again?” Rion Deverell sounded bored.

Devyn gave no response that I could hear.

“What are you doing here?” Deverell sounded angry, but it was heavily laced with frustration and exasperation. “You come back and put yourself in the middle of… If you had just come to me first as I told you, I could have contained it. We could have figured it out. But now it will be public and I cannot be seen to show weakness.”

I waited for Devyn’s response.

“I am still your man,” Devyn finally said.

“That remains to be seen.” That cool, restrained tone returned at Devyn’s formal but uninformative response. Silence hung in the air, filled only by the soft whickering of horses.

“I asked you a question.”

“I was poisoned. It wasn’t exactly my decision,” Devyn answered.

“You’re lying to me.” Deverell spoke slowly, assessing the man before him.

Silence again. I could feel Devyn’s struggle to find words that would move them beyond this. Something that would help him avoid lying further.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Deverell tried again, to resounding silence. “York’s bride came with him.” The king tried a new tack. “As I recall you nearly got yourself killed in Londinium over her.”

My heart stopped. Did he know? Was it possible that he suspected the truth? I leaned my head against the wall, begging Devyn to hold the line.

“Damn you,” came that controlled voice.

Footsteps rustled through the straw, leading out of the stables until they paused momentarily before they quickly returned.

“You left me alone. He was a ghost. After you left, I had no one.” I couldn’t see Rion, but I could hear his pain and feel the answering pain his words stirred in Devyn.

“Why did you leave?” The words sounded like they had been torn from him against his will.

Again, Devyn didn’t answer; he didn’t need to this time. His boyhood friend knew the answer already. Deverell’s groan said as much, as did the sound of a hand hitting a stall with a bang.

“Dammit. That cannot be your defence.”

“It’s the truth.”

More silence as Deverell absorbed Devyn’s simple reply. He didn’t ask if Devyn had had any success. Whether because he didn’t care if his sister was still alive or because no part of him thought it possible, it was hard