Curse of the Celts Clara O'Connor (new reading txt) 📖

a brow. “Lady, he found you, he restored honour to his name, and I hope it will lift some of the heaviness from my brother’s heart. What more could I ask for him?”

“You offered him your title?” If the offer still held, maybe I could persuade Devyn to accept and we could stay here.

“I would be glad to have the boy rule once I am gone, but it was always a fool’s dream. It was an offer made to remind people of his blood, but it could never be. He broke his oath. No man or woman would ever trust him enough to swear their allegiance to him.”

“But he did it to find me.”

“Yes, lady.” He looked puzzled at my lack of comprehension. “The duty he owes you is beyond the laws of man. He did the right thing, but he broke our laws to do so. He broke his word to his king. You might trust him in all things, but no other in our lands ever will.”

He smiled sadly and took his leave.

I frowned at the gap he had left. Especially since Rion Deverell stepped into it.

“Will you dance with me?” He grimaced at my failure to respond. “It is expected.”

His hands were sure as he moved me in the correct steps of a courtly dance which, once again, had the mournful harp as the pre-eminent instrument.

“You are avoiding me,” he said, sombrely pushing me away before twirling me back in.

“What do you expect?” I had waited a lifetime to have family, and the disappointment was crushing me. Not only had Rion taken Devyn away from me, he had taken something much more fundamental, something I had never dared to hope for myself.

“I had hoped to get to know my sister.” His voice was soft, careful.

He thought I would get past this.

“What? Before you send me off to York with Marcus?” He had spoken to me of the home that should have been mine then moments later informed me of his plan to send me away.

His eyelids dropped, concealing his emotions.“Catriona,” he began.

“My name is Cassandra.” I glared at him. He did not get to tell me who to marry and who to be as well. Catriona did not exist; the girl who they all thought had died on the banks of the Tamesis outside Londinium had not come home. I had.

He winced, his eyes lidded again as he inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“I would wish that we had more time but I understand that the handfast has already gone on dangerously long.”

I maintained a stony silence as he twirled me across the hall.

“I would like us not to be enemies,” he tried again.

“Then don’t force me to do this.”

He paused long enough for me to hope, to dream that he was considering my wishes, that we could rewind and begin again. That we could be family first before pieces on a chessboard, to be moved about in political manoeuvres.

“These are dangerous times. For the battle to be won, this is the game that must be played,” he finally said. This was the philosophy he lived by, and now apparently expected me to live by too. “It is for the best.”

“For you. Not for me. Not for—”

He stopped cold.

“Do not say his name. I do not know what has occurred between you, but he does not get to have this. After everything, this is too much. He has no right to reach so high.”

“If our lives had been different… If our mother had not died…?” I pushed.

His eyes took in the observing crowd and he swung me round to the tune once more.

“But she did die. And Devyn and his father were at fault. The Griffin failed her.”

Our mother had played her own part in what had happened. Why should she condemn Rhodri to shame for all eternity and leave four-year-old Devyn to be held accountable? I hesitated for a moment. Devyn’s father had made a confession that I was reasonably sure no one else knew. There was probably a good reason he had never told anyone before. More likely, knowing his son, the reason was foolish pride, but I couldn’t keep it to myself. This man had a right to know. Her death, and the events surrounding it, was one of the defining moments of his life; he should have all the facts.

“She bound him. Our mother bound him with a vow that he would keep Devyn alive at all costs.”

“What? Why would she do that?” His eyes flickered as his quick brain worked through the angles of this new information.

“I don’t know, but you see, he didn’t betray her. Rhodri followed her wishes, despite what he wanted himself.”

He rolled his shoulders.

“I don’t know why she would have done such a thing. But it changes nothing,” he said finally. “Devyn still lives. And tomorrow you wed Marcus.”

“Tomorrow?”

My chest felt tight, so tight that it could crush the very life out of me. “The druid tells me that the handfast has already gone on too long. The Steward of York arrives in the morning. Why wait any longer?”

My vision blurred as I looked past him, searching the room. He couldn’t do this. I wouldn’t do this. We were out of time. My sight cleared as I sought the shadows of the room. There. My eyes met intense dark ones across the merry music. Could he sense my panic? His eyes were like those of the eagle on his back as he tracked our movements and I knew he could tell that something was wrong.

I broke free of my brother’s arms. I needed a moment to breathe. A large form materialised beside me, sheltering me from the crowd, manoeuvring me as I stumbled blindly to the exit.

I found myself at the walls of the castle, the sea air whipping through me, blowing out the panic that Rion Deverell’s words had brought about in me. My knuckles were white in the dark as I gripped the battlements.

“Breathe,” the gravelled voice