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

Without thinking, I rounded on Gideon.

“You did this,”

“No,” he returned grimly. “Madoc says it wasn’t my knife.”

“What?” I hadn’t even got started in venting my rage when this latest revelation stopped me in my tracks.

“The knife didn’t carry the poison.”

“How can he know that?”

“He says the wound isn’t the source of the corruption. In fact, my knife wound was probably the difference between him living and dying.” Gideon’s lips tugged upwards in that irritating nonchalant amusement at our disbelief. “It’s true. There was poison in Devyn all right, but it existed before my dagger hit him. Left undisturbed, it would have quietly done its work until the moment he drew his final breath and keeled over. The knife disrupted it, drew it to the surface rather than burying it in his organs. So you ladies should be thanking me.“

He gave us a debonair half-bow as if accepting our unspoken relief.

“He was already poisoned?” I asked. “How? When?”

“Are you sure it was poison?” Marcus asked at the same time.

“You’d have to ask Madoc for more information. I’m just relieved that somebody isn’t going around dipping my knives in poison without my knowing,” Gideon said. “I could have used that knife to eat. It had crossed my mind to wonder if I had been my father’s intended victim. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t miss me.”

Gideon had never intended to kill Devyn. Well, Callum had speculated as much. But who then would have had the opportunity?

Callum.

He was the only person we had met on the way who knew who we were. Was that why he had been so convinced that Gideon hadn’t meant to kill Devyn? Because he was the real culprit?

“Is it possible Cassandra or I might also have this poison in us?” Marcus asked. It was a fair question. If we had been dosed by Callum – or even earlier, before we left the city perhaps – could it even now be moving undetected in our veins?

Marcus took my hand in the Briton style, wrist to wrist, using the technique Fidelma had taught him. His eyes closed as he checked my blood before releasing me, satisfied that he could not sense it.

“Maybe we all had it. We could have burned it off,” he suggested.

I supposed that was true, or maybe only Devyn had been targeted. But first things first: Devyn had to be cured.

There was no sign of the druid for the rest of the evening, though he sent some of the mistletoe potion for Rhodri, as yet unaware that Marcus had rendered the medication unnecessary.

Waking the next morning, I immediately made for the druid’s rooms and knocked lightly on the door.

When there was no answer, I gently let myself in. Madoc lay sleeping on blankets on the floor while Devyn still slumbered on the cot behind. I surveyed him quietly; there was some colour in his cheeks and the dark hollows seemed to have lightened if not filled out overnight. My body sagged in relief.

I reached for the bond and it felt firm and real once more, either because he was close or because he was better, I wasn’t sure, but it was tangible again.

But he didn’t wake that day, or the next, and Madoc grew increasingly concerned. Over a week passed before I opened the door to an exhausted but happy Madoc.

Stepping past him a breath of relief sighed from my smiling lips as I met the dark-brown eyes looking steadily back at me. The smile stretched across unfamiliar muscles in my face.

“Hi.”

He blinked in response, an answering smile playing faintly on his lips.

I sagged to the ground beside him, catching the now warm hand that lay on the blankets, savouring the feel of the calloused palm, the steady pulse, the natural healthy colour of the skin.

“You’re okay?”

“No, he is not okay,” Madoc growled from behind me. “What are you doing in here, girl?”

His brows drew together at the sight of our linked hands. I had haunted this room while he lay sick but had been careful to come with Marcus. As far as he knew, I was with the York prince; maintaining the appearance that I was with Marcus had been no great challenge in Devyn’s absence, more difficult while he lay unconscious. Without Devyn to counter the pull of the handfast, I had been drawn to Marcus, the wondrous power of the cuff reversing our almost non-existent chemistry. But with Devyn now awake and within touching distance, our natural polarity was restored.

“He’s better?” I asked, ignoring the druid’s facial expression and tightening my hold on Devyn’s hand, deeming it more suspicious to pull away than not.

“For now.”

“What do you mean, for now?” I asked. This recovery wasn’t permanent?

“I’ve done what I can. The potion I made has worked well enough and I threw a few more things at it overnight so you were strong enough to rouse. I’ve done as much as I can with the supplies I have but some of my more powerful herbs were running low. If you remember, I was on my way to Conwy to restock when his lordship called me back.” He pulled me firmly aside as he turned down the blankets to check on his patient. The black tendrils staining his bronze skin had receded, but the wound, though greatly improved from the putrid mess it had been yesterday, still looked raw.

The druid nodded to himself.

“You’ll do, boy,” he said. “Now up you get; we have a ride ahead of us.”

“He can’t ride! He’s been at death’s door for days. He needs time to recover.”

“He needs medicine I can’t give him. Either he’s strong enough to get off his arse and ride, or he can lie there and gamble on us making it back in time.”

“I missed you, Madoc,” Devyn said, straight-faced. With a groan, he levered himself up on his elbows. I put my arms around him and helped him rise until he found himself unsteadily on his feet. But at least he was