Curse of the Celts

by Clara O'Connor

  Gideon cast me a strange look as I eased my aching bones down beside him. Damn. In trying to appear as if there were nothing between myself and Devyn, I had overplayed it. Gideon knew I couldn’t stand him, a reaction with which he seemed to be familiar. He seemed like the kind of person you had to get used to, if Bronwyn’s interactions with him were anything to go by.

  “Miss me?” he joked, as I proceeded to ignore him, his long legs stretching out to the paltry heat from the baby flames which were struggling to take hold of the damp wood.

  I smiled sourly at him. “Couldn’t last another minute away from your side.”

  The evening meal was barley and meat stew, substantially better fare than we’d been managing on our own. The chatter around the group was subdued, with glances continuing to assess us, their reluctant guests.

  “How long will it take us to get to Carlisle?” I asked. The sooner the better for Devyn’s sake. He had barely touched his meal, and when Marcus had redressed the wound, I hadn’t missed his wince at what he found under the bandage.

  “A few days,” Bronwyn said. “All being well.”

  “We need to get there sooner,” Marcus said. These were the first words he had spoken all evening.

  Bronwyn cut him a dismissive glance. “We aren’t exactly taking a leisurely stroll. Are we keeping you from something, my lord? Or are our accommodations just not up to standard?”

  Marcus narrowed his gaze. “There’s something wrong with Devyn’s wound. We need to get him to help.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. So much for appearing unconcerned.

  “I don’t know. It’s not deep, but he’s developing a fever.”

  Unable to help myself, I scrambled to my feet and crossed to where Devyn lay sleeping. Developing a fever was putting it mildly; his cheeks were flushed and, laying my hand to his forehead, I could feel that he was burning up. This close, I could also hear that his breathing was laboured.

  “Marcus, do something.”

  “I can’t. He’s not responding to anything I try.”

  Bronwyn had joined me and, pulling back his shirt, lifted the makeshift bandage. Dark tendrils crept outwards from the inflamed mark. Bronwyn laid her hands around the site and frowned grimly.

  I glared across at Gideon who was less concerned with Devyn than the state of the fire, which he was nudging with his great oversized boot.

  “What did you do?” There must have been something on the knife. What little knowledge I had of sickness came from my brief stint working in the hospital with Marcus, and I had never seen anything like this.

  “Me?” He had the gall to play at innocence. “Nothing. I can’t be blamed for what’s inside the Griffin. Maybe I just gave it a way to get out.”

  Bronwyn pulled the bandage back before straightening up and walking away into the dark. Devyn was her cousin and she cared so little? Marcus gave a slight shrug; he had little faith in our new friends. My anger boiled up inside me. I knew I wasn’t supposed to draw magic to me, but what did it matter if Devyn was going to die? Was he going to die? It was just a shoulder wound, but it looked nasty. I felt the power flood through my veins, warming me, making me feel whole. I turned back to Devyn and, after checking nobody was near enough to see, I laid my hands around the wound as I had seen Bronwyn and Marcus do. My eyes slid closed as I focused on Devyn, on the oily, grim foreignness that slimed through his blood, lighting it up, but it just slithered further into the shadows. I tried again and again to draw it to me, to push it away, to burn something. I refused to let it defeat me. It felt wrong, and my skin prickled each time I got close to it, as if every atom of my being was repulsed by the dark matter that eluded me.

  “Stop, Cassandra.”

  The voice seemed so far away. It was distracting me. I needed to focus.

  Arms grappled me, pulling me away from the oily tentacles I chased.

  “Cassandra, you have to stop. You’re hurting him.” Marcus’s voice was low but I heard him. I blinked and looked down. Devyn’s entire body was strained and rigid, arching in protest. I pulled back. If my power couldn’t help me fix him, then it would help me break someone else.

  I whirled on Gideon, whose attention I had now thoroughly caught.

  “What did you do?”

  He tilted his head to one side. “You have an awful lot of juice for a latent.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “No, Cassandra.” Bronwyn stepped from the shadows, bow in hand, the arrow already drawn. “I’ve got this.”

  All the men had risen and were poised to attack, but Bronwyn had chosen her position well. She was at the edge of the firelight, well away from all the warriors.

  “Gideon. What did you do?”

  The laconic Briton smiled up at her from where he sat, the only one who seemed unconcerned by the danger he was in.

  “Bronwyn, is that any way to treat a friend?” His scar caught the flickering light as he smiled across at her.

  “I have plenty of friends.” She shrugged. “Cousins though… Well, I’ve only ever had the one and, what can I say, I missed him.”

  “You were the only one who did,” Gideon said.

  Bronwyn’s face grew cold and blank.

  “Maybe so. But I have him back now, and you have no right. Why would you do this?” Bronwyn seemed to take a pause at her own question, catching the eye of one of the tall warriors who had been backing away from the light and closer to her. He stilled as she shook her head to indicate he should move no further. “Rion most certainly didn’t command this.”

  A flicker of something flashed across the face of the previously impervious warrior.

  She looked around at the men. “Think about it. Gideon was to bring Devyn and his travelling companions north. You think Rion wants him dead?”

  She paused at this as a couple of the men grunted in assent and exhaled in annoyance.

  “Poisoned on the side of the road. If he wanted Devyn dead, don’t you think he would want to do it himself? Think, you idiots.”

  The men shuffled uneasily, a few of them taking surreptitious steps towards Gideon who had decided to get up on his feet in light of the new atmosphere in the camp that grew tense and shifted out of his favour. Enough that his hand now rested lightly on the hilt of his sword.

  “Poison?” The dark-haired Briton shook his head, his other hand raised in protest. “No, Bronwyn. I would never kill a man like that, even him.”

  I took a step towards him, the fire flaring as I advanced. Gideon’s eyes widened, his brows drawing together before he turned his attention back to the armed woman facing him on the other side.

  “You know me. Is this my style?”

  “I don’t care. The fact is that it has been done. By your hand.” Bronwyn pulled back on her bow.

  “Wait.” He took his hand off the hilt of his sword and pulled at his belt, letting it drop to the ground. “If the blade was poisoned it was not with my knowledge. Maybe something was put on it to slow us down.”

  “Slow us down?” Bronwyn repeated. “So that York can catch us before we can reach Mercia?”

  Gideon ignored her accusation, nodding his head to Marcus. “He belongs in York anyway. Let the steward have what he wants, give us a cure, and then we can be on our way and deliver Rion’s oathbreaker back to him. No harm done.”

  “No harm done?” I practically screeched, every fibre of my being wanting to lash out at him. How could he be so indifferent to the fact that Devyn’s life hung by a thread? Was this really his justification for delivering Marcus to the people who were chasing us? If Bronwyn didn’t kill him, I would.

  Bronwyn didn’t even glance in my direction.

  “You did this at the Steward of York’s command?” she asked Gideon quietly.

  His face shuttered.

  She hissed, her dark eyes flashing. “You would betray Mercia this way?”

  Gideon stiffened. “I have betrayed no one. Our priority should be to get Marcus Courtenay to
safety. Whether that is York or further north is not my concern. My allegiance is to the Lakelands. Rion wants the Griffin. If there was something on my blade, I did not put it there. I know it plays into York’s hands that we go slowly and that York has a grudge against the old Griffin. Call it an unfortunate coincidence or bad luck, I don’t care.”

  And with that he ended the argument, striding away from the paltry comfort of the campfire. Once Marcus had done what he could to cool Devyn down, we curled up beside him for the night.

  As the first light softened the darkness, I felt myself drift slowly awake, as if I were one with the floor of the forest. My mind swept out across the land, through the soil laced with roots and its covering of dried leaves and twigs, kernels of life already readying themselves for the spring that lay ahead. My mind wove and melded with the great trees and their steadfastness, winging across babbling brooks and around solid boulders, delighting in the freedom and sheer life of it all. Outward and beyond. It was a luxurious meander through the life of the forest and I revelled in the organic life, feeling a sense of belonging that I yearned for as I danced along. Ever outward, mile after mile of it, none of the smothering, teeming populace of the city, just hill after hill, clean, crisp air, the warmth of the trees, and life that cared not at all for our momentary passing.

  Until I hit a sense of wrongness that seemed to catch me and pull me towards it by its gravity, a dark and swirling menace. An unforgettable foetid smell, creeping our way.

  The hounds were coming.

  I started awake, sitting up and gasping for breath. Was it real? Were they tracking us?

  “What is it?” Marcus’s voice came softly through the morning from where he lay on the other side of Devyn.

  “The hounds of Samhain.” I felt compelled to tell him what I had seen, what I knew to be reality. “The hounds are coming.”

  Bronwyn’s voice came from the far side of the camp. “The hounds of Samhain are tracking you?”

  “Yes,” I confirmed quietly. There was silence as the waking group absorbed the new threat.

  “Devyn won’t make it to Carlisle,” Bronwyn mused aloud. “We need to get him help. Now.”

  “Chester?” Gideon suggested.

  “They may not have a druid in residence,” said Bronwyn dismissively, “and even if they do, there’s no guarantee they will help us. What about Conwy?”

  “No,” Gideon said flatly, already starting to break camp. “Anglia and Gwynedd are never on the best of terms. York will interpret us taking their heir to the prince as an act of war. No.”

  “Fine.” Bronwyn nodded curtly, agreeing with the tall warrior’s assessment as she kicked over the traces of the fire. “Dinas Brân then.”

  “Dinas Brân?” Gideon arched a brow. “Didn’t the pup Griffin disown his father?”

  “Yes.” Bronwyn’s lips thinned. “But Rhodri didn’t disown him, and there is always a druid there to tend him.”

  “Dinas Brân it is then. But we have to go now,” Gideon urged. “The Griffin is slowing us down, and the hounds are following the magic. We’ll ride west with Marcus and the girl and once we’ve got some air between us, we’ll turn north and meet you.”

  “This all plays rather neatly into your suggestion from the first,” Bronwyn said stonily.

  Gideon swung around. The scar flexed as his handsome face tightened.

  “I did not poison that blade,” he repeated. “I will meet you. I will see the Griffin to Carlisle. The hounds want the magic; what little the Griffin holds will not attract them. We have no chance if we all ride together. I can lead them away and… Dammit, Bronwyn, I will be there.”

  The sickening feeling of being stalked by those awful creatures was a deadweight in my stomach. Marcus’s eyes sought and held mine. The hounds were coming for me, but the Mercians weren’t to know that, and as long as Marcus and I stayed together they didn’t need to know. Devyn’s best chance lay in my going as far in the opposite direction as possible. His cousin would take care of him. I knew Devyn wouldn’t be pleased to wake in his father’s home, but if that was what it took then that was where we had to go.

  The thought of riding away made me feel like I was abandoning my only anchor. I had no family, no home. I only had Devin – or at least I hoped I still did. I didn’t belong in this world any more than I had belonged in the one we left behind. It didn’t matter where I was as long as I had him. But first he had to be alive. And if I had to leave him to ensure he lived, then that was what I would do.

  Bronwyn laid her hand on my arm. “I will get him to safety, Cassandra, I promise, but you have to go now. We have to get Devyn to his father’s castle, where he can get proper help. There’s no time and we can’t afford the delay a fight would take.”

  I whirled back to Gideon, his tall, broad shape a dark shadow under the trees.

  “I want your vow.” The camp around us stilled at my words. I knew little enough about Briton society, but that they took vows seriously was certain; Devyn’s future here was threatened because of the vow he had broken by leaving for the city.

  Gideon stepped towards me.

  “I owe you no vow, city girl.”

  “Then I’m not leaving with you, and if I don’t leave, Marcus can’t.”

  “Can’t?” Gideon had spotted the can’t, not that Marcus wouldn’t leave without me.

  “Can’t,” I repeated, raising my sleeve to show him the handfast cuff on my upper arm. “I told you before. As soon as you get any distance from me, he will be as incapacitated as Devyn.”

  “What’s to stop me throwing you over a horse and making you come with us?” His dark smile glinted in the firelight.

  “I will,” Bronwyn stated flatly. “Why the hesitation, Gideon? You just said you would meet us, so why not vow it?”

  Gideon smirked. “It’s an uncertain world, Bronwyn. What makes you think I can deliver on such a promise?”

  “Vow that you will do everything in your power –” I paused to think through the wording carefully; it had to be something he could deliver on but also something that couldn’t be twisted in such a way that it served him better than it did us “– to see us safely reunited with Devyn and Bronwyn and able to continue to Mercia.”

  Gideon’s eyes bore into mine, unblinking, a muscle ticking on his jaw.

  “I give my vow to no one, and ask for no one’s in return. If you want my help, it is yours. If you don’t, you are welcome to continue to bring the hounds to the Griffin.” Gideon raised a lazy brow. What choice did I have? His lip quirked as he inclined his head to Bronwyn before turning on his heel and striding to his horse. “Now, let’s go.”

  Dawn light lit the camp palely as we hurriedly broke camp. The trees seemed more vibrant in the early light, the leaves more splendidly alive – in stark contrast to Devyn.

  Devyn was barely conscious as I bid him a constrained goodbye in full view of everyone. His glazed eyes hardly registered what was going on, and I couldn’t read him as we had closed off the bond on both sides to protect me from his pain. Actually, it was less pain than a sense of weakness and deterioration. He hadn’t even been consulted when Bronwyn had decided his childhood home was our best bet. He certainly wouldn’t be happy about it. But if he was well enough again to be angry at our decision, then it would be worth it. We just had to get him home where I would see him again. And I would see him again. I knew it in my bones. This shabby farewell would not be the last time I saw him. I pressed a light kiss to his forehead, running my hand across the damp black curls. Then I stood and, taking Marcus’s hand, walked away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  We had ridden for hours. At least for the moment I was sharing with Marcus and not the obnoxious Gideon. The warriors had all gone with Bronwyn and Devyn, whose slow pace made them more vulnerable, but one of them had given his horse to Marcus so we had two between the three of us. This meant that I spent a couple of hours on one before being transferred to the other in order to keep up the punishing pace that
Gideon set.

  Bronwyn was heading directly northwest to get Devyn to the druids at Dinas Brân as quickly as possible. We were taking the somewhat longer route southwest into Powys to lure away the hounds before turning north again.

  As the sun set, we hit a river that Gideon told us was the Severn. Its dark waters looked icy in the wintry evening. We stopped to allow the horses to drink and I gratefully eased my aching bones off Marcus’s horse. It was a momentary relief as I stretched my legs in the chilly evening air, wrapping my cloak tighter around me.

  “How much further before we stop for the night?” Marcus asked while Gideon led the horses over to the river to drink.

  His face slanted towards us, then beyond us contemplatively. “We need to put as much distance between ourselves and those creatures as possible.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I said.

  His lips curved up to the scar on his cheek. “We keep going.”

  “What do you mean, we keep going? You plan to ride all night?” I asked. The horses were already tired; it had been a long day, and horse riding was new to Marcus. We would kill ourselves if we kept going in the dark.

  “Not all night.” He smirked. “There’s a town south of here. We can rest there for the night.”

  Marcus and I looked at each other. Could we trust Gideon? So far on our journey we had avoided towns. The one time that rule had been broken, we were discovered, and now Devyn was injured. Bronwyn had warned me that Gideon’s interests were not necessarily aligned with ours.

  Our suspicion was clearly not too well hidden as Gideon rolled his eyes.

  “You think I’m leading you into a trap?” he asked. “I’m less concerned with the Anglians who are looking for him than the hounds which are coming for you, city girl.”

  I swallowed at the reminder of the menace that was hunting us. I didn’t miss that Gideon saw me rather than Marcus as the real magical magnet.

  “We’ll be safe in the town?” Marcus asked.

  “They’re stronger at night,” Gideon explained. “They won’t attack us in the daytime so being behind town walls surrounded by people will be safer, yes. Whether we are entirely safe depends on how determined they are.”