Celtic Fire (23 page)

The Roman dog would die. Owein would give his last breath to make it so.

Rhiannon was crying.

The sound twisted in Lucius’s heart like the blade of a battle dagger. She’d given him pleasure beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Had he caused her pain? He smoothed a strand of hair from her face, but rather than comforting, his touch only seemed to make her tears fall faster.

He climbed from the bed and found the hand lamp. Touching the wick to the coals in the brazier, he blew gently until the flame sprang to life. Shadows leaped to the corners of the chamber. He set the lamp on the table and eased back onto the bed.

Rhiannon blinked up at him through wet lashes. He lifted her chin up with his knuckles. “Is my lovemaking so terrible then, little one?”

Her tears welled anew.

He leaned forward and kissed her eyelids, tasting salt. “Tell me why you cry. Did I hurt you?”

She cupped the side of his face with her hand. He turned his face into her palm and kissed it.

“No,” she said. “Your touch caused me only happiness. ’Tis only …” She bit her lip and fell silent. “What?”

“I never knew,” she said softly.

“You’ve never taken pleasure in lovemaking before?”

She picked at the edge of the coverlet, tearing loose a tuft of wool. The blanket lay in her lap, leaving her breasts and belly exposed. Lucius forced himself to focus on Rhiannon’s face as she spoke.

“I was wed for five winters,” she said, “and the first months after my handclasping were not unpleasant. But I never—” She blushed, swallowed hard, then continued. “I welcomed Niall whenever he sought me. I longed for his seed to grow within me.”

Lucius’s gaze fell to Rhiannon’s belly and for the first time he noticed the faint silvery lines on her skin. His finger traced the length of one from hip to navel.

“You have a child,” he said, hating himself. He’d thought only of his own desire for Rhiannon and his need to keep Aulus away. He’d never considered she might have left a babe behind. Did the little one cry for her now?

But she shook her head. “Four years ago a difficult birth came upon me. Two nights, the midwife told me later, though I hardly knew if the sun rose or set. At the end of it, the babe was born broken. Dead. Niall blamed me.”

“He should have been glad he didn’t lose you as well.”

“No. He was right to despise me. The lad was large and I too small to bear him. By rights, I should have died and given my son the chance to live.” Her fingers ripped another tuft of wool from the blanket. “I prayed that Briga—the Great Mother—would send me another child. I sought Niall again and for a time he obliged me. His seed took root twice more. But each time, the babe passed from my body before two moons had passed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“The last time Niall came to me—” She closed her eyes and shuddered.

“He hurt you.”

“No. Not truly.” But she didn’t meet his gaze.

“Lead me to him and I will kill him.”

“He is already dead.” Rhiannon lifted her head. “Killed by a soldier of Rome. As so many of my people have been.”

Lucius could find no reply to that.

“Leave the northlands, Lucius. Take Marcus and the healer and go back to Rome. It’s not safe for you here.”

“I am not so easy to kill. The fort is secure.”

She searched his gaze. “Can you be sure of that? Truly certain?”

He took her hand and the chill of her touch caused the hairs on his nape to rise. “What do you mean?”

“My people will never stop fighting.”

He made a sound of dismissal. “Once the Celts of the north taste the riches of Rome, they will join their brethren to the south in welcoming a civilized life.”

“Many believe death would be preferable.”

“They are fools.”

“Not fools. Men who fight for their lives and homes.”

Lucius shook his head. “If Caesar hadn’t landed on this island, the tribes would be busy enough fighting among themselves like children in need of a nursemaid. Rome has brought an end to strife in the south of Britannia.”

“So long as the people pay taxes and answer to a Roman governor.” Her voice betrayed her bitterness.

“Yes.” He gave her a long, level look. “Is that so terrible a price to pay for peace?”

“Must you Romans take all you see, Lucius? Will you never stop?”

“Rome’s strength lies in expansion. The emperor seeks glory in all lands.”

“ ’Tis glory purchased with the blood of his countrymen. And for what? A moment’s rest before the killing begins anew?” She extracted her hand from his and rose from the bed. She paced to the window, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders as she went.

After a long moment, Lucius came up behind her and laid his palms on her shoulders. Dipping his head, he dropped hot kisses on the curve of her neck. “Let’s not argue, sweet. Come back to bed and I’ll make you forget any thought of discord.”

“Go back to Rome, Lucius,” Rhiannon said without turning. “Let me return to my people. There’s nothing for you here.”

“You would have me leave you? After what we shared last night?” He wouldn’t be able to do it, of that he was certain. What he’d felt in Rhiannon’s arms had been beyond compare.

She said nothing.

He turned her toward him with one swift motion, far more roughly than he’d intended. “Rhiannon. You are like no woman I’ve ever known. I … I died in your embrace last night.”

“Oh, Lucius.”

“The slowest and sweetest of deaths, not the quick agony I’ve longed to inflict upon myself with my sword.”

Rhiannon gave a cry of dismay. “You cannot truly wish to put an end to your life.”

“I have seriously considered it.” He looked at the door. Aulus, he had no doubt, crouched behind it. “Never more than yesterday.”

He released her and stepped away. “Six months ago, when my brother’s ghost first appeared, it was a wisp of mist. With every northward step I took, Aulus grew clearer. Now—” Lucius’s hand clenched in a fist. “He appears to me as solid as a living man. He’s been beaten—tortured—but I cannot see his tormentors. His clothing is in shreds. He stumbles about and I wonder that his blood does not stain the tile. If I don’t find my brother’s killer, I’ll be forced to watch while he dies a second time.”

Rhiannon looked ill. “Go back to Rome, Lucius. Perhaps then the vision will fade.”

“I made a vow to avenge Aulus’s death.”

“And if you cannot?”

“I must, and soon. I’ve but a few short months before my successor arrives.”

Her breath caught. “Truly?”

He gazed into her eyes and felt comforted despite the turmoil he saw there. Though she spoke words to the contrary, he couldn’t believe she wished him to go. “This post will be my last. Come winter, I’ll return to Rome and take my father’s seat in the Senate.” For the first time, the thought held some appeal. He smiled. “You’ll come with me. I’ll show you a city beyond anything you can imagine.”

Her eyes clouded before they dropped to his chest. “Surely there are women enough in Rome.”

He lifted her chin with one fingertip. “None like you.”

She regarded him steadily with her golden eyes, but try as he might he couldn’t read her thoughts. She traced his lips with the pad of her thumb.

“You are so proud,” she said, almost to herself.

His tongue darted forward and gave her thumb a playful lap. “I am. Let me prove it to you. Come to bed.”

Amusement chased away the shadows on her face. “Lucius …”

“On your lips, my name sounds like music.” Caught by a sudden urge, he laced her fingers in his and tugged her toward Aulus’s massive Egyptian wardrobe. “Come, I wish to show you something.”

“What—”

“You’ll see.” He opened the brightly colored doors and searched through Aulus’s collection of jewelry until he found the one piece he sought. A teardrop pendant of amber.

He dropped the chain around her neck. She cradled the amber in her fingers and looked up at him in awe. “ ’Tis beautiful.”

“When I first saw it among my brother’s things, the color of the stone reminded me of your eyes. I want you to have it.”

She shook her head. “I cannot wear this.” But her fingers gripped the pendant tightly, as if she dared not let it go.

“You can. I wish you to.” He tugged the blanket aside and placed a kiss just below the stone in the valley between her breasts. “Please.”

A tremor passed through her. “As you wish.” When he raised his head she placed a kiss of her own upon his chest.

“Be careful,” he muttered, “or you will find yourself impaled on my sword a second time.”

“Such a threat will do little to deter me,” she said, her voice thick. She flicked her tongue over his nipple.

He groaned. “You were forewarned.” His slipped his hand between her legs and she gasped as he teased her there. Her knees gave way. He steadied her with his hands on her waist and guided her to the bed.

He stretched out on his back and lifted her atop him. She sprawled on his stomach, legs spread wide, hair cascading over her shoulders. Her skin was the finest alabaster, touched with rose, the dark flame of curls between her thighs held fire enough to sear any man. No goddess could be lovelier.

His gaze drifted to the angry red scar on her thigh, bordered by bruises just beginning to fade. He traced it with his fingertip. “I’m sorry for this.”

She gave a wry smile. “Don’t trouble yourself overmuch. I’m not sorry for the arrow I put in your arse.”

His gaze narrowed, but her eyes held only laughter. He smiled, tension draining from his body. Rhiannon’s fingers found his shaft and stroked upward. He needed no more encouragement. He slid into her body and lost himself in her welcoming heat.

“Vindolanda has no need for reinforcements. My scouts found no evidence of barbarian activity in the area. Sir.”

“I’d be surprised if your men could find their way out of a latrine,” Lucius told Brennus. He pressed his seal into the soft wax covering his letter to the fortress commander at Eburacum. “And even if nothing was found, it hardly signifies. By your own admission, there was no advance warning of the attack on my party.”

Brennus rocked back on his heels, his expression unreadable. Lucius’s attention drifted to Aulus, sprawled on the floor boards in the corner of the office. A loose knot was all that prevented the remnants of his shredded tunic from slipping over his hips.

“You dealt your attackers a severe blow, sir. Twenty barbarians dead by our count. More certainly died of their injuries. The Celts will not soon attack again.”

“Your opinion is noted,” Lucius replied. He closed the sealbox and set it with a second parcel addressed to the governor in Londinium. “Select three of your fastest riders for the journey.”

“But sir …”

“That will be all, quartermaster. You are dismissed.”

Brennus hesitated, then apparently thought better of further argument. He saluted, gathered the sealboxes from Lucius’s desk, and left the room.

Aulus stirred, his chest heaving with labored breath. Lucius could almost imagine he heard the rasp of air as it dragged into his brother’s lungs.

He stared at Aulus’s battered form. “By Pollux. Who did this to you?”

Aulus tried to rise, stumbled, and fell to the ground. Lucius jumped from his stool and grabbed for his brother’s arm. It was like trying to seize a swarm of bees—a violent shimmer of energy with no sensation of weight or form. He shook his tingling fingers and gaped at Aulus. The ghost was writhing on the floor, hands raised as if shielding himself from unseen fists. Lucius’s throat closed on a feeling of utter helplessness.

He fled the chamber. Aulus struggled to his feet and staggered after him into the courtyard. The rain that had begun in the night fell in gray sheets from a mottled sky, but Lucius scarcely cared if he got soaked. He turned his steps toward the south gate, dreading his intended destination but unable to turn from his path. Some primitive instinct compelled him.

He ordered the gate sentry to unbar the stout timber doors, revealing a cluster of huts huddled along a muddy road. At the far end of the village, a path veered off a short distance to the edge of the forest, where a low stone wall encircled the remains of Vindolanda’s dead. To Lucius’s surprise, a figure stood within the enclosure, head bowed.

Vetus. What lunacy could have caused the tribune to stir from his bath on such a miserable day? Lucius approached slowly, suddenly hesitant to complete the last few steps to the cemetery.

But he found he could not turn away. He halted at Vetus’s side and gazed on the stone column bearing Aulus’s name. Distant thunder rolled.

Vetus raised his head. “How I miss him. It’s odd, really. I knew Aulus only a few short weeks and yet …” He raised his head and Lucius saw that tears mingled with rain on the tribune’s face.

“You loved him.”

“Yes.”

Lucius touched Vetus’s shoulder. “Then we are brothers in grief.”

They stood in silence for a time before Lucius spoke again. “Aulus’s death must not go unavenged.”

Vetus gave a furtive glance in Lucius’s direction. “What do you mean? It was an accident.”

“I don’t believe that,” Lucius said. “Do you know anyone in the fort who might have wished him harm?”

Vetus hesitated, then shook his head. “No one. Only …”

Lucius caught his arm. “What?”

“The men with whom Aulus went that day …”

“Sextus Gallus and Petronius Rufus.”

“Yes.”

“They are dead.”

“Yes. I know.” Vetus glanced toward the fort’s high battlement, where a sentry was just visible through the rain. “The two of them hunted often.”

Lucius’s fingers loosened their grip. “There’s nothing unusual in that.”

Vetus’s shoulders shook. “Aulus abhorred the hunt. I should have tried harder to dissuade him from accompanying them.” He touched Aulus’s monument. “I had it erected at my own expense.”

“Thank you,” Lucius said softly.

A bolt of lightning flashed and Vetus started as if suddenly coming awake. “It’s as if the gods are always angry in this place. I’ll not rest easy until I reach Rome. Until then …” He turned toward the gate. “I’ll warm myself in the bath.” He paused. “Will you join me?”