Tainted (26 page)

Gawain entered the massage room in the public bathhouse and
saw the
praetor
sprawled face down on one of the benches. He closed the
door and shoved a small stone table in front of it. He wanted no interruptions.

“Finally.” The
praetor
, his head turned toward the
opposite wall, sounded irritated. “I’ve been waiting far too long. This
standard of service would never be tolerated in Rome.”

Gawain flexed his fingers. The image of plunging his dagger
through the Roman’s throat flashed through his mind. But no matter how much he
desired the
praetor
’s death, there was no honor by killing him in such a
manner.

Instead, he wrapped his hands around the man’s neck, his
fingers jabbing into his windpipe, his forearms across the Roman’s shoulder
blades, pinning him in place. The
praetor
gagged, struggled and then
clearly realized the futility.

“Just so you know.” Gawain leaned over the man and spoke by
his ear. “You’re at my mercy.” He increased the pressure around the
praetor
’s
throat to underscore the Roman’s vulnerability before relaxing his grip. “Get
up.”

As the
praetor
struggled to sit up, Gawain unsheathed
his dagger and pressed the blade against his thigh. It was an unsubtle reminder
that the Roman remained weaponless.

“In Rome you would never have got through the security.”

“We’re not in Rome.” Gawain twisted the hilt of his dagger
and didn’t miss the way the
praetor
glanced at it. It had been easy
enough to bribe his way in. Loyalty to the invaders only extended so far. “I
heard a rumor that you intend to coerce the lady Antonia into wedlock.”

The
praetor
stiffened. “You would be wise not to
speak Lady Antonia’s name in my presence, Celt.”

Gawain tightened his grip on his dagger. “She will never
belong to you.”

“You think she would choose you above me?” Despite being at
a grave disadvantage, the
praetor
showed no outward fear of Gawain, and
it irked. Another man would be sweating, stuttering, glancing around for a
means to escape. But the
praetor
looked him in the eye, and his bearing
was proud.

“At least I don’t have to resort to base threats against an
innocent child to secure a woman’s favor.” All he needed to do was ensure
Antonia did not wed this man before her daughter arrived. Then, no matter what
protest she might raise, she was accompanying him north.

“An innocent child?” The
praetor
stood, his face
mottled with affront. “Your sources are misinformed, Celt. Your obsession with
Lady Antonia is addling your brain. She makes her own decisions in such
matters.”

Gawain narrowed his eyes. He wanted to believe the
praetor
was lying but his gut told him otherwise. Yet if the man hadn’t threatened
Antonia’s daughter then why was she going to marry him?

“Whatever misbegotten tactics you’ve used won’t work. Your
men won’t surprise me a second time, Roman. And be assured that I can outmaneuver
any security detail you assign to protect yourself. If I decide to have your
blood on my hands there’s nothing you can do to prevent it.”

“You believe that murdering me will gain you favor in Lady
Antonia’s eyes?” Contempt dripped from every word.

“No.” He knew Antonia far better than to believe that of
her. “But at least it will stop you from having her.”

The
praetor
’s nostrils flared and he bared his teeth.
“The way you have had her?”

Gawain’s grip tightened around his dagger as the inviting image
of ripping the
praetor
’s tongue from his throat filled his mind.

“One day,” barely leashed rage thudded through every word,
“she will belong to me, Roman. And I will have her in every sense.”

The
praetor
gave a harsh laugh. “You delude yourself,
Celt. She is of Rome. Even if she returned your infatuation do you really think
she would give up everything for you and live like a barbarian?”

Infatuation.
The word pounded in his head, fury
mounting with every thud of his heart. Raw boys suffered from infatuation. It
was a calculated insult, intended to distract him, to give the Roman an
advantage.

Antonia’s faced flooded his mind. The memory of her soft
voice calmed his temper. Control balanced. He curled his lip at the Roman.

“It is not I who is the barbarian in this room,
Praetor
.”
He gave the man’s official title the contempt it deserved. “The Lady Antonia is
more than the sum of her blood heritage.”

“You’re wrong.” The
praetor
sounded as arrogant and
assured as though he were wearing his full patrician regalia instead of
standing naked before his dagger-wielding enemy. Gawain slaughtered the flicker
of respect that attempted to ignite for the other man’s courage. “We are all
the sum of our blood heritage. There’s no denying or escaping the call of our
forefathers. Do you deny yours, Celt, simply because of current circumstances?”

“I’m not ashamed of my heritage.” They both knew what he
was. But Gawain would never give the
praetor
the satisfaction of hearing
him say the words.

“And you would willingly drag Lady Antonia into your world,
knowing your heritage would taint her as surely as it taints yourself? That a
death sentence would hover over her head because of her association with you?”

Denial roared through Gawain. He could protect Antonia. She
would never know he was a Druid, and he would never do anything to let such a
suspicion arise in her mind. The Romans did not rule in the land of the Picts.
The Picts would not betray him the way the queen of the Brigantes had betrayed
Caratacus.

But suppose they did?
Suppose Antonia was captured
and her protests of innocence ignored because he had knowingly forced her into
danger?

The
praetor
gave a low, scornful laugh. “I see your
lustful plans had not extended that far ahead.”

His plan had extended as far as taking Antonia and her
daughter away from Camulodunon, to where his heritage did not have to be
concealed.

But he’d always intended concealing it from Antonia. Just as
he’d always planned on looking after her and ensuring she wanted for nothing.

It was a grand, noble plan. Except it was hollow. Because he
couldn’t promise to give Antonia every luxury she deserved. He could not even
promise to protect her from tenacious, vindictive Romans should they come
hunting in the far north.

And how could he expect her devotion when he kept such a
vital element of who—
what
—he was a secret from her?

Yet that wasn’t the reason why his lungs burned and chest
ached. It was because Antonia had not even wanted to accompany him. It had
nothing to do with the
praetor
coercing her. She had chosen a life of
comfort with a man she did not love over a life fraught with uncertainty with
Gawain.

There was nothing to prevent him from abducting her and
taking her north by force. But what would that gain him?

He stepped back. Victory gleamed in the
praetor
’s
eyes. He knew he had won.

But there was something the Roman had to know. “Everything
your precious empire believes of those who are descended from the ancient gods
is but a shallow glimmer of the truth.” He sheathed his dagger. Maintained eye
contact. Because by all the gods that existed in the Otherworld, he would
avenge Antonia if this bastard failed to respect her as she deserved. “If you
ever harm the Lady Antonia I will find you. And unleash the wrath of my
ancestors on your bloodline.”

“I must speak with my father.” Antonia turned from Elpis and
then realized the other woman was not following her. She swung back. She hadn’t
told Elpis the reason why she needed to find her father. The thought of repeating
the queen’s words caused her stomach to cramp. It would be hard enough saying
them once, to her father. “Elpis, I need you. Please come with me.” Elpis had
been by her side since they were both young girls. Antonia couldn’t confront
her father on her own with such a shocking accusation.

“Of course.” Elpis obediently went to her side. Antonia
stared at her and tried to smother the panic that threatened to overwhelm her
at any moment.

Who was she?
She was the daughter of a patrician
woman who had disgraced her noble family by marrying far beneath her status. Up
until this afternoon, she had also been the beloved daughter of a wealthy
merchant from Gallia.

Quicksand sucked at the roots of who she was, at everything
she had ever believed. If she allowed herself to think about everything the
Celtic queen had said, she would go mad.

She had to find her father. She had to hear him tell her it
was all lies. There had to be a perfectly logical explanation for why the queen
would say such a scandalous thing.

But first she had to ensure that Elpis
understood
. It
was of vital importance. She wasn’t even sure why, only that it was.

“No.” She hitched in a ragged breath. “You do not have to
come with me. I want you to come with me. You don’t have to do anything I ask
anymore, Elpis. You can go home to Athens if you wish. But-but it is my dearest
hope that you choose to stay with Cassia and me.”

Elpis looked down at the floor. “What would I do in Athens?”
Her voice was quiet. “I lost my blood kin the day I was enslaved.” She raised
her head and looked into Antonia’s eyes. “When you freed me, I thought you
wanted me to leave.”

How could Elpis have imagined that? Didn’t she know how much
Antonia cared for her?

But why would she know? It was only over the last year or so
that Antonia had finally acknowledged that Elpis was so much more to her than
merely a slave.

Tentatively she wrapped her arms around Elpis. They had
often held hands, but had never hugged. That was reserved for women of her own
social standing. Women like those patricians in Rome.

“I would like you to stay,” she whispered. “You are like a
sister to me, Elpis.”
If the queen spoke the truth, then Carys was her half
sister.
A shiver rocked through her, tipping her further into a maelstrom
of confusion as Elpis returned her embrace.

She needed to speak to her father. To put to rest once and
for all the queen’s lies that were eating through her heart. She changed her
gown and Elpis rearranged her hair. And all the while Antonia tried to work out
how she could raise the subject of her true parentage with her beloved father
without offending his honor.

As Antonia and Elpis hurried through the forum, she caught
sight of the
praetor
leaving the bathhouse. She quickly pulled her palla
over her head and hoped he hadn’t seen her. She was in no mood to confront him
and his demands.

Her father was in the back room of the luxury merchant shop
he owned near the forum and did not appear especially delighted to see her.

“What is wrong?” He came toward her and held her shoulders.
“Has something happened?”

He had always been so concerned for her comfort and
well-being. Not all fathers cared so dearly for a daughter. Surely he would not
care for her at all, if the queen was right and Antonia was the product of an
illicit liaison between her mother and a Druid.

A tiny voice in the back of her mind urged caution. What
could be gained by raking up the past? She should let it go. Push it to the
back of her mind and try to forget the accusation.

But she knew she would never be able to forget it. Because a
part of her feared the queen spoke only the truth.

She stared into her father’s eyes and her courage wavered.
Perhaps she should take the time to think this through, to choose her words
with care and practice what she needed to ask.

But there was no easy way to say it. She could have a year
to prepare the words, and still she would not know what to say.

“Is it true that I am the daughter of a Druid?”

Her father’s swarthy complexion paled, as though she had
struck a mortal blow to his heart. Antonia stared, appalled. There was no need
for him to confirm or deny. The stricken look in his eyes told her everything.

“No.” His voice was hoarse and he gave her a small shake.
“You are my daughter, Antonia. You have always been my daughter.”

She pulled free of his grasp. Panic writhed deep in her gut,
a malevolent serpent seething with poison, corroding everything she had ever
believed of her life.
Her father was a Druid.

It made a distorted sense. She had often wondered if her
mother would have married a merchant if she had not been pregnant. Now she knew
the truth beyond any doubt.

“What did my mother’s esteemed family give you for taking
her off their hands?” Her voice was bitter and she scarcely acknowledged how
Elpis gripped her hand. How foolish she had been to imagine her parents had
been so blindly, completely in love that it had crossed all social boundaries.

“Antonia.” Was it her imagination or did her father sound
shocked? Why did he sound shocked? Should she remain ignorant of her roots, now
they had been wrenched from the false bed she had lain in for the last
twenty-five years?

“Why? Why did you marry her?”

“Because I loved her.” Her father let out a pained breath
and Antonia’s heart ached at the look of desolation on his face. “I loved her.
She was intelligent, beautiful and always had time to speak to me whenever our
paths crossed. I always knew I never stood a chance with her.”

“Until she disgraced her father’s name.”

The look of desolation vanished and her father’s eyes
gleamed with rage. “She disgraced no one, Antonia. The filthy dog raped her. I
was honored to be chosen for her husband. Cassia deserved a life in Rome as
befit her noble birth, but instead she was destined to die in Gallia. Because
of the barbarism of a Druid.”

Antonia reeled at the foul accusation.
She was the spawn
of rape?
Denial pounded through her mind, but before words could form the
sound of the door shutting behind her caused her to swing around.

The
praetor
stood there, his face as hard as marble.
“Lower your voice.” It was a command. “I could hear you from outside the room.”

Her father stiffened. “What did you hear?”

The
praetor
glared at her father. “Enough.”

“Antonia has the blood of one of the premier houses of Rome
in her veins.” Her father took a step toward the
praetor
. “She is
innocent of the darkness surrounding her conception.”

“Of course she is.” The
praetor
kept his gaze fixed
on her father. “And as my wife she will enjoy the status into which she should
have been born.”

“You will never hold this against her?” Skepticism threaded
through her father’s words but Antonia also heard a trace of fear. Fear that
the
praetor
might turn on her because of her tainted blood.

The wild urge to laugh bubbled deep in her chest. All her
life she had lived with the knowledge that in the eyes of her mother’s family
she was not quite good enough because of her father’s plebian blood.

But it wasn’t plebian blood that soiled her veins. It was
the blood of Druids. And that heritage was enough to crucify her.

“I give you my word on the names of my forefathers that I
will never harm Antonia by word or deed.”

Her father drew in a deep breath. “Perhaps, after all, you
are worthy of my beloved daughter,
Praetor
.”

The urge to laugh faded and instead a strange, ethereal
sense of calm descended. She freed her hand from Elpis and stepped toward the
two men who were discussing her fate as though it had nothing to do with her.

An eerie familiarity rippled along her spine. She had been
here before. Her future hung in the balance, suspended between the might of two
powerful men and the fragile will of a mere woman.

Embrace your destiny.
The feminine whisper in her
mind was in a language she did not know. Yet she understood the words.

They were the words spoken in the visions she had when Juno
visited.

Juno? Or Hera?

Or another goddess altogether?
A goddess from her
unknown father’s pantheon?

“I am not the product of rape.” Her words shocked her almost
as much as they shocked the two men, judging by the looks on their faces as
they turned toward her. She looked into the eyes of the man she had always
thought of as her father. The man she would always love as her father, because
he was the only father she had ever known. “My mother loved him. You’ve always
known this, Father.”

It was the reason he loathed Druids. The reason he had never
allowed her to discuss them. It was not because of their emperor’s prejudice
and extermination decree. It was because a Druid had stolen the heart of the
woman he loved.

“Cassia was too young to know her own mind.” His voice was
harsh but the undercurrent of despair tore through Antonia’s heart. Not only
for her father. But for the mother she had never had the chance to know.

How terrified she must have been. A young girl pregnant by
her illicit lover. How easy it would have been to coerce her into marrying
another man. A man who would never be suitable under normal circumstances, but
one who was immeasurably preferable to a despised Druid.

Slowly she turned to the
praetor
. She did not have
the excuse of being a young, inexperienced girl, and yet she had allowed this
man to coerce her all the same.

“How could you take me as your wife now, Seneca?” Her voice
was quiet but did not tremble with the aftermath of the recent revelations. The
strange serenity still cocooned her and there was an odd sense of detachment.
As though she was watching this tableau unfold, yet was not quite a part of it.
“You have pledged to rid the civilized world of all who bear my heritage.”

The
praetor
swallowed. “You are not the sum of your
heritage, Antonia.” He sounded as though the words choked him and he gripped
her hand. “When you marry me, my heritage is yours.”

It was true. A woman was nothing but the sum of her father’s
heritage until she married. And then she was her husband’s. Yet how proudly the
man she loved as her father had always instilled in Antonia the noble lineage
she inherited from her mother.

But now she was more than the child of a daughter of Rome.
Her Druid father’s blood flowed in her veins. If he was half as noble and
honorable as Gawain then how could she allow his legacy to fade into obscurity?

“I love you, Father.” She looked at the man who would
forever be her father in her heart. He had concealed the truth from her, but
she understood his reasons and could not hate him for it. Then she looked back
at the
praetor
. Both men stood shoulder to shoulder. A barricade of
masculine power. If she allowed it, they would bend her to their will, in the
misguided belief they were doing it for her. She freed her hand from the
praetor
’s
grip. “But I will always be the daughter of a Druid.”

Their vehement protests flowed over her. She waited until
their demands and entreaties finally faded into silence. A silence that clearly
grated on both men’s nerves but that sank into Antonia’s soul and enhanced her
sense of calm.

If she returned to Rome, she would never learn anything more
of her blood father. Her daughter would remain in ignorance of her true
heritage. Antonia’s marriage would be a sham and her life a lie.

To save Gawain she would do all that and more. But was this
the right path for her to take? Was this truly her destiny, to continue to deny
the past and blight the future with yet more fabrications?

Or was her place by Gawain’s side, ensuring the truth
prevailed? Not simply the circumstances surrounding her birth. But the deeper
truth of the mysterious people—
her
people
—who were the scourge of
the empire?

The Druids.

“Would you crucify me, Seneca, for my foreign blood?”

She saw her father press his hand against his heart, but her
focus was on the
praetor
. His jaw tensed, the only outward sign of his
thoughts he allowed himself.

Finally, he spoke. “No.”

Antonia took a deep breath. The time for deception by
omission was over. “Would you truly crucify the only man I have ever loved,
because of
his
foreign blood?”

“What man?” There was a note of fear in her father’s voice,
but for once she ignored him. Her eyes never left the
praetor
’s. When he
had given her the ultimatum before she had blindly believed it, too terrified
that Gawain’s life was in danger to question the
praetor
.

But now she did question. Now, when he was fully aware that
Gawain was the man she loved, the man she was prepared to sacrifice her
happiness for, she demanded an answer.

She would not allow him to bask in the delusion that he was
saving her from an ill-advised liaison or fanciful infatuation. Such tactics
could work on a naïve fourteen-year-old girl. But not on a woman of
twenty-five.

The
praetor
’s nostrils flared. “You would give up everything—to
be with
him
?”

Everything but her daughter. And yet, if she could be with
Gawain, she would not be giving up anything.

But the
praetor
did not need to know everything. “I
would.”

Silence reigned. She knew the
praetor
was doing it
deliberately, hoping to unnerve her enough so that she would break the silence
by saying something unwary. But the strange sense of peace still cocooned her
and she was content to wait for the
praetor
’s response.

It was her father who eventually broke the deadlock.

“Antonia.” There was a heartbreaking catch in his voice.
“Think of Cassia.”

Before she could respond, the
praetor
drew in a harsh
breath and flung her father a look that suggested he had taken great offense to
the comment.

“I was charged to come to Camulodunum and hunt down any
Druids who had sought sanctuary within the city. I captured the leader, his
followers scattered and the threat to the empire has been eliminated.”

Antonia’s heart thudded against her ribs. Was the
praetor
granting her freedom?

“You are to be congratulated,
Praetor
.” Her father’s
gaze was fixed on the other man. “The emperor will be well pleased by the
news.”

“I imagine,” the
praetor
said, looking at her father,
“there will be no need for me to remain in this primitive province much
longer.”

He was setting her free.

“You will be glad to return to civilization, I have no
doubt.” Her father refused to look in her direction and appeared eager to usher
the
praetor
from the room. For a fleeting moment, her gaze clashed with
the
praetor
’s. She saw his Roman pride, the arrogance of countless
generations. And she also saw a glimpse of desolation for a future that would
never be his.

As her father followed the
praetor
from the room, she
took a deep breath. She had to return to Gawain. Explain she was now free to go
with him.

To the land of the Picts.
Caledonia.

Unease knotted her stomach. Would he be willing to listen to
her, after the terrible things she had said to him?

Her father stepped back into the room and closed the door
behind him.

“What man?” His voice was hoarse and once again she heard
the fear in his words. “What have you done, Antonia?”

“He is Gawain.” She wanted to tell her father that Gawain
was a Druid. But it was not her secret to share. “I love him, and if he will
take me back I’ll follow him wherever he leads.”

“No.” Her father gripped her hands. The fear vibrated
through his body and she knew that he had guessed what Gawain truly was. “I
forbid it. Do you hear me, Antonia?
I forbid it.”

“He’s my destiny,” she whispered, as tears prickled the back
of her eyes. Her father had never really had the woman he loved, because of a
Druid. And now Antonia knew he feared losing her, because she too had fallen in
love with a Druid. “Please give me your blessing, Father. But I have to go to
him. I have to tell him how I really feel.”