Tainted (4 page)

An odd reaction. Did she imagine Carys would hand the babe
to her and her pristine gown would become soiled?

“Antonia, this is my daughter. She’s suffering with her baby
teeth.” Carys, besotted with her little princess, appeared unaware of Antonia’s
discomfort. For the first time Gawain wondered if she had any children of her
own. Not that it made any difference to him. He wasn’t interested in
discovering the details of her life. He was only interested in possessing her
body.

“How is my favorite girl?” He stroked the baby’s soft cheek
and her smile of delight warmed his heart, as her smile always warmed his
heart. It was ironic that the child of a Roman tribune had been the means of
reminding him, three moons ago when he had first entered Camulodunon, that he
still possessed a heart at all.

“She is very beautiful.” Antonia’s words sounded perfunctory
but he caught a strangely haunted look in her eyes. It reminded him of the look
he’d seen earlier when she had turned to him. He’d been taken aback,
considering the bantering nature of their conversation, but it had vanished
within a moment and he had almost forgotten about it.

“Yes,” Carys said as she rubbed noses with her child. “The
goddess has truly blessed my little Nia.”

“Nia?” Antonia sounded confused and Gawain told himself he
hadn’t noticed the enchanting way she said the name. “Forgive me. Isn’t her
name Valera?”

“Nia is an ancient Celtic name.” He offered her a mirthless
grin when she looked his way. And his fucking erection, which had barely
diminished at all since Carys had returned, hardened farther at the sight of
Antonia’s bemused expression. “
She
will not be kept in ignorance of her
dual heritage.”

He couldn’t fathom why he threw that in Antonia’s face. She
was scarcely responsible for how the old ways were being insidiously eroded by
the relentless spread of her empire. But she was responsible for his discomfort
and although that was his problem, he was still irked by the fact she appeared
utterly unaffected by the lust that steamed between them.

Except when he touched her. She was far from unaffected
then
.

Carys gave an impatient sigh and even though he didn’t
bother to glance her way, he knew she was giving him yet another pointed glare.

“You are correct, Antonia,” Carys said. “Her Roman name is
Valera after my husband but we call her Nia Druantia, after my mother and her
grandmother’s sister.”

“You named your daughter after your mother?” Antonia’s eyes
widened in clear disbelief. It was obvious such a notion had never crossed her
mind before and Gawain smothered an impatient curse. Did no Roman woman possess
the imagination to do such a thing? He disregarded the knowledge that no Roman
woman possessed the right to do such a thing in the first place.

“Yes.” There was a hint of defiance in Carys’ voice that
he’d come to recognize when she felt threatened. But how could she feel
threatened by a woman such as Antonia? He understood Carys’ need for
circumspection when she accompanied her tribune into his social sphere. After
all, like Gawain she was a Druid and if their secret was discovered crucifixion
loomed on their horizon.

It was the reason he took extra care in his undercover
activities. While he might not be concerned on his own behalf he would rather
cut his own throat than allow a shadow of suspicion to fall upon little Nia and
her mother through their association with him.

“I very much fear,” Antonia said, and once again she looked
perfectly poised and as remote as one of the heathen Roman goddesses, “Rome is
not as enlightened in such matters as your esteemed husband appears to be.”

“Rome,” he couldn’t help himself, “could learn a great deal
from the customs of its far-flung primitive provinces.”

“I’m sure she could.” Although he towered over her, somehow
she managed to look down her aristocratic nose at him. He discovered the
experience both irritated and aroused in equal measure. “Whether she wishes to
is another matter entirely.”

Her response silenced the caustic rejoinder burning his
throat. He had expected her to defend her cursed city, but why had he thought
that? He already knew she did not appear to mourn the loss of its glittering
lifestyle.

Carys took instant advantage of his lack of response by
handing Nia to Branwen, who had accompanied her into the courtyard, before sitting
beside Antonia and engaging her in Rome-inspired conversation.

There were a multitude of tasks he needed to undertake.
There was no reason for him to remain, listening to idle chitchat about a city
he had no intention of ever setting foot in. The realization that he had no
idea whether or not Antonia planned to follow through on their attraction
gnawed his guts. But worse than that was the knowledge that if she didn’t, he
most certainly did not intend to let the matter rest.

“I don’t know what you think you were doing, baiting Antonia
in that fashion.” Carys gave him a regal glare after her husband and the
merchant had finished their business and she returned from bidding her guests
farewell. Branwen had taken Nia with her, and they were alone in the courtyard.
“She’s not a Roman whore you can bed simply because the urge takes you.”

He shrugged and prowled the length of the courtyard garden.
It wasn’t as regimented as the other Roman courtyards he’d encountered in
Britain but it was far too confined for his tastes.

“You only met the woman this day, Carys. You have no idea
what she’s really like.” Except Carys wasn’t the only one who had made such a
swift assumption. Despite his low opinion of all things Roman, its women
included, he was unable to level such an accusation at Antonia.

“I know a great deal more than you might imagine.” She
sounded the way she had back in Cymru, in the days before the Romans had
invaded and all their lives had been turned inside out. “Cerridwen foretold Antonia’s
arrival long before the merchant informed Maximus of his daughter’s plans. I
won’t have you using her as you might any other Roman woman. Do you
understand?”

For a brief moment, a flare of dark longing seared his
chest. Even after everything that had happened since the Romans had invaded,
Carys was as intimate with Cerridwen as she had ever been.

Yet from the moment he had left the sacred Isle of Mon and
taken up with the rebels, his own god, Lugus, had been distant and unheeding of
Gawain’s worship. Not once had the great god given any indication that Gawain
was traveling the right path.

But in time of war what other path could a warrior follow?

He pushed his unease to the back of his mind, leaned his
forearm against a column and flung Carys a sardonic grin.

“I understand, princess. But Cerridwen doesn’t dictate
earthly pleasure. And I intend to use the Roman in any way I desire. Don’t fool
yourself that she’s uninterested. Her arousal scented the air in a most
intoxicating manner.”

Carys frowned. Obviously, that fact had entirely eluded her.
Then she shook her head, as if dislodging displeasing thoughts and pressed her
hand against his chest.

“Dear Gawain.” Her voice no longer held her previous note of
exasperation. “I don’t want to see you hurt again, that’s all. Antonia is not
for you. Please, don’t get involved.”

He laughed and threaded his fingers through hers. “Why do
you imagine taking the Roman will hurt me? It’s only sex I seek with her.
Nothing of any importance. Within a turn of the moon or less she will no longer
be even a memory.”

“Perhaps.” Carys didn’t sound convinced. He couldn’t for the
life of him fathom why she thought Antonia possessed the power to hurt him. No
woman possessed that power. Not anymore. “But there’s a reason Cerridwen
revealed Antonia’s existence to me, Gawain. And it certainly has nothing to do
with her father’s wish that I find her another suitable husband.”

His amusement vanished. “Another suitable husband? How many
husbands do Roman noblewomen possess at any one time?”

Carys pulled free of his hold and shot him a look that
suggested she thought he was being deliberately obtuse.

“The reason she left Rome,” she said, as she began to pull
the jeweled pins from her hair to loosen it from the constrictive Roman style,
“is because her husband divorced her.”

Why hadn’t Antonia told him she was divorced? She’d
deliberately let him believe she was still married. Why would she do that?

“All the more reason,” he said, unsure why the fact Antonia
hadn’t confided in him irked him so much, “for me to sample her charms before
she’s auctioned off to another arse-licking patrician.”

“If
I
have anything to do with it,” Carys said, “her
next husband will not be an arse-licking
any
thing.”

He knew that was Carys’ attempt to make him laugh, but he
was too fucking irritated. It was bad enough he lusted after Antonia in the
first place. But to still want her, after knowing she had deliberately deceived
him as to her marital status, was just plain infuriating.

To compound it all, he couldn’t fathom why the knowledge
even gave him pause. It did not matter. It wasn’t her trust he wanted. Just her
shrieks of fulfillment as he fucked her senseless.

And by the gods, he intended to quench this fire that raged
through his blood no matter how Carys might disapprove. Antonia would part her
thighs, he would have her and then she would be relegated to the back of his
mind where all his conquests languished.

“Now, Gawain.” Carys’ mood became eager. “Did you reach Mon?
Did you speak with my mother about leaving the sacred Isle?”

He dragged his attention back to the present. “She is still
determined not to leave until she can persuade all the Elders to agree to a
mass exodus.” After the Druids had fled Cymru, almost two full turns of the
wheel ago, they had sought refuge on the sacred Isle. But he hadn’t stayed
long. He couldn’t stand the thought of hiding from their enemies yet again and
so he’d left to join the rebellion led by the Briton king, Caratacus.

And look what a fucking mess that had turned out to be.

Lugus had not graced Gawain with his presence at any time
during the rebellion or the bloodied aftermath. Yet what was Gawain supposed to
do? Remain on a secluded isle while their people continued to suffer?

That was not the way of Lugus, the finder of paths and
seeker of truth. It was not Gawain’s way either. Yet he could not shift the
knot of doubt lodged in his chest that his god not only disapproved of Gawain’s
actions but had also turned his back on his loyal Druid.

Not that Gawain blamed Carys’ mother for her reluctance to
leave the safety of the Isle. He knew that wasn’t her primary motive for
staying. She wanted to ensure the continuance of their Druidic way of life. It
was the reason she hadn’t left with him to join Caratacus. What had she told
him? She didn’t want a foreign king to unwittingly lead her people into a
Roman-conspired trap.

Her foresight, in retrospect, was chilling. And reinforced
the unsettling suspicion that Lugus truly had severed all sacred bonds with
Gawain. Otherwise, why hadn’t his god warned him of the treachery that laid in
wait for the king?

It had been from that moment that he’d finally stopped
trying to reach Lugus. When the time was right, his god would return.

Surely he would return.

Carys stared at him in disbelief. “But you told her of my
vision? That Britain will burn and the Isle of Mon—it isn’t safe, Gawain. I
don’t know why I feel that so strongly but surely she understands she can’t
stay there?”

“She understands, Carys.” He took her hands. “She will
leave, I’m sure of it. But for now she feels her place is to ensure as many of
our people survive the Roman onslaught as possible.”

Carys snatched her hands free. “Her place is
here
,
with her daughter and granddaughter. How will our ways survive if all our
Elders perish when the Isle falls?”

Gawain was silent. How could he comfort her when in his
heart, where hope had long since died, he believed that their way of life was
already ultimately condemned?

When Antonia arrived back at the townhouse, a grand
establishment her father had commissioned in the most prestigious district of
Camulodunum, it was a relief to escape to her bedchamber. Her father’s
incessant questions about the tribune’s foreign wife on the journey home had
forced her to face the fact that it wasn’t Carys or what an advantageous
friendship they might cultivate that occupied her thoughts at all.

Not that she had ever deluded herself for a moment that it
was. Gawain’s mocking smile and incendiary touch left little room for anything
else in her mind.

She went to the window and looked out into the central
courtyard. It was smaller than the tribune’s, but meticulously tended as all
Roman courtyards should be. But it wasn’t the decorative statuary or exotic
plants and flowers that captured her attention. It was the incongruous vision
of Gawain in her father’s domain, welcomed as an equal.

A foolish thought. Her father would never welcome a savage
Cambrian warrior into his home, unless that warrior could be of use to him. And
she certainly couldn’t imagine any reason why Gawain would want to set foot
inside a Roman merchant’s dwelling, no matter how well-respected the merchant
might be.

“Is anything troubling you,
domina
?”

Antonia glanced at her faithful slave, Elpis. They had
always been close but it was only during the last year that Antonia had
realized that, in truth, Elpis was more of a friend than any of the refined
Roman ladies she’d met since her marriage to Scipio.

“No.” Her fingers curled around the precious golden locket
her father had given her to celebrate the day of her birth. A bittersweet
celebration, since it was also the day her mother had died. Slowly she opened
the locket. The likeness of her mother was painted on one half and on the other
she’d illicitly commissioned the baby perfection of her daughter to be painted
over her own portrait.

Her beautiful baby. The only child her womb had nurtured to
term, the only one of the five she had conceived who had survived for longer
than a few tortured breaths.

She swallowed, and traced a trembling finger across the
perfect features. Her sweet Cassia Antonia, named not for her brutal husband
but for her own mother and father. A small act of rebellion that had sustained
her for the fraught hours after the debilitating birth, but a rebellion that
paled into insignificance at what she had done next.

“You will soon be reunited,” Elpis whispered, her hand
lightly covering Antonia’s in a gesture that a friend might make, not a slave
no matter how highly esteemed that slave might be. “A few more weeks, domina,
and she will once again be in your arms.”

A few more weeks, and she would be able to see Cassia
whenever she wished. No more furtive journeys, avoiding Scipio’s fawning
dependents who would betray her without a second thought, to spend a few stolen
moments with her baby.

Scipio believed their daughter was dead. He would never know
the truth. And because of Antonia’s lies, Cassia would enjoy a life away from
Rome, away from her birthright, but a life filled with love and her mother’s
utter devotion.

Even if Cassia would never know that her adoptive mother
was, in truth, her birth mother. For if Scipio ever discovered her deception,
she feared his rigid pride would never allow such devious disregard of his
wishes to go unpunished.

When Cassia arrived, Antonia intended to devote her life to
her precious child. She would never jeopardize her daughter’s happiness by
taking a second husband who might resent another man’s child. And she would
have no time for a lover.

But Cassia was not in Britannia yet. And the unsettling lust
that had consumed Antonia while in Gawain’s company still seethed through her
blood. If she truly wished to sample sex with another man then now was the
perfect,
the
only
, chance she would ever have.

She looked at Elpis. They had been inseparable since the day
her father had presented the young Greek girl to her on the eighth anniversary
of her birth. Her very own slave, barely a year older than her, yet even then
the bonds of friendship had somehow woven through the constraints of rank and heritage.

Elpis had been the one who had comforted her when Antonia
had suffered from terrifying nightmares of darkness, confusion and the
unshakeable certainty that her destiny balanced on a fragile thread. Elpis who
had interpreted the mysterious feminine presence protecting Antonia as the
great goddess Juno.

Elpis who had reassured both Antonia and her father that the
unknown words she whispered while deep in the throes of sleep came directly
from the queen of Olympus herself.

It had taken her too long to recognize the truth of their
close relationship. She knew, in her heart, she should free Elpis but how could
she bear it if the other woman left?

She pushed the thought aside. She needed Elpis and too much
had happened over the last year for her to willingly seek any more disruption
to her life.

So why in the name of Juno was she seriously contemplating
taking Gawain as her lover?

“It cannot come quickly enough.” She longed to once again
hold Cassia in her arms. Was it very wrong of her to also want Gawain’s strong
arms about her? Just to experience the kind of sex she could give freely,
without the demands of Rome chaining her to the bed?

“All will be well when she’s once again with us,” Elpis
said. “But what else troubles you,
domina
?”

Elpis was too observant. What chance did Antonia have of
hiding her plans from her? She didn’t even want to. Elpis, after all, was her
closest confidant and would sooner cut out her own tongue than betray Antonia.

She closed her locket and took Elpis’ hands. “Do you still
have the forbidden herbs?”

Elpis’ eyes widened. It was obvious Antonia’s question took
her completely by surprise. For years, she’d encouraged Antonia to take the
magical concoctions that would prevent conception. And Antonia had refused,
until after the birth of Cassia. Not that she had needed them, then. Scipio had
not come near her since that blood-drenched night. But she had continued to
take them, right up until the day she boarded the ship bound for Britannia.
Nothing, not even the wrath of the gods, would have induced her to risk Scipio
impregnating her once again.

“I brought them with us. And I’m certain I can find more in
the markets if needed.”

Antonia took a deep breath. If she had decided to step foot
on this path, then she would make the necessary preparations before her doubts
overtook her.