The Druid Chronicles: Mystical Historical Romance

by Christina Phillips

  Carys clenched her fists. “I don’t know. But I trust Cerridwen will give me enough warning to save my kin.”

  Did Carys still worship Cerridwen?

  “You’d run, rather than fight?” Condemnation dripped from every word and Carys shot her a piercing look before she straightened her relaxed posture.

  “Maximus would never run, and that’s why I will never tell him. If we die in a bloody battle here, who will carry the flame of knowledge into the future?” Carys leaned forward, her eyes glittering with iron purpose. “Cerridwen can’t be allowed to fade into the mists of time. She must survive.”

  Shivers scuttled over her arms at the intensity of Carys’ declaration. “I thought you’d turned your back on the gods.” The words tumbled from her lips, unbidden, immediately regretted, because of course Carys hadn’t turned her back on Cerridwen. She would never turn her back on the goddess who had chosen her at the moment of her birth.

  Carys frowned and confusion flickered over her face, as if that was the last thing she’d expected Morwyn to say.

  “The Morrigan is the only goddess who ever turned from me.” And then her face lit up and she clasped Morwyn’s hand. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because of the Morrigan.”

  Blood heated Morwyn’s face and she attempted to free her hand without success. She’d been so sure Carys had abandoned their gods. Been secretly craving the chance to discuss how confused she was by her lack of faith. But it had been nothing more than wishful thinking on her part.

  “No. It’s nothing to do with the Morrigan.”

  Carys let out a clearly contented sigh. “The Morrigan saw the light, didn’t she? She realized Cerridwen’s way is the only way to continue onward.”

  When all the Morrigan demanded was her children hide on the Isle of Mon? Huddle in sacred groves and give sacrifice that they were still alive? While their people remained enslaved to the invaders?

  “No, Carys.” Her voice was harsh. “I no longer believe in our gods. Do you understand? I despise them for allowing Aeron to control them so—so utterly.”

  Silence shivered in the air between them. Even the incessant noise from the market faded. For a moment she wondered if her lifelong friend would turn from her for her sacrilege, but then Carys took her hand.

  “He didn’t control them.” Her voice was gentle, as though she somehow understood, but how could she understand? She hadn’t fled to the Isle of Mon and continued to hide from the enemy behind sacrifice and prayer. Carys had gone with her lover and faced the world to live among their enemies.

  How can she possibly understand?

  “Morwyn.” Carys gave her hand a shake to drag her back to the present. “Aeron manipulated the gods, just as he manipulated all of us.”

  “True gods would never allow themselves to be so manipulated.” She snatched her hand from Carys and clenched her fists against her thighs. “True gods would never have spewed their wrath on their people the way they did that night.” She glared at Carys, but in her mind all she saw was that dark night in the forest, the unholy wind that had ripped trees from their roots, and the eerie fires that had sprung up as the earth herself had howled in fury.

  “They were angry at being deceived.” But now Carys didn’t sound so sure, as if deep in her heart she acknowledged Morwyn was right.

  Morwyn gave a bitter laugh. “They were angry at the innocent. And all the Morrigan cared about was ensuring her faithful Druids escaped to the sacred Isle. So we continue to worship her, far from the putrid stench of the Roman invasion.”

  “Maybe the Morrigan needed time to—to assess what had happened.” Carys sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as much as Morwyn. “And she came to realize the only way to survive is to continue to teach our people everything we know.”

  “Hidden on an Isle where only Druids are welcomed?”

  “No.” Carys frowned, as if trying to work something out. “Why would you have left Mon, unless the Morrigan wanted you to?”

  Because she’d intended to join the rebels. She couldn’t tell Carys that.

  “I no longer worship her.” She sucked in a deep breath but couldn’t maintain eye contact. “I’ve turned from her, Carys. She’s not my goddess. I pushed her away and closed my soul to her.” She risked shooting the other woman a glance, but Carys appeared thunderstruck. “It’s been many moons since she came to me. She no longer exists in my heart.”

  “But you’re here.” Carys sounded as if that explained everything. “Why would you be here, unless the Morrigan had guided you?”

  Morwyn let out an exasperated breath. “Because I wanted to avenge Gawain’s murder, that’s why! It has nothing to do with the Morrigan.”

  Carys’ eyes widened and she grabbed Morwyn’s arm, fingers digging into her flesh. “Gawain’s dead? Sweet Cerridwen, no. He can’t be dead. How? What happened?”

  Morwyn didn’t want to talk about his murder. Didn’t want to relive that paralyzing sense of helplessness as his lifeblood pumped from his body.

  But the overwhelming need to share the horror was too great.

  “He was betrayed. Stabbed in the back by one of our own.” A shudder raked through her bones. “As we fought the enemy.”

  Carys wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tight. “I’m so sorry, Morwyn. I loved Gawain as a brother. This is—I can’t—who was it? Who killed him?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t get to him. I can never get to him.”

  Slowly Carys pulled back. “You can never get to him?”

  The nightmare pounded through her mind, as vivid as if she watched events unfold before her eyes. “He never hears my warning. And the dead keep on piling up around my feet.”

  Carys slid her hands down Morwyn’s arms and held her chilled fingers in a firm grip.

  “Where did this happen?”

  Frustration ripped through her. “I don’t know.”

  “But you were there?”

  “Yes. I’m always there, but too far away to save him.”

  All she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears. All she could see was Gawain falling to the bloodied ground. And all she could smell was the acrid stink of battle.

  “Morwyn.” Carys’ voice was gentle, but unrelenting. “Gawain could still be alive.”

  Too late she realized where Carys was leading with her questions. “No. He’s dead. I can feel it, here in my heart.”

  “You weren’t there. You didn’t watch him die. The Morrigan hasn’t abandoned you, Morwyn.”

  For the third time Morwyn snatched her hands from Carys, and this time leaped to her feet. “This isn’t a vision. I don’t have visions anymore.” They were nightmares. And the certainty Gawain had died came from the bond they had once shared. Nothing else. “Do you hear me? Gawain is dead.” And it was all her fault. He may never have left Mon if she hadn’t severed their relationship.

  And yet even as the thought tortured her, she knew it was untrue. Gawain had wanted to leave Mon from the moment they had arrived.

  Carys stood, and, despite her foreign gown and pregnancy, she had never looked more like a proud Druid princess. “I believe you’re wrong. You have to embrace the Morrigan again, Morwyn. You have to find out what she’s trying to tell you.”

  Why couldn’t Carys accept the truth? She drew in a sharp breath and tried to channel her thoughts, but then Carys looked beyond her, a smile illuminating her face. With a stab of regret Morwyn knew they would never again have the chance to speak so freely with each other.

  “Carys.” Maximus held his wife’s hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Morwyn glanced away, an odd pain stabbing through her chest at the tender note in his voice.

  “Maximus, look.” Carys threaded her fingers through his and turned to her. “Morwyn’s arrived. She’s going to stay with us.”

  Of course she was. Where else could she go? And yet for some reason the assumption irked.

  “Morwyn.” Maximu
s smiled in greeting, and for the first time Morwyn noticed the scars marring his face. Scars inflicted by Aeron’s evil magic. “Welcome. It’s good to see you again.”

  She doubted that, but offered him a tight smile in return. No longer was he dressed in the Roman centurion uniform. Instead he wore the white toga and purple stripe of the cursed aristocracy.

  He stepped toward her, fingers still linked with Carys’. “I’ve wanted to thank you for saving my life that night, Morwyn. I know how hard that must have been for you.”

  She didn’t want to have this conversation with anyone, least of all Maximus.

  “It was nothing.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and hoped he would leave it at that. She had acted out of pure instinct that night, but even now couldn’t think of it without her guts twisting into knots of confusion.

  “What are you doing here?” Maximus said, as if this was a perfectly normal greeting of old friends, instead of the most excruciating moment of her life. “Did you travel alone?” He sounded vaguely shocked by the possibility.

  She shrugged, as if the matter was of little account. “I accompanied the Gaul. I wanted to see Carys in any case.”

  “The Gaul?” Both Carys and Maximus pounced on her words as if it were some extraordinary confession.

  For a reason she couldn’t fathom, heat rose in her cheeks. “Yes. He had business in Camulodunon so I—I came too.” Why was she protecting him? It didn’t make sense. Especially since she had no intention of ever seeing him again. And besides, what did it matter if Carys and Maximus knew she’d initially been abducted? She was free now.

  “A Gaul?” Carys sounded fascinated. “Do I know him? What’s his name?”

  Gods, why hadn’t Morwyn kept her mouth shut? “No, you wouldn’t know of him. He’s an auxiliary in one of the cursed Legions.” She shot Maximus a glance, but he appeared unmoved by her insult. “His name is Dunmacos.”

  “Dunmacos?” Maximus sounded as if she’d just uttered an obscenity. “By Mars. You didn’t travel willingly to Camulodunum if you accompanied that scum.”

  Her spine stiffened in affront. Who was this Roman to call her Gaul scum?

  “Maximus?” Alarm threaded through Carys’ voice. “Do you know of this Dunmacos?”

  He turned to her. “Remember I told you of the Gallic butcher? That was Dunmacos.”

  Carys visibly blanched. “Goddess. Why didn’t you tell me how you truly received your injuries, Morwyn?” She reached out to gently trail her fingers along Morwyn’s face. “How did you escape him?”

  Morwyn jerked back. Resentment curdled deep in her stomach at the assumptions Carys and her husband were making.

  “I told you.” Except she hadn’t told her everything. “I was with three fellow Druids when we were ambushed. They were killed, and I— You can imagine what they had in store for me. Dunmacos”—she said his name with a touch of defiance—“was the one who saved me from such indignity.”

  “So he could rape you himself.” Carys’ eyes flashed with fury. “Maximus, you have to hunt down this barbarian and ensure justice is served.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of serving justice, Carys,” Morwyn said. “And while I expected nothing less from him, he did not rape me.”

  “Then who chewed on your neck like a rabid animal?”

  Morwyn resisted the instinct to press her fingers against the tender flesh of her throat. Bizarrely, she recalled a similar situation when she’d been infuriated on Carys’ behalf, thinking she had been raped by the enemy.

  Carys had been defensive. Morwyn had never understood why.

  Until now.

  And it didn’t make sense. Carys had loved her Roman. Morwyn felt nothing for the Gaul. So why did Carys’ insistence of his guilt irritate?

  “My last lover.” She knew she should leave it at that, but somehow couldn’t help herself. “And he is neither rabid nor an animal.”

  Carys let out a ragged breath and pressed her hand against her belly. “Then you traveled with this Dunmacos of your own free will? He truly hasn’t abused you?”

  She thought back to the forest. He might have abducted her, but much as it irked to admit, she understood his reasoning.

  Of course, she still hadn’t—and never would—forgive him for shackling her like a common slave. But since she knew how Carys would react to that piece of information, she decided to keep it to herself.

  Again, why? Why did she care if Carys and her husband ripped the Gaul’s character to shreds? They could say nothing about him she hadn’t already thought herself.

  “When I discovered he was traveling to Camulodunon, I decided to accompany him.” It was, if she conveniently closed her eyes to a few details, the absolute truth. “For an auxiliary attached to the Roman Legions I found him—honorable.”

  The sane section of her mind curled up on itself in despair but she ignored it. He had shown her honor and she had no compunction ensuring Carys and her husband were aware of that.

  Carys looked wary. Maximus completely unconvinced. “As honorable as any man can be who was responsible for the devastation of his entire village.” His voice was grim, but before she could take issue with his outrageous claim he turned to Carys. “Take care, my Druid princess.” His words were soft, as if for his wife’s ears only, before he tilted her chin with one finger and claimed her lips.

  The he turned back to Morwyn. “Take my advice. Now that you’re free of him, never think of returning. Our home is yours for as long as you wish.”

  Chapter 15

  After Maximus left them, Carys took Morwyn’s hands. “Come. We have a town house not far from here. Although we won’t be there for much longer. We’re having a villa built in the countryside, for more privacy.”

  An odd reluctance snaked through her limbs, and instead of allowing the other woman to lead her from the forum, Morwyn resisted the gentle tug.

  “Carys.” It wasn’t fair to let Carys think she intended to remain in Camulodunon indefinitely. “The reason I came here was to ask you to return with me to Cymru.”

  Carys continued smiling but it was a brittle smile, a smile that threatened to shatter at any moment. “You want me to leave Camulodunon?”

  Yes. But she knew Carys never would. Not without Maximus.

  Weariness bit deep into her soul, a bone-aching sadness at the knowledge that, no matter how enduring their friendship was and ever would be, they were now ultimately on opposing sides. Carys might believe in freedom for her kin, but she would never willingly take up arms against her husband’s people.

  Morwyn shook her head in denial. “No. I wouldn’t ask you. Not now.” Her glance slid down Carys’ body. “You have other priorities now.”

  “But you will stay until after the babe is born, won’t you?” There was a vulnerable note in Carys’ voice. “She’s due to arrive when day and night are equal. I think that’s a good time for her birth, don’t you? A day of perfect balance.”

  It was also in three moons.

  Three moons without seeing her Gaul.

  The thought slid into her mind, unwanted and treacherous. Where had that come from? She had already made her decision not to see him again earlier this day, when they had parted at the inn. Whether she stayed with Carys for three moons or six, the outcome was the same.

  Yet the thought sank into her mind like poisoned hooks, and as impossible to dislodge without ripping flesh.

  When she returned to Cymru she would join with the rebels. She had no intention of seeking out a Gallic auxiliary. Was she insane? Why had this notion even entered her head?

  “Yes.” Her voice was hoarse. “It’s the perfect day for her birth.” The perfect day for a child with parents who should inherently be enemies. Druid princess and Roman aristocrat. But what true balance could such a child ever attain when she was raised in the Roman way? When her matrilineal heritage was being eaten away by her father’s power-hungry Emperor?

  “You can do so much here, Morwyn. You were almost ful
ly trained before Druantia was murdered. Imagine how much you can teach our people.”

  In an occupied town? For one chilling moment clarity flashed through her mind. She could stay here with Carys. Help raise her daughter.

  And slowly her status would erode.

  How could it not when she’d have to rely on her friend for so much? She would have to hide her Druidic ancestry, hide her true loyalties. Worship foreign gods she believed in even less than her own.

  And never see her Gaul again.

  “I can’t do it, Carys.” As the words fell from her lips, she didn’t know if she meant she couldn’t stay as a dependent or give up the chance of spending a few more days with her Gaul.

  It has nothing to do with the auxiliary. She needed to return to Cymru, find the rebels and fight for freedom. But buried deep inside the darkest recess of her mind, she knew the sordid truth.

  She just wanted to hold her Gaul until the raw pain eating her heart subsided.

  Carys let out a shaky breath. “You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. “You’re going to fight, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Don’t you see, you can’t help anyone if you die. You have to live, the same as I have to live, so the Flame of Knowledge burns forever into the future.”

  “Cerridwen’s Flame of Knowledge. She needs only you for that. Not me.” Because Morwyn was an acolyte of the Morrigan. And she no longer believed in the great goddess.

  “There are so few of us left. We’re all needed, Morwyn.”

  And that was why she had to fight. Because there are so few of us left.

  After collecting the dispatch from the Tribunus, Bren went to the forum. It was a spontaneous decision, acted upon between one breath and the next, and even as he examined the brightly colored goods on the market stalls, he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was doing there.

  Except he could.