Finally he drew in a long breath. “I’ve not been fully truthful with you, Antonia. About your mother—it was not giving birth to you that killed her. She was murdered by the hand of a Druid.”
Antonia remained in the courtyard after her father left to attend to his business. Disjointed thoughts and jagged memories collided in her mind and when Elpis entered the courtyard, her father’s words spilled from her lips.
Shock scorched Elpis’ face. At least she hadn’t known of this great and terrible secret. But although Antonia’s heart thundered against her ribs and nausea roiled in her breast, denial hammered with relentless insistence in her mind.
She did not believe her father.
Could not.
He’d refused to go into any details. Had swept her incredulous questions aside. His face had become a rigid mask and only the anguish in his eyes had prevented her from telling him she didn’t believe him to his face.
It was terrifyingly obvious that he, at least, believed every word.
“You heard no whisper of this from the other slaves when you were a child?” She gripped Elpis’ hand and pulled her onto the stone seat. “How could such a thing be kept so secret?”
“I heard nothing, domina. But who would confide in me, a Greek slave girl?”
There was no recrimination in Elpis’ voice. She simply spoke the truth. Why would slaves and servants who had served her father for years confide in a foreign newcomer? Besides, by the time Elpis had joined the household Antonia’s mother had been dead for eight years.
The silence wrapped around her, suffocating. She took a deep breath but it didn’t help calm her racing thoughts. She chanced a sideways glance at Elpis, but the other woman remained serene, as she always did.
I should free Elpis. Again the thought twisted through her mind. Antonia had been born free, but her marriage to Scipio had been little more than slavery embellished with luxury and the blessing of Rome. She had been given her freedom. Did Elpis, who had also suffered at the brutal hands of Scipio, deserve less for her loyalty?
A part of her heart would break if Elpis decided to leave her. They weren’t related by blood, yet she was the nearest thing to a sister Antonia had ever known.
Indecision gnawed through her gut yet she knew she had no choice. Tomorrow. She would arrange for Elpis’ manumission tomorrow. Despicable relief licked through her at the unavoidable delay.
Another slave came into the courtyard. “Apologies for interrupting, domina. A message arrived for you from Lady Carys. She deeply regrets she has to postpone your visit this afternoon.”
Disappointment seared through her. She’d been looking forward to seeing Gawain again.
But why couldn’t Gawain see her later? Had something happened to him? No. Surely Carys would have found a way to let her know. There were a thousand reasons why Gawain couldn’t see her, and none of them had anything to do with him wishing to finish their liaison.
Her afternoon was now free. She glanced at Elpis and knew she could no longer put off the inevitable. Elpis, who had remained by her side for seventeen years without complaint, deserved the chance to choose her own future, not have it dictated for her.
Chapter 23
The following morning Antonia answered her father’s summons to the atrium without Elpis by her side. After the formalities of her manumission had been completed, Antonia had arranged for Elpis to be given her own quarters in the townhouse. She had offered her clothes appropriate to her freed station, jewelry—even her own personal slave girl if she wished.
Elpis had remained oddly subdued by her enhanced status, as though everything Antonia offered her in an effort to persuade her to stay did not quite touch her. What else could Antonia do to ensure Elpis didn’t decide to leave? She’d imagined—hoped—the other woman would continue to accompany her as she always had. But Elpis hadn’t offered and she hadn’t liked to ask. Not when she had just granted Elpis her freedom.
With a heavy sigh, she entered the atrium. Her father had appeared to be avoiding her since his shocking disclosure the previous day. Had he changed his mind, and now wanted to share more details of her mother’s untimely death?
A thought stabbed through her mind. Had he called on the mysterious wisdom of Druids in a last attempt to save her mother’s life? And when the Druid in question had been unable to prevent the inevitable, instead of berating Juno, goddess of childbirth, her father had laid the blame at the Druid’s feet.
Although the scenario was scarcely credible, it was possible. Surely more possible than the idea her mother had been murdered in cold blood.
But if her father now wished to confide, why had he summoned her here? This was where they greeted guests, not where they—
Her thoughts severed as the praetor turned toward her. Did he want his answer already? He’d said he would give her a few days to consider his offer. Not that she had needed a few days. Her decision had been made before she even left his office.
“Antonia.” Her father walked toward her and took her arm. “The praetor has requested permission to speak with you alone. Is this something you also wish?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw the praetor shoot her father a shocked glance. Clearly he hadn’t expected her father to ask her opinion on such a matter. But there was a thread of granite in her father’s voice that had never been apparent in his dealing with the praetor before, and Antonia knew why.
It was because her father knew the praetor was acquainted with Scipio. And for that, the praetor no longer existed on a pristine patrician pedestal in her father’s mind.
Rome had lost her glow.
It was better to get this over with sooner rather than later, and it wasn’t fair to keep the praetor waiting in hope for something she had no intention of doing. “Yes.”
He stared into her eyes for a moment longer than necessary, then nodded and left the atrium. But instead of disappearing, he sat on a bench that gave him visual access. It was obvious he no longer trusted the praetor at all.
She turned back to the praetor and the two slaves who remained in the atrium retreated toward the far wall to allow them some degree of privacy. He stepped toward her, kissed her hand and visibly stiffened when she firmly withdrew her hand from his prolonged clasp.
“My lady. I trust you have given my proposal some thought.”
She couldn’t put it off any longer. “I have, Praetor.”
His jaw tightened at the use of his title, but he said nothing. She swallowed and wished Elpis’ comforting presence was by her side. “I thank you for the great honor you offer me, but I have to refuse. I have my daughter’s well-being to consider and will never remarry.”
But how I would love to call Gawain my husband. A foolish dream, fit only for young, naïve girls. But still she wished it, with all her heart.
“Your daughter’s well-being is of paramount importance to me, also.” His words were stiff but the very fact he’d uttered them and not either arrowed a withering remark her way or gathered his pride and left, astounded her.
She struggled to find her voice. Clawed desperately through her mind for a suitable response. It was unheard of that a man of his status should attempt to persuade her, a plebeian in the eyes of Rome, to accept his hand in marriage.
They could dance with words for hours. The thought sent a shudder of horror along her spine.
“Seneca.” Her voice was hushed. For all his faults, he had never been anything but thoughtful with her. “I’m sorry. I endured one loveless marriage. I could not bear to embark on another.”
The silence screamed in her ears as his unblinking gaze bored into her. She resisted the urge to squirm, to look away; to call her father to her side. Why didn’t the praetor accept her word and take his leave? Why did he insist on prolonging this excruciating encounter?
“In time, my lady, I believe you could grow to love me.”
Her knees shook and she gripped her fingers together as his words echoed and overlapped in her mind. Wa
s he saying what she thought he was?
Juno, no. The praetor could not love her. She didn’t want his love. She must have misunderstood.
“There’s no room in my heart to love another but my daughter.” Even as she said the words, Gawain’s face swam into her mind and she felt blood heat her cheeks in damning denial.
The praetor’s lips thinned and a chill trickled along Antonia’s arms. Instinctively she stepped back, and instantly his features returned to their normal mask of civility.
But nothing could erase that fleeting moment and a terrible suspicion surfaced. Did the praetor know of her affair with Gawain?
Nausea churned her stomach. She hoped she was mistaken. The praetor was a powerful man. He could have Gawain killed in an instant if he so desired.
“I’m a patient man, Antonia.” He sounded perfectly reasonable but the unease persisted. “I’ve waited more than ten years for you. I can wait a few more for your love. But when I leave Britannia, you’ll be by my side as my wife.”
She let out a ragged breath. “I have no intention of leaving Britannia or becoming your wife.” If he continued, she would have no recourse but to call for her father. The praetor clearly didn’t believe she meant every word. But a refusal from her father—that would carry all the weight needed.
Again silence stretched between them. He didn’t move toward her and yet his presence loomed over her. Finally he spoke. “I understand your reluctance in this matter. But you have the rest of your life ahead of you. You cannot fill your entire future with dangerous… infatuations.”
A skeletal claw closed around her heart and an eerie echo filled her mind. He couldn’t know for certain. He was merely playing with words. She fought the overwhelming urge to collapse on the nearest couch.
“Infatuations?” Her voice sounded oddly high-pitched. She sounded utterly guilty.
His mouth smiled but his eyes did not. “The savage lure of a barbarian can be seductive. I don’t blame you in this matter, Antonia. But you must know it can go no further. The risk is too great.”
He knows. The words pounded against her skull, amplifying every panicked beat of her heart. She didn’t much care if he threatened to drag her reputation through the mud, but she knew that was not his intention.
For Gawain’s sake, she had to persuade the praetor his suspicions were unfounded. “You speak in riddles, Praetor.”
His jaw tensed. “It would be unfortunate if my investigations uncovered certain… criminal activities associated with a Cambrian of our mutual acquaintance.”
The thinly disguised threat wrapped around her like a poisonous fog, sucking the strength from her limbs and filling her mind with a hammering terror. Somehow she forced words around her paralyzed tongue. “Criminal activities?”
He could mean only one thing. And they both knew what it was without the need to say the word aloud.
Druid.
“The last thing I wish is to cause you unnecessary distress.” He reached out and took her unwilling hand between his. “As my wife, any acquaintance whose company you may have enjoyed in the past will naturally be above all such suspicion.”
The fog coalesced into a hard, unforgiving knot in the center of her breast. “And if I refuse?”
He brushed his lips across her knuckles but his eyes never left hers. “There will be another crucifixion within the week.”
Gawain stirred on his pallet and winced at the pounding in his head. His entire body throbbed but that wasn’t the reason he was lying down in the late afternoon. It was because that fucking interfering healer had given him something that had knocked him out.
That morning he’d intended to visit a nearby village whose inhabitants had been ousted from their land when the Romans had taken Camulodunon. Unlike the Iceni, they hadn’t received bounty from the invaders and he’d wanted to gauge the extent of their discontent. If the praetor believed their previous day’s encounter had cowed Gawain into submission and flight, he was deluded by his own sense of grandeur. The clumsy threats had merely fueled Gawain’s obsession to stir any embers of rebellion he could uncover.
He’d accepted the cup of herbal tea from the healer, assuming it would ease his aches. Instead it had stolen his senses.
He was under no delusion that the sleeping draught had been given to him to help him sleep off his attack. It had been a deliberate measure to prevent him from seeking retribution. He was going to throttle the bastard healer the next time they crossed paths.
No one dictated his movements in such an underhanded manner. There was still time to get to the village and request audience with the Elders before it grew dark. With a grunt, he forced himself upright and leaned against the wall, his legs outstretched along the pallet.
He needed to get word to Antonia. Had intended to earlier this day, before he’d been outmaneuvered. There was no physical reason why he couldn’t see her today. Yet he knew he’d wait another two or three. Because he didn’t want her to witness the aftermath of his encounter with the praetor’s hired men.
She wasn’t used to the brutalities of the street. She’d be horrified by his battered state. But even as the excuses thudded through his mind, a mocking grin twisted his lips.
He’d never imagined avoiding a woman because of personal vanity. But no matter how he tried to convince himself it was because he wanted to protect Antonia from seeing a seedier side of his life he knew it was more than that.
Of course she could cope with seeing a few bruises and cuts. She had coped with far more in her past. She’d see far worse in the future they would share. The truth was he didn’t want her to see how the praetor had bettered him. It stung his pride.
His attempt to communicate with Lugus last night had also gone badly. The god had remained elusive, disdaining Gawain’s sacrificial rituals and naked worship. Perhaps the sight of Gawain’s battered body had offended the god. Or perhaps Lugus deemed the attack had not been sufficiently severe to compensate for Gawain’s lack of faith recently.
Maybe he’d simply been unable to hide his anger that the gods had chosen to use Antonia in the way they had. Yet why would they go to all that trouble only to ignore Gawain when he answered their summons?
What in the name of Annwyn does Lugus want from me?
A knock at the door jerked his attention back to the present. He darkened his features into a scowl, waiting for Carys to enter. She would’ve known of the healer’s intention. The order to prevent Gawain from leaving the villa earlier today had likely come from her in the first place.
“Enter,” he growled when it became apparent she had no intention of opening the door until he invited her to do so. How unlike her normal disregard for his privacy. The door slowly opened and his heart jackknifed against his ribs at the familiar silhouette.
Antonia.
She stood at the threshold. In the distance behind her was the newly constructed villa that encompassed her Roman world. And if she took a single step forward it would bring her into his.
Time slowed and his breath tangled in his chest. She was a vision in her pale blue gown with her blonde ringlets framing her face and dusting the elegant curve of her shoulders. Beyond the door, sunlight cast a golden glow and dark shadows across the wild grasses and ancient trees, somehow enhancing the absolute stillness of the woman caught between two opposing cultures.
He couldn’t drag his mesmerized gaze from her. And yet with every thud of his heart the sordid baseness of this wattle and daub roundhouse—his hut—dug deeper into his heart.
No matter how noble his heritage or that the blood of the gods ran through his veins. He could never offer her the kind of lifestyle she was accustomed to. Even with slaves or servants to undertake the menial tasks of living, they would never possess the type of wealth patricians took for granted.
For a moment, his conviction wavered. But only for a moment. Antonia was his light in a world of dark and he wouldn’t leave her behind.
“Gawain.” There was a catch in her voice a
nd then she stepped into his world and closed the door on her own. She’s made her choice. Even if she didn’t know it. The tension in his shoulders eased and he released a breath he didn’t even realize he’d held. “Oh gods, Gawain. What happened to you?”
He hadn’t wanted her to see him like this. The pain in her voice speared through him. Yet her concern enveloped his chest with fierce warmth that flooded his veins and vanquished any lingering doubt.
She’d never entered this dwelling before. He had never even pointed it out to her. Somehow that was significant. That she had not only taken a chance on his being here by journeying to the villa without prior arrangement, but had then wanted to see where he slept.
He rolled onto his knees before standing. The ache in his bones diminished as he rolled his shoulders and flexed his biceps. “A minor skirmish. The back streets of Camulodunon seethe with such bloodlust.”
She made no move toward him, simply stood on the rammed earth floor, looking as out of place in the dingy surroundings as a displaced moon goddess. The only light came from the smoke hole in the roof and from where parts of the thatch had disintegrated over time and yet Antonia seemed to radiate an ethereal glow of her own.
His head must have been hit harder than he realized to imagine such fanciful notions. But the possibility didn’t stop him from enjoying the way her gown draped over her shoulders and clung to her curves. He ached to reach out and cradle her breasts, rub his thumbs over her responsive nipples and once again hear her breathy gasps as desire consumed her.
He shifted, trying to ease the pleasurable discomfort that throbbed between his thighs. He would have her. But he wouldn’t grab her like a starving man with no thought but to slake his hunger.
“You should be resting.” She stepped toward him, one hand outstretched as though she intended to push him back down onto the pallet. The thought made him grin.
“I’ve rested enough.”
She didn’t return his smile. “You’re in pain.” She sounded distraught although the only outward sign of her evident distress was her raised hand and the oddly intense expression in her eyes.
The Druid Chronicles: Mystical Historical Romance Page 107