The raven cawed three times, then croaked, “Mortals cannot change the future from the past. Mortals can only change the future at the exact time it occurs in the present. If you do so, you distort and reshape the Wall of Lives’ curvature. This could result in dire consequences on others in the future.”
Still hovering near the portal leading into the Otherworld, Catrin was resolved to escape death’s clutches and return to the mortal world, so she could save Marcellus from dying young and break Rhan’s curse. Now that she understood the secret of changing the future, she studied Marcellus’s life-thread for a way to save his life. She saw they would never make love again before he died. She wondered if adding another sexual encounter, something she most desired, could lead to another pathway for Marcellus to complete his life’s journey. Still, he had to defy the gods two more times to escape death.
Resisting the pull from her ancestors to join them in the Otherworld, she cried out to the raven, “Let me go back, so I can shift the future.”
The raven tilted its head and ruffled its feathers. “Be careful what you wish for.”
Catrin proclaimed, “I accept the fate of my decisions.”
“Then let it be,” the raven thundered.
A light flashed in Catrin’s mind and she returned to her physical world. Disoriented, she could barely discern Marcellus holding her in his arms.
47
Dark Intruder
Suddenly a sword-wielding man was striding toward them. Fight instincts heightened, Marcellus quickly reached for his dagger.
Stunned, Marcellus found himself slumped over Catrin, his arms tightly wrapped around her. With rain still drumming against him, he was chilled from his wet clothes. The last thing he could remember was the raging storm. He wasn’t sure if his dizziness, the buzzing in his ears, and the burning pain on his arms were the aftereffects of a lighting strike. Of more concern, Catrin appeared dead. She was cold and limp in his arms. He raised her wrist to feel a pulse, but could not detect a beat. Placing an ear over her mouth, he heard faint gurgles. He then placed two fingers on her neck and was relieved to find a weak pulse. As he nestled her in his arms, he tried to focus his eyes into the darkness, so he could find some other shelter from the tempestuous night.
From overhead, flashes of lightning illuminated the forest with pulsating light. A short distance away, a figure appeared through the trees. Marcellus shuddered when the shadow disappeared into the darkening woods. The loud thunder and the smashing of raindrops made it impossible for him to hear any approaching footsteps. Anticipating a potential attack from this phantom, he leaned Catrin against the tree trunk, so he could maneuver about more easily.
Suddenly, a sword-wielding man was striding toward them. Fight instincts heightened, Marcellus quickly reached for his dagger, but his hand slipped on the wet hilt. He did not get a second chance to grab his weapon when a sharp tip pressed into his neck. He froze. Anticipating the fatal blow, he felt his chest heave in panic. The sword’s tension eased as the warrior pointed to Marcellus’s dagger. As instructed, Marcellus slowly pulled out his weapon and handed it to the warrior.
The warrior mumbled something in Celtic, giving Marcellus tenuous reassurance he would not be immediately hurled into the bowels of the Underworld. He nervously watched his foe kneel beside Catrin and place a couple of fingers on her neck. With sword still in hand, the warrior deftly swung Catrin over his shoulder, stood up, and muttered a hissing curse.
Marcellus shook his head in confusion and shrugged.
The warrior gestured for Marcellus to stand.
Marcellus pointed to himself. “You want me to get up?”
The man gave a slight nod.
Marcellus gave the warrior a thin smile and staggered to his feet. Keeping a close watch on his adversary, he thought humorously, Good news! I will be executed elsewhere.
But seeing Catrin slung over the warrior’s shoulder shot Marcellus back into the grim reality that they both could be executed at the village. A sick feeling roiled in his stomach.
The warrior motioned for Marcellus to stay at his side as they descended the precarious slope in the pounding rain. It was through sheer fortitude that Marcellus was able to force himself forward on cramping legs. A couple of times, he considered making a mad escape, but without any familiarity of the land, it would be futile and downright stupid to make such an attempt. Besides, he could not leave Catrin to the mercy of this man.
After a few more minutes, the rain stopped as they walked off the river trail and climbed up a hill to a spot where light flickered through some shrubbery. With Catrin still on his shoulder, the warrior pulled a loose bush away and motioned for Marcellus to do the same. Working alongside him, Marcellus helped clear the remaining bushes until the entrance of a dimly lit cave was revealed. He recalled this was the same cave where he and Catrin had dropped off Mor and Belinus before they had made love.
Following the warrior inside, Marcellus ducked under tree roots hanging from the olive-green ceiling. About halfway inside was a campfire that dimly lit the approximately twenty-foot cave. Glancing around, he could see that some of the cave had been dug out to store pelts, clothing, and bagged food. Most disconcerting was the stockpile of weapons near the entrance. An ominous shiver ran down his back that there may be others who would soon join them.
When the rain-drenched warrior set Catrin on a silver pelt near the fire, Marcellus recognized him as Cynwrig, the last Cantiaci fighter he would ever want to combat. With the assortment of weapons, he wondered why Cynwrig had made no attempt to bind him. Why was he brought here instead of the village? The only person who could enlighten him was Catrin, unconscious and shivering spasmodically. He anxiously stared at her until he was startled when rolled garments were thrown at him. He looked at Cynwrig, who pointed to a water bucket near the entrance.
Marcellus looked into the metal-rimmed container and was aghast by his reflection on the water’s surface. A bristly beard shadowed his jaw. A purplish eyelid on his face was swollen almost shut. Fighting for composure, he pulled his soaked shirt off to splash cold water on his face and chest. Goose bumps erupted all over his skin and his teeth chattered so hard, he thought they might break. When he again glanced at Cynwrig, he was dismayed when the warrior removed Catrin’s leather chest armor and undershirt, exposing her bluish-tinted breasts. He puffed out his chest and glared. Cynwrig gestured for him to turn around. Marcellus held his ground, eyeing the weapons against the wall.
Cynwrig, appearing to read his mind, set Catrin on the pelt and drew an axe from his belt with deadly silence. An icy chill spiked down Marcellus’s spine. Having seen this fierce warrior’s skill in axe-throwing, he hesitated and waited for the warrior’s next moves.
Cynwrig pointed to Catrin with an exaggerated shivering motion. Then he mimicked taking off his mail-armor shirt and waving his hand over the fire.
Marcellus relaxed, now understanding the warrior’s intent to treat Catrin. Yet he continued watching Cynwrig closely as he walked toward the back of the cave to take off his stinking shirt and breeches. He unrolled the garments Cynwrig had given him and was surprised to see his freshly cleaned Roman tunic and toga that he had believed discarded after his drunken first night at the village. The white fabric was no longer stained and had a light sweet fragrance. After he was dressed in the knee-high tunic, he watched Cynwrig cover Catrin with a woolen cape before discretely removing her trousers. After that, the warrior washed her face with a wet cloth warmed in a metal pot above the fire. Her violent shivering calmed after he covered her with a sheep pelt.
Vexing questions haunted Marcellus. Why would one of the queen’s most trusted guards give him his Roman clothing back, unless there was some kind of plan to release him? If there was a plan to release him, wouldn’t the queen have done so? Besides, Catrin wouldn’t have helped him to escape. But now she was lost to his world when he most needed her. At le
ast this time she did not appear to be suffering from the effects of the falling sickness. He turned to Cynwrig and barked, “Hey,” to get his attention and pointed to the fire. “Can I sleep there? Get warm.”
Cynwrig nodded and grunted.
Marcellus sat near Catrin to assess her condition. Breathing even, she appeared at peace, a rosy color returned to her face. He was tempted to stroke her hair, but with Cynwrig closely watching him, he decided it would not be prudent. Yet desire consumed him as he gazed at Catrin, lying naked under the pelt. Though he had been brutalized by her people, he still felt a strong bond with this foreign woman. A waft of lavender scent from his tunic reminded him of making love to her. Though she had been an ill-at-ease virgin, he had never expected her to respond so amorously to his touch. Her strength almost matched his as she lifted her hips to meet him. He ruefully sighed. How could he ever go back to Rome after Catrin had turned his Roman beliefs upside down regarding his father’s plan to invade Britannia? His soul had joined hers, and without her, he would never be whole.
He drew in a long breath. Nothing made sense any more, his reasoning blurred with powerful emotions.
With profound fatigue overtaking him, Marcellus looked at Cynwrig and gestured that he wanted to sleep close to the fire. Cynwrig retrieved a pelt and put it on the ground for him to sleep on.
Marcellus collapsed on the soft pelt and sank into a deep sleep.
48
Lure of the Siren
She was now that Siren luring him into her perilous waters.
The sound of splashing water awoke Marcellus from his erotic dream. His chest was dripping with hot sweat. Drowsy, he was at first disoriented as to where he was. He struggled to leave his sensual muse for the grim reality of where he was. With his precarious situation, he had to focus on an escape plan and not be distracted by his full erection. When he looked around the cave, his eyes landed on Catrin washing her naked body.
Gods above, am I dreaming?
Suddenly recalling Cynwrig, Marcellus darted his eyes all around. He could not believe the fierce warrior would leave them alone. He again gazed at Catrin and saw a nimbus of sunlight encircling her as a goddess. He shook his head with disbelief.
I must be dreaming.
He slapped his forehead. The pain was real. It must be happening.
When Catrin bent over to reveal all her womanly beauty, a lusty gasp caught in his throat and his thoughts oddly jumped to the tale of the Greek hero Odysseus and his encounter with the Sirens. Odysseus had been warned about the enchantresses whose spellbinding voices lured sailors to shipwreck off their rocky shore. Though his soldiers plugged their ears with wax, he had them tie him to a mast, so he could listen to the Sirens’ songs. When the ship passed these alluring women, Odysseus tried to rip off his bonds and jump headlong into the dangerous sea. It was wise foresight on Odysseus’s part that his men neither heard the songs nor their leader’s pleas to unbind him.
With the tale still in mind, Marcellus thought he must be under Catrin’s spell as he watched her wrap a cape over her shoulders and walk toward him. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep. When he felt a soft touch on his forehead, her warmth radiated into him, taking away all his physical and emotional pain from his ordeal. When he opened his eyes, he was drawn into Catrin’s sea-blue eyes as she sat next to him.
“Your face is swollen,” she said. “I am afraid to ask what happened.”
“I think you know. The last month has been difficult.” Marcellus refrained from saying more about the brutality he had endured. Fighting to keep his wits, he asked, “I’m confused. I thought you had helped me to escape. Last night, Cynwrig found us in the thunderstorm and brought us here to safety. Where is he now?”
Catrin smiled and rubbed a finger over his mouth. “I told him to go ahead and scout out the Romans. Soon they will arrive for the exchange.”
Marcellus widened his eyes with surprise. “What exchange?”
Catrin clasped his hand. “You are to be traded for my father. Only a few of my people know. We suspect traitors from our village.”
Disconcerted that Catrin had not told him this previously, Marcellus said, “I told your mother about possible traitors when she showed me the forged message that said your father had been imprisoned. Yet she refused to believe me.”
“My mother is now well aware.”
Marcellus shook his head in confusion. “If the exchange has already been set, why did you pretend to help me escape?”
“It was a setup to divert traitors from our true plans. My mother agreed to your father’s demands that only I escort you to the exchange. Cynwrig is here to protect me in case anything goes wrong.”
Marcellus knew his father had no compunction for avenging himself against any person who insulted him. Yet the queen had also bared her teeth when she believed the king’s life was endangered. He leveled his eyes at Catrin. “Can I trust you?”
“Yes. Of course. I asked Cynwrig to leave us, so I could speak with you privately. My raven will warn us when he is returning. In the meanwhile, there is something I must tell you. I sense you are in danger—not only today, but also in your future.”
“And how is that?” Marcellus asked, nervously lifting his brow.
“Last night, during the storm, I was pulled into the raven’s mind for a revelation …” Catrin gazed at the fire as if she was envisioning something.
Marcellus nudged her shoulder. “Go ahead and tell me what you saw.”
Staring vacantly at the fire, she revealed, “The raven took me to a place that divides the mortal world and the Otherworld.”
A prickle clawed at Marcellus’s neck as he recalled Decimus saying that Catrin was a sorceress. Her eyes reflected the fire’s crimson flames as she continued her story.
“My raven showed me your past, present, and future on the Wall of Lives where souls emerge and reincarnate into other living beings. I had three visions. In the first, an arrow pierced your heart during the prisoner exchange, mortally wounding you. As you slipped through the portal, I grasped your life-thread and pulled it back from the Otherworld. In the second vision, a red wolf that I believe is Marrock attacked you and ripped your heart out. Your life-thread again disappeared through the portal, but I pulled it back. The third time—”
Marcellus interrupted, “Gods beneath me! There cannot be another grim prophecy?”
Catrin removed her cape to reveal her naked body.
Marcellus gasped, “What are you doing?”
“Hear me out,” Catrin said firmly. “In the third vision, a poisonous serpent strikes you in your neck when you are with your Roman lover.” She placed Marcellus’s hand on her breast, the softness plunging him into tempestuous desire. As she pulled his hand down over her abdomen into her sexual danger, he could hear his heart pounding.
She said in a sultry voice, “The only way I can save you is for us to join.”
Breathing erratically, Marcellus rasped, “What do you mean?”
“You must enter me, so I can save you.”
Flabbergasted, Marcellus blurted, “Gods above! Here? Now? What about Cynwrig?”
Before he could say another word, Catrin covered his mouth with hers. She was now that Siren luring him into her perilous waters. He was plunged into that raw state where lust overruled reason. He fervently pushed Catrin down by the fire and kissed her, his tongue searching for hers. The exigency to dive into her deepest depths heightened his senses. He was a doomed soul drowning in her turbulent waters and giving over his sanity to this goddess. Body flushed with hot sweat, he flamed into her as she wrapped her powerful legs around his hips, driving him still deeper. All his frustrations and rage plunged into her heat—their souls and bodies forging into steel.
In what must have been only a blink of an eye, he drove everything he had into her and cried out, “Heavens above! What have you don
e to me?” Still burning in her heat, he was loath to leave her fire as he heard her say in his mind:
Our souls are now wedded and will never part.
Silently, he made his love request.
Come back to Rome with me.
A light flashed in his mind as her thoughts disconnected from his. He rolled to his back and pillowed his head on bent elbows as he stared at her. Her face was a brilliant pink as she brushed some unruly tresses of hair away from her sea blue eyes. Yet several golden strands still teasingly covered her breasts. Not yet ready to end the moment, he pulled her next to him again.
“I feel as if I’m Apollo inside you.” He snuffled her hair and inhaled the intoxicating earthy fragrance.
Catrin tilted her head back to look at him and smiled. “You are my Apollo.”
Suddenly uneasy, Marcellus cocked an eyebrow. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“Did you like it this time?” Marcellus struggled for words. “Last time … when we made love … I tried to be careful … not to hurt you, yet today, I was so swept away by you … I may have been too rough again.”
Catrin’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I like when you let go of your restraints. The first time we made love, I could not share in your final pleasure because the raven robbed me of those joyous moments afterward.”
He grimaced. “What do you mean ‘robbed’?”
She averted her eyes from his. “I thought our act of love would destroy us.”
Marcellus recalled that he had been perplexed by Catrin’s aloofness, particularly after her vigorous response to his touch. She kept staring at the bloodstained pelt on which they had made love. He thought she was confused about losing her virginity. It was only after she told him about Marrock that he understood that was not the reason. He said, hoping he remembered it wrong, “What was the meaning of the reflection of the white raven on my eyes? You said you saw the same thing on Marrock’s eyes.”
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