An icy frisson slithered down Priscilla’s spine. “I will warn Mr. Williams to be careful.”
“Didn’t you hear me? It is not only Mr. Williams who needs to be cautious. You have to as well. If she thinks you are trying to keep her from getting what—or whom—she wants, she can be a dangerous enemy.”
“I will keep that in mind.” She did not need the warning because she already had witnessed Bellona bullying Domitilla.
“One more thing.” Roxanne’s voice dropped so low Priscilla could hardly hear. “Warn Mr. Williams as I am warning you not to make a complaint to anyone of higher rank. They would be required to take it to Sir Thomas, and the Imperator will not halt the magistra from doing whatever she wishes.”
“Why?” The question popped out before Priscilla could halt it.
“I don’t know.” The abigail stepped away and turned to look at Bellona’s vast house. “I honestly don’t know.”
Many other questions filled Priscilla’s head, but she had no chance to ask them as Roxanne hurried away. The abigail might not know what the connection was between Sir Thomas and Bellona, but she must have some ideas. Somehow, Priscilla had to convince her to share them. Maybe one of them would lead to the truth.
It was a short walk to Aunt Tetty’s house next to the temple of Mithras. Men were going in and out of the temple, but they avoided Aunt Tetty’s home by a wide margin. That confirmed what Roxanne had told her.
Aunt Tetty sat out in front. Scents, both pleasing and not, came through the open door behind her. She held a cast iron pot on her lap and was stirring a thick paste the deep green color of grass. Pausing, she motioned for Priscilla to take the chair beside her.
“Come and sit, Cordelia. It is about time the two of us had a real talk instead of one disrupted by speeches and hullabaloo.”
“I would like that.” She sat on the simple wooden chair. “What are you making?”
“It is spring, and in the spring, measles spread fast. This soothes the eyes so the spots don’t take away one’s sight. It is a simple medicine I learned from a wise old woman who had learned it from her granny.” She gave the bowl one more stir and set it on the porch. “But you did not come here to talk of my medicines. Do you have questions about Novum Arce?”
Priscilla heard the affection in Aunt Tetty’s voice as she spoke the community’s name. Though she was curious how and where Aunt Tetty’s and Sir Thomas’s lives intersected, she said, “I need your assistance, Aunt Tetty.”
“With what?”
Priscilla gave her an abridged explanation, leaving out anything about the guns. She let the old woman think that as part of her duties, Priscilla needed to check on the granary buildings.
“But I cannot go out there alone, or so Roxanne has told me.”
“She was right to warn you.”
“She suggested that I ask you to accompany me.”
“What about that handsome man I have seen you with? Mr. Williams?”
“He is training with the other legionaries.”
“It was,” Aunt Tetty said with a nod, “a wise decision to give him a job better suited to his skills. One look at the man, and you can see he was born to be in charge.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I will go with you. I need to deliver some skin softener to Domitilla, so I can combine the trips.”
“If you tell me where the skin softener is, I will get it,” Priscilla said as she stood, too.
After Priscilla collected a small jar of the lotion like the ones she had seen on the commandant’s wife’s dressing table, she handed Aunt Tetty a cane that had been beside a chair. The old woman took it gratefully and then slipped her arm through Priscilla’s as they walked along the street.
She noticed how the other residents avoided Aunt Tetty. A few made an ancient sign against the evil eye when they thought nobody was looking. Priscilla frowned at them, and they scurried away.
“Pay them no mind,” Aunt Tetty said. “Old superstitions are deeply ingrained in Lakeland.” Without a pause, she asked, “You do know that not all dangers are unseen, don’t you?”
“Why would you say that?” she asked, startled by the old woman’s confident tone.
Aunt Tetty gave her a warm smile. “Because, Cordelia, you strike me as a woman who knows her own mind. Be careful what you want to do is the right thing. A misstep now could be disastrous.”
“Is that a warning?” she asked, shocked by the old woman’s words.
“If it need be, it is.”
Chapter Thirteen
NEVILLE WHISTLED a tuneless melody as he rubbed the bronze on his shield with vinegar and salt, with a bit of flour added to the mix. It removed the patina that turned the bronze to a dull green.
He looked across the empty room where rows of beds would soon be filled. The men played cards and dice so late into the night that it was no wonder they were ineffectual on the training field. They had gone to the temple for some sort of celebration to their war-mongering god, and Neville had begged off, pretending he was being punished by their commanders. Jack, the red-haired man whose cot was next to Neville’s, had invited him along, telling him, partly in jest, there would be no intelligent conversation unless “Leonard” was there.
Jack had helped Neville get to know the others in the barracks. Though he had refused to take a Roman name as many of the others had, he was trying hard to learn a soldier’s skills. He never spoke of his last name, saying only he had been called by it too many years. Neville guessed he had been a servant. Curious as to why he had come to Novum Arce willingly, Neville appreciated that Jack did not want to talk of the past because Neville did not want to be quizzed about his own. They had become friends, training together and talking while the others wagered. Unlike the others, Jack kept his word and never bragged.
Tonight, Neville had told Jack to go ahead without him. That made Neville the butt of good-natured jokes about sneaking off to spend time with Cordelia Kenton.
If only it were true . . .
A soul-deep sigh erupted out of him. It was time for him and Pris to cut their losses and admit defeat. Even if the crates she had seen were filled with guns, they had vanished. Once he and Pris left, they could contact Beamish and let him know where to go to collect his wayward daughter. Trying to convince Miss Beamish to go home could put Pris and their child in jeopardy if the young woman realized she had been lied to from the beginning. He had seen enough of Miss Beamish to know she was as hungry for power as her father. If he hadn’t been as eager as Pris to discover what had happened to the guns as well as Beamish’s missing servants, he would have insisted they depart Novum Arce days ago.
A soft sound brushed his ears. He put down the shield he had been polishing. Yes, he heard voices. Light ones, not the bass bellows of his fellow legionaries. He smiled ironically. Neville Hathaway, a Roman soldier. When he told Duncan about what he had been doing while in Novum Arce, his friend was going to succumb to paroxysms of laughter.
His smile vanished as he stood and went to the window to peer into the deepening twilight. Two people were walking close to the barracks.
Two women!
Had they lost their minds?
“. . . and I have not walked in this direction before today,” said a lyrical voice that tantalized him.
Pris!
For a moment, he let his eyes feast on her golden hair and gentle curves. His fingers itched to slip along both as he brought her mouth to his, melding them in the crucible of their passion. Then fury sped through him with the power of both lightning and thunder.
Neville stormed out the closest door and onto a path that intersected the women’s. His steps faltered when he saw the woman with Pris was Aunt Tetty. He had thought the old woman had more sense than this. On the other hand, Pris could charm a thief into giving her his stolen loot as well as a confession.
“I need to finish an inventory before supper.” Pris glanced at the older woman. “Aunt Tetty agreed to come with me.” She grinned. “Besides, when we passed the principia, your comrades-in-arms were listening to Sir Thomas inspire them with an enthralling speech.”
“Enthralling is not the word I would use,” Aunt Tetty said with a smile. “Our Imperator seems to have fallen in love with the sound of his voice.” She looked from Pris to him. “The evening is growing cool on my old bones. If I leave Cordelia in your protection, Mr. Williams, I trust you will see her safely home.”
“You may trust me, Aunt Tetty,” he said with a bow worthy of courtier.
“But can Cordelia trust you?”
“As much as any woman can trust a man who finds her lovely and wishes to win her affection.”
With a throaty chuckle, Aunt Tetty patted his arm. She turned back toward the center of the settlement.
“Go with Aunt Tetty,” Neville ordered, though he did not want Pris to leave again soon.
“But I need to check the grain storage buildings.” She explained her theory.
It was a good one, he had to admit. Even so, he said, “Not until after dark. The soldiers will wonder why I am not at the principia. If I don’t show up, they will start asking questions.” He put his hands on her shoulders, letting his fingers edge down her arms in a slow caress. “I will come to get you as soon as night falls.”
She nodded as she put her hands over his. “All right. There should be no moonlight tonight because the clouds are thickening on the highest fells. We will be obscured by the shadows and rain.”
“I am glad you are rational.” He drew one of his hands out from under hers and ran his fingers along her face, wishing he could touch her more sensuously. But he knew someone else could walk by at any moment.
“One of us must be.” She chuckled and patted his cheek as she turned to leave.
His hand clamped her fingers to his face before he could halt himself. As she gazed up at him, he breathed her name and tipped her mouth beneath his. The kiss had to be swift, and it left him with a raw longing that no quick brush of her lips could satisfy.
As he raised his head, he said, “I will be there as soon as possible, and we will go and check the granaries.”
“And after . . . ?”
“I am sure I can think of an excuse not to sleep in the barracks tonight.”
“Good.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him again before she whirled to catch up with Aunt Tetty.
He watched her and wondered how long it would be until they could spend more than a few moments together again. His promise to the Prince Regent had cost them too much time apart already.
NEVILLE WAS surprised how easy it was to take a dark lantern and slip out of the barracks a few hours later. Some of the men were asleep while others wagered and finished off the bottles of wine served with their evening meal. He had gained their respect because his skills with a blade and a sword, though he had not used them in years, were superior to theirs. He wondered why the more talented legionaries did not help them. The men had looked at him in confusion when he asked that. It was as if the idea had never entered their heads. They asked him to teach them, but he found excuses not to or acted as if teaching was something beneath him. As long as they were not battle-ready, they could not attack others. For a moment, he considered teaching them some defensive moves, but surrender was all they needed to be prepared to do.
“Off to do some courting?” asked Jack from where he lay on his cot, his hands clasped under his head.
“Is there anything better to do on a pleasant evening?” Neville asked as he flung his dark cloak around his shoulders before making sure his knife was in his belt. He did not intend to chance another man trying to contest him for Pris’s affections.
“I would not know.” He sighed.
Neville felt sorry for Jack, who was interested in a lass who had worked with Pris in the laundry. Unfortunately she had her eye on someone else and did not return his friend’s attentions. Maybe Pris would know someone to match up with Jack.
He almost laughed aloud. This was not London where matchmaking was a favorite sport among the ton.
As he walked to the door, other men fired knowing grins at him. He gave them a wink and went out to the sound of their laughter.
A gust of wind swirled along the street, sending dust into small cyclones. He glanced in both directions. As always, guards stood by the gate, visible only as shadows in the pair of lanterns they had set on either side of gate leading into Novum Arce. He was surprised they used the lights, which would be a beacon across the empty fells, pinpointing the settlement through the thickening mist. Did they use them every night, or only on ones when the clouds lowered to conceal the higher reaches?
Making sure the door on his lantern was closed, he pulled his cloak over his head. He noticed how the ornaments on his ankle-high sandals caught the lights coming from the commandant’s house as well as the barracks. He bent, gathered up some dirt, and scoured the brass until its sheen was gone. On the morrow, he would be yelled at because he had let his sandals fall into such a state, but better a dressing-down than having the small bits of brass betray him.
He walked away from the barracks, not bothering to conceal himself now. After dark, there was little activity in the community.
Neville realized his mistake when he heard someone say, “You are Leonard Williams, aren’t you?”
He silenced the curses searing his tongue as he stared at Beamish’s truant daughter. The light from a nearby window burnished her hair beneath her dark stola that was wrapped to accent her full breasts. Jewels glittered at her long neck and along her arms and hands. She could have been the perfect sculpture save for her calculating gaze that slid over him from head to toe and back.
“Yes, I am Leonard Williams.” He waited to discover why she had spoken to him when she never had before.
“I am Magistra Bellona. Perhaps you have seen me about the settlement.” She gave him what she must believe was a come hither smile. It might have appeared more genuine if she had been able to hide the way she gauged his reaction to each word she spoke.
“Everyone in Novum Arce knows who you are.”
She preened, patting her intricately styled hair. “How kind of you, Mr. Williams.”
“Not kindness. The truth.”
“Yet it is kind of you to make a lady feel special, Mr. Williams.” She fluttered her heavily kohled eyelashes at him. “May I call you Leonard?”
“Of course. The name is yours to use as you wish.” Just as I have. He did not let his amusement show on his face.
“Thank you.” She moved closer and gazed up at him with an obvious invitation for him to take her into his arms. She plucked the lantern from his fingers and set it down beside the walkway. “Being granted the privilege of using first names can be so . . . so intimate.”
He wondered where Beamish’s daughter had learned to be this brazen and how many times she had practiced with other men. Had Beamish been betwattled by his daughter, or had he worked very hard to keep her reputation intact despite her hoydenish ways? A man who could keep ministers in his pocket surely could cover up his daughter’s improprieties.
How much did Miss Beamish know about what was really going on in Novum Arce? Playing along with her crude seduction might get him some answers. He had seldom bested Pris in any game of wits, but he doubted Beamish’s daughter was Pris’s match, so . . .
He returned her flirtatious smile. “And talking on the public street is so . . . so not intimate.”
She laughed. “You are a lady-killer, Leonard, aren’t you?”
“The
name has been associated with me before.” He caught her hand. Pressing it to his bare arm, he bent toward her. “But that could be changed by the right woman.”
“And what type of woman is that?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but she put her three longest fingers against his lips.
“No,” she whispered, “this is not the place for such a conversation.” She slid her fingers slowly down over his bottom lip. “Don’t you think it would go better with wine? It is not common knowledge where the Imperator stores his best, but I happen to know. A bottle of an excellent vintage would make our conversation more convivial . . . and intimate.”
“Thank you, domina mea, but—”
“You can call me ‘Bellona.’ That would please me.” She leaned forward to brush her breasts against his chest. “It would please greatly. And I enjoy showing my gratitude to those who please me.”
He stepped back, trying not to show his disgust. She acted like the most slovenly whore in London. “I must complete an errand for the commandant.”
“He can wait.” She seized his hand. “I cannot.”
Neville drew his hand away before she could press it to her breast. Hoping his regret sounded sincere, he said, “On this matter, he made it clear he cannot wait, domina mea.”
“Bellona!”
“He cannot wait, Bellona,” he repeated obediently, then dropped his voice to a murmur. “I will be with you as soon as I can. An hour, no more. Imagine the delicious anticipation we can savor.” He lifted her hand to his lips and heard her quick intake of breath. He lowered it, unkissed, as he whispered in her ear. “Delicious anticipation.”
She moaned and smiled. “I was certain there was something about you that I liked, Leonard. Now I know. You remind me of me.”
He could not imagine a worse insult.
“You are,” she continued when he did not speak, “not afraid of going after what you want. I admire that in a man.” She looped her arm around his in a quick motion he had not expected. “But one glass of wine will not keep you from your task for the commandant . . . or the one you will be performing for me afterwards.”
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