“My lady.” He inclined his head in thanks as he took his helmet. “Until tonight.” He paused, and gave her a searching look as if trying to see inside her mind and find her secrets. “Keep safe.” And then he turned and marched back into the shaded woods.
* * *
Aeron bowed before the ancient Druid in the small oak grove at the outer edge of the sacred spiral’s protective perimeter. As always, he hoped she couldn’t see into his heart and discover the bubbling resentment that festered. But she never had before. He was a master of deception, and this Druid had no reason to suspect him of anything less than absolute devotion.
“Aeron.” She held out her wrinkled hand, and he took it and kissed the fragile skin, even as his senses recoiled from the touch of her skeletal fingers. “My dearest child. Come, sit with me and tell me what you see.”
He sat beside her on the moss-covered log that once, long ago, had been a mighty oak. It reminded him how all great things could fall, no matter how powerful or revered.
The old woman by his side was the most powerful and revered Druid in all Cymru. But her time was coming to an end. Aeron had seen her demise in a terrifying vision while still a child, a vision of such lucidity it had ensured his rapid elevation within the spiritual ranks.
Yet even at the age of eight he had known better than to divulge the bloodied climax of that vision. The line between savior and murderer would have been too blurred to distinguish.
“Druantia.” He extricated his fingers from her possessive hold under the pretext of clasping both hands around his hazel rod. “The situation beyond the sacred spiral grows more precarious by the day. Soon the invaders will have subdued all of Cymru in a fountain of blood.”
Druantia didn’t answer and Aeron shot her a surreptitious glance from the corner of his eye. She often didn’t answer directly, a trait he found irritating when directed at him. He was no lowly acolyte. Nor even a highly respected Druid of distinction. His place in the hierarchy was second only to hers. As such, he deserved more respect from her.
He deserved more respect from Carys.
Her name scorched through his brain, temporarily obliterating the grove from his sight. Fucking Carys with her hypnotic eyes, hair spun from sunlight and impossibly independent nature.
It was intolerable she continued to refuse him. Blood pounded against his temples, threatening his outward composure, and his hands gripped the holy hazel rod with compressed rage.
He knew that soon she would submit. His visions foretold such sweet victory, and in such visceral detail, his cock thickened with anticipation even now.
“And yet we will survive, Aeron.” Druantia’s voice, as fragile as a decaying autumn leaf, invaded his personal world.
Curse the hag for still clinging to this life. By rights he should possess her coveted position, for his power deserved nothing less.
Just as he deserved Carys. And he would possess both.
“We will always prevail.” He bowed his head. Yes. They would prevail, for he would never allow their beliefs to die at the hands of the heathen invaders. But they would survive on his terms. And there was no place in his new world for decrepit old women and their ancient goddesses.
“And yet Carys still denies you.”
Aeron ground his teeth together. Only Druantia would dare throw that in his face. “She’s still too young to know her own mind.”
“On the contrary, my dearest child.” Druantia’s voice scraped along his raw nerve endings. “Carys knows her own mind very well. Don’t become disheartened, Aeron. The time will come when she sees you for what you truly are.”
Her one and only master. The words drummed through his brain, pounded along his arteries and throbbed along the length of his erection. It took all of his considerable willpower to remain unmoving on the mossy log, when every particle wanted to roar his frustration to the heavens.
“I trust you’re right, Druantia,” he said instead, bestowing a gracious smile as he imagined how easy it would be to snap her neck like the dried twig it was.
Druantia stared at him from her age-glazed eyes. Eyes that always sent shivers of revulsion skittering along his spine. “The Morrigan is never wrong, my child,” she said softly. “She sees Carys is our future. And who better to share that future than you, Aeron? It is written in the stars. So shall it be.”
Aeron only just prevented a sneer from escaping. He saw the future. And the Morrigan was no part of it.
“I’m humbled the great goddess feels I am worthy.” The words choked him, but Druantia didn’t appear to notice. “Can she bestow advice as to how I might win Carys back to my bed?”
Druantia considered him in silence, and he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Not that he needed advice from this bitch or her redundant goddess. Carys would be his because that was his desire. And when that time came, whether she submitted willingly or not was entirely up to her, but made no difference to him.
And then Druantia spoke. “Bring us fresh moon blood from Carys’ next cycle. This must be collected by your own hand, Aeron, to prevent any contamination from another.”
Interest flared. The image of sequestering Carys’ blood aroused him, and caused his shaft to thicken and balls to ache.
“I understand.” Yet he had no intention of attempting any such thing. He had no need of the Morrigan’s help in this or any other matter. He took Druantia’s hand and bestowed another fleeting kiss. “Thank you, Great Queen.”
* * *
It was late afternoon before Carys made her daily visit to Druantia. The wise Cerridwen had not been forthcoming as to how Carys could ensnare her Roman’s continued interest, but Carys knew that wasn’t a bad omen. It was simply because Cerridwen wasn’t overly interested in sexual liaisons.
Besides, it wasn’t hard to bring the conversation around to sex with her fellow Druids. Sex was a topic they all discussed frequently, and in great detail. It was simply that before today, Carys hadn’t been especially interested in the specifics.
“Carys.” Druantia rose from her moss-covered log and held out her arms. Carys embraced her great-grandmother’s sister, secretly sorrowing at the Druid’s fragility. She sometimes feared the faintest breeze might splinter her slight physical form. “My sweetest girl. Still you put yourself in danger for your people.” Pride laced the old lady’s tone.
Carys helped Druantia resume her seat upon the log before sitting in her usual place at her feet.
“There isn’t much danger. Cerridwen protects me, as she has always protected me.”
Druantia began to unwind the ties binding Carys’ hair. “Alas, child. There is always danger. Only here within the spiral are we truly protected from the invaders.”
Carys gave an impatient sigh. “But what good are we here, Druantia? How can we help our people if we aren’t with them?” She turned as Druantia began to gently tug her fingers through her still-damp hair. Hair she had washed with scented flowers for the pleasure of her Roman.
She shivered and thrust the thought aside. She couldn’t think of Maximus now. Not when she was in the presence of Druantia, and in the sacred grove of the Morrigan herself. She forced her mind back to the present. “How much longer do we have to hide?”
Druantia continued to unplait her hair. Normally Carys found the ritual soothing. But this afternoon she couldn’t be soothed. Because all she could see was an endless existence stretching before her, where she could never be allowed the true freedom her soul craved.
“Darkness is descending.” Druantia’s voice was hushed with sorrow. “Everything we cherish is on the cusp of oblivion. How else can we protect our ways, Carys, except by shielding them from the Romans?”
Carys turned to stare at the great Druid. “But for how long?” Maximus hadn’t derided her religion. Why couldn’t it be possible for the Druids to educate the Romans into the light? Was that truly such an impossible dream? That they might, someday, live in harmony with each other?
Druantia sighed, a soft,
wistful sound that sank into Carys’ soul and ached with everything they had lost. “I fear for us, Carys,” she said, and Carys held her hand, tracing her fingers across the delicate skin that barely covered the veins beneath. She didn’t want the great Druid to fear. Because if she did, what hope remained for them all? “I fear what will happen once I continue with my journey.”
“There are still many steps for you to take before that happens.” Carys couldn’t imagine Druantia no longer being in the physical world. Didn’t want to imagine it.
Druantia shook her head, and confusion creased her face. “My grandmother, your own foremother, Carys, had eyes the color of the sky and the earth. Just as you do. The great Morrigan chose her as her acolyte at the age of ten.”
Carys knew that, had heard the family histories many times. But Druantia liked to tell her stories, and so she said nothing.
“The eve you were conceived, the Morrigan herself came to me.”
Carys’ breath stilled in her breast as shock ricocheted through her senses. This she hadn’t heard before. Was her mother aware? Yet she knew she wasn’t, for there were no secrets between them. Was anyone aware? Visions were not generally kept from those to whom they pertained. And unless she was deeply mistaken, this vision of Druantia’s had a great deal to do with her.
Druantia stroked her drying hair. “She told me the child would have eyes from the sky and the earth. And that you would one day be the light in the darkness, the one who led us into the new future.”
Shivers coursed over her arms, made the hair on her scalp rise. Even the wood warblers ceased their distinctive trilling, and the ensuing eerie silence screamed through her mind.
“But I’m not a leader, Druantia. I’m a healer.” Surely that wasn’t the reason why the Morrigan had never honored her with her presence? Because she was a healer?
Druantia peered at her through her clouded vision. “I knew, in my heart, the Morrigan had chosen you for her acolyte from the moment of your conception. Our goddess is not one to give up what is rightfully hers. And yet upon your birth she allowed Cerridwen to claim you.” Druantia’s brow puckered. “Why? You were destined to lead our people, Carys. Why did the Morrigan turn from you?”
Chapter 6
Maximus decided to indulge in the bathhouse before meeting his Celt. That she would be waiting for him he had no doubt, although logically his certainty made no sense.
Besides, if she didn’t appear, he would simply tear the countryside apart until he discovered her whereabouts. It couldn’t be that hard to find her, not if she were living with her family. Some traces could be uncovered, and how his scouts had missed them astounded him. Twice he had encountered her within a five-mile radius. She had to be hiding somewhere in that vicinity.
Aquila settled himself onto the neighboring bench in readiness of his own massage. “Are you intending a night in the town?”
No. He was intending a night in his Celt. He grunted as the masseur kneaded his knotted muscles.
“Possibly.”
“Want some company? I know where there are some pretty girls who are more, uh, selective about those whom they favor.”
Maximus eyed him. “What of the girl, Branwen? Is she still refusing you?”
Aquila’s grin faded and a frown took its place. “Mars take her. I can’t work her out at all. She answers me if I speak to her, and appears not to be repulsed by my presence.” He shifted impatiently. “And yet if I attempt to touch her, she flees as if she believes I might ravish her.”
Maximus snorted. “And nothing could be further from your mind, naturally.”
Aquila scowled as if he didn’t appreciate Maximus’ humor. “I’ve no wish to hurt her. Gods, I’ve a good mind to give her whatever herbs her grandfather needs without any form of promise from her.” He paused for a moment. “That’s if she could remember what they are. She seems very vague at times.”
“Perhaps she genuinely doesn’t know what they are.”
“Then what was she doing by the spring?” Aquila’s gaze sharpened. “You think she was meeting someone there?”
Fuck. He hadn’t meant to put that idea into Aquila’s head. He didn’t want any more searches of the area, not unless he decided his Celt needed to be flushed out for whatever reason. “I meant she doesn’t appear to be in full possession of all her senses. Perhaps she simply doesn’t know their names.”
Aquila’s scowl deepened, as if Maximus had just insulted him. “I believe her senses are intact. She is merely traumatized by the events of the last year and still in mourning for the death of her sister in childbirth.”
“So you’ve given up on her?” He rolled his shoulders in appreciation of the masseur’s ministrations and imagined his Celt giving him a full-body massage instead. Both of them oiled and naked. His lips curved. Somehow he would find a way to make that fantasy reality.
Aquila raised himself up on one elbow. “Is the Primus interested in Branwen for himself?” There was a distinct undercurrent of hostility in his friend’s tone, and Maximus shot him a calculating glance.
“Not in the slightest. She’s hardly my type, Aquila.”
“Indeed.” Aquila’s tone was scathing. “And yet I’ve seen that look in your eye before, Maximus. If you wanted her, why didn’t you take her the other morning? They brought her back for you, after all.”
Maximus waved his masseur back and sat up, remembering only just in time to cover his erection with the towel. If Aquila saw that, he would never believe Maximus couldn’t give a shit about his precious Branwen.
“If she interested me, I would have taken her.” He rearranged the towel since it didn’t appear to be doing its job. “Although I doubt she would have accepted me had I offered, so you can take your vine stick from your arse and find better use for it.”
Aquila rolled onto his back and clasped his hands behind his head. The length of his erection almost rivaled Maximus’ own.
At least Maximus could anticipate slaking his desire this night with the one who haunted his thoughts. Aquila, poor bastard, would have to seek relief from a whore. That knowledge was enough to temper Maximus’ irritation with his friend’s banal accusation.
“Go fuck a pretty girl,” he said, laying a hand on Aquila’s thigh. “It will help clear your thoughts. Then look at your Branwen again, and see if she still fills your loins with lust.”
Aquila grunted, as if Maximus’ wise words didn’t much assist. Winding the towel around his hips, Maximus rose from the bench, only to come face-to-face with the Legatus, similarly disrobed.
“Sir.” Maximus nodded in greeting at the imposing middle-aged man he had known his entire life, and hoped the commander wasn’t about to embark on an impromptu military discussion. It had been known to happen, and was one of the reasons the Legatus preferred using the communal baths to his private bathhouse, but this evening Maximus wasn’t in the mood for such distractions.
Aquila struggled to sit up, but the Legatus waved him back and then sat upon Maximus’ recently abandoned bench.
Fuck. Maximus reined in the impatience threatening to steam his blood and sat beside his commander.
“I’ve just received word from the Senate,” the Legatus said, hands splayed on his knees. “They wanted to know whether we’ve eliminated all the cursed Druids in the area.”
The Emperor was obsessed by the Druids, and Maximus agreed their ferocity in confronting the Legion had been unexpected. “We haven’t come across any since the border skirmishes.”
The Legatus raised his eyebrow. “They were rather more than skirmishes, Maximus. Fucking Druids have a death wish.”
Maximus conceded the point. Not only had they fought furiously, they had also rallied the villagers in the vicinity who appeared in thrall to them.
“We’ve discovered no evidence of further Druid activity locally.” They’d found plenty of evidence that the Druids had fled the area before the Legion’s arrival, which was somewhat at odds with the behavior of the previous gro
up of Druids they’d encountered.
The Legatus grunted and hooked a finger at a pretty dark-eyed masseur. “They’re long gone. I told the Senate in my last communication that they had doubtless scurried across the water to their heathen isle.”
“It’s the logical conclusion.” Maximus agreed with his commander. Had the Druids attempted to escape over the border into Britannia, the legionaries would surely have captured them.
“Of course it is. The Druids pose no immediate threat to us here.” The Legatus unwound his towel as the masseur approached with her oils. “Undoubtedly at some point we’ll need to crush their stranglehold across the strait, but we’re not at that strategic point as yet.”
Maximus rose, and his commander arranged himself facedown on the bench.
“You informed the Senate of this?”
The Legatus grunted as the girl began to oil his back. “I did.” Then he opened one eye and looked up at Maximus. “Meet with me after assembly tomorrow. We have matters of import to discuss.”
It was both dismissal and permission to continue with his plans for the night. Maximus gave a sharp nod of respect and turned on his heel, instantly relegating the bloodthirsty Druids to the back of his mind.
He had an assignation to keep.
* * *
Carys peered through the arched entrance of the gigantic circular mound of earth, within which they all now lived, toward the cromlech. Aeron, as always, prowled the perimeter of the monoliths as if he were their self-appointed gaoler.
She ducked back inside and leaned against the smooth earthen wall. Her friend Morwyn, an acolyte of the Morrigan, clasped her hand in sympathy. “Aeron?”
“He doesn’t usually stand guard until just before the sun sets.” And there were almost three hours until then. Plenty of time to ride to the Cauldron and undertake the necessary preparations.
The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection Page 6