Clear disappointment clouded Morwyn’s brow. “It feels wrong that your chosen one is not one of the gods’ favored sons. Now, more than ever, our bloodline should be strengthened, not diluted.”
Maximus, who didn’t understand her ways and had little knowledge of her sacred beliefs, had brought her back from the immortal realm. And, by so doing, had proved to her queen and her best friend that he was worthy of her love, of siring her future children.
Druid or not, he would be welcomed as her husband if that was her desire.
But her desire was irrelevant, for a Roman would never be accepted within her circle.
A thought stirred. “Morwyn, I tended a woman early this morn. She’s pregnant by her Roman lover, an officer. He had her installed in lodgings as his mistress.”
Morwyn sighed. “It grieves me to admit, but some of our women are finding a better life serving Rome in that manner.”
“But this woman loved her Roman. She wants his child.”
“But does he love her?” Morwyn shook her head. “It’s easy for a woman to believe herself in love when the man elevates her from the midden. They take advantage, Carys. It’s not an equal relationship.”
Carys recalled the haunted look in Efa’s eyes at the knowledge Faustus had left. It could have been through fear of being returned to abject poverty, of resorting to working in a brothel, but in her heart she knew it was more than that. Efa loved her Roman officer, even though he was unworthy of such honor.
Her vision shivered over her. “And what if the Romans stay? What if they’re not defeated? Should we forever spurn them? Should our blood never mingle? Will our people and Rome forever hate each other?”
Morwyn squeezed her fingers. “Carys, don’t give up hope. Our situation is close to changing.” She paused and glanced around, as if making sure the children were still safe and no other adult was near to overhear. “I’m sworn to secrecy. But you know how discontented Gawain is, how he and many of the other Druids wish to rise against Aeron’s edict?”
Carys knew of the discontent. But to rise against Aeron? “Gawain wishes to overthrow Aeron?” She couldn’t hide the shock in her voice.
Morwyn frowned, as if in warning to keep her voice down. “No, of course not. They want to overthrow the Romans. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”
“Then what are you talking about? What’s the great secret?”
“Gawain spent the night with several of the Druids. They went into trance, communed with the gods. And discovered Aeron’s plans.”
Her heart thudded in her chest, as a dark fog of impending devastation rolled through her. “What are his plans?”
“When the longest day is upon us, he’s going to invoke the power of the spiral to wipe out our enemy. And as they run like rats from a sinking ship before the deadly wave, we will launch our attack.”
Chapter 30
Ice chilled her flesh and ate into her bones. Morwyn spoke of the morrow.
She had to warn Maximus. But to do so would betray her people in the worst way.
Yet if she didn’t, her beloved could die.
“Carys.” Morwyn gripped her shoulders and forced her around. “There’s no need to be so alarmed. The gods are with us, and with the power of the spiral we can’t lose.”
She knew they couldn’t lose. And that was why her heart pounded in her chest, why her brain throbbed against her temples and why she had the horrifying urge to keel over and vomit up the contents of her stomach.
“Don’t worry.” Morwyn cupped her face with her hand and frowned in misplaced sympathy. “Our people will be safe from the wrath of the gods. And when the battle’s over, when the Romans have fled, we can regain our lives. You’ll be able to be with your lover without having to hide your face like a misbegotten hag.”
She had to speak. Had to think. But all she could feel was overwhelming terror that tomorrow, if Maximus died, her life would end.
“Gawain is sure of this?” Perhaps he’d misinterpreted the signs. He, and all the other Druids who had participated in the moonlit ceremony.
Morwyn ran her palms down Carys’ arms and grasped her hands. She didn’t seem to notice how chilled they were.
“The gods were very clear. Tomorrow, Aeron will strike.”
“Then why hasn’t he told us? Why keep it a secret?” Carys snatched her hands from Morwyn and raked her fingers into her hair, gripping her skull. “How can he plan for victory if he hasn’t even told us what he intends?”
“He must plan to tell us at the Renewal tomorrow.”
Carys dragged her fingers down her face and curled them around her neck. Since first invoking the spiral at the Feast of the Dead seven moons ago, Aeron had Renewed its power on every holy day.
“This is madness, Morwyn.” Her voice was hoarse with fear, with the stark knowledge that the end she no longer wished for was so close. “How can we plan a battle with only moments’ notice? If we rush the fortification without foresight, the Romans will decimate us.”
“No. That’s where Gawain, and all the others who disapproved of Aeron’s edict to wait, misunderstood. He’s been communing with the gods all along—”
“We know that, Morwyn.”
Annoyance flickered briefly over Morwyn’s face, as if she didn’t appreciate the acidic interruption. “We didn’t know the full scope of his interactions, Carys. Where Gawain thought he was stalling, he really was simply waiting for the precise moment in time.”
Once again she clasped her arms around her knees. Druantia’s words haunted her mind. “Something’s wrong, Morwyn.”
“Yes. But tomorrow night, all will be well again.”
“No.” The unease solidified and it wasn’t purely connected with terror for Maximus’ safety. “The Morrigan would never keep Druantia ignorant of such plans. And Aeron—even if he didn’t tell us, he should certainly have confided in our queen.”
She remembered the apprehension that had crawled along her spine at their last encounter. If he had chosen to conceal his battle plan from them, what else was he hiding behind those emotionless silver eyes?
“Perhaps Druantia has always known.” But Carys could hear the doubt in Morwyn’s voice.
“I don’t trust Aeron.” It was tantamount to treason. But the certainty there was more behind his plan magnified with every passing moment. She’d find Gawain, and persuade him to confide exactly what information the gods had imparted.
Morwyn let out an exasperated breath. “Perhaps you’re simply blinded by your past relationship, Carys.” There was an edge in her tone, as if she wasn’t so much shocked by Carys’ remark as irritated. “After all, you were convinced he’d disembowel and decapitate any man who dared to so much as look at you after you finished with him, weren’t you?”
She frowned, unsure what Morwyn’s point was. Aeron had made it plain to her that while he respected her decision that she no longer desired him, he wouldn’t tolerate her fucking another man.
Of course, she hadn’t, until recently, met another man she’d wanted in such a way, so his threats had never actively concerned her.
“I don’t follow you.”
Morwyn pulled a blade of grass and twirled it between her fingers. “He knows you keep a lover, Carys, and seems entirely indifferent to the fact.”
Her lungs contracted, squeezing out the air, and the forest spun about her for one dizzying moment. “You told him?” The words echoed through her mind, as disbelief shivered through her breast. “How could you betray my trust, Morwyn?”
“Of course I didn’t tell him.”
Carys scarcely registered the offense in Morwyn’s tone. “You told him I was at the Cauldron yesterday.” Of course that didn’t mean anything. She was often at the Cauldron, but now—now it took on special significance because what else had Morwyn told Aeron? What else did Morwyn know? Had she seen Maximus approach the Cauldron? Had she guessed who her secret lover really was?
Had she told Aeron of her suspicions?
> “Goddess.” Morwyn sounded highly affronted. “Why would I tell him we left you at the Cauldron yesterday? That would lead to admitting you’d gone to the settlement and been attacked by Roman scum.”
She rested her chin on her raised knees and shut her eyes. Her guilt was clouding every word Morwyn uttered. If she didn’t control her emotions, she’d give herself away.
Yet what did it matter? After tomorrow the reason for her deceit would no longer be. The Druids would once again take their rightful place, their people would be free of the yoke of Rome, and Maximus would be defeated or dead.
Rome never surrendered. Whatever Morwyn thought, the invaders would never turn and flee like cowardly rats.
Aeron could delude himself the battle was already won, but she couldn’t see it ending without horrific bloodshed on both sides. It didn’t matter that she knew her gods and goddesses were powerful beyond imagination.
Because Maximus, the Romans, believed the very same thing of their own immortals.
For one bone-numbing moment the sound of bloody battle filled her mind, and the stench of decay turned her stomach. Darkness descended, obscuring the mutilated bodies, muffling the cries of the wounded.
In the distance a single flame flickered, alone, vulnerable. Without knowing why she held her breath, willing the fragile light to survive the slaughter.
Do not let us be extinguished.
Shivers raced along her arms, her shoulders, and danced over her scalp. Cerridwen commands. But her command made no sense. How could she keep a flame alight in the midst of battle, of death?
Realization hovered on the edge of her consciousness, and seeped insidiously into her coherent thoughts.
She had to thwart the Renewal of the sacred spiral tomorrow night.
* * *
Maximus spread the maps over his desk and jabbed his finger at the forest. “I want this area to be thoroughly searched.”
Aquila glanced up. “Again?”
“The cartography is flawed.” He leaned back in his chair and refused to rub his temples, which had ached since Carys had left this morn.
Aquila rolled up the map. “I’ll see to it.”
“Take only our most trusted, Aquila. I’m certain that fucking Druid’s there, but if Carys’ relatives are hiding in the forest, none of them are to be harmed.”
“I understand.” But the look Aquila shot him made him wonder how much his Primus truly understood.
“When you go, I’ll accompany you.” He wanted no man but himself to gut that Druid. To string him up and crucify him in the center of the settlement to show what the consequences were of violating his woman.
“There’s no need.” Aquila’s voice was stiff with affront.
Maximus knew there was no need. He trusted his Primus to keep his counsel, trusted Aquila to bring him the Druid without arousing undue suspicion, and yet there was a terrible gnawing inside his brain, an itch he couldn’t scratch, a dull sense of urgency he couldn’t fathom.
An irrational need to return to the forest, unrelated to the consuming desire to capture the cursed Druid.
He gritted his teeth. The day was almost over. Carys would soon return—she had better soon return—and this insistent desire would recede.
He’d scout the area tomorrow. Alone.
* * *
She entered his quarters as evening descended, and only when she tugged the linen from her head and smiled at him did the corded knots in his gut relax.
“You’re late.”
“I meant to leave earlier. I’m sorry.”
Had she just apologized? He hid his astonishment by leaving his desk and striding toward her. “I trust you didn’t need to castrate any male in my absence.”
“Only a dozen or so.” Then she flung her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. “I missed you.”
“And so you should.” He wrapped her close, savoring the fresh scent of her hair, the softness of her body, the warmth of her breath at his throat.
A strange peace entered his soul. Whatever obstacles her kin placed in her way, she had returned. Of her own free will.
The incessant throb between his temples eased, and the urge to examine every blade of grass in the forest receded.
All that mattered in this moment was Carys was here. In his arms.
Where she belonged.
* * *
As they ate, she spoke of her elderly female relatives, her absent mother, and the half dozen children living with them. He listened, intrigued, because it was Carys who was speaking, because they were her kinsfolk she spoke of, but all the while his brain churned with unanswered questions.
How had so many people managed to stay so completely invisible for so long?
He wanted to warn her that their time was short. Soon they would be found, rounded up, and brought back to face him. Since they hadn’t, to his knowledge, attempted any form of insurgence, there was no need for punishment. Their lands could be reinstated, a favorable tribute agreed, and Carys would be free to stay with him permanently without fear of discovery.
Permanently.
The word threaded through his mind, lingering with seductive promise as Carys extolled the childish virtues of her cousin’s young son.
Maximus was a patrician. It was his duty to one day marry and produce heirs for Rome. Yet the vision of a future without Carys in his life, without seeing her face, listening to her voice, being alternately fascinated and frustrated by her strength of will, caused an unaccustomed ache deep within his heart.
She was his mistress. An honorable status in his world. Wherever his career took them, she would want for nothing. And when he eventually succumbed to pressure and took a wife, he would install her in one of his family’s villas, as far from Carys as possible.
Yet discontent lingered. Carys cherished her own culture, and being the mistress of a Roman tribune didn’t please her as he’d envisaged. She had status of her own, and didn’t need his protection in the way Efa had needed Faustus.
But if Carys was as vulnerable as Efa, or even Branwen, she wouldn’t now be in his quarters, or causing so many conflicting thoughts to pound through his brain.
“Maximus, you’re weary.”
He placed his goblet on the table. “Not at all.”
“Then my chatter bores you.”
He laughed at that. “Why should you think that? I find your kin intriguing. I shall enjoy meeting them.”
An oddly haunted look flashed through her eyes, as if she thought such an occurrence highly unlikely. He realized he didn’t like concealing the fact he intended to flush her relatives out, but it was an army matter. Confidential.
Carys was intelligent, for a woman. Fuck, she was more intelligent than many men he could name. And she had to know that sooner or later he’d discover her hiding place.
She left her couch and kneeled before him, folding her arms across his thighs and propping her chin on her wrists. She looked up at him, as innocent as a Vestal Virgin and as tempting as Venus.
“But for now, you only have me.”
He fingered her braid and began to loosen the colored linen strips that bound it. “For now, you’re enough.” Her silken hair rippled through his fingers and caressed his palm. “Come, lie on the couch with me. I’ll begin your lessons on Roman etiquette.”
“And yet we’ve finished eating.” She didn’t move to obey his request but continued to gaze up at him in that provocative manner.
“In that case, lie on the couch with me and we’ll find something else to occupy our time.”
Her lips twitched, as if she fought a smile. “I have a better idea, Roman.” She tugged his tunic and raised her eyebrows suggestively.
With an exaggerated sigh he tossed his tunic aside and sat upright on the couch, thighs spread. “You’re insatiable, Celt.”
Her fingers trailed the length of his burgeoning cock, a teasing, tantalizing gesture.
“Thankfully, I’m not the only one.”
; “Remove your gown, and get up here now.”
For answer, Carys slowly ran the tip of her tongue over her parted lips. “No.” Her denial was breathy, seductive, and caused his groin to tighten with delicious anticipation.
Her fingers curled around his shaft. He smothered a groan and wound her hair around his hand, jerking her forward.
“There’s something I want to do with you.” Her voice was husky and her gaze was fixed between his thighs.
Gods. There was something he’d longed for her to do since the moment he’d spied her by the waterfall, but given her unexpected inexperience, he’d yet to voice his fantasy.
“What’s that?” He could barely articulate the words for the way his blood thundered through his veins.
She glanced up at him through her lashes. “This.” Her fingers tightened around him, sweet agony, and then she spread his knees with her elbows, and her golden hair caressed his thighs as she lowered herself to him.
Wet heat engulfed his engorged head and arrows of white-hot pleasure flashed along his cock and cradled his balls. He collapsed back onto the couch and raised his hips to allow her easier access.
Her tongue darted across his slit, exploring, tasting, escalating his need to insanity. Her fingernails teased his heavy balls, cupping him in the palm of her hand, squeezing, feeling his weight.
Through lust-glazed eyes he watched her, kneeling at his feet, her head between his thighs, her glorious hair a golden cloud around his hips and groin.
His fingers bit into her skull, pressing her more securely over his throbbing shaft. He heard her moan, the sound vibrating along his cock, felt her tongue licking him, felt the delirious suction of her mouth enslave him.
“Carys.” Her name, guttural with primal need, tumbled from his lips. The reality surpassed even his most frenzied of fantasies, and involuntarily he thrust down her throat, losing himself in sheer sensation, in the knowledge he was inside Carys’ mouth, taking her as she had never been taken before.
With a hoarse groan he wrenched his hands from her head and gripped her shoulders instead. He was on the cusp of coming, couldn’t hold back, didn’t want to hold back, wanted to fuck her and fill her and brand her for all time.
The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection Page 25