The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection

by Phillips, Christina

  “Move.” Her voice was guttural and vibrated with terror. “Just go. What are you waiting for? He wouldn’t have come alone.”

  He glanced once again at Judoc. The other man’s hand had fallen from his neck and now Bren saw the small, deadly dart protruding from the flesh.

  “You poisoned him.” He heard the words fall from his tongue, but could make no sense of them. Why had she poisoned Judoc? He crouched and pulled the dart free, allowing blood to trickle over the clammy skin.

  She shoved him, hard. “What are you doing?” She glanced around, as if ensuring they were still alone. “You don’t have much time. You have to go, now.”

  Slowly he pushed himself to his feet. “I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you until you explain why you just tried to kill Judoc.”

  She bared her teeth as if she hated him. “So he wouldn’t kill you, you treacherous bastard.”

  The trees compressed, his vision darkened, and all he could see was Morwyn’s pale face and accusing eyes. And all he could hear was a recurring echo of her furious words.

  So he wouldn’t kill you.

  She had been prepared to kill his blood cousin—to save him.

  The breath staggered from his lungs, leaving him light-headed as if he’d overindulged with the incenses used by the Druids during his coming-of-age ceremony so long ago.

  “He wasn’t going to kill me.” But she hadn’t known that. She had thought he was in danger and had acted—instinctively.

  His guts clenched, agony twisted through with a rare, unimaginable ecstasy. Disbelief entwined with a fragile thread of hope.

  And awe melded with incredulity that anyone, least of all Morwyn, had been prepared to kill one of their own in order to save his worthless skin.

  “He saw the dead auxiliary. He drew his dagger. Of course he was going to kill you. He thought you’d just murdered their spy.”

  He needed to take her in his arms. Wanted to explain everything to her. But Judoc was dying. He once again crouched and felt his cousin’s pulse. It was slow, sluggish, but did not appear to be fading any further.

  “Trogus”—he jerked his head at the auxiliary—“was nothing. I’ve been Caratacus’ eyes and ears in the Roman Legions for the last three years.”

  She didn’t answer, but he saw her fingers tighten on the reed until her knuckles glowed white beneath the dirt. He lowered his head to Judoc and fastened his lips around the wound.

  “Don’t.” Her voice sounded oddly dull. “The poison won’t kill him. He’ll awaken naturally soon enough.”

  He sat back and spared his cousin a brief glance. He’d not left Bren’s side during the hunt for the murderers of Eryn. It was more than mere relief to know Morwyn, the woman who held his future in her hands, wouldn’t be responsible for ending Judoc’s life.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth, Morwyn.” He looked up at her. She hadn’t moved, still stared at him as if she had never seen him before. “Knowing my true identity could have endangered you.”

  The tip of her tongue flicked over her lips. “And what is your true identity?”

  There was nothing else he could do for Judoc and so he stood, his cousin lying between him and the woman he loved.

  “Brennus, son of the Chieftain Brennus of the Rhine and”—he hesitated for a heartbeat—“the Princess Olwina of the Catuvellauni tribe of old Camulodunon.”

  Her gaze flickered. He wondered if she recalled him telling her that he possessed a drop of noble blood. Even in that, he’d not told her the truth.

  Now he would hold back nothing. Except for one thing.

  “Caratacus is my mother’s cousin. I swore him a blood fealty. It’s the reason I followed Gervas that night.” Morwyn had guessed his intention. Gods, she’d assumed he had murdered the Gaul, yet still she’d remained by his side. Guilt haunted him, as he knew it would forever haunt him, at the knowledge he had knowingly risked his king’s safety by not killing a potential threat. And the reason why he had risked everything stood before him now, oblivious. He didn’t expect Morwyn to forgive him for what he’d intended that night, but he hoped, someday, she’d at least understand.

  “Yes.” Her voice was hoarse. “I understand the bonds of blood.”

  Of course she did. She’s a Druid. They were obsessed with preserving the purity of their bloodlines, the purity of the nobles they allegedly served. She might not like it, any more than he did, but she understood. And because of her heritage she considered there was nothing to forgive.

  “I’ve never been your enemy, Morwyn.”

  She swallowed, and for a moment he thought she was going to step toward him and take his offered hand. Instead a shudder rippled over her and she straightened, as if coming to a decision. But she didn’t speak, and silence stretched between them, a chasm he didn’t know how to breach. As the deathly hush invaded his heart, the marrow of his bones, she finally responded.

  “I know.”

  Breath hissed between his teeth. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding it until that moment. Hadn’t acknowledged just how uncertain he’d been that she would accept his word. Accept the reason why he hadn’t told her the truth.

  That she would be willing to let them start again.

  He stepped over Judoc. With one dead auxiliary and one unconscious blood kin, the surroundings were hardly ideal. But what did that matter when he needed to reassure Morwyn her faith in him was justified? That her actions, while she still thought him her enemy, had touched him more profoundly than anything else he’d experienced?

  “I understand why you left me.” He stood before her, not touching, but drinking in the sight of her face, the fragrance of her hair. “But I would never have hurt you.” He hesitated, unsure, and then knew she deserved to hear. “Not even if Caratacus himself ordered me to.”

  Her bottom lip trembled, just once, before she tensed her jaw and jerked her head in a gesture of acceptance. “I’ve never been afraid that you’d hurt me, Ga—Brennus.”

  Gods, to hear his true name from her lips. It was sweeter than he’d even imagined.

  “And,” she said, raising her hand in a warning gesture and he stopped short. Not yet. She needed to clear her mind before they touched. Because when they touched he’d need more than a fleeting kiss, and there would be no need for words to convey how much she meant to him. “Gervas had nothing to do with why I left you.”

  He’d been so sure that was the reason. Why else? What could possibly have persuaded her to leave, when her recent actions all pointed to the astonishing fact she cared about him?

  “Then why did you leave?” He glanced at Trogus, but he no longer believed she had been abducted. Morwyn had left while the auxiliary had been surrounded by dozens of witnesses. She had gone of her own accord and he couldn’t fathom why.

  Her hand dropped to her side. She was close enough for him to feel her breath on his face but with every frantic beat of his heart he could feel her inexorable retreat.

  “For something that happened before I even met you.”

  Ice clutched his heart. It was impossible she could know. Words tangled in his throat, guilt strangled his air supply and all he could do was stare at her in rising disbelief.

  Again her bottom lip trembled and her eyes glittered as though tears shimmered in those dark, mysterious depths. “I want you to know that I don’t hate you.” Pain twisted through every word as if they tortured her as much as they did him. “I should. But I can’t. All I can do is . . . walk away. And ask you to never approach me again.”

  Chapter 32

  A part of Morwyn—a despicably large part of her—hoped the Gaul—Brennus—would charge after her as she left the blood-soaked scene. But he didn’t. He didn’t even ask her what she was talking about or demand she explain her accusation.

  His guilt had glowed for one soul-destroying moment in his beautiful, unforgettable green eyes.

  Biting hard into the soft flesh of her lip, she glared ahead as the trees shifted out o
f focus and the path became blurred. Yesterday morn, after waking from her vision, she had imagined it was impossible to feel any worse.

  Again, she had been wrong.

  Brennus, far from betraying his people, the Romans, had put his life at risk every moment he remained within the Legions. From the start his loyalty had been absolute to his king. To his kin.

  A useless tear slid down her cheek and she dashed it away, gritting her teeth as she approached the cromlech.

  In the beginning she’d called him a coward. Thought him a traitor. Despised him for his values and alleged allegiance.

  His courage and convictions in his cause put her to shame.

  More than anything she had ever wanted in her life before, she wanted to stand by his side. Offer him her love, her heart, her undying devotion.

  The specter of Gawain vibrated between them. She couldn’t desecrate the memory of Gawain by pledging her life to Brennus. And she couldn’t condemn Brennus, the most honorable man she had ever met, for killing Gawain.

  Brennus had had his reasons. Of that she had no doubt. And perhaps, one day, she’d discover those reasons. But for now it was all she could do to keep herself from sinking to the forest floor and allowing her shattered heart to consume her sanity.

  * * *

  They left the enclave that afternoon, the last of the Druids, the few remaining children, and a strong contingent of warriors to guard the king. Including Brennus.

  As they traveled through the green valleys, skirted the peaceful hills and forded the sparkling rivers of her beloved homeland, she caught sight of him more often than her heart could bear. Sometimes she imagined he watched her, also, but she never caught his eye. Even in this he honored her wishes and kept his distance.

  It crucified her to know that, deep inside, she’d hoped he would try to change her mind. That he would present her with an explanation so supremely justified for his actions it would somehow negate her blood pledge to her foremothers.

  Allow her the luxury of cleaving unto him, without the crippling guilt that was eating her alive every moment of every day.

  At night the visions worsened. The first night of their journey the vision had descended instantly, plunging her into the battle without any preliminary.

  This time Gawain had heard her frantic calls. Had turned to her. And as Brennus approached, dagger glinting, Gawain’s features had melted, twisted, morphed into Caratacus.

  And Brennus had stabbed his king in the back.

  The second night, fearful of repeating her embarrassing performance during which an Elder had been summoned to quiet her feverish terrors, she took a sleeping potion.

  And the nightmares flourished, in vivid hues of green and scarlet, the scents more pungent, the sounds of battle and death escalating. And this time Gawain murdered Caratacus.

  Drenched in sweat, she jerked awake, shivering as icy chills rattled over her bones. The Morrigan was trying to show her something, but all she could see was the two men she trusted with her life betraying every fundamental principle she believed in.

  Brennus would never betray his king. And Gawain—Gawain couldn’t stab anyone in the back because he was already continuing his journey.

  In the black of the night a tiny, vulnerable doubt flickered.

  Gawain was dead. Wasn’t he?

  * * *

  On the second day they arrived at Caratacus’ destination. Steep mountains soared all around the valley and as they forded the treacherous river and led their horses up the nonexistent pathways of the highest peak, a dread certainty coalesced deep in Morwyn’s breast.

  This was the place she had seen in her dreams for so many moons. The bloodied killing fields where, no matter how many stirring speeches Caratacus gave his followers, carnage would ensue.

  Rocks were strewn across many gentle access points. The ramparts she’d seen in her visions. And hidden farther up the mountain several tribes had laid claim to their own campsites, as if they’d been there some time, and children played mock battle with sticks and stones.

  Druids dispensed wisdom, gave sacrifice to the gods, and strategized with the king and tribal chieftains. On the third afternoon after leaving the enclave, as Morwyn watched a group of blue-daubed warriors practise their war cries, a cold sensation of finality washed through her.

  No matter how just the fight or brave the cause, against the mighty Roman army her people would lose.

  Her skin prickled with awareness and she turned, to see Brennus standing some distance off, watching her. Her heartbeat sped; her breathing stumbled. She should go. Ignore him. It would be easier that way.

  But instead she picked her way across the rocky incline until they stood within touching distance. His warmth and vitality reached for her, ensnared her, battled against her conscience, and she remained rooted to the spot only by sheer force of her ingrained Druidic willpower.

  And then he spoke. “You should go, Morwyn.”

  His rejection hurt. More than it should, but wasn’t this what she had asked of him? To keep his distance? But why, then, had he sought out her?

  She stepped back, unable to trust her voice, and instantly his hand gripped hers. Strong. Comforting. Memories flooded through her of entwined limbs and heated kisses, but overriding all else the memory of his tender touch before he had left her on the morn before Gervas had intruded into their delusory existence.

  “I mean, leave this mountain.” His voice was low, his focus on her absolute. “Before it’s too late. Take Gwyn—gods, take as many of the children as you can—and get out of here. It’s a death trap.”

  She knew it was. But still the Morrigan had led her here. For a purpose she could not yet fathom. “Is there no way we could claim victory?”

  His grip on her hand became less brutal, as if he’d expected her to try to pull free or dispute his words. The gentle caress of his thumb across her knuckles threatened to shatter the fragile barrier she’d erected around her psyche.

  But still she allowed him to hold her hand. It might be the last time he ever would.

  “No.” It was just one word, and filled with fatalistic despair. And she knew it was the truth.

  “I can’t leave.” Her voice was soft, but her resolve implacable. They couldn’t win, but she couldn’t leave because the time had not yet come to pass. She couldn’t explain it to Brennus, couldn’t explain it to herself. But when could any mortal truly explain the twisted, contradictory messages of the gods?

  All she knew was when the Morrigan decreed the time was right, she would know.

  “I’ve had enough of all this.” He jerked his head at the warriors. “It’s been my life. Kept me sane. But . . . now I’ve had enough.” As if he couldn’t help himself he tugged her closer. And, weak fool that she was, she allowed him to. “I dared to dream of a different life with you, Morwyn.” Raw pain gave his whispered words an agonized edge. “Dared to imagine we could overcome my past. But you’re right. I don’t deserve a second chance. This is all I’m fit for.”

  “No.” Before she could stop herself her free hand cradled his jaw, her thumb grazing the rough stubble that darkened his features. She couldn’t be with him, but goddess, she wanted him to find some peace in his life. Some happiness. “You’re worth so much more than this, Brennus. You have to survive this battle. You have to find that other life you crave.”

  A smile twisted his lips, a smile that wrapped itself around her heart and magnified her despair a thousandfold. A smile that told her more clearly than any clumsy words that, without her, such other life was nothing but a fragile dream.

  Dimly she became aware of a cacophony of shouts, of sudden movement, of frenzied excitement. Sliding her hand from his face to his shoulder, she followed his glance and saw several Druids, chieftains and warriors ascending, doubtless on their way to Caratacus.

  “And so it begins.” Brennus sounded resigned. “And I can’t persuade you, a Druid of honor and integrity, to remain out of the line of fire with the non-fighting
women and children?”

  “Can I persuade you to do so?”

  His free hand clasped the length of her braid, allowed it to slide against the palm of his hand. Then he released her hand and stepped back and the chill of this final parting invaded her heart, her soul.

  “Grant me one last favor.” The incredible green of his eyes captivated her, as they had captivated her from the very first moment they’d met. “How did you find out?”

  She swallowed against the rising constriction that threatened to choke her. “The Morrigan showed me.” Her voice was husky, filled with tears as yet unshed. Treacherous words trembled on the tip of her tongue and she flung caution aside. Her Gaul, her Brennus, was more important to her than placating her goddess who for all her power was still vindictive. Still cruel. “I wish she hadn’t.”

  * * *

  From her vantage point, concealed behind a natural barrier of rock and bush, Morwyn crouched beside Nimue. Chieftains went from rank to rank, encouraging their warriors, and Caratacus appeared to be everywhere bolstering morale and appealing to his forefathers for victory.

  In the valley, already fording the river, the Roman Legion advanced.

  “It should be easy to defend our position.” But even as she spoke Nimue frowned as if she hadn’t imagined the army would be so vast. “We have the advantage of height. They will drop like flies before our missiles.”

  And at first it seemed they stood a chance. She and Nimue aimed their arrows true into the enemy ranks. Roman soldiers fell and a flicker of hope ignited deep in Morwyn’s breast. Maybe they could defeat the might of the Eagle, after all.

  But then, in sudden precise movement, they re-formed their ranks and raised their shields in such a manner as to protect the entire Legion. Arrows glanced off the makeshift roof, missiles had no impact and, impervious to attack, they began to systematically tear down the stone ramparts.