The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection

by Phillips, Christina

  The praetor? Why would such an important politician wish to greet her? She didn’t believe for one moment he did. It was her father, hoping to introduce her to someone else who might be able to once again affect her entry into the elevated echelons of Roman society.

  She took a calming breath as Elpis removed her palla and tidied her hair. Did she look half-ravished? She certainly felt it. But for her father’s sake, she hoped she looked like the perfect, pure-minded daughter he deserved.

  This perfunctory greeting wouldn’t take long. There was plenty of time before she needed to leave. Plenty of time to agonize over the fact she was going to deliberately deceive her father.

  She entered the atrium. Her father turned, smiling, and then the other man, dressed in a purple striped toga, also turned toward her.

  Antonia’s heart slammed against her ribs, stifling the air in her lungs, squeezing her throat in disbelief. The praetor was not a stranger. He’d often visited Scipio in Rome. He’d always treated her with utmost respect and kindness whenever their paths had crossed. Yet in spite of his impeccable manner, she’d seen the lust in his eyes, and known that with the slightest encouragement he would have embarked on an illicit affair.

  “Lady Antonia.” Quintus Fabius Seneca took her chilled fingers and kissed the back of her hand. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  Antonia forced a smile to her lips and rescued her hand. “I did not know you were in Britannia, Praetor.” Please Juno, let him be merely visiting the province. If he was now stationed in Camulodunum, the chances of Scipio discovering her future plans became alarmingly possible. But would her former husband truly imagine, for even a moment, the child she adopted was really his?

  “A happy coincidence,” the praetor said, and for some reason Antonia didn’t believe a word. He gestured toward one of the ornate couches, indicating she should sit, as though he was the master of this townhouse and not her father. “It delights my heart to see you looking so well, despite the deprivations of this barbarous province.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw her father flinch at the slight. His atrium was extravagant in the extreme and while it might not possess the spacious proportions of the grandest villas in Rome, Antonia was certain it ranked among the most lavish in Britannia. It certainly compared favorably to the one he’d had in Gallia, until he had moved to Britannia three years ago in order to capitalize on the sudden demand for luxury goods.

  “On the contrary, I find this province to be most accommodating.” As she sat on the couch, she tried not to let Gawain’s mocking smile intrude into her thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to let base lust dictate her words.

  “Indeed, your father’s establishment is most comfortable.” The praetor offered her father a condescending smile, and Antonia bit her lip to stop herself from responding on his behalf. “And your loyalty, my lady, does you credit as always.”

  Antonia saw her father take a breath, undoubtedly to extol the extent of her loyalty to Rome, the Emperor and goddess knew what else. The last topic of conversation she wanted was one that centered around her, especially since the praetor knew far more about the state of her marriage to Scipio than her father ever would.

  “What brings you to this far-flung outpost of the empire, Praetor?” Antonia folded her hands on her lap and prayed to Fortuna that he was merely traveling through the province and had no plans to stay longer than a few days or so.

  “Duty, my lady.” He clasped his hands behind his back and looked as though he prepared to address the Senate. “We are pledged to rid this primitive isle of the scourge of Druids and that is my mission. Not that you need to concern yourself with such unpleasant matters of state.”

  Scipio hadn’t wanted her to concern herself with such matters, either. He’d been astonished, and not in a good way, when his young bride had voiced her opinions on politics, law and injustice within his hearing. It hadn’t taken her long to realize the extensive education her father had paid a fortune for was the last reason why Scipio had taken her for his wife.

  But she was no longer Scipio’s wife.

  “Surely the Druids live in the wild forests of Cambria, Praetor? The last places they would flee are to Roman strongholds.”

  Instead of ignoring her or responding with a cutting remark as Scipio would have done, the praetor turned his full attention her way.

  “With the fall of the rebel leader Caratacus last summer, the Druids were driven from their homeland.” The praetor frowned and although Antonia wished he’d never set foot in Britannia, a part of her recalled why she’d enjoyed his attention in Rome. It was because, in spite of his innate air of superiority, he always considered her opinion worth the trouble of a genuine response. “We know many of them escaped to their barbaric Isle of Mona but it’s my belief some of them spread across Britannia. The Emperor won’t rest until every last one of them is crushed beneath the might of the Eagle.”

  “None would dare set foot in Camulodunum.” Her father sounded outraged by the very thought. “The filthy cowards most likely fled north to the mountains of Caledonia.”

  “That is very possible,” the praetor conceded.

  “I wish you well in your mission, Praetor. All Druids should be hunted to extinction like the rabid dogs they are.”

  At any other time Antonia would have loved to discuss the mysteries of the evil Druids but her mind kept straying to Gawain. Had he meant that ultimatum? Or would she arrive at the tribune’s villa only to discover it had been a cruel trick on his part?

  If she didn’t go, she would never know. And would spend the rest of her life wondering what if?

  “Antonia?” Her father’s voice jerked her back to the present. “The praetor enquired how you’re enjoying the restricted social interactions here.”

  The pained expression on her father’s beloved face told her that he was convinced she secretly hated everything about Camulodunum. Soon she would have to confide in him that she never intended to leave, but that was a conversation for another day. For now, both the praetor and her father had just given her the ideal opening regarding her clandestine meeting with Gawain.

  “The tribune’s wife, Carys, is most charming.” If she were careful, she might be able to make it sound as though Carys had invited her without having to lie outright. She’d still feel bad about deceiving her father but it would, after all, be for only a short while.

  “The foreign princess.” The praetor’s tone gave nothing away of his private feelings on that matter. “She was the one who thwarted the mad Druid’s plan in Cambria two years ago to overthrow the Legions.”

  Antonia stared at him, momentarily distracted from her purpose. “She was?” She tried to imagine the delicate-looking woman doing anything other than gracing her husband’s Roman villa, and failed.

  “It was the reason Maximus was allowed to marry her. The Emperor was most appreciative of her efforts.”

  “Another reason why no Druid would enter our great city,” her father said.

  She dearly wanted to learn more, but she couldn’t allow this opportunity to pass by. “I’ve been invited to the tribune’s villa this afternoon.” She glanced at her father. “May I use the carpentum?”

  Her father’s face brightened and guilt churned through her breast. But the guilt wasn’t strong enough for her to retract her question.

  “Of course. I’ll arrange for a full complement of guard to accompany you.”

  Relief flooded through her and she stood, inclining her head at the praetor. “It’s been a pleasure to see you again, Praetor.” She hoped they would never meet again, though. “Pray forgive my hasty departure.”

  Once again he took her hand. “The pleasure is all mine, my lady.” His eyes never left hers and unease trickled along her spine at the desire he no longer made any effort to conceal. “I trust you and your father will honor me by attending a feast I’m holding next week.”

  * * *

  Gawain found Carys in the room adjoining the Roman b
athhouse Maximus had built in the villa’s grounds. She’d just finished her daily teaching of local peasant children and he couldn’t help the glare he arrowed her way.

  “The Romans will crucify you if they discover what you’re doing under their aristocratic noses.” Not to mention that she was flagrantly disregarding every edict passed down from the dawn of time that the ways of the Druids were sacred and not to be shared with any outsider.

  “I’m only passing on the most basic of our knowledge.” Carys shot him a frown of her own. “I’m not a fool, Gawain. I would never put my family at such risk. But Cerridwen’s word must live on, and this is one way to preserve her wisdom.”

  He’d heard her arguments before, shortly after he’d discovered her whereabouts in Camulodunon. He still couldn’t fathom that her patrician husband allowed her to continue with her passionate dream of educating the ignorant Britons, but Maximus, it appeared, was far from an average Roman.

  “Why bother? The locals already worship the heathen gods of Rome.”

  “Yes, because their own priests have all been slaughtered or driven far from here.” Carys gripped his arm and he heaved a silent sigh. He knew what was coming next. “With your knowledge you could help turn the tide, Gawain. There’s so much valuable information you can share with the populace.”

  “Unlike you, I don’t have the advantage of Rome believing I led your tribune to the High Priest of Cymru in order to save their precious Legions.” The High Priest had been insane with hatred for Rome, lust for Carys and the desire to wrench power from their gods and claim it for his own. It wasn’t only the invaders who would’ve perished had he succeeded in his terrible vengeance. “And, unlike you, I no longer possess blind devotion to our fickle gods.”

  How could he, when the god he’d devoted his life to no longer acknowledged his existence?

  “You’d rather stir up another rebellion.”

  He had no intention of discussing such things with Carys. The less she knew of his plans the better.

  “Speaking of rebellion, I met the luscious Lady Antonia in the market earlier. It’s likely she’ll be visiting shortly. This room will do for my needs.”

  Carys stared at him, speechless. Gawain offered her a lecherous grin. “Before you leap to defend her honor, I didn’t need to threaten or coerce. She appears more than eager to embark on an illicit liaison with a brutal barbarian.”

  “But—”

  “For the sake of propriety I imagine she’ll inform her father that it’s you she’s visiting. These Romans have an odd sense of morality.”

  Carys glared at him. “After everything I said to you the other day you’re still determined to follow this path?”

  He shrugged. “It means nothing, Carys. To me or to her. Your concerns are unfounded.” Then he brushed a kiss against her cheek. He had, after all, known her for all of her life and she was the nearest thing he had to a sister. “But I thank you for them, just the same.”

  * * *

  By the time Antonia arrived at the villa her nerves were in tatters. Elpis had accompanied her inside the carpentum and Antonia gripped her slave’s hands as she willed her limbs to stop shaking. If Gawain guessed how secretly terrified of this encounter she was, he’d laugh in her face.

  “Are you sure about this, domina?” Elpis had become increasingly concerned as the journey progressed. “There’s no need to continue if you’ve changed your mind.”

  But she hadn’t changed her mind. She wanted to do this. She just wished she knew what Gawain expected of her. Elpis, it turned out, hadn’t been that knowledgeable when it came to consensual sex and Antonia certainly hadn’t wanted to ask the advice of any of her father’s slaves.

  “I need to do this.” Not just for herself. She wanted her daughter to one day make a glorious marriage with a man she loved. How could Antonia offer her any advice if she had no idea what it was like to be with a man who didn’t cause her flesh to crawl by the mere mention of his name?

  She half expected Gawain himself to help her from the carpentum, but he was nowhere in sight. Was he allowing her a façade of respectability before her father’s guards? Or was it because he had no intention of following through on their hastily arranged assignation?

  Oddly, that thought calmed her nerves in a way nothing else had. If he imagined to slight her by ignoring her, he greatly underestimated her. And if he supposed she’d be willing to overlook his arrogance and arrange a second illicit rendezvous then he most certainly would be disappointed.

  Head held high she followed the tribune’s servant to the door, Elpis at her heels. There was still no sign of Gawain. Had he only wanted to see if she would take his bait? She stiffened her spine and hoped Carys was home and able to greet her. She would explain the reason for her unexpected visit was to invite the tribune and his wife to a feast the following week. Her father would be delighted.

  She ignored the dull ache deep in her chest as she entered the atrium. She had feared Gawain might discard her the moment he’d had her. Wasn’t it better that he’d discarded her before? At least this way she could retain a chilly veneer of indifference, should they ever meet again.

  And then disbelief punched through her, stalling her thoughts, and she stared in shocked silence as Carys walked toward her. Her hair was braided like a primitive savage, her daughter perched on her hip and her gown was like nothing Antonia had ever seen before.

  The Roman noblewoman had vanished. And in that instant Antonia understood how this woman could have thwarted a mad Druid.

  “Antonia, welcome.” Carys gestured her forward. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Thank you.” The words slipped out, unthinking, as she tried not to stare at the extraordinary bejeweled belt around Carys’ waist. And then the other woman’s statement penetrated and heat flooded her cheeks.

  Carys had been expecting her. That meant Gawain had told her of their assignation.

  He intends to follow through on his promise.

  “I’ll show you to our bathhouse.” Carys led the way through the atrium. “My husband insisted on building one, although he assures me its splendor fades to insignificance besides the grand ones in Rome.”

  They left the villa and, directly ahead, Antonia saw a small building, marble columns flanking its entrance. Was that where she was to meet Gawain?

  “The public baths are magnificent.” Her voice was breathless as the prospect of bathing with him flooded her mind. She hoped Carys hadn’t noticed. “But there is something to be said for the intimacy of a private bathhouse.”

  Not that she knew from experience. But several of her former friends had enjoyed scandalous affairs in such steamy surrounds.

  “Very true.” Carys shot her a glance she couldn’t quite decipher and continued around the side of the bathhouse. She paused in front of another building that abutted the bathhouse and pushed open the door. “I will see you later.”

  Antonia stepped into the room, and was momentarily confused. She’d expected a secondary bathhouse, a hot or a cold room, or perhaps a small exercise area. Instead there were benches and a couple of couches as if this was another living area and nothing to do with the ritual of bathing.

  A door opened to her left and she turned to see Gawain stroll in from the bathhouse. Her heart thudded against her chest, making it hard to draw breath, and the pit of her stomach trembled with strange, liquid heat.

  He looked utterly foreign, a savage warrior, and sunlight glinted on the barbaric jewelry around his throat and at his ear. He smiled, a slow, seductive smile that sent tremors through her blood and did nothing to ease the constriction in her breast.

  Except for Elpis, she was alone with a strange man, a man she had virtually propositioned in the street. A native of a conquered land who made no secret of the fact he despised her people. And yet it wasn’t derision that glowed in his eyes. It was lust.

  For her.

  “Lady Antonia.” His smoky voice wrapped around her senses, as potent as though
he had wrapped his arms around her naked body. “You kept your word.”

  “Did you doubt I would?” She scarcely recognized her voice. She sounded like a sultry seductress. Perhaps, after all, Gawain would never guess what a novice she was when it came to playing such dangerous games.

  He stopped in front of her, so close that the amber flecks in his dark eyes mesmerized her. “No.” The word sank into her blood, igniting sparks of pleasure that skittered across her exposed flesh. “You want this as much as I do.”

  It was true. Why should she deny it? “Yes.”

  Elpis began to remove her palla, and Gawain took another step toward her. “You have no need of a chaperone, Antonia.”

  For a moment, she stared at him, bemused. A chaperone? Did he mean he wished her to dismiss Elpis?

  Such a thing had never occurred to her. She’d simply assumed Elpis would remain in the room, a familiar shadow, while she and Gawain had sex. But now the thought of being completely alone with Gawain had crossed her mind it was shockingly alluring.

  She turned to Elpis. “You may leave.”

  Elpis hesitated, before she bowed her head and left to wait outside.

  Gawain took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. His warm breath seared her flesh, a lover’s touch.

  Soon he will truly be my lover. The knowledge caused damp heat to stir between her thighs.

  “Did your father suspect anything?” He tugged her closer, his lips still grazing the back of her hand.

  A sliver of guilt pierced her heart at how she’d deceived her father. “No.” But even the guilt couldn’t force her to drag her fascinated gaze from his mouth.

  “Does your husband ever suspect your illicit liaisons?”

  Scipio had never had cause to suspect her of any such thing. But she had no intention of telling Gawain he had the dubious honor of being her first illicit liaison.

  Yet she had to tell him something.

  “I no longer possess a husband.” It was easier to say that, than admit Scipio had divorced her because she had failed, so spectacularly, to provide him with a living son. “I belong to no man but my father.”