The Druid Chronicles: Four Book Collection

by Phillips, Christina

  But within days, he’d discovered Carys now lived here, and even if he had been able to raise an army of bloodthirsty warriors from these apathetic Britons, he refused to put Carys and her small family in such danger. She was a link to his past and if he could believe her idealistic vision, she and the many children she intended to have were the hope for the future.

  As far as he knew, it was only the far north, beyond the traitorous Brigantes whose queen who had sold Caratacus to the Romans, that remained free of the empire. Perhaps it was there, among the fierce Pict tribes and their advantageous mountainous land, that he would find a way to scrub the bloodstained guilt from his soul.

  He entered the villa and caught sight of Carys. She was standing by a barely opened door that led into the atrium. When she saw him, she put a finger to her lips and jerked her head.

  His warrior instinct alert, he went to her side, his hand instinctively going to his dagger. She was dressed as a Druid princess and when he heard the murmur of male voices from the atrium, he guessed why she was hiding.

  It would not do for anyone of importance to see the tribune’s wife as she truly was.

  “…hoping to make the acquaintance of your wife.”

  “Carys will be sorry to have missed your visit, Praetor.” Maximus sounded sincere, but Gawain was certain the Roman knew exactly where his wife was hiding and that she was not in the least sorry to have missed the official’s visit. “Unfortunately, she is indisposed.”

  Carys scowled and Gawain bit back a laugh. Feminine indisposition was a favorite excuse when a Roman woman didn’t wish to face a situation but it was never something a Celtic woman would resort to.

  “My sympathies,” the other Roman said. Gawain leaned against a marble column. Obviously Carys felt the need to stay and eavesdrop and what’s more, she wanted him to, as well. “My late wife suffered greatly from the same malady.”

  Gawain grimaced, but Carys ignored him. He had no moral problems listening into private conversations when there might be information he could use to his advantage. But he had no interest whatsoever in this tedious exchange.

  The strangled response from Maximus, though, almost made it worthwhile.

  “So, Maximus,” the praetor said, his tone turning brisk. “You’ve been stationed in this colonia for how long?”

  “A little over a year.” The tribune sounded restrained and Gawain stifled a yawn and wondered if Antonia ever suffered from feminine indispositions.

  “Long enough to have cultivated a good sense of the mood of the local natives.”

  Gawain folded his arms. Was the praetor concerned an uprising was imminent? If so, he need not worry. While the peasants might resent the Roman presence, their masters were content to bask in the condescending benevolence of the empire.

  “The benefits of being under the protection of the Eagle are something they’re coming to appreciate.”

  Gawain was sure Maximus believed that. It was hard not to draw the same conclusion at times. He was also sure Carys was going to make him pay dearly for saying such a thing within her hearing.

  The praetor grunted in apparent approval. Gawain forcibly relaxed his fist, which he had no recollection flexing.

  “Do you believe they would knowingly harbor fugitive Druids?”

  Ice slid through Gawain’s veins and he caught Carys’ steady gaze. This was why she had wanted him by her side. Because she had known the praetor’s visit directly impacted their survival.

  “No.” Maximus’ voice was firm.

  “No?” The praetor sounded taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected such an uncompromising response. “Perhaps your view is clouded by your personal circumstances.”

  Gawain saw Carys stiffen and knew it wasn’t her own safety that worried her. It was her husband’s.

  “The Emperor is assured of my loyalty.” There was no inherent threat in Maximus’ mild tone but the threat was there, nevertheless. Gawain pulled Carys back against his chest and leaned forward so he could catch a glimpse of the praetor through the narrow gap.

  He looked about forty, graying at the temples and was dressed in the purple striped toga of the aristocracy.

  “I would never question the loyalty of the house of Tiberius Valerius,” the praetor said. “But you’re aware many of the Druids escaped justice two years ago when your esteemed wife thwarted their revered High Priest. I’m convinced many made their way into our prestigious city.”

  Carys threaded her fingers through his. As far as he knew, they were the only two Druids from Cymru in Camulodunon. But was it possible Druids from other clans were here? Anticipation surged through his blood.

  Of course it was possible.

  “If that were the case we would know,” Maximus said. “You will soon discover, Praetor, that the Eagle has a tight grasp of this corner of Britannia.”

  “I have no doubts at all. But our Emperor wishes to leave no stone unturned in the pursuit of our bitterest enemies. I relish the challenge of hunting them down.” The praetor puffed out his chest like a fucking rooster. Gawain relished the vision of wringing his neck like one. “But enough of this political talk, Maximus. I’d be honored if you and your wife would attend a feast at my townhouse. Just a small gathering, at next week’s end.”

  Chapter 10

  Antonia remained frozen as the impenetrable blackness of the night seeped into her soul. In some buried corner of her mind, she knew this was only a dream, but it didn’t stop the terror from pounding through her heart.

  An unnatural breeze brushed across her arms, causing her to shiver although it wasn’t cold.

  My future hangs in the balance.

  She knew she had to move. Knew it was up to her to make the decision whether to turn left or right on the rocky path beneath her feet. But if she took one wrong step, she would plunge to her death.

  On the far horizon, an eerie silver glow bloomed, highlighting the ominous clouds that hung low in the sky. From the ethereal luminosity came the figure of a woman—no, not a woman, no mere mortal could radiate such a devastating otherworldly beauty. Even in a dream? But the thought was ephemeral because she knew who this goddess was.

  Juno. Queen of the gods.

  The great goddess approached and a different fear clutched Antonia’s breast. It had been so long since Juno had honored her with a visitation that she had forgotten—

  Forgotten that in her dreams, Juno didn’t resemble the glorious statues or paintings in the temples dedicated to her worship.

  She looked too young and wore a crown of flowers, like a goddess of spring. Yet the majestic power that swirled around her was not that of a minor goddess.

  “Antonia.” The feminine voice whispered through her mind, the power in that one word both mighty and terrible. “You must bring them home to me.”

  “Domina.” Elpis’ familiar voice penetrated the paralysis that gripped her and she clutched her slave’s hand as the lingering tendrils of the dream faded.

  She looked up at Elpis in the glow of dawn. Her heart hammered against her ribs but she couldn’t quite recall what had so terrified her.

  “Did I speak?” Her voice was hoarse and when Elpis bowed her head, dread knotted her stomach. “What did I say?”

  “You spoke in Juno’s tongue.”

  Antonia pulled her hand from Elpis and speared her fingers through her hair, digging her nails into her scalp. It had been years since she’d had the nightmares of impending doom. Years since foreign words had spilled from her mouth while her future was determined by faceless shadows. Before Elpis had arrived, her father had been devastated by her inexplicable nighttime ravings. But the little Greek slave girl, who even now still worshipped Hera, the goddess of her people, had convinced them both that it was Juno speaking through Antonia, in the language of the gods.

  As a child, she had accepted it. As she grew older, less so. If Juno was trying to tell Antonia something, why would she use a language no mortal could understand? But more than that, there was an u
neasy certainty that, in the dreams, Antonia could understand every word the goddess uttered.

  “Why now?” She pushed herself upright and hugged her knees as if she were still that frightened child. “Juno hasn’t spoken through me since the night before I left Gallia.”

  The night before she’d left for Rome, for her new life as Scipio’s wife.

  “I don’t know.” Elpis hesitated. “Perhaps it has something to do with the Cambrian, Gawain.”

  Antonia trailed the tips of her fingers over the tender flesh of her shoulder where Gawain had marked her as though she belonged to him. Although unease flooded her veins, she smiled at the thought. Truly, she had chosen wisely when she’d decided to take him as her lover. Already his touch had done much to eradicate the memory of years of forced submission she’d endured with Scipio.

  “I cannot see how. Gawain has his own gods. Why would Juno return because I had taken a Cambrian lover?” As the words left her lips, a dreadful possibility occurred to her. Was it because Juno disapproved?

  Her smile faded. No, surely not. Why would such a thing give the great goddess pause? Antonia was no longer married, so she wasn’t even betraying her husband. And Juno knew how dedicated Antonia was in her desire to give Cassia a loving upbringing. Gawain was simply an intoxicating interlude.

  No. She refused to believe the return of Juno had anything to do with her liaison with Gawain. It was a coincidence.

  * * *

  Her father joined her as she broke her fast in the opulent dining room. She hadn’t seen him the previous day after she’d left him with the praetor, as he had been occupied with business. Self-consciously she checked that Elpis had arranged her stola so that Gawain’s mark didn’t show. How would she be able to explain that away?

  Shockingly, the thought caused her lips to twitch with amusement and she hastily pushed some dried fruit into her mouth. Now, as her father reclined by her side and regaled her with the success of his current business ventures and the benevolence of the great Mercury, was not the time to lust over Gawain’s sexual prowess.

  She could do that later, when they were alone in a squalid tavern room.

  Even that thought sent wanton heat blazing through her blood.

  “The praetor thinks very highly of you, Antonia.” Her father smiled at her, pride glowing in his eyes. “I didn’t realize you were both so well acquainted with each other in Rome.”

  Antonia wasn’t sure what her father implied by that, and was equally sure he was reading far more into it than he should.

  “The praetor,” not that he’d been a praetor back in Rome, “would often visit my former husband. But so too would many of the other senators.”

  Her father squeezed her hand. “You know, of course, that his wife died in childbirth over two years ago.”

  Of course she knew. His wife had numbered among her friends. If she had lived would she, also, have turned her back when Scipio had made it clear he intended to rid himself of a useless wife?

  “Her death was a tragedy.” Antonia had mourned for her friend. But at least she had delivered a healthy son for her husband. Wasn’t that all Roman patricians cared about? Her husband had never appeared distraught at her untimely death. But neither had he immediately taken another bride.

  Perhaps, in private, he had cared. Despite how often his lustful eyes had glanced her way during the last eight years.

  “He greatly admires you.”

  Her teeth lodged in the soft fruit and she shot her father a probing look. Surely he wasn’t suggesting—?

  “I have high hopes that, with the right encouragement, he will elevate you once again into your rightful sphere.”

  She choked down the fruit. “I’m already in my rightful sphere. I have no desire to leave you again, Father.” She took a steadying breath. Perhaps now was the time to tell him of her plans to not only stay with him, but to ultimately adopt a child. “The truth is—”

  “The truth is you are too modest.” Her father gazed at her lovingly and she stared at him, appalled. How could he imagine that the praetor might want to take her back to Rome? There was only one way he could do that, and it was if they were married. And she was certain that while he would have no compunction in taking her as his mistress, the praetor had no use for her as his wife. “After you left us, he made it very clear to me that he has your best interests at heart. You don’t belong in a barbarous province, Antonia. You were born to grace the highest echelons of the empire.”

  “No, Father.” She hated to upset him, but he had to face the truth. “My mother was born to grace the upper echelons of the empire, not I. You know as well I do that in the eyes of Rome, I am but the daughter of a merchant.”

  He winced at her blunt words, but she recognized the obstinate set of his mouth. “Your patrician relatives accepted you, Antonia. You were not cast out.”

  Unlike her mother who, when she had married outside her social sphere, had been forever ostracized by her powerful relatives. Not for the first time Antonia wondered if her mother would still have married her father had she not fallen pregnant with Antonia before the wedding night. Her father had never confirmed this fact and she would cut out her tongue before she raised the matter with him, but she’d worked out the truth long before she had left Gallia.

  “Yes,” she conceded. “My mother’s relatives accepted me.” But would they have accepted her if she had not possessed the coveted Roman ideal of blonde hair and fair complexion? She’d overheard their relieved whispers. Bristled at the knowledge that they had feared she would be a coarse, uneducated Gallia-spawned pleb.

  Had she been any of those things, Scipio would never have noticed her. Would never have gone to such lengths to secure her as his bride. But it wasn’t long before he took spiteful pleasure in reminding her of her lowly plebeian roots.

  “I only want what’s best for you.” Her father sighed heavily and guilt chewed through her breast at how she was deceiving him with Gawain. And how she would soon deceive him about his own granddaughter. “I cannot allow my own selfish desire to keep you by my side blight your future. The praetor is a powerful man. He has the ability to protect you against anything.”

  Antonia couldn’t imagine what her father meant. She didn’t care, either. “If you’re right about him wishing to marry me then I must tell you now. I have no intention of doing so. Not to him or any other man.” There. She’d told him. Relief washed through her, along with a thread of concern. She hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed in her.

  He patted her hand, as though she were still his pampered child who knew nothing of the wider world. “Perhaps not yet. But when you’ve had time to think on it, I know you will feel differently. When the praetor returns to Rome after his tour of duty in Britannia, I am determined you’ll go with him—as his wife.”

  * * *

  As she and Elpis approached the public baths, Antonia still couldn’t get her father’s words from her mind. “He’s set on this course of action, Elpis. He’s deaf to my protests.”

  “The dominus will never force you to do something against your will.”

  It was true. She knew it. And she knew how rare that situation was. Had her father been a patrician, a member of the class he so admired, her wishes would mean nothing to him. If he decided she would remarry, then there would be no discussion.

  She knew all this. But it didn’t prevent the spark of irritation that he was so set on doing something he believed was in her best interest, no matter how she tried to dissuade him.

  “Beside the fact I’ll never marry the praetor, surely my father knows that if I did, I would once again be among those who shunned me during this last year?” It was a horrifying thought. Not least because she knew the women who’d turned their backs on her would, upon such an advantageous remarriage, be only too eager to take up the severed threads of friendship once again. As if nothing had happened.

  “The dominus doesn’t know of the true circumstances of this last year, domina,” Elpis
said, and their gazes clashed.

  No, he didn’t know how she had been frozen out of the social gatherings and invitations. How, in the eyes of Roman society, she had become a persona non grata. If she told him, she knew he’d be devastated on her behalf. If she ever confided as to how Scipio had treated her, she feared the possible consequences of her father’s fury.

  It was best he believed Scipio had divorced her for purely political reasons. It wasn’t a lie. It simply wasn’t the full depth of truth.

  She drew in a deep breath. The situation with her father would be resolved eventually. But now she was moments from meeting with Gawain. She pushed her father’s ambitions to the back of her mind. Gawain was her secret fantasy, a fleeting diversion, and while they were together, she would not disturb it by thinking of reality.

  They entered the building and swiftly Antonia exchanged her blue palla for Elpis’ plain one. It wasn’t much of a disguise but since she was virtually unknown in the city, it would suffice.

  Heart pounding, she slipped outside and instantly caught sight of Gawain across the road. He didn’t acknowledge her. He merely turned and began to stroll down a side road.

  She let out a ragged breath and glanced at Elpis, whose face was impassive. “Do you think me entirely wicked, Elpis?” she whispered, as they followed Gawain at a respectable distance.

  “No, domina,” Elpis said dutifully. “But I don’t want you to end up hurt. And I fear this path leads only to heartache.”

  Antonia laughed softly. “I have no heart left to ache, Elpis. Everything I have is devoted to Cassia. This is simply…” She hesitated for a moment. It sounded wrong, somehow, to encompass everything Gawain made her feel into one clinical word. Yet it was nothing less than the truth. “Physical.”

  Elpis turned to look at her. “I hope so.” Her tone was not that of a slave to her mistress. Worry clouded her eyes. “There can be no future with this Cambrian, domina.”