“I knew it would cause you great pain.” Her voice was no longer accusatory and she gently brushed her fingers over his shoulder. “And I’m not talking about these physical injuries.”
He’d been injured far worse in the past. But the thought of Antonia seeing him, bruised and bloodied, didn’t appeal. “Will you send a message to Antonia canceling our meeting this afternoon?” He’d send a message himself but it was better if it came from Carys, for the sake of propriety.
“You should send her a message ending this liaison.” But there was no rancor in Carys’ voice, only resignation. “Even if Antonia agrees to go with you, her father will never allow it. He’ll search for her and hunt for you until his dying breath.”
She told him nothing he didn’t already know. Yet his mind was set. When he left for the land of the Picts, so would Antonia and her child.
* * *
After Antonia watched Gawain leave the forum she turned to Elpis. “I should tell my father of Cassia.”
Elpis remained silent, an oddly brooding look on her face and Antonia clasped her hand, needing the comfort. Surely Elpis didn’t think her father would reject Cassia if he knew the truth?
Finally Elpis looked at her. “Yes.” Her voice was soft but Antonia detected the faintest hint of despair in that one word. “A child should know her own blood kin, domina.”
There was no condemnation in Elpis’ response but guilt stabbed through Antonia all the same. Elpis had been taken from her family, her land and everything she’d ever known when she was a small child. She had no idea if her parents were alive or dead, or whether she had any brothers or sisters.
If she were free, would she search for them? If Antonia was in her place, wouldn’t she long to know the truth of her heritage?
Antonia had escaped the shackles of Rome. So too had her precious daughter. How could she not offer the same freedom to her faithful slave?
* * *
Antonia handed her father her locket and watched him look down at the portrait of his granddaughter. After leaving the forum, Antonia had returned to the villa and found her father here, in the courtyard. And so she had told him of Cassia.
He hadn’t interrupted her. Had not said a word. But she’d watched him age ten years and guilt ate into her heart.
She couldn’t take the words back. Would not, even if she could. She had once feared her father’s heart wouldn’t survive learning of Scipio’s treatment of her. But her father deserved to know the truth. Cassia deserved the truth to be told.
Finally he stirred, his finger tracing over the delicate portraiture. “You named her after your mother?” His voice was hushed. He appeared incapable of tearing his eyes away from her locket.
“Yes.”
“She’s the image of you at that age.” Finally he looked up at her and her heart twisted at the tears she saw glistening in his eyes. “She’s beautiful, Antonia.”
“Father.” She reached out and took his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you of her birth before.”
He continued to stare at her and with every passing moment, his features hardened and eyes grew colder. A shiver trickled over her arms and she squeezed his fingers. Despite his obvious desire to see and welcome Cassia, did he condemn her for defying Scipio’s command?
“Your former husband had best not set foot in Britannia, Antonia. He would not last a day here.”
Relief washed through her. Her father was completely on her side. “He considers Britannia a primitive outpost of the empire. He would never come here willingly.”
“My contacts spread far. I’m owed a great many favors. Perhaps even in Rome he is not safe.”
There was an icy note in her father’s voice that she had never heard before. Alarm spiked. She wanted him on her side, but she didn’t want him putting himself in danger in order to exact vengeance against a powerful patrician.
This was why she hadn’t wanted him to know the details of her marriage.
“Only one thing matters. That you’re happy to acknowledge your granddaughter. Promise me you won’t attempt retribution.”
Not that she cared if an excruciating accident befell Scipio. She’d often fantasized that he suffered agonies through disembowelment or even crucifixion. But fantasies were safe. Put into reality and the repercussions could be fatal.
Soon she would have Cassia. That was all that mattered.
Her father was once again staring at the portrait of Cassia. “He sired a perfect child. May he rot in Tartarus for all time.”
She agreed with every particle of her being. But she didn’t wish to discuss the fate the gods had in store for her former husband. Now she knew Cassia’s welcome was assured, there was another matter she needed to ask her father about.
“There was a crucifixion on the road today.”
He looked up. “Yes. Another filthy Druid has met his just end.”
Growing up he’d encouraged her to question and investigate everything. Everything except when it came to Druids. It was as though an invisible barrier surrounded the subject and she had never been inclined to penetrate it.
Until today.
“Perhaps not all Druids deserve such a fate.”
He stared at her as if she had just blasphemed against Jupiter himself. “They all deserve to die.” His voice vibrated with fury and Antonia gazed at him, aghast at his vehemence. “Never doubt that, Antonia. Every last one of them must be eliminated from the face of the earth.”
“But why?” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “What have they ever done to you, Father?”
For a moment, she didn’t think he was going to answer her. His eyes became glazed, as though he no longer saw her but, conversely, his fingers curled around her locket in an oddly protective gesture.
Unease crawled along her spine and she had the insane desire to retract her question, to change the subject. To wipe that unnatural expression from her father’s face.
Finally he drew in a long breath. “I’ve not been fully truthful with you, Antonia. About your mother—it was not giving birth to you that killed her. She was murdered by the hand of a Druid.”
* * *
Antonia remained in the courtyard after her father left to attend to his business. Disjointed thoughts and jagged memories collided in her mind and when Elpis entered the courtyard, her father’s words spilled from her lips.
Shock scorched Elpis’ face. At least she hadn’t known of this great and terrible secret. But although Antonia’s heart thundered against her ribs and nausea roiled in her breast, denial hammered with relentless insistence in her mind.
She did not believe her father.
Could not.
He’d refused to go into any details. Had swept her incredulous questions aside. His face had become a rigid mask and only the anguish in his eyes had prevented her from telling him she didn’t believe him to his face.
It was terrifyingly obvious that he, at least, believed every word.
“You heard no whisper of this from the other slaves when you were a child?” She gripped Elpis’ hand and pulled her onto the stone seat. “How could such a thing be kept so secret?”
“I heard nothing, domina. But who would confide in me, a Greek slave girl?”
There was no recrimination in Elpis’ voice. She simply spoke the truth. Why would slaves and servants who had served her father for years confide in a foreign newcomer? Besides, by the time Elpis had joined the household Antonia’s mother had been dead for eight years.
The silence wrapped around her, suffocating. She took a deep breath but it didn’t help calm her racing thoughts. She chanced a sideways glance at Elpis, but the other woman remained serene, as she always did.
I should free Elpis. Again the thought twisted through her mind. Antonia had been born free, but her marriage to Scipio had been little more than slavery embellished with luxury and the blessing of Rome. She had been given her freedom. Did Elpis, who had also suffered at the brutal hands of Scipio, deserve less for
her loyalty?
A part of her heart would break if Elpis decided to leave her. They weren’t related by blood, yet she was the nearest thing to a sister Antonia had ever known.
Indecision gnawed through her gut yet she knew she had no choice. Tomorrow. She would arrange for Elpis’ manumission tomorrow. Despicable relief licked through her at the unavoidable delay.
Another slave came into the courtyard. “Apologies for interrupting, domina. A message arrived for you from Lady Carys. She deeply regrets she has to postpone your visit this afternoon.”
Disappointment seared through her. She’d been looking forward to seeing Gawain again.
But why couldn’t Gawain see her later? Had something happened to him? No. Surely Carys would have found a way to let her know. There were a thousand reasons why Gawain couldn’t see her, and none of them had anything to do with him wishing to finish their liaison.
Her afternoon was now free. She glanced at Elpis and knew she could no longer put off the inevitable. Elpis, who had remained by her side for seventeen years without complaint, deserved the chance to choose her own future, not have it dictated for her.
Chapter 23
The following morning Antonia answered her father’s summons to the atrium without Elpis by her side. After the formalities of her manumission had been completed, Antonia had arranged for Elpis to be given her own quarters in the townhouse. She had offered her clothes appropriate to her freed station, jewelry—even her own personal slave girl if she wished.
Elpis had remained oddly subdued by her enhanced status, as though everything Antonia offered her in an effort to persuade her to stay did not quite touch her. What else could Antonia do to ensure Elpis didn’t decide to leave? She’d imagined—hoped—the other woman would continue to accompany her as she always had. But Elpis hadn’t offered and she hadn’t liked to ask. Not when she had just granted Elpis her freedom.
With a heavy sigh, she entered the atrium. Her father had appeared to be avoiding her since his shocking disclosure the previous day. Had he changed his mind, and now wanted to share more details of her mother’s untimely death?
A thought stabbed through her mind. Had he called on the mysterious wisdom of Druids in a last attempt to save her mother’s life? And when the Druid in question had been unable to prevent the inevitable, instead of berating Juno, goddess of childbirth, her father had laid the blame at the Druid’s feet.
Although the scenario was scarcely credible, it was possible. Surely more possible than the idea her mother had been murdered in cold blood.
But if her father now wished to confide, why had he summoned her here? This was where they greeted guests, not where they—
Her thoughts severed as the praetor turned toward her. Did he want his answer already? He’d said he would give her a few days to consider his offer. Not that she had needed a few days. Her decision had been made before she even left his office.
“Antonia.” Her father walked toward her and took her arm. “The praetor has requested permission to speak with you alone. Is this something you also wish?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw the praetor shoot her father a shocked glance. Clearly he hadn’t expected her father to ask her opinion on such a matter. But there was a thread of granite in her father’s voice that had never been apparent in his dealing with the praetor before, and Antonia knew why.
It was because her father knew the praetor was acquainted with Scipio. And for that, the praetor no longer existed on a pristine patrician pedestal in her father’s mind.
Rome had lost her glow.
It was better to get this over with sooner rather than later, and it wasn’t fair to keep the praetor waiting in hope for something she had no intention of doing. “Yes.”
He stared into her eyes for a moment longer than necessary, then nodded and left the atrium. But instead of disappearing, he sat on a bench that gave him visual access. It was obvious he no longer trusted the praetor at all.
She turned back to the praetor and the two slaves who remained in the atrium retreated toward the far wall to allow them some degree of privacy. He stepped toward her, kissed her hand and visibly stiffened when she firmly withdrew her hand from his prolonged clasp.
“My lady. I trust you have given my proposal some thought.”
She couldn’t put it off any longer. “I have, Praetor.”
His jaw tightened at the use of his title, but he said nothing. She swallowed and wished Elpis’ comforting presence was by her side. “I thank you for the great honor you offer me, but I have to refuse. I have my daughter’s well-being to consider and will never remarry.”
But how I would love to call Gawain my husband. A foolish dream, fit only for young, naïve girls. But still she wished it, with all her heart.
“Your daughter’s well-being is of paramount importance to me, also.” His words were stiff but the very fact he’d uttered them and not either arrowed a withering remark her way or gathered his pride and left, astounded her.
She struggled to find her voice. Clawed desperately through her mind for a suitable response. It was unheard of that a man of his status should attempt to persuade her, a plebeian in the eyes of Rome, to accept his hand in marriage.
They could dance with words for hours. The thought sent a shudder of horror along her spine.
“Seneca.” Her voice was hushed. For all his faults, he had never been anything but thoughtful with her. “I’m sorry. I endured one loveless marriage. I could not bear to embark on another.”
The silence screamed in her ears as his unblinking gaze bored into her. She resisted the urge to squirm, to look away; to call her father to her side. Why didn’t the praetor accept her word and take his leave? Why did he insist on prolonging this excruciating encounter?
“In time, my lady, I believe you could grow to love me.”
Her knees shook and she gripped her fingers together as his words echoed and overlapped in her mind. Was he saying what she thought he was?
Juno, no. The praetor could not love her. She didn’t want his love. She must have misunderstood.
“There’s no room in my heart to love another but my daughter.” Even as she said the words, Gawain’s face swam into her mind and she felt blood heat her cheeks in damning denial.
The praetor’s lips thinned and a chill trickled along Antonia’s arms. Instinctively she stepped back, and instantly his features returned to their normal mask of civility.
But nothing could erase that fleeting moment and a terrible suspicion surfaced. Did the praetor know of her affair with Gawain?
Nausea churned her stomach. She hoped she was mistaken. The praetor was a powerful man. He could have Gawain killed in an instant if he so desired.
“I’m a patient man, Antonia.” He sounded perfectly reasonable but the unease persisted. “I’ve waited more than ten years for you. I can wait a few more for your love. But when I leave Britannia, you’ll be by my side as my wife.”
She let out a ragged breath. “I have no intention of leaving Britannia or becoming your wife.” If he continued, she would have no recourse but to call for her father. The praetor clearly didn’t believe she meant every word. But a refusal from her father—that would carry all the weight needed.
Again silence stretched between them. He didn’t move toward her and yet his presence loomed over her. Finally he spoke. “I understand your reluctance in this matter. But you have the rest of your life ahead of you. You cannot fill your entire future with dangerous… infatuations.”
A skeletal claw closed around her heart and an eerie echo filled her mind. He couldn’t know for certain. He was merely playing with words. She fought the overwhelming urge to collapse on the nearest couch.
“Infatuations?” Her voice sounded oddly high-pitched. She sounded utterly guilty.
His mouth smiled but his eyes did not. “The savage lure of a barbarian can be seductive. I don’t blame you in this matter, Antonia. But you must know it can go no further. The risk
is too great.”
He knows. The words pounded against her skull, amplifying every panicked beat of her heart. She didn’t much care if he threatened to drag her reputation through the mud, but she knew that was not his intention.
For Gawain’s sake, she had to persuade the praetor his suspicions were unfounded. “You speak in riddles, Praetor.”
His jaw tensed. “It would be unfortunate if my investigations uncovered certain… criminal activities associated with a Cambrian of our mutual acquaintance.”
The thinly disguised threat wrapped around her like a poisonous fog, sucking the strength from her limbs and filling her mind with a hammering terror. Somehow she forced words around her paralyzed tongue. “Criminal activities?”
He could mean only one thing. And they both knew what it was without the need to say the word aloud.
Druid.
“The last thing I wish is to cause you unnecessary distress.” He reached out and took her unwilling hand between his. “As my wife, any acquaintance whose company you may have enjoyed in the past will naturally be above all such suspicion.”
The fog coalesced into a hard, unforgiving knot in the center of her breast. “And if I refuse?”
He brushed his lips across her knuckles but his eyes never left hers. “There will be another crucifixion within the week.”
* * *
Gawain stirred on his pallet and winced at the pounding in his head. His entire body throbbed but that wasn’t the reason he was lying down in the late afternoon. It was because that fucking interfering healer had given him something that had knocked him out.
That morning he’d intended to visit a nearby village whose inhabitants had been ousted from their land when the Romans had taken Camulodunon. Unlike the Iceni, they hadn’t received bounty from the invaders and he’d wanted to gauge the extent of their discontent. If the praetor believed their previous day’s encounter had cowed Gawain into submission and flight, he was deluded by his own sense of grandeur. The clumsy threats had merely fueled Gawain’s obsession to stir any embers of rebellion he could uncover.
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