“Love me,” Jilana repeated breathlessly, her body humming as she absorbed his strength. His hands fell to her buttocks, lifting her, steadying her, and she felt the first pulsing of ecstasy deep in her belly.
Her neck arched and she cried out softly, her fingers burying themselves in his hair. “See how perfectly we fit together,” Caddaric whispered against the hollow of her throat. His mouth found her breast and his tongue lashed at the pink crest.
“Caddaric!”
He felt the storm take her, felt the spasms where she sheathed him so tightly, and greeted his own release with a hoarse cry. For what seemed an eternity they remained locked together, their heads cushioned upon each other’s shoulders, heedless of the water coursing around them.
“You amaze me, wicca,” Caddaric murmured when she stirred in his arms. She kissed him lingeringly and rose from the water and he reluctantly followed.
Her hair was soaked and Jilana undid the braid and combed her fingers through the heavy mass while the breeze dried their bodies. “I am a fine one to talk about discretion,” she said wryly, eyeing the discarded clothing strewn upon the rocks. Turning to Caddaric, she mockingly accused, ‘“Tis all your fault, tempting me so.”
Caddaric shook his head and grinned. “I meant only a kiss; you did the rest.”
“So I did.” Jilana grinned in return and dropped the tunic over her head. “Next I suppose you will accuse me of making you miss your meal.”
“Even so.” Caddaric knotted the loincloth around his waist and patted his stomach.
Jilana sighed dramatically. “‘Tis a woman’s lot to satisfy her man’s need only to have another take its place.” She teasingly patted his stomach as he had done, but he caught her wrist in his hand and the hard expression on his face brought an abrupt end to her play. “What is it, Caddaric?”
“Is that how you think of me, Jilana,” Caddaric asked carefully, “as your man?”
“Aye,” Jilana answered, her voice as steady as she could make it. “Should I not?” .
Caddaric drew a deep breath and tempted the Fates. “I love you, Jilana.” While he watched, her eyes widened and filled with tears. “I want you beside me, always. My father was right: you are the other half of myself, my destiny.”
“Oh, Caddaric,” Jilana choked out just before she threw herself into his arms. “You captured my heart so long ago, I cannot remember when it did not belong to you.”
Caddaric’s heart took wing and he lifted Jilana and swung her about. How alive he felt, and how wonderfully free! As if he could dare anything, battle any foe, and emerge victorious knowing that his woman would be waiting for him. Jilana was in his arms, proclaiming her love while alternately laughing and crying and he knew— knew—that he had been right to risk his heart this one last time.
His heart swelling with love for the woman in his arms, Caddaric willingly broke his own rule. Setting her back on the ground, he vowed, “When the war is over we will go north, back to my village. We will build a life there, wicca, perhaps not as comfortable as the one Lucius would have given you, but a good life nonetheless.”
Jilana smiled and shook her head. “All I want, my fearsome warrior, is a life with you. A bothie will be a palace as long as we share it.”
Caddaric twisted a strand of damp, red-gold hair around his fingers and brought it to his lips. He cleared his throat and when he spoke, he was touchingly uncertain. “I would like it very much if we shared the bothie as husband and wife.”
For a moment, Jilana was too stunned to answer and when she found her voice it shook. “I understand your ways, Caddaric, and accept them. I will be content to live as your woman, knowing you love me. You need not marry me.”
“Are you refusing?” Caddaric asked mildly, running his lips up and down the side of her neck. “For if you are, know you that I come from a line of men who think nothing of kidnaping a woman and holding her until she agrees to wed.” When she laughed, he nipped warningly at her earlobe. “Besides, little wicca, your Roman conscience would not be comfortable with anything less than marriage. And neither would mine.”
Jilana’s head fell back against his arm and she lost herself in his blue, fathomless gaze. “Ahh, well, if you are going to threaten me…” The words trailed away as he claimed her mouth, and when she surfaced a long while later she murmured, “I think I will enjoy being your wife.”
Before she could change her mind—not that she would, Jilana indignantly told him—Caddaric dressed and hurried her back to camp where he announced their betrothal to Heall and Clywd. Clywd looked smugly pleased—as if he had planned their marriage from the start—and did not insist that she offer Caddaric water with which to wash when he pointed out, to Jilana’s embarrassment, that they had just bathed and were surely clean enough. Nor, since their supplies were rationed, did Clywd mention even going through the motions of a feast. Heall, to Jilana’s great surprise, both laughed and shed a tear over her, then set off to announce the wedding to their village.
They were wed the next night, Jilana in her best white stola and her head draped with the saffron veil, and Caddaric resplendent in black tunic and breeks and his blue cloak. The chariot in which Jilana rode to the ceremony, with Heall driving, as well as the magnificent pair of white horses, had again been loaned by Boadicea for the festive occasion, and the Queen herself attended the ceremony.
Ensconced beside Heall in the wicker chariot, Jilana was the last to arrive. The chariot moved slowly through the crowd while Clywd offered up the ancient song of praise and joy which accompanied the bridal procession. Clywd welcomed the witnesses to the marriage and then placed wreaths of mistletoe upon Jilana and Caddaric’s brow. He called upon Be’al and the attendant gods and goddesses to bless the union and protect any issue that might result from it. When the blessing was finished, Heall stepped down from the chariot and Caddaric took his place. Caddaric’s lineage was recited by Clywd, as was Jilana’s, although hers was, perforce, not as lengthy as his. Caddaric’s chieftain and the filid—the man who, Jilana remembered from Ede’s marriage, was responsible for the histories of the village’s families—took their places on either side of Clywd and the filid asked Caddaric what wealth he brought to the marriage. Jilana’s heart sank as she listened to Caddaric recite the number of horses and cattle which made up his portion of what was to be their joint fortune. Unlike Ede, she had nothing to contribute. The villagers would understand, Jilana told herself when the filid repeated his question for her. Nervously, she wet her lips and opened her mouth to respond.
“The bride brings thirty gold pieces to the marriage.”
Heall strode forward and Jilana gaped at him, as did the rest of the village. He carried a leather purse in one hand and, for the benefit of all those assembled, he opened it and counted the contents into the filid’s hands. When the filid was satisfied, the coins were poured back into the purse, which Heall then delivered to Jilana.
“Heall, ‘tis most generous of you but—”
Heall smiled at her and pressed the purse into her hand. “Now you are a proper bride, child. No self-respecting Iceni woman would enter into a marriage without a dowry.”
Jilana clutched the purse in both hands as Clywd solemnly informed the bride and groom of the responsibilities marriage entailed and made the sacrifices of the grain and mead Caddaric had placed upon the makeshift altar. The gold was a mere fraction of the dowry her father would have paid Lucius upon their marriage, but to Jilana, its size made it no less important. She had no doubt that Heall had just sacrificed all of his wealth for her, so that her marriage would be as valid as any other, and her eyes filled with tears for the old man. As she repeated the vows that bound her to Caddaric, Jilana silently welcomed Heall into her heart as well. She had lost her family, as Heall had, so perhaps the gods had meant for them ind and adopt one another. It comforted Jilana to believe so.
Their tent had been set apart from the rest of the wagons, and when the ceremony was ended, the villagers surround
ed the chariot and accompanied them back to their shelter. Caddaric had set out three kegs of wine earlier, in their absence, two large fires had been lit. Caddaric lifted Jilana from the chariot and, keeping a firm hand around her waist, led her through the laughing, cheering crowd to their tent. When they reached the tent flap, he slanted her a wicked gaze and then proceeded to kiss her thoroughly in front of the villagers. To his surprise, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back with the same fervor he had displayed. When the laughter of the crowd broke them apart, the grin on his ace was belied by the passion flaring in the depths of his eyes.
“Long life,” Clywd said, embracing his son and then Jilana.
Heall did the same, and Jilana embraced him warmly. “How can I ever thank you?”
Heall drew back and smiled at her. “I think I would like to see that one,” he inclined his head toward Caddaric, “surrounded by children as stubborn as he.” He gave a satisfied nod. “Aye, half should be sons who will be as stubborn as he and the other half should be daughters who will lead the boys of the village a merry chase.”
Jilana chuckled, even though her cheeks pinkened, and then Caddaric was drawing her into the tent. A small fire had been lit, and the tent was filled with a warm, golden flickering light. Outside they could hear the toasts being offered in their honor and they smiled at one another.
“What did Heall say to you?” Caddaric asked as he lifted the saffron veil from her hair. She had left her hair unbound, in the Iceni tradition, and now he combed his fingers through the tumbling length.
“That you deserved children who would turn you as gray as he,” Jilana laughed. “‘Twould fulfill the rest of your prophecy.”
Caddaric’s hands left her hair and moved to frame her face. “A child was but the means to bind you to me, like the chains I forced you to wear. The prophecy was fulfilled when you gave me your heart—I need nothing else, my love.”
“Nor do I.” Jilana laid her head upon his shoulder and touched her lips to his neck. “Yet, ‘twould give me great pleasure to bear your child, Caddaric.”
“‘Twould please me as well,” Caddaric admitted, one large hand falling to her abdomen, “but later, when he— or she—” he conceded with a laughing glance at her, “can be raised in peace,”
“As you wish, lord,” Jilana teased, her fingers slipping under the neck of his tunic to caress his warm flesh.
Caddaric closed his eyes, savoring the familiar heat that flared in his blood. “Most of my life has been spent in war. I am so weary of battle, sweet wicca.”
Jilana raised her face to his and met his descending mouth with feminine greed. His hands roamed over her body, lighting fires wherever they alit, and she returned touch for touch, eager to please him and—for this night at least—protect him from the violent part of the world.
Clothes fell away beneath eager hands; each newly-exposed area of flesh was touched with fingers and mouths until Jilana’s legs gave way and she sank into the soft furs. Under Caddaric’s guidance, she stretched full length upon the pallet, the furs sensuously caressing her back. Caddaric towered above her; the fire at his back shadowed his face, but she could feel the masculine desire radiating from him and her eyes fluttered shut. He came down beside her a moment later and she lifted her arms, anticipating the crush of his body against hers. Instead, a finger began drawing concentric circles around her breast and her eyes opened.
Caddaric knelt beside her, a cup of wine in his right hand. While she watched, he dipped his forefinger into the wine and resumed the intricate tracing of her breast. Her skin grew damp with the liquid and he paid particular attention to the pink crest which stiffened achingly when he touched it. Satisfied, he withdrew his hand and Jilana gasped when his mouth followed the same path his finger had taken.
“Your skin is so soft, so sweet,” Caddaric murmured. He teased the stiff crest of her breast with his mouth and then his tongue curled lovingly around it. When her arms raised, he whispered, “Nay, not yet. Let me love you first. We have all night.”
His words dissolved into throaty coaxings and endearments and he lavished the same care on her other breast. Jilana’s fingers curled into the furs as Caddaric deliberately seduced every part of her body with his tormenting magic. She arched and twisted, longing to touch him, but her every attempt was gently, but firmly, repulsed. When he flavored her womanhood with wine, she would have protested but his mouth was there before she could voice the words and then she was incapable of speaking. Pleasure exploded through every part of her and she cried out and sank her fingers into his arms.
Dazed, she felt Caddaric raise himself above her and she slowly opened her eyes to meet his gaze. A pleased smile lay upon the hard line of his mouth and she raised a languid hand to trace the curve of his lower lip. “How—”
Caddaric’s smile grew at the unformed question. “How I learned is not for your ears, wicca.” He kissed the palm of her hand and then teased her mouth until her lips were parted and glistening with his moisture. He rubbed the callused pad of his finger over her bottom lip, then caught his breath as her tongue laved the tip and tentatively drew it into her mouth.
A violent shudder ran through his massive frame and Jilana seized the advantage to push Caddaric onto his back. Remembering the pleasure he had given her, she explored him just as thoroughly, though she scorned the wine. She loved the taste of him upon her tongue, the feel of his flesh against her lips. She rubbed her cheek against the pelt of fur covering his chest, then roused the flat, masculine nipples from their protective whorls of soft hair.
“Not yet,” she taunted when his hand tangled in the wild length of her hair. But it was more a plea than a command. They both knew her desire was growing apace with his, and she would be helpless to stop him if he chose to end the torment. Reluctantly, his hand fell away and she expelled a small, grateful sigh.
The plane of his stomach with its arrow of curls seemed oddly vulnerable, although she could feel the muscles jump beneath her lips. Her hair flowed over him, sensitizing his skin, and she felt it twine with the thick wedge on his chest. Her fingers raked down his sides and slid beneath him to clench daringly into the resilient flesh of his buttocks and then, allowing love and instinct to guide her, she took the heart of his passion into her mouth. The intensity of his reaction first stunned, then enraptured her and she gloried in the wild contraction of his muscles and the loving phrases that were little more than groans when they fell from his lips.
Caddaric felt the breath rasp in his throat and knew he was at the limit of his control. Her fingers were scoring his inner thighs now and his entire body was pulsing heavily at her ministrations. He loved the feel of her skin against his, the sight of her in the golden light as she bent over him, loving him. ‘Twas the crudest of torments—and he wanted it to go on forever. His tongue flicked out to moisten his dry lips, tasted her essence lingering upon them and reason deserted him. With arms that trembled, he reached for Jilana and hauled her upward along his length, savoring the sensation.
Jilana went willingly, desperately wanting the fierce warrior who flipped her onto her back and rose above her, his face intensely savage in the wavering light. Caddaric stared down at her, his nostrils flaring, admiring her wild, barbaric mien and knew in that moment that she possessed not only his heart but his soul as well.
She cried out at the driving impact of him, and wrapped in her legs and arms. He stroked and teased, driving them straight into the tempest. They merged so completely that he could no longer tell where his flesh ended and hers began and then it no longer mattered. The completion was violent; the leather walls muted their cries and he caught his breath with each long, slow pulse that filled her with his seed.
Caddaric rolled to his side with Jilana locked firmly against him. He could not bear to leave her, not yet, and they lay intertwined while their hearts gradually slowed. Brushing the wild curls away from her cheek, he looked down and willed the lovely, violet eyes to open. When they did, he kisse
d her gently and settled her damp body more >comfortably against his.
“Caddaric—”
He laid a cautioning finger over her lips. “No words, not tonight. Just let me show you how much I love you.”
Wide-eyed, she nodded, and he began the magic all over again. They filled the night with their love, ignoring the inevitable approach of dawn in favor of creating a lifetime of memories. When Jilana finally slept, Caddaric held her close, watched the dying embers of the fire and knew fear. Love brought the inherent promise of life and he cursed the gods for allowing him to find love in the midst of war, when death was more certain than life. Aye, he admitted to himself, he feared the next battle, for now he had Jilana and he wanted nothing more than to return to her. He had mocked his father’s gods, cursed them, even denied them, but now Caddaric silently, hesitantly, offered a prayer to Be’al. Surely, after all the gods had taken from him, they could grant him this one wish.
The morning brought a resumption of the march. Verulamium and the land surrounding it were barren; no purpose would be served by remaining. Though she had slept little the previous night, Jilana went about the business of breaking camp with a light step, supremely at peace with the world. Her contentment was shattered, however, when Heall and Caddaric saddled their horses and brought them to the wagons. Clearly, her husband intended to rejoin the vanguard.
A chill invaded Jilana’s heart, but she bit back the protest that sprang to her lips. Instead, while the men filled their skins with water from the barrel, she took a sack of grain and one of dried venison from the wagon.
“Do not forget to eat,” she admonished Caddaric, handing him the provisions. “And do not tax your shoulder.”
Caddaric nodded and hung the bags from the saddlebow. Odd how he had come to know her so well, he thought, turning back to Jilana. She looked calm, but he could sense the tension in her and knew that she was against his decision to return to the Queen’s vanguard. “I am well, wicca.”
“Aye.” He reached for her and Jilana went up on tiptoe to kiss him lightly. She had left her hair unbound, and his hand tangled briefly in its length before he released her. She did not question why this parting, which had been a part of the normal routine before their marriage,
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