Laughter burst from him. He looked around. “Where is the soap?”
She spotted it floating on the surface and grabbed it. Tanwen held the prize in her hand. “I found it.”
“Now I can wash this mud out of my hair.”
“Let me help.” Tanwen gestured to him to lean his head down.
As she rubbed the soap into his wet hair, the shudder that ran through her wasn’t from the chilly river. Massaging his scalp, her fingers tingled. Drawing out clumps of strands, she sifted them between her fingers, wiping the mud off.
His face beamed as if lit from within as he smiled at her.
“Where are your clothes?” Her eyes devoured the smooth ripple of muscles beneath his wet skin.
“I fought nude.”
The blaze in his eyes and the rasp in his voice ignited a fire that flowed through her veins despite the icy water. “I forgot.” She felt light headed.
He set the cake of soap in her hand then covered it with his palm. Their gazes caught. Breathless, she didn’t move.
“Each day I hoped that you would return soon,” she whispered.
I do not think I would be here if not for you,” Brude said as his gaze bathed her in admiration.
“Do you mean the sentries?” She paused, then added, “Yes, I cast a spell on them, putting them to sleep so you and your men could enter the camp in stealth.”
“I led my warriors in battle and protected them with my commands as best I could, but you guarded them with spells and rituals made manifest by the gods.”
“Are you saying the skills of druids can help warriors?" A look of amusement shone in her eyes.
“Not even I can deny that. In this, we were a team.” His eyes melded with hers.
“As we have been before, but in a different way.”
“Ah, yes I recall our previous unions well.” Their last was in his thoughts now. “You wore nothing but a gleaming gold torque and gold clasps on your ears.” Every pore of his being had surged with ecstasy. She had felt so tight as she moved against him. Hot. Wet. He had ridden her in a hard, rocking rhythm and she matched every thrust until they both exploded together.
She tilted her head upward.
He leaned downward until his lips touched hers.
His mouth was moist and firm. She gave in freely to her hunger for him.
As their lips parted, he moaned. “Speaking of which, all you are wearing now is a gold torque.” Her gaze swept over his body.
“I forgot to get my clothes,” Brude said.
“How are you going to walk back to the feasting hall?”
“I will just walk. My tribesmen have seen me bare before.”
“But women will be there as well.”
He winked. “Yes, and I don’t think they will mind. Women find my body pleasing.”
Tanwen’s face flushed and she let out a sigh. “Your mother will be there. Wrap my cloak around you and run to your wheelhouse. You can change before attending the feast.”
“My thanks.” He swallowed as his eyes locked on her full, beckoning lips. He pressed his mouth to hers as softly as a whisper. A delicious sensation raced through him. He raised his lips from hers and gazed into her eyes. “We should go.” He wrapped his wet arm around her taut waist. The heat of her body warmed his flesh, which was still slightly quivering from the chill of the cold river. He walked with her to the grassy riverbank.
She had taken off her cloak to keep it dry before she’d waded into the river. She picked up her cloak and handed it to him. Brude wrapped the warm, woolen plaid around his broad shoulders.
“You look cold. You need your cloak more than I.”
“No. You need it more.”
“We can both share it.” He opened the cloak, stepped forward, and wrapped it around her as well. As the plaid cloak draped them both, his bare chest pressed against her breasts.
His mouth covered hers in a slow, searching kiss. The smooth wetness of her lips sent a jolt of heat through him. Her mouth was as warm as honey, and he drank her in. His tongue swept inside, stroking her mouth. She moaned softly.
When she came up for air, she stepped back and untied her belt. Her skirt fell to the ground. She stepped out of it, then back into the cloak and Brude’s waiting arms.
He threw the cloak to the ground. His heart hammered as he urgently gathered the fabric at both sides of her tunic. He yanked it up, pulling it off over her head. Hastily, he tossed it on the river bank with her other garments.
As he wrapped his arms around her silky nakedness, her body sank into his embrace. Warm shivers shot through him. As his hands explored the hollows of her smooth back, he smothered her wet mouth with his. His lips tingled as they twisted against hers. He forced her lips open with a hard thrust of his tongue. Her breast moved against his chest. He felt the pang of his arousal as it swelled and hardened. He flicked his tongue in and out of the heat of her mouth. He whisked his tongue in her mouth and she quivered in his arms as he crushed her against him.
In one fluid move, he picked Tanwen up and lay her down on her plaid cloak, which was spread out on the grass. His head spun with thoughts. We are man and a woman in love play, a druid and a war leader working for the same cause— protecting the tribe. We fit together like magic in both. His gaze swept over her long, shapely limbs, lush breast and captivating eyes, hazy with lust. My father says it is the perfect marriage.
He swallowed tightly as he dropped down beside her. Compelled by the passion which flared in him, he straddled her bare ivory thighs. He gazed into her blue eyes, which were illuminated with the light of desire. As he caressed her cheeks, he covered her wet, quivering mouth with his. Tanwen’s kisses were smooth as cream and as warm and heady as honey mead. His senses spun.
Wedding her would ensure that I become chief when he passes on, as she is both a druidess and Boudica’s granddaughter …Yes, thanks be to Boudica for sending Tannin to me.
He moved his lips from her mouth to her neck as he slid his hands down to her jutting breasts. Blood surged in his fingertips. He cupped her breasts, squeezing and massaging the jiggling mounds of pink-tipped flesh. Jolts of pleasure spiraled through him. He flicked an erect, rosy nipple with his finger. Tanwen moaned as he rolled the tight bud. A hot ache grew in his erection. It hardened and throbbed.
Marry her now? I want to wed her but I had deemed to not marry for a few summers more. But I cannot speak of it with her now. Not while she lies stretched out before me.
He lowered his mouth to one breast and whisked her nipple with his tongue, leaving the hard nub wet and taut. Taking the nipple between his teeth, he tugged gently. As he sucked it, his hand slid down her flat stomach to the juncture of her thighs. His heart leapt with a lurch of excitement. She gasped. His palm burned as he caressed the smooth skin of her thigh.
He slipped his hand up to the curly mound of red hair between her thighs. His fingers explored the downy center, fondling the damp petals of her entrance. His heart pounded in an erratic rhythm. She let out a ragged gasp. Spreading her legs, opening to him, she thrust her body forward. His fingers teased the pebble-hard nubs of both her nipples and the cleft between her legs. Both hardened and swelled. She writhed beneath him and panted breathlessly as her breasts heaved.
In response to her body, his bulging flesh throbbed and ached for her. He was rigid with desire. His slid his hands to her waist, and, holding her tight with urgent longing, he slid his engorged arousal between the pink folds of her sex. He gazed into her dreamy eyes as he lunged and thrust. She whimpered.
A look of anguish, of deep pleasure pain, filled her face as she leaned her head back. He moved his hands to cup the cheeks of her derriere. With his hands hard on her plump bottom, he plunged into her heated core. Her long red hair swung back and forth as her body rocked with the relentless pounding of his cock. As she arched her back, he glided higher into her moistened depths.
Her panting grew to whimpers, which heightened to breathless squeals as he drove into her in a
frenzied rhythm. She grew wetter with excitement. Her sex clenched. She shuddered uncontrollably. Buried deep inside her, he ground her hard. He stilled. Brude burst into liquid heat as his seed spilled into her. With a tortured groan, he held her tight as she let out a wild, passionate cry.
Slowly, he pulled out of her.
Brude whispered in her ear, “That reward was well worth battling Romans and burying myself in a peat bog.”
She rose up on her elbow and smiled at him. “Are you ready to do it again?”
“Yes.” He sat up and pulled her into his arms.
She pushed back laughing. “No, I mean the Romans. Are you ready to war with them again?”
“Yes, but we’ll speak of it later.” With his hands on her shoulders, he eased Tanwen to her knees before his wet, limp sex. “Use your druid magic.
She pushed her long red hair out of her face. “On the Romans?”
“No,” he laughed. “Make me hard.”
She clamped her lips over his cock, taking the slick length of him inside her mouth. She glided upward until she had taken all of him. Her parted lips slid up and down his full length as it hardened beneath her tongue. Earthy grunts and groans bellowed from deep inside him. Fire spread through his body. Before he erupted, she pulled back.
On his knees before her, he rasped, “I want you.”
She lay on her back on the plaid cloak. He parted her thighs with his knees and covered her body with his. Brude eased his hard staff just barely inside her. He drew back, eased in again and then pulled back. He was burning now. With a sudden plunge, he drove into her.
With a gasp, she arched into him. Tipping her hips, she took all he had to give. He lifted her ankles to his shoulders and dove deeper with each rhythmic plunge. She matched his thrust with a fiery passion. They were a roaring wild fire, out of control, growing more frenzied. He pounded into her again and again. Covered with sweat, he heaved like a bellows. He erupted into a towering inferno, spewing molten liquid and sparks. Tanwen quivered with him. He arched and cried her name. She whimpered in climax. Brude sucked in his breath with a loud gasp as he burned to a cinder.
With the fire in him quenched, he withdrew and rolled over to her side. He kissed the back of her neck, which was salty with sweat. With his face buried in her long hair, he inhaled the scent of her, sweet heather mixed with the musky fragrance of arousal. His breathing settled to an even beat.
“We did it.” she whispered.
“Do you want to do it again?” He pulled her to him, cuddling her.
“Not that,” Tanwen laughed. “We did it. We attacked a Roman fort and gained the upper hand.
He could feel the weight and strength of his sword in his hands at the mere thought of it. “Until Agricola came, but we managed to retreat with no losses. It’s a great victory.”
A proud smile spread across her face. “Only you could have done it.”
“I ken we have found their weakness. They cannot muster full strength in a surprise attack when Agricola is not here.”
“You are right.” She snuggled closer to him.
“We must continue to strike in stealth like a snake until they leap out of our way and run back to Rome.”
“Yes, oh yes.” Tanwen leaned her head toward his.
Brude opened his mouth to speak but his words were smothered by her lips. His mouth burned. Hungrily, he ravished her moist, swollen lips, giving in to the heady sensation.
Chapter Eight
Since Lughnassa, the moon diminished each night until it was a mere sliver. Then, Tanwen watched as it grew fatter each day until full. This night the moon shined bright over her wheelhouse as she fell asleep.
A few hours after she nodded off, she shot up in bed, trembling and damp from sweat. Her own scream woke her up from the nightmare, the haunting memory. Though gripped by fear, she rose from her pallet. Her head spun and her heart beat hard, battering her chest.
First, her mother and her father, chief of the Ordovices, died, killed by Agricola’s men. The tribe had been nearly exterminated that day, but Boudicius, her brother, had escaped to Ynys Mon, where she was. Then, Agricola’s men had attacked them there. Boudicius fell dead, but Sulwen and Rhys pulled Tanwen away to safety. They hadn’t let her go back. “There is not now,” she reassured herself . The image of blood gushing from her brother’s body began to fade as she breathed deeply. “That place and time is gone. I am in Caledonia now. I’m in a wheelhouse trying to sleep.”
She couldn’t fall back to sleep—couldn’t stop the rush of her rage. It was as strong as a dark storm that could lift houses, snap trees in two and flood whole villages. “Brude needs to kill more Romans, and I am going to see that he does,” she vowed aloud.
She dressed then ran to Brude’s house. She pushed aside the leather door flap and then rushed in. He sat before the central fire eating a bowl of oat porridge.
“I need to speak with you.”
“Yes, come sit with me.”
She settled into a sitting position on the floor at his side. “We must work together to get the northern chiefs to fight with the Caledonii as they did in the raid. But in all of the battles. It is the only way we can be rid of the Romans.”
“It is being done. My father has spoken to them.” He gestured at his bowl of porridge, offering her some.
She shook her head. “Have they sworn their swordsmen and spearmen to him? The tribes must be aligned so we will have men at the ready when the time comes to attack the Romans again.” She could hear the agitation in her tone and took a deep breath to calm down.
“We Picts know of swearing allegiance.” He devoured a heavy spoonful of thick porridge. “We perform a ritual, unfamiliar to you and the tribes of Albion. We bind all oaths and allegiances by blood. No Pict has ever broken a vow such sworn.”
"And the tribes have sworn a blood oath to your sire?” She thought, while you get oaths from the tribal chiefs, I am going to get a pledge of betrothal from you.
* * * * *
Tanwen entered the feasting hall, where clanking sounds made by cups and pottery filled the air. Women brushed past her, carrying jugs/ of heather ale to keep all the feasters’ cups filled. After dodging a sweaty-faced servant lugging a platter piled with fine fare, Tanwen took her rightful place as tribe druidess at the chief’s table. As she sat next to Brude, four boys carried in a huge tray holding a plump boar. One whiff revealed it had been boiled in ale with leeks and wild carrots.
The noisy hall fell to a hush as Calach rose. With a huge grin on his face, he gripped his dagger tightly, stabbed the sharp blade into the boiled flesh of the boar and sliced off a meaty joint. “The champion portion for the warrior who led the raid against the fort of the ninth Hispania.” He laid it on a plate and then handed it to Brude.
The din of men beating spears against shields and women and children whooping loudly with glee was music for the celebration. Tanwen dug her spoon into the soft flesh of a salmon from the Tay and chewed the tender flakes. They melted on her tongue with a distinctive, somewhat buttery taste. She took a bite of wild boar and ate it slowly it, savoring the strong, sweet and nutty taste. Dishes of mushrooms and leeks, apples boiled with hazelnuts, fennel seeds and honey were passed around. Tanwin inhaled the rich, sweet aroma of one of the apples, which Ciniatha had roasted to a light brown on a spit. There was an abundance of fresh baked bread and sweet, creamy butter churned by Ciniatha, as well.
Lossio stood along with the bard of the Boresti tribe. They stepped forward to add true music to the feast. Tanwen smiled at Brude and then glanced at the bard, who used a circular breathing rhythm to play the triple pipes. With one flute longer and of a deeper pitch than the other two, it created the soft barrage of a vibrating hum.
Calach rose. “My chiefs, take these gifts I offer you.” Servants carried finely crafted silver bows engraved with Pictish symbols and penannular brooches. They handed one of each to every chief at the feast.
Everyone stood and raised their cups, toast
ing Calach’s generosity.
When the din quieted down, Calach said, “I bequest these gifts to you, great chiefs of Caledonia, to show our unity. For if we are to defeat Agricola, we must unite under one war leader.”
Calach waited until the rumble of agreements ended. “We have with us the granddaughter of a great war leader. I speak of Boudica of the Iceni.” He motioned for Tanwen to stand. “Great chiefs, I give to you our honored guest, the holy druidess, Tanwen ferch Wena ferch Boudica.”
She felt the heated gaze of all eyes upon her as she stepped forward with her harp. Turning, she looked every chieftain in the eye and spoke with a clear, strong voice. “In Britannia, the Romans take our cattle, our harvest—all our goods—for their tribute. Worse, they take our greatest treasure, kith and kin. The Romans tear children, wives and husbands from their families and make them slaves to work clearing forest and toil in the dark mines under the lash.” Tanwen strummed her harp as she sung the paean to Boudica that Druidess Sulwen taught her.
"Skin of cream,
hair of flame,
swift chariot,
spear held high,
Boudica avenged
her daughters’ pain.
Hear the drums beat,
the carnyxs blow.
Woad warriors
with whetted swords
slew the Roman scourge.
Warrior queen
Andraste’s image
on her hilt.
Her white blade
drank red blood.
Celts were strong.
Gods were happy.
Slaughtered by Rome,
we took death
like our queen.
Dragons slay eagles.
The day will come
when Rome falls,
we will yet stand."
Calach stepped forward and spoke. “In truth, under the leadership of Boudica, the Albioni burned the Roman capital of Albion, destroyed a rich merchant town and, had the battle not ended badly, might have thrown off the yoke of Rome. We are new to this war with Rome, but we are an unconquered people and will not let anyone take our freedom. Let us show these Romans from the outset what heroes we have in Caledonia.”
The Warrior and the Druidess Page 8