by Tarah Scott
However, Morag continued to scrutinize her. It seemed every time Valeria looked up, the woman stood with her hands on her hips and glared.
The king, growing increasingly ill and busy with the workings of court, had all but forgotten her presence. Pia continued to mix his pain tonic, though Morag served it to him. Aside from Morag, the wary overtone in the castle had relaxed and Valeria hoped the Picts had realized she was no threat.
But her heart ached. She missed Taran. She’d not feel like such an outsider if he were there. Yes, Greum stopped by on occasion and watched her work with Manas, but Taran’s friend was also busy with his own affairs—and he didn’t look at her with starved eyes, as if she were the only woman in the world.
The first of May, Valeria awoke to a day warmed by the sun. She peeked out the narrow window to her chamber and the joy of spring gently blew through her hair. The meadow beyond the castle walls had become alive with color. Had it happened overnight or had she not paid attention? She felt giddy for no other reason but for the sunshine ending several consecutive gloomy days of drizzle.
In the distance, the meadow yielded to the tree line, reminding Valeria of a different time—not so long ago. Warmed by Taran’s closeness, she’d ridden in front of him, cradled by his powerful legs. A longing stirred deep inside her body.
She closed her eyes and pictured Taran’s naked body beside the pool. The image seemed so real, she itched to reach out and touch him. The scene played out in her mind, his glorious form diving into the pond. And when she pictured him climbing out of the water, shimmering skin, dark wet hair, she could scarcely breathe. His blue markings entwined over his heart, but her eyes had trailed lower to his manhood. Her tongue flicked out and licked her lips—her blood ran hot. Valeria pressed her hands against her middle to quash the longing.
Her heart sank. Though each day she yearned for his return, he was untouchable. He might as well have been in Egypt or Macedonia. She glanced to the trees again, searching for a rider to appear, but the forest remained still.
Pia pushed through the door. “I brought you some porridge.”
Valeria turned around and blinked. “Thank you.”
“What is it, child? You seem a thousand miles away.”
“’Tis nothing, just pining for home.”
“I’ll say. ’Tis worth spending another three months in the confines of a carriage to see Rome again.”
“I suppose. The world seems so frightening, so uncertain.”
Pia sighed. “That it is. Now eat. What have you planned for young Manas today?”
Valeria smiled and reached for the bowl. “He is doing well. I’m going to ask Tomas to saddle a horse for me so I can ride alongside him.”
“Good.”
Valeria took a bite. “And what of Master Fionn, and the king?”
“The boy’s ankle is coming good. He’s walking with only a hint of a limp.” Pia shook her head. “I’m not as confident about the king. Morag bemoans he wastes away a bit more every day. I’m glad Prince Taran will be back soon. He needs to be here when….”
Valeria swallowed and stared into her porridge. “Yes. I fear grim days are ahead.”
Pia sighed. “It could delay our return, unless he appoints an escort.”
Valeria’s head snapped up. “No. Taran must take us.”
“Why? He’ll have his hands full with court.”
Valeria prayed Pia wouldn’t notice the longing on her face. Longing for a man she had no right to desire—a betrothed man for heaven’s sakes. Yet, returning with anyone besides Taran was unthinkable. Valeria yearned to travel with him one more time. To hear his breathing as he slept beside her by the fire—she needed to experience that again before she lost him forever. “H-his is the strongest sword. You saw him fight Runan yourself. I would not feel safe with any other.”
Pia gently patted her cheek, as if expressing unspoken understanding. “Well, at least we do not have to concern ourselves with that today.”
Valeria pushed her bowl aside and stood. “Manas awaits, I must away.”
She and the boy found Tomas mucking out a stall with a four-pronged pitchfork.
“Good morning, sir. I should like to ride with Master Manas today. Would you be so kind as to saddle a mount for me?”
Tomas had become friendlier. He grinned, stretching the freckles across his nose. “Would ye like a nag like Bobby, or do ye prefer a bit more power under yer legs?”
“My mare, Mia, has spirit, though she’s not quite a rogue like Taran’s Blackie.”
“I reckon there’s only a Pict or two in Gododdin who can handle that stallion.”
In no time, Tomas brought out Bobby along with a high-stepping mare, both fitted with Pictish saddles with stirrups on either side. Valeria frowned. “Do you have a lady’s saddle?”
“Huh?”
“A sidesaddle,” Valeria explained. “It allows a woman to ride more comfortably in a gown.”
“Afraid not, m’lady.”
Valeria pursed her lips and then shrugged. Fortunately, her beige Pict dress—the only one she had—was equipped with slits up the side-seams. She had straddled Blackie with Taran and thought nothing of it. She’ been so relieved to be rescued, propriety seemed out of place in the wild. “When in Gododdin, do as the Picts,” Pia had said when they first arrived. She’d done a lot of unusual things since her arrival—eating with Pia, sleeping on the floor, drinking mead. Her mother would turn in her grave to learn of it. But none of her new “habits” seemed to bother anyone in Dunpelder.
She hiked up her skirts and nodded to Manas. “Let us ride. The day is far too beautiful to waste inside the stable.”
Though Valeria was skilled in a sidesaddle, she found maneuvering her mount with legs astride far easier as she led Manas through the cobbled lanes of the castle. They rode around the hall and past the market with food and wares out on display. Most of the Picts acknowledged her with nods. They passed the blacksmith with its noisy clang. Then Valeria stopped at the stronghold’s open gate, yielding to the lush green beyond.
If only she could pick the lovely flowers she’d seen from her window that morning. If they stayed near the castle, surely it would be safe. “Would you like to canter Bobby in the open meadow?”
Manas’ eyes grew wide with his smile and he nodded. For the first time, his head bobbed in acknowledgement to her question. Butterflies tickled her insides. Valeria had made baby-steps of progress with the boy since their meeting, but his nod seemed a giant leap.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” She spurred the mare to a canter with Manas on her heels. The wind blew her hair back. He giggled behind her. Then the boy laughed…out loud. Oh, this day had to be the most glorious day of the year.
Manas laughed half way to the edge of the forest when Valeria pulled up her mare. Exhilarated by the rush of adrenalin, she took a deep breath. “My, ’twas just what I needed to clear my head. Are you ready to go back?”
Still grinning from ear-to-ear, his teeth as white as snow, Manas shook his head—another readable gesture.
“Let us trot through the wildflowers. They looked beautiful from my window this morning.”
Valeria led him to the meadow, alive with daisies, bluebells and buttercups. “Look at all these blooms.” She dismounted. Holding onto her reins, she collected a bouquet. “Pia will love a posy of fresh flowers in our room.”
Initially, Manas trotted in circles but when she looked up, he cantered away. Clasping the flowers in her fist, Valeria quickly remounted. “Manas! You mustn’t wander off.”
The boy took full advantage of his newfound freedom and headed straight for the forest edge. Valeria galloped after him, her heart racing while she thanked her stars she’d asked Tomas for a more spirited mount. She dashed alongside him and tugged on his rein. “We need to turn back. ’Tis not safe to be outside the castle walls, let alone out of view. Heaven’s, you are nearly to the forest.”
No sooner had she turned Manas around, Greu
m galloped up to them like a frenzied watchdog. “What are ye doing outside the stronghold?”
Valeria cringed. “The day is so beautiful, we thought we would simply canter along the path and back.”
“Ye’re a far cry from the trail. ’Tis a lucky thing I saw you when I did. Do ye ken how dangerous it is out here?”
“Oh, stop. We were just turning back.”
“Stop it ye say? What would have happened if ye were nabbed by thieves or worse? Ye’d have Taran charging after ye again. Blast-it-all, I should take the strap to ye.”
“No!”
Valeria whipped around to see where the fierce command had come from.
Manas stood in his stirrups, eyes glaring with fire. “Ye. Will. No. Touch her.”
Wide eyed, Greum opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes shot to Valeria.
Clutching the reins, she beheld Manas, tears welling in her eyes. She dismounted and tossed her reins to Greum. Slipping beside the boy, she grasped his hand. “’Tis a miracle.”
Manas shook his head defiantly. “I cannot l-let him hurt ye, m-m’lady,” he uttered slowly, but he spoke, mounted upon Bobby like a fine young man.
She took his hand and brushed his palm against her cheek. “I thank you for defending my honor. You are quite a brave lad to stand up to the likes of Greum.”
Chapter Fourteen
News of Manas’ recovery spread through Dunpelder like water through an aqueduct. Carrying the boy on his shoulders, Greum had led them to Morag. Valeria expected the woman’s cool response, but unmistakable surprise flashed across her face instead.
Valeria hoped her success with Manas might soften Morag’s ill will, but before supper, she opened the door of her chamber to find the woman’s distrusting frown. Morag pursed her lips and stood with her hands on her hips. “Oisean requested your presence at the evening meal.”
“Very well.” She withheld her urge to issue a curt reproach. “Thank you.”
When the door closed, Pia came up behind Valeria and ran her fingers through her hair. “If you’re going to dine with the king, we’ll ensure you do so in style.”
Valeria let out a nervous chuckle. “I’ve been wary of him since the first day when he threatened to burn me.” She lowered her voice to a growl and affected his accent. “One traitorous move and I’ll burn ye at the stake.”
Pia chuckled. “He was just making sure you understood the limits of his hospitality.”
“Nonetheless, he intimidated me. I’ve been perfectly happy to avoid him since you concocted his pain medication, especially while Taran’s been away.”
After Pia’s primping, Valeria shook off her nerves and gracefully descended the grand staircase in her plain beige gown. She felt a bit naked without an escort, but she could hardly expect anyone to tap on her door and offer an arm. Her misgivings melted away when Oisean stood upon her arrival and beckoned her to him. “Valeria, please take my nephew’s place beside me.”
All eyes followed her while she made her way to the far end of the great hall. He didn’t gawk at her with distrust as he’d done when she’d first arrived. Valeria wished Taran were there to witness the transformation. She hadn’t needed him to earn their respect after all—though she’d only cracked the surface.
The hum of the crowd resumed when Valeria sat, receiving a pleasant nod from Betha. Greum occupied the seat to Betha’s left—Drust’s place.
The king turned the ring on his finger. “Greum tells me ye’ve been working with young Manas.”
“Yes, my lord. He’s the only lad brave enough to show up for my lessons.”
“I hear he has a natural knack with a horse.”
“He’s a fast learner indeed.”
Oisean took a long drink from his tankard. “The boy spoke today?”
“Yes. I think he surprised us all.”
Oisean leaned forward. “Are ye a witch?”
Valeria sat back, her mouth agape. “Pardon me sir, but what kind of question is that?”
“No one has been able to dredge a peep out of him for near three years. Morag claims ye must be a witch.”
“Oh my heavens. I believe that woman would be prejudiced against me if I started a fire with a flint. Greum was there. He can vouch for me.”
Greum chuckled. “I don’t think it was Valeria who made him speak. ’Twas me. I was scolding her for riding outside the castle—told her I should take the lash to her when Manas bellowed at me.”
Valeria nodded. “He wanted to protect me. Who else has taken the time to teach the boy anything at all? I’m told he sat in the hall and stared most days.”
Oisean glanced at Betha. She covered her mouth and whispered something in his ear. He turned to Valeria and waved a hand in the air. “I didn’t think it were so. Morag runs a fine kitchen, but she’s a bit headstrong.”
Valeria nodded, holding her tongue. Though it would have been easy to blurt out her ill feelings for the old hag, she was certain it wouldn’t be received well. Greum winked and she mouthed, “thank you.”
“I have one more thing to discuss with ye,” Oisean said.
Valeria couldn’t withhold her next remark. “Pia is not a witch either.”
His eyebrows arched. “I beg to differ. That woman’s pain potion could not be from this world.”
“Mayhap not a Pict world, sire.”
He threw his head back with a rolling laugh. “’Tis good to see ye haven’t lost yer sense of humor, lass.”
She lifted the ewer of mead and filled her cup. “It is welcome to see the king so easily amused. Tell me, what would you care to discuss?”
His laughter was quickly replaced by a frown. “A sentry arrived today with word from Rome. Valentinian has appointed a new Dux Britanniarum.”
Valeria’s stomach turned upside down. Rome? Her home—once. Her father had been replaced? She swallowed. “Oh?”
“They report his name is Theodosius. Have ye heard of him?”
Valeria nodded. “Yes. General Flavius Theodosius made a reputation for himself maintaining Roman interests in Hispania. I believe he hails from the province of Gallaecia.”
“And what would be the travel time from Hispania to Hadrian’s Wall?”
Valeria bit her bottom lip. “Three months at least. If he marches with an entire legion, it could be longer.”
“Do you think he’ll bring a whole legion of men?”
“I’m not trained in the workings of the military, sire, but a general is usually followed by his legion. If what you say is true and the Wall has fallen, I have no doubt he will arrive with a full contingent of skilled men.”
Oisean scratched his chin, stretching the circular blue tattoo on his cheek. “The Romans invaded our land. They rape our women and take our men, shackling them to their ships, just as they did with Taran and Greum. We will not live under their tyranny.” He slammed his fist on the table and Valeria nearly jumped to the rafters.
She took a deep breath, contemplating her response. “I once believed in the sovereignty of Rome. When I arrived on the frontier, with my own eyes I witnessed the injustices to which you refer. Here in Gododdin you are not subject to Roman rule as you would be if you were south of the Wall. Is that not enough?”
“And wait for their raiding parties to attack and pillage Dunpelder?”
Betha leaned forward. “The Picts have already driven them back from the Antonine Wall. We fear they will take until there is nothing left to give.”
“Exactly!” Oisean boomed. “The Romans tried to invade our lands, and they’ll do it again until we drive them out of Britannia.”
Valeria delicately bit into her bread.
“The sentry reported they’re calling it the Barbaric Conspiracy. Bloody right. I conspired with me enemies to drive them out and I’d do it again to ensure our freedom.”
Valeria raised her tankard. “I’ve perceived the Picts to be quite civilized. The term barbarian is misused and your people are misunderstood.”
The k
ing’s eyes bore through her for a moment. Uneasy, she set down her mead and ran her hands over her hair to ensure she didn’t have a stray lock sticking out.
He picked up his dirk and stabbed it into a leg of pork. “Ye are observant.”
The hum of the crowd clipped to silence when the eerie sound of a Pictish carnyx trumpeted from the castle walls above. With a gasp, Valeria’s eyes shot to Oisean. Again the bronze carnyx sounded. Oisean jumped to his feet. “Battle stations!”
Benches scraped across the wooden floor. A Pictish sentry rushed in, sword in hand. “Sire.” He inhaled deeply to catch his breath. “’Tis the Attacotti with a hundred men or more.”
“Light the fires and man the mangonel catapults. We’ll send the bastards to their graves this night.”
In seconds, the hall was awash in a flurry of activity. Swords ripped from their scabbards, helmets and shields were donned. Valeria stood and clutched her arms around her shoulders. Shouts and screams erupted from the mayhem while men and women both armed themselves.
Shoving his helmet over his head, Greum grabbed Valeria’s shoulders. “Ye must hide in yer chamber, m’lady. Runan could be coming for ye.”
She nodded.
“I’ll escort ye.”
“No. Man your station. I shall find Pia and Manas.”
Greum hesitated.
“Go. I’ll be fine.” She rose up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Fight well and live.”
“Bolt the door and open it for no one.”
In a flash, Greum raced out of the hall. Valeria headed to the kitchen, pushing through the mass of people. She fought against the flow. Shoulders and bodies bumped into her. A shove from the side sent her crashing into the table. Her gaze met with a leg of roast pork impaled by a dirk with a handle of bone. She reached for the knife, yanked it free and slipped it into her belt.
Oisean stood on the dais, roaring orders as the hall began to empty. The nightmare had begun. Dunpelder was under attack. Valeria wanted to retch. The Pict’s most powerful warriors were on a diplomatic tour of the countryside.