by Hazel Hunter
“Does my joining the clan make us like actual brother and sister?”
Raen laughed. “You are my sister in arms, no’ my blood kin. For that you would have to be born Pritani, and our tribes have been gone for centuries.” His expression sobered. “I am sorry that Seoc Talorc spoke as he did. That was more about his cousin than you, lass.”
“He’s hurting, and drinking, which is never a great combination.” Diana lay down beside him to look up at the storm cloud, which seemed to be dispersing. “I won’t be locked up in the tower anymore, which will be nice. Where am I going to live now?”
“The laird will give you rooms,” Raen said and turned on his side. With one fingertip he traced the sweep of her brow before he said, “Or you could share mine.”
Diana suppressed a little grin and gave him a solemn look.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. There’s not enough space for me to do my yoga. Also, it’s super dreary, and you only sleep there.”
“I will burn all of Evander’s things, which will make room for you and your yoga and your grain sacks.” Raen ran his finger down her nose, over her lips and chin and kept going to her navel. “The bed I must keep, as ’tis one of the few large enough for us to share.”
“Really.” She glanced down to see him tugging her shirt from her trousers, and had to smile. “So we’re sharing a bed, too.”
“We willnae always sleep in it.” He slid his big hand under her shirt and rubbed his palm over her belly. “I will show you how ’twill be tonight, if you wish.”
Diana curled an arm around his neck. “Maybe you should show me now.”
Raen’s dark, shaggy hair fell to curtain her face as he kissed her, his mouth teasing hers until she caught his lower lip between her teeth and ran her tongue across it. He buried his hands in her hair as he deepened the kiss, his mouth demanding more, and Diana groaned as the heat and hunger billowed inside her.
By the time he ended the passionate embrace he was on his back, with her on top of him, and she sat up to strip off her shirt. He reached for her bra, gently feeling the pattern of the black lace until he found the front fastener.
“Like this,” she said, opening it for him. She leaned back as he peeled away the cups to slowly fondle her. The way he stroked her nipples made her rub her crotch over the thick bulge straining the front of his trousers. “By the way, I don’t wear a bra in bed.”
“Shameless wench,” he chided as he drew the straps down her arms. “You should wear it always. I like it. ’Tis lovely, and a little wicked—like you.”
That inspired her. “Then you’re really going to like this.”
Raen watched as she moved back to sit on his thighs, and then jerked as she unfastened his trousers and released the hard, swollen length of his shaft. He smiled as she wrapped her fingers around him, but when she bent her head he took in a sharp breath.
“Lass, you dinnae have to do this for…ah.” His head fell back as she put her mouth over the broad bulb of his cockhead and stroked it with her tongue. “’Tis so good.”
Diana went to work, taking as much of his penis into her mouth as she could with each glide of her lips. He was so long and wide she could manage only a little over half before she ran out of room, but she compromised by curving her hands around and stroking the rest of him as she sucked and licked.
Raen braced himself on his elbows, his eyes dark slits now as he watched her love him with her mouth. When she met his gaze she let him slide almost all the way out, and then tugged on him as she flicked her tongue around the flared ridge of his glans. He shuddered deeply, his thighs knotting under her and his chest heaving.
Now that she had his full attention, Diana leaned in, cradling his lower shaft between the curves of her breasts and pressing them in with her arms so her mounds massaged him. She played with his cockhead, kissing and licking it while she moved up and down, sliding his length through her cleavage.
She took her mouth away but kept him pinned between her breasts. “Still want me to wear a bra to bed?”
“Naked,” he said, his voice dropping so low it rumbled. “I want you naked, in my bed, everywhere, all the time. Only I will have to beat into the ground anyone who looks at you. Be naked only for me, lass, and I willnae ever get out of my bed.”
“Okay,” Diana said and grinned. “But that means you have to sleep bare-assed, too.”
“If you insist,” he said, and groaned as she once more engulfed him with her lips.
She slowly sucked and stroked him until she felt sure he was about to come, and then reached down to tenderly caress his tight balls with her fingers. As she held him in her mouth, she did the same to his shaft with her tongue. Feeling the first surge of his come jolt through his shaft excited her as much as the groans of pleasure that spilled from his throat. So did seeing the ink on his face pulse with light.
Raen drew her up and held her against his hard chest. “You are bold, lass.”
“Well, you are delicious, lad.” The feel of his hands stroking her back made her wriggle with delight, and then she felt the hardness of his new erection against her belly. “And very enthusiastic. Stay right there and hold that thought.”
Diana rolled away to strip off the rest of her clothes, a task Raen finished for her before he pulled her on top of him.
“When you are naked, I cannae wait.” He lifted her by the hips, positioning her over his erect cock before lowering her to be impaled. “Oh, Diana.”
“This is your fault.” She propped her hands on his shoulders as she sank down on him, the soaked folds of her pussy flowering around the iron-hard column of his penis. The slow, deep penetration felt so perfect that she didn’t want it to end. “Keep this up and we’re never going to sleep again.”
When she had taken him all the way down to his throbbing root, Diana bent over to kiss him, and pressed her marked hand against his ink. The spirit’s power poured into her, racing through her palm, up her arm and into her chest. It sent twin surges of tingling heat up her neck and down into her breasts. She felt her nipples grow engorged as she rose again and drew his hands to cover them, biting her lip as he rubbed and squeezed her.
The air around them began to snap with tiny white sparks that pinged off her skin to fall and disappear into his chest.
Diana laughed out loud, feeling as if she were dancing in a shower of light as she rode his beautiful cock. Enveloping and caressing his shaft with her softness made nothing else matter but him, as need and pleasure clashed inside her belly. She tried to keep it at bay by slowing and clenching around him, but that let her feel every inch of his thick, heavy shaft. She lost herself to the joy of taking it inside, deeper and harder and faster.
Raen dragged her down to his chest, kissing her as he clamped his hands on her bottom. From that moment he took over, thrusting into her like a frenzied piston, his cock plowing so deep Diana lost all control, her hands bunching in his hair and her cries spilling into his mouth.
The storm crashed over Diana, but it came from within, from his relentless fucking, and made her come with it. She gripped him inside and flooded him with the cascade from her release, dragging him in with her. She felt him groaning and shaking under her, made helpless by the tight hold of her clenching, pulsating sex. He was hers.
The air grew colder as they lay locked together, and the last spasms of their orgasm finally faded. Their panted breaths drifted away in opaque white puffs. He kept a hand on her bottom, gently caressing it while he stayed half-erect inside her. Diana idly stroked his chest as she listened to his powerful heart, and imagined waking up every morning for the rest of her life, hearing it. She wouldn’t live as long, but whatever time they had would be wonderful.
“Dinnae worry,” he murmured, and when she lifted her head he added, “I can feel your frown on my flesh. Tell me what troubles you. We have no more secrets to keep.”
Panic flashed through her, as she still had one extremely large, extra-hideous secret. She couldn�
�t tell him now, when they’d just loved each other senseless. Since she could stay, it really didn’t matter anymore.
“I was just wondering what I’d do if you kick me out of your bed.” She kissed his chin. “I don’t think you’ll be able to, pal. You’re stuck with me. You might even be stuck in me.”
“A man can dream.” His expression softened as he cradled her cheek. “But I dinnae have to anymore. You are my dream.”
“That’s good,” she said, and hugged him tightly. “Because you’re mine.”
Chapter Sixteen
FROM THE BATTLEMENTS of Ermindale Castle, Quintus looked out at the dark territory that now belonged to the Ninth Legion. From where he stood he could see the ocean’s faint glimmer to the north, and breathed in the fresh tang of the salt-laced air. An elderly miser with a fading reputation for ruthlessness, the Marquess of Ermindale had put up only a token resistance when Quintus had arrived with his occupation force. As soon as the castle’s few guards were overwhelmed, the nobleman had scurried off with his family and personal retainers to the solar, where they had barricaded themselves inside. Quintus had ordered the scanty remainder of the staff enthralled, and left the marquess and his kin to stew.
The new enthrallment he had used on the earl and his doomed countess at their castle made the conquest of this stronghold so much more satisfying.
Everything Quintus had worked for over the last year now lay within reach. In another month the thousands of men still in hiding would arrive at Ermindale. By then the new stronghold had to be ready for occupation, and a steady source of blood thralls acquired to feed the men. The latter was his most pressing dilemma. All of the men were slowly starving, and because of it would descend into madness the moment they smelled fresh mortal blood. In that state they would hunt in packs like mindless beasts, and kill until the sun’s deadly rays burned them to ash.
He was so close. He could not allow the legion to be destroyed by their curse.
“Tribune Seneca,” Brutus Ficini said. The veteran centurion joined him and slapped his forearm across his chest. “How may I serve?”
“Our scouts have reported finding a settlement hidden in the hills to the east,” Quintus said as he removed his red battle cloak. “I will require a raiding party of fifty, on horseback, within the hour.” He draped the paludamentum over Ficini’s broad shoulders. “I shall accompany the party, but you will lead them.”
Ficini looked uneasy. “A centurion of the Ninth is not permitted to wear the red into battle, sir.”
“Then it is good that I am promoting you to the rank of praefectus.” He clipped his cloak to the older man’s armor and smiled a little. “You are my second now, Brutus. I wish your counsel on all matters important to the legion.”
“I am grateful for the promotion, Tribune,” his new prefect told him. “I wish only to advise you that a settlement raid will be dangerous now. The men have been on lean rations for some weeks. As they are now, when blood is spilled, they will go into a frenzy. I suggest those chosen for the party first be fed.”
“Agreed. Give them the last of the blood thralls we brought with us.” Quintus checked the position of the moon. “I must go down and check on the progress with the tunnels. I will meet you and the men at the stables in one hour.”
Ficini saluted him again, turned smartly, and walked along the curtain wall to the entry to the garrison.
Quintus took the tower stairs to the castle’s cellars, where several dozen men worked to excavate the new tunnels. Seeing their progress pleased him, for they had dug out three passages that smelled of sea water. When the centurions supervising the work came to report to him, he learned the men were half the way to the sea caves by the marquess’s docks.
“I can send a team to dig from the other direction, Tribune,” the overseer told him as he spread out the scroll with the excavation plans on a work table. “But if we do not shore up the shafts as we go along here, and here, there is great risk of collapse. We are so close to the surface now that I fear the ground would sink. Should that happen, we would be forced to abandon the tunnel and start over at a more distant point.”
“Continue as you do now,” he told the men. “Avoid anything that will expose the passages.”
Quintus retrieved his weapons from the marquess’s study, which he had taken over as his command center, and issued close-guard orders to his sentry commander before he went out to the stables. The men had already saddled and mounted their horses. Ficini led out his favorite mare and handed the reins to him.
“I spoke with the scouts, Tribune,” his prefect said as he stepped back. “They advise we follow the crooked river east for three leagues, and go in by water, not land. There is some manner of barrier around the place.”
Druids often concealed their settlements, and Quintus had yet to test the new enthrallment on them. If he could enslave the heathens, they might know how to force the McDonnels to remove the undead curse.
“Lead us there, Prefect Ficini.”
From Ermindale the raiding party rode along the river until they reached woods too thick and overgrown to be passable. There they guided their mounts into the rushing waters, which proved shallow, and continued until their front riders signaled a stop.
The full moon had reached its apex in the night sky, and bathed the small settlement in pale light. There were two dozen thatched cottages surrounding a cluster of oaks. White-berried mistletoe vines draped the tree branches so heavily they appeared as if covered by snow.
Ficini dismounted, and signaled his men to do the same. Once they tethered their horses on the riverbank he assembled the ranks into a raid formation. Then he marched them to the edge of the settlement.
“Parati,” he said, keeping his voice low, and the men drew their swords and held them ready. “Impetus.”
Quintus watched from his mare as the raiding party poured into the settlement and began dragging mortals out of the cottages. He felt gratified when he saw they wore the robes of druids, and urged his mount forward as Ficini and his men herded the heathens into a tight cluster beneath the mistletoe.
Once the men had searched every cottage, and brought forth their occupants, Quintus dismounted and joined his prefect.
“Well done, Brutus,” the tribune said and surveyed the faces of their captives. “These should provide enough to keep the excavators fed for the next moon.”
Ficini nodded, but looked puzzled. “Why do they not resist, Tribune?”
“We dinnae fear you, Roman.” An elderly man moved to the front of the group and regarded Quintus. “Indeed, we foresaw your coming.”
“And yet you remained to greet us,” he said, smiling a little. “You cannot terrify me with your claims of magic, old man. We know your kind. You have no true power, and waving your little twigs at us will not spare you.” He looked at the calm faces of the druids around the elderly one. “If you wish to live, you must serve us.”
The old druid produced a long, thin dagger. “Always we live.” He turned the blade inward, and drove it into his heart. He toppled over at Quintus’s boots as the other druids drew their blades.
Ficini shouted orders for the men to disarm the heathens, but by then it was done. Every mortal captive lay on the ground, dead by their own hands. The white berries from the mistletoe vines began to rain down on their bodies, first slowly and then like rain, until they nearly buried the corpses under a blanket of white.
“Don’t touch them,” Quintus said when one of the centurions reached for the body of a young, pretty woman. “The berries are poisonous, and have fallen onto their wounds. Their blood will be tainted now.” He removed his helmet and dragged his hand through his damp hair. “Search the houses again.”
The men turned up nothing but a few old, primitive sickles and baskets filled to the brim with the white, waxen berries.
“It seems odd that they have no children here,” Ficini said as the last searchers returned. “And why would they grow and collect poisonous berries?”<
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“No doubt they use them in their heathen rituals,” Quintus said. He mounted his mare and looked down on the mound of mistletoe that now completely covered the dead druids. What the old man had said gnawed at him, as if it had been more than a desperate taunt. “Leave them and return to the castle.”
The ride back to Ermindale gave Quintus time to consider the mass suicide. The legion almost never captured druids. Just before Gaius Lucinius’s fall they had taken a pair, but the two were later released by Fiona Marphee and her McDonnel lover. They had, in fact, gone to great lengths and endangered themselves to do so. The clan had always been fiercely protective of their heathen allies. As mortals they had gone to their deaths rather than betray them. Such was their loyalty that their gods had given them eternal life…
Always we live.
When Quintus arrived back at the castle, he ordered Ficini to accompany him to the highest level of the stronghold, where the marquess and his family remained locked in the family rooms. As soon as the legion had invaded the main house, they had retreated to the solar and blocked the door. A small opening had been broken through a row of latticework in the otherwise thick door. Quintus had considered lighting a fire by the door and directing the smoke through the hole to drive out the nobles, but other, more important matters had distracted him.
“How are we to pry that old man and his women out of these rooms?” Quintus murmured, half to himself.
“I can send for the battering ram, Tribune,” the prefect suggested.
Quintus shook his head, and looked through the hole. On the other side the marquess sat before a cold hearth, his frail body wrapped in tartans. On impulse he called to the man.
“My Lord Ermindale, come here, that we may parlay.”
The old man rose and hobbled over, ducking his head to peer with rheumy eyes at Quintus.
“You have my stronghold and my people, Roman. What more can you want from me and mine?”
“We raided a druid settlement tonight,” he told the marquess. “I offered to spare their lives if they served us. They killed themselves, all of them. Why?”