Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2)

by Amy Jarecki

  Dulcitius licked his lips—Paulus was the one man he could trust with any confidence. “I’ve spent many a night devising….”

  “You are quite the tactician.” Titus pulled back the canvas of the tent. “Pardon my intrusion. I’ve come to collect on our bet.”

  Dulcitius yanked his cloak over his exposed wounds. “Paulus will see to it a stallion is delivered to your stables.”

  “Without my prior inspection?”

  Dulcitius glanced toward the sword sheathed upon his cot. If only I were properly armed, I’d create that “good cause” this moment. “Paulus, when we are through, please meet the centurion at the yard and give him his pick of our finest.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Gratitude, Dulcitius.” Titus stepped forward. “I did not intend for us to be matched. I trust no hard feelings exist.”

  Dulcitius swallowed the sickly lump that formed in his throat and assumed a thin-lipped smile. Ill will? Please, one does not make amends with their sworn enemy. I will avenge my father’s death, and Titus will pay for his father’s accursed conviction. “Of course not. The games were all in fun.”

  Titus nodded toward Paulus. “I will meet you by the stables anon.”

  Paulus bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

  Dulcitius eyed the congealed blood on Titus’s arm. “You best have that tended to by your wench. ’Tis a pity. I would have enjoyed a romp with the likes of her.”

  Dulcitius smirked at Titus’s narrowed eyes and tight-jawed grimace. The man could never mask his ire.

  When the canvas closed, Dulcitius shoved Paulus aside. “Stop with your doting.”

  He snatched his sword from its scabbard as he paced the tent. On the second time round, he grabbed Paulus’s tunic and growled in a low voice. “The archer wench is the key to defeating Titus. That much is clear. That woman is a vixen—and she holds the centurion’s heart in a vice-like grip. I want her followed.”

  “She does seem odd, that one.”

  Dulcitius strengthened his grip and pushed his lips to within an inch of Paulus’s ear. “There should be no rest along the wall. Make Titus look incompetent. I would think it easy to pay a mob of thieving renegades to rein havoc on his precious milecastles. Just see to it they cannot trace any uprising back to us.”

  Paulus’s shoulders shook as a deep chuckle rumbled from his belly. “We’ll bring such disorder, Theodosius will be calling for Titus’s head.”

  Chapter Seven

  Elspeth sat up from her pallet when the door to Titus’s chamber clicked. She had not seen him since her archery demonstration. He’d asked her to make a good impression and she’d contemplated missing—firing her arrows at the arrogant count and his even more pretentious fair-haired centurion. It wasn’t until she spurred Tessie into the ring that she’d made her decision. Bungling her performance would have made Titus look bad in front of the Romans she truly despised. She may have been upset with him for making her wear Athena’s gown, but otherwise, he’d treated her with kindness and respect.

  Few locals attended the games, and she chose not to stay and watch the gladiatorial contest. Men fighting to the death for sport did not sit well with her or any of her kind. No self-respecting Pict would dishonor his sword by using it to show off his skill and murder another simply for the applause of the crowd.

  Though Titus had been ordered to orchestrate the games, the fact that he put up men to lose their lives for sport helped her form the barrier she needed between them. She stood and placed her hand on the latch to her door, wishing to ask him about the games—gain his approval for her performance. Elspeth hesitated. It would be improper for her to enter his chamber at this late hour.

  What if he kissed her again? Her stomach fluttered. She could not allow herself to desire him. The gentle caress of his lips and the hardened muscles of his shoulders beneath my hands… She shook her head to drive those thoughts away. Her body had betrayed her when he kissed her. Oh no, she could not allow it to happen again.

  The sound of flint striking iron resounded from the adjoining chamber. She rested her forehead against the door and steeled her resolve. It was best if she forced herself to wait until the morning. Elspeth stood a moment longer, the palm upon the latch perspiring. She nearly fell on her face when the door swung outward. Stumbling, she sprawled right into Titus’s arms.

  His eyes were rounds as coins. “You’re a-awake.”

  The stench of pickled sprits invaded her nostrils and she coughed. “Why, ye’re in yer cups.”

  “Me?” He belched, blinking rapidly. “You are qu…quite mistaken.”

  “I can smell the spirit on yer breath.” She pushed him away. “Off to bed with ye…sir”

  He frowned. “I am not s…so bloody drunk I cannot talk.”

  Elspeth folded her arms. “Aye? Then speak yer mind and do it quick.”

  He waved her in and plopped onto a wooden chair. With a huff, Elspeth scooted forward and stood in front of him, keeping her arms crossed. He shook his pointer finger at her, his eyes straining to focus. “Your performance impressed the count, a—as well as the Ordo Centurion.”

  She wanted to scream—to spit out a sting of insults for those two pompous officers. “I care not what they thought.”

  “You should.” He swayed sideways, but caught himself and teetered back to center. “Dulcitius wagered his finest stallion against a night in your bed.”

  Elspeth’s jaw dropped. “No. I cannot…I will not.”

  Titus waived his hands. “N-no need to worry,” he slurred. “I won the wager. His fine white stallion now stands in the Vindolanda stables.”

  Elspeth heaved a sigh of relief and wrung her hands. “Thank ye, m’lord. I will forever be grateful.” But still. He wagered for my virtue? What did I expect? He is a Roman. Just like the rest of them. Just as I’ve always told myself… Do your work and pray to Atar no one will lay a hand on you. Boar’s bones, I still cannot believe Titus would do such a thing!

  Elspeth took a breath. Although he has always defended me…

  Titus grinned. Clearly oblivious to her inner battle, he reached for her hand. “I am happy it pleases you. Losing any wager to the likes of Dulcitius would have topped a completely miserable day. But giving you to him…” He clenched his jaw. “Would have been much worse than losing any game.”

  Every muscle in her body clenched. “How could you have placed a wager with me?” Before she could stop herself, she snapped back her hand and slapped him across the face. As his servant, she’d probably be sent for some whipping, but Elspeth didn’t care. He’d overstepped his bounds when he’d kissed her, and even more when he dared wage with her virtue. I’ve played his game, flaunted myself for his pompous count and then his thanks was to make a wager with me as a prize? Her blood boiled, and she did not recoil at the stunned look on his face, or the mix of fury and hurt in his eyes. Instead, Elspeth glared at him. She deserved an answer.

  Titus blinked, a sober expression in his eyes. “You are right.” His tongue snuck to the side of his mouth and lapped up a droplet of blood. “I should have told Theodosius exactly how inappropriate his order was.”

  Incensed, Elspeth threw her palms to her sides. “Theodosius? You said the wager was with Dulcitius.”

  “It was. But when I tried to reject him, Theodosius ordered me to accept.” Titus leaned forward and pressed his palms against his face. “I am but a soldier, bred to take orders from my superiors—but this time I should not have allowed such a command.” His voice strained like he was in pain, and when he looked up, agony stretched his features. “When I agreed to take the assignment in the northern frontier, I wanted to bring peace to Britannia—for all the people to be proud of what we have accomplished here. I believe in Roman values, Elspeth, and in Roman civilization and in Christianity—I really do. But the one ignoble thing that comes with Roman rule is misplaced superiority. When I accepted Dulcitius’s wager, I not only let you down, I betrayed the whole of Britannia. I betrayed my very own
dreams.”

  Taken aback by his confession, Elspeth clapped a hand over her mouth and hesitated. She’d never heard a man be so completely honest. He hadn’t placed the wager like an irresponsible drunken soldier. He hadn’t wanted to place it at all. “Ye honestly believed you could bring peace?”

  “With every beat of my heart.” He sat back, a painful grimace stretching his lips. “I also had to win that wager, because I couldn’t allow Dulcitius to touch you.”

  A lump the size of her fist formed in her throat. If only Elspeth could confess her identity. If only she could wrap her arms around his neck and tell him how much she admired him. Now, without a doubt, she knew Titus wasn’t like other Romans. He did not want to conquer. He wanted peace, just like the Picts. Why can they all not be like him? Why can our races not live in peace?

  He grasped her hand and ran his finger over the back of it. “But don’t ignore what you heard me say. My dreams for Britannia weren’t the only reason I needed to win the wager.”

  Those words had her fingers trembling. And I’m the one betraying him. “Aye?” Her voice was breathless.

  “If he’d have laid a hand on you, I would have killed him.”

  Now she couldn’t even breathe. How could she respond? If she declared her feelings without revealing her identity, she would be cheating the only honest Roman soldier in all of Britannia. “I…” Elspeth placed her hand on his arm and Titus pulled back with a hiss. Blood covered her finger. “Ye’re hurt.”

  “’Tis but a scratch.”

  Elspeth leaned in to inspect the wound. Jagged, it ran all the way up his forearm. “What happened to ye?”

  “To decide the victor of Dulcitius’s challenge, the count matched Dulcitius and me in a chariot race…and my good friend decided ’twas more important to send his whip my way than to win the race.”

  “’Tis a good thing ye won then.” She stepped back into her room and rummaged through her satchel. “I’ll put a salve on it, then to bed with ye.”

  “Yes, your ladyship.” Titus didn’t stand, but he rolled his hand through the air and bowed at the waist.

  Elspeth kneeled beside him with the stoneware pot of ointment in her hand. Though he said nothing, his eyes bore into her as if he were studying her like one of his war maps. She made quick work of her ministrations and patted his shoulder. “That should see ye fixed until morning.”

  He grasped her hand and squeezed. Elspeth tried to pull away but he held fast. The stern look behind his hazel eyes softened and he held her hand to his lips and kissed it. “You are a good woman. You need to find a husband. ’Tis not wise to tarry long in an officer’s quarters.”

  He released her and she rubbed away the burning kiss. “I’ll leave ye to sleep now, m’lord…and my thanks—ah—for keeping Dulcitius at bay.”

  When she turned, Titus grasped her shoulders before she took her first step. She froze. His lips caressed the back of her neck and fire melted the ice in her back. Her heart raced, and her breathing rushed in short gasps. She wanted to whip around and face him, wrap her arms around him and feel his lips press against hers, but she clenched her fists against her traitorous desires and wormed her shoulders out from under his grasp.

  Titus cleared his throat. “I fear the drink has affected my sensibilities.”

  Elspeth glanced over her shoulder. He looked like a forlorn puppy left out in the cold. Though her mind screamed no, she faced him. As if her arms had grown a mind of their own, she stepped into him and slipped her hands around his neck.

  His hard chest pressing against her breasts made her knees buckle. A stirring deep inside brought on a yearning so powerful, Elspeth was powerless to flee. She sucked in a deep breath and pressed her lips against his. Titus’s grasped her shoulders with his firm hands and returned her kiss with a rumbling moan.

  His big hand slid to her waist. Elspeth shuddered. His lips pressed harder while his tongue flicked out and parted her lips. She melted into him, her body screaming for more. She wanted to be closer, climb inside of him as his kiss deepened and his hands massaged up her spine.

  Smoothing his hand over her shoulders, he pulled back and gazed into her eyes. With a gasp, he opened his mouth and hesitated. “You had better go before this progresses further. Once I am committed, I cannot stop myself.”

  Tightness gripped Elspeth’s heart. Biting her lip, she looked at the floor and nodded. Shame turned her stomach. How could she allow her body to control her mind? She spun around quickly and raced to her chamber, afraid to look back until the door closed. She emitted a trembling breath. Come morning, she would beg Greum to allow her to return to Dunpelder.

  ****

  Elspeth left her shutter open to ensure she would wake at first light. She’d found a breach in the Vindolanda wall behind a hedge in the fortress garden, which made it much easier for her to slip out unawares.

  She dressed in her blue Pict dress for her meeting with her brother. When she climbed the rock into the cave, the world’s troubles lifted from her shoulders. Laughing, she fell into Greum’s outstretched arms. “Och, ’tis good to see ye.”

  “How goes it with the count?”

  “He’s a pompous Roman, ’tis true. But I have more misgivings about the centurion, Dulcitius, who accompanied him here. I could never trust that man.”

  Greum knit his brows. “Aye? And why’s that?”

  “He’s devious. He struck Titus with a whip during a chariot race, and he looks at me with the eyes of a predator.”

  “Do ye think ye are in danger?”

  If she told Greum about the wager, he might lash out in a fury of rage. She chewed the inside of her cheek and kept it to herself. “Nay. Titus would not allow him near me.”

  “Titus is looking out for ye now? I’m not sure I like that.” Greum folded his arms. “What are the plans of these Romans?”

  “Dulcitius has been put in charge of the troops to the south, and Titus to the north. They’ve established their headquarters in York. I think Theodosius is wary about being too close to the wall after what happened to Queen Valeria’s da. I do not ken when they will return south.”

  “Let us hope soon.”

  “Titus plans to resume his tour of the wall upon their departure.”

  “Very good.” Greum cupped her cheek with his and. “Ye are performing a great service. I am proud of ye.”

  Elspeth nodded and looked to the ground.

  “Is something needling at ye?”

  “Aye. I miss Dunpelder. I have never been away for this long.”

  “Soon ye shall return.”

  “Can I not go away home now?” She tapped a rock with her toe. “Clearly, Titus will not invade the north. He told me himself he wants peace.”

  “Nay, Elspeth. We need ye to hold on a bit longer. He still has the count to own up to.” Greum patted her shoulder. “If Titus can ensure a Roman agreement to remain south of the wall, King Taran is considering approaching him with a treaty.”

  “Oh?” She stepped back. “And who put that notion into his head?”

  “The queen, of course.”

  She clapped her fingers to her mouth. “Och, wouldn’t that be a dream?”

  “Aye.” Greum’s teeth flashed white with his grin. “All of Gododdin would sleep better knowing the Romans are at peace.”

  “Let us pray for it, Brother, for I tire of this charade.” Elspeth couldn’t dare tell him her body was betraying her very soul. If she did not return soon, she might be lost forever.

  After they said goodbye, Elspeth chided herself as she rode through the forest. Ye cannot let Titus lure ye in again. Do not go into his chamber at night—yer body cannot resist him. Och. Why does that man have to be built of iron with eyes that can see through to me deepest desires? Why can I not find a fine Pict man who can turn me insides molten?

  And Greum is right. He is a soldier, a puppet for Theodosius to command. No matter how my heart betrays me, he is Roman and I am Pict.

  Her shoulders slump
ed. She must be stronger. She focused on that ridiculous Roman dress and let it stir her ire. How dare Titus flaunt her in front of his men like some sort of harlot, even if he did dream of peace? The dress was a symbol to remind her that he remained Roman at his core. He was willing to parade me around like his icon of Athena. And though he admitted he had to win the wager, he still toyed with me virtue—in trade for horseflesh, no less. And then he’d forced himself to stop last night…warned me that if he continued, he’d take me virtue himself. The gods know he’d had me so twisted in knots, I would have allowed it! Atar help me I wanted it.

  But then he did stop himself before anything happened last eve. Why? Was he honestly protecting me virtue—the same virtue he could’ve lost to Dulcitius? Or is it below him to bed a barbarian? I cannot forget he is still the enemy. He believes his race is superior to mine. She sighed. How could this man be so enticing and so contradictory?

  As she rode back to Vindolanda, Elspeth’s mind swirled with thoughts of Titus and his recent behavior. She was so consumed with convincing herself that Titus’s interest in her was purely to employ her as his servant, she had little time to react when horse hooves clopped behind her.

  Her hands tightened around the reins, and her heart flew to her throat. The only friendly being in this part of the forest was Greum, and he would be heading the opposite direction. Elspeth dug her heels into Tessie’s sides and slapped her reins hard. “Run!”

  She dared not look back. She dodged branches as her mare charged through the trees. Up ahead the path was blocked. Elspeth turned right and barreled into the scrub. Her heart pounded faster as a horse lurched beside her. As hoof beats gained beside her, a thick hand with black hair curling behind its knuckles reached in and grasped her reins. Elspeth’s gaze shot to the sneering face of Dulcitius’s optio, Paulus.

  Clenching her teeth, she jabbed his arm with her elbow and dug her heel into Tessie’s barrel, demanding a sharp turn to the right—the only direction with a chance to flee.

  A legionary rode into her path. With a quick flick of her wrist, she galloped past him. The Romans made chase, close on her heels.