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

by Amy Jarecki

  “That was my first impression as well, sir. But the location of the raids does not make sense.”

  Theodosius narrowed his eyes and smirked. “I think you are infatuated with this wench, and your cock is marring your judgment.”

  Titus’s gut clenched. Was he that transparent? “No, sir. We will find the prisoner and stop the vandals. The best way for me to ensure this happens is to return to my command post forthwith.”

  “I must advise you I am not pleased with your performance or your insubordination. Bring the wall under control, or I will have no choice but to send another in your place. Dulcitius has done quite well managing the indigenous. He tolerates no such marauding behavior.”

  “Yes, sir.” Titus’s gut clenched at the mention of Dulcitius. Everything had gone smoothly until that snake meddled in his affairs.

  Theodosius lifted a goblet of wine. “Go visit him and learn what he has done to get the locals under his control.”

  Titus would have rather fought a hundred lions in the Coliseum. He offered a curt bow. “Right away, sir.” He turned on his heel.

  “Oh, Titus,” Theodosius called after him. “I need notice of your success soon. I will be appointing the new Dux shortly, and this has not made me look favorably upon your candidacy. I am certain your father will be quite disappointed should my decision not favor you.”

  Titus nodded over his shoulder and proceeded out the heavy oak doors. One of his men spied the look on his face and hustled up to him. “Is everything all right, sir?”

  “My problem is that I am in York. It seems our leader is being fed information faster than I am. I need to be back at the wall dealing with the upstarts.” Titus clamped his helmet on his head. “I must meet with Dulcitius. When I am through, we shall ride. Ready the men.”

  Titus found his nemesis in the practice arena, fighting with a war post. Titus grabbed a wooden practice sword and stepped toward the centurion, wishing it were his short sword in his hand so he could inflict some real damage.

  Dulcitius was naked from the waist up, and his chest shone with sweat in the noonday sun. Titus wondered what his pristine, close shaven chest would look like with a scar from his shoulder to his hip.

  Dulcitius sensed his approach and looked up from the post he was mutilating. “Titus, what a surprise to see you here.”

  Titus pointed the wooden sword at Dulcitius heart. “Is it?”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Dulcitius turned to face him and crouched into a defensive stance.

  “I think we both know exactly what I mean.”

  The corner of Dulcitius’s mouth ticked up. “I hear you have been plagued by raids up north. ’Tis a pity.” He lunged, making the first thrust.

  Titus shuffled back and deflected the blow. He spun and aimed for his opponent’s neck. “Exactly what do you know?”

  Dulcitius countered with a thrust of his shield. “That you are an incompetent milk-livered bastard. You will never be Dux.”

  Titus shoved aside Dulcitius’s advance then pushed through his defense. Wrapping his fingers around his opponent’s throat, Titus took a step in and stood with his nose a hair’s breadth from Dulcitius. “If I uncover any skullduggery on your part, I will have you decommissioned.”

  Dulcitius kept his eyes level. “Whatever do you mean, Centurion? I have my own affairs in York.”

  Titus leaned in, making Dulcitius arch his back. “Then you can stay away from mine.” He shoved the cur to the dirt.

  Titus turned to leave. With a roar, Dulcitius ran at him from behind. Quickly glancing over his shoulder, Titus stepped to the side and grabbed Dulcitius’s wrist. With a twist, he flipped the backstabbing piece of shite onto his spine. “Stay down!” Titus marched ahead.

  “I will be Dux,” Dulcitius bellowed like a spoilt child. “Mark my word. My father will be honored!”

  Titus stopped and turned. His hands shook as he forced himself to maintain control. “Is that why you must incessantly prove yourself? You are Roman officer, honored by your station.”

  “I am a Roman officer who is judged by the actions of his father.”

  Titus shook his head. “A man earns his own respect.”

  “You would know nothing about living in the shadow of a man who betrayed his country. Your father is a senator, a decorated general.”

  Titus threw the wooden sword across the yard. “I did not earn my station because of my father.”

  “You never could have become an officer if it were not for him. You would be a helpless slave on the streets of Rome holding your hand out, begging for favors.”

  Titus balled his fists and marched forward. Dulcitius raised an arm over his head and scooted back in the dirt. Titus stood over him ready to fight. “Stand and defend yourself, coward.”

  The blackguard scrambled up, diving against Titus’s waist. Titus bent his knees and threw his weight into the man, throwing an undercut into Dulcitius’s jaw. The centurion’s head snapped back. The sound of his teeth gnashing together echoed across the arena. Dulcitius landed with a thud, his feet tucked under and arms spread wide.

  Titus kicked at the turf. “See if that doesn’t toughen up your pretty fair-haired face.” He stormed back to his men. “We ride to Vindolanda at once!”

  ****

  Dulcitius reclined in his chamber while Paulus applied salve to his swollen jaw. His hatred for Titus boiled under his skin. When I become Dux, I will squash Titus and his fool-born pride. I will see that arrogant bastard hang, and he will bring shame to his father’s house.

  He hissed and yanked his head aside. “Watch yourself.”

  “I barely touched you.” Paulus reached out his hand. “Hold still and I’ll finish quickly.”

  Dulcitius gritted his teeth and let Paulus rub in a miserable-smelling salve. “Increase the raids on the border.”

  “Are you sure, sir? It could expose us.”

  “By the time we are exposed, I will be Dux, and Titus will be dead.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Elspeth sat next to her brother in the great hall of Dunpelder. On her right sat Manas, a young orphan boy. Greum had taken the promising lad under his wing as a squire. At her feet lay Og, Greum’s deerhound that paid her more mind than his master. Elspeth chuckled. She loved the dog and would have him sleep on her pallet if Greum allowed it.

  Filling the circumference of the hall, tables lined end to end. At the north side was the dais with thrones where King Taran and Queen Valeria listened to petitions of court. At supper, they sat at the head of the table nearest the dais, but on the same level as all other Picts. Tonight the people of Dunpelder filled the benches, turning the hall into a roaring mass of activity.

  Greum was Taran’s right-hand man, thus he sat in a place of honor to Taran’s right. Valeria sat to his left, and Elspeth smiled at the imposing sight the lovely couple made. They were both honorable individuals, and Taran’s love for Valeria shone in his eyes every time he glanced her way.

  Elspeth reached for a trencher heaped with meat and sighed.

  “Why the deep breath?” Greum asked.

  “Just happy to be home.” She stabbed a chicken leg with her dagger. “Taran looks upon the queen with adoring eyes.”

  Greum arched his eyebrow and stopped mid chew. “Ye have a yen to be wed?”

  “Nay, I did not say that.” She tore a piece of meat from her leg. “’Tis just that they look happy.”

  Greum swallowed and took a draw of his mead. “Yer betrothal has not escaped me mind.”

  Her insides clamped with the force of a vise. “Ye haven’t made a commitment without discussing it with me first?”

  Manas leaned forward. “Greum says he needs to marry ye off so he can focus on serving the king.”

  “Ye bastard!” Elspeth snapped her gaze to Greum. “Tell me that’s no’ true. When have I been a burden to ye?”

  Greum held up his hands in surrender. “Nay, lass, nay. Manas misunderstood. Fact is, I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to
find ye a suitable match, and there’s just no one good enough for me sister.” He rested his head in his hands. “I wish the duty did not fall to me, for I cannot watch ye marry any ill-fitting bastard.”

  She clamped onto his arm. “I will tell ye if and when—”

  “Greum, what are ye looking so miserable for?” Taran asked.

  “I cannot find a suitor for me sister.”

  Must he announce it to the entire hall? Elspeth palmed her dagger and slammed it into the mound of mutton on Greum’s plate. “I do not want him to find me a suitor.”

  Taran’s hearty laugh rumbled above the throng. “Perhaps I should set the queen to the task, else ye’ll die an old maid. I fear if we leave it to Greum, no one will ever prove himself worthy.”

  Her cheeks afire, Elspeth turned to the queen in a silent plea for rescue.

  Valeria flashed a subtle wink. “’Twould be quite a novelty if Elspeth had a say in it.”

  Elspeth knew very well Taran and Valeria had caused a scandal with their romance. Taran had been promised in infancy, and the elders had nearly killed Valeria when they’d put her through the trial to become a Pict. Having been forced to spend eight and twenty days alone in the wild, the queen still bore the scar on her neck from a wolf attack. Elspeth bowed her head toward Valeria. “’Tis not as novel an idea as ye make out, m’lady.”

  Manas gave her arm a squeeze. “If they cannot find ye a suitable match, I’ll marry ye.”

  Elspeth swallowed her urge to laugh and looked down upon the boy’s mop of messy curls. “Oh, ye will now?”

  “Aye. I would have married the queen if Taran couldn’t. She gave me back me voice, ye ken.”

  Greum laughed. “How can I ever forget? Ye stood in yer stirrups and hollered at me as if ye were the king of Gododdin.”

  Manas jumped up and stood on the bench, hands on his hips. “You. Will. No’. Hurt her.”

  The whole north side of the hall erupted in laughter, for those were the first words Manas had spoken after three years of silence. He’d seen a Roman legionary run his father through and had sat silent and ignored in the hall until Valeria took a care and taught him to ride.

  The laughter ebbed when a sentry marched directly toward the king. The dust of the road thick on his person, he stopped to catch his breath. “Sire, a Roman contingent has crossed the border into Gododdin. They’re riding hard. I reckon they’ll be here by morning.”

  A black storm crossed Taran’s face and his gaze strayed to Elspeth. “How many legionaries approach?”

  “I counted ten. They’re led by a Gale.”

  Taran rubbed his hand across the swirling blue tattoo on his cheek. “Ten men expect to attack the walls of Dunpelder?” A laugh rumbled from his belly. “Warriors, we ride at dawn. The trespassers shall not cast their eyes upon our fortress.”

  Perspiration formed a damp sheen across Elspeth’s skin. Was Titus with them? The Picts would show no mercy. She caught Valeria’s miserable frown and clenched her teeth. The queen would not approve of bloodshed, though that would not stop the king. His first priority was to protect and defend Pict lands. Romans riding into Gododdin were a direct threat, no matter how few.

  He and Greum had been captured fighting Roman scouts, and had spent two years as slaves, beaten and whipped into submission as they manned oars in the Roman navy. Taran had vowed never to allow the usurpers to cross into Pict land and live.

  Elspeth stood. “I will ride with ye.”

  The bench scraped against the floorboards when Greum shoved it back and stuck his nose in Elspeth’s face. “This is not yer fight.”

  “Nay?” Elspeth shoved him in the chest. “I’m the one they’re after. I’m the one who stuck me neck out to get yer information.”

  Greum grasped her shoulders hard, but before he could say anything, King Taran slammed the hilt of his dirk on the table, making them all pause. “Elspeth, it is ye they’re after. We cannot have ye with us, lest they kidnap ye again. I will not risk it.”

  Greum nodded with a smug smile and patted her cheek, none too gently. “Ye’ll be able to kill Romans another time.”

  Elspeth ground her molars and glared. Taran motioned for her to sit, but she could not. She gave him a curt bow and raced out the massive cedar doors to the courtyard. She took a few deep breaths and turned toward the stables. She had to go with them. What if Titus is riding toward Dunpelder at this moment? He will be massacred. How well he fights will be of no consequence, the Picts will ambush the Romans five-to-one.

  Unless there was a way to warn him…

  Outside the stable door, Elspeth plopped down on a stack of hay. If she tried to warn Titus, Greum might just kill her this time.

  “Elspeth?”

  She jolted at the sound of Valeria’s voice. “Oh. ’Tis ye, m’lady.”

  Concern etched across her face. “You are upset that the men are riding without you?”

  “Aye.”

  “You know we cannot let you fall into the hands of the Romans again.”

  “I ken.”

  The queen eased beside her and looked at the stars. “Titus is quite an imposing man.”

  Elspeth’s stomach fluttered and she scraped her teeth across her bottom lip. “He did not hurt me.”

  “He was planning to burn you.”

  “Aye, but…” Elspeth crossed her arms and squeezed her shoulders. “’Twas Theodosius who gave that order.”

  “An order Titus would have had no choice but to carry out.” The queen’s voice soothed and grated at the same time.

  Elspeth nodded her head and held herself tighter. Did no one understand? If anyone could, it would be Queen Valeria. She was the daughter of a Roman general. A million thoughts swirled through Elspeth’s head. She could not forget Titus’s gentle kisses or the way his strong hands tenderly touched her. “We cannot kill him,” she whispered.

  Valeria smoothed a hand over Elspeth’s tresses. “I believe you have feelings for this centurion.”

  “Aye.” She swallowed. “He is unlike any other man I have met—strong like Greum and Taran, but gentle. He had the power to snap me like a twig but never raised a hand against me.” A tear slipped from Elspeth’s eye. “The way he looked at me when they told him I had betrayed him will haunt my memory forever.”

  Valeria patted Elspeth’s hand. “I shall ask the king to take the centurion prisoner if he is indeed with them.”

  Tension eased from Elspeth’s shoulders. “Oh m’lady, I would be forever grateful.”

  “Do not get too hopeful.” Valeria held up her pointer finger. “A prisoner can still be tortured or put to death.”

  “But it would give me a chance to speak to him—to tell him how I feel.”

  “I think I know how you are feeling, my dearest.” Valeria stood and smiled. “’Tis a pity Titus has pledged his life to Rome.”

  ****

  Elspeth slept in the common chamber with other unmarried lassies. Once she attained two and ten, it was no longer proper for her to share a chamber with her brother, and Morag, who had been the castle mistress, had insisted on separating them. Elspeth didn’t mind. A few women had chosen the warrior path as she had. They, too, were without prospects of marriage.

  She wore her dress beneath the bedclothes and slept lightly, waking often. When she was certain the castle was quiet in slumber, she slipped out from her woolen blanket and reached for her bow and quiver. She fastened a dirk around her waist with the hilt in front for easy access. Pictish swords were heavy things and Elspeth had no illusions of holding her own against a man in a fight. She preferred to keep her distance and fire her arrows. That was where her talent lay.

  Elspeth carried her shoes and quietly unlatched the iron handle on the door. The floorboards creaked while she tiptoed down the passage. When she reached the stone stairwell, she glanced over her shoulder. Not a soul had stirred.

  She lightly pattered down the steps and dashed through the hall to the courtyard. She tied her leather shoestrings and
sprinted to the stables while her eyes adjusted to the light from the torch still burning on the wall. Tomas, the stable boy, snored, curled up in the first stall. Elspeth slipped past him and pulled a saddle and blanket off the bench. She chose a grey gelding stalled at the end of the stable.

  “Easy, boy. We’re going for a wee ride afore the castle wakes.” The gelding stood obediently while she buckled the cinch and made quick work of fitting the bit to his mouth. She led him out the rear door so not to rouse the sleeping stable hand. Once past the great hall, she gave a soft whistle for Greum’s deerhound, Og. The dog bounded through the shadows without a yip. “Come behind, boy.”

  Elspeth mounted and tapped her heels, requesting a trot. Approaching the closed gate, she prepared an excuse for the guard. Hamish, a thickset man, stepped from the shadows of the tower, his mail taut around his barrel chest, his sword and shield at the ready. “And where are ye heading at this early hour, lassie?”

  Elspeth hated to lie, especially to her own, but this could not be helped. “I’ve a message from the king for the chieftain Drust in Kinross Shire.” The Picts did not write their missives on scrolls like the Romans—the written word too easily fell into the wrong hands. A Pict bearing a message might be captured, but their creed of honor and loyalty ensured that no plans ever found their way into enemy hands.

  Hamish nodded and levered up the latch on the man-gate. “Ye can walk yer mount through. Point north directly, as Roman scouts are dangerously close to the south.”

  Elspeth dismounted and led the gelding forward with Og on his heels. “Thank ye, Hamish, and goodwill to yer wife.”

  “Aye, lass.”

  With the groaning creaks of straining iron chain, he lowered the drawbridge. Elspeth remounted and clomped across. She couldn’t shake her guilt. It would be a very long time before a guard let her pass alone without good cause. Hamish only opened the gate because she was part of the guard. She must apologize to him upon her return.

  Elspeth made a show of riding to the forest line before she turned south, heading to a ridge that would give her a panoramic view of the Southern Gododdin lands. As soon as the scent of pine and sycamore filled her nostrils, she could pick the southern trail by pure memory, she’d ridden it so often. The darkness did not bother her, though she still rested her hand on the hilt of her dirk. Thieves lurked in the forest. No one was safe outside Dunpelder’s walls. The dog trotted alongside her. Og would alert her of any brigands before they attacked.