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

by Amy Jarecki

  “Thank ye.” Elspeth removed her weapons and lifted a piece of bread from the table. “And gratitude for allowing Seumas to ride with me.”

  Pia patted Elspeth’s hand. “Though born into slavery, I spent most of my life in Rome. I’ve seen the skullduggery that goes on there.” Pia chuckled. “Go rescue your man, and bring my husband back unscathed. ’Tis all I ask.”

  Elspeth chewed on her bread and Pia ushered her to the bench at the table. “You must eat a good meal before you set out.” Pia loaded a trencher with ham and scrambled eggs and set it in front of her. “I’ll wake the men while you eat—and I want to see every morsel gone when I return.”

  “Och, this is enough food for a week.”

  Pia shook her finger with her eyebrows disappearing under her wimple. “I mean what I say. You’ll need your strength.”

  The men straggled into the kitchen. All except eleven-year-old Manas. The lad raced past Greum and stopped beside Elspeth. “Are ye ready to ride on our great adventure?”

  She mussed his curls. “Aye.”

  Greum plodded in with a ferocious scowl on his face and his shoulder-length brown hair looking like he’d taken a teasing comb to it. Elspeth covered her laugh with her hand.

  “What?” Greum asked.

  “Ye look a sight.”

  He rolled his hand in a mock bow. “Pardon me, m’lady. I did not realize I was heading to a gathering.” He glanced to Manas. “Lad, ye have to stay behind with Pia. This is man’s work.”

  Manas puffed out his chest with his fists on his hips. “I’ll not stay behind. I saved Queen Valeria from the tyrant Runan. I’m ready, Master Greum.” He stepped forward with a less assured, pleading grimace. “Ye have to let me go. I can hold the horses. I’ll hide if there’s a skirmish. Pleeease, Master Greum. Ye cannot leave me behind.”

  Greum rolled his eyes to the rafters—he had been doing a lot of that of late. “Why do ye have to twist me heart into knots afore I’ve broken me fast?” He climbed over the bench and sat beside Elspeth. “All right. But if ye disobey one word, I’ll hogtie ye to the nearest tree and leave ye there for the wolves.”

  The lad’s mop of brown curls shook like an overexcited puppy as his white teeth beamed. “Thank ye, sir. I’ll prove me worth.”

  “Aye, ye will.”

  With her stomach about to burst, Elspeth finished her mound of food and stood. She slung the four quivers of arrows over her shoulders and fastened the sword around her waist.

  Greum stopped mid chew. “Just what do ye think ye’re doing?”

  “Preparing meself for battle.”

  “Ye look like a Roman god of war—all ye need is a spear.”

  The corner of Elspeth’s mouth ticked up. “Ye have one?”

  “Och, have ye looked under yer dress in the past decade? Ye are a woman. Ye cannot wield a heavy Pictish sword. Yer bones are too fine. How many times must I tell ye that?”

  “I need to defend meself in close proximity. I cannot fire an arrow at a man when he’s swinging a battle-axe at me face.”

  Greum looked to Seumas as the older man marched into the kitchen. “Take a gander at me sister. She’s going to kill them all.” Then he pointed his dirk at her. “If ye insist on strapping that sword around yer waist, I’ll not be going with ye.”

  Elspeth took off her arrow quivers, unclasped the belt and fastened it across a shoulder, with the sword snug against her back. “’Tis only a precaution.” She shot her brother a quick nod, snatched up her arrows and plodded out of the kitchen before he could say another word.

  ****

  Taran met Elspeth and the men at the stable with a pack mule laden with parcels and two Roman shields affixed to each side of the pack harness. “Due to the queen’s condition, I cannot ride with ye, but these Roman uniforms might be useful when ye get to Arbeia.”

  Greum patted the mule’s rump. “My thanks.”

  “Aye, ’twill be much easier to ride through their gates if they think us Romans,” Seumas agreed.

  Fionn mounted his horse. “Their helmets have side flaps that will hide our tattoos.”

  A weight lifted from Elspeth’s shoulders. “Thank ye, Sire.” They had a plan. Now they needed make haste and arrive before the ship sailed.

  They rode hard and fast through the long journey southeast, rising at dawn and stopping at dark. Though the summer days were long, their pace was not fast enough for Elspeth. Late on the second day, they took the path heading east toward Fort Chesters—the one Colin the Gale took when he separated from Titus and Elspeth the last time she’d passed this way. Journeying southeast would save them a day.

  They were cutting it close, but Greum assured her if the ship sailed as scheduled, they’d make it to Arbeia in time. Besides, it was best to go in quickly and get out. The longer they loitered around the port, the more likely they’d arouse suspicion.

  Elspeth estimated it was past midnight when they stopped to camp a mile or so north of Fort Benwell, two milecastles east of Chesters. This set them up for an easy morning ride to the coast.

  They did not light a fire, but ate dried meat from the food satchels that Pia had prepared. With only the moonlight shining upon their campsite, Elspeth kicked at the ground to ensure no large stones jutted up from where she would lay her blanket—at least with midsummer the night air was mild.

  Once the horses were hobbled, Greum had the group gather in a circle. “We shall dress in the Roman uniforms come morning.”

  “Where will we cross the border?” Fionn asked.

  “Can I dress like a Roman too?” Manas asked in his boyish voice.

  “If ye’d let me talk, I’ll tell ye the plan.” Greum sliced a hand through the air. “We’ll ride through at Wallsend and cross the River Tyne.” Elspeth could see the whites of his eyes shift to the lad. “Manas, ye’re too small to wear a uniform, so we’ll escort ye across as our prisoner—say ye’re a thief and ye’re bound to serve the Roman navy.”

  “Good idea,” Elspeth said. “That will give us reason, too.”

  “Och. If ye let me finish, we all might get some sleep.”

  Elspeth pursed her lips. Och, me brother thinks he’s the only one here with a mind.

  Greum cleared his throat. “I’m hoping we come upon Titus’s escort before we reach Arbeia. If we do, we’ll ride ahead of them and set an ambush. If no, we’ll ride straight to the docks as if we’re on important business.”

  “We are on important business.”

  “Wheesht, Elspeth.” Greum thwacked her shoulder. “Chances are that the whole waterfront will be bubbling with gossip about the centurion. Elspeth and I are the only ones who speak Latin, so ye shouldn’t be opening yer mouths—that goes for ye too, Sis. Let me do the talking.”

  Elspeth nodded and rubbed her arm where he’d hit it, the tyrant.

  “If we must nab him in Arbeia, ’twill be much riskier. Timing is everything. We cannot allow him to board that ship else all will be lost. Once we nab him, we’ll be running like foxes. If we get separated, we’ll meet back here—so mark this spot in yer minds—we’ll hobble the mule here and stow our clothes.”

  Elspeth looked at the determined faces of her volunteers. An unlikely group they were, but she was relieved to have their support.

  “Let’s get some sleep—we’ve but a few hours left before dawn,” Seumas said. He was generally a good-natured person, unless he lacked sleep—then it was best not to speak to him for fear of getting yer head chewed off.

  Elspeth lay on her saddle blanket with her cloak clutched under her chin. She stared up at the moon and wondered if it could see Titus just as it could see her. Where was he? It tied her insides in knots to think he may have been whipped to within an inch of his life. Then the sinking rock in the pit of her stomach dropped further. What if Dulcitius was there? Of course once they rescued Titus, the Romans would pursue them, and Dulcitius would not stop until one of them was dead. The Picts had to be smarter and faster. She reached up her hand and ran her
fingers over the smooth willow of her bow. Please give me a direct line of sight to that villainous toad-spotted lout, so I can end his reign of tyranny. She knew her words weren’t exactly what Bishop Elusius had alluded to in his lessons, but at least she’d prayed.

  Oh yes, and please watch over Titus so we can save him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Elspeth woke before the sun, and before the snoring males around her. Too nervous to think about food, she untied the leather thongs that held the parcels together. A wad of orange tunics spilled out, and Elspeth held one up and sniffed. Fortunately it had been washed and smelled of rosemary soap. Thank ye, Pia.

  The next parcel contained bronze breastplates and the next bronze helmets with white horsehair crests. There were four Roman short swords with scabbards, four chainmail shirts and four doublets—four of everything. The king must have known Greum would never allow Manas to ride into Arbeia. Besides, he was too small to fit into a man’s uniform. The lad would look so outrageously awkward, it would be the first thing to give them away.

  She picked the smallest tunic and headed into the brush. She pulled it over her head and though it was a bit big in the shoulders, the tunic was snug against her breasts. She remembered her man-costume tied to her saddle and popped out of the wood to fetch the strip of cloth she used to bind her breasts.

  Greum rolled over and opened his eyes. “Yer legs are too womanish to be a man’s. One look at those lily whites and ye’ll give us away.”

  Elspeth looked down at her slender legs. They were rather feminine when compared to Titus’s thick, muscular tree-trunks, or even her brother’s long lean-muscled legs covered with ginger hair. “I could wear me trousers under. I’ve seen soldiers with leg wrappings beneath their tunics. It wouldn’t look all that odd.”

  Greum sat up and stretched. “Try it. Anything’s better than yer bare legs.”

  “Ye say that as if me legs are hideous.”

  Greum rubbed his eyes and looked toward the pile of Roman armor. “At least we have a breastplate to cover yer udders. Those things are about to burst the seams on yer tunic.”

  “Shut it.” Elspeth threw a pinecone at him. “I’ll look like a Roman soldier. Just wait until I’ve got meself dressed.”

  She untied her man-clothes from her saddle and grabbed a set of Roman armor, including a short sword. Greum could not object to her disguise. After Elspeth bound her breasts, the tunic fit somewhat better, and all signs of her breasts disappeared when she laced up the leather doublet and pulled the heavy chainmail over. After sliding the harness that held the bronze breastplate over her head, she took a deep breath, and her head swooned. With an extra few stones riding on her chest, she wondered how a legionary could march all day in this contraption.

  Ye’d best become used to it.

  Elspeth braided her hair and tied it against her head, then slipped on the helmet. She bobbed her chin a couple of times to test the fit. Her hair absorbed most of the slack and it only slipped a little.

  When she stepped back into the clearing, Greum scowled at her, but said nothing. She grinned. His silence meant approval. He just doesn’t like the fact that I’m here. She saddled Tessie and hid the Pictish broadsword under. For Titus.

  Manas stepped in beside her. “I wish I could put on a disguise.”

  “Ye’re already wearing yer costume.” She mussed his hair and stooped down, rubbed her hands with dirt and brushed them across his face. “There, now ye look like a real thieving scoundrel.”

  Once outfitted, they rode off looking like a genuine Roman scout bringing the wayward boy to justice. Elspeth assessed the men. With the bronze flaps of their helmets tied under their chins, their tattoos were not visible.

  At the Wallsend bridge, they encountered their first guards. As planned, Greum took the lead and did the talking. “We’re taking this roustabout to Arbeia to join the ship. He’s a thieving bastard this one.”

  Elspeth thought his accent a little heavy, but there were local auxiliary troops employed as scouts.

  The guard stepped up to Greum to get a closer look. “Do I know you?”

  “Not likely. We’re stationed at Houseteads.”

  Another guard walked up to Elspeth and pulled her long sword out of its hiding place. “What is this?”

  Her heart lurched. “Spoils of war,” she said in her man-voice.

  Greum frowned and she shrugged at him. What was she supposed to do, pretend she was a mute?

  The guard examined the intricate etchings on the blade. “Nice. I’ll give you a denarius for it.”

  Elspeth shook her head, but Greum jumped in before she could utter another word. “’Tis worth far more than that. Come, we’ve no time for bartering.” He turned toward the first guard. “Have ye heard what happened to the Primus Pilus Centurion?”

  “Titus is no centurion now. A mounted escort passed by near half-hour ago with that traitor in chains.”

  “Aye…Uh…You do not say? How many men did it take to guard him?”

  The legionary chuckled. “Dulcitius is taking no chances—he sent ten soldiers to accompany Titus and the boy.”

  Alerio. Elspeth wanted to speak his name aloud, but it would give her away. They now must rescue two.

  The second guard returned Elspeth’s sword to its hiding place and squinted up at her. “You are the fairest soldier on the wall, I say.”

  Greum spurred his mount ahead. “They lashed me up with a couple of youthful boys and an old man.”

  “’Tis a good thing you were not chasing down a mob of barbarians, else you’d be dead.” The first guard laughed. “A little boy you could handle, hey?”

  Greum increased the pace to a swift trot. After they cleared the fort, Elspeth rode up beside him. “They have Alerio as well.”

  “And who the blazes is that?” he growled.

  “The young legionary who helped me when Titus was benumbed with fever. We need to rescue him as well.”

  “Aye? Pretty soon ye’ll have us saving every soldier loyal to yer hog-brained Titus.”

  Elspeth ignored Greum’s remark and spurred her mount to a gallop. With only one mile to Arbeia, the horses could be pushed. Greum’s cursing grew louder as he rode his gelding beside her.

  “Slow down, ye dimwitted woman. Ye want the Romans to suspect us afore we arrive?”

  Grinding her teeth, Elspeth pulled on her reins. This once Greum was right. But how much she needed to see Titus. She could feel his presence in her bones.

  When the fort loomed in sight, Greum led them to a copse of trees. “Manas, ye wait here, lad.”

  “But…” The boy’s frown looked pitiful under his dirty cheeks.

  “Ye will no’ argue.” Greum turned toward the others. “It looks as if we’ve missed our chance to nab the centurion before he enters the fortress. We’ll ride through the gates as if we have important business. There’ll most likely be a crowd around Titus because everyone likes to see a traitor receive his just deserves. Elspeth, as soon as we spot him, climb the nearest high spot and ready yer arrows.” Greum looked to the others. “We’ll ride in as close as we can. As soon as I have Titus on the back of me horse, ride for the gates. Elspeth, ye need to race for the gates before they close.”

  “And what of Alerio?”

  A line formed along Greum’s lips.

  Fionn leaned forward on his horse. “If I can get close enough, I’ll pull him onto me horse.”

  Greum sliced his palm through the air. “Och. ’Tis not our first priority. Do not risk yer life to save him.”

  Fionn nodded. “I’ll only nab him if I see an opportunity.”

  Greum looked to Manas. “Be prepared to ride, we’ll be coming fast.” He pointed to the river about fifty yards to the north. “We’ll cross there.”

  The lad nodded his head. Seumas gave his shoulder a pat. “Ye’ve done us a great service, lad, helping us cross the border. Now listen to Greum. If we’re forced to ride after ye, someone could get killed. Ye understand?”


  “Aye. I’ll be ready.”

  The fort at Arbeia buzzed with activity. No one stopped Elspeth and her party when they rode through the double-arched western gates at a rapid trot. Though most Roman forts did not allow trade with the indigenous inside, local merchants displayed goods for sale on the eastern side, near the pier.

  The smell of salt and rotting fish permeated the air. Elspeth spied a sole Roman long ship moored at the pier. Due to the dense crowd, they slowed their pace as they rode through the market. Merchants peddled everything from fine silk to boiled sheep’s brains—the noxious pall churned Elspeth’s stomach.

  Gusts of fresh sea air washed the unpleasant smells away when they cleared the market. At first, Elspeth feared Titus may have already boarded the ship, but raucous cheers from a mob to their right caught her attention. Her insides churned when she caught a clear view of Titus’s uncovered head above the others in the center of the crowd. The horsehair crests of soldiers pushed toward the pier that jutted into the sea alongside the ship as onlookers shouted taunts.

  “There they are.” She pointed ahead.

  “Go!” Greum said.

  The pier had no vantage point, but ahead, just beyond Titus, a giant statue of Emperor Hadrian stood upon a pedestal, his stony arm pointing out to sea. He’s most likely pointing to Rome.

  Elspeth spurred Tessie ahead, past the mob. She stretched high in her saddle, willing Titus to look her way. Dressed in nothing but his subligar, he snapped his head round, and her heart soared as she flung her hand over her head with a single wave. His eyes met hers and then darted away. Dressed as a legionary with a helmet pulled low, she wasn’t certain he’d recognized her. Good. He wouldn’t want to give away me vantage point.