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

by Amy Jarecki

  “I think not.” She nibbled at his earlobe. “I’d wager it will be the other way around.”

  “Never.” With their bodies still joined, Titus carried her to the deeper water.

  She clung to him tighter. “’Tis cold.”

  “After a quick bath, we’ll set a snare and eat.”

  “And make love again?”

  He chuckled. “As often as you’d like.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The following morning, Titus didn’t want to wake. If only he and Elspeth could remain at their oasis forever. They’d made love until they both were so exhausted sleep claimed them in each other’s arms. Titus had never come close to experiencing such powerful love for a woman. Elspeth pleased him in every imaginable way.

  But he was no man of ideology. Titus had much to atone for. Doubtless, Greum would be upset.

  They had a full day’s ride ahead. Along the way, Elspeth chatted, describing Dunpelder in detail. Titus watched her and grinned. He could listen to the lilt of her voice endlessly.

  When the forest opened to a wide-open lea, Titus’s jaw dropped. Ahead, an enormous butte dominated the grassy landscape. Dunpelder. Atop, a mighty fortress rose above, reigning over Goddodin with all the splendor of Vindolanda.

  When Elspeth spoke of the stronghold, he had imagined a single turret setting atop a butte, looming over a vast untamed wilderness. Titus had only been as far as the ruins of the Antonine Wall. The rugged countryside to that point had helped him understand why his predecessors thought the northern tribes as barbarians. In addition, he and Elspeth had traveled on little more than game trails. At times he wondered how she could possibly have picked her way through the thick undergrowth in the forests.

  He’d expected to see something like Josias’s tower—a crude but functional fortress. He’d underestimated the Picts in every way. How so very Roman of me.

  Elspeth spurred Tessie to a canter. “Hurry!”

  Grasping the leads of his warhorses, Titus followed her to the north side of the butte. Salty sea air filled his nostrils and he cast his gaze northward. In the distance, whitecaps rolled into the shore. “Is that the North Sea?”

  “Aye—flowing into the Firth of Forth.”

  Titus reined his horse to a stop and filled his gaze with wonder. This place was magical.

  “Come,” Elspeth called over her shoulder.

  She led him up a steep trail. Cresting the top, an enormous battlement surrounded the fortress. Titus had to crane his neck to see the top of the tower behind the gatehouse.

  “Ye look surprised,” Elspeth said as she led him across a bridge over a defensive ditch and in through the three-foot-wide double gates.

  “’Tis impressive.”

  She grinned at him. “Picts are impressive.”

  The clang of the blacksmith’s shop echoed above the hum of merchant’s activity and shod horse hooves clomping over the cobblestones. Greum raced toward them on the narrow road, cursing in his Celtic tongue. Titus knew only a few words, but immediately realized he would be at a disadvantage.

  He scarcely had time to dismount when a boy greeted him and pulled the horses from his grasp. By the hay clinging to his plaid, Titus assumed him to be a stable hand, and let him take the reins.

  Greum glared at him and asked a question in his foreign tongue.

  “Pardon? I’m afraid my Celtic is not good.”

  The man looked skyward. “Bloody right—ye do not belong here, Roman. Come, we’ll meet with the king to determine what is to be done with ye.” He turned to Elspeth. “What took ye so long? We were about to send out a search party.”

  She crossed her arms. “We stopped to kill the Roman scouts.”

  Greum gave her shoulder a nudge. “Ye get them all?”

  “Nay. I only had three arrows, and before Titus could finish them, two turned tail back to Hadrian’s Wall.”

  Manas and Alerio approached. Titus nodded at his optio. “How long have you been here?”

  “A day and a bit.” He pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “Did you capture those horses?”

  “Yes.” Titus winked. “I thought they might come in handy if we need to barter.”

  Greum stepped between them. “The king is waiting in his chamber.”

  Titus threw his shoulders back and eyed Elspeth’s brother. He didn’t want to pose a challenge to the Pict but nonetheless needed to be assertive. “Good. Dulcitius will come after us, mark my words.”

  Greum’s face grew dark. “’Tis as we feared, ye’ve brought a whole Roman legion upon us.” He led the way into the great hall, while onlookers stopped and stared. The boy, Manas, clung to Elspeth, yammering excitedly in his foreign tongue. Greum led them through a great hall lined with benches and tables then turned into a passage. About halfway down, he knocked on a door.

  “Come,” said a deep bass voice from inside.

  King Taran sat at a rough-hewn table with a silver pitcher and five matching tankards. Greum bowed. Titus and Alerio followed suit as Elspeth curtseyed. Taran gestured toward the wooden chairs surrounding the table. “Sit.” The sweet hint of honey from the mead laced the air as he poured it into the five tankards. “Drink with me, for there is much to discuss.”

  Titus reached for the tankard the king offered and took a refreshing swig. “Thank you for using Latin. I must have Elspeth help me with Celtic.”

  The king nodded. “Not many Romans have taken the time to learn our language like the queen has done.” He looked toward Greum and then back to Titus. “I am afraid with your rescue we’ve brought great danger upon ourselves.”

  “My apologies.” Titus swallowed. “I have no doubt Dulcitius will attack.”

  “Ye must leave at once.”

  Titus scratched his chin and forced himself to calm the churning of his gut. “Of course I will do whatever you think best, but would you not rather I stay and help you fight the Romans?”

  “Do you think they will raid Dunpelder if you are not here?”

  “Yes. I know Dulcitius. He will wreak havoc until he is killed or he captures me. Even with my arrest he may not stop. The man is insane with hate.”

  “Then ye will remain, but when the battle is won, ye must leave.”

  Elspeth leaned forward. “If ye banish him, ye banish me.”

  Greum sliced his hands through the air. “Nay. Ye are me responsibility. I will no’ allow ye to go with a Roman.”

  Elspeth opened her mouth to object, but Titus placed his hand over hers and shook his head. This was not the time to argue—not yet. He glanced between Greum and Taran. “May I speak with you in private?”

  Elspeth shot him a questioning look, but Titus held up his hand. “I will see you in the hall.” He squeezed her fingers, and she left with Alerio. When the door closed behind them, Titus knit his brows. He hadn’t thought about the words he would choose, only the feelings behind them. He stared Greum in the eye. “I am in love with your sister.”

  “I knew it.” Greum slammed his fist on the table. “When Elspeth told me she loved ye, I forbade her to ride to yer rescue.”

  “Little good that did, I see,” Titus said.

  “Do not provoke me. But aye, Elspeth will follow her own mind and pay little heed to anyone else.”

  Titus nodded, calculating what he’d say next. Telling the Pict he’d married Greum’s sister might see him hanged. He sucked in a deep breath. “I want to marry her.”

  Greum shoved his chair back and drew his sword. “Ye will no’ be marrying me sister or any other Pict.”

  Titus wrapped his fingers around his hilt—ready for anything.

  “Sheathe your weapon, Greum.” Taran held up his hand and glared at Titus. “Elspeth is the daughter of King Ewan. She follows the royal female line. Her first male offspring will be considered heir to the throne or chieftain of a province.”

  Titus swallowed. Elspeth hadn’t told him that.

  Greum leaned forward. “Ye see. She must marry a Pict.”

&n
bsp; Could things grow worse? “What about Queen Valeria?”

  The king’s fingertips brushed the jeweled hilt of his own sword. “Explain yourself.”

  “Valeria is a Roman noblewoman.”

  “Aye, but she went through a rigorous trial to become a Pict.”

  “My father is a Roman senator, and was a general before that. My breeding is similar to the queen’s.” Titus looked at the two sets of angry eyes that glared at him from across the table. “I would like to declare myself a Pict.”

  “Impossible,” Taran said.

  Titus’s empty belly roiled. “Help me understand. Valeria could be put to the test, but I am not eligible? Why?”

  “Because you are a soldier of Rome. You have killed our own in the name of the emperor.” Taran folded his arms. “Even if I did permit it, the Pict elders would never allow you to pass their test.” He leaned forward. “And then there is the issue of Seumas’s death.”

  I suppose things can always become worse. Titus hated that any man had died because of him. “Understood. I owe a great deal—my life to you.” He bowed. “It bears me great pain he lost his life because of me.”

  Both men frowned.

  Titus could not allow this to pass. No matter what, his primary concern must be Elspeth and their unborn child. He would fight to the death to protect them. He would fight to the death to keep them with him. Middle ground be damned. “Elspeth is with child—my child.”

  “Nooooo!” Greum bellowed. He launched himself across the table and wrapped his hands around Titus’s neck. The chair clattered to the floor. Titus’s head hit hard. Grinding his teeth, he shoved Greum’s jaw with the heel of his hand.

  Taran bounded from his seat and yanked Greum off Titus, throwing him across the room like a bale of hay.

  Titus gaped at the king’s strength. Greum was no small boy.

  Taran pointed at Greum. “Stay.” He turned to Titus, his face cherry red. “Ye are no Pict. Ye do not bear the markings of a Pict man. Ye have no sign of a Pict father over yer heart. Ye are banished forever.” He drew his long sword and held it under Titus’s chin. “Guards! Put this man on a horse and escort him and his squire to the northern edge of Gododdin.”

  Pict warriors funneled into the room, surrounding Titus with their pikes pointed at his head. Elspeth shrieked from the doorway. “Ye cannot do this!”

  Taran sheathed his sword and glance toward her. “Ye have shamed the Picts and will be locked in the tower until I can determine what will be done with ye.” He clapped his hands twice. “Now go.”

  Two soldiers seized Elspeth and escorted her away. “Titus!”

  “I will return. Mark me,” Titus roared as a warrior bolted iron manacles on his wrists.

  Greum scowled across the room, following while they pushed Titus out of the chamber and through the hall beside Alerio.

  “Are you well?” Titus asked under his breath.

  “Bloody fine,” Alerio growled.

  Forced to mount horses with their hands in chains the two Romans rode in the center of the formation with King Taran leading the formation of guards out Dunpelder’s gates.

  The last thing Titus heard when he crossed through the gates was Elspeth cry his name from a window high above the great hall.

  ****

  Elspeth wailed into the pillow on the narrow pallet in the tiny chamber. She had pounded and kicked the door until her fists bled, but it was no use. Trapped, her body shook with horrid hollowness. Why had she and Titus returned to Dunpelder? They could have stayed in Rothbury Forest forever. She’d known Greum would not accept Titus. He had said himself he considered no one good enough for her.

  Elspeth curled into a ball as tears clouded her vision. Her cries thudded against the stone walls. She had rescued Titus only to have him ripped from her grasp. Hugging herself, she rocked in a hopeless attempt to soothe her aching heart. Her jaw trembled as spittle moistened her lips and drooled down her chin. Every muscle in her body burned, inflamed by Elspeth’s anger. She wanted to beat down the door to the chamber and leap from the battlement—not to die, but to fly on eagle’s wings to her beloved Titus.

  Darkness filled the chamber when her cries ebbed into uncontrolled staccato breaths. Her eyes swollen, her insides ached, as though someone had hollowed her out like a sheep ready for the spit.

  She ignored the light rap on the door. The bar scraped across the wood. Queen Valeria slipped inside, carrying a candle. Dashing to the bed, she opened her arm and embraced Elspeth’s shoulders. “You are with child.” She placed the light on the floor beside them.

  “Aye, and I’ll have no father to care for it.” Elspeth tried to calm her breathing with a deep inhale. “There was no one to marry us, so we took our vows before God. I used me hair as the ribbon and bound our wrists as one. We are wed. Greum cannot make me marry another.”

  Valeria took in a deep breath. “Greum is insane with rage. But he will come to his senses when the fire in his heart ebbs.”

  “But both the king and Greum tossed me in here as if I’m an outlaw.”

  “They put you in here to protect you from yourself.” She patted Elspeth’s hand. “He knew you would run for Titus.”

  “It matters not how long I rot in this chamber, I will find him when I am released. We are one, bound by a lifelong oath.”

  “I know you are.” The queen looked toward the thick wooden rafters. “I am unhappy with my husband’s decision to banish Titus to the north. The poor centurion does not even know our language. Not only that, he could have helped us prepare for certain war.”

  Elspeth clung to Valeria’s arm and squeezed. “I must go to him. Can ye help me to break free?”

  She covered her mouth and nodded. “You must give the Picts time to cool first. The entire stronghold is upset by Seumas’s death. They blame Titus, and they blame you.”

  “Me?” Elspeth hung her head. “If it is anyone’s fault, it is mine. I could not fire me arrows fast enough.”

  “You would not have been in that situation but for Titus.” Valeria rested her palm on Elspeth’s cheek. “Give it a few days. I will ensure you are well fed to enable you to maintain your strength.”

  ****

  Dulcitius had remained in Vindolanda while he waited for news that Titus had been delivered to the ship in Arbeia. When word came that Titus had escaped, he was confident his men would chase him down, possibly even kill the centurion. The death of a fleeing prisoner was more than pardonable—even if he was innocent.

  Dulcitius pounded a fist against his chest. Innocence. Titus was guilty by his mere birth, by his wealthy father and all that his family stood for.

  He looked up when Paulus entered the war room. “Legionaries have returned from the north, sir.”

  “Send them in.”

  Paulus ushered in two soldiers and stood inside the doorway behind them.

  A sinking rock dropped in Dulcitius’s gut when the men approached with long faces, helmets in the crooks of their elbows. “Tell me your news is good. I have matters in York. This miserable outpost does not agree with me.”

  “They ambushed us.”

  “And?”

  “He got away.”

  “You came back without capturing the prisoner?”

  “Yes sir, they killed the rest of our troops.”

  Dulcitius narrowed his eyes and meandered up to one of the soldiers until he stood nose to nose. “A smart soldier would know not to return with news such as this.” He slid his hand down to his hilt. Tingles rippled up his spine at what he was about to do.

  “Sir, we returned for reinforcements. We can lead you back to the trail.”

  “The trail will be long cold, you dimwitted piece of putrid carp.” Dulcitius took a small step back, drew his sword and plunged it into the legionary’s gut. With a smirk, he looked at his next victim, planted his foot and spun. His blade hissed as he swung it across the soldier’s neck. The legionary’s head sat atop his shoulders with a vacant expression to his eyes, h
is mouth drawn down in a despicable grimace.

  Dulcitius sneered and kicked the carcass backward. The severed head toppled and rolled against the wall. The blood of the two soldiers pooled on the stone floor. “Paulus. Get someone in here to clean up this mess.”

  The optio stepped forward. “Yes, sir.”

  “Organize a cohort. Two-hundred-forty men ought to have no problem sacking a barbarian fortress—even if the barbarians do have the former centurion fighting on their side.” He looked at the soldiers toting the bodies out of the chamber. “Fetch the scout.”

  Paulus bowed. “Ride at dawn, sir?”

  “No. We’ll ride as soon as the scout arrives.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  He clenched his fists until his fingernails bit into his flesh. “I want Titus’s head this time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Titus stared at Taran’s back as the king led the procession west to the far edge of the Firth of Forth. Titus recognized the ruins of the Antonine Wall—the place where he’d met Taran to sign the treaty. Miserable useless piece of velum.

  The king held up his hand to signal all to stop and steered his horse around. “This is the edge of Gododdin. Due north ye will find more of me kin. The Attacotti reside to the northeast. They’d sooner cut yer heart out and eat it than to shake yer hand. Seven days ride, northwest is the isle of Raasay. When last reported, it was uninhabited. If it is a home ye’re wishing to build, I suggest ye start there.”

  Titus shot Alerio a sidewise glance. “And why show us this kindness?”

  “The queen begged for leniency, and I did not lose me friend Seumas to turn around and execute the man he was trying to save.”

  “What will happen to Elspeth?”

  “She is a Pict and will be protected by her own. Ye must forget her. If ye return, I will nay be so kind.” Taran nodded to one of his warriors who tossed two Roman short swords on the ground. “Do not touch these weapons until we pass the crest of the hill.”

  “My thanks,” Titus said.

  “I’ll save yer thanks for the queen.” Taran dug his heels into the barrel of his horse and led his men over the hill—back to Dunpelder and Elspeth.