For some reason her action ignited the smoldering fury, frustration—love—that had seethed beneath the surface for untold hours. He’d resigned himself to never seeing her again. And here she was, seeking him out. Grinding his pride into the dirt with every word she uttered.
“If you want to keep me as your lover while you marry your Roman patrician then you’ve had a wasted journey. I decline the offer.”
Even in the dusky twilight, he saw the blush stain her cheeks. But she didn’t break eye contact or stiffen in affront.
“I came to tell you that I’m not going to marry the praetor.”
Shock stabbed through him. She’d been so adamant earlier that day. He’d wanted nothing more than for her to change her mind. But he hadn’t seriously imagined she would. So what had happened?
“Why not?” He realized his fingers were biting into her shoulder and forcibly relaxed his grip. But he couldn’t release her. Gods, he never wanted to release her. What life would he have in the land of the Picts, if Antonia wasn’t there to share it with him?
She angled her head in a proud manner that sent a lingering pain through his heart. “I choose to embrace my destiny, instead of having it thrust upon me by outside forces.”
A chill inched over his flesh. Embrace your destiny. Those were the words his gods had said through Antonia the night she had suffered a vision. It was sheer coincidence she repeated them here, now.
“And what of your daughter? Does she no longer deserve to embrace her destiny, as a patrician in Rome?” The words seared his throat. The way they’d seared his heart when Antonia had thrown them in his face.
“Please, Gawain.” There was a pleading note in her voice that instantly raised his suspicions. What was she hiding? “Can you not simply accept that I was wrong? I’ve—had time to think it over, and I could never resume another life in Rome with a man I don’t love.”
He didn’t believe her. She’d had plenty of time to think of how her life would be if she returned to Rome. His hand slid along her arm and he threaded his fingers through hers.
“Tell me, Antonia.” His voice was unforgiving. “What happened to change your mind since you left my hut?” He used the word deliberately. Reminding her of the vast differences in their lifestyles. In case she had forgotten.
Her thumb caressed his and despite how she’d trampled on his heart, despite the current circumstances and the anger that seethed beneath the surface, desire flared with rampant disregard.
Desire would always be a facet when it came to Antonia. He gritted his teeth and refused to succumb to the insistent imperative to claim her lips and remind her that she was his.
She hesitated for another moment. The she took a deep breath. “Do you swear on the names of your forefathers that, no matter what I say, you’ll not seek vengeance?”
Dull rage thudded through his chest. He’d been right. The praetor had blackmailed her into agreeing to marry him. And that bastard had looked him in the eye and sworn he had not.
And Gawain had believed him.
“He’ll never harm Cassia as long as there’s breath in my body.” He tugged Antonia closer. He would protect her and Cassia with his life. “How can he call himself a man, to threaten an innocent child?”
Antonia frowned, as though she had not the slightest idea what he was talking about.
“The praetor didn’t threaten Cassia.” There was an unmistakable note of shock in her voice and he stared at her as confusion gnawed through his chest. If the praetor hadn’t threatened her beloved daughter, then what was Antonia talking about? He was convinced he was right. That he had always been right in this matter. The only reason Antonia had agreed to the praetor’s demand was because she felt she had no other choice.
“Then who did he threaten?” The only other person was her father. So had her father confronted the praetor and somehow released Antonia from her pledge?
The silence ate through him as Antonia stared at him as though she regretted having confided in him. Finally she spoke.
“You.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
For a moment Gawain didn’t comprehend what she meant. Him? The praetor had coerced Antonia by threatening him?
Disbelief slammed through him. “What were you thinking? How could you even imagine doing such a thing?” He resisted the urge to shake her. The need to crush her in his arms. The overwhelming desire to bury his face in her hair and reassure himself that she was here. She was safe. That the danger of her leaving for Rome had passed.
But how could she have agreed to something so vile in the first place?
“Why do you think, Gawain?” Her voice was soft but there was a thread of unmistakable power that pulled him from his jagged thoughts. “I would do a great deal to ensure your safety.”
No. This was wrong. Antonia should never have to put her happiness at stake because of him. He’d gut that fucking Roman before he allowed the bastard to put one hand on her.
Above the roar that filled his head and the thunder of his heart in his chest, Antonia’s words echoed through his mind.
She wasn’t going to marry the praetor.
The constriction within his chest eased. It didn’t matter what the praetor threatened against Gawain. He could take care of himself. Thank the gods Antonia had come to her senses in time and realized that.
“The praetor,” Antonia said, “has concluded his mission for the emperor in Britannia. He’s returning to Rome shortly.”
Why would he return to Rome when he had vowed vengeance on Gawain? Unease slithered through his veins. There was still something that Antonia hadn’t told him.
“What did you promise him, Antonia? Why is he leaving Britain without,” he’d almost said crucifying, “killing me for taking who he covets?”
“Because I confronted him with the truth.” She took a deep breath, as though for courage. “There have been too many lies in my past. I don’t need to be protected for my own good or because a man considers I’m incapable of making and living with my own decisions.”
She looked up at him, her gaze intent, as though she were trying to see inside his head and discover his deadly secrets.
But he couldn’t tell her what he truly was. To expose her to that aspect of him could put her in danger. It had nothing to do with him considering her incapable of handling the truth. He simply didn’t want to risk her safety by knowing the truth.
“We’ll travel north together, as soon as Cassia arrives in Britain.”
She didn’t answer right away but he saw a flicker of what looked oddly like disappointment in her eyes. Before he could attempt to decipher why he should imagine such a thing, she lowered her head and focused on his jaw.
“Yes.” Her voice was low and although she’d agreed with him a sense of unease pierced through him. “I know it will not be an easy life, living with a warrior, but I’d rather be by your side than anywhere else in the world.”
“I’m more than a warrior.” He raised her hand and kissed her chilled knuckles. “Before the invasion I was a seeker of truth and teacher of my people.”
As a Chosen One of Lugus he was a custodian for the sacred history of the Druids. He had upheld their laws and counseled people in times of despair or dispute. While he was, and would always be, a warrior, a part of his soul craved to return to the time when he could also assist his people in a less bloodthirsty manner.
Only time would tell whether the Picts would ever trust him enough to enjoy such a life.
Antonia remained silent and as he stared at her averted face, a sliver of guilt stirred deep inside. He’d just told her he was a seeker of truth. Yet he withheld from her the most important element of who he was.
She’d just told him there had been too many lies in her past. Did he intend to dishonor her courage by lying to her, even if merely by omission, in the future?
Instinctively his fingers tightened around hers. He didn’t fear that she would call her guards to arrest him when she learned the tru
th. Only that she might decide to leave him here on this unlikely crossroads, and return to her own people.
“There’s something about me you should know.” His voice was gruff. She looked up at him and he forced himself to continue. “Something that may cause you to change your mind about sharing your life with me.”
“You can tell me anything, Gawain.”
He knew that. But the confession stuck in his throat. There was no easy way to say the words. Only the stark truth.
“I’m a Druid.”
The tense expression on her face relaxed and a smile illuminated her face. Stunned, he stared at her. Whatever reaction he’d expected, it most certainly hadn’t been this. She appeared relieved.
“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” Her whisper was scarcely loud enough to be heard, but it wasn’t the words that rendered him speechless. It was the meaning behind her words.
She had known. How long had she known? Would she ever have confronted him, if he’d not taken the leap of faith and confessed to her?
He watched her raise his hand and press her lips against his knuckles. He cleared his throat and barely noticed how the storm clouds faded in the sky.
“It was never about a question of trust.”
She looked up at him and he realized that wasn’t what she had meant. She knew he trusted her not to share the deadly secret of his heritage. It was because he trusted that she was strong enough to accept the legacy of his forefathers and everything it entailed.
“I have a confession of my own.” She pressed his hand against her breast. Against her heart. “I discovered today my heritage is more tainted than even Rome imagined. I’m the daughter of a Druid, Gawain. I’m the half sister of Carys.”
Antonia was the daughter of a Druid? She had the blood of the ancient gods in her veins? Awe trickled along his spine as he recalled her nightmare. He’d blamed his gods. Thought they were using Antonia to get to him.
But his gods were as much a part of Antonia’s heritage as they were of his own. Was it possible they’d not been speaking to him at all that night?
Could they have been speaking to Antonia herself? Had they spoken to her before?
“It seems our destinies were always intended to collide.”
On the western horizon, a blaze of orange and gold from the setting sun burst through the remnants of the storm clouds, banishing them from the twilight sky. The ethereal glow bathed Antonia as she stood before him. He had often likened her to a goddess. But now, as the golden light illuminated her, a shiver raised the hairs on his arms.
She did possess the blood of the gods. Was she, in her own right, also a Druid?
“Do you still want me to come with you to Caledonia?”
She stood on the Roman road and used the Roman name for the ancient land of the Picts. But she was willing to sacrifice her Roman heritage.
To be with him.
The lingering tendrils of foreboding that clouded his soul faded as he finally faced the truth.
His home was wherever Antonia was. She was the path he had been searching for.
He stepped forward onto the road, leaving the dusty, overgrown trail behind. How could she even ask him such a thing?
An odd thought hit him. He’d never asked her if she would go with him. He had always assumed. She deserved more than that. Gods, she deserved everything, but all he could give her was himself.
And the courtesy of giving her the choice.
“I have no wish to go anywhere without you, Antonia. If I could, I would take you back to the valleys of Cymru.” He untangled their fingers and tenderly cradled her face. “But my homeland is fractured. Will you come with me into the far north so we can forge our own destiny together?”
He’d expected her joyful capitulation. At the very least a smile of assent. But instead she stared at him as though she was frozen. He gently traced his thumb across her cheek. “Antonia?”
“Cassia’s daughter would unite a fractured land.” Her voice was hushed and he frowned. What was she talking about? What did her future grandchild have to do with it? “You must bring them home to me. That’s what Juno has been telling me since I arrived in Britannia, Gawain. The message I’ve never been able to recall.”
The spirits of his ancestors brushed over his arms and he gave an involuntary shudder. Antonia gazed at him, clearly waiting for his response, but his voice was locked in his throat.
She has no idea that she’s just spoken in the language of the gods.
He dragged in a deep breath. How could there be any doubt? Antonia was a Druid, whether she knew it or not.
“Juno has often spoken to you in visions?” He used the same ancient language, but her words thundered through his mind. You must bring them home to me. The same words she had gasped in the throes of her vision that one night he’d stayed with her.
“Ever since I was a child.” She understood me. But she now spoke in Latin. “I remember now, she told me stories of gods I’d never heard of and places I had never seen. But why would Juno speak to me of such things?” She pressed her hand against his heart. “Yet if the goddess is not Juno—who is she?”
Before the invasion, he’d often been called upon to decipher the confusing visions of young acolytes, or children who had not yet been welcomed into the sacred fold. But none of them to his knowledge had possessed Roman blood. Until this moment, the only other one he’d known was the ancient one from Gaul who had taught Latin to his clan.
Spectacular red streaks splashed through the deep orange of the dying sun, casting mystical shadows across the land. The knowledge of the Druids was vast and ancient. But even Druids could not know all the secrets of the gods.
“What else do you remember of your visions, Antonia?”
For a moment, Antonia’s eyes glazed, as though she was searching through half-recalled memories. Then she blinked, and all confusion vanished.
“She is young, like a goddess of spring. Yet she possesses such an aura of power and majesty I’ve always thought she was the queen of Olympus.” She hesitated for a moment. “I’ve always worshipped her as Juno. Even though sometimes—in my heart—I feared it wasn’t her.”
A goddess of new beginnings. Yet one that wielded the power of majesty. Suspicion stirred. But surely not. The goddess in his mind was the most powerful one of all.
“What else? Do you recall where the goddess spoke to you?”
“It was dark. But I knew I was standing on the precipice and one false move would send me plunging to my death. And yet…” Her voice trailed off and she frowned, obviously trying to understand her fragmented recollections. “The path I should take was not certain. I had to choose. And I never knew whether my next step would lead to destruction or a future filled with hope.”
“The crossroads.” His voice was hushed. For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes until, as one, they looked down at their feet.
Where the Roman road crossed the Celtic path.
Lugus was the finder of paths. But the Morrigan stood at the crossroads of life. Yet it was not the great goddess in her warrior aspect that had taken Antonia for her own.
“Your goddess is Blodeuwedd.” The Morrigan in her maiden form. The goddess who overcame the manipulations of those who would enslave her—to find her true destiny.
“She wants me to bring you home.” For the first time Antonia sounded uncertain. “To Caledonia?”
Caledonia—the land of the Picts—wasn’t his home. In his heart, he knew it never would be.
“Cymru is my home. But how can any of us return there? It’s infested by Romans.”
A small smile touched her lips. “I’m half Roman, Gawain. And I am as proud of my mother’s heritage as you are of yours.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant.” She traced her fingertips along his jaw. “But Rome is here. And she has no intention of leaving.”
His fingers tangled around one of her irresistible ringlets. “I
’ll never succumb to the cursed Eagle.”
“I would never wish you to.” She paused for a fleeting moment. “But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t utilize what Rome offers for the good of your own people.”
“Do you wish me to become a politician?” He might have once held a position of responsibility among his own people. But until this moment, he’d never considered there was any similarity between a Druid upholder of the law and a Roman official. “I would likely choke on the rhetoric.”
“You could speak for your people in the Roman administration, and I could speak for mine in your Celtic courts.”
She was jesting. Surely. But he was not entirely certain. “Cymru is a land in revolt, Antonia. Unlike the Britons we’ve not surrendered our freedom.”
“I’ve heard the Caledonians are a fierce, warlike people. They might resist Rome but they continue to fight each other. Their blood feuds are legendary,” Antonia said.
The people of Cymru had legendary blood feuds also. But since the invasion, they had buried their rivalries in an effort to oust the enemy.
Yet he knew what she meant. If he had to ride into battle, would he rather be among Picts or leading his own from Cymru?
With a sense of disbelief, he stared down at Antonia. From the moment Aeron, the mad High Druid, had unleashed the fury of the gods and devastation had swept across the land two turns of the wheel ago, Gawain hadn’t imagined it possible he could ever return to Cymru except in the role of insurgent.
But why shouldn’t I?
Didn’t he owe it to his people to return to the land of his birth, the land where his ancestors had lived since the time of Creation? Didn’t he owe it to all those who had died defending their land to ensure their ways and beliefs were preserved for future generations?
Would he ever have seen beyond his thirst for vengeance and crippling guilt at having failed Caratacus if Antonia hadn’t entered his life?
Her quiet strength and courage had opened his eyes.
Lugus had not abandoned him. He was the one who had led Gawain to Antonia.
He pressed the palm of her hand against his chest. His heart ached with everything he wanted to say to her. But in the end, there was only one thing she needed to know.
Tainted (The Druid Chronicles Book 4) Page 27