For Life or Until (Love and Warfare Series Book 1)

by Anne Garboczi

  “No.” She jerked the spoon out of his hands. Disturbed by the motion, Eric threw his head back and wailed.

  “See. Bairn doesn’t want to stand over nasty lye vapors.” Cedric grabbed her hand instead of the spoon this time. The rough skin of his hand pressed against her, the warmth of his body leaking into hers.

  “I don’t care.” She shook his hand off in irritation. Cedric might enjoy flirting while meaning nothing by it, just like last time, but she had no taste for it anymore.

  Eric arched his back and sank his two teeth into her hand. If Cedric hadn’t interfered, he’d sleep peacefully by now.

  “Lonely all the way over here by myself.”

  “Eric would be overjoyed to keep you company.” Dumping the babe on him, she started back to the task that meant at least another hour until sleep.

  Father quieted the room with a raised hand. “All in favor of fulfilling Legate Vocula’s request.” No hands went up.

  “All in favor of denying him.”

  A hushed silence dominated the crowded room. Nervous gazes switched back and forth. A sea of restless faces twisted in the silence as feet tapped nervously against dirt.

  Then Cedric moved. “I want to harvest my own fields this fall, not empty some bloody Roman’s wharf.” He raised his hand, the one Eric wasn’t fast asleep in. How did Cedric get that babe to sleep?

  The silence broke and a wave of hands rose as the room broke out in “ayes.”

  Father stood. “Very well. I will deny Legate Vocula, but I can’t guarantee his response.”

  With that, the matter closed. Their village hadn’t had trouble with the Romans for two decades, but there was always a first time.

  With both hands free, Ness gave the lye another good stir. Excellent strategy throwing Eric at Cedric.

  Across the room, Mailmura turned. She looked from the babe asleep in Cedric’s arms to Ness and back again. The medicine woman clicked her tongue.

  Ness groaned. This was how village gossip started.

  Chapter 10

  Dusk had not yet turned to dawn when Ness tiptoed into the stables, still sleepy babies bound to her back.

  The ox put up a half-hour long fight against the harness while the twins slept comfortably on a hay bale. As she knotted the last leather piece, Eric and Wryn woke and cried for food. Another half-hour gone. Babes fed, she bound them on her back and fought the ox all the way to the field while Eric screamed in harmony with the ox’s breathy grunts.

  By the time she touched plowshare to dirt, the sun had risen almost to its zenith.

  Laying the boys on a soft spot of hillock away from trouble, she took hold of the plowshare.

  “Hi-yah.” With a slap of the ox’s reins, she cruised into a bumbling roll.

  The plowshare shifted up only skimming the ground. No! With both hands, she gripped the wood and pressed all her body weight down on it. Dirt gave way to the left and right as the plow cut a path.

  The plow leaped up, gliding over the ground. Splinters penetrated her hand as she struggled for control.

  Halfway down the second uneven row, her back already ached and her knees rebelled. She glanced toward the twins and the ox jerked ahead. The reins knotted behind her back dragged her forward.

  Dirt smeared her dress as she stumbled in the loosened soil. Grimacing, she grabbed the plow handle and planted her mangled ankle back on dirt.

  The black circles she knew were under her eyes looked the way the rest of her body felt, but she’d regained her footing. Pressing her teeth against her lower lip, she dug the plowshare down, gaze on the goal—the end of this row.

  Then would come the next row, and the next.

  She brought her bleeding hand up to wipe sweat from her eyes. The plow skittered out of control, digging a crooked furrow.

  She gripped the plow handles so hard tears jumped to her eyes as she struggled to dig the point deeper.

  A whistled tune drifted through the air. Glancing up, she saw Cedric cross the thin line of trees that separated Father’s land from his.

  Walking forward, he bent and scooped Eric into his arms. She smiled as Cedric gingerly pried a thistle out of Eric’s overeager fingers. Her shoulders bowed as she bent back into the plow.

  “Ness.”

  She glanced up, but the ox continued onward.

  Cedric crossed to her, Eric upside down in his arms.

  Yanking at the ox’s reins, she struggled to bring the huge animal to a halt. Successful, she tried to push sweaty hair out of her eyes, but only streaked grime across her face. She grimaced. She must look a sight with her skirt hitched up almost to her knees and her legs and ankles caked with dirt.

  Face heating, she hopped out of the crooked ditch. A groan escaped her lips as she landed on inflamed leg muscles.

  Cedric set his hand down on one plow handle, his long fingers looking almost twice the size of hers. “I’ll do it.”

  She stepped back into the ditch and laid both blistered hands on the plow, her wrist brushing his. “You don’t have to.”

  He pointed over to the tree line. “My fields are there. I know full well I don’t have to.” He let his hand drop. “Now are you giving me that plow or not?”

  “Not.” She looked to the row ahead and raised the ox whip to crack the air.

  “Wrong answer.” Cedric grabbed at the sweaty loop of reins. His chest brushed against her back as he pulled them up over her head. The leather tangled in her loose hair.

  She flung her hands up, but before she could stop him, he had his fingers in her hair. The calluses on his hand caught against the strands as he pulled the reins away. He tugged the leather over her head and the tip of his finger just grazed her cheek.

  Body aching, Ness took one step out of the ditch. “It’s not right that you do my work.”

  Cedric shoved Eric into her blistered hands. “Sit down. You look ghastly.”

  Her laugh broke the sun’s blaze. “Cicero would praise you for your charm.”

  “Flaunting your knowledge at me won’t change my mind about learning languages.”

  “I’ll credit you with all the eruditeness of Socrates for a half-hour rest.” She stumbled toward the grassy knoll where Wryn crawled.

  Leaning back against a tree trunk, she picked up the earthen jug of overheated milk and tore at a loaf of bread. All too soon her sons would drain what sustenance she had. Wryn scooted forward and she hugged him to herself. He burrowed his head in her chest and even Eric stayed close, so Ness flopped further back and let her gaze follow Cedric.

  Putting his back into the work, he dug the plow deep into the ground, sending earth up to the left and right as the plow forged straight ahead. One row gave way to his strong arms. Then two.

  He paused at the end of a row, pulled the knotted reins up, and tossed them over a plow handle. The ox stood still, frustratingly so given its earlier behavior, as Cedric tore at the shirt plastered to his chest.

  Peeling it off, he tossed the cloth aside and slipped the reins over one bare shoulder. As he took hold of the plowshare again, his long arms tensed with the effort and sweat trickled down his chest. He was a big man and he looked it as he stood behind the ox, a leather belt knotted around the plaid of his pants.

  Ness bit her lip. “Let me finish,” she called through the hot air.

  “Like you finished that hunting excursion when we were fifteen?” Cedric touched a scar on his upper arm.

  Heat rose across her face. “I wasn’t aiming at you. It just happened”

  He laughed. “Forget it, Nessite.”

  She felt even her ears reddening. “I told you a long time ago not to call me that.”

  Cedric shook his head. “Can’t remember it—Nessite.”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  He didn’t answer or relinquish the plow. As the hour grew later, the rows sped under his strong hands. She taught Wryn how to blow thistledown, saved an insect from Eric’s teeth, tried vainly to make either boy say anything resembling ‘
mama’, and protested five times.

  As the sun slipped down into oranges and yellows, Cedric reached the end of the field. Unharnessing the ox, he tossed the reins around a tree branch and walked toward her.

  She looked at him and couldn’t even find the words. “Thank you.”

  Cedric dropped on the ground and poked Eric. The boy lurched forward and clamped onto Cedric’s finger with both hands. Scooting closer, Wryn slapped his hand against Cedric’s bare chest.

  Her heart beat faster than it needed to. She looked away. “I have to draw water from the well.”

  “Use the stream. It’s closer to these fields.”

  “True.” Standing, she picked her way around ditches to the two clay jars she’d fetched an hour ago. The dirt squeezed up between her bare toes and bits of grass overturned by plowing tickled her ankles. As she passed the sweat-stained fabric of Cedric’s abandoned shirt, she gave it an accusing glance. “Why aren’t you doing your job, clothing people?”

  When she crossed back, Cedric reached for the jars.

  She smiled at him with her eyes. “Sure you want to be caught doing women’s work?”

  Laughing, he grabbed one jar. His hand went behind her waist to reach for the other. “Like that time three years ago when you served me rat-drowned porridge and I had to cook new.”

  “I boiled it after the rat drowned!” Clutching the jar, she stepped out of the circle of his arms.

  He slid his bare forearm between her stomach and the pot. His muscular shoulder touched her cheek, the light skin of his arm brushing her chest. “I found black hairs.”

  “It was only a very small rat.” She could feel his chest move with every breath he took. His face was so close that if she moved a handbreadth, she’d brush against him. Releasing the jar, she picked up her sons.

  “And I was only slightly emphatic when I vowed to never touch your cooking again.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “I baked bread with Isobel yesterday. If you stop, you can have some.” He’d eaten their food last winter when he lingered at their hearth fire, but she needed to do something else for him after all the help he’d given her. A gift of lye soap perhaps? With no woman in the house, he’d likely not boiled lye for soap since Elena died.

  Cedric grinned. “Thank you. I’ll eat Isobel’s loaves.”

  The sky overhead grew overcast as they headed from the western field to the stream below.

  At the stream bank, she plopped the babes on soft grass and reached for one of the water jars, but Cedric took them and placed both under the water flow that streamed down from the rock overhang of the waterfall. Drops of water sprayed up, making mist in the chill air.

  Half a pace from him, she sat down on a rock and looked up. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

  “You could try the method you used last time we were at this waterfall.”

  “Last time?” She squinted into the setting sun that burned behind his back. She always went to the well for water.

  “Two years ago, remember?” Cedric’s eyes glinted with mischief.

  Two years ago, that time before he’d betrothed himself to Elena when she’d almost kissed him here at this waterfall? Her ears started to burn. She’d not go down that path a second time and break her heart over him again when he found another Elena. “No, I don’t.” Stepping into the stream, she bent and grabbed for her smaller water jar.

  “This remind you?” He seized the jar and sloshed it over her head.

  Water hit her dress. The chilly Britain air made the already cold stream of water feel even colder on her stomach. “You did not just do that!” She jumped to her feet. Less than half a pace separated their bodies.

  His knee came forward and bumped into the back of her leg. She slipped on the wet moss. Flailing for support, she grabbed his arm. The hardness of his muscles tightened around her as he held her against his chest.

  “You did that on purpose.” She stared up at him.

  “Never.” His arm still around her, he eyed her hair that blew back in the wind. “Your hair’s darker than before.”

  “Like you even noticed what was before.” She tugged back against his arms.

  “I might have.” He touched her cheek. With his other hand, he combed her loose hair back behind her ear.

  Her heart pounded so fast she knew he could hear it. Heat scorched her chest as a wobbly feeling swept down her legs.

  He brushed his forefinger over her lips, the taste of sweat and good Britain earth on him. “You know you want to.”

  “No. I don’t.” Sliding away from him, she grabbed her abandoned jar and plunked it under the water stream again. Still, she could feel his gaze on her.

  From the water’s edge, Eric cried.

  Her knees felt weak as she crossed to her son. Collapsing on the riverbank, she plucked Eric up off the ground. After one scream at being bodily removed from the frog he greedily stared at, Eric snuggled into her chest. Still, the creek swam in front of her eyes as an unsteady feeling swarmed through her senses. She gave herself a shake. Cedric was Cedric and his behavior didn’t mean anything. His actions two years ago had proven that.

  He grinned at her and grabbed her now-full water jar.

  She pointed to the creek. “Look, Eric, Uncle Cedric’s filling up the water jars to say he’s sorry for being mean to Mama.”

  The smug grin fled Cedric’s face. “I’m not your brother.”

  Leaning back, she rested her head against the bark of the tree and willed her arms to stop trembling. “Grew up together, played as children, much the same I’d say.”

  “Not the same.” His voice grew gruff.

  “Close enough.”

  The Catuvellauni lands, Septembribus, 87 A.D.

  Four weeks remained ‘til harvest, two more sacks of grain sat in the storage bin, and a dozen kettles of venison bubbled on the village green. Ness stood at the edge of the clearing holding her babes. The sunset painted the sky as the village lads pushed and shoved to be first at the festival kettle.

  “Manners, children.” Mailmura lifted her wrinkled chin to frown at the youths who stood several heads above her.

  “But he won the chariot race.” A waist-high boy stabbed a thumb toward Gavin.

  Mailmura glared and the boys backed off. While the women prepared the meal, the men piled wood for the dancing fires a short distance away from the kettles, leaving room for merrymaking.

  Skirt swishing around her ankles, Ness moved to a blanket by the edge of the clearing to lay the twins down. Eric flipped to his side and curled tight into a sleeping ball.

  A voice rose through the trees at the edge of the clearing. Peering through the darkness, she saw Father and a village elder conversing.

  The elder twisted his mug in his hands. “All the other villages in this region have already conceded.”

  Father scowled. “I thought Chief Beric intended to hold out.” The worry that creased his brow made her heart pound faster.

  “He’s dead, ran through by a sword, some say at Vocula’s hand.” The elder made no pretense of drinking now.

  At the sound of raised voices, Wryn popped his eyes open.

  Stifling a sigh with a smile, she knelt by him. “Say Mama,” she whispered.

  To her shock, he opened his mouth. One syllable came from his lips. “Da.”

  Her heart constricted. “No, Mama.”

  Getting up on all fours, Wryn scrambled toward the cooking fire at a hurried crawl that would make a hedgehog jealous.

  Running forward, she caught the child just as he touched the outermost log.

  “You’ll be chasing that young’un until doomsday if you don’t fire train him.” Mailmura took her nose out of the festival kettle to waggle a finger toward the burning flames.

  Doomsday? Children grew sense into themselves eventually, or at least she hoped so. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

  Mailmura rolled up her sleeve. “See? That’s my scar. From back before my first birthday.” />
  Ness glanced down at the rolls on Wryn’s hand. Her throat tightened.

  “I have an excellent burn salve. He’d barely scar. I use a tincture from lavender. Though lavender’s scarce as silver around here. Five years ago my last good plant disappeared. It was the night of the spring festival.”

  “Oh, I think Ness remembers that day.”

  The sound of a voice at her back caused Ness to jump.

  Cedric stood there, hands shoved into his pockets as he looked, oh so innocently, at her.

  “I only stole it for you.” She tugged Wryn higher on her hip, separating her body from Cedric’s.

  Mailmura moved her accusing gaze to Cedric.

  Cedric raised one hand. “My horse cut his leg. I needed lavender to treat the wound, but you wouldn’t give me any.”

  “Because lavender’s for serious injuries. Your animal only had a nick.” Mailmura pulled her wrinkled brow tightly together.

  “It was his best horse. He didn’t want the steed to scar.” Ness watched as Wryn’s eyes sagged shut and tried to pretend that Cedric didn’t stand so close to her that she could smell the scent of grass on his jerkin. “And I only meant to take one branch, but the whole thing came out by the roots.”

  Mailmura fingered the herbs at her belt. “Bygones be bygones, I guess.” She took an ominous sniff of late summer air. Her eyes sprang wide. “But if you don’t tend that stew it’ll be a bygone as well.”

  A growing cloud of smoke rose from the pot. Ness moved to lay a sleeping Wryn next to his brother and rushed back. The pot’s water had boiled off. She grabbed a bucket from the other side of the fire and glanced at her sleeping babes. “I’ll just be a moment at the well.”

  Another hand closed over hers on the bronze handle. She froze at Cedric’s touch. He tugged the bucket from her.

  “No.”

  A grin stretched his light skin and he stepped over to the sleeping babes. “Someone would have to watch these ones if you went. You know what a holy terror Eric is when he wakes.”

  Getting down on one knee by the blanket, Cedric watched Wryn turn in his sleep. Using two fingers, he plucked up a leaf that had fallen on Eric’s ear. The boy squirmed and his eyes popped open.