Captive (The Druid Chronicles Book 2)

by Christina Phillips

  Why couldn’t Carys accept the truth? She drew in a sharp breath and tried to channel her thoughts, but then Carys looked beyond her, a smile illuminating her face. With a stab of regret Morwyn knew they would never again have the chance to speak so freely with each other.

  “Carys.” Maximus held his wife’s hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Morwyn glanced away, an odd pain stabbing through her chest at the tender note in his voice.

  “Maximus, look.” Carys threaded her fingers through his and turned to her. “Morwyn’s arrived. She’s going to stay with us.”

  Of course she was. Where else could she go? And yet for some reason the assumption irked.

  “Morwyn.” Maximus smiled in greeting, and for the first time Morwyn noticed the scars marring his face. Scars inflicted by Aeron’s evil magic. “Welcome. It’s good to see you again.”

  She doubted that, but offered him a tight smile in return. No longer was he dressed in the Roman centurion uniform. Instead he wore the white toga and purple stripe of the cursed aristocracy.

  He stepped toward her, fingers still linked with Carys’. “I’ve wanted to thank you for saving my life that night, Morwyn. I know how hard that must have been for you.”

  She didn’t want to have this conversation with anyone, least of all Maximus.

  “It was nothing.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and hoped he would leave it at that. She had acted out of pure instinct that night, but even now couldn’t think of it without her guts twisting into knots of confusion.

  “What are you doing here?” Maximus said, as if this was a perfectly normal greeting of old friends, instead of the most excruciating moment of her life. “Did you travel alone?” He sounded vaguely shocked by the possibility.

  She shrugged, as if the matter was of little account. “I accompanied the Gaul. I wanted to see Carys in any case.”

  “The Gaul?” Both Carys and Maximus pounced on her words as if it were some extraordinary confession.

  For a reason she couldn’t fathom, heat rose in her cheeks. “Yes. He had business in Camulodunon so I—I came too.” Why was she protecting him? It didn’t make sense. Especially since she had no intention of ever seeing him again. And besides, what did it matter if Carys and Maximus knew she’d initially been abducted? She was free now.

  “A Gaul?” Carys sounded fascinated. “Do I know him? What’s his name?”

  Gods, why hadn’t Morwyn kept her mouth shut? “No, you wouldn’t know of him. He’s an auxiliary in one of the cursed Legions.” She shot Maximus a glance, but he appeared unmoved by her insult. “His name is Dunmacos.”

  “Dunmacos?” Maximus sounded as if she’d just uttered an obscenity. “By Mars. You didn’t travel willingly to Camulodunum if you accompanied that scum.”

  Her spine stiffened in affront. Who was this Roman to call her Gaul scum?

  “Maximus?” Alarm threaded through Carys’ voice. “Do you know of this Dunmacos?”

  He turned to her. “Remember I told you of the Gallic butcher? That was Dunmacos.”

  Carys visibly blanched. “Goddess. Why didn’t you tell me how you truly received your injuries, Morwyn?” She reached out to gently trail her fingers along Morwyn’s face. “How did you escape him?”

  Morwyn jerked back. Resentment curdled deep in her stomach at the assumptions Carys and her husband were making.

  “I told you.” Except she hadn’t told her everything. “I was with three fellow Druids when we were ambushed. They were killed, and I— You can imagine what they had in store for me. Dunmacos”—she said his name with a touch of defiance—“was the one who saved me from such indignity.”

  “So he could rape you himself.” Carys’ eyes flashed with fury. “Maximus, you have to hunt down this barbarian and ensure justice is served.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of serving justice, Carys,” Morwyn said. “And while I expected nothing less from him, he did not rape me.”

  “Then who chewed on your neck like a rabid animal?”

  Morwyn resisted the instinct to press her fingers against the tender flesh of her throat. Bizarrely, she recalled a similar situation when she’d been infuriated on Carys’ behalf, thinking she had been raped by the enemy.

  Carys had been defensive. Morwyn had never understood why.

  Until now.

  And it didn’t make sense. Carys had loved her Roman. Morwyn felt nothing for the Gaul. So why did Carys’ insistence of his guilt irritate?

  “My last lover.” She knew she should leave it at that, but somehow couldn’t help herself. “And he is neither rabid nor an animal.”

  Carys let out a ragged breath and pressed her hand against her belly. “Then you traveled with this Dunmacos of your own free will? He truly hasn’t abused you?”

  She thought back to the forest. He might have abducted her, but much as it irked to admit, she understood his reasoning.

  Of course, she still hadn’t—and never would—forgive him for shackling her like a common slave. But since she knew how Carys would react to that piece of information, she decided to keep it to herself.

  Again, why? Why did she care if Carys and her husband ripped the Gaul’s character to shreds? They could say nothing about him she hadn’t already thought herself.

  “When I discovered he was traveling to Camulodunon, I decided to accompany him.” It was, if she conveniently closed her eyes to a few details, the absolute truth. “For an auxiliary attached to the Roman Legions I found him—honorable.”

  The sane section of her mind curled up on itself in despair but she ignored it. He had shown her honor and she had no compunction ensuring Carys and her husband were aware of that.

  Carys looked wary. Maximus completely unconvinced. “As honorable as any man can be who was responsible for the devastation of his entire village.” His voice was grim, but before she could take issue with his outrageous claim he turned to Carys. “Take care, my Druid princess.” His words were soft, as if for his wife’s ears only, before he tilted her chin with one finger and claimed her lips.

  The he turned back to Morwyn. “Take my advice. Now that you’re free of him, never think of returning. Our home is yours for as long as you wish.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  After Maximus left them, Carys took Morwyn’s hands. “Come. We have a town house not far from here. Although we won’t be there for much longer. We’re having a villa built in the countryside, for more privacy.”

  An odd reluctance snaked through her limbs, and instead of allowing the other woman to lead her from the forum, Morwyn resisted the gentle tug.

  “Carys.” It wasn’t fair to let Carys think she intended to remain in Camulodunon indefinitely. “The reason I came here was to ask you to return with me to Cymru.”

  Carys continued smiling but it was a brittle smile, a smile that threatened to shatter at any moment. “You want me to leave Camulodunon?”

  Yes. But she knew Carys never would. Not without Maximus.

  Weariness bit deep into her soul, a bone-aching sadness at the knowledge that, no matter how enduring their friendship was and ever would be, they were now ultimately on opposing sides. Carys might believe in freedom for her kin, but she would never willingly take up arms against her husband’s people.

  Morwyn shook her head in denial. “No. I wouldn’t ask you. Not now.” Her glance slid down Carys’ body. “You have other priorities now.”

  “But you will stay until after the babe is born, won’t you?” There was a vulnerable note in Carys’ voice. “She’s due to arrive when day and night are equal. I think that’s a good time for her birth, don’t you? A day of perfect balance.”

  It was also in three moons.

  Three moons without seeing her Gaul.

  The thought slid into her mind, unwanted and treacherous. Where had that come from? She had already made her decision not to see him again earlier this day, when they had parted at the inn. Whether she stayed with Carys for three moons or six, the outcom
e was the same.

  Yet the thought sank into her mind like poisoned hooks, and as impossible to dislodge without ripping flesh.

  When she returned to Cymru she would join with the rebels. She had no intention of seeking out a Gallic auxiliary. Was she insane? Why had this notion even entered her head?

  “Yes.” Her voice was hoarse. “It’s the perfect day for her birth.” The perfect day for a child with parents who should inherently be enemies. Druid princess and Roman aristocrat. But what true balance could such a child ever attain when she was raised in the Roman way? When her matrilineal heritage was being eaten away by her father’s power-hungry Emperor?

  “You can do so much here, Morwyn. You were almost fully trained before Druantia was murdered. Imagine how much you can teach our people.”

  In an occupied town? For one chilling moment clarity flashed through her mind. She could stay here with Carys. Help raise her daughter.

  And slowly her status would erode.

  How could it not when she’d have to rely on her friend for so much? She would have to hide her Druidic ancestry, hide her true loyalties. Worship foreign gods she believed in even less than her own.

  And never see her Gaul again.

  “I can’t do it, Carys.” As the words fell from her lips, she didn’t know if she meant she couldn’t stay as a dependent or give up the chance of spending a few more days with her Gaul.

  It has nothing to do with the auxiliary. She needed to return to Cymru, find the rebels and fight for freedom. But buried deep inside the darkest recess of her mind, she knew the sordid truth.

  She just wanted to hold her Gaul until the raw pain eating her heart subsided.

  Carys let out a shaky breath. “You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. “You’re going to fight, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Don’t you see, you can’t help anyone if you die. You have to live, the same as I have to live, so the Flame of Knowledge burns forever into the future.”

  “Cerridwen’s Flame of Knowledge. She needs only you for that. Not me.” Because Morwyn was an acolyte of the Morrigan. And she no longer believed in the great goddess.

  “There are so few of us left. We’re all needed, Morwyn.”

  And that was why she had to fight. Because there are so few of us left.

  ***

  After collecting the dispatch from the Tribunus, Bren went to the forum. It was a spontaneous decision, acted upon between one breath and the next, and even as he examined the brightly colored goods on the market stalls, he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was doing there.

  Except he could.

  He wanted to give Morwyn something frivolous and pretty. Something that wasn’t necessary for survival but created purely for pleasure.

  Something to compensate for the way his countrymen had ripped her gown and bloodied her body.

  And murdered her companions.

  He ignored the last thought. There was nothing he could do about that. But there was something he could do about the rest.

  Silken ribbons, tied to a pole and fluttering in the warm summer breeze, caught his attention. Reminded him of the feel of her hair, soft and wet, as he’d washed it the other night.

  The smile had already twisted his lips before he even realized, and he allowed it to linger for a moment before reverting to his more usual countenance.

  The ribbons were a luxurious indulgence. He purchased half a dozen.

  As he made his way through the noisy throng of stallholders shouting their wares and buyers haggling for a bargain, an odd sense of peace settled deep in his chest. Instantly alert, he stiffened and glanced around, but could find no reason for the irrational sensation.

  Besides, if someone were following him, peace was the last thing he’d be feeling. He took a few more steps and gingerly probed the unnatural emotion. And an image of Morwyn drifted across his consciousness.

  Scarcely aware of his action, his fingers slid over the handle of her dagger, which he’d attached to his belt. There was something about it that nagged at the edges of his mind, as if the answers to unformed questions were buried in its gleaming blade.

  When they reached Cymru he’d return it to her. But for now, despite her assertion he was safe from retribution, he’d hold on to it. Not only because he wouldn’t have to worry about being stabbed through the heart as he lay on their bed, but also because Morwyn was unlikely to attempt an escape without her weapon for protection.

  Not that she’d try to escape in Camulodunon. Why would she? The Romans infested the town like rats. She’d be in as much danger from molestation here on her own as she would in the occupied forests of Cymru.

  His cock stirred at the knowledge she was back in the inn, waiting for him. It was a strange notion, to know a woman waited for him. Logically he knew it meant nothing, because Morwyn had no choice but to remain at the inn.

  Yet still anticipation of seeing her, of taking her once again, tightened his groin and constricted his breathing. He quickened his pace, impatient to see her face when he gave her the ribbons. Would she pretend uninterest or show genuine delight? He could imagine both scenarios, and had not the faintest clue which way she would react.

  And then he saw her, on the other side of the square, and his heart kicked against his ribs in shocked denial.

  It couldn’t be her. But there was no mistaking her long black hair in its untidy braid, or the vibrant sky blue gown she wore. Or the proud way she held herself, as if she were a queen among peasants.

  Others collided into him, but their curses meant nothing as he remained immobile. As he watched, she embraced the woman she’d been talking with. A Roman noblewoman. How did Morwyn know a Roman noblewoman? This was no chance encounter. The two knew each other, and by the way the Roman clung to Morwyn, they were far more than casual acquaintances.

  A dull rage knotted deep in his gut. He’d been so sure she would remain at the inn. But given the first opportunity, she’d escaped.

  Only now did he recall her interest in Camulodunon. Only now could he see she’d gone along with his demands because it suited her to. She had never intended to return to Cymru. She’d allowed him to see what he’d wanted to see, and not what should have been obvious to a half-wit.

  He’d been blinded by lust. And she’d used that against him.

  His fingers curled around the hilt of her jewel-encrusted dagger. He had no rights over her. The Roman had clearly given Morwyn her protection. All he had left was the memory of their night together and her dagger.

  The memory would drive him insane if he let it, and the dagger would fetch a good price at market. Except he knew, even as the savage thought crossed his mind, he would never sell the dagger. He’d keep it, to remind himself how futile it was to ever imagine he deserved a reprieve from his cursed existence.

  Morwyn turned from the Roman and headed out of the forum. For a moment Bren remained paralyzed, following her progress with an uncompromising glare, until realization hit.

  She was leaving the sanctity of the forum. Abandoning her Roman. Once out on the streets it would be much easier to capture her again. To escort her back to the inn.

  To fuck her until she forgot why she wanted to leave him and remembered only that he was the one who wrenched mind-splintering orgasms from her convulsing body.

  Keeping a good distance, he followed her. Where was she going? To meet with another Roman?

  A chill iced his blood. Was she a spy for the Romans? Was her vocal loathing for the invaders nothing more than a cover?

  Could I kill her as coldly as I’d kill any other Celt I discovered to be engaged in such betrayal?

  He had in the past. But they hadn’t been Morwyn.

  Sweat slicked the palms of his hands. A physical weakness he hadn’t experienced since boyhood. Still she continued, as if she knew exactly where she was going, and still he hung back, unwilling to hold a dagger to her throat. Unwilling to ask her the questions to prove her a traitor.

  The streets
became less crowded. At any moment she might turn and see him. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He could either allow her to walk away, or abduct her now.

  Let her go. He couldn’t believe she was a traitor to her people. All she had wanted was her freedom.

  His chest constricted, as if his lungs had trouble accessing air. It made sense to let her go. She was an encumbrance. She slowed him down. And despite it all, his pace quickened and he crossed the road, decreasing the distance between them. Intending to grab her and keep her until they returned to her homeland.

  He couldn’t think further than that.

  She came to a sudden halt, turned toward a building and vanished inside.

  With a jolt of disbelief, he realized they were back at the inn. She had returned to him of her own free will.

  Chapter Sixteen

  He remained on the road, expecting her to emerge at any moment. But she’d had her pack with her. Why would she return to the place she was escaping from? For all she knew, he had already discovered her absence and would be waiting for her, dagger drawn.

  Grimy beggars rummaged in the rotting rubbish discarded by the side of the inn, and a couple of gaudily painted women from the adjacent brothel propositioned him. And still Morwyn didn’t reappear.

  Finally he entered the inn, was given directions to his room, and stood outside the door. His heart thundered against his ribs, as if he were about to go into battle. Yet he was ice-cold when he faced a battle, his mind clear and body under absolute control.

  Rattled by the knowledge she could so easily shatter the calm he’d taken years to perfect, he thrust open the door. She was standing by the window, arms folded, looking in his direction as if she’d been waiting for him.

  As if she had never left.

  Lust raged, but he remained by the door. She might have returned only to plunge a newly acquired dagger through his heart. He wanted her, but not at the expense of his life.

  He’d strip her of all weapons first. Then interrogate her. And then fuck her until this insane craving eating his reason was vanquished.