Before he could stop himself he grabbed her wrist and jerked her toward him. Her feminine scent washed through him, musky, mysterious. Unfulfilled.
His senses expanded, explored. And could detect no corresponding scent of rutting male, no obscene stink of lingering masculine seed.
“You’re hurting me.” Her voice was calm, as if she knew he would never truly hurt her. And fuck the bitch for being right. No matter how much she insulted him, he could never raise his hand to her.
Yet.
He loosened his fingers from her tender flesh. She had not been with a man. Only with herself. The thought of Carys caressing her own nipples, rubbing her own clit and spreading her juices over her pussy caused his engorged cock to throb with painful frustration.
Still holding her wrist, he pulled her hand to his mouth and drew in a deep breath. Knowledge flared in her magical eyes, but she didn’t look away.
“Is there anything you want from me, Carys?” His voice betrayed his need. If he pulled her just a little closer, she would feel how great that need was.
“No.”
The single word enraged him more than if she had given him a rambling, obscure monologue as to why she no longer allowed him access to her luscious body.
No. Was that all the explanation he deserved? When he could smell the evidence of her denied desires with every breath he took?
He pulled her close despite it all. “The world is changing. To defeat the Romans we must survive and prosper, Carys.” He released her wrist, and curled his fingers around her vulnerable neck. Her pulse beat against the palm of his hand. “Now, more than ever before, it’s essential you allow my seed to grow within your womb.”
She sighed, and her fingers clasped his wrist as, gently but with firm purpose, she removed his hand from her throat. “I’m not ready for any man’s seed to grow within me, Aeron. Please, let’s not have this conversation again. My answer remains the same as it has for these last three years.”
He inclined his head in a show of acceptance. But only so she didn’t see the fury burn in his eyes. Any other woman would weep with gratitude for the honor he wished to bestow upon Carys. Any woman but Carys herself.
“I respect your decision.” The fuck he did. But the time was not yet ripe to take what rightfully belonged to him. “But remember this. When you are ready, be sure to choose your mate wisely. Our future depends upon it.”
Carys only half listened to Aeron’s lecture. She had met only one man who enticed her to consider the possibility of pregnancy, and she didn’t even know his name.
Would a child of her body mixed with the blood of a certain Roman warrior possess his enchanting blue eyes?
It was an intoxicating notion, outrageous. Yet strangely thrilling. Had her mother, upon first seeing her father, known instantly he was the man she wished to sire her daughter?
A stab of regret pierced her. It had been an age since she’d last had the chance to talk with her mother. How much longer would they be kept separated by the cursed Roman occupation?
“Carys,” Aeron said, and she blinked away the image of one particular cursed Roman to frown up into Aeron’s strange silver eyes. “I fear I must expressly forbid you to set foot outside the sacred spiral.”
She stiffened. “You forbid me?”
Aeron smiled but as always the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “These are barbaric times. I know you wish to help the unfortunates held captive by the Romans, but the fate of the villagers is nothing compared to what the enemy would do to you, Carys.”
“The enemy would never capture me.” But the enemy had captured her earlier. Yet that had been her own fault, for losing concentration. Indulging her lust. Had she been fully alert, the Roman would never have been able to discover her hiding place. “I won’t abandon my people. If they come to Cerridwen’s Cauldron, then I’m duty bound to assist.”
But for the first time in almost seven moons, she hadn’t made it to the sacred spring this morning. She had become distracted. Suppose someone had risked great personal danger in order to see her today? Suppose, by her actions, someone didn’t receive essential medicines and died?
Aeron gave a dismissive wave of his hand, as if the suffering of their people was of no consequence. How could he turn his back on them? She understood the need for the Druids to escape the occupation, for the invaders would never allow them to live. Proof of that, bloodied and personal, had soaked into Carys’s existence long ago.
But did that mean they turned their back on the general populace? Allowed them to struggle without any recourse to their spiritual and medical advisors? Why else had they fled, if not to remain free to assist their people?
“Your duty lies here,” Aeron said. “What good will you be to our people if you allow yourself to be sacrificed as an example to all?” He paused for one telling heartbeat. “Don’t forget how the Romans execute their enemies, Carys.”
Despite the heat from the sun, a shiver chilled her. Rumors from Britain of brutal crucifixions had circulated for years before the invasion of Cymru. And then reports reached them of the horrifying slaughter of their fellow Druids just inside their borders. The invaders had massacred them without mercy.
She thought of her Roman warrior, tried to envisage him sanctioning such callousness. And knew, without knowing how, that when it came to Rome, he would do whatever was required.
Another shiver rippled through her, this time chilling her heart.
Her Roman possessed honor. But if confronted with the choice between saving her and serving his country, she knew where his loyalties would lie.
It pained her heart to admit Aeron was right. The people of Cymru were strong and proud, and had been vanquished only because of the superior strength of the invaders. But if the Romans publicly executed a Druid of her standing, she knew only too well the devastating effect that would have on the morale of her beloved people.
She inclined her head. “I understand.” She would still visit the Cauldron. Before fleeing, she had given her solemn vow to continue aiding those in need.
But she would no longer pass by the waterfall. To do so would only invite danger of the most reckless kind. Regret speared her soul and caused a strange aching desolation deep in the most hidden recesses of her spirit.
At least she’d experienced the sensation of her Roman’s large, roughened hands on her body. The feel of his sensual lips on hers. And now she knew, beyond doubt, that with the right man she could feel lust and pleasure as the great goddess, the Morrigan, required from her children. All she had to do was find another such man.
A man who wasn’t the sworn enemy of her people.
Maximus negotiated the sprawling civilian settlement that over the last few months had grown up around the military base, and entered the gates set in the stone wall. Once on the main street, he leaped from his horse, handed the reins to an auxiliary and then marched toward the barracks. His groin throbbed incessantly, as if a horse had kicked him between the legs and then trampled over him for good measure.
It even hurt to walk, but not as much as riding from the waterfall had. Gods, if he didn’t get relief soon, his balls would explode. What had possessed him to leave the golden wood nymph behind? She should be here with him now, accompanying him to one of the civilian taverns.
For one glazed moment he imagined he could feel her hand around him, guiding him into her hot, wet mouth. He barely prevented a groan from escaping.
This was madness. He’d join the legionaries on the campus and put in a few hours’ hard training. Sweat and blood would rid him of this unbearable ache.
“Primus.”
He pulled his attention back to the present and focused on the centurion saluting him. “Aquila.”
Aquila lowered his arm. “The surveyors have returned from the border. The architects are working on the next stage of development now.”
He grunted acknowledgment. How the people of these savage lands coped without decent roads never ceased to astound hi
m.
“Maximus.”
Maximus suppressed a sigh. Though Aquila was second in rank to himself, they had been friends since the age of twelve, and thus was Aquila permitted to use his personal name. It wasn’t that which caused Maximus to sigh. It was the speculative gleam in Aquila’s eye.
“Yes?”
“You’re on edge.”
That was one way of looking at it. Fucking frustrated was another. “We’re still subduing the natives. Of course I’m on full alert, Aquila.”
Aquila didn’t look convinced. “The skirmishes have virtually ceased. They’ll soon learn that life under Rome is far pleasanter than their previous savage existence.”
Maximus grunted. Would his golden wood nymph also come to that conclusion?
“And I wasn’t referring to the natives. I was referring to your unnatural state of extended celibacy.”
Had any other centurion dared make such a comment, he would already be crippled at Maximus’s feet. But no other centurion would dare.
“I’m no longer a raw sixteen-year-old who thinks with his cock.” Even as he said the words, Maximus was fully aware that barely an hour earlier his cock was the only part of him functioning at optimum capacity.
Aquila didn’t need to know that.
“But you are a man,” Aquila said as they made their way to the barracks. “And you’ve been without the soft comfort of a woman for far too many weeks.”
“How did you reach that conclusion?” Maximus shot his friend an irritated glance. It was bad enough his only relief recently came from his hand. Far worse that Aquila had guessed such a thing.
“Because you have an aversion to visiting the brothels. Even on your supposed day off.” Aquila shot him a barely disguised smirk.
Maximus ripped off his helmet and continued marching. It was true he preferred not to visit the prostitutes who plied their trade in the civilian settlement, but he had nothing against the women earning a few coins on their backs or knees, nor the legionaries who used their services. “I have no need to visit the brothels.”
“You’ve found a mistress?’ Aquila said. He sounded skeptical.
Bicolored eyes shimmered through Maximus’s mind, haunting him with everything he had allowed to slip through his fingers. “When the fuck have I had time to acquire a mistress?’ He stamped into his quarters, placed his helmet on the desk and turned to face his friend.
Chapter Three
Aquila grunted as if in approval, which served only to raise Maximus’s ire further. If he hadn’t such a cursed sense of honor when it came to brave women, his proud little Celt would be with him now. And although she might have been unwilling at first, he could soon have changed her mind. Seduced her into giving him her body. Into becoming his mistress.
Having such an encumbrance had never appealed to him before. But now the thought more than appealed. It wrapped around his brain, branding him with erotic images of a golden wood nymph waiting for him at the end of a long day, of him teaching her about the civilized world, of them entertaining each other in bed, night after delirious night.
His training forbade him to groan at the graphic visions filling his mind, or to move a single muscle to release the unbearable pressure whipping through his blood. But his training couldn’t prevent the pounding at his temples, or the accelerated beat of his heart, or the way his balls tightened with excruciating tension at the base of his engorged shaft.
“Then I have just the thing you need,” Aquila said, and Maximus didn’t have the first idea what the other man was talking about. Unless he knew where to find a certain Celtic lady. “Just before you arrived, the Eques Legionis returned.”
Maximus jerked his head to indicate Aquila should continue. The scouting party had been gone for almost two weeks, checking the local area for renegades. It was an inevitable fact that wherever they conquered, there would always be some locals who attempted rebellion.
“They rounded up a couple of dozen peasants hiding in the hills.”
“I’ll interrogate the leaders immediately.” It would make an excellent diversion from the current agony between his legs. And there was always the possibility these insurgents knew the whereabouts of their missing nobles. If such information was to be divulged, it was imperative he heard first. He wanted no other cohort but his own to discover his wood nymph.
“Of course. But there’s someone else you might like to”—Aquila paused for a fleeting moment—“interrogate first, Maximus.”
His senses went on red alert at the gleam in Aquila’s eye. “Someone else?” His voice was harsh as implausible possibilities snaked through his mind. Surely the scouts hadn’t found her during the short time he had left her?
Despite the way every inch of his tormented flesh ached to see his golden-haired Celt again, he hoped to all the gods it wasn’t her. He trusted no man to keep his hands to himself when faced with such haunting loveliness. “Explain yourself.”
Aquila shrugged. “They came across a vision of Venus sheltering by a stream as they returned this morning.” He gave an appreciative grin that Maximus didn’t appreciate at all. It was all he could do to keep himself from throttling the life from the centurion. Vile images flooded his brain of his wood nymph being violated by rutting soldiers. No matter how disciplined every legionary was under his command, the possibility always remained that lust would conquer training.
His guts knotted and again he questioned why he hadn’t simply taken her while he’d had the chance. Here she would be under his protection and none would dare even to look at her for fear of displeasing him. Instinctively his hand fisted around his gladius. Any man who took her would feel the merciless slice of Maximus’s blade castrate him.
“Unless you wish me to question her?”
“Where is she?” His voice betrayed nothing, and yet Aquila shot him a sharp glance as if something in his tone alerted him.
“I’ll fetch her.”
As the door closed behind the centurion, Maximus glanced toward his bunk. In keeping with his rank, his quarters were double sized, and he shared with no other. When his men gathered here in the evenings, he’d have ample time to visit his golden Celt.
He’d find her lodgings in the civilian settlement, perhaps sharing with the young mistress of Faustus the Tribunus Laticlavius.
There was a rap on the door. Anticipation heated his blood, heightened his senses.
“Enter.”
Aquila brought in the reluctant captive, gently ushering her through the door. Maximus stared at her, disappointment crashing through him although logically he’d known the chances of this girl being his wood nymph were slender.
But the disappointment curdled his guts nevertheless.
“Primus.” Aquila caught his eye and raised a brow. His message was clear. The poor girl was on the verge of passing out in terror.
Maximus smothered an impatient sigh. He was a warrior, not a cursed babysitter. If the girl wanted to linger by a stream, why had the scouts not left her there? It was obvious she posed no threat to Rome.
But the scouts had captured her. Therefore, it was his duty to interrogate her and ascertain she was as harmless as she appeared.
“I mean you no harm.” It was the second time he’d said that to a woman this morn. Except this one looked as if she would collapse if he so much as frowned at her, whereas the other—
The other had faced him with astounding courage, even when she had thought him about to end her life.
He scowled, just as this female raised her head. Pale blue eyes widened in apparent dread and her lips trembled in soundless entreaty.
Maximus flashed Aquila a dark glare, but Aquila’s attention was focused on the fragile brunette in her threadbare garments. And suddenly Maximus knew why Aquila had offered to question the girl in his stead.
He curbed his irritation. It was too late to take up that offer now.
“Sit.” He jerked his head toward the chair, and then watched Aquila bring it to the girl and ge
ntly press her shoulder until she did as commanded. Maximus leaned against the front of his desk and folded his arms. “What’s your name?” Was he destined to repeat himself all day? Surely as the Primus Pilus, he had better things to do with his time than terrify a native?
“Branwen.” Her voice was so soft he barely heard her, but at least she had answered him. That was more than the other had done.
“Branwen.” He pushed the golden wood nymph from his mind. Time enough to think of her later. In bed. To his disgust his body hardened once again.
He gritted his teeth, took a controlled breath and focused his attention on the trembling girl before him. “What were you doing at the stream, Branwen?”
Collecting water? his brain supplied with a sneer. Bathing? Washing her family’s clothing? Or perhaps organizing the overthrow of Rome?
Gods, he was going to have something to say to the scouts when he caught up with them.
“N-nothing.” Her blue eyes darted from him to Aquila, then down at her clenched hands. “I was just—nothing.”
“Just what?”
She twisted her fingers together and shot Aquila another fleeting glance. “My grandfather isn’t well. I was just—looking for something to help him.”
“At the stream?” Maximus knew there was something she wasn’t telling him, but he also knew it was hardly a matter of state importance. But, important or not, it was his responsibility to find the truth.
He hoped the girl would tell him without any histrionics. He had the renegades to interrogate before he could think of breaking his fast.
“Sp-special herbs for his heart.” She still didn’t make eye contact. He shifted against the edge of the desk, and attempted to curb his growing impatience.
“Which herbs?” Aquila said, and Maximus shot him a sharp look. Aquila missed it, since he was still staring at Branwen as if she truly was the goddess Venus.
Maximus frowned down at her. She was attractive enough and no doubt would satisfy a man’s needs. But she didn’t possess the mystical quality of his golden nymph.
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