by Captive
“Fuck it, Bren.” Judoc sounded furious. “You might want to be a martyr but I was there, remember? I was part of it.”
“Yes.” Brennus’s voice was remote, as if he were no longer in the forest but reliving that blood-soaked night. “You were.”
“So why don’t you tell Morwyn the truth? Why don’t you explain what our honorable men were doing while you and I systematically searched the huts for signs of life before setting them ablaze?”
“I was still the reason they were there, Judoc. The reason the last moments of her life were filled with pain and terror.”
A thread of distant light flickered in the suffocating black. Blindly she reached for him, dug her nails into his biceps. “Caratacus’s men raped her.”
“They were animals.” Disgust filled Judoc’s voice. “They dragged her from her hut, bleeding and scarcely conscious. Threw her at Bren’s feet. And urged him to brutalize her, the way Dunmacos had brutalized Eryn.”
“But you didn’t.” The certainty glowed in her mind, destroying the earlier crippling suspicions. How had she imagined for even a fleeting moment her Gaul was capable of such despicable acts?
He believed in justice and fighting for his cause. But she knew he didn’t relish violence, as some men did. Bizarrely she recalled the man in the latrines whom Brennus had punched. At the time she had seen no reason for his outburst. But now, knowing the man, knowing his protective instinct and tortured guilt at having been unable to save Eryn, she realized he had defended her honor.
His captive. A woman who believed him her enemy. And yet when the other man had called her a whore, Brennus had leaped to her defense.
“She begged me for mercy.” His voice was devoid of emotion. Except, beneath that facade, she could hear the agony. “I took her in my arms but it was too late.”
Chapter Thirty-five
“No one could have saved her.” Judoc sounded weary. “You know that, Bren.”
Brennus tore from Morwyn’s embrace and she clawed wildly, but he’d retreated beyond her grasp. “I wasn’t there,” she said into the pitch of night. “But I’ve seen what a pack of men can do to a woman. How long had you been searching for Dunmacos? How many men had you lost to the cause?” Goddess, if only she could see his eyes. See if she was getting through to him. “If Dunmacos hadn’t murdered your wife, you wouldn’t have gone after him. If Dunmacos hadn’t brought his own wife to that village, she would still be alive.” She pushed herself to her knees, shuffled across the forest floor until she bumped into Brennus’s outstretched legs. “You did show her mercy. You gave her comfort in the last moments of her life.”
No breeze stirred the leaves. No nocturnal creature rustled among the undergrowth. Brennus was so still he might have been one of the stone statues in Camulodunon. Except she could feel the heat from his legs, hear his ragged breath, and then his battle-scarred hand grasped hers, as unerring as if he could see through the enveloping night.
“Caratacus pledged me his men on the understanding that if we wiped out Dunmacos and his closest followers and kin, I would take his place in the Legion. Shoulder his reputation for brutality. Use his military history as leverage.” A shudder racked through him and Morwyn edged closer until she could wrap her arms around him, offering him whatever comfort her body could provide. “We’d already slaughtered his kin before we tracked him down. But none of us had heard mention of a cousin, Gervas. Or the fact Dunmacos had recently taken a bride.”
“War is brutal.” Her whisper barely made it past the constriction blocking her throat. Brennus had suffered at the hands of his enemies. But he suffered so much more at the mercy of his conscience.
She swallowed, gathered her courage. Her offer was small, but all she had. And if he rejected it, she would understand. Never confront him with her heritage again.
“Brennus.” She hesitated, unsure whether she could continue, but he rubbed his jaw against the top of her head in a familiar, comforting gesture, and she sucked in a deep breath. “I want to return with you to your homeland. To Gaul. Take my place by your side.”
His arm tightened around her waist, a painful grip edged with desperation. As if, until this moment, he hadn’t been certain she would want any such thing.
“Be my wife, Morwyn.” His voice cracked on her name. “Gods know I don’t deserve you, but I can’t help loving you. I’ll defend you to my last dying breath.”
“Oh.” She threaded her fingers through his, glad he couldn’t see the foolish tears trickling down her cheeks. “I don’t need defending, Gaul. I’ll just take your love. If you take mine.”
“Always.” His pledge muffled against her hair and she closed her eyes, willing herself to continue. To offer him a chance of spiritual peace.
If he could accept.
“I’m a chosen one of the Morrigan.” How could there be any doubt in her mind of that now? “A Druid. I can’t change that.”
“I wouldn’t want you to.” A jagged sigh speared his body. “Morwyn, your Druidic heritage is a fundamental part of who you are. I can see now. Not all Druids are blinded by ancient prejudice.”
“There’s something . . . I wish to offer you.” Goddess, she hoped he could not hear the tremble in her voice. “If it wouldn’t offend you, when we reach Gaul, I want to perform the sacred ritual of Arawn. The ceremony for those of noble blood who are continuing their journey.” She flicked the tip of her tongue over her lips. “For your wife, Eryn.”
He gave a sharp indrawn breath. “You would do that—for Eryn?”
“You have royal blood. She was your wife. She deserves nothing less.”
“Gods.” The word tangled in her hair and his warrior hard body shook as emotion ripped through him.
Had she ever loved him as much as she loved him in this moment?
She blinked back the dampness stinging her eyes. “If it doesn’t offend, I also wish to attend the restless spirit of the . . . other girl.”
He didn’t answer. But the jerk of his head in assent was answer enough.
With a shaky sigh she sank against him. She would call on her foremothers for guidance and strength. Invoke the ancient rituals, ease the troubled spirits of Eryn and the girl, not only because she was a Druid of the Morrigan and it was her sacred duty.
But because by so doing, she would soothe the wounded soul of her beloved Gaul.
Epilogue
Ten Months Later
Gaul
“By the goddess, Gaul, say something.” Morwyn shook her head and then laughed before she once again returned her attention to the tiny scrap cradled in her arms.
He glanced at Gwyn, who sat on his hip with one arm hooked around his neck. She also appeared transfixed.
“I fear words fail me.” Gingerly he sat beside Morwyn on the bed, once again gazing at the bundle she cradled so tenderly. His son.
“Because you’re awed by my cleverness in birthing such a perfect babe.”
“Yes.”
Morwyn looked up at him, sweaty hair streaking her face, remnants of the severity of her labor etched around her eyes. Faint scars from Trogus’s dagger traced her nose, and her forehead was forever marked with the claw of the sacred raven.
She was beautiful. Brave. And his.
“He is perfect,” she whispered. “Because he’s yours.”
A year ago, he had nothing but a blood pledge to his king and bittersweet memories to keep him alive. Now he had everything. A wife whose strength of will would never cease to astound him, a daughter he adored and a newborn son.
Was this why the gods had kept him alive?
He tugged Gwyn’s braid. “What do you think of your brother, princess?”
She reached out one tentative hand and he angled her over the babe, so she could trace her finger over his dark thatch of hair. “Soft.” Her tone was reverential. She glanced up at Morwyn and her plump lower lip trembled. “Safe.”
One arm around Gwyn, he slid his other around his wife and she melted against him. So de
ceptively soft and fragile a man could be forgiven for thinking she needed protecting.
But she was a warrior, a Druid of ancient stock. As willing and able as he to defend herself and their family against the enemy.
Yet she was and would forever be his vulnerability.
He’d have it no other way. She had dragged him back from the precipice, demanded that he open his eyes and his heart, and in return she had given him a new world.
Beloved.
Author’s Note
During the first century AD, the languages used in Britain were Brythonic by the native tribal peoples and Latin by the Roman invaders. In both Forbidden and Captive I have used words not in common usage in the English language until the fifteen hundreds and later, on the reasoning these peoples had words of similar meaning in their own languages at that time.
Glossary of Major Gods and Goddesses
CELTIC GODS AND GODDESSES
Annwyn: the Otherworld; source of the Universal Life Force
Arawn: lord of the Otherworld
Belatucadros: god of war and destruction
Camulus: warrior god, important in pre-Roman times; equated with Mars
Cerridwen: goddess of wisdom
Gwydion: greatest of the enchanters; warrior magician
The Morrigan: triple aspect Great Goddess: maiden, mother, crone; goddess of war and rebirth
Taranis: god of thunder and lightning
ROMAN GODS AND GODDESSES
Charon: the Ferryman; takes the dead across the river Styx
Jupiter: king of the Roman gods; river, sky, lightning, thunder; symbol is the eagle
Mars: god of war, revenge, courage
Minerva: goddess of wisdom, learning, the arts
Venus: goddesss of love and beauty
Wings of Mors: god of death