Then he carefully combed her hair back and tugged it, over and over, in a rhythmic pattern. Oh my, he was braiding her hair.
The sweetness and caring it showed threatened to bring her to tears again. Which was silly. She pulled in a shuddering breath. No one, not even her ex-husband, had ever shown her such care. She’d been the youngest in a family of five, and they’d been too busy to pay any real attention.
A tiny voice in her mind admonished that her resolve was weakening with him.
Fuck that voice. She was exhausted.
Then the weight of the braid landed in front of her shoulder and he pulled her back to lean against him. He brought one end of his kilt around her and wrapped them both up tight within. At first, she flinched from the wet cloth, but the wool fabric soon trapped their body heat. She did not allow her mind, or her hands, to wonder how much of himself he’d exposed to get that much fabric around them.
She relaxed against him, too worn out to protest.
“Better?” he whispered.
She nodded against his shoulder. He’d tied the end of her braid by making a knot of her own hair.
Though the overhang and the cliff blocked the gale, pockets of rain pelted against their tarp as curls of wind found their shelter. Darkness descended early, and the storm screeched its fury. Soon their shelter grew warm from the trapped body heat, and the air thickened with the smell of damp wool and skin.
Gradually, the chill left her bones and drowsiness weighted her head and eyelids.
Thoughts whirled through her brain as she tried to convince herself that his braiding her hair didn’t mean anything. He only did it because he valued her as the tribe’s diviner and his brood mare.
He’s so sweet, though. And fuck-hot.
Especially that whole stripping and diving into the water thing to save his men. Perhaps it was just his nature to be protective.
She shouldn’t read into it any further than that.
Then his strong fingers brushed the back of her neck, and he kneaded her muscles there. God, that’s amazing. She almost groaned.
Screw it.
She turned more into him, but he scooped under her knees and pulled her up onto his lap. She stiffened and he stilled, his face creased with worry. Worry for her.
She relented and tucked her head against his chest, curling into his warmth as he continued to massage her neck and shoulder muscles, his strong fingers finding every knot and easing them into delicious warmth.
She’d forgotten how much she liked being touched by a man.
This is dangerous.
…
As his wife finally slipped into a restless sleep, he tightened his arms around her and shifted. Her stamina earlier had been impressive. Of a certainty, she’d saved their whole party. If they’d been caught out in the loch or even sheltering along its banks when the storm hit, they’d have certainly lost men.
Still could, before the night is through.
He banished the thought—they were well protected, thanks to her. She’d not uttered one word of complaint, instead pitching in to help with her wee muscles and large strength of will.
Half his men were in love with her already, and his chest swelled with pride, though he’d been angry at her blatant disregard of his orders. He’d need to make sure she understood that as the potential new leader for the tribe, he needed his people’s respect. And his wife couldn’t undermine him in front of others.
But there was still time to make her understand.
Chapter Seven
“Oh, wow.” Ashley gripped the railing on the boat’s bow and pulled in a shaky breath.
Acres and acres of mud stretched along the shore, exposed by the river’s low tide, looking like an alien landscape pockmarked by rocks, divots, and seaweed. Birds circled and swooped downward, eager for easy prey.
To her left marched a wall from the water’s edge inland, curving to her right and blocking the horizon. Along the shore, wooden docks poked across the mud flats and into the water, each like a porcupine with all the ship masts crowding it. The land facing the harbor had been stripped of trees, and it teemed with activity.
The wall…whoa. Very Game of Thrones-y. Goose bumps popped up all over her arms, and she shivered.
Holy shit. This was no CGI recreation of a Roman port for some period movie—it was the real thing.
They’d spent an uneasy night hunched in their tarp as they rode out the storm’s rage. She’d dozed in fits and starts, but one constant was Connall’s warm, strong arms wrapped tight around her. In the morning, they’d crawled out and the loch shone like a blue jewel. The tink-tink-tink of rain drops swelling at the ends of leaves and plopping onto a landscape littered with shredded leaves and dead branches was the only evidence of the storm’s passing. Thankfully, Connall and the men had secured the boats well, and after a quick breakfast of hard cheese and gazillion-grain bread, they’d loaded up and set sail.
A week ago, she’d have freaked that she couldn’t brush her teeth—cheese breath was the worst—but she chewed the mint leaves Connall handed her now, taking pride in her philosophical attitude. A hot shower or even a proper bath, though? She’d still throw down for that shit.
As they meandered from one body of water to another, she’d used her divining leather, so she knew that this was the River Clyde, and the fort sprawling before her was called Old Kilpatrick in her own time. As they neared, the docked ship masts grew, and soon their smaller vessels slipped into berths nearer to the shore, their bow bumping against the wooden piling, rocking them. She gripped the wooden bench until it settled, the sluggish waters beneath her a swish-gurgle against the hull.
Connall levered up and picked his way through his men, who were staring at the wall, most with their mouths hanging open. At the bow, he faced them and spoke, his voice loud enough to carry to their other ship docked next to them. “Half of you, stay with the boats. Do not seek trouble.” His weighty stare punctuated his message. None of the men had commented on her helping during their emergency, but she didn’t think it was her imagination that today they looked at her with more respect.
They straightened from their gawking and must have silently decided who would accompany Connall, because half from each boat hopped up onto the wooden dock. Ashley remained perfectly still.
Part of her was dying to get an up-close eyeful of a real Roman fort, but a new fear washed through her. Anything could happen in that crowd. She couldn’t just text Connall if she somehow got separated and say, hey, I’m at that goat-thing statue by the gate, or whatever.
A shadow blended with hers, and Connall reached out a hand. “You will accompany us.”
Her earlier reluctance to touch him seemed silly now after the night they’d spent in the storm. He pulled her up, bringing her flush against his chest. Her breaths quickened at his closeness, then—his hands strong and sure around her waist—he lifted her clear of the boat.
His men formed a guard, and as a unit they marched down the wide wooden dock, the leather soles of their shoes barely making a sound across the length despite the metric-ton of brawn flanking her.
A dozen or more wooden horses dotted a cleared area, and men leaped over them, one after another. Roman soldiers trained in a muddy field beyond, their metal weapons clashing with a staccato tchrang-tchrang-tchrang, interspersed with the softer whack of wooden staffs beating against each other.
“Incredible,” Domnall whispered, loud enough for those closest to hear.
Ashley peeked at him and the others, and while their posture and strides exuded warrior confidence and grace, it was clear in the shine of their eyes that it was a struggle not to appear awed.
“So is this how massive Ashley’s settlement is?” Domnall asked.
Connall shook his head, and Domnall gave her a look she could only describe as sorry-this-upstages-yours. It was uncanny how much
he resembled his older brother, despite his dark red hair.
“This is tiny and primitive in comparison,” Connall said.
All heads whipped around toward her, their faces filled with wonder.
“This…this is…” Domnall waved at the Roman fort. “Tiny?”
“And primitive, aye. Her land possessed strongholds, one after another, with nary a space between, and each taller than that wall.” Connall gestured with his chin and his voice held a note of pride. “Some fashioned of stone, like these, but others from the shiniest sword metal.”
It was surreal seeing the Roman fort through their eyes and hearing it compared to her own city. She was feeling awe, too, but for very different reasons. The men in their party murmured and stole glances at her. She stiffened, worried it was suspicion and fear. But now their facial features and mood matched their confident strides—it seemed they were feeling more confident because they had someone in their party more sophisticated than these Romans.
They pushed through a small gathering of bickering traders and were confronted by the fort’s stone wall. A wooden palisade rimmed the top with Roman soldiers standing all stoic with their crossbows at the ready, folds of red cloth whipping behind them in the wind, or walking its length, the leather flaps of their kilt-like uniforms making a soft thrump-swhoosh as they passed. Shallow ditches were cut into the ground, circling the fort.
The gate’s guard—clearly from Africa—waved them in. These Romans sure liked their red—most wore red tunics under their armor and leather kilts, and along the wall were loads of stacked red shields. For quick defense in case of an attack?
Here and there were citizens dressed much like Connall’s people, though a few wore the togas she associated with Romans. Just inside the gate, an enclosed wooden platform stood on stilts, presumably a guard tower.
They were directed to a large stone building in the center.
“Ready?” Connall asked his men. Receiving nods all around, he pushed open the door into a room brightly lit by torches set into the walls. In the center, flames danced and sparked from a fire pit built into the floor.
A half dozen armed Roman guards stood along the far wall, flanking an older man behind an ornate wooden table. The fort’s commander, she presumed. And while he carried himself like a soldier—spine straight, shoulders back—his paunch said he’d spent longer behind the desk than he had in active duty. Across his forehead, his bangs were styled in perfect little hooks.
Connall placed himself between her and the commander, and his men closed around her. Connall’s deep voice rang out with pride. “I represent my father, Eacharn son of Eacharn, and the people of Dunadd, the Horse People, whom you call the Epidii. We’ve come to secure an alliance with your people.”
The Epidii? She’d have to “Google” that later.
The commander rounded the squat table, causing the papyri weighted down with smooth river rock to flutter. He stretched his arm out, and they clasped forearms and shook.
The man began speaking, though she couldn’t understand a word.
Huh. So her Universal Translator didn’t work for every language. Which made sense—she only spoke one language back home.
A rough-looking man sporting blue tattoos like Connall’s tribe stepped forward when the commander paused.
“You and your men are welcome,” he said in Connall’s tongue. “And I appreciate the journey you have undertaken.”
Mr. Funky Bangs spoke again, and the interpreter said, “However, you’ll need to proceed to the fourth fort along the wall, for you will need to speak to Manius Tatius Tacitus who is authorized to secure this alliance on behalf of the Emperor, Imperator Titus Aelius Aurelius Ceasar Antoninus.”
Lord. What a mouthful.
The interpreter told them that they were welcome to rest here for the night, either by camping on their boats or near the fort, and to have their fill of supper, courtesy of the emperor. “You will want to leave your ships here and travel onward by land along the wall. Easier that way to find the outpost without a guide, but also the river veers sharply away, so your travel time will be shortened.”
They were given, as a sign of good faith, horses for them to ride.
“These needed to be delivered tomorrow, so they are expecting them, and you will save us the trouble.”
Connall listened to all of this without saying a word, and her respect for him grew. Coming to this formidable outpost and not masking any sense of inferiority with swagger and bluster? He was a man who knew his strength and worth. Once the explanations and the invite were extended, he gave a quick dip of his head. “We thank you for your generosity. We shall pass the night on our ships and proceed at first dawn.”
Farther into Roman territory? While seeing all this was wicked-awesome on an intellectual level, it was no virtual reality simulation she could just abort if things got dicey.
…
The next day, the gravity of Connall’s mission weighed heavier with each step they took. He was in awe of the power and craftsmanship these Romans had at their command. It was well that his tribe sought an alliance with these people.
After several hours’ journey by horse, he called a halt. Up ahead, a cleared area filled with drilling soldiers signaled that they’d reached their destination.
Hearing about the Romans and their wall was one thing, but seeing it was another matter entirely. If he’d not traveled to Ashley’s land and witnessed the wonders of her time, he’d be impressed indeed by the Romans’ handiwork. Though seeing their imprint imposed on this landscape felt…wrong.
At one point they’d stopped at a colorful stone sculpture embedded in the side. Ashley used her divining leather and told them it was a milestone marker, celebrating the wall’s construction, though he was not overly fond of the depiction of people much like him, kneeling and subdued by Roman forces.
“Can you do a foretelling before we proceed?” he asked.
After they dismounted, she retrieved her leather and stretched it on the smoothest part of ground. She crouched and cast her dirt several times across the leather. “Light showers in the evening with a humidity level of seventy-seven percent, but other than that, nothing. Is there anything you’d like to ask specifically?”
Humidity level? “Will we have difficulty in our mission with the Romans?”
She frowned. “I doubt it could know the answer, but I’ll try.” She threw the dirt and then sat back on her heels. “Sorry, it doesn’t say.”
“We’ll be having to take our chances then, but thank you.” He reached out his hand. Ever since her arrival in his time, she seemed reluctant to touch him, except during the storm when she’d been exhausted. He hated her uneasiness around him, though he’d detected only a slight hesitation yesterday when she’d taken his hand. A victory, that.
But now her wee palm slipped readily into his, her skin so soft. He closed his fingers around hers and hauled her upright.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He blinked, for a slight tinge of pink bloomed on her cheeks.
Progress? Hope worked its insidious way inside him. He pivoted away before he said or did something to spoil his headway. “Let’s stretch our legs and walk the rest of the way. We’ll not be wishing to give the appearance of attackers.”
If he thought their mission would be accomplished without delay, he was sorely mistaken. When they arrived at the fort, the official was there, but the forecasters had declared this day was an unlucky one for business. All official matters were closed.
“You’ll have to come back tomorrow,” the interpreter informed him.
Connall stepped away with his brother Domnall. “Superstitious Romans,” he muttered. “Whoever heard of declaring a whole day unlucky?”
Domnall only shrugged. Before they reached the door to the outside, though, the interpreter stopped them. “Tacitus, however, w
ishes to invite you to take your ease in our baths and enjoy your stay.”
Having heard that the Romans held strange attitudes about their women, he turned back. “My wife is with me. May she use your baths as well?”
He frowned but nodded. “As long as the men aren’t using one of the rooms at the time. You’ll want to set guards, however, so none of the soldiers enter.”
Of a certainty he would do so.
His news regarding the closure of business was met with the same puzzlement as his own. “The behavior ’tis strange, but we can do aught about it. They offered ease at their baths.”
The way it was offered sounded as if it were more of a treat than his own typical baths with a sponge or river.
Ashley gasped and stepped forward. “Roman baths?” She beheld the fort with eyes round with excitement and…longing? Soon, he told himself, she’d be regarding him that way.
He shifted in front of her, blocking her view and stealing some of that longing. “Are these worth visiting, then?”
“Oh, wow, yes.” She leaned to the side and looked beyond him. “I have no idea if these will be like the ones I’ve heard about, but the Romans were famous for them.”
He frowned. “This isn’t the first time you’ve referred to them in the past tense. Are they no longer an empire in your time?” It was still difficult for him to wrap his mind around her being from a different time, but it was fascinating.
“No.” She chewed her lip. “Their descendants still live in a country called Italy, but their great empire fell. Dramatically. I’m not that much into history, but even I know that their collapse was a big deal. A watershed moment.”
He glanced back over his shoulder at the fort, narrowing his eyes. Hmm, maybe not so powerful at that. “Do you know when this happens?”
She pulled her leather out from where she had it stashed in her saddle gear. “No, but I guarantee you I can find out.”
He gave a curt nod. “Please do.”
She worked her gift. “Not for another three hundred years or so.” At his frown of confusion at the unfamiliar word, she added, “Three hundred winters from now.”
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