The fear that had previously been absent now clouded her fantastical eyes. Incomprehension tore through him, melding with fiery frustration and creating a maelstrom of fury against a foe unknown. Why did she fear him now? What had he done to make her so afraid?
He fisted his hands but still she didn’t move. Why didn’t she run from him, if that was what she wanted? He wouldn’t follow. Wouldn’t take her captive. While he’d have no compunction in slaughtering anyone who attempted to take her from him, she had to go with him willingly.
“You shouldn’t wander the countryside unattended.” His throat was raw. His voice didn’t sound like his own. He searched for the right words to tell her to be careful, to remain safe. To avoid the scouting parties systematically searching the hills for renegades.
But her Celtic eluded him. “Stay with your menfolk,” he said instead. Perhaps they would be able to protect her. But no man could protect her as he could.
Maybe he should take her with him despite her reluctance. She would come around to his way of thinking eventually, when she saw the futility of resisting the might that was Rome.
He searched her face, unwittingly memorizing the proud angle of her jaw, her high cheekbones and her strange, captivating eyes. If he was Rome, she was Cambria, and if he took her against her will, everything that she was would die.
“Farewell, my Celtic lady.” His voice was hollow, an echo of the void filling his chest and seeping through his heavy limbs. He pulled his gladius from the earth, took two backward paces, then turned and marched from her.
Carys watched the Roman disappear into the forest. Her breath stuttered in her chest and she curled her hand around her throat, the erratic pound of her pulse against her fingers echoing along every traumatized nerve.
Moths fluttered within the hollowness of her legs and she stumbled against a tree for support. What had just happened?
The Roman had left her. She had seen it with her own eyes and still could scarcely believe it.
She closed her eyes and sucked in long, calming breaths, attempting to regulate her heartbeat, center her psyche. Her fingers ached around the handle of her dagger and she loosened her grip, horrifically aware that not once during the encounter had she even thought to gut her sworn enemy.
Finally her pulse slowed and, with a shiver, she glanced around but he had long gone from sight. She pressed her fingers against her throbbing pussy, trying to alleviate the maddening throb of her swollen clit, but the pressure only increased the sensation, and wet heat dampened her.
She leaned back against the tree, sheathed her dagger at her waist and gazed into the leafy canopy above. Her Roman was more magnificent up close than anything her imagination had conjured. Her finger teased her clit as she remembered his sapphire blue eyes. She had never before encountered anyone with eyes as blue as the clearest summer day.
He had told her exactly what he wanted to do with her. And when she had resisted, he had left her. Perhaps, after all, Romans did have a sense of honor.
A low cry escaped and she grasped her head, digging her fingers into her scalp. She had expected death at his hands. Perhaps brutal violation. But she hadn’t expected to be kissed the way he had kissed her. Hadn’t expected the touch of his hands to ignite flames in her blood or send tremors through her limbs.
He affected her more profoundly than she had dared dream. And instead of fulfilling every fantasy she harbored, fantasies she knew he shared by the dark passion in his eyes, his erratic breath and the hard, glorious erection she had felt beneath his scrap of linen, he had left her.
She forced herself upright. Her selfish desires had almost cost her people everything. If the Roman enslaved her, the blood shed in her rescue would haunt her forever. He had set her free and, while she knew if he’d had the slightest inkling she was a Druid—or whose blood she shared—he would have slit her throat, releasing her elevated his status from barbarian to her equal.
Did she dare spy on him again? It was a dangerous game. And yet one that sent dark thrills of excitement spinning through her senses despite, or perhaps because of, the risk of recapture.
But she wouldn’t be recaptured. And even if she was, and they shared another breath-stealing kiss, she would still somehow retain her freedom.
Because this Roman possessed honor.
She retrieved her tightly woven bag from the tangled tree roots and turned and hastened through the forest, taking hidden paths known only to a select few, her sense of direction unerring as she delved deeper into the untamed wilds. Every few moments she paused, ears attuned to the slightest crack of a twig or misplaced scurry of woodland creatures. But aside from the beat of her heart, the breeze shivering through the leaves and the expected rustlings from the undergrowth, the forest was silent. She wasn’t being followed, either by Roman or random villager.
Finally reassured she was truly alone, she doubled back on herself and took the direct route to the enchanted enclave of the Druids. The sacred spiral, a magical veil created by the combined power of all their gods and goddesses that pulsed from the spiritual core of the hallowed bluestones, had been their haven and hidden them from the enemy for these last seven moons.
Aeron dy Ehangwen, High Druid, stood in the centre of the holy cromlech, at the heart of the protective spiral invoked during the Feast of the Dead. The fingers of his right hand drummed impatiently on the polished stone altar. Yet again, Carys had disobeyed his decree and left the security of the sanctified circle.
Rage bubbled through his veins, pounded against his temples and threatened to incinerate his brain. Did she have so little regard for her own safety? For the safety of her people? Did she not realize that if caught by the enemy, the barbarous Romans would rape her senseless before ripping her limb from bloodied limb?
Through a gap in the outer ring of the immense bluestones, he saw her emerge from the forest into the sacred oak glade. Relief tempered his anger, but not enough to quell the fire in his blood. But then, nothing could ever quell the fire in his blood when he saw Carys.
She paused beyond the inner circle of megaliths and looked his way. He doubted she could see him, deep in the shadows cast by the flat capstone roof, but he had learned years ago never to underestimate his little Carys. She had formidable powers, powers she was scarcely aware existed, but that didn’t excuse her behavior.
When it became clear she wasn’t going to enter the heart of the cromlech, Aeron fought against the compunction to go to her. His fist clenched on the altar, and flames licked through his chest. She never came to him.
He grasped the hazel rod with his left hand and stepped from the inner sanctum into the sunlight. Carys neither moved nor looked surprised to see him suddenly appear.
“So you’ve returned.” He allowed an ember of emotion to heat his words, to show his condemnation.
“Yes.” Just that one word. No hint of apology or attempt at denial. The hazel rod burned his palm, such was the pressure he exerted.
“Which village?” It didn’t matter which village she had visited. They were all occupied by Roman scum. Only here, where the sacred spiral pulsed, were they safe from the invasion.
She took a step toward him. “I don’t go to the villages, Aeron. I’m not that much of a fool.”
She wasn’t a fool at all. Except for the way she denied him.
But she wouldn’t deny him for much longer. Destiny shimmered on the precipice and soon all their futures would alter irreversibly.
He held the knowledge close. She had no reason to know what he planned. None of them had reason to know.
“Then where have you been?” Against his will he strode toward her and then stopped dead as the scent of her arousal, as heady and intoxicating as the most potent of hallucinatory elixirs, drifted on a sensual breeze.
Disbelief ripped through his brain as betrayal thundered through his blood and collided with brutal force along the length of his cock. Desire and disgust warred for supremacy, but desire always simmered beneath the surface whenever Carys was near. Disgust simply fed his hunger and gave it an ugly, jagged edge.
His fingers ached to grip her shoulders, shake her till her hair tumbled free of its restraints. How dare she fuck another? For one incandescent moment a haze of red mist clouded his view, clouded his mind. Clouded his entire purpose. Carys had opened her thighs to another man.
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’ 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 him.
“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’ 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 sounded skeptical.
Bicolored eyes shimmered through Maximus’ 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.