Aquila grunted as if in approval, which served only to raise Maximus’ 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’ 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 and 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 gently 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.
His mood degenerated further when he recalled why she most certainly wasn’t his nymph—because he had allowed her to walk free.
“I can’t—can’t remember.”
Gods, the creature was a half-wit. How could her grandfather hope to survive when the girl couldn’t even remember which herbs were meant to save him?
“Do you live here?” Aquila said. When Branwen gave a nervous nod, he continued. “I may be able to assist.” He looked at Maximus, as if just remembering his presence. “If the Primus has no objection?”
Inexplicably, a cold rage slithered through Maximus’ chest and wrapped around the region of his heart. It was common practice to offer assistance in return for sexual favors. In the distant past, he’d done it himself. He couldn’t understand why now the thought sickened him.
Was it because he’d been unable to find something the golden wood nymph had needed—something she needed so desperately he could have bargained her freedom with? Hypocrisy left a bitter taste in his mouth.
“The Primus has no objection.” If Aquila wanted to fuck this insipid scrap, in exchange for a few herbs from the Valetudinarium, it was nothing to Maximus.
Branwen’s fidgeting fingers stilled on her lap and she gave Aquila a startled glance, as if unsure as to his meaning.
Maximus jerked his head at Aquila to indicate this farce of an interrogation was finished. The girl would soon understand the terms of the bargain. It was up to her whether she wanted to fulfill them or not.
Two days later Maximus led his elite Centuria on their regular training session of a twenty-mile route march. They’d left two hours ago, all of them carrying full equipment, and still the exertion wasn’t enough to alleviate the dull ache between his legs.
He increased the pace, despite the unrelenting heat from the sun and the steep incline of the terrain. This situation was intolerable. Tonight he’d hang his principles and seek relief in one of the local brothels.
As he crested the hill, he paused for a moment to scan the area. Far in the distance sprawled a massive forest, and beyond he could just discern yet another mountain. There was nothing here to warrant further scrutiny, but as he turned to make tracks toward the nearby river, a furtive movement from the valley below caught his attention. Instinctively he raised his hand, demanding silence, and his troops became stone.
Maximus narrowed his eyes and focused. There was no mistake. The girl slipping into the sparse wood that hugged the valley was Branwen.
Senses on full alert, he turned to his troops. “Make camp,” he commanded. It wasn’t usual to break a routine march but that was of no consequence. A legionary had to be ready for any contingency and his men were already obeying his order.
He dropped his pack and watched them for a moment. “I’ll reconnaissance the area.” With that he turned and marched into the valley, not knowing why he followed the girl, aware only that he must.
She was making her way to the stream where the scouts had encountered her two days ago. Why? They had reported nothing untoward with the area. In fact they’d picked her up only for his viewing pleasure.
But she was here. And to have arrived before his men meant she must have left the settlement at dawn. Again, why would she return to the place where she had previously been captured?
The renegades he’d interrogated had not been connected with Branwen. They had, however, eventually admitted to plotting a full-scale rebellion, and, while he admired their courage, such treason couldn’t be allowed to go unpunished.
But Branwen didn’t have the backbone for such activities. Although he’d been mildly surprised that, as yet, Aquila hadn’t managed to persuade her to share his bed in exchange for medical assistance for her grandfather.
He entered the wood, mentally recalled the map of the area the scouts had detailed, and stealthily made his way to the hidden glade.
Maximus saw her at the exact moment the glinting stream became visible. He sucked in a shocked breath, heart pounding in his throat, and instinctively retreated behind the nearest tree.
It was impossible she could have seen him. Swiftly he removed his helmet with its distinctive, eye-catching plumage, and once again caught her in his line of vision.
Branwen was on her knees before his golden wood nymph, her fingers fluttering over the nymph’s feet as if she were worshipping her goddess.
“Forgive me, my lady.” Branwen’s voice came to him clearly, but his focus was on the other. He hadn’t imagined that haunting beauty. In reality, she was even fairer than he recalled. Lust, hot and heavy, roiled through his arteries, thickening his shaft, splintering any hopes he’d harbored of a cheap whore being able to cool the fever steaming his blood. There was only one who could quench the unnatural flames consuming him, who could satisfy the craving that clawed through every particle of his being. And she stood barely twenty feet from him.
She crouched, grasped Branwen’s hands and pulled her to her feet. “It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice was as soft and musical as he remembered, and sent darts of sharp pleasure coursing through his body.
“The soldiers polluted the holy Cauldron with their presence.” Branwen sounded on the verge of tears. “It’s my fault they found her.”
“Cerridwen is not found,” his Celt said. “Her Cauldron’s not polluted, Branwen. Any fault in this is mine, not yours. I should have been here for you. I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath, and Maximus watched her breasts swell above the square cut of her gown. “Did the soldiers hurt you?”
Branwen shook her head and sniffled. “But the centurion frightens me.”
His Celt frowned. “The centurion?”
“He wants to help.” Branwen sounded confused. “But how can the Roman understand what ails my grandfather? I trust only you with his health, my lady.”
His Celt handed Branwen a leather package. “The barbarians don’t have our knowledge, Branwen. Continue administering this to your grandfather. I’ll be here if you ever need to return.”
A smile twisted Maximus’ lips. So his lady was a healer. He decided that pleased him. But not as much as he intended she please him in the not-too-distant future.
He’d let her go once. He had no intention of allowing her to escape again. Not until he’d tasted the sweet nectar of her lips once more, or speared his fingers through her long hair, pulling it loose from its restraints and feeling the silky softness envelope him in a halo of gold.
“Go now.” His Celt held a note of command in her tone. “But not the way you came. Roman soldiers swarm upon the hill. Take the long route home.”
His breath stilled, caught midchest at the significance of her words. How did she know where his men were? Did she have spies posted about the countryside?
Branwen bowed her head, clasped his Celt’s hand and bestowed a reverential kiss. She then scurried away in the opposite direction.
His heart thudded against his ribs and echoed through his brain. His golden nymph continued to stand by the edge of the sparkling spring as it bubbled from a cluster of rocks, her attention focused on the direction Branwen had fled. He could emerge and capture her. She could do nothing to deny him. And yet he remained rooted to the spot, captivated by her serene profile, unable to deny her mystical hold.
She turned toward his hiding place. Stared through the trees at him. He knew she couldn’t see him through the shadows of the trees and yet he felt exposed. Naked.
Intolerable. No man made him feel that way, much less a mere woman. Even a woman as beautiful as his golden wood nymph.
He saw an enigmatic smile touch her lips, as if a thought had amused her. And then she spoke. “You can come out now, Roman barbarian.”