Carys hurried toward the meeting place, knowing Maximus’ gaze followed her. She wouldn’t be surprised if he followed her physically at a distance, but she refused to confirm her suspicions.
Heart thumping, she ignored her good sense and glanced over her shoulder. Strolling nonchalantly through the outside market, within easy shouting distance, was Maximus.
She caught his eye and relayed the frigid message that she didn’t appreciate him following her. He merely raised one eyebrow and made as if to approach her.
Goddess, didn’t he realize what a precarious position he was placing her in? If Morwyn or Gawain guessed the centurion she’d been accosted by was now stalking her, how long would it take for them to deduce he was also her elusive lover?
She tugged the blanket more securely around her face, her mind feverishly concocting plausible scenarios. It was imperative she give her friends no reason to suspect she and the centurion had passed anything but the most cursory of exchanges.
And then she collided into a hard, solid body.
“Carys.” Gawain gripped her arms and peered at her, his face contorted with a mixture of alarm and relief. “Thanks the gods. We heard you’d been arrested.”
Morwyn pushed him aside and enveloped Carys in a bone-crushing hug. Over her shoulder Carys searched for Maximus’ telling presence, but he had vanished into the crowd.
“I wasn’t arrested,” she said as soon as Morwyn allowed her to draw breath. Before she could say any more, her friends flanked her and urged her forward, toward the boundary of the settlement town, horses in tow.
“We should never have brought you,” Gawain said, and Carys saw his sharp glances piercing through the throngs, as if searching for legionaries. Or centurions.
Once outside the town, Morwyn turned to her. “Sweet goddess, Carys.” Carys was horrified to see tears in her friend’s eyes, but before she could comfort her, Morwyn cupped her face. “For you to be so violated.” She sucked in a quick breath. “The Romans will pay for this with their blood. I promise you. And the one who touched you will have his entrails strung up for the crows.”
Blood flooded Carys’ face. Could Morwyn smell the lingering trace of arousal on her? “I wasn’t raped, Morwyn.”
Morwyn stroked her cheek, as Gawain slung his bulky pack over his horse, his face a deadly mask of fury.
“We heard how you were abused in public and dragged from the streets.” Morwyn sucked in a ragged breath. “How dare they think they can behave in such a barbaric manner?”
Formless terror surged through her, a knowing that if she didn’t appease Morwyn’s sense of outrage, if she didn’t convince her friend that she hadn’t been violated, catastrophe would befall them all.
She grasped Morwyn’s shoulders, and the blanket slithered from her head and tumbled to the ground. “It’s true I was accosted by three Roman louts in the market. But the centurion drove them off.” And then she couldn’t help herself. “None of our people came to my aid, Morwyn. They all looked the other way.”
“Things have changed, Carys.” Gawain shot her a hard look before taking the pack lashed to Morwyn’s back and securing it to the second horse. “Do you think the centurion swine would have thought twice about running anyone through who attempted to cross him?”
“I’m not talking about the centurion,” Carys said without thinking. “He didn’t abuse me. It was the legionaries who attacked me.”
They both stared at her as if they couldn’t understand her distinction. Suddenly realizing she was defending Maximus and not being subtle about it, she bent to pick up the blanket, to snatch a few vital moments to compose herself.
“What did the centurion want with you, Carys?” Gawain’s voice was low. Even. She shot him a probing glance but his face was impassive.
She decided to go for the truth. Partially. “He wanted to ensure I was unharmed.”
Morwyn gave a disbelieving snarl. “Unharmed? When they march into our lands, murder our people, rape our women—”
“Did he interrogate you?”
Her heart pounded against her ribs, yet it was slow, drawn out, and echoed eerily in her mind as if she was separated from her body and connected only by each amplified beat.
“He asked my name.”
Gawain’s eyes narrowed. “Is that all? He didn’t ask you anything of where you come from? Who you are?”
Sweat trickled along the length of her spine. Sweet Cerridwen, how could she answer? She had no wish to lie to Gawain. But how could she explain what had occurred in Maximus’ quarters?
It was impossible. She couldn’t confide in her friends, yet she owed them more than this.
She took Gawain’s hand and maintained eye contact. “He asked after my kin. I told him the truth, yet told him nothing. He didn’t hurt me, Gawain. He’s— I feel he is an honorable man.”
He was silent for a moment. “The Romans have no honor, Carys.” He sounded resigned. “The gods saved you today. We must give thanks for that. And give sacrifice to Arawn that Aeron never discovers what happened to you today.”
Carys didn’t care if Aeron discovered she had been into the settlement or not. Lately, whenever she thought of Aeron, a hard knot formed in her chest, and, since meeting Maximus, her years of buried resentment toward the older man had finally sparked into life.
“Perhaps he should know.” Morwyn swung herself onto the horse and Carys followed, since Gawain’s horse was more burdened with goods from the town than theirs. Morwyn glanced over her shoulder at Carys, then across at Gawain. “If he thinks the Romans have violated his beloved Carys, then perhaps he’ll be more inclined to share when, precisely, he plans to attack.”
Carys sighed inwardly. She knew her friend was sore that Aeron still, for unfathomable reasons, wanted Carys in his bed. But she couldn’t understand why Morwyn obsessed on wanting to fuck Aeron when it was clear to all how much Gawain adored her.
Aeron, Carys believed, adored no one but himself. And despite his declarations of undying devotion for her while they’d been together, she’d never felt the emotion from him.
But then, she had never felt anything with Aeron. It was as if he was an abyss. Her relief after finishing their relationship had been so profound, she felt as if she’d been reborn into a more vibrant, tactile world.
“If he plans such an attack.” Gawain’s expression was stony.
Morwyn jerked and shot Carys a disbelieving glance. “If?” she repeated, once again focusing on Gawain. “How can you doubt, Gawain?”
Carys chewed her lip and stared resolutely ahead. Until recently she’d been eager to fight the enemy and help drive them across their borders.
But now she was torn. She wanted freedom for her people. But she also wanted Maximus.
An impossible dilemma. One she couldn’t imagine ever reconciling.
Gawain gave a mirthless laugh. “How can you not doubt, Morwyn?” His voice was harsh. “How many moons have we hidden away like rats on a ship, waiting until the time was right? What time? When will it be right?”
“But—”
“The right time,” Gawain persisted, “was the moment the barbarians invaded our lands. We should have stood firm, as our kin did at the border.”
“Our kin all died at the border,” Carys said. “Aeron saved us from that at least, Gawain.”
“At least they died a noble death, defending their people and land.”
Morwyn twisted round and frowned at Carys in clear confusion. “But Aeron received visions from the gods,” she said, glancing back at Gawain. “Only when all the planets are in alignment will we be able to drive the enemy from the valleys.”
Gawain turned to stare at them. His eyes were hard, his expression grim. “I have the greatest reverence for Aeron’s visions. He foresaw the slaughter. Ensured we escaped unscathed from the following onslaught.” His lips thinned. “But this retreat was supposed to be temporary, while we gathered our powers and united the spiritual forces. Now we’ve waited so long the very people we’re pledged to protect are bowing voluntarily to Roman rule.”
Shivers raced across Carys’ arms, despite the warmth of the day. All she could see in her mind’s eye were those maps on the walls of Maximus’ quarters.
She’d studied them during the few brief moments he’d left her alone. And been transfixed by how meticulously the landscape was captured.
And yet not captured. The entire section protected by the spiral had not been mapped. Because, as far as any casual observer could see, there was nothing there to be mapped.
But no matter what her fellow Druids believed, the Romans weren’t stupid. And Maximus most certainly wasn’t stupid. How long would it be before he realized there was something very wrong with the geographical markers beyond her spring? And how long before someone, somehow, stumbled across the one and only entrance to their sacred retreat?
Maximus waited until Carys and her companions left the settlement before turning to keep his appointment with Faustus.
When the tall, fair-haired man had embraced her, a bolt of pure fury swept through him. Had she lied? Was this man her lover?
And what the fuck was he doing there? Carys had mentioned no man. Only female relatives. It had taken a considerable measure of willpower to remain out of sight, when every instinct demanded he make himself known. Make them know that Carys was his.
The thoughts churned his mind as he marched through the main street, barely acknowledging the way legionaries went out of their way to avoid him.
The dark-haired woman had to be Carys’ cousin. And the man her husband. It made sense. Although considering how Carys’ relatives had fled before the invasion, it made no sense why a man would allow his wife and her cousin to enter the enemy’s lair.
And then allow Carys to wander alone. The rage surfaced again, fueled by his steaming lust. How many spineless men were hiding behind the skirts of frail, ancient women? Manipulating Carys so she felt honor bound to remain with them?
In what other ways were they manipulating her?
He rapped sharply on Faustus’ door, scarcely waiting for permission to enter before marching inside.
“Gods,” Faustus said, pottery amphorae in hand, staring across the room that bore more resemblance to a senator’s reception than a military office. “You nearly took the door down, Maximus. Wine?”
So this was a social visit. He didn’t feel social. He felt like demolishing something. “Celebrating?” He tried to modify his tone, but only partially succeeded.
Faustus diluted the wine before handing Maximus an exquisitely crafted glass goblet, which had been specifically imported from Rome along with numerous other luxuries Maximus considered unnecessary.
He resisted the urge to shatter the fragile object and instead drained the contents in one go.
“Wouldn’t you be celebrating if you were leaving this barbaric land?” Faustus curled his lip in disgust and refilled Maximus’ glass with wine and water. “By Jupiter, I can’t wait to return to civilization.” He waved Maximus toward a chair before sprawling on another. “The Senate awaits.”
“Good luck to you.” Maximus drained the second glass and slammed it onto the unnaturally tidy desk. The thought of taking his own place in the Senate didn’t appeal, but then, he wasn’t Faustus.
“With my military record, I won’t need good luck.”
Maximus declined to answer. Faustus’ military record was negligible, but since it happened to encompass the last year when they had defeated the Druids of Cambria and conquered a good portion of Britannia’s windswept western peninsula, he knew Faustus’ assertion was correct.
“And now you’re taking my place,” Faustus said, “you’ll only have to suffer this life for another year at most. I’ll ensure the Emperor knows of your exemplary conduct, Maximus.”
Maximus grunted. If Faustus was waiting for thanks, he could wait until Tartarus froze. Maximus was very aware of his own conduct and didn’t appreciate the character assessment from someone who believed twelve months in service qualified him as a veteran.
Faustus shot him a frown. “Sit down. There’s a matter I wish to discuss with you.”
Gritting his teeth, Maximus sat and ignored the discomfort between his legs. But since the ache in his balls radiated throughout his entire groin he wasn’t entirely successful.
“There’s been a change of plan.” Faustus set his goblet on the desk and unaccountably avoided eye contact. “I’ll be leaving for Londinium this afternoon.”
That caught Maximus’ attention. “So soon?”
Faustus shrugged. “My uncle believes there’s no point in staying longer than necessary. I can’t disagree with that.”
So from tomorrow, he would no longer be the Primus. He glanced around the room, knowing other—private—rooms led from this one. Quarters more than suitable to house Carys in comfort.
“I have a favor to request.”
Maximus focused on the younger man, who was frowning as if something other than the anticipated return to Rome was on his mind.
“Yes?”
Faustus cleared his throat, and then pulled a small pouch from his belt. He dropped the leather bag onto the desk. “I would ask you to give Efa this, as a sign of my regard.”
Maximus glanced at the pouch, then stared at Faustus. “You’re leaving without telling her yourself?”
Faustus made an impatient gesture with his hand, but still avoided eye contact. “If I tell her, she’ll only become hysterical, Maximus. If you explain the situation, she’ll accept it without making an exhibition of herself.”
Maximus pulled Efa from his memory. He’d met Faustus’s young mistress on only a few occasions over the last three months and she seemed a quiet, timid little thing. But who could tell how a woman would react upon learning her lover had abandoned her?
He fingered the leather pouch. Felt the weight of the coins within. “You don’t want to leave her.”
Faustus finally looked up. For one unguarded moment Maximus witnessed the naked longing in the younger man’s eyes, and shock speared through him as he realized the truth of his semi-idle comment.
“What does it matter what I want?” Faustus said. “I’m heading back to Rome and my intended wife. There’s no future here for me. I’ve always known it.”
“You could apply for a transfer. Take Efa with you into Britannia.”
Faustus stared at him as if he thought he’d gone mad. “Britannia?” he repeated. “Gods, I’d go insane if I had to stay in the army indefinitely, Maximus. I’m not like you, loving the life. I’m only here to further my Senate career.”
He thought of Carys. Of never seeing her smile again, of never hearing her contradict every word he uttered.
An odd pain twisted his guts.
“Have you not considered taking Efa back to Rome with you?” Would he take Carys back to Rome with him? Would she even consent to go to Rome if he asked her?
“Fucking Jupiter.” Faustus poured himself more wine and swallowed it neat. “Of course I have. I have the means to set her up in style. She would want for nothing.” He shot Maximus a scowl. “The old man forbade me. Said it would besmirch the honor of my dear bride to return with my mistress in tow.”
Maximus’ fingers clenched around the pouch. He didn’t have to wonder how Carys would react to his future bride. She had already told him, in graphic detail.
“Then have Efa come to you later.”
Faustus picked up the amphorae and studied it. “That could take months. It’s best I end it now, without leaving Efa false hope of a future together.”
Maximus narrowed his eyes as he considered Faustus’ words. “A few months are nothing. At least she’d be with you. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
Faustus replaced the amphorae on the desk and leveled a dark glare in Maximus’ direction. “I want to take her with me because she’s a good fuck, Maximus. Gods, my cock aches every time I think of her delectable mouth around me.”
Maximus emitted an unintentional grunt, as the image of Carys’ delectable mouth around him invaded his thoughts.
One day, and soon, he was determined for that fantasy to become reality.
“Then have her follow you in a month or two. You’ll be married by the time she arrives, won’t you?” Maximus couldn’t see why Faustus saw obstacles. If he wanted Efa, then he could have her. He’d just have to wait for her; that was all.
Faustus expelled a disgusted breath. “You haven’t seen my bride, Maximus. Two years ago, when I last paid my respects upon the anniversary of her eleventh year, I had never seen such an unappealing creature in my life. The thought of fucking her withers my balls.”
“Then close your eyes and think of Rome.” Maximus eyed the amphorae, then decided against another glass. So far the wine, far from deadening the lust in his loins, had fed it.
“It would take more than Rome to get it up for her,” Faustus growled. “Acquiring a suitable mistress is a priority. You understand, now, how I can’t wait months waiting for Efa. It wouldn’t work.”
Perceptions adjusted. Maximus frowned. “You only want to take Efa with you for one reason.” Even as he said the words, his brain questioned his response.
Why else did a man take a mistress if not to satisfy his carnal desires? It certainly wasn’t for the purpose of procreation. That was why a man married. To beget heirs for Rome.
Faustus gave a short laugh, devoid of amusement. “What other reason is there?”
Maximus attempted to prevent the scowl from darkening his face. There was no other reason, although he knew well enough that some men felt far more than mere lust for their mistress.
For a moment, he had imagined Faustus one of them. Apparently, he’d been mistaken.
“I thought she might stimulate your brain with her scintillating conversation.” He infused each word with derision, although whether he was deriding Faustus for his cavalier treatment of Efa or himself for his uncharacteristic descent into seeing more than existed, he couldn’t say.
This time Faustus’ laugh sounded genuine. “There’s not a lot of time for conversation while I’m pounding between her thighs.”
Maximus refused to respond. Faustus didn’t appear to notice.
“Scintillating conversation?” The younger man grimaced. “Is that how you entertain your whores, Maximus? By talking to them?”
The sudden vision of hammering his fist into Faustus’ smug face assaulted him. Only the knowledge that the other man had no idea of Carys’ existence prevented him from smashing his superior officer’s nose across his aristocratic cheekbone.
He swept up the pouch. “I’ll pass on your message in the morning.” As he attached the pouch onto his belt, his knuckles grazed another package. The jewelry he’d bought Carys.
Fucking Mars. Would nothing go to plan when it came to that woman?