Nimue jerked awake as the door swung open. Tacitus stood there, his foreign armor gleaming in the light from the lamp that he held, his cloak adding to the dramatic effect. For a moment she wondered if she still dreamed of her Roman lover, but as he entered the room and the light chased shadows back into the corners, she knew that this was no dream.
She pushed herself upright on the bed that he hadn’t shared with her during the night. Or was it still nighttime? Disoriented she raked her tangled hair off her face and frowned at him. After he’d left her last night, she’d followed him, only to watch him stride outside and disappear deeper into the fortification. And the legionary on guard made it clear that his orders to ensure she remained inside hadn’t changed.
“Get dressed.” His voice was pitched low, but it was a command nevertheless. For a moment, she continued to stare at him in bemusement and then the meaning of this odd nocturnal communion blazed through her.
Heart pounding she pulled on the gown she’d worn the previous day, slung her empty medicine bag over her shoulder and wrapped her cloak around her. Tacitus watched her in silence. His expression gave nothing away.
Blessed Arianrhod, thank you. Nimue sent endless prayers to her beloved Goddess as she once again clutched the pouch that held the shard of bluestone and followed Tacitus outside into the dusky early morn. All the half-formed plans she’d made during the night, to try to persuade him to accompany her to the secret enclave, faded back into the shadows. While she’d endlessly worried, her Goddess had weaved her magic around Tacitus, irrevocably entwining their destinies together.
He took her hand and led her toward a horse that waited on the wide Roman road that bisected the fortification. The legionary by the horse stepped back, and raised his arm in the traditional sign of respect she had come to recognize. Tacitus merely jerked his head in response and helped her onto the horse. Then he adjusted a strangely shaped pack that was slung over his shoulder before he swung up behind her.
Without a word, he urged his mount forward. She gripped her fingers together as they neared the great gates of the fortification but she needn’t have worried. They passed through without the slightest problem and she released a relieved breath.
“How far from here are your people?” His voice was clipped and she looked over her shoulder, but it was too dark to discern his expression. For a moment, unease rippled through her mind and she glanced at the pink-streaked sky. Although dawn had not yet broken, the starry wheel had fallen. Yet even as the thought formed, an unassailable certainty gripped her.
Once again, the Moon Goddess had not reigned in the nighttime skies. Was it because Nimue had failed in her original mission? Was this a facet of Arianrhod’s displeasure?
But wasn’t Nimue following her Goddess’ orders now? Why then did Arianrhod continue to conceal her radiance from her people?
She pulled her mind back to the present. To Tacitus’ question. “We’ll be close when the sun reaches the zenith.” She pointed in the direction they needed to travel and ignored the tiny flicker of alarm that edged her consciousness. Tacitus would never betray the location of her people. But in any case, the concern was irrelevant. Tacitus wouldn’t be returning to his fortification. She, with the help of her elusive Goddess, would make sure of that.
He redirected his horse and dug in his heels. His strong arms encased her but only through necessity. He didn’t wind one arm around her waist or give any indication that he’d accepted Arianrhod had bound their futures together.
As the sun rose on the eastern horizon, casting a golden glow across the land she loved, the unease within her heart expanded. She was close to fulfilling the first part of Arianrhod’s plan by returning the shard of bluestone and completing the sacred circle. The magic of the bluestones would ensure her people’s safety from the might of the Eagle—but this time the gods intended more. Gwydion had conveyed the message. She knew devastation would follow. Knew also, in her heart, that should she succeed then great knowledge of the Spiral of Annwyn, the Source of Universal Life, would be hers to embrace.
Unthinking, she reached out and speared her fingers through Tacitus’ as he held the reins. Her hand looked so small on top of his. And yet the future of his Legion rested in her palm.
She should feel triumphant. Victory was within her sights. Soon, not only would she be able to claim vengeance for her people, she would also, finally, avenge her mother’s murder.
By murdering the man her mother had loved with all her heart.
“Are you cold?” Tacitus’ voice against her ear caused her to shiver again. But she wasn’t cold. It seemed the soul of her mother clasped her hands, a silent condemnation for what Nimue proposed to do.
“No.” Her voice was hoarse as the full implications of what might happen hammered through her heart. Could she take responsibility for the death of her mother’s beloved? For the death of her own father?
“Do you need to rest?”
For a brief moment, she squeezed her eyes shut. From the first time she’d met him, Tacitus had always been mindful of her comfort. Even now when they fled for their lives—for surely if he was caught abandoning his Legion he’d be executed—his first concern was for her.
“It’s better if we keep going.” She tightened her fingers around his, willed him to relinquish his grip on the reins and crush her in his arms. But he remained rigid, as if her touch didn’t affect him at all.
“Let me know if you need to stop for a while.” He sounded distant, as though he spoke to a stranger, and yet his actions in taking her to her people belied his chilly exterior.
As the sun rose in the sky, Nimue’s deeply held desire to learn all the secrets of the magic bluestones wavered further. Was such knowledge worth the death of so many Romans? They weren’t all evil as she had so long believed. Marcellus was a healer. Did he deserve to die?
A few times, she attempted to engage Tacitus in conversation but his responses were stilted and in the end she gave up. She understood. He was conflicted at deserting his people. It would take time for him to see that he’d had no choice.
Anticipation tingled through Nimue’s senses as they walked deeper into the forest, Tacitus leading his horse by the reins. The tangled undergrowth snagged her ankles and up ahead she saw a familiar pair of great oak trees.
They had arrived.
She curled her fingers around Tacitus’ biceps and he looked down at her. Even in the muted light that filtered through the forest canopy, she could see the entrancing violet of his eyes. Would their child have his father’s eyes?
“Are they here?”
“Very near.” They’d stopped walking and her voice was hushed. She glanced around, but could see no sign of hidden ambush. It was imperative she find her people quickly so she could explain that Tacitus was with them, by decree of Arianrhod. “We just need to go beyond the—”
“I imagined you’d return to your village.” Tacitus glared at the surrounding forest as if it offended him. “How can you be certain anyone is here, Nimue? I can’t leave you here alone.”
“Alone?” Her voice was sharp. Even if, by some mischance, her people hadn’t made it back to the enclave she wouldn’t be alone. Tacitus would be with her. “We won’t be alone. It’s far safer here than in any of the surrounding villages.” And it would be safer still once she’d completed the sacred rituals and replaced the shard of bluestone she’d stolen.
Her mind shied away from what would happen after she’d restored the circle of bluestones around the enclave. Perhaps, now that she was free, Arianrhod would grace her with her presence, and Nimue could beg for a further favor.
Tacitus gritted his teeth as though her assurances both tested his endurance and tormented his soul. He cast another black look around the forest before he pulled the pack from his shoulder and ripped it open.
“You’ll need these.” His voice was gruff as he pulled her dagger from the pack and handed it to her. She took it and a fierce joy raced through her at the familiar weight of it in her hand. How she’d missed its comforting presence at her hip. “And this.” He sounded as if the words choked him as he pulled her bow free. “The arrows are gone.”
Reverently she took her bow and traced one finger along its elegant edge. “Thank you.” She’d never expected to see either of her weapons again. “Don’t worry about the lack of arrows. I can easily replenish my stock.”
He looked as if the thought of her crafting her own arrows made him ill. “Take this.” He pushed something sharp into her hand and she frowned at the silver brooch encrusted with emeralds. It was one she’d never seen before. “My family name is engraved on the back of this fibula. If you ever need me, for whatever reason, send this to me and I’ll find you.”
The warmth that had filled her with the return of her weapons instantly evaporated. She looked at him, saw the tension etched on his face and radiating from his body, and denial slammed through her.
“But you’re coming with me.” It was an imperious command and she slung her bow over her shoulder so that she could grab his hand. “There will be no need for me to find you because we’ll be together.”
He jerked back from her touch. “How can we be together? We come from different worlds. In my world, you’re a slave. This is the only way I can set you free.”
Denial prickled along her flesh. This wasn’t how it was meant to be.
“You can’t go back.” The words condemned her but she didn’t care if he found them suspicious. He couldn’t return. “Your place is by my side. You know this.”
A strange, tortured smile twisted his lips. “Even if you’d agreed to become my concubine, in your eyes you and our child would never be free. Yet that’s the best I can offer you.” He pulled from her grasp and stepped back. “Stay safe, Nimue. Tell our child that I wish I could have known him.”
“But—” Horrified at how her plans were turning to ash before her eyes, she watched Tacitus turn his back. “You can’t leave.” She sounded desperate. She didn’t care. How could she stop him? By throwing her dagger and felling him to his knees? What good would that be? She darted after him and grasped his cloak. “My Goddess has tied our destinies together.”
He paused and looked at her. Her heart ached. How could he walk away from her? Was this the last time she’d ever look at his face? Into his eyes?
“Your goddess of the moon.” It wasn’t a question. “It’s not me she wants. It’s you. All the time I’ve enslaved you, the skies have been dark. But I’m not doing this for a faceless goddess I know nothing about. I do this for you. If I took you back to Rome, your status would destroy you from the inside out.” For a brief, heartbreaking moment he cradled her face between his hands. “I won’t be responsible for crushing your spirit, Nimue, the way my father so carelessly crushed the spirits of my two beloved mothers.”
He released her but she could still feel the imprint of his fingers on her face as he once again turned away. Fragmented denials screamed through her mind. You’re nothing like your father. But the words remained locked inside, pounding against her skull, thundering through her veins.
She had asked him to stay. And he had refused. For a terrifying instant, she saw herself on her knees, begging him not to go, imploring him to choose her and their child.
Pride stiffened her spine. She was a Druid and it didn’t matter if her heart was breaking or her soul weeping. She wouldn’t have Tacitus’ last memory of her as a weak woman clinging to his boots. Then he glanced over his shoulder and their gazes meshed.
Her resolve wavered. What did her pride matter if it meant Tacitus would stay? But the words lodged in her throat, her knees refused to buckle and the pride of her foremothers forbade the tears to fall.
He would leave her as he had found her. A warrior of Cymru.