Gawain remained rooted to the spot, his gaze riveted on the closed door. She would come back. She had to come back.
But he knew she would not.
He turned and slammed his fist through the wall of the hut. The pain gave only momentary satisfaction and it didn’t even touch the pain eating its way through his chest.
His heart.
Except she had taken his heart with her.
He doubled over, his hands grasping his thighs. Blood dripped from his knuckles and he watched the crimson drops soak into the earthen floor.
She was going to marry the praetor. Share his bed. Allow him to touch her body. And for that, he would take her back to Rome.
Rome. The city where she had endured so much heartache and loss. Where her bastard ex-husband was.
Slowly he straightened. From the moment he’d met Antonia she had given him the impression she despised that jewel of the empire. After he’d grown to know her better, his first impression had only strengthened.
Antonia did not love Rome. Her father was immensely wealthy but she had never flaunted that wealth as some daughters might. She was, as she had once told him, easily pleased.
Why would she want to take her beloved Cassia back there, when she had gone to such pains in order to bring her child to Britain?
He knew the praetor lusted for Antonia. Knew he was the kind of man who would do anything to get what he wanted. But Antonia, to his knowledge, had never given the praetor any encouragement.
It wasn’t Rome that Antonia wanted. It was the chance to give her daughter a good life. And Antonia possessed the means to give Cassia a good life here, in Britain.
Antonia hadn’t consented to marry the praetor of her own free will. It was because that bastard Roman had blackmailed her into it. And the only way Antonia could be blackmailed into doing such a thing was if he’d threatened her beloved daughter.
Gawain took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. No one would force Antonia to do something against her will.
He owed the praetor a visit.
Antonia kept her spine rigid and head high as she walked from Gawain’s roundhouse back toward the villa. She’d known their final farewell would break her heart. But she’d never imagined Gawain would look so devastated.
He had imagined them sharing a future together. Had thought they could find a life in Caledonia. He’d never know how dearly she had wanted to fall into his arms and beg him to take her and Cassia far from Camulodunum. How she, too, had dreamed of such a future.
She blinked rapidly to clear the foolish tears from her eyes. She had to keep up this despicable façade for Carys.
Her steps faltered and against her better judgment, she turned and looked back at Gawain’s roundhouse. She’d desperately wanted them to part amicably but his final taunt had shattered all hope of that.
He despised her, as she’d always feared he would. Yet better that he despised her, believing she would chose the decadence of Rome above him, than for him to guess the truth.
Her throat ached with grief as she entered the courtyard. Gawain’s face was etched into her heart and soul. She would never be able to forget him, even if she wanted to. How long would it take for his pride to erase every last memory of her from his mind?
Carys was on her knees, tending to her herb garden. Antonia forced a smile to her lips.
“Sweet Cerridwen save us.” Carys’ eyes widened as she took in Antonia’s appearance. Antonia’s face heated. She’d forgotten the state of her gown and hair. But what did it matter? Her palla would hide the worst of the damage until she arrived home.
Carys stood up and planted her hands on her hips. She was once again wearing a Celt inspired gown and looked little like the noblewoman she played for the outside world and every inch the foreign princess she truly was.
“What is Gawain thinking, to let you walk out like that? He should have come and found me for a replacement gown. And you know you’re always welcome to use the bathhouse.”
“Yes, I know.” To her horror, her voice was husky. Until this moment, she hadn’t considered that her actions would also affect her relationship with Carys. She liked the Celtic woman. But she knew Carys was fiercely loyal. Why would she want to remain Antonia’s friend after knowing how she’d hurt Gawain?
And how desperately she wished to keep Carys’ friendship. It seemed they were both destined to live in Rome, after all. How wonderful it would have been to know a noblewoman there who hadn’t once turned her back on Antonia when she had most needed support.
“Are you well?” Carys frowned and took a step toward her. “What has Gawain said to you?”
She had to pull herself together. “Nothing.” At least her voice no longer betrayed her shredded heart. “All is well, Carys. I—I have good news. I am to marry the praetor.”
Carys stared at her in disbelief. “The praetor?” Her tone left no doubt as to her disgust. “Antonia, you cannot do this. If you tell your father you don’t love him, he will never force you into this.”
Carys sounded so certain. How odd. And yet how right she was. After the praetor had left, apparently satisfied that her shocked silence equaled acceptance, her father had barely said a word when she’d told him of her marriage plans.
Perhaps he would have more to say this evening, when the praetor returned to make their betrothal official.
“It has nothing to do with love.” Did Celtic nobles only ever marry when their heart was involved? Or was that something peculiar to Druids?
Was Carys a Druid, too? The thought slid into her mind without any shock or denial. It seemed, now, perfectly possible that she was a Druid even if she had married a Roman tribune and lived the life of a patrician.
It was, after all, only one more layer on the façade Carys portrayed to the empire.
“But…” Uncharacteristically Carys appeared lost for words. “But this is not Cerridwen’s will.”
“Why should your goddess be interested in my fate? I’m not a child of Cerridwen.” No, she was a child of Juno. And once again Juno had failed her.
Great goddess forgive me. She didn’t mean her treacherous words.
Yes I do. Juno had let her babies die. And now she merely watched as Antonia walked away from the only man she had ever loved.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move on the far side of the colonnade. Inexplicably a shiver chased over her arms. How long had the shadow been there, listening to their conversation?
A regal woman emerged into the sunlit court. Her long auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders and her gaze remained fixed on Antonia.
“Mother.” Carys appeared flustered, another state Antonia had never before witnessed. “Let me introduce my dear friend.”
Before Carys could continue, the woman held up her hand in an imperial gesture. Carys immediately fell silent. Although the woman’s eyes never left Antonia’s, she had the eerie certainty that the older woman had not only taken in her disheveled appearance but despised her for it.
“I know who she is.” There was the faintest trace of contempt in her tone. Obviously she knew Gawain, and had overheard everything. Antonia tensed her nerves for further insult. “You are Cassia’s daughter.”