Os heard voices and blearily scrubbed at his eyes. “The battle?” A feminine voice asked, as if urging answers. From whom?
Os sat up, groggy and furious. Drugged. Hadn’t Sir Percy warned of women’s treachery? It was what he deserved for letting his guard down. He stood, shaking his body to get the blood flowing to all the parts that needed it. Like his throbbing head.
He made a warning growl at the back of his throat, but the Iceni seeress didn’t hear him. Henry perked his ears and twitched his tail. The polecat’s dark eyes seemed as ancient as history.
“I don’t want to see the battle,” Ela said in a voice that was Ela’s, but wasn’t. It brought instant chills to his skin. “It was horrible. People died. Stuck in a church, they were burned, and we killed them. Romans and Britons alike. They had the chance to get away, but they didn’t go—bloodlust.” Ela coughed, as if sick.
Os stepped forward, putting one hand on Kailyn’s shoulder. “Move.”
Kailyn fell to her rear in obvious surprise. “Oh—Osbert, no! You can’t wake her now—she’s in a trance, and you can harm her forever if you don’t let me—scoot over—are you made of solid muscle? Move—”
Os moved an inch, no more. He knelt as Kailyn was kneeling, by the edge of the chaise, and he took Ela’s warm hands. “Bring her back.”
Kailyn sniffed. “I know what I’m doing, warrior. Has she seen this side of you? No wonder you still are searching for each other after all this time.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about, and I don’t want to. Bring her back. Safely.”
She dug an elbow into his ribs. “Ela. Hear me. Osbert is here, holding your hands. He is Antonias.”
“Who is Antonias?” Filled with jealousy at the smile that wreathed Ela’s face, Os repeated the question.
“You. You loved then.”
Me? It felt … true. And if it were, then Ela’s smile meant that she really cared for him. It would be something to sort through later, when he had more time to tear apart the riddle and find the facts.
I would be a fool to walk away.
“But you do. Every time.” Kailyn tsked and placed her hands over Os’s.
Had he said that aloud? Or did all Iceni witches read minds? He bit his tongue, vowing to keep quiet and listen and hope for a clue as to what the hell was going on. Logic didn’t seem to be the seeress’s strong point, any more than it was Ela’s.
Kailyn made a scoffing noise from the back of her throat. “This man is the one you love above all others?”
Os stilled as Ela replied. “He is honorable. ‘Tis a great deal of effort to get past it.”
He bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood as Kailyn laughed.
Then the seeress leaned in so that her mouth was close to Ela’s ear. “I understand your pain, I feel it too. Would you be brave enough to visit the last battle?”
“Why do you need to know this?” Os rolled his shoulders to fight the tension, questioning his state of mind. A sane man wouldn’t allow this farce to continue.
“I am trying to set Boadicea’s spirit to rest, but I don’t know what she wants. I was sent to find you and this one here. And the spear—I think Boadicea needs to know that the spear is safe.”
“Boadicea? A thousand-year-dead queen who rebelled against Rome and lost?” He kept the sudden and unexpected swell of sadness at bay. He didn’t understand where the feelings were coming from. He didn’t like it, by all that was holy. He simply wanted Ela back in the present. With him. Where he could keep her safe.
Kailyn’s eyes hardened. “You are stubborn.”
He frowned, sending her his best “be quiet” look.
“You don’t scare me,” she said, turning her back to him and speaking to Ela once more. “Do you see your mother—Boadicea—during the last battle?”
Ela’s body jerked. “Nay, no, I don’t want to—it hurts.”
Os leaned over Ela’s legs and looked Kailyn in the eyes. “She said no.”
Kailyn flinched but he wouldn’t relent, so she shrugged. “Fine, you ask her then, for yourself—if she is willing to see what happened to her sister and her mother—and even you.”
The desire to believe in miracles raged within him. He should give her the right to choose. Could she know how he died a thousand years ago? Would it, please God, have been with honor?
Kailyn whispered like a temptress into his ear. “She agreed to go into this trance. I never could do this without her cooperation. Let her travel to the last battle. Tell her to be brave.”
Ela was one of the bravest women he’d ever met. That would be easy enough to do. “She won’t be harmed?”
“Only if we never put this to rest. She will always be under Boadicea’s spell, and you know how much she resents that. She worries that she will pass this curse on to her children …”
Aye. He knew those things. He’d seen the pain etched on her face as she worried over her family.
Family. The wound was a spear to the soul. He released Kailyn from his gaze and bent over Ela’s trembling form. “Be strong. You have friends at your side, and we will not let anyone harm you. Go to the last battle. Go to …” Where?
“‘Tis St. Albans now, it used to be called Verulamium.” Kailyn’s dark eyes were feverish with intent.
Os felt his pulse pound as he wrapped his sore tongue around the familiar name. “Ela,” he felt a prod to his ribs.
“Ana.” Kailyn said with a serious expression.
“But her name isn’t—”
“It was that, just as you were Antonias, and the battle is at Verulamium. Tell her.”
He bowed his head, knowing that he was stepping into a realm that had no known rules. Os hated being out of his element, but Ela, nay, Ana, was there—and he would save her no matter where she was.
Kailyn sighed with impatience.
“Ana. Go to Verulamium—tell us what you see as you prepare for battle.”
“Antonias—it is you? I never thought to feel you in the flesh again.”
His hands chilled with foreboding, and he almost pulled free.
“Nay,” Kailyn whispered harshly. “Don’t sever the connection, lest you lose her forever.”
He tightened his grip. “It is I. I won’t let you go.”
She smiled, her eyes closed, and then her mouth bracketed with deep lines of worry.
“Go into the dream with her, and no matter what you see or hear, stay with her in this plane—you are seeing something that has already passed, and you cannot change it. Do you understand, Sir Osbert?”
He felt a pull at his mind—but it wasn’t just his head, it was who he was in spirit. “Aye. Witness, but don’t react.”
Os felt Kailyn’s approval, though she didn’t say anything. In fact, he was feeling much more than normal, and it made his neck itch. The Iceni coin was a warm throb against his chest. The air was hot. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He heard the sounds of milling people—on horses, on foot. Aye, and on chariots.
“Go,” Kailyn ordered. “Ana is there with you.”
And so Osbert went, a participant in Ela’s dream. When she spoke, he listened, and tried his best not to react. It was difficult when he saw her swollen belly, and he knew that the child she carried was not his—but one of the crime of rape, by one of his fellow Romans.
A bitter ache lodged in his chest as he watched the woman he loved more than life itself prepare for battle as a man would. But it was the way of the Iceni. She looked up and caught his eye, and in her dream she smiled at him with pure love. Dirt on her nose and chin didn’t detract from her beauty, and her wild untamed spirit was undimmed despite the hardships of war.
She returned to the argument she was having with her mother. “You need rest. You have a wound in your thigh that will not heal, despite my magic. I’ve dosed you with herbs from the high priestess, but until you rest, you will not get better.”
“I want to die—glorious. In battle. I am ready to join your father in the afterlife. I promised him I would care for his land, and instead, I lost it to the Romans he trusted. Mayhap if he sees how I tried, he will forgive me for allowing his daughters to be ruined and his people to be lost …”
“Father should be asking you for forgiveness, for leaving you without the proper documents.”
Osbert turned toward the husky voice of Boadicea. Dear God in heaven, she was a queen. Tall, at least six feet in height, with deep auburn hair that was a nest of tangles. When he peered closer, he realized that the tangles were tiny knots decorated with bits of feather and twig.
The image of her dancing naked in the moonlight before a sacrifice to the War Goddess Andraste came to him as clear as if he were seeing it for the first time. Bathed in blood and standing before an altar of stone, Diyani, Ana’s sister, held out a Roman woman’s decapitated head, shaking it at the moon. She too had a babe in her belly, and she was also naked. Where was Ana?
Forcing his way through their memories, he found Ana kneeling before the wicker cage of would-be sacrifices, slipping the victims herbs before they were called. He saw himself—a Roman in a short tunic and bare, muscled legs—tall, blond. Bloodied. He felt the conflict within himself as he watched Ana ease the victims’ bodies before they were sent to a horrifying death.
To her mind, and her tribe’s, the captured prisoners were necessary offerings to a thirsty goddess. To him, Roman-born, the Iceni were not quite civilized.
Osbert grunted as Kailyn dug her fist into his side. “Stop it—you need to let her lead into the battle. You are caught up in things that don’t matter. We haven’t got all night. Let her do what she must. I warned you to simply listen.”
It frustrated him that he couldn’t be in charge. He was a leader. He was a warrior—a knight in service, by God.
He bowed his head and opened his ears as the woman he loved spoke.
Not Verulamium. That was the third victorious battle—the one where my mother took the wound to her thigh. She was glorious—undefeated—brutal. Some say that when she went into battle she became Andraste.
I know that no matter her fury, she was my mother.
And she never let go of Andraste’s spear.
My sister, Diyani, is afraid of bringing her baby into this war that is life. I know that she prays for an honorable death. Am I the only one praying for a chance at life? I see Antonias, and I feel his concern that we will be beaten down by Rome. He worries over what will happen once the battles are done. How can he save me then? I laugh, even though I know it hurts him. What else can I do?
My mother is determined to make the Romans pay for their brutal crimes, and as protective as I feel over my child not yet born, I understand that desire for revenge. It is why I pick up the sword and my own spear and fight the enemy.
My lover is Roman and feels guilt for what his people did. But they are still his people, and it is only his love for me that keeps him from joining with them as he has been taught to do.
I sacrificed my gray mare to Epona. I want my mother to remain victorious, but I also want to live. I know you can hear me, Antonias, if you will but open your heart to me as you used to do.
Osbert blinked, but didn’t release Ela’s hands. Had they been fated to love unrequited?
“This life is your last cycle to get it right, else you will never be with the mate of your spirit.” Kailyn’s voice was altered, huskier. Goose bumps ran up and down Osbert’s spine. He’d heard that voice in Ela—Ana’s—dream.
“Boadicea?” Os strove to breathe calmly. The body still looked like Kailyn’s, but fuller—larger. Impossible.
“Aye. Antonias. You must get it right in this life. You pledged eternal love, and yet each try, one or the other of you fails. You lack faith. Believe in love.”
Kailyn sneezed, and the spirit that had invaded her body was gone.
Osbert swallowed—or tried to. His throat was drier than it had been when he’d trekked through the desert on the way to the Holy Land.
God didn’t suffer witches …
But they were real.
Something unnatural was happening here tonight, and it burned him that he was a part of it. He could get up and turn his back now. He could go to confession, be forgiven, bribe a priest for silence, so that no word of his craziness got out.
He looked down at Ela—pale beneath her tan, quiet as death. Os stayed on his knees, his hands over hers.
This time they would get it right.
Ana felt Antonias return to her in spirit. He made her heart light, the battle bearable. “You are my rock,” she said. “Mother wants to catch Suetonius Paulinus before he can set up his troops.”
“It has proved to be the best way to win. Once Paulinus organizes his legions, then the British tribes won’t stand a chance.”
“Are you saying that we are doomed to lose?” Ana felt the irritation rise in her chest.
“No. I am saying that I agree with your mother. If Boadicea can catch Paulinus unaware, then her victory will be assured. But if he has the opportunity to pick the battle place and get his troops in position, it won’t be like the previous battles. Romans have military training that requires them to be disciplined and dedicated to the whole army—not individual troops.”
Ana sighed. “The Trinovantes have been wild since their king died. We are a wild people, Antonias, and surely our desire to not be conformed into another Roman unit is worth fighting for?”
“Let’s not argue this again. I chose you. I will always choose you.”
She leaned over and kissed his serious mouth until he smiled beneath the onslaught. “Mother is determined to lead the battle.”
“How is her leg?”
“Still red and hot to the touch. She’s made me and Diyani both promise to kill her before letting her become a Roman slave. Then Diyani made me promise to do the same for her.”
Antonias grabbed her wrist and she flinched. “You?”
She pushed at his chest, sending him backward and into the deer-hide tent. “You should know me better than that. I will live, Roman. That will be my revenge.”
In the privacy of their tent, Antonias grabbed her by the back of the head and molded his lips to hers. Hot, spiced with mint from the meat they’d shared that morning, his mouth devoured hers, and she responded with instant passion. It didn’t matter that there was a war to be waged, and that they were tired and sore from marching. When he touched her, she flamed.
Her loins throbbed, and she hooked her leg up around his hip—searching for his heated length. She moaned at the hard ridge against her woman’s softness. He dropped her to their furs, yanking at her clothes and his until they were both naked and hungry for each other’s flesh.
“Never give up,” he said against her mouth. “Not to the Romans, and not to death.” His blue eyes darkened to deep ocean-gray as he poised himself at her aching entrance.
All she could do was nod and wait, quivering on the edge.
“You are mine.” He plunged his hips forward, spearing her with his throbbing manhood. Ana locked her legs around his thighs and lifted her hips, tightening her inner muscles until he groaned his release. Pleasure burst over her as she whispered, “Just as you are mine.”
Kailyn cleared her throat and Os startled. He’d forgotten the seeress was there. He glared at her for being a part of that private moment.
She winked. “I can see now why your love is eternal.”
Os flared his nostrils. “Look at the battle, wench, and nothing more.”
Shrugging, Kailyn said, “Then take her there, for St. Bridget’s sake.”
“The last fight,” Os said in a commandeering tone. “Show me Paulinus and Boadicea.”
Ela’s radiance evaporated as she nodded, scrunching her eyes closed as if going back was physically painful.
“Don’t let go,” Kailyn warned.
Os had no time to argue as he was plunged into the midst of screaming horses and the deafening sound of death.
Ana saw her mother abandon the chariot. Uldred wouldn’t be able to fix it again—it was too broken, and Uldred was dead.
Her mother carried Andraste’s spear, a hare’s foot was all that was left of the body parts tied to the spear’s shaft for good fortune. Diyani had fallen once, and Rondel, blessed Rondel, had carried her back to the wagons at the rear of the lines.
It didn’t help to know that Antonias had been right. Paulinus had been prepared for the undisciplined Britons, and they were being slaughtered like sheep. Her heart ached, and she held her shield protectively in front of her belly. She would stand by her mother. Family.
She’d lost sight of Antonias, but she couldn’t think about it, any more than she could acknowledge that this battle would be her funeral. Please, Goddess, let them burn my bones and scatter the ashes.
Death. Her side ached, and her arm throbbed from where an axe swing had cut deep into her skin. She’d taken many lives, but as she made her way through groaning, dying warriors from both sides, she knew that she would be sacrificing her blood for Britain.
It was worth it.
Her only regret was her unborn child. She’d loved and fought with all of her heart.
“Ana! Go back, child—go back!”
Her mother was covered from head to toe in blood and gore. Her men fought valiantly—the three that were left.
Paulinus watched from atop the hill. Boadicea wanted his head on the tip of her spear, and she was hacking her way through the men to reach him.
And getting there.
Ana ignored her mother’s order and slashed at those who would cut Boadicea down. She was strong, quick, and not as impetuous as everyone thought. Her movements were deliberate, as she also protected her belly.
Grinning at the grim faces of Romans thrown off their disciplined mark, she slashed and thrust, yanked and pulled, smashed and swore with all the strength in her limbs.
“Stubborn girl, Ana. Use your fear. Never let them see you cry.”
Her mother back-slashed at a Roman’s bare neck, and the man’s head went flying into the dirt.
They made it to the bottom of the hill. Ana could see the brown leather laces on Suetonius Paulinus’s boots. His face was impassive, yet his tensed body betrayed his concern that mayhap his legions would lose to a British queen.
Ana lifted her sword and yelled a war cry into the air.
And then Antonias was there, by her side. They fought through the fresh men Paulinus sent down the hill, comfortable after all this time fighting as equals.
She heard her mother’s anguished scream and spun toward the sound. She and Antonias raced for the place she’d fallen. How would she get her mother free from the enemy horde?
Like a blessing from Andraste, Diyani roared from the left, cleaving her way through Romans and Britons. “Move, move, damn you—move!”
The Britons realized what was happening and fought to clear a path for the chariot her sister had commandeered from somewhere. Diyani drove the panicked horses up to Boadicea’s side. Antonias and Ana followed the retreating chariot at a run.
Their beaten and bloody people fought to close the gap, shielding them from the advancing Romans.
Diyani only stopped when the left wheel fell off completely and the chariot could move no more.
Ana leapt inside, cradling her mother’s head in her lap.
Diyani dripped blood from her right arm, where it was nearly severed off from the shoulder. Leaning over from the driver’s platform, she asked, “Does she live?”
“Of course I live!” Boadicea’s once-robust voice came out as a scratchy shout. She closed her emerald green eyes. “I live. But not for long, may your father forgive me the wrong I’ve done him. I should have run my spear through you both before letting those foul beasts ruin your right to choose your path—it is the Iceni way, and by Andraste, I vow that my kin will be protected against such brutality.”
Boadicea lifted her head and opened her eyes. Ana gasped at the banked power they held. “We are born of goddess and earth, we are sacred women of Iceni! No man shall ever be blessed in a union with you unless you are joined in love.”
Her head dropped back to Ana’s lap. Ana’s tears streamed down her cheeks, dropping on her mother’s forehead. The heavy gold torc around her neck glinted dully beneath the dried blood of her enemies.
“Take the spear, Ana,” her mother instructed.
“No!” Diyani slammed her good hand against the wood partition. “I am the one to lead us into war after you.”
“And you have but one good arm, daughter. Take my torc and know that I have a mission for you as well. Go to the Fens and hide. You’ve our magic and our pride. Build up the bloodline again, and never let our kin forget they come from Britain’s soil. A day will come when the Iceni will find their revenge.”
Boadicea lifted a swollen fist.
“Ana can’t lead the warriors into battle,” Antonias said in a dull tone, his expression pained.
Ana, who fought sadness from all angles, angrily hefted her chin. “You think to tell me what to do? We have freedom, Roman, to choose. It is our blessing—did you not hear my mother vow it anew?”
Her lover nodded, staring with fear and determination at the spear at Boadicea’s side. “I heard.”
“I will do it, Mother.” Ana dared Antonias to challenge her.
“So long as a Briton leads with Andraste’s spear, the cause is not lost to us.”
Ana scrubbed the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “Yea, Mother. I will do it.”
“I don’t want to hide like a coward in the marshlands,” Diyani said, her mouth pinched. “Given a necklet and told to play nice.”
“Coward? I raised my daughters to be queens. High priestesses! You will keep our line alive and that is more important than your pride. Pride. Our heritage can never be stolen or beaten from us.” Boadicea let out a great exhale, meeting Ana’s eyes with a hardness Ana didn’t understand. “You must survive this battle. And if you don’t, you’ve got to find a way to get the spear to your sister before your last breath. The spear will be needed to unite Britons once again, though I know not when.”
Ana nodded while Diyani slammed her hand down again. “I can fight with one arm. I can fight with my teeth!”
“Be still!” Boadicea slowly sat up and stared at the sky. “Dusk is coming. By nightfall, I will be gone. By my own hand. Burn me with all possible ceremony and know that I see your father. Now Ana, go win the war for me and your sister. Go!”
Ana accepted the spear thrust into her hand, and she struggled beneath the weight. Heavy, made of iron and filled with a goddess’s power, it took a moment for the power to transfer from Boadicea to Ana. Once it did, she lifted the spear with ease and purpose.
“Andraste accepts you.” Boadicea let out a battle cry that echoed around them, gathering stray fighters to their broken chariot. Almost all were wounded, but all had heart and the desire to see Britain free from Rome’s yoke.
“To arms! To battle!” Ana turned, found a horse, and leapt upon it with supernatural strength. Antonias did the same and followed her as she made her way—untouchable—through the sea of bodies. Dead, fighting, screaming. She would have Paulinus’s head on the tip of her spear before night fell. For her mother. Her sister. Her tribe.
Focused, driven—Ana was infused with the powers of Andraste, Goddess of War, Healer of Broken Hearts, Sacred Spirit of the Earth. A part of her realized that Antonias was calling her back, but she didn’t heed his warnings.
Attacked, her horse stumbled and fell beneath her. Shocked, Ana kept to her feet and used her spear and sword on any Roman who would come near her.
She faltered, feeling the slice of a sword cleave into her rib cage. Worry for her unborn child took her focus from the battle, and she dropped Andraste’s spear.
“Ana!” Antonias cried out, catching the spear before it hit the ground.
She held her hand out as she struggled to stay upright. The excruciating pain was nothing compared to the hesitation she saw in Antonias’s gaze.
“I can save you,” he said, his cloudy blue eyes filled with rain.
“No—give me the spear—a true Briton must carry it to ensure victory.” He winced, then straightened his shoulders … he opened his mind to her, and she saw sorrow and determination to protect her at all costs. “No,” she said, pleading.
“I love you,” he shouted the words, holding the spear high. He turned and raced up the hill toward Paulinus. At first it seemed as if Andraste’s magic would protect him too.
But then Ana felt the thrust of the axe blade as it sank into Antonias’s breastbone. Roman born and male, there would be no magic, no herbs, that could bring him back from a death wound. Her sister’s arm would heal—just as her wounds would heal—if they lived. It was the power of the blood of an Iceni priestess that provided the magic, just as the blood of the queen had blessed them with strength. Tears blurred her vision, and she couldn’t breathe.
Antonias was lost to her, and though he’d thought to save her, his last act was a betrayal of all that the Iceni believed.
Ela woke with tears on her cheeks and Henry patting them dry with his petite paws.
Sadness overwhelmed her, and she reached for Osbert. He was gone.
“Kailyn? Where is he?” She felt his death all over again, and she sat up, patting at her throbbing heart.
“He’ll be back.” Kailyn’s dark eyes held a speculative shine.
“From where? And how can you be so sure?” Ela buried her face in Henry’s soft fur.
“Because he knows if he makes another mistake in this life, he will lose you forever.”