Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  “Aye.” The king took the drink and glanced at Taran before draining the liquid, then slammed the goblet on the table with a grimace. “ʼTis done, now leave me be.”

  As they slipped out of the king’s chamber, Pia stopped them. “We’ll need to check on him. He should not be left alone for long.”

  Morag nodded. “I’ll come back before the noon meal.”

  Taran tapped Valeria’s arm. “Will ye walk with me?”

  She offered a subtle nod and gestured for Pia to continue. “I’ll be along shortly.”

  Once they stepped outside, Stag trotted up to them. The happy dog cracked Valeria’s regal façade. Smiling, she clapped her hands. “Come here, boy.” Stag nearly knocked her over rubbing against her, his tail happily beat her thighs as she scratched his back.

  Taran bit his lip. Where should he start? His fingers ached to lace through hers and walk hand in hand. “Are the Picts treating ye well, m’lady?”

  Valeria gave Stag one last pat. “I’ll say they are tolerating me, but I’m not so sure they’re happy with my presence.”

  “They’ll warm to ye in time. Is there anything ye need?”

  “A bath would be lovely. ʼTis difficult to wash my hair in the basin.”

  “Romans love their baths, ʼtis true.” His gaze trailed down her back, taking in the length of her silky black hair. If only he could reach out and run his fingers through it, but he balled his fists. “I can imagine those bonny locks would need a great deal of at attention.”

  Her hair billowed with the turn of her head. “Yes. Why did you tell me your father was ill when it was in fact Oisean?”

  Taran frowned. She wasn’t going to make this easy. “I’m sorry I fibbed, m’lady. As I said, we could not reveal his identity for fear of a Roman attack.”

  She crossed her arms. “I see. Are there any other untruths I should be aware of?”

  “I…um…” He felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. He must tell her. Keeping an acceptable distance between them, he led her through the courtyard, grimly nodding at familiar faces. “Me uncle wants me to ride through Gododdin and announce a gathering.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be leaving?”

  “Aye, the journey should take about two weeks.”

  Valeria sped her pace. “You cannot leave me here alone. Everyone looks at me with distrust, as if I’ll slit their throats.”

  “It would be inappropriate for me to take ye with me.”

  “Because you are promised to Leda?”

  Taran’s jaw twitched. “Aye.” It sounded like a moan of agony.

  Valeria stopped, arms wrapped around her shoulders. “You tricked me out there in the wild. You took advantage of my vulnerability.”

  “Och, I do not want to marry her.”

  “What business is it of mine whom you marry?”

  Taran bit the inside of his cheek and led her through the courtyard. All eyes glanced their way. He couldn’t risk a public display. But did she really not care? If only he could pour out his feelings and tell her how much he wanted her. He clenched his fists. What good would that do?

  Valeria ran her hand along the stone pen housing a sow and her brood of piglets. “Tell me about the royal female line. How does it work? Why were you chosen?”

  A change in subject he could handle. “The firstborn son of the king’s eldest sister generally becomes prince.”

  “Generally? I’m not sure I follow.”

  “It can seem complicated, but me ma’s Oisean’s sister. He was the first-born son of king Dar’s sister. Do ye see? ʼTis much different than the succession of other tribes. Drust can never be king of the Picts, but he can be a chieftain over lands.”

  Valeria nodded. “I understand, but what did you mean by generally the first-born son of the eldest sister is named?”

  “If the eldest sister has no son or her son is dim-witted, the line could pass on from an aunt or cousin. The boy must be put to the test first. Picts need a strong warrior on the throne, one that upholds the four corners of the Pict creed.”

  “Which is?”

  “Honor, loyalty, duty, freedom. The elders will not approve of a boy who is weak or deceitful. The king must be a warrior the people will follow.”

  “How old were you when they named you prince?”

  “Four and ten. Me da brought me to Gododdin to be tested by the elders. When the decision was made, my parents left me to be fostered by Oisean.”

  “My goodness. No wonder Drust is such a cranky man.”

  “Drust understands the way of the Picts—he just has no sense of humor. He’ll become chieftain of Fife, my father’s lands, when the time comes. Queen Betha is a second cousin as well.”

  “I see, so ʼtis not just the king who is subject to the decree of the royal female line.”

  “True. All chieftains are appointed in the same way.” Taran reached out and brushed her cheek. The contact made gooseflesh rise across his arms. “I’ll have Greum watch over ye while I’m away. The king has granted you sanctuary. The Picts will not act against him. When I return, we’ll find yer bishop if that is what ye wish.”

  “Yes, returning to Rome so my uncle can appoint a husband is the best I can hope for.”

  Taran ground his teeth against the sickening feeling of a free fall from a cliff. The thought of her with another man made him ill.

  He pressed his hand into the small of Valeria’s back and led her into a secluded alcove of the tower. Facing her, he grasped her shoulders. “Valeria, I…”

  Her eyes turned stone-cold as if she had built a wall between them. “Do not placate me, sir.”

  “Have ye no feelings for me?” He searched her face for emotion. “I must know.”

  “I believe my feelings are not your concern. Good day, my lord.” Valeria slid out from his grasp, and rushed away with Stag at her heel.

  Taran stood in the archway. His insides ate him alive. He wanted to pull Valeria into his arms and pledge his love. If only he’d had a few more days in the wild with Valeria before facing the realities of his life at Dunpelder.

  “Taran, I’ve been looking all over for ye.” Leda’s chirpy voice cut through his thoughts. “Ye’ve scarcely said a word since yer return.”

  Taran bit his bottom lip. He’d been avoiding her on purpose. Worse, he’d been wrong to do so. “Ye must forgive me. There’s been much business to tend to.”

  “Me da told me about the gathering.”

  “Aye? Drust and I will be visiting the townships of Gododdin to spread the word.”

  “Ye’ll be leaving again? With Drust?” Leda didn’t attempt to hide the disappointment in her voice.

  Taran studied her face. She pouted, clearly upset with the news, but he couldn’t tell if it was him she would miss or his cousin. “Leda, if Drust were in me shoes, would ye consent to marry him?”

  She let out a nervous giggle. “What kind of question is that?”

  “I need to know.”

  “Drust is a fine lad, but I suppose I would marry whomever me da told me to marry. I’ve no choice in the matter.”

  “But what if ye did?”

  Leda frowned and backed away. “I’m not certain I like what yer asking. Are ye questioning me loyalty? ʼCause if ye are, there’s no other woman in Dunpelder who will support ye as I.”

  “I have no doubts as to yer loyalty. But do ye love me?”

  “Love?” She shook her head. “Of course. I love the Picts and Gododdin. The elders chose us to be wed.” She knit her brows and stammered, “W…why are ye doubting me?”

  “I’m not doubting you. ʼTis just…we-ell, Drust loves ye.”

  She took another step back, shaking her head. “Oh no. Ye have no right to say that, Taran. I will pretend I did not hear ye say it either. We cannot challenge the wishes of the elders.”

  “I ken.” He planted his fists on his hips. “I’m simply seeking the truth. When we wed, ye’ll be me wife, and I will honor ye as yer husband.”
<
br />   Leda stepped in and brushed his face, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “ʼTis ordained and we will be happy.”

  Taran wished it were that easy, but his betrothed, though more than willing to marry him, was in love with another. This news, combined with his feelings for Valeria, soured his mood. Mayhap some time traveling with Drust would be what he needed to set his priorities to rights. He was the appointed heir. His greatest duty was to his people, his land and his heritage. His entire life, Taran had lived by the Pict creed. With each breath, he lived by those words and they rightfully governed every decision he made.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Valeria clutched her cloak over her sleeping tunic while Morag supervised two adolescent boys struggle to push a huge copper kettle into her chamber. The floorboards groaned as the boys maneuvered the pot into the center of the room. Morag then waived in a procession of girls. “Pour the in water and be gone with ye.”

  Each young lady emptied a ewer until the pot was half full. Valeria stepped forward. “Thank you, Mistress. ʼTis so very kind of you.”

  “Don’t thank me. Prince Taran ordered it for ye before he set out with Master Drust this morning.”

  “Taran’s gone? Already?”

  “Aye, and when ye’re finished washing yer fair arse, I’ll see ye in the hall. ʼTis time ye earned yer keep.”

  Valeria bowed her head agreeably, though her hackles pricked the back of her neck. “Of course, anything I can do to help.”

  With a snort, Morag handed her a cake of lard soap and shut the door.

  Valeria cast the cloak aside. “I can hardly bear her insolence.”

  Pia wrung her hands. “She’s none too friendly, but it might give you an inkling of what it’s like to be a slave.”

  A gasp caught in the back of Valeria’s throat. How can I be so thoughtless? “Oh Pia, I did not think. I’m such a muttonhead. You’ve been with me all my life. I always considered you part of my family.”

  She drew Valeria into her embrace. “I know, child. Ours is a loving bond, but it hasn’t always been that way.” Pia stepped back, holding her at arm’s length. “Pay Morag no mind. Have your bath, though I’ll be certain the woman wouldn’t have warmed the water.”

  “It cannot be as icy as the pond.”

  Valeria dropped her tunic around her ankles and stepped into the kettle. “ʼTis tolerable…barely.”

  The pot allowed enough room for her to sit if she pulled her knees up to her chin. Pia ladled water over Valeria’s head and lathered her hair. The soap smelled of rosemary and lemongrass.

  “Once you grow used to the cold, ʼtis not so bad.” Valeria reclined her head and closed her eyes. Pia kneeled. Her soothing fingers massaged away the tension.

  Valeria skimmed the water with her fingertips. “It was very kind of Taran to think of me before he left.”

  “True, we owe a debt of gratitude to that young man for his gallant rescue.” Pia withdrew her hands. “I’ve noticed your eyes when you look at him. Must I remind you of your place, my lady? You’re a Roman noblewoman.”

  Valeria’s ears burned. “Of course not. I’ve no idea what you are talking about. Besides, you heard it yourself, Taran is betrothed to Leda.”

  “Yes, but I’m not blind.”

  Valeria groaned and sat upright. “When Taran returns we shall leave for Pons Aelius.”

  Pia ladled water to rinse Valeria’s tresses. “That will be best for both of you.”

  “Both of us?”

  “How can Taran marry Leda when he’s infatuated with you?”

  Gooseflesh rose across Valeria’s skin. “He is?”

  “And you, my lady. I can feel your heart leap to the rafters every time his name is mentioned.”

  “Nonsense.” Valeria sunk down into the kettle. She’d tried to mask her feelings, but she’d always been powerless to hide them from Pia—the woman could read her like words on papyrus. It mattered not. They’d be back on the trail soon enough. Perhaps Father was right about Quintus…if he and the bishop survived.

  Pia chuckled. “ʼTis good your mind is seeing reason, my lady.”

  “Do you think Quintus will be with the bishop at Pons Aelius?”

  Pia grimaced. “Quintus? Did you fancy him?”

  The water gushed when she stood. “Not at all, but Papa thought he would be a good match. He said I’d be better off marrying Quintus than to wait for Valentinian to appoint some old coot.”

  Pia wrapped a towel around her. “We must pray for guidance, child. I didn’t care much for Quintus when he came to call. I fear that man’s full of hate. Can you imagine how he would treat his slaves?”

  Valeria’s lips thinned. Generally a good judge of character, Pia confirmed her initial opinion of Quintus. “These are precarious times, Pia. With Father gone, we must stand together and do whatever is necessary to find our way back to Rome.”

  ****

  With clean hair brushed and flowing down the length of her back, Valeria reported to the hall as directed.

  “ʼTis about time ye showed yerself.” Morag gestured to a lone boy with a mop of brown curls sitting on a bench. “Oisean thought the citizens would bring their children for a lesson, but the only one who showed his face is Manas. The boy’s touched in the head. Saw his father run through by a Roman sword. Hasn’t uttered a word since.”

  Valeria bristled. Why couldn’t the boy’s father have met his death by an Attacotti sword, or anyone other than a Roman? She gingerly moved toward the scruffy, freckle-faced boy who stared at the ground, his hands folded in his lap. By his small stature, she guessed his age at eight or nine.

  “Manas, is it? How about we leave this stuffy hall?”

  The boy stood but kept his blue eyes averted.

  “Do you like horses?”

  He made no indication he’d heard her at all. Valeria assumed he could understand her because he stood when she mentioned getting out of the hall. She reached for his hand. “ʼTis all right. Sometimes I do not talk when things are bothering me. There is nothing wrong with silence. We shall work around it.”

  Manas allowed her to lead him into the stables, which were located along the west side of the outer bailey wall, the highest part of Dunpelder. Freshly cut hay perfumed the air as they approached. Stepping inside, she found the stables clean and well managed, not what she expected for a reputed mob of barbarians. She chuckled and wondered if Quintus had any clue how civilized the Picts actually were.

  Valeria glanced down at her silent student. “I have a mare at Vindolanda. She’s a lovely bay named Mia. She’s as gentle as a kitten when it comes to me. With fine bones, she can run as fast as the wind. Why, when I was in Vindolanda, Mia outran a soldier on a grey gelding. Of course, he was laden with armor, but that’s how you elude from Roman soldiers, you outrun them.”

  She had no idea if talking about soldiers was the right thing to do or not, but then it was no secret she was Roman. In her mind, to hide from the fact would have been a greater folly than to confront it head on. She reasoned if the boy saw his father killed by Roman soldiers, they would be his greatest fear. Perhaps if he knew how to overcome an attack, he could face his fears and possibly move on with his life.

  Valeria walked up to the stable boy, who entered from the back, laden with two buckets of water. “We should like to go riding. Would you please saddle a gelding for us, one with a gentle temperament?”

  “Taran mentioned ye might come by wanting a mount.”

  Valeria’s eyebrows flew up with a fluttering in her stomach. “He did? And what did the prince say?”

  “He said it isn’t safe for ye to ride outside Dunpelder and I must keep an eye on ye.”

  Valeria rolled her eyes. It seemed everyone in the castle watched her every move. “I see. And how about if we stay within the confines of battlements? Oisean has asked me to work with the children and I aim to teach Manas to ride.”

  “I don’t know.” The young man entered a stall with one of the buckets and hun
g it on the wall.

  Valeria thought flattery might help. She stepped toward him and waggled her eyebrows as he closed the stall gate. “A fine man like you wouldn’t expect a lad to go through his childhood without learning how to ride a horse?”

  “Er.” His mouth hung open for a moment while his face took on a healthy shade of red. “Och aye, but ye must promise not to leave the castle grounds.” The boy waved his thumb north. “There’s a round pen ye can work him in next to the stable.”

  “Splendid. Thank you, master…”

  “Tomas.”

  “Well then, thank you, Master Tomas.”

  He flashed a white-toothed grin. Valeria was fully aware a stable boy wouldn’t have earned the title master, but showing a little added respect might buy her some good terms. Friends she could use, especially among those who had shot her sideways glances on her stroll to the stables.

  Tomas brought out a saddled sorrel gelding that was greying on his muzzle. The horse carried his head low and ambled along.

  She smiled at Manas before returning her attention to Tomas. “I see you’ve selected a fine old steed for us.”

  “Bobby is our most genteel, good for beginners.”

  Valeria ran her hand along the gelding’s neck. “He’ll be perfect for our lessons.”

  Patting the horse’s shoulder, Manas appeared eager to climb aboard.

  Valeria turned to Tomas. “Do you know if the boy has ridden before?”

  “I think not. He mainly sits in the corner of the hall and stares. He’s an orphan, ye ken.”

  “No.” Morag hadn’t mentioned Manas’ mother was gone too. “Thank you. I shall ensure your kindness is brought to Prince Taran’s attention.”

  Tomas helped Manas mount and Valeria reached for a lead line from a nail on the wall. She led him to the round pen and began the lesson by explaining the workings of the reins and the legs. “A horse can sense a rider’s nervousness through his seat. They also pick up on fear faster than a rabbit in a snare, so this is the first and most important lesson. If you squeeze the horse too hard with your legs, he’ll take off down the paddock at a gallop and won’t stop until you relax, which is the hardest thing to do if you’re frightened.”