Wave upon wave of pleasure surged over Jilana and for a time she forgot that Caddaric was her sworn enemy. A longing she had not known existed surfaced in Jilana—a longing which filled her with a sweet ache and left her weak and breathless when Caddaric at last released her. How she yearned to lean against him once more! To know the pressure of his lips against her own, to run her fingers through the damp brown hair. Even the jagged wound upon his left cheek did not repel her for— Jilana’s thoughts ground to a stop and a mortified blush spread across her face. What was she thinking? This man was not Lucius, nor even a Roman. He was a Briton, murderer of her family! A sob caught in Jilana’s throat. She wrenched herself away from Caddaric and ran to the far side of the room where she pressed herself against the wall and regarded him through wide, bewildered eyes.
Sanity returned to Caddaric as he gazed sadly at the forlorn yet undeniably enchanting figure Jilana presented, and he cursed himself for his actions. She was his destiny—if Caddaric had doubted Clywd’s prophecy before he did so no longer, not after having held Jilana in his arms. The knowledge that he would soon surrender Jilana to another now clawed at his vitals and Caddaric seethed with impotent fury.
“Put on your sandals,” Caddaric instructed in a tight voice.
Jilana obeyed, taking care to stay out of Caddaric’s reach, and followed him from the bedchamber. As they walked through the villa Jilana saw, to her astonishment, that the bodies had been removed and the floors cleaned of their bloody evidence. Jilana bit her lip to keep from asking about the disposition of the dead but as they walked to the Iceni palace, carts laden with the corpses of the town’s citizens rolled past Jilana and her captor and she found it impossible to chain her tongue.
“Briton?” The intense blue eyes fixed upon her so hotly that Jilana paled, but she forced herself to continue. “Did you murder all my countrymen?”
Caddaric stiffened. “Nay, not all. A few escaped.”
“And the children?”
“Those young enough to forget this place and their Roman parentage were spared—they will be raised as Iceni. As for the rest—” Caddaric slowly shook his head.
“You killed them,” Jilana cried. “They were but children yet you slew them!”
Caddaric stopped and grimly faced Jilana. “The Queen’s daughters are little more than children, yet they were outraged by your noble Roman soldiers,” he informed her.
Jilana paled. “I—I did not know.”
Caddaric clamped an unyielding hand on Jilana’s upper arm and pulled her forward. “War is not pleasant, Jilana; everyone suffers, including those who are not soldiers. ‘Tis a fact I cannot change.”
Forced to take two steps to Caddaric’s one Jilana struggled to retain her balance while committing to memory the scenes of destruction of Venta Icenorum. Did the sight of such devastation leave Caddaric unmoved? Jilana wondered. He did not glance at the carts, nor at the corpses which could be seen from time to time. What a change one day had made in the town. Today it was the jubilant Iceni warriors and their women who filled the streets, not the Romans. Today Roman blood washed the earth, not Iceni. Suddenly, without warning, the desire for revenge surfaced in Jilana and a hard core of resolve formed within her. The Iceni would pay for all that had happened—Caddaric, in particular. Jilana did not see the quickly concealed flare of anguish in the sapphire eyes, and she misunderstood the expressionless mask which had settled over his features as they neared the palace.
Caddaric’s uncaring attitude—as well as the curious looks she received from the Iceni they happened to meet— stung Jilana to the quick and when she and Caddaric entered the palace grounds Jilana angrily jerked her arm from Caddaric’s grasp.
“You do enjoy this, do you not, Briton?” Jilana panted. “You revel in death; you delight in humbling me when you know I am powerless to defend myself!”
As soon as the words were spoken Jilana realized the gravity of the mistake she had made in acknowledging what had transpired in her bedchamber.
Caddaric’s eyes snapped with derisive laughter and before Jilana could guess what he planned, Caddaric curled a muscular arm around her waist and lifted her upward along his body until their eyes were level.
“I did not hear you scream in outrage, or bite, or scratch. ‘Twas only when the deed was accomplished that your Roman conscience plagued you.” Jilana blushed furiously and with a short bark of laughter Caddaric returned her to the ground. “Chain your tongue, Roman. The warrior who receives you will not be as patient with you as I.” The words flayed his already bruised spirit, creating an inner pain so great that Caddaric wondered he did not die of it. He had failed to find the Procurator so relinquish Jilana he must; but the memory of her sweet mouth tortured him so that in retaliation he lashed out at her, as if his action would deny his pain.
Subdued—at least for the moment—Jilana walked beside Caddaric through the crowd of Iceni. A dais had been raised in front of the palace and Caddaric elbowed a path through his countrymen until he and Jilana stood at the fore of the crowd. Frankly curious, even hostile, stares were directed at Jilana and some of the bitter defiance drained out of her. Never had she felt so alone, so completely unprotected. Until yesterday Jilana’s world had been kind and gentle and now she was surrounded by those who hated her. Blinking away tears of self-pity, Jilana was more than a little alarmed to see a fair-haired Iceni warrior detach himself from the crowd and stride toward them.
“Caddaric!”
Caddaric groaned inwardly and inclined his head to Jilana. “Say naught to this man, Jilana. Keep your eyes downcast and your bearing meek. I will answer the questions he is certain to ask.” Something in Caddaric’s voice told Jilana she would be wise to do as he said and she hastily lowered her gaze to the ground as the strikingly handsome Iceni drew near. Grateful for Jilana’s unexpected cooperation, Caddaric turned his attention to the approaching warrior. “Greetings, Artair.”
Then two men grasped each other’s forearms and Artair grinned engagingly. “You look well, Caddaric, despite the rigors of last night. Your leg is not painful, I hope.”
Caddaric felt Jilana’s startled glance fall upon him but steadfastly ignored her. “The leg will heal, Artair, do not concern yourself.”
“Still, you were injured because of my clumsiness,” Artair persisted, brown eyes filled with concern. “Had I not stumbled backward, your opponent would never have his sword upon you.”
“Clywd will see that the wound heals,” Caddaric re-stiffly. He knew well enough Artair’s reason for approaching and it had nothing to do with his injury.
“So this is what Clywd spent the night guarding,” Artair commented. “Ede will not be pleased.” The warrior eyed Jilana speculatively, confirming Caddaric’s suspicions. Before Caddaric could stop him, Artair seized a handful of red-gold curls and jerked Jilana’s head back so it he could see her face.
Violet eyes met brown and Jilana forced herself not to move or cry out when Artair’s free hand casually explored the curves of her body through the toga. Two bright red spots of humiliation burned on Jilana’s cheeks as Artair’s mouth curled into a leering smile, the metallic taste of hate sprang to Jilana’s tongue. She knew, instinctively, what Artair was thinking and she longed to plunge a dagger into his black heart.
Artair guessed her thoughts and, laughing, roughly caresses Jilana’s jawline with his knuckles. Looking to Caddaric, Artair inquired, “Have you bedded her yet, my friend?”
“Nay.” Caddaric had unconsciously closed a hand on the hilt of his sword during Artair’s performance and his grip tightened at Artair’s words. “The Queen’s order was to keep her safe. That I have done.”
“You have more control than I,” Artair said harshly, speaking for all the world as if Jilana were deaf. “I would not turn over such a prize without first sampling its charms.”
“Mayhap that is why I was entrusted with her care and not you,” Caddaric rejoined as calmly as was possible.
Artair greeted th
e ponderous statement with laughter. “Always so staid, Caddaric, so grim. This is a time for rejoicing, for celebration. We have won a great victory, my friend; I would think that would raise even your spirits.” Artair’s eyes slid back to Jilana. “Did Caddaric tell you? You are to be given to the warrior who captured the Procurator.”
Jilana looked at Caddaric’s stony profile before she nodded. “I have been told,” she said bitterly.
“She speaks our tongue,” Artair exclaimed, delighted with his discovery. He did not notice that Jilana’s fluency came as a surprise to Caddaric as well. “I could ask no more in a Roman slave!”
Jilana’s violet eyes widened in shock and Caddaric felt himself pale. “Your slave, Artair?”
“Aye, Caddaric, mine.” Artair lifted a handful of the soft, fiery tresses to his lips. “The gods were with me last night—they guided me straight to the Procurator.”
Caddaric surveyed the crowd through narrowed eyes. “I do not see Catus Decianus, Artair,” Caddaric challenged bluntly.
“I was forced to kill him,” Artair shrugged carelessly. “Still, I believe our Queen will give me this woman, Caddaric. ‘Tis not my fault the Procurator chose to fight rather than surrender.” With a satisfied sigh, Artair released Jilana and turned his overly handsome face to Caddaric. “I will take my prize now, Caddaric.”
“Nay.” A muscle worked violently in Caddaric’s jaw and he pulled Jilana against his side. “Until Queen Boadicea decides differently, Jilana remains with me.”
“Jilana? Ahh, Jilana.” A knowing smile lit Artair’s eyes as he glanced at the Roman woman. “Very well, Caddaric, carry out your orders, but remember she is mine. Let naught happen to Jilana while she is in your care.”
Jilana watched Artair return to his friends with a sinking heart. His easy manner and purported concern for Caddaric’s health had not deceived Jilana—she had looked into his eyes and seen the ruthlessness there. Artair would use any means, fair or foul, to obtain whatever he desired and at the moment it was obvious he desired Jilana. Jilana shuddered at the thought of becoming Artair’s slave and stole a look at Caddaric from beneath her lashes. Would Caddaric believe her if she told Artair was lying about the Procurator?
“Caddaric—”
“Be silent,” Caddaric snapped impatiently. A rustle of movement at the palace drew a murmur of appreciation from the assembled Iceni and then a great shout went up Queen Boadicea strode into the sunlight. Beneath the of the cheering Caddaric warned Jilana, “When the Queen calls for you, go forward and kneel in front of her. Remain kneeling until the Queen says you may rise. Do speak unless the Queen so orders, and if you do speak, your tone must be respectful. If the warrior who inherits you believes for a moment that you treated Queen Boadicea with the slightest contempt—” He allowed his words to trail off and fixed Jilana with a fierce look. Jilana swallowed to ease the constriction of her throat and turned away. There was no need for Caddaric to complete the thought—she was painfully aware that within minutes her life and well-being would be of concern to no one. Her new master—Jilana cringed inwardly at the word—could use and abuse her as suited his whim, This was, Jilana suddenly imagined her father whispering her ear, a time for compromise.
Boadicea mounted the platform and, in stiff movements that reminded Jilana that the Iceni Queen’s back had been laid bare, gestured for silence. “My people, victory is ours! This day we have taken the first step in driving the Romans from our land. Our efforts will not cease ‘til the last enemy has nurtured our soil with his blood!” The Iceni battle cry rose from a hundred throats and bloody weapons, as well as the heads of Roman victims which had been impaled upon pikes, were lifted in the air to show support of Boadicea. Jilana wrenched her gaze away from the gruesome sight and found Caddaric viewing the proceedings silently, his sword sheathed. As if sensing her gaze, Caddaric turned and Jilana was taken aback by the sadness which filled his eyes. He should be as excited as the others, Jilana thought in confusion, yet he looked as if the Iceni, not the Romans, had been defeated.
“My people,” Boadicea cried again when the tumult subsided. “Today was but the first of many battles yet to come. In the course of our rebellion Iceni lives will be lost, but those of us who remain behind will sing praises to the memory of our dead. To die in battle is a gift bestowed by the gods—every Iceni knows this to be true. When the hated Romans are gone, your children and your children’s children will boast of your courage and feats of valor.” Boadicea paused, her eyes coming to rest upon Jilana. “Not all rewards need be so intangible. For the warrior or warrior maid who has made a prisoner of the Roman Procurator, Catus Decianus, there is a special prize.” The Iceni Queen motioned to Caddaric and the tall warrior escorted Jilana to stand before Boadicea.
Caddaric went down on one knee and in the face of the ensuing silence, realized that Jilana had remained firmly on her feet. “Kneel,” he commanded in a horrified whisper. “Quickly, Jilana!”
Jilana barely heard him. Boadicea’s words had driven all thought of compromise from her mind and her fear had been replaced by calm determination.
One of the Queen’s advisors stepped forward and pointed his sword at Jilana. “You will kneel, Roman, and do honor to our Queen.”
“Nay, I will not.” Outraged shouts followed Jilana’s quiet statement and she imagined she heard Caddaric groan.
The advisor advanced, his sword lifted menacingly. “On your knees, Roman, or you will taste my sword.”
“My parents are dead. My sister and my betrothed are dead. My friends are dead. Think you I fear the bite of blade?” Ignoring the furious man, Jilana defiantly raised her eyes to the woman above her. “Do with me what you will, Majesty, but I will not kneel. You are not my sovereign or my sovereign’s foederatus. You are Queen a nation in revolt and I will not bow to my people’s sworn enemy.”
Cries of “Kill her” and “Behead the Roman slut” rang Jilana’s ears and she was vaguely aware that Caddaric had risen to stand at her side.
Boadicea raised her hand and in the deafening silence which ensued asked loudly, “Why do you defy me? Two days ago you raised me from the ground and offered some small comfort from your people’s wrath. In return I ordered you and your family spared. Do you display your gratitude thus?”
“‘Tis impossible to be grateful when my own life serves y to remind me of death.”
Boadicea’s face lost its look of irritation. How like her own daughters this Roman was, begging for death rather than a life of shame. The Queen’s heart twisted as she signaled her advisor to resume his place. She could no more sentence this agonized young woman to the sword than she could grant her bewildered daughters’ pleas for a draught of poison. She suddenly felt older than time. Boadicea turned slightly. “Come forward, Artair, and claim your prize.” While Artair obeyed, Boadicea told Jilana. “I regret the loss of those you held dear. I have been told how your family, when they were offered their lives, chose to fight rather than surrender.”
Jilana slanted a glance at Caddaric. He had to be the source of the Queen’s information and it pained Jilana to have learned of her family’s fate in so public a way. Boadicea was speaking again and Jilana dragged her attention away from Caddaric.
“I had hoped to personally avenge myself upon the Procurator, Artair. Were those not my orders?”
“Aye, Majesty.” Artair bowed his head in a fine gesture of humility. “I sought to obey your command, yet when the Procurator came at me with his sword I was forced to defend myself and could not stay the blow which killed him. Forgive me, my Queen, for having failed you. I am not worthy to receive your generous gift of this Roman slave.”
Jilana’s stomach churned at Artair’s fawning tone. He was, indeed, unworthy, but who would believe her if she named the Iceni warrior as liar? Boadicea was conferring with her advisors—no doubt debating the wisdom of bestowing Jilana upon the warrior who had, however unwittingly, disobeyed a royal command. The Queen had spared Jilana twice, ‘twould be foll
y to risk Iceni wrath a third time. Still, she must try, Jilana decided. Her lips parted to voice her protest and immediately an excruciating pain gripped the right side of her neck. Turning, Jilana found Caddaric’s large hand on her shoulder and when she made to speak the pressure of his fingers increased. Pain lanced down Jilana’s arm and the muscles of the right side of her torso, and Jilana bit down on her bottom lip to keep from crying out.
The agony Caddaric was inflicting upon Jilana was no less than his own inner pain, but Caddaric was determined to keep Jilana from tempting death again. What she might say Caddaric could not begin to guess, but he knew she had to be silenced for her own protection.
Boadicea had reached a decision and she motioned Artair to rise. “The Procurator’s death was no fault of yours, Artair. The life of one of my warriors far surpasses the life of the Roman Procurator. Therefore, because you did find Catus Decianus and sought to obey my wishes, the woman is yours.” Artair grinned broadly as Boadicea addressed the rest of her people. “Messengers have been sent to our distant villages to tell of our victory. Within a fortnight our number will increase a hundredfold and we will march south upon the enemy. Rest and fortify yourselves, my people, for our success is dependent upon the strength of your sword arms!”
Amid riotous cheering, Boadicea turned to leave the dais and Caddaric gladly released his hold on Jilana. Artair hurried to where they stood, eager to claim his possession. Jilana saw him coming and before either Artair or Caddaric could stop her she lunged forward and ran to the steps of the platform.
“Queen Boadicea! I beg a word with you!” One of the guards—thinking the Roman a threat to his Queen— seized Jilana’s arms and placed a dagger at her throat.
Boadicea paused, her eyebrows arched in surprise, and then slowly descended the steps until she stood in front of Jilana. Caddaric and Artair had reached Jilana by this time, apologies for the Roman’s impudence already spilling forth, but the Queen silenced them with an imperious glare. “Release her,” Boadicea ordered her guard. The | glare did not abate as she turned her attention to Jilana. “Speak.”
Defy the Eagle Page 7
