The words came hard, but when they were alone Jilana forced herself to say them. “Thank you, lord.”
“Thanks from the same slave who tried to bury a dagger in my heart only a few minutes ago? Clywd’s gods have performed a miracle!” Jilana’s indignation at his mocking must have shown because Caddaric laughed and tilted her face to his. “If you are truly thankful there is a way you can show your gratitude. A way which Artair so rudely interrupted.”
The Briton’s words were soft, almost gentle, but they struck fear in Jilana’s heart. So the time had come, she thought dazedly as she gave in to the pressure of the Iceni’s arm and accompanied him to the bed. Just as her family and freedom had been taken from her, her virginity would now be the latest victim of the Iceni rebellion.
“Tis not such a hard task I set before you,” Caddaric explained as he seated himself on the bed and handed Jilana his dagger. “But it must be done quickly, cleanly. Put my dagger to heat upon the coals and we shall begin.”
Jilana paled, her violet eyes staring into the Briton’s calm blue ones. Great Juno, help me, she prayed desperately. The barbarian is mad! He means more harm than I thought. Simple ravishment was one thing, but to be left disfigured, physically scarred Jilana swallowed convulsively. Mayhap if she convinced the Briton that she would offer no resistance he would forego whatever cruelty he had planned. A maiden still, Jilana had only a vague idea of what transpired between a man and woman, but she was certain that heated daggers had no part of the normal act.
Caddaric frowned at her resistance. “Come, Jilana, it must be done. ‘Twill be a relief to us both to have it finished.”
“B-but, Lord,” Jilana stammered. “Surely there is another way?”
“Aye, but it is longer and more painful for me.” Caddaric lifted a questioning eyebrow. “Do you wish for me to suffer unnecessarily?” Pure terror seized Jilana and it was all she could do to shake her head. “Good. Now set dagger to heat and—” he surveyed the clothing on the bed, picked up a stola and draped it over Jilana’s arm “—put this on. The cloak will only encumber your actions. Impatiently, Caddaric closed Jilana’s fingers ind the dagger hilt and gave her a push toward the brazier. “Bring Clywd’s pouch back with you.”
A nightmare, Jilana thought as she obeyed the Briton’s instructions. Trembling from head to toe, Jilana went to the bed and found Caddaric had stripped off his tunic while her back had been turned. Clad only in a brief loincloth Caddaric watched her approach, his face surprisingly grim for one who had been so anxious to begin this entire business.
“I hope you are stronger than you look,” Caddaric muttered as he took the pouch and sorted through the contents. “‘Twill do me no good if you faint at the sight blood.”
Such deliberate baiting stiffened Jilana’s spine. “Were I to swoon, Briton, I would have done so at the gravesite. Why you wish to torture me in such a manner I do not know, but I will die before I faint at your hands.”
“At my hands?” Caddaric shook his head. “You speak in riddles. Here is the balm you will need.” He set the clay aside and pulled an unwilling Jilana between his thighs. “First the bandage, so that I may see what damage you have done.” Speech deserted Jilana; she simply stared as Caddaric unwound the cloth which covered his right thigh. He is wounded, Jilana thought, and needs my help. That she had misinterpreted his aim made Jilana giddy with relief. Concern over the loss of her innocence fled when the last the bandage fell away to reveal an ugly gash that ran from the middle of Caddaric’s thigh upward to the lower edge of his loincloth. Blood spilled from the wound to form a puddle on the floor and Jilana gasped aloud.
Seemingly indifferent to the injury Caddaric ordered, “Bring one of those buckets of clean water.”
Jilana obeyed without hesitation. For the moment the Briton ceased to be her hated enemy. He was simply a human being, hurt, bleeding, and in great danger of dying if something was not done. Jilana tore several pieces of cloth from one of the gowns at her feet and knelt in front of Caddaric. “Let me.” Brushing aside his hands Jilana pressed all but one of the cloths against the wound while her free hand wetted the remaining material and wiped the dried blood from his leg.
“Tis not infected,” Caddaric stated, and Jilana thought she heard him sigh in relief.
“I did this,” Jilana asked weakly, assaulted by guilt. Undoubtedly in her desperate struggle, the kick she had managed to land against his leg had opened his wound.
“Do not apologize,” Caddaric answered dryly. “Better a little blood than finding death at your hands. Get the dagger.” He pressed his large hands over the rapidly staining bandage and managed a wan smile for Jilana when she returned with the red-hot dagger. “Draw the blade across both sides of the wound. This must be done quickly enough so that the flesh does not cling to the blade, but slowly enough to seal the veins. Once this is done, clean the wound, apply the Druid’s balm, and then bandage the wound lightly but securely. Do you understand?”
Jilana nodded but weakly protested, “Should not the Druid or Heall do this? My hand could tremble… or my courage fail.”
A strange glow entered the depths of Caddaric’s eyes. “I know you well, Jilana. Your courage will not fail.”
With that simple vote of trust Caddaric removed the bandage and closed his eyes, effectively placing his life in Jilana’s hands. She wavered briefly. ‘Twould be a simple matter to kill the Briton now and then open her own veins before his comrades discovered her deed. Jilana stole a glance at his face and felt something unnamed stir within her. Disgusted at her weakness, telling herself that only a sound opponent was worthy of her vengeance, Jilana placed the blade against the Briton’s flesh and followed his instructions with amazing surety.
The scent of scorched flesh filled the chamber and Jilana’s stomach roiled. She looked up to find Caddaric staring at her. “‘Tis done, Briton.” Caddaric nodded, an odd pallor on his sun-bronzed ace. “Excellent. The gods chose you wisely, my witch.”
While Jilana watched, an emptiness veiled the Briton’s eyes and he slowly toppled forward. Like a massive oak being felled, Jilana thought irrelevantly. The dagger fell to the floor as Jilana caught the Briton in her arms. It took every bit of strength Jilana had to lower Caddaric gently onto the bed. She managed to swing his legs onto the bed as well, but he lay perilously near the edge and, despite her struggles, Jilana could not budge his greater weight. In the end, Jilana was forced to seek help from the nard Caddaric had placed outside the chamber door.
Somehow it came as no surprise to Jilana that Heall and the Druid had made their pallets outside Caddaric’s chamber, nor that no other Iceni stood watch. The instant she opened the door Heall sprang to his feet while the Druid rose in a more leisurely manner.
“Caddaric has need of you,” Jilana said before either man could speak. Turning, she led them into the chamber and gestured wordlessly toward the bed.
Clywd assessed the situation at a glance. With a nod to Heall, he grasped Caddaric’s legs while Heall braced one knee against the bed and slipped his hands beneath Caddaric’s arms. With an ease which made Jilana all too aware of her own physical weakness, the two men centered the unconscious warrior in Jilana’s bed.
Caddaric moaned once when he was being moved and before she could stop herself Jilana cried out sharply, “Have a care with him!” Two astonished pairs of eyes fell upon Jilana and she reddened. She could think of no plausible explanation for her reaction, so Jilana stayed silent during Clywd’s examination of Caddaric. When the Druid reached for the balm to apply to Caddaric’s wound, however, Jilana stepped to the bed and extended her hand. “I will see to this.”
Clywd’s eyebrows shot up but he retired gracefully, watching with great interest as Jilana dressed the wound. “You have a gentle touch,” he commented when Jilana was finished.
Jilana shrugged and pulled a blanket over “Caddaric. “I did but follow his orders—like any good slave.” Bitterness colored her voice.
“Yet I thin
k you would have helped Caddaric even had he not asked,” Clywd said thoughtfully.
The Druid’s words struck a chord of truth within Jilana and she grimaced. “As a slave I have no choice but to obey my master,” Jilana maintained stubbornly. “Had the Briton not ordered me to help, I would have cheerfully watched him bleed to death.”
A faint smile touched Clywd’s lips. “Perhaps.” He motioned to Heall, who was engaged in the pleasant task of studying Jilana. “Should Caddaric worsen, you must call us. We take our rest in the hall.”
Jilana remained silent and unmoving until the men left and then she sighed heavily. Drained of all emotion save anger Jilana glared at the sleeping Briton, the source of all her turmoil. When he awoke Caddaric would doubtless believe as the Druid had—that she ministered to him because she bore him no ill will. Jilana’s eyes narrowed and she drew a finger down the fresh gash which marred the Briton’s left cheek. The need for revenge surfaced once again within Jilana and she plucked the now cold dagger from its place on the floor. She raised her arm, positioning the blade above the Briton’s throat. How long she stood there Jilana did not know but some mysterious force stayed her blow and when, at last, her arm dropped back to her side, Jilana found her muscles weak and trembling from the force she had been exerting.
“Nay, I shall not kill you yet,” Jilana whispered to the slumbering warrior. Her eyes dark with hatred, Jilana carefully cleaned the wound on the Briton’s cheek and then applied the Druid’s balm. “When you are as you were the night my family was slain, then shall I have my revenge. I shall care for you most tenderly, Briton, have fear; but once you are well, not even the gods will protect you!” Jilana bent and touched her lips to the Briton’s in a mocking kiss—a kiss that promised, not passion, but death. Straightening, Jilana laughed silently and then, so that the Briton would know there was no room in her heart for mercy, she drove the dagger into the headboard of the bed with all her might. Turning, Jilana and the discarded cloak and wrapped herself in it. Her rest this night was taken on the hard couch the room afforded but Jilana did not notice her discomfort. Exhaustion blessed the Roman woman with a dreamless sleep.
“Will she not do Caddaric harm?” Heall worried on the other side of the door. “Caddaric’s weapons are at her disposal, as well as your pouch of medicines.”
Clywd chuckled. “Have you not yet learned to trust me, old friend?”
“I trust you,” Heall replied solemnly. ‘“Tis Caddaric and Jilana who arouse my concern.”
Clywd reached out and grasped Heall’s forearm.
“Better than anyone, you know how quickly hate fades in certain situations. No harm will befall either of them.” He smiled reassuringly and quietly told Heall of Caddaric’s vision and his own. “Already they are bound to one another, though both would deny this truth. Their destinies are joined—henceforth they rise or fall together. You will see.”
****
Caddaric strode through the villa which was his temporary shelter, his face grim. Nearly a week had passed since the Iceni had risen in rebellion and, while Caddaric had chafed impatiently, the Queen and her generals had dispatched messengers to the other tribes with offers of an armed alliance against Rome. Caddaric’s soldier’s mind knew that delay, for any reason, increased the danger of failure. The Iceni had to march, and quickly, before any survivors of Venta Icenorum reached a Roman garrison and told of the uprising. The Iceni’s only hope of victory lay in surprise and speed—they had to oust both Roman civilians and soldiers from their island before Rome brought the might of its military to bear on the rebels.
At last, Caddaric thought without satisfaction, the messengers had returned, but their news was less than heartening. Queen Boadicea and her people, for all practical purposes, stood alone against Rome. The lack of complete support from the other tribes disturbed Caddaric but he accepted it philosophically. ‘Twas the hideous tale carried by the Ordovician messenger which stirred disbelief and hatred in Caddaric’s heart and occupied his thoughts. The news had to be imparted to Clywd and Caddaric dreaded the telling. How could he tell his father of this latest atrocity? How could he explain” to a Druid that his mystic life’s blood, his refuge, no more? Caddaric paused before his chamber, one large, brown hand resting upon the latch. The indistinct me of voices reached him through the wood panel and line of his jaw hardened as he visualized the scene thin. How could one slender girl—and an enemy at it!—beguile every male who so much as laid eyes on r? Heall and Clywd insisted upon treating Jilana as an mored guest, an act of insanity which scraped Caddaric’s nerves raw. Jilana was, after all, a slave, not a royal personage from another tribe! At that moment the light laughter Caddaric knew to be Jilana’s floated to his ears Caddaric’s face darkened. By the gods! ‘Twas time to put a stop to this unseemly behavior before Jilana bent Heall and Clywd to her will. His anger had nothing to do with the fact that Jilana did not gift him with so much as smile, let alone that musical laughter. Or so Caddaric told himself as he threw open the door.
The tentative smile on Jilana’s face died when Caddaric burst into the chamber. Startled, Heall half-rose from his place beside Clywd on the couch—the same couch which served as Jilana’s bed. Before the upward motion of his body had stopped, Heall’s sword was out of scabbard, its gleaming length menacing the intruder, Jilana, seated on the floor between the two men so that she might face them both, caught her breath at the sight of Caddaric. Positioned as she was—her back to the door—Jilana had been forced to turn her head in order to who had entered. As always, Caddaric’s sheer size amazed her and frightened her. Unwillingly Jilana remembered their first meeting. She had not been frightened then, at least not after he had spoken to her in a gentle voice so totally at odds with his size and rugged features. No. Caddaric had not been frightening then; he had been compellingly attractive. But he was no longer gentle, either in thought or in mien. For the briefest moment her wide, violet eyes met Caddaric’s blue gaze before she slowly, circumspectly turned away. She had memories of the stable in which her family had been murdered as well and she must never forget that Caddaric had played a part in that act. Feeling particularly vulnerable with both Heall and Caddaric looming above her, Jilana remained motionless, afraid of drawing Caddaric’s obvious wrath. Clywd, too, remained unmoving, watching the reactions to his son’s entrance with wry amusement.
Heall’s protectiveness served only to worsen Caddaric’s mood. “Thus does an Iceni warrior pass his days,” Caddaric sneered. “Pray do not let me disturb you.”
Anger showed on Heall’s face as he returned his sword to his belt. “You bade me guard Jilana—”
“Guard, aye; not entertain,” Caddaric snapped irritably. “While you closet yourself with my slave, rust covers our battle-axes and Iceni youths busy themselves with the charms of women. ‘Twill go badly for us when we meet the Roman legions if the only blood our young men have shed is that of virgins!”
“You have repeatedly drilled our warriors and warrior maids,” Clywd interposed smoothly, aware of the blush which stained Jilana’s cheeks at Caddaric’s words. “Naught is amiss.”
Caddaric swallowed a harsh retort. The news he was about to impart would cause misery enough this day. “You are right. Druid.” With a final glare directed at the top of Jilana’s head, he turned to Heall. Caddaric’s expression became less harsh at the look of injured dignity upon the older man’s face. “That we are chained to this place is no fault of yours. My words were hasty and unjust. Forgive me, old friend.”
Jilana’s eyes widened. This was the first time she had heard her Iceni captor apologize or admit he was wrong. Usually he stormed about the villa with a black look upon his face, finding fault with any of his people who were unfortunate enough to attract his attention. Jilana nervously toyed with the long braid of red-gold hair which draped across her shoulder to coil in her lap. Never had she encountered a man as harsh and ill-tempered as Caddaric.
“Jilana, I thirst. Bring me wine.”
The command brought Jilana’s head up with a snap and she stared rebelliously at Caddaric. He had taken the one chair now left in the chamber, and as she watched he stretched his long, heavily muscled legs out in front of him and raised a questioning eyebrow at her. How dare he look so completely at ease, Jilana thought furiously. It crossed her mind to defy Caddaric’s order but she quickly discarded the idea. She had no wish to bear the brunt of his mockery when others were present. Grudgingly Jilana rose, poured a cup of wine and offered it to Caddaric.
Caddaric sipped the wine gratefully, then set it aside and allowed his gaze to sweep Clywd and Heall. “Messengers arrived at the palace this morn.” The atmosphere in the room altered so swiftly that Caddaric felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. “We now have allies.”
Relief washed over Heall’s face. “At last! Who are they, Caddaric? The Silures? Ordovices? Brigantes?” Heall rapidly listed the tribes to whom their Queen had appealed.
“The Ordovices.” Caddaric chose his words with great care. “Not the entire nation, Heall, but a few of the villages.”
Some of the fire went out of Heall’s eyes. “A few,” he repeated, confused. “How many have joined us, Caddaric?”
“A thousand, perhaps a handful more.” Heall’s disappointment was as keen as his own; both men had harbored hopes for an alliance among the tribes.
‘ ‘Traitors!” Heall cried bitterly.
“Nay, Heall, they are not. The western tribes have been nipping at the legions for years: they strike, then retreat to the safety of the mountains as Caratacus taught them. At present their chiefs see no reason to do battle on unfamiliar terrain, particularly since Rome has never fully conquered their territory.” Caddaric shrugged philosophically and reached for his wine cup. “Do you not remember Claudius’ invasion? We Iceni did not rise as one and join the Catuvellauni to repulse the Roman attack— now we are being repaid in the same coin.”
Defy the Eagle Page 11
