Defy the Eagle

by Lynn Bartlett

  Jilana was waiting for him when he emerged from the changing room, looking as if there was nothing amiss. While dressing, he had fanned his anger and now, seeing her standing so calmly, Caddaric’s temper flamed out of control. He thrust the vial into her hands with a snarl. “I will not beg you to share my bed, Roman. You will do so, or not, at my whim, not yours. Fool I was to think you had truly changed, but I will play the fool no longer!”

  Jilana’s violet eyes widened in astonishment at the tirade, her faint smile vanishing. His voice was an angry roar, emanating from the very depths of his chest, and she automatically retreated a step. “Caddaric, wha—”

  “I am no fawning Roman nobleman to be brought to my knees by the promise of your favors. You are, remember, mine for the taking.”

  “Oh, aye, I remember,” Jilana hissed, her eyes shooting purple sparks. Her fear was gone, supplanted by her own anger. Furious, she hurled the stola she carried at Caddaric and derived a momentary satisfaction from the way the material wrapped itself around his head. “You remind me often enough, you clumsy, oafish barbarian”

  “Barbarian!” Caddaric extricated himself from the folds of the garment just in time for the vial Jilana threw to hit him squarely in his eye. He gave a brief grunt of pain and brought one large hand up to cover the injured area while he reached for Jilana with the other.

  “You have broken it!” Oblivious to all else, Jilana stared in dismay at the remains of the precious Egyptian glass vial where it had shattered upon the floor. The scent drifted upward and the oil spread into a pool, surrounding them both with the fragrance of roses. There was the sound of glass crunching underfoot as Caddaric stepped toward her and her arm was seized in a vise-like grip.

  “Forgive me,” Caddaric apologized acidly. “Next time I will strive to catch your missiles. Unless you throw a dagger, in which case you may be sure that I will duck.” He gave Jilana a one-handed shake that threatened to snap her neck. “Mayhap in the future you will refrain from telling me how to behave.”

  “I—did—no—such—thing,” Jilana ground out. Her head spun and she saw two of everything, including Caddaric. And one Caddaric, particularly in his present mood, was more than sufficient.

  “You did,” Caddaric stated flatly. He released Jilana and tossed the stola back at her when she fell backward against the wall. “Consider yourself fortunate if the worst I ever do to you is give an order!”

  His words penetrated her shifting world and Jilana blinked rapidly to clear her vision. The two Caddarics merged into one who was turning away and rubbing his eye. “Juno, is that what made you so angry,” Jilana murmured in disbelief.

  “I am not angry,” Caddaric argued perversely. He probed the flesh around his eye and glared at Jilana over his shoulder. “Your aim is improving.”

  Laughter welled inside Jilana and bubbled forth before she could control herself. Caddaric’s glare increased in ferocity and she shook her head. “I meant only to tease you, Caddaric.” He made a rude sound of disbelief and Jilana straightened, her expression serious. “‘Twas a jest, Caddaric, truly. I thought you would see the humor in my words and retort in kind.”

  Caddaric was silent, considering her statement. At last he nodded and the sharpness anger had lent his features abated. He reached out with one hand and cupped the side of Jilana’s face. “Did I hurt you?”

  There was genuine concern in his voice and Jilana smiled reassuringly as she rested her cheek against the palm of his hand. “Nay, Caddaric. What of your eye?” Caddaric uncovered his eye and Jilana stepped closer to examine the damage. The skin surrounding the eye was red and beginning to swell and an involuntary rush of tears bathed both eye and flesh. Using the hem of the stola she had thrown at Caddaric, Jilana gently dabbed away this final evidence of her assault. “I am sorry,” she apologized. And she was, but the humor of having injured Caddaric with a vial of perfumed oil when she had once had a dagger at her disposal and failed, caused her mouth to quirk irrepressibly. “But, in truth, you did anger me and bring this upon yourself.”

  “You are impertinent.”

  The repetition of his earlier statement sent a shaft of unease down Jilana’s spine, but when she looked directly into Caddaric’s eyes she relaxed. He was, in turn, teasing her, and Jilana was vastly relieved that the famed Celtic temper was once more in abeyance. “Aye.”

  Caddaric mused aloud, brushing her still-damp hair off her face, “I think you will be a trial for me, little wicca.”

  “The names I called you,” Jilana said quietly, “I did not mean them, Caddaric.”

  “I am glad.” He placed a kiss on her brow and, with one arm draped around her shoulders, led Jilana outside.

  Their peace was re-established and Jilana had to be content with that, although she wished that her apology had not gone unrequited. Still, she reminded herself, she had learned a great deal about Caddaric. He could be gentle or rough, at times heedless of his own physical

  strength, but he had not hurt her even when his anger reached its zenith. After the diffused lighting of the bath, the afternoon sun seemed particularly bright and Jilana shielded her eyes with one hand while she pushed at her damp hair with the other. Her hair was badly tangled, Jilana realized. It would take time to work out the snarls to her satisfaction.

  “My comb.” Jilana halted and half-turned back to the bath. “I left it in the changing room.”

  “Stay here; I will find it.” Caddaric was gone before Jilana thought to protest.

  Alone, Jilana wandered into the courtyard and sat down on one of the sun-warmed benches there. The breeze lifted her hair and she ran her fingers through it in an attempt to comb out the worst of the snarls before they could dry. Voices carried from the kitchen, but the words were indistinct so Jilana ignored them. The fact that her fellow countrymen, those who held her in such contempt, occupied the kitchen did not dampen her mood. She was enjoying this relative freedom, her first since the rebellion.

  She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, relishing its warmth, and allowed her thoughts to drift. Thus it was that Jilana did not notice the tall, emaciated man in white cross the courtyard with a contingent of six warriors and enter the kitchen. Nor did she pay attention when the voices in the kitchen rose and became shrill, took on a pleading note, then fell silent. She thought of Caddaric, wondering if now he might allow her to visit the stable and see her mare. Mayhap, if she asked, he might also allow her to ride. Not far, to be sure, but perhaps to the forest. Or would he think she was trying to manipulate him again? Jilana frowned at that thought but brushed it aside. She would wait a few days before making her request; by then he would have forgotten the accusations he had made today.

  Strangely, Jilana found that she was not concerned with her future. She was Caddaric’s; he could do with her as he pleased. Caddaric’s hints to the contrary, she was certain the Iceni rebellion would burn out within a few weeks, certainly within a few months. Once informed, the legions would descend on Venta and the Iceni would retreat and she would be rescued. There was an odd pang in her heart at the possibility of rescue, but, Jilana told herself bracingly, that was what she wanted; and in order to see that day, she had to compromise with Caddaric. ‘Twas all her surrender today had been, a compromise; she offered the free use of her body in exchange for his protection.

  The thought left a bitter taste in Jilana’s mouth and, without knowing it, her mind took the same path Caddaric’s had earlier. How different things might have been without the rebellion, if she and Caddaric had met as equals. He might truly have courted her then, even won her father’s approval. Mayhap they would have married and Caddaric would have taken her to his village to live. Jilana wrenched herself away from that treacherous daydream with a mute cry. Juno, she must not allow herself to think of such things, to allow her heart to be vulnerable to Caddaric in this way. She must remember that beneath all the compromises there lay one unchangeable truth: they were enemies. And hard on that thought came another shattering
truth: if the situation had been different, Caddaric was the kind of man Jilana could have loved. That was why she had given herself to Caddaric, because her heart had willed it thus, not through any justification of compromise. Unfair, Jilana thought as her throat constricted with unshed tears. Unfair, unfair, unfair.

  “Slave.”

  The voice which spoke that epithet was deep and melodious, and very close. Jilana’s eyes flew open and came to rest upon a white-robed man standing in front of her. He was painfully thin, the flesh stretched so tautly across his face that it seemed the angular cheekbones must pierce the skin. His blond hair fell straight to his shoulders and glinted in the sunlight. A scrap of memory nagged at Jilana. This man was a stranger and yet she felt she had met him before; his face was vaguely familiar. He was young, no lines or furrows yet marred the lightly tanned flesh, and his features were sculpted in such perfect detail that he might have been Apollo come once more to walk among mortals. Until Jilana saw his eyes. Bright green, his eyes glowed with an inner fire that terrified her and held her motionless. He was consumed by that fire, driven by forces Jilana could sense but not comprehend. The day seemed suddenly chill.

  “Up, slave; come with us.” He gestured behind him.

  Jilana tore her eyes away from the man and saw, for the first time, the Iceni warriors guarding the other Roman prisoners. Her own terror was reflected in the faces of her countrymen. Shaking, not wanting to obey but afraid to defy this strange man, Jilana rose, her stola clutched in her hands. “Wh-where are you taking us?” Jilana’s question was haltingly asked, and her voice died completely when the malevolent glitter in the man’s eyes increased.

  The malevolence, however, did not extend to his voice. When he answered, his tone was as sonorous as before. “To make peace with the goddess,” came his reply, and there was a gleam of grim satisfaction in his green eyes.

  Something deep within Jilana cried out that his answer was not what it seemed, but she was helpless to resist his strange power. As if in a dream she felt herself take one step forward, then another. And then Jilana heard Caddaric’ s voice; it was faint, as though it traveled a long distance, but it was enough to make her pause.

  “Nay, Lhwyd, not this one. She was given to me with the Queen’s blessing.”

  The green eyes left Jilana, swung to the intruder, and narrowed viciously. “Greetings, Caddaric.” Even though Lhwyd was visibly annoyed, his voice never varied in its sweetness. “How fares your honored father?”

  “Well enough.” Caddaric moved so that he insinuated himself between Jilana and Lhwyd.

  The instant she was lost to Lhwyd’s sight, Jilana felt the loss of his power over her. Her leg muscles trembled in reaction and Jilana fought to stay on her feet. Never had Caddaric’s harsh voice been so welcome! She cast a fleeting glance at her countrymen; they remained terrified and thoroughly cowed. But why? What was so frightening about going to the temple to worship their gods? Jilana forced herself to concentrate on the two men.

  “Your father is a Druid,” Lhwyd was saying. “You, better than most, must understand the importance of what we are about to do.”

  Caddaric laughed coldly, a laugh Jilana had heard so often before. “I understand nothing, Lhwyd; not your gods, not your ways, and least of all your rites.” He gestured toward the group of Romans. “I care not what you do with these, but the red-haired one is for me, not your stone altars.”

  The muscles in Lhwyd’s jaw worked furiously. “It is not for you to decide, Caddaric. This is a matter for the goddess and she has decided—”

  “Nothing,” Caddaric interrupted rudely. “You have decided, Lhwyd; ‘tis your interpretation of the omens which sways the people.”

  “But not you,” Lhwyd replied, and this time his sweet voice was tainted with mockery and something else Jilana did not recognize. “Never you. You will go your own way regardless of who you shame.”

  Caddaric stiffened. “The shame is in your mind and your sister’s. I never lied to Ede.” He heard Jilana’s sharp intake of breath and willed her to remain silent.

  “You gave ,her hope where none existed,” Lhwyd countered. “Some might say that is a lie.” When Caddaric’s hand fell to the place where his sword normally hung, Lhwyd smiled coldly. “Druids do not fight.”

  “Aye, they satisfy their thirst for blood with sacrifices,” Caddaric taunted in return. “Leave the girl, Lhwyd; you want her not as a sacrifice to the Morrigan but to Ede’s vanity.” For Caddaric, that was the end of the matter. He wrapped a hand around Jilana’s upper arm and pushed her gently in the direction of the house. ,

  “You cannot do this,” Lhwyd shrieked from behind them. Gone was his soothing tone; his voice now reflected the depth of his anger. “I am a Druid now, Caddaric; not the lad who worshiped you upon your return. My word is the law!”

  Caddaric stopped and turned back to Lhwyd. “And my loyalty is to the Queen; you and yours are here on her sufferance. Shall we take the matter to Boadicea?” The phalanx of warriors looked from the Druid to Caddaric as he waited for Lhwyd’s reply. When, after several long moments, the Druid turned his back on Caddaric and walked away, the contingent followed and Caddaric propelled Jilana up the steps.

  When they entered the bedchamber, Jilana’s strength finally abandoned her and she collapsed upon the couch. “Is is true,” she asked when she was certain she could speak without a betraying tremor to her voice, “that man is going to sacrifice my people to his god?”

  ‘“Tis true,” Caddaric answered gruffly. He carefully folded away his used tunic and withdrew a pair of breeks and garters from his clothes chest. “But the Morrigan is a goddess, not a god. Our goddess of battle; the face of the Earth Mother in war.”

  Jilana looked away as he pulled on the breeks with their gathered ankles and secured them around his waist. She was no longer comfortable with the intimacy they had established in the bath. When she looked back, Caddaric had smoothed the tunic back down and was sitting on the - bed, cross-gartering the material to just above the knee. The horror of his answer formed a pool of despair within her. “He is Ede’s brother?” Caddaric’s reply was a curt nod. “Do you think Ede asked him to.. .kill me?” Silence greeted her question and Jilana’s nerves finally shattered. “By the gods, Caddaric, answer me! Will this Lhwyd be satisfied with your ownership of me or will he come again?”

  Caddaric said simply, “You are mine. I will protect you.”

  “How?” Jilana demanded. “Priests are powerful; even Caesar listens to them. How long do you think Boadicea will put your claim above one of a priest?”

  Caddaric knotted the second garter and, at last, looked straight at Jilana. “I will protect you,” he repeated solemnly. “Believe that.”

  Her heart believed his words and trusted him, but Jilana’s mind knew the bleak truth of the matter. Lhwyd would eventually go to the Queen, complaining of Caddaric’s stubbornness in the matter of his Roman slave, and she would be turned over to the white-robed Druid.

  The despair on her face hurt Caddaric and he slowly crossed the room and gathered Jilana into his arms. With her head resting on his chest he murmured over and over, “I will protect you, little wicca; nothing will harm you.”

  Jilana burrowed into the warm haven of his embrace, wanting desperately to believe him but knowing that, eventually, not even Caddaric would be able to cheat Lhwyd of his prize. Caddaric stroked her hair with one hand and his lips pressed reassuring kisses against her temple, and for a few precious moments Jilana willed herself to ignore the idea crystallizing in her mind and pretend that they truly were two people who held each other in deep regard.

  At last Caddaric pushed Jilana away and regarded her seriously. “Forget Lhwyd, little one. The Queen gave you to me and only she can take you away.” He kissed her gently upon the lips. “And now, I think we must take care of your hair.”

  As Jilana sank back to the couch, Caddaric retrieved her comb from the top of his chest. Joining her on the couch, he turned Jilana so
that her back was to him and slowly, patiently, began to work the multitude of snarls from her hair. Surprised at his actions, Jilana sat quietly beneath Caddaric’s ministrations. Gradually she relaxed, finding the motion of the comb and his gentleness soothing. Behind her, Caddaric smiled, enjoying his work and

  the effect it had upon her. And while he worked, while Jilana remained physically relaxed, her mind raced as she sought an avenue for escape.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Escape. The knowledge of what must be done, once planted in her mind, had given Jilana no peace, and Caddaric’s announcement that the war band would march tomorrow had nearly sent her into a state of panic. Escape. Walking beside Caddaric toward the plain which bordered the eastern edge of the oak grove where Boadicea’s feast was to be held, Jilana fought against a rising tide of despair. How could she manage an escape in the few hours left to her? Caddaric, as a mark of his trust, had removed Heall as her watchdog upon their return from the bath and had left her alone while he went with a group of other men to help with the preparations for the feast, but neither man’s absence had abetted her plan to escape. While they were gone, the Iceni had looted the villa—save for the bedchamber she and Caddaric shared—and vandalized what could not be carried off. Jilana had remained in her chamber during the looting, afraid to venture beyond its security after her encounter with Lhwyd. Then Caddaric had returned, and though his presence was a comfort it also dashed her half-formed plans of stealing a horse from the stable and getting away from Venta Icenorum.

  Jilana sighed inwardly and wrapped the russet paenula more closely about her against the evening chill. It was dusk now, and the fires lit by the Iceni flickered a wan orange against the darkening sky and looming oaks. She had prayed silently to her gods, begging them to deliver her from Caddaric, and their answer was here, walking easily at her side with one arm around her waist. Perhaps the gods knew that she was torn, that part of her wanted to remain with Caddaric and explore the tender feelings he aroused while the other screamed that to do so would seal her fate. Or perhaps the gods could not give an answer until her own ambivalent feelings were resolved. Aye, that was it, Jilana told herself. She would have to harden her resolve against the inner man Caddaric had begun to reveal to her. What difference did it make that Caddaric had been gentle in taking her into womanhood, or that he had promised to protect her, or that he had worked so patiently over her snarled hair and enjoyed the task? Jilana blinked away the tears that formed when she remembered how he had worked the comb through her tangled curls, all the while admiring their color and texture. Nay, she would escape—had to escape! Her life was more important than the betrayed trust of this man! She must never forget that he was a warrior born and a soldier trained; if his Queen so ordered he would hand her over to that mad Druid, Lhwyd, without a second thought, no matter what his feelings might be. Jilana shivered at the thought and Caddaric’s arm tightened immediately.