Once, as they were passing over the land bridge, the heel of her sandal caught in the stola’s hem and Jilana slipped over the edge of the ditch. Before she could cry out, Caddaric’s hold had checked her fall and hauled her back to solid ground. Her thanks were abruptly cut off when Caddaric dipped and easily tossed her over his shoulder. No further impediments arose to delay their progress to the Iceni camp.
Jilana, hanging upside down over Caddaric’s shoulder, had no idea what he planned, so when Caddaric dropped her roughly to the ground in front of a tent she pushed the hair out of her eyes and looked around in surprise. The sword still dangling menacingly from his right hand, Caddaric tossed back the flap of the tent and jerked his head toward the interior. “Get inside.”
Some of her apathy had dissolved during the trek from the city and Jilana did so warily. The inside of the tent contained nothing more than a single pallet and Jilana turned to Caddaric in bewilderment. “Stay here,” he ordered in a tone that was meant to be obeyed. The flap snapped down behind him, leaving Jilana in almost total darkness except for what little light was afforded by the gap in the tent’s ceiling. The hole was meant to vent the smoke from a fire, Jilana supposed, but any further musings on her part were cut. short by Caddaric’s return.
The sword was safely in his baldric, which left one of his hands free for the length of rope he carried. This time he left the tent flap open and the look on his face made Jilana swallow nervously.
“Lie down.”
Her heart lurched at the coldness of his voice. “What do you mean to do?” Jilana had to force the question past the obstruction in her throat.
Caddaric’s gaze wandered insultingly over her slender frame and then returned to her face. “Not what you imagine,” he said bitingly. “Now lay on the pallet.”
Jilana lowered herself onto the pile of furs and, while Caddaric towered over her, stretched out full length. He knelt beside the pallet, dropped the rope and then his hard hands bit into her shoulders. When Jilana gasped at his touch, Caddaric merely raised an eyebrow at her and flipped her onto her side so that she faced the tent wall. He released her shoulders and a moment later, Jilana felt the bite of the rope as he coiled it around her ankles. Her arms were pulled behind her back and her wrists bound by the same length of rope which tied her ankles. In the space of a few minutes, Jilana was trussed in a manner that left her immobile. Even as Caddaric rose, Jilana could feel the strain in her muscles and joints as she was arched backward over the rope.
Caddaric tested the knots at her wrists, ankles and the small of her back and then, satisfied, he unfolded a blanket and tossed it over Jilana. She had to strain in order to turn far enough over her shoulder to see him, and when she did he smiled mockingly. “Wait for me, Jilana.”
With those sarcastic words he was gone and Jilana was alone in the dark tent. Wait for me. Jilana laughed a trifle wildly. As if she could do anything else. The laugh changed to a choked sob and Jilana felt the hot sting of tears as they filled her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. From far away came the dying cries of Camulodunum and Jilana wept for its loss and Hadrian’s. Gradually the tears subsided and Jilana took stock of her situation. The whim of some god had decreed that Caddaric find her once again, and Jilana could only shake her head over the bitter irony of her rescue. Whatever feelings Caddaric had held for her, Jilana had killed with her escape; his voice and eyes had told her that much.
What did Caddaric plan to do with her? Jilana burrowed into the fur as a shiver worked its way up her spine. In spite of his treatment of her, she did not think he planned to hand her over to Lhwyd. Caddaric was not, by nature, a cruel man, only a hard one. Had he intended her to die, he would have killed her himself. That thought comforted Jilana, although she knew that this time her treatment would be far different from what she had received at Venta Icenorum. Hadrian’s dagger dug into the flesh of her thighs and Jilana felt a moment of panic. If Caddaric discovered the weapon he would be furious, but at the moment, she had no way of disposing of it. She would have to wait until he gave her a moment of privacy—he had to grant her that much, if only for her body’s needs—and toss the dagger away. Or find a way to conceal it from Caddaric, some rebellious spark in her mind added. Jilana closed her eyes and waited for Caddaric to return.
CHAPTER FIVE
Caddaric returned late in the evening and Jilana, who had been wondering if he intended abandoning her, caught her breath when he ducked through the door with an oil lamp in one hand and a wooden chest—kist in the Iceni language—balanced over the opposite shoulder. He walked to where the pallet lay, at the back of the tent, and stared down at Jilana.
When he said nothing, just continued to stare at her as if he had never seen her before, Jilana swallowed and asked, “Is it all over?”
Caddaric was silent for so long that Jilana had just decided he would not answer when he said, “Nearly.” He set the oil lamp down and then lightly swung the kist to the ground beside it.
“What do you mean?”
He swung back to her and Jilana noticed that he stooped slightly because the slanting ceiling would not accommodate his full height unless he stood in the center of the tent. Caddaric pulled the dagger from his belt and went down on one knee beside Jilana. “Some legionaries and civilians have taken refuge in the temple of Claudius.”
As he had done earlier, Caddaric flipped Jilana over and she felt the pressure on the rope as he cut through it. Being freed from her bonds brought an exquisite agony to her abused muscles and Jilana bit back a moan when she
straightened her legs and back. Caddaric left without another word and Jilana carefully sat up and rubbed some feeling back into her wrists and ankles. As she massaged the trembling muscles in her legs, her hands encountered the dagger and after a moment of indecision, Jilana raised hem of her stola and untied the weapon. Caddaric’s voice sounded from somewhere just outside the tent, and hastily turned back a corner of the pile of furs and placed the dagger on the ground beneath the pallet. She barely replaced the furs when Caddaric returned and self-consciously pulled the rough blanket around her adders.
“Stand up.”
The harsh command brought Jilana’s head up and her fastened on the metal links Caddaric held in his hands. She rose shakily to her feet and watched him approach with open suspicion. Nodding at the chain, Jilana queried, “What is that for?”
A brief, sardonic smile flashed across Caddaric’s face. “The shackles are for you, sweet wicca. To make certain the events at Venta Icenorum will not be repeated.” He let the chains dangle from one hand and reached for her with the other.
Instinctively Jilana shied away from his grasp. “‘Tis not necessary, Cad—” The protest died in her throat when Caddaric’s hand closed around her arm and jerked her back in front of him.
“The day has been long and I am weary. If you test what little remains of my patience I will treat you accordingly.”
Shaken by the controlled violence in his words, Jilana stood motionless as Caddaric dropped to the ground and locked the shackles in place around her ankles. The cool metal burned like a brand against her flesh and Jilana could only stare in stunned disbelief at the length of chain that lay on the ground between her feet. Surely he did not mean to keep her thus! Jilana raised her eyes to Caddaric’s, searching for some sign that the shackles were meant only to frighten her, but in his gaze she found only grim resolve.
“You will find them awkward at first,” Caddaric noted dispassionately, “but in time you will manage well enough.”
Caddaric left the tent yet again and Jilana uttered a strangled cry. The thought of being kept in chains like a criminal sent a wave of humiliation through Jilana and she pressed trembling fingers against her mouth in order to still the sob that threatened. She took a tentative step forward and cringed at the ensuing noise. The chink of the metal reminded her of the bell the Iceni would tie around a cow’s neck so that the herd could be easily located.
Caddaric was absent f
or some time, and when he returned he found Jilana pacing experimentally around the confines of the tent. Unnoticed, he watched her for several minutes, his expression shuttered. She deserved no better than this, he told himself. She had made a fool of him; allayed his doubts and then betrayed his trust. Given the chance, she would repeat her actions; of this he was certain. At least his mind was convinced—his foolish heart was of a softer nature. Disgusted with the evidence of his weakness, Caddaric stepped into the tent and closed the flap behind him.
Jilana came to a halt and looked at Caddaric. He had bathed; his hair curled damply and his only concession to modesty was a pair of breeks. His chest, with its covering of hair, was magnificently bare. As he approached, she tore her gaze away from the sight and stared at the ground. Only when he dangled a pouch in front of her did she look up.
“Food,” Caddaric said in answer to her unspoken question. “Not what you are accustomed to, but all that is available.” He watched while she took the pouch, opened it, and withdrew part of the contents.
Jilana turned the hard strip over and over in her hand, then sniffed cautiously at it. It was meat of some sort, dried and seasoned, and her stomach gave a sickening lurch.
“Beef, preserved for the march,” Caddaric informed her. He felt a twinge of sympathy at her reaction but pushed it ruthlessly aside. He took the pouch back and handed her a wineskin in its stead. “‘Tis tough. Bite off a piece and then take some water and hold them both in your mouth.”
After a struggle, Jilana managed to gnaw off a tough fragment of meat and do as Caddaric suggested. When it had softened somewhat, she chewed at it while Caddaric moved around the tent, obviously preparing for sleep. He took a fresh tunic from his kist, closed it and laid the garment on top. When his hand fell to the buckle on his belt, Jilana turned away and studied the shadows cast upon the wall by the oil lamp. The action did little to soothe her modesty, however, for Caddaric’s shadow also fell upon the leather and she could clearly see his every move. Helplessly, she watched him remove and carefully fold the breeks and place them atop the tunic, and then work the knots on his loincloth. He disposed of that in the same manner as the breeks and straightened, hands resting on his hips. Jilana stiffened; she could feel his gaze as surely as if he had touched her.
“Have you finished?”
Jilana chewed frantically and shook her head.
“Do you want more?”
Jilana gave up on the meal. She could chew until sunrise and the meat would still remain unpalatable. She forced herself to swallow and nearly choked in the process when the meat lodged midway between her mouth and stomach. A generous quantity of water washed the | beef down the rest of the way. “No more, thank you,” she answered finally.
“Then put the water and meat away and come to bed.”
His shadow moved, and from the corner of her eye Jilana saw Caddaric settle onto the rude pallet. She turned, spotted the food pouch leaning against Caddaric’s kist, and carefully walked to it. The chains clinked together, but did not trip her. When she had replaced her meal and set the wineskin beside the pouch, she straightened and looked at Caddaric.
“Where am I to sleep?”
Caddaric gave her a knowing look. “Here; next to me.” She had expected as much, but the blood still rushed to her cheeks and Caddaric laughed shortly. “Come, Jilana, you and I are beyond such false modesty, are we not?”
Jilana laced her fingers together and strove to keep her voice level. “I should like to wash first and attend to my personal needs.”
Caddaric nodded and waved a hand toward the tent flap. “Outside. You will find a barrel of water and a basin next to the wagon. As for the other…” He raised a mocking eyebrow and smiled. “Albion is blessed with trees and bushes.” She had just stepped outside the tent when he added, “Do not be long.”
His warning was implicitly clear to Jilana. If she took too long, he would come after her. She tended to her bodily needs, washed as quickly as possible, and returned to the tent. The chink of her shackles as she approached the bed was the only sound in the enclosure. Caddaric lay with his eyes closed and Jilana wondered if he had fallen asleep. When she reached the pallet, however, his eyes opened and surveyed her dispassionately.
“Your gown will prove uncomfortable,” Caddaric noted. “Shall I help you remove it?”
The taunting note in his voice sparked Jilana’s temper. “The chains will prove even more so,” she snapped back. “Will you remove these as well?”
Slowly, Caddaric raised himself up on one elbow, his expression cold. “Are you offering me a trade, Jilana? Your body for the chains?” Her hands curled into fists at her sides at the deliberate insult, and Caddaric snorted. “You betrayed me once, Jilana; I am not ignorant enough to allow you to do so a second time.” With that he reached out and extinguished the oil lamp.
The tent was plunged into darkness, save for the faint pool of light coming from the vent in the ceiling. Jilana removed her sandals and stood immobile, aware of the coolness of the night air and the warm haven of the pallet. Yet her pride argued that she take one of the blankets and claim another piece of ground for her bed, regardless of the discomfort. Caddaric made the decision for her.
“Leave the cursed stola on if you must, but come to bed,” Caddaric snarled. “You will be less tempted to slip away if I am beside you. And,” he warned, “I sleep lightly.”
Reluctantly, Jilana settled onto the pallet next to Caddaric. They lay pressed together, side by side on the narrow pallet. Jilana stared into the darkness, feeling the warmth of Caddaric’s large body creep over her own chilled flesh. His breathing was deep and even, but there was a tension vibrating through him that told Jilana he was not asleep. She shifted, seeking a comfortable position for her shackled ankles and the connecting chain, and felt Caddaric stiffen.
“Caddaric?”
“What is it?” Caddaric asked wearily.
“I did not run from you, but from Lhwyd.” When he did not answer, Jilana turned her head toward him. “Had our situation been reversed, would you not have done the same?”
Caddaric turned on his side, presenting his back to Jilana. “Go to sleep.”
The next morning Caddaric rose, dressed, and then shook Jilana awake. “If you want to eat, come with me.” Dazed, Jilana struggled to her feet and followed Caddaric. Even at this time of day—shortly after sunrise—the Iceni camp was busy, although the sounds were muted. The campfires had been relit and women were stirring the contents of the cook pots that hung over them. Yawning, Jilana trudged around the corner of the tent to the wagon and washed her face and hands in cold water before returning to the front of the tent. She glanced once at Camulodunum but quickly averted her gaze from the painful sight. Caddaric was waiting for her, an impatient frown on his face, and she walked as quickly as she could to his side.
“Do you know how to build a fire?” Caddaric asked without preamble. When she shook her head, he sighed.
“I thought as much. Pay attention.” He knelt in front of a circle of rocks and shaved thin pieces of wood from a branch he had taken from the pile of wood beside the tent. When that was done, he pulled flint from the pouch on his belt and scraped his knife blade down it. Sparks cascaded onto the kindling and the wood caught immediately. He added small, dry twigs to the flame, and when they were ablaze, stacked a pyramid of larger pieces around the fire. Extending her hands toward the fire, Jilana offered Caddaric a tentative smile. He nodded, once, rose to his feet, and resheathed his knife. “The fire is your responsibility from now on,” he said roughly, pushing the flint into her hand. “Tis foolish to hope, I suppose, that you can cook?”
Jilana opened her mouth to respond, and promptly closed it. She had dabbled in the kitchen at home, but only to bake bread and wheat or barley cakes in the kitchen’s ovens, and then only for her own amusement. What Caddaric hinted at was far beyond her capabilities. Chagrined, Jilana shook her head once again. Wearing an expression that left little doubt as to his
opinion of her ignorance, Caddaric took an iron pot from the wagon and showed her how to make a porridge from crushed oats and water.
Around them more of the camp was coming to life, and Jilana tried to ignore the curious looks cast in her direction. She wondered where Heall and Clywd and the others were, but was afraid to ask. To hear that Heall, who had shown her only kindness, had fallen in battle would be too much to bear. Taking a turn at stirring the porridge, Jilana wished that Caddaric would talk to her but he did not. Even the mocking jibes he had delivered at Venta Icenorum would be preferable to the way he ignored her except to issue orders. The truth hit Jilana like an icy blast—he was treating her the way he would treat any slave. Her shackles, the chores he laid on her shoulders, his dismissal of her as anything save a servant, killed lire tiny hope Jilana had harbored that Caddaric’s anger would pass. Whatever gentle emotion he might have felt her was gone, and Jilana was left with the cutting knowledge that her own treacherous heart—with a heedless will of its own—had given itself to Caddaric. Ahh, Juno, how cruelly you gods twist our mortal fates! Was heart the sacrifice Minerva extracted in exchange for Caddaric’s life?
He must never know, Jilana told herself as she trudged to the wagon for the wooden bowls and spoons Caddaric ordered her to retrieve. The heavy ache in her chest was punishment enough for what had slipped through her hands. If Caddaric found out, her misery would be doubled, for her love would provide him a potent weapon. She would shed no tears in front of him, nor would she show any sort of weakness that would betray this vulnerability. Her anger, too, must be chained, for Jilana knew all too well that in the heat of the moment she spoke before she thought.
Jilana had just set the utensils on the ground when someone behind her called her name. She spun about; the heel of her sandal caught in the chains and spilled her to the ground. A heated wave of embarrassment washed over her cheeks at her clumsiness and then a pair of hands were lifting her to her feet with the ease of a parent performing the act for a child.
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