Defy the Eagle

by Lynn Bartlett

  “But not with cooking.” Caddaric could not resist issuing the blunt challenge.

  Jilana knew the first stirring of anger. “You should have thought of that before claiming me as a slave, lord.”

  “Tis not your cooking skill that interests me.” Caddaric’s tone, and the slow, lingering inspection he gave her, brought a flush to her cheeks.

  “I know well enough what interests you,” Jilana spat, “and I find your rutting, barbarous ways repulsive.”

  Unseen and unheard by either of them, Heall and Artair had come into the camp in time to hear Jilana’s last words. Heall suppressed a laugh while Artair whitened. When the younger man made to interrupt the two, Heall clamped a hand on his shoulder and kept Artair firmly by his side.

  “Repulsive,” Caddaric echoed in a mocking tone. “You did not find me repulsive that day in the bath.”

  “And what else could I do? Had I resisted, no doubt you would have resorted to rape!”

  Caddaric’s head snapped back as if he had been slapped. “There is no need to take by force that which is freely given,” he said in a low growl which should have warned Jilana that she had gone too far.

  But the excitement of battle was singing in Jilana’s blood, deafening her to such subtleties. “What is a good slave for, save to satisfy her master’s desires”, Jilana asked cuttingly. “I am powerless before your might.”

  A wild gleam entered Caddaric’s eyes and he seized Jilana. “You sharp tongued she-wolf! You found as much pleasure as I, and you know it!”

  “Nay, I did not,” Jilana argued, struggling to be free of Caddaric’s hands and the iron grip they had on her arms. “‘Tis not the lot of slaves to enjoy pleasure, so do not lie to yourself! I will not willingly share your bed again! How does that suit your deluded vision of my bearing your child! The gods’ will indeed!”

  Caddaric crushed Jilana’s words and lips beneath his ravaging mouth. As an impulsive tactic, the kiss worked extremely well, Caddaric thought vaguely. Jilana struggled, and he countered by hauling her hard against his chest. The contact knocked the breath out of her lungs and her lips parted instinctively. Caddaric used the unexpected reaction to his advantage. His tongue surged into her mouth, destroying any resistance in its path. Jilana fought against the embrace until she realized that beating her fists against Caddaric’s shoulders had no effect upon his assault. She forced herself to stand unmoving in his arms while his mouth plundered hers. There was a faint, traitorous stirring within her body, a result of the lessening aggression in Caddaric’s kiss. With a sense of desperation, Jilana turned her mind away from what was happening and concentrated on the wounds Caddaric had inflicted upon her soul. Knowing Caddaric’s plans as she did, to respond would bring a shame beyond bearing.

  The change in Jilana was subtle but unmistakable. Caddaric felt the mental barrier she was erecting as surely as if it were a stone wall. Slowly he released her, engulfed by shame, and stared into the shadowed, violet eyes. ‘Twas not his way, to force a woman. So why did this particular woman challenge and taunt and defy him until reason was gone and his only thought was to subdue her?

  Heall noisily cleared his throat and stepped into the camp. “Before you two start again, I would like to rescue the meat from the spit.” He gestured to the fire, where their meal was beginning to char.

  Caddaric returned to the world with a start. He heard once again the noise of the camp and wondered how far his voice, and Jilana’s, had carried. Heall was studying him with something akin to amusement, while Artair’s expression was coldly disapproving. Caddaric puzzled over that, but fleetingly, for Artair had a saddle swung over one shoulder and was walking toward the wagon.

  “What is that for?” Caddaric asked when Artair set his burden into the wagon bed.

  “‘Tis yours,” Artair replied. He flipped the canvas over the saddle and returned to the fire. “I borrowed it this afternoon. Did Jilana not tell you?”

  “Nay.” Caddaric pinned Jilana with a hard look.

  Bewildered, Jilana looked from Caddaric to Artair and back again. Had Artair taken one of Caddaric’s saddles? Behind Caddaric, Heall frowned at her and nodded impatiently and suddenly Jilana understood. “I, ah, forgot

  to tell you,” she murmured inanely. The overwhelming sense of relief she felt made it difficult to speak.

  “I do not care for it,” Artair said easily. “Our lighter saddles are far superior.” He took the dagger from his belt and poked at the roasting meat, dismissing the topic. “‘Tis dead. Can we eat now, or is it your intent to burn the rest of it?”

  A dull flush worked its way across Caddaric’s cheekbones. He bent to the task of removing the beef from the fire and slicing it onto the plates Jilana had provided. “I would deem it a courtesy if you would ask before making free with my possessions,” Caddaric chided.

  Artair shrugged. “As you wish.” He took the plate Jilana handed him and winked at her.

  “You told Artair,” Jilana accused Heall in a low voice when she took his plate to him.

  Heall nodded and glanced to where the two younger men sat by the fire. “I had to; ‘tis his saddle.”

  Jilana swallowed. “The horse?”

  “Replaced with one of mine.” Heall popped a chunk of meat into his mouth and spoke around it. “A mare, unfortunately, but her coloring is right. By the time Caddaric notices the switch, he will not connect it with your missing legionary.”

  Pray to the gods Heall is right, Jilana thought. She took her own plate and moved away from the fire to eat. Clywd arrived later, waving her away when Jilana made to serve him. The beef was strong to Jilana’s palate, but she forced herself to eat half of the portion Caddaric had given her and then erased the taste with a wheat cake covered in honey. It was as she was filling the drinking cups that Jilana noticed Ede was missing. A curious absence, but one for which she was grateful. The sight of Ede eyeing Caddaric so brazenly was distressing.

  Jilana distributed the wine and turned her attention to cleaning the plates. She had just finished the task when, as if in response to her thoughts, Ede appeared. Jilana’s lips curled into a resigned smile as she reached for another cup. The smile disappeared when a second figure followed Ede into the camp. Lhwyd. A cold knot formed in Jilana’s breast when the white-robed Druid came to a halt in front of Clywd. The wine forgotten, Jilana was drawn to the two men in spite of her instinctive urge to flee. She came to a halt a few feet behind Lhwyd.

  “What have you done with him, Clywd?” Lhwyd’s question was soft, almost gentle in nature. The tone made Jilana’s skin crawl.

  Clywd looked at the younger man from beneath upraised brows. He swallowed the last bite of wheat cake and drained his wine before speaking. “Done with whom, Lhwyd?”

  “My prisoner, my special offering to the goddess,” Lhwyd replied, his rich voice caressing the word offering. “Where have you taken him?”

  Clywd shook his head. “You claimed the prisoners, all of them, as your own. I did not know one was more important than the others.”

  “Do not lie, old one,” Lhwyd warned silkily. “The Queen herself is interested in tonight’s sacrifices. ‘Twill not go well with you if you tamper with her wishes.”

  Both Caddaric and Artair came to their feet at the thinly veiled threat and started toward Lhwyd. In the space of a heartbeat, Clywd was trapped in the center of an arc formed by three armed men who had suddenly appeared from the trees. Caddaric stopped beside Jilana, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Lhwyd looked over his shoulder and smiled in a way that made Jilana’s blood run cold.

  “This does not concern you, Caddaric,” Lhwyd said reasonably.

  “He is my father,” Caddaric growled in return. “What do you want here?”

  Lhwyd’s expression twisted into an ugly mask at the challenge. “Who are you to question me?” he demanded, his green eyes burning. “You, who mocks the gods, denies them—” Words seemed to desert him. Lhwyd’s mouth worked silently but no sound emerged, and he
shrugged off the calming hand Ede placed on his arm.

  “I do not doubt the gods,” Caddaric said, “only their servants.”

  “As well you should.” Lhwyd’s mouth spasmed into a parody of a smile. “Your noble father, for example, is trained in the art of healing and yet fully half of my prisoners died under his care.”

  “Only because you refused to let me tend to them earlier,” Clywd spoke up wearily.

  “I wonder.” Lhwyd fixed his gaze on the seated Druid, caught up in his own thoughts.

  Jilana’s heart hammered wildly, He knows! She laced her fingers together to hide the way her hands were shaking.

  Caddaric’s hand tightened on his sword. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Artair and Heall exchange a slight nod. If Lhwyd thought to take the older Druid prisoner, he would pay dearly.

  Only Clywd was unperturbed. “Why do you come here with armed guards? Do you accuse me of causing the prisoners’ deaths, Lhwyd?” He tucked his hands into his wide sleeves and watched the other Druid calmly.

  Lhwyd shook his head and for a moment rays of the dying sun were reflected in his blond hair, framing his face in a red halo. “I seek only one prisoner, old one. The legionary; the one you and Caddaric’s slave,” his green eyes brushed over Jilana, “cared for.”

  Clywd came to his feet in a graceful movement that belied his years. “He is not here. I have not seen him since last night.”

  “But she has.” Lhwyd turned his full attention on Jilana. His voice became caressing. “You were with him this morn.”

  Lhwyd’s eyes and voice invaded her mind, erasing everything else. As if her body had a will of its own, Jilana felt herself nodding. “I changed his bandage.” Why are you explaining, some part of her brain called out in

  warning. You must say nothing! And then Lhwyd smiled, moved closer.

  “Where is the soldier, Jilana?”

  The question beckoned, inviting an answer. Jilana stared at Lhwyd, fascinated by the emerald depths of his ires. “I—” Speech was difficult. “I do not know.”

  “Release her, Lhwyd.” As he spoke, Caddaric stepped forward and placed himself between Jilana and the Druid. “She knows nothing.”

  Hidden by the barrier of Caddaric’s broad shoulders, Jilana roused herself, as if from a dream. What evil power did Lhwyd possess, she wondered, that he could reduce her will to rubble?

  “Do not interfere,” Lhwyd warned. “The man was my prisoner. I am within my rights to question all who saw him.”

  “And your little slave did see him,” Ede put in triumphantly. “The guards admitted her this morning.”

  “I know.” Caddaric informed them simply. “Did your guards not tell you that I was there as well? That Jilana left with me?” He cocked an eyebrow at Ede’s surprised expression. “Nay, I can see they did not.”

  Lhwyd was not to be defeated so easily. “But she returned, Caddaric. One of the other prisoners swears that your slave returned and took the legionary away.”

  The laughter which burst from Caddaric surprised them all. “How did she accomplish such a feat?” he inquired when his mirth had subsided. “Did she work some spell that turned them invisible to the eyes of your guards?”

  Lhwyd stiffened and his voice lost some of its melodic quality. “The guards were gone.”

  “Gone?” Caddaric reiterated in a chuckle. To his side, Artair laughed softly and Heall could not control a grin.

  “Aye, gone,” Lhwyd hissed. “They went into the city when the temple was fired.”

  Caddaric nodded wisely. “So the only witness you have is a prisoner? Tell me, Lhwyd, what would you say or do if you thought there might be a way to save your life? Surely you would not lie to the man who holds your life in his hands?”

  The mockery was more than Lhwyd could bear. “I would tell him anything. Even the truth.” His eyes glittered. “Your father deprived me of thirty sacrifices—I cannot prove his deed, but I know his weakness. No doubt he thought to be merciful.”

  “A quality which is foreign to you,” Artair noted blandly.

  Jilana stared at him in surprise. Artair’s allegiance had always lain with Ede. Why had he changed? What forces were at work here that she did not understand?

  “Artair,” Ede gasped in dismay.

  The young man shrugged. “Gods, Ede, have you not seen enough blood since Venta Icenorum?” Artair asked fiercely.

  “The Morrigan demands—” Lhwyd began.

  “Nay, Druid, you demand,” Artair interrupted. “‘Tis not even an honorable death you grant your captives. ‘Tis butchery.”

  Lhwyd’s face hardened until the skin was stretched taut across his cheekbones. The effort he made to keep his temper was visible to all. “The legionary’s tunic was found where he lay. The trees around the prisoner compound have been searched.” His voice assumed a reasonable tone. “While Clywd may feel duty bound to offer the wounded a painless death, he would not help one of my sacrifices to escape. Neither would any Iceni or our allies.” He stared at Caddaric’s shoulder, as if his gaze could pierce the other man’s flesh and see Jilana. “Only one person in this camp would have a reason to do such a thing.”

  Caddaric gave a snort of disgust. Reaching behind him, he caught hold of Jilana’s wrist and pulled her to his side. “Look at her, Lhwyd. She is chained; as much a prisoner as your helpless sacrifices. If she were Iceni, I would admit to the possibility of what you say, but she is Roman.” Caddaric did not see the look that passed between Artair and Heall at his words.

  Lhwyd slowly shook his head. “You are a fool, Caddaric. Why do you not see what is so plain to others?”

  “Then ask her yourself.” Caddaric, impatient, nearly shouted the challenge. “We will see which of us is the fool!”

  Jilana stared at the ground, consumed by dread. She would not look into Lhwyd’s eyes again, for that way lay destruction, not only for herself but for Heall and Artair as well. Heall had not prevented Hadrian’s escape, and then he and his son had taken risks to conceal her deed. Ahh, gods, if Lhwyd ever learned of their actions—

  “Do you know where the primipilus is, Jilana?” Caddaric prodded.

  Jilana swallowed convulsively. “Nay.” That, at least, was partially true. She knew only his destination, not his path,

  “Did you help him escape?”

  Lhwyd’s question settled over Jilana like an icy cloak. Her fingers were laced so tightly together they were numb. “Nay.”

  “Look at me!”

  Jilana glanced at the Druid, but her eyes quickly skittered away. She was wiser now; to do as Lhwyd commanded was the first step in subjecting her will to his. Her eyes came to rest on Clywd and she saw the concern in his face. He, too, knew the dangers; but worse, Jilana had the feeling that Clywd also knew her guilt. “I will give you your answers,” Jilana told Lhwyd in a trembling voice, “but not my soul.”

  “You dare,” Lhwyd cried, his expression murderous. With an oath, he started forward.

  In a blur of movement, Caddaric whipped his sword from the sheath and slapped the flat of the blade against Lhwyd’s chest. From all around Jilana came the sound metallic hiss of other swords being drawn and readied and her stomach gave a sickening lurch. “Keep your distance,” Caddaric warned Lhwyd in a steady voice. “She was given to me by the Queen. Not even you dare to touch a royal gift.”

  Jilana looked around. Heall and Artair stood poised for battle, the sun reflected on the naked blades of their swords. Lhwyd’s guards were similarly prepared. A discreet distance from their camp, the curious had gathered to witness the confrontation. More blood would be shed, someone would be wounded—or killed—if something was not done. Jilana forced the muscles in her throat to work. “I did not help Hadrian.” In the heavy, charged silence, Jilana wondered if they had heard her. “I did not help Hadrian escape,” she repeated, her voice growing stronger. “Caddaric dragged me back to camp and ordered me to stay here.”

  “And did you?”

  Damn Lhwyd, Ji
lana thought angrily. Why could he not simply accept her lie? The sudden rush of anger enabled Jilana to bring her head up and glare at the Druid with a certain disdain. “Aye. Thus far he has placed me in chains. What would he do if I disobeyed him?” She felt the pull of Lhwyd’s will and quickly looked away before she could fall under his spell again.

  “Are you satisfied?” Caddaric asked a heartbeat later.

  “Nay,” Lhwyd retorted. Ignoring the threat of Caddaric’s sword, he moved toward Jilana. He stood close enough that his breath brushed her cheek when he spoke. “You have won this time, slave. The next time will end differently; then I will welcome you to the Morrigan’s bed.” Lhwyd turned and motioned to his guards. Jilana wrapped her arms around her trembling body in the wake of his departure.

  It took forever before the three men relaxed enough to sheath their weapons. Artair moved first and Heall and Caddaric followed his lead.

  “You have my thanks,” Caddaric told Artair when the other resumed his place by the fire. “There was no need for you to make Lhwyd your enemy.”

  Artair stared into the flames. “One of the men I killed today had never held a sword before; his grip was wrong and he nearly dropped it before he swung at me. I imagine he was a merchant, mayhap a shopkeeper. I had to

  remind myself that he was as much a threat as a legionary.” He took up his cup and drank deeply. “Where is the glory in such an act?”

  “We do what we must in order to be free.” Ede spoke up, attracting their attention. “Have you forgotten the outrages committed against us and our Queen by the Romans? ‘Twas shopkeepers who screamed the loudest when the Queen was scourged.”

  “We know, Ede,” Heall said quietly. “But that does not make the killing easier.”

  Ede turned to Caddaric. “Is this how you feel? Are you as weak as this old man and his braggart son?” She eyed him contemptuously.

  “I do not revel in death as your brother does,” Caddaric replied. “I serve my Queen and Albion as I must, where I must, and wait for the destruction to end. One day, when you are glutted on the sight and sound and stench of the battlefield, you will understand.”