Defy the Eagle

by Lynn Bartlett

  The knowledge that I am more than a slave to you, she answered silently, but she could not say the words aloud.

  “My touch does not displease you,” Caddaric stated with absolute certainty, “so you must be shamed by the fact that I am no Roman patrician, but a barbarian. A barbarian who can set fire to your passion.”

  Jilana shook her head but said nothing, and a moment later Caddaric left the tent. Jilana rose and dressed, her heart aching. If Caddaric had said that he cared for her, she would have thrown herself into his arms and never let go. His kindness to her over the last few days was no comfort; indeed, the care Caddaric took with her only made the pain worse, because she knew his heart was not involved.

  During the next two days barely a word passed between Caddaric and Jilana. Jilana was proficient enough with the team that Heall took to his horse to ride with the vanguard, and now Caddaric did not check on her progress during the day. Only when he had found a campsite did Caddaric return to the wagon. At night, they slept as far away from each other as the pallet allowed.

  The next morning they packed the camp and, after laying out the harness, Jilana led the horses to the wagon. The space to the back of their camp had been occupied by Heall and Clywd, but the older men were already gone. Caddaric doused the fire while Jilana harnessed the team. When he was finished, he came around to the team and checked the buckles.

  “Can you get the wagon onto the road by yourself, or would you like me to do it?” Caddaric asked. It was, to him, an olive branch. He did not like the coldness that lay between them.

  “I can manage,” Jilana answered steadily. They drew the reins back to the wagon and Jilana climbed onto the seat. “We are running low on water and Clywd said his barrels are nearly empty as well.”

  Caddaric hid his disappointment in her answer by handing the reins to Jilana. “I will look for a well or stream today.” He met her eyes and momentarily lost himself in the violet depths. “Wicca, about the other morning—”

  “You should go,” Jilana interrupted. She looked into the distance where she knew Boadicea had her camp. “The vanguard will be forming.”

  A muscle worked in Caddaric’s cheek and he swung onto his horse without another word. Jilana watched him go with tears burning the back of her eyes. Could he not see what it cost her to keep the wall of indifference between them? If he would utter only one loving word, give her some sign that he saw her only as a woman, not as a possession bought and paid for.

  “Greetings, Roman.”

  The melodious voice scattered her thoughts and Jilana looked down to find Lhwyd standing beside one of the horses. Jilana’s hands tightened around the reins, but she managed a polite nod for the Druid. “Caddaric is not here,” Jilana informed him, and immediately wished she had not.

  Lhwyd smiled, but his eyes remained cold and hard, like polished gems. “I came to see Clywd.” He glanced toward the remains of Clywd’s fire. “But I see I am too late.”

  Knowing of the animosity between the two priests, Jilana doubted Lhwyd’s words. “I will tell Clywd you were looking for him.”

  Lhwyd nodded, his cold gaze surveying her. “I see Caddaric removed your chains.” His lips pursed thoughtfully. “I had heard rumors that he had done so, but I did not believe them.” His hands moved to stroke the horse nearest him.

  Jilana was snared by his gaze. She had only to snap the reins and the horses would move and take her to safety, but her hands lay unmoving in her lap.

  “What did you promise Caddaric, I wonder? That you would not run again? Or that you would share his pallet?” Lhwyd smiled and something twisted deep inside Jilana at the sight. “But then, you have shared his bed since the beginning, have you not?”

  The answer to Lhwyd’s taunt trembled on the tip of Jilana’s tongue, but before she could give voice to it, the Druid looked away and the spell was broken. Jilana was left weak and trembling when Lhwyd bade her farewell and walked away. Around her, wagons moved out, but it took Jilana some time before she felt strong enough to handle the team. As the day progressed, Jilana put Lhwyd out of her mind and concentrated on driving the team and the countryside.

  The land flanking the road had been cleared of trees, but a mile away the forest loomed again. It was a welcome sight, reminding her of home, and banishing the memory of the open lands just south of Camulodunum. At noon, Jilana took a piece of dried beef for her meal and wondered if Caddaric had remembered to take food with him for his own meal. Of course he had, she chided herself. Caddaric was a soldier first, with a soldier’s eye toward what was necessary to sustain a body during a march. She took a sip of water from the skin and held it in her mouth, savoring it. Had Caddaric found a source of water for them? How pleasant it would be if there were a stream close by when they made camp for the night. Despite the chill in the night air, she would dearly love to submerge herself in a stream and wash away the grime of the march.

  Shortly after noon Caddaric and Heall were successful in their search for a stream and rode back along the column to tell the others their news. They found Clywd’s wagon first and spent a few minutes talking with him. They decided to leave the war band now to replenish their water rather than backtrack once they had made camp. Accordingly, Clywd pulled his wagon out of the column and eased it down the grade of the road while Heall followed. Caddaric swung back down the column to find Jilana.

  Jilana saw Caddaric before he caught sight of her, and she felt free to gaze at him. Seated upon his golden stallion, he presented an imposing figure. He rode easily, with the air of control that was second nature to the Iceni, and even without the weapons that hung from his belt there would be no mistaking the fact that he was a warrior. Nor was he the handsomest of men, Jilana thought as he rode in her direction, but the hard planes of his face were dearer to her than any other. He was strong and proud; he could be fierce or gentle, and in that moment, Jilana knew she would give her life to hear him say he loved her.

  “We have found a stream,” Caddaric announced without preamble when he drew abreast of the wagon, “a mile or so to the east. Clywd and Heall will meet us there. Drive the wagon off the road and follow me.”

  He swung off the road before Jilana had a chance to reply. Taking a firmer grip on the reins, she guided the team to the edge of the road and approached the grade at a cautious angle. Heall had warned her about taking the grade straight on and though she had managed very well, going down the incline always made her nervous. They had almost reached the bottom when one of the reins went slack in her hands. The horse on the right immediately felt the easing of tension on the bit, panicked at the lack of direction, and lunged forward. His teammate followed suit and the wagon lost its gentle angle of descent and plunged straight down.

  The change bounced Jilana around on the seat and a vision of being pitched forward, to land between the horses’ hooves and the wagon’s wheels, swam before her eyes. Jilana braced a foot against the low board in the front of the wagon, prayed that the wagon would not overturn, and gave the horses their head. The descent took only a few seconds, but for Jilana, it seemed hours. When the wagon was firmly on level ground, she pulled back on the reins to bring the horses to a stop and found, to her horror, that they were beyond her control. Once they were free of the grade the horses broke into a trot and then a gallop and no matter how she sawed at the reins they refused to slow. One of the wagon wheels hit a hole and Jilana flew into the air. For a terrifying moment, her only attachment to earth was the death grip she kept on the reins, and then she was slammed back onto the seat. The wagon hit another hole and Jilana was thrown forward only to be brought up short by the vertical board that separated the driver from the horses. The wood caught her just below her ribs, knocking the air out of her lungs. Over the sound of the hoofbeats and her own pounding heart, Jilana thought she heard someone yelling. She slid to the floorboard, unable to breathe. Her last rational thought, before fear overrode all else, was that when the wagon tipped—as it surely must—it would create a terri
ble mess and Caddaric was going to be angry with her.

  Caddaric had watched proudly as the wagon began its gentle descent. Jilana had learned a great deal in the past month and he thought that tonight he would tell her so. He found it hard to compliment her but, the gods knew, she deserved that much from him. When the wagon had veered and plunged straight down the grade, Caddaric had only stared at first, and then grown angry. She knew better than that! And then the wagon hit the level ground and Caddaric’s heart stopped. The team was out of control— why or how, he did not care—and he caught a glimpse of Jilana’s pale face as the wagon shot past him. For a stunned moment, he sat watching the team bolt for the trees and then he dug his heels into the sides of his stallion and raced after the wagon. He saw Jilana fly off the seat once, twice, and then disappear. Sheer terror swept through him and he yelled her name.

  He drew even with the team and saw the bit dangling beside the horse’s jaw. The treeline was approaching fast and Caddaric hoped he had enough time to do what had to be done before the team smashed the wagon into one of the trees. Keeping the reins of his horse in one hand, he bent low over the horse’s neck and reached for the halter with his free hand. His fingers brushed the horse’s jaw and the animal shied. The contact was lost. The stallion stretched out, increasing his pace and following the other’s lead until he was even with the team once again. They moved closer. This time Caddaric grasped the bridle. The runaway tried to shy again, but Caddaric grimly hung on. From his peripheral vision, Caddaric could see the forest was dangerously close. He slowed his stallion and hauled on the bridle with all his might. The team slowed—fractionally, but it slowed—and he pulled again. He could feel the strain in his arm, the burning heat as his muscles were worked past their endurance. Jilana, he thought and strength flowed back into his arm as he hauled against the bridle. It was not going to be enough, because the other horse was still running flat out.

  Caddaric filled his lungs with air and bellowed, “Jilana! Stop the team! Do you hear me, woman? Pull on the reins!”

  Jilana heard and struggled to obey. She could barely breathe and the wagon tossed her about like so much flotsam in a heavy sea, but she managed to get to her knees. Dust swirled around, nearly blinding her, but she did not need to see. She drew back on the remaining reins with all her strength and tried to yell “Whoa,” but all that emerged was a strangled croak. She could just see Caddaric, leaning so far out of the saddle that she was sure he would fall at any moment, and pulled even harder.

  And then, miraculously, it was over. One moment the team was charging recklessly toward the forest and the next they had settled into a trot, then a sedate walk and then, blessedly, they had stopped altogether. Jilana slumped back against the seat and began to cry quietly, the reins still wrapped around her hands.

  Caddaric leaped from his horse and found that his legs were shaking. He ran to the wagon, tore the reins out of Jilana’s hands, and dragged her to the ground. His legs turned to water and he slumped to the ground, his hands digging into Jilana’s shoulders. “Are you hurt?” he demanded harshly. When she buried her face in her hands and shook her head in answer, he shook her, hard. “By all the gods, woman, what possessed you to take the grade that way? Have you no sense at all?” He shook her even harder when he remembered his own fear and his voice rose until he was yelling. “If you cannot drive the wagon, I will call Heall back or I will do it myself!”

  “Twas n-not my f-fault,” Jilana tried to say between her own sobs and the punishment he was inflicting.

  “You were the driver,” Caddaric yelled with such force that she tried to shrink away. “You would have crashed into the trees. The horses would have been killed—”

  “Tis all you care about, your precious horses,” Jilana sobbed, shaking with the aftermath of fear, but angry now as well. “No d-doubt you would have kicked my b-b-body aside and ccursed me for the lost of sup-p-plies and the w-wa-wagon!”

  Abruptly Caddaric wrapped his arms around her shoulders and gathered her against his chest. Cursing, he crushed Jilana against him, one hand destroying what was left of her braid as he cupped the back of her head and pushed her against his shoulder. “You could have been killed,” he muttered into her hair. “Gods, how could I have borne losing you?” The thought frightened him more than the runaway team. He had dragged his red-haired witch kicking and screaming into his life and now, inexplicably, he discovered she was firmly embedded in his heart as well. How had he allowed such a thing to happen?

  Jilana cried brokenly into his tunic, beyond caring if he saw her weakness and her tears. This new life was alternately fascinating and terrifying and she knew now that she would never be as strong as Ede or Guendolen. No doubt they would laugh at her inability to handle the team, her stupidity in dropping one of the reins. Her sobs died as that last thought struck home. She had not dropped the rein; one had gone slack in her hand! “Caddaric?” She tried to push away from him, but he held her in place and continued to stroke her hair. “Caddaric,” she said more forcefully and pushed at his chest.

  “Hush, Jilana; ‘tis over now,” Caddaric murmured.

  Dense man! Jilana hit him in the shoulder with her fist to get his attention. Surprised, he relaxed his hold and she was able to pull back far enough to look up into his face.

  “Caddaric, the rein broke.”

  He frowned at her, as if he did not understand. “What?”

  “The rein broke,” Jilana repeated patiently, “when the wagon was coming down the grade.”

  “Impossible. I checked the harness myself only last night.” Caddaric pulled her back into his arms. “You are frightened and imagining things.”

  This time Jilana hit him harder and struggled out of his arms. “I may be frightened, but I have not lost my wits!” She meant to run to the wagon to show him her evidence, but her legs were so weak that she managed no more than a stagger. “Here.” She fished the broken rein out of the tangle on the floorboards and triumphantly held it aloft. “You see? ‘Tis not my imagination.”

  Caddaric followed slowly and took the rein from Jilana. He turned it over and over in his hands, examining it from every possible angle. Without a word he went to the team—standing quietly now, exhausted from their flight—and examined the length of rein which dangled from the useless bit. His first suspicion, that he had caused Jilana’s accident by missing a crack in the leather, gave way to a second, more alarming one. The ends of the rein were not cracked and discolored as they would have been had the leather broken from wear, but were neat and several shades lighter than the outside of the leather. An invisible hand tightened around Caddaric’s heart and the bile rose in his throat. The rein had been intentionally cut. He would stake his life on it. But ‘twas Jilana’s life which had been placed in jeopardy.

  The look on his face frightened Jilana. “What is it?” she whispered, moving next to Caddaric to look at the two parts of the rein.

  Caddaric remained quiet for a moment and then shook his head. “Naught. I missed a crack in the leather.” He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and drew her back to the wagon. “I will fix the rein and then we will go to the stream.” He lifted Jilana onto the wagon seat and she stayed there while he took tools and a length of leather from the wagon and replaced the rein. When he was finished, Caddaric tied his horse to the wagon and swung onto the seat beside Jilana.

  “I can drive,” Jilana protested, stung by his obvious lack of trust.

  “Tomorrow,” Caddaric assured her and clucked to the horses.

  Heall and Clywd were curious about the delay and, within Jilana’s hearing, he described the accident as “a small mishap.” Taking clean clothing from her kist, Jilana bathed upstream, where the low limbs of a tree granted her some small privacy. She could hear the men talking as they filled the water barrels and then splashed noisily into the stream. Shivering, she washed her hair in cold water and scrubbed at her skin until it reddened. Cold or not, she knew this was one of the rare chances she would have on t
he march to be truly clean and she was determined to make the most of it. It was just as Jilana decided her nails had taken on a distinctly blue tinge and she should get out of the stream that she felt eyes upon her. Slowly, shaking with more than just the cold, she returned and faced the bank. Caddaric sat beneath the limbs, watching her, his sword on the grass beside his leg.

  Instinctively, Jilana crossed her arms over her breasts and sat down in the water. “How long have you been there?” Her tone lacked the indignation she felt because her teeth were chattering.

  “Since you stepped into the water,” Caddaric replied easily. “You should come out before you freeze.”

  Jilana clenched her teeth together and shook her head.

  “Jilana,” Caddaric sighed, exasperated. “I have seen you naked before. You are being foolish.”

  Despite the chill, Jilana’s face warmed at the memory. “Will you turn your back?”

  Caddaric gave a short bark of laughter. “Nay, but I will close my eyes.”

  When he had done so, Jilana scrambled from the water and snatched up the piece of blanket she had brought for a towel.

  “Gods!”

  The single word was a low hiss of air and Jilana swung back to catch Caddaric looking at her. “You promised!”

  Caddaric’s face was drawn as he rose and came toward her. Jilana wanted to back away, but the stream was directly behind her. There was no place to flee. “Caddaric, please, I do not want—”

  But Jilana’s fear was misplaced. Caddaric drew the towel away from her, but only to examine her body. Looking down, she saw what held his attention. There was a faint bruise on her hip and another, longer one on her thigh. When he touched them she winced. Beneath her breasts was a large, angry welt where the board had caught her. When Caddaric touched it, she caught her breath and flinched away.

  “Nay, wicca, I will not hurt you.” Tenderly, Caddaric wrapped her in the blanket and dried her. Then he helped her into her gown and led her back to Heall and Clywd. From his kist, Caddaric removed his cloak, draped it around Jilana’s shoulders and led her to the small fire that had been built. “Stay here and warm up.”