Defy the Eagle

by Lynn Bartlett

  Behind Caddaric, Heall grumbled, but he followed. When they emerged from the trees, Caddaric recognized their camp a short distance to their left and he galloped the rest of the way there.

  “Jilana!” Before his horse had come to a complete stop, Caddaric had thrown himself out of the saddle and was racing for the tent.

  “Perhaps she went with Clywd,” Heall said when Caddaric emerged from the tent, his face rigid with fear.

  “I should hope my father would have the,sense to take her with him,” Caddaric ground out, but he found no comfort in Heall’s words.

  Heall dismounted and walked around the campsite. “Mayhap they are watering the horses.”

  “Mayhap.” Caddaric walked around the tent and spied the tethered beasts. Clywd had selected an area with tall grass, ideal for grazing. Unable to shake his feeling of dread, Caddaric strode toward the horses. The same force that had guided him unerringly through an unfamiliar forest brought him directly to where Jilana lay, unconscious.

  His breath froze in his lungs as he dropped to his knees and rolled her gently onto her back. Her face was pale, her flesh clammy. Shaking, he held a hand in front of her mouth and nose and gave a choked sob of relief when he felt her exhale. “Jilana.” Desperately, he touched her arms and legs, checking for broken bones, and then ran his fingers over her scalp. He could find nothing wrong. He gathered Jilana in his arms, stood, and hurried back to camp.

  “Find my father,” Caddaric snapped when Heall ran to meet him.

  “The girl—”

  “She is alive. Hurry!”

  Inside their tent, Caddaric stripped Jilana, checked her from head to toe, and then covered her with a blanket. There were no wounds, no lumps from a fall, nothing! He chafed her hands in his and called her name in the hope that she had fainted. Jilana did not respond. Nothing he said or did brought so much as a flicker of an eyelid.

  When Clywd entered the tent, he was accosted by a man he barely recognized as his son. “Where have you been?” Caddaric snarled, his hands gripping the front of Clywd’s black cloak. “You knew you were not to leave her alone! You knew!”

  “Caddaric, let him go.” Heall was beside him, prying his fingers away from the material.

  “Damn him! He knew. All of us knew! We agreed Jilana was not to be left alone—” His voice broke and Caddaric jerked backward, away from the two men. He pointed a trembling finger at his father. “If she dies, old man, I will never forgive you. Never.”

  Clywd’s face was the color of bleached linen as he knelt beside Jilana and examined her. Heall crouched at Jilana’s head while Caddaric, his face a stony mask, watched the proceedings from the door. “Well?” He grated when Clywd rose.

  “I need my case.” Clywd walked to where his son stood and tried to brush past him. An iron fist around his arm stopped him and Clywd looked into his son’s stormy eyes.

  “What is wrong with her?”

  Clywd swallowed, berating himself for his own stupidity. What had he cost them all by believing so deeply in Be’al? When he spoke, his words fell like stones into a dry well. “She has been poisoned.” The fingers around his arm fell away and Clywd stepped out of the tent. When he returned scant moments later, Caddaric had not moved. Heall was crying quietly and stroking Jilana’s hair. Clywd had opened his case and was searching for the proper herbs when Caddaric spoke again.

  ”Can you save her?”

  Clywd carefully crushed the herbs and stirred them into a cup of water. “I can try.”

  Caddaric stared at his father and then turned his gaze to Jilana. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and kiss her until she wakened. He wanted to feel the silk of her hair against his skin and the warmth of her body curled against his in the middle of the night. There was so much he wanted—and now he doubted if he would have any of it. The pain in him grew until he thought he would go mad with it. “So much for your gods and your prophecies, old man!” He swung on his heel and stalked out of the tent. The thought of losing Jilana seared white-hot through his heart and drove him through the Iceni camp. Some distant part of his mind screamed that he was out of control, but he ignored the warning. Perhaps being out of control would drive the pain out of his heart.

  Those who saw him stepped out of his way, and when he stopped at one campsite to ask direction, the old woman he accosted stammered out her answer. The black look on his face reminded her of years past, when a blood feud was about to be declared. Although, given the question he had asked, a feud made no sense. When Caddaric was gone, she ran to the adjoining camp to tell her friends what had happened. Caddaric found the camp he wanted and when two of the guards made to stop him, he tossed them aside as if they were nothing more than kindling. Before other guards could come to their aid, Caddaric was upon the man he wanted.

  “Lhwyd,” Caddaric growled.

  The Druid was kneeling at the altar he erected every night. Before he could rise, Caddaric had seized him by the shoulders and thrown him a good ten feet, into the outer edge of the fire. Dazed, Lhwyd scrambled to his feet. When he saw the hem of his cloak smoldering, he tore it off and tossed it aside.

  “What are you doing, warrior?” Lhwyd asked tauntingly. “You, above all others, know it is death to lay hands upon a Druid.”

  “Aye, death,” Caddaric agreed with a feral grin. “But whose will be first, Druid, yours or mine?” Before the guards could step between them, Caddaric charged across the space that separated them and clamped his right arm around Lhwyd’s neck. The Druid made a harsh, gasping noise. “Stay away,” Caddaric warned when the guards drew their swords and edged closer, “or I will snap his neck like a dry branch right now.”

  “Caddaric,” Lhwyd managed to croak. “Release me!” His long, thin hands clawed frantically at Caddaric’s arm.

  “Afraid to die,” Caddaric jeered, tightening his arm fractionally. “Do you not long to join your Morrigan, priest?” Lhwyd tried to reply, but Caddaric increased the pressure again. Lhwyd’s hands fell to his sides and dangled helplessly.

  “Caddaric, nay!”

  Caddaric’s eyes flickered up briefly to see Ede and Ewan running toward him. Ignoring them, he dragged Lhwyd back to his altar. “Let us see how the Morrigan takes the offering of your blood, priest!” His left hand released his right wrist in order to draw his dagger, but the pressure on Lhwyd’s throat never wavered. There was a savage motion of his left arm and Lhwyd’s tunic was slit open from neck to waist and the dagger was pressed just under the Druid’s breastbone.

  “Caddaric, nay,” Ede cried again and stumbled forward, Ewan on her heels. “Caddaric, he is a priest”

  “A murdering priest,” Caddaric threw back fiercely. “He poisoned Jilana.”

  All the blood drained from Ede’s face and she fell back against Ewan’s chest. Part of her denied the words, but another part, the one which was sickened by her brother’s fascination with death, knew instinctively that it was true. “L-Lhwyd?”

  Lhwyd could not speak but he managed to move his head from side to side. His movement stopped when he felt the tip of the dagger bite into his flesh.

  Ewan took a hard look at the two men in front of him and came to a decision. He pushed Ede behind him and walked forward. Unnoticed, Ede whirled and ran from the camp. “Caddaric, even if what you say is true, you cannot kill him. The Queen will have no choice but to have you executed. That is the law. You know it as well as I.”

  “My woman lies dying,” Caddaric snarled back, “because of this pathetic excuse of a man. Think you I care about the law?!”

  Ewan shoved his hands beneath his broad belt and considered what Caddaric had said, looking for all the world as if their discussion was of no great importance. At last he said, “Are you certain she is dying?”

  Caddaric hesitated. “She has been poisoned; my father confirmed it.”

  Ewan nodded solemnly. “I am sorry; Jilana is a good woman.”

  “Aye.” Inadvertently, Caddaric flexed his arm and Lhwyd’s tongue lolled
out of his mouth.

  “But that does not mean she will die,” Ewan pointed out. “If Clywd is with her, I would wager that she will live. What will her life be like if you are dead?”

  Some of his rage faded and Caddaric drew a shuddering breath. “Even if she lives, it will not change what this,’” he gave Lhwyd a nasty shake, “has done.”

  “You will put down your weapon this instant and release the Druid.” The command was delivered in a strong, feminine voice that demanded attention.

  Caddaric’s gaze shifted to the source of the voice and pure shock eased his hold on Lhwyd’s neck. Not enough so that the Druid could escape, but enough so that he could speak.

  “My Queen,” Lhwyd rasped. “This man has gone mad.”

  Boadicea flicked a contemptuous look at the Druid. “You are not a wise man, priest. Never call the man who holds your life in his hands mad.” She looked back at Caddaric and her eyes softened. One of her chieftains had rushed to her tent with news of the impending murder and she had arrived just in time to hear Caddaric’s reasons. If what the warrior said was true, Boadicea believed he was well justified in his actions, but she could not allow a Druid under her protection to be coldly murdered—no matter how much she personally disliked him. “Caddaric, you know I have forbidden fighting. You sat at council when I made the edict.”

  Caddaric nodded. “I know, my Queen, but—”

  Boadicea silenced him with an upraised hand. “I have heard your reasons. That does not change the fact that you are about to break the law.” Her voice filled with sincere regret, she continued, “I cannot allow that.” She nodded once to the imperial guards and the four of them drew their swords. The Queen looked back to Caddaric. “Do what you must, warrior, and so will I.”

  “So be it.” Caddaric stepped over the low wooden altar and dragged Lhwyd across it.

  “Nay, Caddaric!” Clywd’s voice floated across the campsite and Caddaric’s head jerked up. His father was running—running!—past the onlookers, Ede at his side.

  Caddaric’s only thought was that Clywd had come because Jilana was dead and his face darkened again.

  Accurately reading his son’s thoughts, Clywd came to a halt only a few paces away and held out his hand. “Jilana lives,” he panted. “I swear to you, Caddaric, she lives.”

  Caddaric’s eyes narrowed and he flashed a look at Ede, who nodded. “He is telling the truth, Caddaric. I have seen her with my own eyes.” She smiled tremulously. “I have never lied to you.”

  “Nay, you have never lied,” Caddaric agreed. He looked down at the man dangling in front of him. “Why did you do it, priest?”

  “I have done naught!” Lhwyd protested hoarsely. “Why would I try to kill your slave? In time she will come to my altar, when the rest of the island is free of the Romans. Our Queen has sworn that not a single Roman will remain alive on Albion!” He looked triumphantly at Boadicea.

  Anger stained Boadicea’s cheeks until they were the same color as her flaming red hair. “Druid, you are under my protection, but lie thus again and I will see you delivered to Paulinus!” She sighed and stepped closer until she was even with Clywd.

  Caddaric watched his sovereign approach. “Is it true, O Queen?” he asked softly. “Have you promised Lhwyd Jilana’s life?”

  Boadicea slowly shook her head. “I promised him nothing of the sort, warrior. I gave the woman to you— yours she will remain.”

  Caddaric considered her answer for a long time before coming to a decision. “I would ask a boon of you, my Queen.”

  The corners of Boadicea’s mouth twitched with unwilling amusement. “You dare much, warrior, to assault a Druid, break my edict and then ask a favor.” Dull color flooded Caddaric’s face and Boadicea laughed aloud. “Release the priest, Caddaric, and I will hear your request.” When he hesitated, Boadicea said, “A promise given under duress need not be honored.”

  Everyone held their breath for the space of several heartbeats until, with a snarled oath, Caddaric sheathed his dagger and shoved Lhwyd away to sprawl in the dirt at Boadicea’s feet.

  “My Queen, arrest him,” Lhwyd shrieked as he rose to his feet. “He has broken your edict and threatened a member of the priesthood.”

  Boadicea looked down her nose at the Druid. “My edict forbade fighting; it did not seem like much of a fight to me.” Some of the onlookers snickered, for indeed, Lhwyd had done little more than croak and be tossed about. “As for threatening a member of the priesthood,” Boadicea continued, “the law demands that the murder of a Druid is punishable by death. It says nothing of threats.”

  “Majesty, if you will not punish this upstart I will have my guards—”

  Boadicea glared at him. “If you try to harm this man, Lhwyd, I will disband your guards and forbid your sacrifices. I leave it to you to choose.”

  Lhwyd’s face contorted in rage. With a jerky bow he left the Queen and stood among his guards. One of them offered him a cloak and he rudely snatched it out of the man’s hands.

  “Now, Caddaric,” Boadicea said with a sigh, “what is your request?”

  The royal guards sheathed their swords and Caddaric breathed easier. The danger had passed. Boadicea did indeed plan to hear his request, and, just as obviously, she did not plan to have him arrested. Caddaric cleared his throat and went down on one knee before his Queen. Boadicea hid a flash of amusement and touched his shoulder lightly. “Rise, Caddaric, ‘tis too late to appear humbly beseeching.”

  Caddaric met the Queen’s gaze and held it. “Majesty, I ask permission to free the slave you gave me.”

  Of all the things she might have guessed Caddaric would ask for, Boadicea had never thought of this. “Free her,” she repeated questioningly. “Why?”

  “Because she has proven herself,” Caddaric answered steadily. “With my father, she cared for our wounded after Camulodunum, and she has proven her loyalty to me in many ways.” He inclined his head toward Lhwyd. “If I should die with Jilana still a slave, this one would no doubt claim her. She deserves better.”

  Boadicea’s gaze slid to Lhwyd, considering. The Druid had come to her with a wild tale, accusing the Roman slave of aiding one of his sacrifices to escape. Boadicea doubted the validity of the tale, but what was important was that Lhwyd believed his own accusations and was determined to see the girl punished. His obsession was like an ugly canker, growing and festering inside him. She did not doubt that Lhwyd was fully capable of poisoning the girl if the act would relieve his madness. And Caddaric was right; for her services to him, and her kindness to the Queen, the Roman did not deserve to die at Lhwyd’s hands.

  “Very well, you may free the girl. For a price,” Boadicea added before Caddaric could express his gratitude. She had to exact some punishment for his wild actions. “You will give me a horse, one broken to the saddle, for the disruption you have caused.”

  “Thank you, Majesty.” Caddaric bowed.

  “Do not be so quick with your thanks,” Boadicea said tartly. “Your chieftain may exact a higher penalty for your behavior, and I will not intervene.” She swung away, her guards following.

  “This is not over yet,” Lhwyd snarled when Caddaric—flanked by Clywd and Ede—walked past him.

  Caddaric paused and fixed the Druid with an icy stare. “Harm Jilana, or any of my family, or even attempt to do so, and I swear you will pay. I am a patient man, priest; I can wait years to have my revenge, and you, in the meantime, will never know a moment’s peace.” He strode off, leaving Lhwyd to fume impotently.

  Caddaric walked silently, listening to Clywd’s explanation of the poison and the measures he had taken to counteract it. When they reached the camp, Caddaric went straight to the tent and entered. A small fire had been built within the leather walls and in its light, Caddaric saw Heall sitting beside the pallet, one of Jilana’s hands clasped in both of his. The older man looked up at Caddaric’s entrance and managed a smile.

  “She will live, Caddaric.”

  “Aye, so I
was told.” Caddaric bent down to brush the damp hair from Jilana’s face. “Has she awakened?”

  “Twice.” Heall placed the delicate hand beneath the blanket and tugged the material higher around her neck.

  “Clywd says ‘tis best to let her sleep.” Caddaric grunted noncommittally and Heall studied the younger man. “He saved her life, Caddaric.”

  “After nearly causing her death,” Caddaric replied caustically.

  “He thought she would be safe,” Heall argued. “How could he know—”

  “He could not,” Caddaric flared. “None of us could. That is why we agreed that one of us would remain with her at all times.”

  “Caddaric, he has checked all of our provisions; none of them are poisoned.” Heall cleared his throat. “Did Lhwyd admit the deed?”

  “Nay, but he is guilty.”

  “Then we will have to warn Jilana. Mayhap if we had told her our suspicions, this could have been avoided.” Heall rose. “I will dress the hares and prepare a stew.”

  Once they were alone, Caddaric moved to Jilana’s side and tenderly drew his fingers over the fine bones of her face. He could delude himself no longer. The pretense of keeping her only for the child was only that—a pretense. She had found a way into his warrior’s heart and built a place for herself there. He had not realized, until her death seemed imminent, how great a part she had come to play in his life. The thought of life without her was enough to drive him mad, as was the thought that she was anyone’s slave, even his. So he had asked for her freedom and been granted his request. A pang of fear stabbed at him. Once she learned she was free, Jilana would have the freedom of remaining with him or leaving, as she chose. Many of the Iceni would welcome her into their camp, adopt her; and the young, unmarried warriors would be free to vie for her hand. Would she go? Caddaric wondered sadly, and then answered his own question. Why would she not? Whenever she looked at him, she saw the death of her family and the beginning of the end of her world.