“Caddaric?”
At the sound of his name, Caddaric wrenched his eyes up to hers. He had not answered her question and now she was frowning at him as she rinsed out the cloth. “Aah, Paulinus. Nay, I doubt he can command an equal number in the field.”
Jilana smiled and shrugged into the tunic she wore to bed. His tunic. “Then there is no need for concern, is there? Boadicea will defeat him easily enough.” Blowing out the lamp, she slid onto the pallet beside him and settled into the crook of his arm. “Good night, my love.” She reached up to kiss him gently on the lips.
The kiss she planned upon was not the sort he wanted. When Jilana would have withdrawn, Caddaric cupped the back of her head in his hand and held her fast. His tongue probed achingly at her mouth and, after a moment’s hesitation, her lips opened on a soft sigh. He explored her mouth at leisure, sometimes bold, at times gently questing, until he felt her body press against his and her fingers curl into the hair on his chest.
“Caddaric,” Jilana protested when his lips left hers in order to explore the line of her throat. “Your wounds… ahh ” This as his hand closed around her breast.
“Hush,” Caddaric admonished, his fingertips seeking her nipple through the material and teasing it awake.
Fiery sensations danced through her breast and arrowed down through her stomach. His mouth reclaimed hers, and Jilana boldly plunged her tongue into his mouth. Caddaric’s hand drifted downward from her breast to cup her and her hips instinctively arched against the palm of his hand. Their mouths mated wildly while his hand slid beneath the hem of her tunic and caressed the soft flesh there.
“Take off the tunic,” Caddaric ordered when he pulled his lips from hers. She hesitated and he slowly dragged her hand down his chest and stomach until it grazed his manhood. “I ache for you, little wicca; do not deny me again tonight.” And with that he closed her hand around him
and showed her all the desire which had been building in him.
He was as vulnerable as she, Jilana realized as she stroked him. A tremor ran through his strong frame; his hand fell away and he groaned while she explored that mysterious part of him. Emboldened, she rained kisses along his jaw, and when he tugged at the hem of her tunic, she struggled out of it and tossed it aside. Caddaric rolled to his back and watched Jilana return to him through heavy-lidded eyes. Her skin was a pale blur in the moonlight and when he reached out to run a finger from the hollow in her throat to her belly he felt her tremble.
“Wicca” Caddaric murmured, cupping her breasts. “You are everything I have ever wanted.”
Resting her hands on his shoulders, Jilana bent and kissed him with all the love in her heart. His hands moved, stroked the length of her back and the firm mounds of her buttocks, then clasped her thighs and drew her upward so that her breasts were positioned above his mouth. Drawing each nipple into his mouth in turn, Caddaric laved the hard buds with his tongue and sucked gently on them. His long fingers teased the curls at the juncture of her thighs and, above him, Jilana cried out softly.
I want you, Caddaric, Jilana thought deliriously, or perhaps she said the words aloud; she did not know. All she knew was that his touch set fire to her blood and she wanted to be consumed by the flames. Sanity returned briefly when he gasped in pain and Jilana realized that she had rested her weight against his wound. “Caddaric, wait.”
“Nay,” Caddaric said thickly. His head tipped back and even in the moonlight, she could see the fierce glitter in his eyes.
“But your shoulder—” Jilana faltered. “How—”
“Watch.” Caddaric drew one of her legs over his hips so that she straddled him. “Take me inside you, wicca.”
She gasped when-he entered her, but his lips were upon hers, swallowing the sound. His hands held her hips, lifting, guiding, teaching, and Jilana felt the world fall away.
The veil of her hair fell around them, touching Caddaric’s thighs with a sensuous brush that threatened his sanity. He felt the change in Jilana when she took control of their embrace and he gave himself up to the riotous sensations she was creating. Her fingers dug into the hard muscles of his waist, and above the heavy thud of his own heartbeat, he could hear her softly cried endearments as she reached for her own fulfillment. With a wildness he had not known he possessed, Caddaric thrust violently upward and at that moment Jilana cried out and went rigid above him. A hoarse moan was torn from his throat when his own release came a heartbeat later.
Jilana collapsed upon his chest in a trembling heap, dazed but pleasantly sated. Caddaric’s hand was tangled in her hair, holding her close, and she pressed a kiss onto the damp flesh over his heart. “I love you, Caddaric.”
His hand tightened on her hair in response. “You are mine, Jilana. Nothing can take you from me now.” He felt Jilana’s smile against his skin and knew the strength of the magic between them.
Reluctantly, Jilana eased herself away from her love so that they were lying side by side. “What will we do when the rebellion is ended?”
Caddaric laced the fingers of his left hand with hers and silently studied them in the moonlight.
When he did not answer immediately, Jilana asked fearfully, “Caddaric?”
Sensing the path her thoughts had taken, Caddaric said, “We will be together, little wicca, do not fear.”
“That is not an answer,” Jilana pointed out, but inwardly she was relieved. Their changed relationship was still too new for her to be totally confident of it.
Caddaric sighed. “To think beyond the war,” he said slowly, “is to tempt the Fates.”
“I thought you did not believe in the gods, whether they be Roman or Iceni,” Jilana could not resist teasing.
Caddaric gave her a fierce look that dissolved into a gentle, lingering kiss when she smiled at him. “The time to consider the future is when the final battle has been won, not before.” Even as he said them, the words left a cold spot of fear in his heart.
“But we will be together,” Jilana persisted, smoothing away the lines that suddenly appeared between his brows. “Always.”
“How could you think otherwise?” He drew the blanket over them and settled her more comfortably against side, effectively ending the conversation.
****
With his column of weary cavalry and terrified civilians, Suetonius Paulinus reached Verulamium two days after Londinium fell to Boadicea. Though he deplored the slow pace, the evacuees were his responsibility and he d not leave them behind. Word of the uprising had spread to Verulamium and Paulinus found the city in a panic which seemed to subside when the citizens saw the legion. Their relief was to be short-lived. Verulamium was as indefensible as Londinium had been, and even though news of the uprising had reached the city a month earlier, no effort had been made to fortify the city. The Romans on this accursed island were no better than sheep, Paulinus railed at his officers. Did they honestly believe there were enough men in the legions to protect every city and outpost? His officers stood silently during his tirade, lowing no response was expected—or wanted. When the initial rage had passed, Paulinus swallowed his bitter frustration and summoned the city’s leaders and priests. The city was to be evacuated; the people could take whatever they could carry without slowing down the column. The legion would accompany them as far as the road to Glevum; the civilians should be able to reach Augusta’s fortress unescorted. Verulamium, Paulinus announced, would be razed in order to deny the enemy comfort and provisions. The citizens had twenty-four hours. The following morning was a repetition of the evacuation of Londinium, with one notable exception. This time the century that brought up the rear fired all the buildings before withdrawing. The taste of smoke lingered in the mouths of all who traveled in Paulinus’ column. The taste would follow the governor-general to his deathbed. Wherever the column traveled, they razed farms and slaughtered the livestock. If the owners were present, they were allowed to gather their belongings before watching their homes burn to the ground, but in his wake, Paulinus left de
struction.
When the civilians were safely on the road to Glevum, Paulinus set about selecting a battleground. He would retreat no further—his men were weary and demoralized and his supplies were running out. Unlike the Celts, his men would not eat venison or the occasional head of cattle they stumbled across until they faced certain starvation. For better or worse, he would take on the rebel Iceni queen. His search took three weeks, but in the end he found a place that suited his needs.
The site was approached by a narrow defile which opened onto a plain. To its flanks and rear rose heavily wooded hills. Paulinus rode over the sight a dozen times with his senior centurion, debating and weighing the odds. The grassy plain was well-suited for a pitched battle, and the narrow defile meant that Boadicea would have to funnel her forces through it to the plain, but even better, she could not make an organized withdrawal if the tide of battle went against her, as Paulinus fervently prayed it would. The wooded hills made escape—and retreat—impossible. The legion would be boxed in with no direction to go except forward. But that would work to the legion’s advantage. With their backs to a wall, the legionaries would fight with mindless ferocity. And if Boadicea had even half the estimated number of warriors, the Iceni would be hard-pressed to maneuver in such a confined area. Paulinus made his camp on the plain and sent messengers northward to guide his infantry to the battleground.
****
“Juno,” Jilana breathed. Caddaric had chosen today to ride instead of staying in the wagon, and she had eagerly accepted his invitation to accompany him. Before her lay the remains of what had once been a city but was now nothing more than charred timber and crumbled mortar. The wind had not been able to disperse the pall of ashes and burned animal hides which still hung in the air.
Beside her, Caddaric kept a steady hand on his stallion’s reins. The bloated Iceni column had taken six days to travel the thirty miles from Londinium to Verulamium, and the sight that awaited them at the end of the trek now sent a wave of dismay through them. They were seeing the work of an enemy who gave no thought to destroying a city and the animals that could not be evaded.
“Paulinus.” Caddaric said the name in a stark, flat voice.
Jilana did not have to ask why the governor-general would do such a thing. She had learned much of tactics from Caddaric. “It does not matter,” she said quietly. “Once the rebellion is ended, the Catuvellauni will rebuild the city.”
“If any remain. Most of the Catuvellauni are now more Roman than Celt.” Caddaric reined his horse around. “Let us find Heall and Clywd and make camp for the night.”
When they had found the two men, they set up their camp and took stock of their supplies. Thanks to Heall and Caddaric’s avid scavenging, the two wagons were filled with grain, wine and meat. “We are better provisioned than many,” Clywd said when the last bag of grain had been packed back into the wagon. “A sack of wheat is selling for ten gold pieces and a haunch of venison—” He shook his head. “Boadicea must end this quickly, so we can return home.”
Caddaric sent his father a hard look. “And what will we find there? Granaries that were emptied when we began the rebellion and unsown fields.”
“The cattle and horses were turned loose before we left,” Heall reminded him. “It may take time, but we can track them down.”
“Aye. Now they can graze, but how will we feed them during the winter when there is no grain to be harvested?” No one had an answer for him, and Caddaric absently massaged the ache in his right chest. “We cannot worry about what will happen; the present is what matters.” He drew a deep breath. “And for the present, we must stringently ration our supplies.” He looked into the deep purple of Jilana’s eyes and smiled slightly. “No more wheat cakes.”
Jilana shrugged and dredged up a smile for him. “I had lost my taste for them.”
“Liar,” Caddaric mocked, but when he helped her down from the wagonbed, he kissed her lovingly. Jilana melted against him, oblivious to Heall and Clywd standing not far away. When he released her, the loving expression on her face tripped his heart. “Jilana, I wish the circumstances were different, that I could provide you with all the comforts you knew in your father’s house.”
“You are all the comfort I need,” Jilana said with a shake of her head.
Still, it ate at Caddaric that she had lost so much that he could never replace. While Jilana prepared their meal, Caddaric took from the wagon the section of sapling Heall had cut and stripped for him. The wood was as long as a sword—though not as heavy—and as thick as his wrist, and each night Caddaric used it to practice the thrusts, slashes and parries of which swordplay was comprised. Jilana had been horrified when he had begun the exercises, fearing he would do further damage to his shoulder and chest, but he knew the importance of exercising the weakened muscles. Left alone, they would stiffen and his usefulness as a warrior would be ended. Tonight he drove himself even harder, dodging and twisting away from an imaginary opponent while his arm constantly extended, slashed and withdrew until he was covered with sweat.
“‘Tis nearly time for the meal,” Jilana informed him when he finally came to rest, panting, against a tree trunk. Walking to him, she raised a critical eyebrow. “And you need a bath. Come, there is a stream not far from here.” Taking his hand, she led him away from camp.
Caddaric followed docilely, massaging the deep ache in his chest with the heel of his hand. “You worked too hard,” Jilana scolded when she spied action.
“Not as hard as I work at night,” Caddaric said with a wicked grin, delighting in the blush that stained her
“Caddaric,” Jilana exclaimed, darting an anxious look over her shoulder.
“Everyone knows you share my bed,” Caddaric teased. “I know, but—”
“Are you afraid someone will overhear me and think you too demanding?”
Caddaric stepped from the grassy bank to the rock and tree littered shore and helped her down.
Jilana sent him a scathing look. “Certainly not.”
Laughing, Caddaric came to an abrupt halt and yanked Jilana against him. “I do not think you are too demanding, either.”
“That is not what I meant,” Jilana began furiously.
“In fact,” Caddaric continued as if she had not spoken, “I think we are well-suited.” He dipped his head and captured her mouth.
Jilana struggled for a moment before surrendering to hungry kiss. Pleasure arrowed through her and when she wrapped her arms around his neck he crushed her against his chest. Even through the layers of clothing rating them, Jilana felt his rising desire and grew warm with anticipation. She rose up on her toes and wantonly rubbed herself against him. His tongue plunged into her mouth and his hands slid to her buttocks, cupping them and holding her in place until they were both aching with need.
Jilana’s eyes opened, revealing their deep purple color and dilated pupils. “Your bath.” Baring her teeth in a wild, primitive smile, she stripped the tunic from him and pressed kisses across the expanse of hair-roughened chest she had exposed.
“Aah, Jilana,” Caddaric groaned. “Here…let me….” . He cupped the back of her head in one hand and guided her lips to the left side of his chest. She hesitated only a moment and then he felt her tongue flick experimentally against his nipple. Her teeth found it next, and then she drew it into her mouth with a sweet suction that threatened to make his knees buckle.
Jilana drew back to stare at the flesh that had turned pebble-hard under her ministrations. She brushed it wonderingly with a fingertip and looked up when Caddaric shuddered in response. His eyes were open, watching her. “‘Tis as sensitive as mine.”
“Aye,” Caddaric grated, the breath rasping in his throat. “Again, wicca, I…” His words dissolved when her mouth turned to his burning flesh.
Someone could stumble upon them at any moment, but when Jilana glanced up at Caddaric’s face, that caution fled. Caddaric’s head was thrown back, exposing the twin cords in his neck, and his eyes were tightly c
losed, as if he found the pleasure unbearable. And she was the source of that pleasure. With hands that trembled ever so slightly, Jilana undid his loincloth and pushed the material off his hips. Her hands worshiped him, loved him, and his groans mingled with the wind stirring the trees and the tumbling sound of water cascading over the rocks in the stream bed.
“Jilana,” Caddaric moaned when she ended the twin torments of her hands and mouth.
‘“Tis time for your bath.”
Caddaric forced his eyes open as Jilana grasped the hem of her tunic in both hands and slid it upward with deliberate slowness. When she was as naked as he, she held out her hand and he took it mindlessly, willing to follow wherever she would lead. At midstream, the water came to their thighs. Jilana knelt and urged Caddaric down beside her. The cold water should have shocked him, but Caddaric felt only heat, and when Jilana cupped her hands and began to lave water over his head and shoulders, he caught his breath at the wild glitter in her eyes. Her hands caressed his shoulders, his arms, his chest, washing away the sweat and grime. When he was clean, she washed herself as well, and he followed every movement of her hands as they traveled over her body.
Jilana moved so that the tips of her breasts brushed his chest. After the nights they had spent in each other’s is, she knew the signs that heralded his impending loss of control. “Now, Caddaric,” she purred, “do you still think we are well-suited?”
In answer, Caddaric grasped her shoulders and pulled her into his arms for a wild kiss. Her arms circled his neck while his tongue plundered the sweetness of her mouth.
“Love me,” Jilana murmured when his mouth released her.
“I do, wicca,” Caddaric responded, and then he gasped as her thighs brushed his and she lowered herself onto his manhood. “Gods, Jilana, not here—” His desire to take her in privacy gave way to a more pressing need when her hips slowly rotated and he shuddered.
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