Defy the Eagle

by Lynn Bartlett

  Caddaric laughed mirthlessly. “You bought me, did you not? A few coins in exchange for a body? That makes me a slave, lady.”

  “You are no more a slave than your father or Ede or Heall,” Jilana flared, goaded by his stubbornness. “Did they not explain what we are trying to do?”

  “Aye, they explained,” Caddaric said harshly. “Does it ease your conscience to free a few, pathetic souls who were once proud people?”

  “Why are you doing this?” Jilana whispered. “Why are you treating me like an enemy? I am your wife, Caddaric.”

  “My wife?” Caddaric sent her a look of such contempt that Jilana drew back in her chair. “My wife would not have resumed her betrothal so soon after my death, not if she had truly loved me.”

  “I did love you—I still do,” Jilana protested.

  “But then, I had forgotten,” Caddaric went on as if she had not spoken, “the Roman magistrates do not recognize a wedding celebrated in an oak grove by a renegade priest of an outlawed religion. Nor, apparently, do you.” His temper was threatening to flare out of control and he firmly reined it in. “I made it back to the horses that day, Jilana. I had to crawl on my belly and I kept passing out, but I made it back to where I thought you were waiting. There were three horses left. Did you even stay long enough to see if I survived, or did you run to Paulinus’ camp before the first blow was struck?”

  “Is that what you believe?” Jilana breathed, stricken.

  Caddaric smiled coldly. “What other explanation is there?”

  Jilana closed her eyes, unable to believe the cold, hard man across from her had once held her and made sweet love to her. “I—I saw you fall,” she said falteringly. “I thought you were dead.”

  “A conclusion you are all too eager to reach,” Caddaric threw at her.

  Slowly, Jilana opened her eyes and carefully folded her hands on the desk. “I love you, Caddaric.”

  Caddaric stoked his beard, studying the drawn set of her features. His people were the conquered; hers the conquerors. His people were forbidden weapons, save for those needed to maintain life, which meant he was no longer a warrior. He was nothing, while she had her family, a splendid villa, wealth and social position. Whatever had been between them had ended with the rebellion, he knew that, but he wanted her still, with a ferocity that left him raw and bleeding on the inside. No matter what she had done, he wanted her, and he hated her for having made herself so great a part of his life. “You need not hide behind such polite phrases, Lady Jilana. If you want me in your bed again, just ask.” Her eyes flew to his, enormous in her pale face, and he dropped his gaze to the swell of her breasts. His next words crucified her heart. “What is it, Lady Jilana? Can your polite, Roman betrothed not satisfy you the way a barbarian can?”

  A strangling noise came from her throat and Jilana levered herself to her feet. Caddaric’s gaze dropped lower as she rose and he opened his mouth to let fly with another barb but the words never came. His eyes came to rest on the swell of her stomach and he felt the blood drain from his head. “Gods!”

  Jilana barely heard his curse. Tears streamed out of her eyes, ruining the outline of the kohl, and she dashed frantically at them with one hand while she reached for the paper of manumission with the other. “You are free,” she said in a cracked voice. Unable to bear the thought of being near him, she threw the parchment at him. “Ede will tell you the rest.”

  Caddaric had sprung to his feet and he stood across the desk from her, his eyes wide with disbelief. The parchment struck his chest and dropped, unseen, to the floor. “You are with child.”

  “There is no need for you to see me again.” Jilana stumbled around the desk and blindly made her way to the door. Her hand had barely reached the latch before her arms were caught in a pair of strong hands and she was swung around.

  “Is the child mine?” Caddaric demanded, his fingers biting into her flesh, bruising her. “Answer me!” He punctuated the command with a none too gentle shake.

  “I think we would all like the answer to that.”

  Caddaric raised his head and found Marcus and Lucius regarding them from the doorway. Behind them, he could see a very frightened Ede standing with Hadrian. “Get out,” Caddaric snarled, forgetting himself.

  Lucius went for his dagger and only Marcus’ hand on his arm stopped him from attacking the man who still held his betrothed. “Close the door, Lucius,” Marcus ordered calmly, then turned his attention to Caddaric. “Release my daughter.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw, but eventually Caddaric did as Marcus asked. The moment his hands were removed, Jilana swayed and would have collapsed had Caddaric not caught her again. Without asking anyone’s permission, Caddaric lifted her in his arms and carried her to the couch the room afforded.

  “Release her,” Marcus repeated when Caddaric knelt beside the couch, chafing her hands. “If you do not obey, I will, regretfully, have you removed from my home and placed in irons.”

  The threat made its impression, as Marcus had intended, and Caddaric moved stiffly away from the couch. Jilana’s eyes darted between the three men like those of a small, hunted animal. Her tears had streaked the kohl around her eyes and now she brushed ineffectually at the dampness.

  Marcus sat next to Jilana on the couch, but there was no sympathy in him. His face was a study in outraged, Roman parenthood. “You have refused to answer any questions regarding your time with the Iceni or about the babe’s father. This time is now at an end.” He inclined his head toward Lucius. “Lucius saw you leave the house last night and go to this man’s hut.” Marcus’ hard, brown eyes glared at Caddaric. “Why?”

  Jilana swallowed, unable to form a coherent thought. Instinct told her that she must protect Caddaric in spite of what had just passed between them. “He was ill.”

  Lucius snorted. “He seems to enjoy the best of health today.”

  “I—he.,.” Jilana faltered.

  “Do you know him, Jilana?” Marcus’ tone demanded an answer.

  Jilana’s eyes flew to Caddaric. “A-aye.” When her father stared pointedly at her, she tried to think of a plausible explanation. “He is Clywd’s son.” It was as close to the truth as she dare come. When Caddaric frowned at her, she hastily looked away.

  Lucius had been staring at Caddaric and now the air hissed between his teeth. “I know you. You were in the stable that night at Venta Icenorum.”

  Caddaric watched Jilana struggling like a fish on a hook and could bear it no longer. She was with child and he knew suddenly, with every fiber of his being, that the child she carried was his, and that child had to be protected at any cost.

  “I am the babe’s father,” Caddaric said, his voice rich with pride. “Jilana is—was—my wife.”

  At his words, a merciful blackness descended and sucked Jilana into its depths.

  When she recovered, Caddaric was gone. Her father was seated in a chair that had been pulled beside the couch and Lucius stood at the far side of the room, a goblet of wine in his hands.

  “Where is he?” Jilana barely had the strength to force the question past her lips. She heard Lucius curse but her attention was all on Marcus.

  “I sent him away. Nay—” Marcus said when he saw the fear in her eyes. “Only to his hut, no further, and he took his paper of manumission with him.” He sighed heavily. “He wants the child, of course. I have said he can remain until the babe is born and old enough to travel. And then, daughter, that is the end of your traffic with the Iceni.” Marcus did not raise his voice; there was no need. Jilana was totally broken.

  “I would like to go to my room, please,” Jilana whispered.

  Ede was summoned and the two women were at the door when Lucius’ voice stopped them. “Your father has said you may see this barbarian, Jilana, and I cannot interfere with his orders. But I swear to you, if you think to run away with him, I will hunt him down and kill him. Are my words plain enough?”

  Jilana nodded and allowed Ede to lead her away. Lucius would
never have reason to make good his threat. Caddaric wanted no part of her now, he had made that painfully clear. His love for her was as dead as the rebellion, or perhaps it had never existed. Whatever the explanation, they were back to being enemies and this time the gap between them was too wide to be bridged.

  Jilana kept to her room after the confrontation, seeing only Ede, and it was Ede who told her that Lucius and her father had laid the trap in which she and Caddaric had been so neatly caught. Jilana simply nodded and refused to be drawn into conversation. Caddaric had torn her heart apart and now she withdrew herself, caring for nothing save the fragile life she carried inside her.

  Seeing her friend so completely defeated first saddened, then angered Ede. After two weeks she could stand no more and, with a militant gleam in her eye, she burst into Caddaric’s hut. “The gods curse you, Caddaric,” she shouted at him before Caddaric could say a word. “What have you done to her?”

  Caddaric, who had stripped to his loincloth in order to wash himself, glared at her. “Close the door, Ede.”

  Ede complied with a force that rocked the wooden structure. “I should throw you outside and let you freeze to death, you bastard! She will not talk, will not even leave her bed. I can barely get her to take food.” Ede stalked up to Caddaric and hit him solidly in the chest with her fist.

  Caddaric reeled backward from the blow. “This does not concern you, Ede—”

  Ede advanced a step and delivered a second whack to his shoulder. “It does concern me, you ass. She is dying from the inside out and it—is—your—fault!” She punctuated each of her last words with a punch.

  Caddaric caught Ede’s wrists and shoved her away. “Enough! Why do you care what happens to her, a Roman?”

  “She is my friend,” Ede spat. “Can you understand that? Do you know what she has done for me, for us? Do you have any idea of the risks she has taken on our behalf, the threats that have been made against her?” Sobs tore from Ede’s throat and she sank to the dirt floor. “Gods, Caddaric, what have you done to her?”

  Caddaric folded the towel away and donned his tunic and breeks. He had forbidden anyone to speak to him of Jilana and until now they had obeyed. The truth was, he did not want to know what had happened to her or what her life had been like without him, and, perversely, part of him hungered to know what she did with every minute of every day. He lifted Ede to her feet, settled her upon the pallet and sat beside her. “Tell me,” he said in a hollow voice. And Ede did.

  Night fell before Ede finally made her way back to the villa and the room she shared there with Hadrian. Caddaric sat upon the cot, his back braced against the wall, and watched the fire while he considered all that Ede had told him. Shame burned through him when he remembered the things he had said to Jilana. She was undeserving of his hatred, of the bitterness he carried in his heart. Did he still love her, Caddaric asked himself? He supposed he did, but the love was buried in some distant part of himself, unreachable. And even if they had the love, what could he offer her now save back-breaking labor and poverty? Whatever they might have had was lost now, as dead as his nation. Nay, there was nothing between them now, except the child, and he was determined to have his child. He would raise their child the way he had been raised and, in time, he would forget his violet-eyed, Roman witch and the love they had shared.

  How well you lie, Caddaric taunted himself. He would still be thinking of Jilana when he drew his last breath, and he knew it. But his injured pride was a goad. She had bought him. Bought him. He and his people were no more than animals now, to be purchased and discarded at their owners’ whim. All that had made him a man had been stripped away, but his child would not know that. He would never look at his child and fear that he might see pity in his eyes, as he would with Jilana. More than anything else, Caddaric feared that, if Jilana remained with him, she would look at him one day and think of all she had given up in the name of love.

  Jilana awoke the following morning to the sound of someone moving about her bedchamber. Listlessly, she rolled onto her back and ground the heels of her hands into her gritty eyes. Her tears had been spent days ago and now she felt hollow, empty. She could not even summon up pain. Regretfully leaving the sanctuary of sleep, she opened her eyes. And stared at the apparition at the foot of her bed.

  “Good morrow.” Caddaric returned her look dispassionately, even though he longed to gather her into his arms and lose himself in her.

  “W-what are you doing here?”

  “Ede says you are not eating.” Caddaric moved to the side of the bed and lifted a tray of food from the table there. “You must eat, for the child’s sake, if not for your own.”

  “Get out.” Jilana meant to hurl the words at him, but they emerged more as an entreaty than an order. She averted her eyes, knowing all the yearning of her soul was mirrored in them.

  “Nay, I will not,” Caddaric replied calmly.

  Incredibly, she felt fresh tears burn her eyes and Jilana hated herself for such a blatant display of weakness. “I— I hate you!” What was he doing here? Had he not done enough? Did he need to hurt her even more?

  Not yet, Caddaric thought sadly, but you will. “The sooner you eat, the sooner you will be rid of me.”

  Anything, she decided, she would do anything to be free of his presence. Avoiding his gaze, she pushed herself upright and reached for the tray. No sooner had she taken it in her hands than he was sitting beside her on the bed, plumping pillows behind her back. “You may leave now,” she told him, her eyes fixed on the slices of freshly baked bread.

  “When you have eaten.”

  Unable to argue, Jilana spread a layer of jam on the bread and obediently bit into it. She kept her eyes firmly on the tray, but she could feel the warmth of his thigh as it lay alongside hers on the bed. Her stomach twisted into one large knot and she carefully set the bread back on the tray.

  “Now some of the milk.” Caddaric lifted the goblet from the tray and curled one of her hands around it.

  Jilana jerked away from his touch as if scalded, and milk spattered both of them. He took the napkin from the tray and soaked up the milk that had landed on his breeks and the bed. “Nay,” she frantically ordered when he started to dab at the bodice of her gown. With her free hand she snatched the linen from him and blotted up the liquid herself. When she was finished, she needed both hands to lift the goblet to her mouth without spilling it.

  “Try some of the cheese,” Caddaric coaxed. The milk had dampened the material of her gown just enough so that it clung to her breasts, and he found it hard to breathe.

  Jilana took one bite of the cheese and then returned it to the tray. “Now will you leave?” When he did not answer she looked up and caught him staring at her. “Stop it!”

  Caddaric’s eyes jerked back to hers. “Your breasts are larger.” Color flooded her face and receded just as quickly, leaving her unnaturally pale, and Caddaric silently cursed himself for blurting out his thoughts.

  “Go away,” Jilana said through stiff lips.

  To her surprise, he picked up the tray and left the chamber without further argument. When she was certain she was alone, Jilana got out of bed, washed, and drew on a clean stola in case he had the audacity to return. She passed the morning in the comfort of her chamber, sewing a small garment for the babe. At midday, her door opened again and Jilana felt the hair on the back of her neck stand straight up. She did not have to turn around to know who had entered.

  “May I come in?”

  Jilana bent her head more deeply over her sewing. A moment later she heard his footsteps and then a pair of boots were standing in front of her. “I brought you something to eat.”

  Jilana concentrated on keeping the trembling in her body from reaching her fingers as she made another stitch. “I am not hungry. When I am, I will summon Ede.”

  “Ede is gone,” Caddaric informed her easily. “Hadrian has taken her to the city for a few days.” Jilana’s head whipped up in disbelief and he nodded. “Now
will you eat?” When she simply looked at him, he placed the tray on the low table and took the chair across from her.

  “Why are you doing this?” Jilana dredged up the courage to ask when it was obvious he had no intention of leaving. “You made it very clear how you feel about me.”

  Caddaric poured milk into a goblet while he answered. “You carry my child, Jilana, and I want my child more than I have wanted anything else in my life.”

  Jilana felt as if he had hit her. “I see.” The babe chose that moment to land a particularly violent kick against her ribs and Jilana winced and absently rubbed at the ache.

  “What is wrong?”

  Startled at the vehemence of his question, she retreated to the depths of her chair. “‘Tis naught, only the babe moving.”

  Caddaric’s gaze dropped to her stomach, and, as if sensing his regard, the child stirred more vigorously. The cloth across Jilana’s abdomen moved and jerked and she felt herself blushing. His jaw clenched, Caddaric jumped from the chair and strode to the chamber door. “Eat your food. When I return, I will take you for a walk.”

  “I do not go—” Jilana protested, but the door closed on her words.

  Her resolution to the contrary, she did go with Caddaric when he returned; he gave her the choice of coming willingly or being carried through the villa in his arms.

  “I did not think you would like the alternative,” he mocked when he saw the fear come and go in her eyes.

  He walked with her through the courtyard, an arm firmly around her back. Jilana bit her lip to keep from crying at the warm touch of his hand upon her hip. ‘Tis for the child that he does this, she reminded herself constantly, but she could not help the tiny spark of hope that came to life in her heart when he remained with her throughout the day. Surely he would not do that if his only concern was for the child.

  “I will be back in the morning,” Caddaric informed her when the hour grew late and he caught her stifling a yawn.

  And he was. He brought her meals to her and took her for walks and sat by her while she sewed until Jilana thought she would go mad. When Hadrian and Ede returned, Caddaric firmly refused to allow Ede to resume her duties as Jilana’s maid. With nothing to do, Ede and Hadrian returned to Londinium and began the involved process of purchasing what they would take with them on their journey north. Before they left, they sat down with Caddaric and Jilana to make a list of their provisions. Working in Marcus’ office, Jilana wrote out the list while the three of them debated what was necessary and what was not. Participating in the preparation brought her misery back in full force and when Ede and Hadrian left, Jilana was hard-pressed to keep the tears at bay.