Defy the Eagle

by Lynn Bartlett

  “Is it the babe?” Caddaric questioned, glimpsing her pained expression.

  Jilana shook her head. “Nay, not the babe.” She turned the quill round and round in her fingers, studying its movement. “You are going far to the north, are you not? I mean, further than Venta Icenorum.”

  Caddaric frowned. “Aye. Why? What does it matter to you?”

  Jilana shrugged, longing for the courage to ask Caddaric to take her with him. “‘Tis my child you are taking, Caddaric. Is it odd that I should wonder where he or she will be raised?”

  Caddaric rose and paced the perimeter of the room. “By the time we reach our destination,” he said at last, “you will be safely on your way to Rome with your betrothed. Aye, I find it odd that you should be concerned with the welfare of a child that is proving such an embarrassment to you.”

  Tears flooded Jilana’s eyes. Throwing the quill at him, she hurried from the room to the sanctuary of her bedchamber. Once there she locked the door and collapsed on the bed, where she cried her heart out. Downstairs, Caddaric retrieved the quill from the floor and laid it carefully on the desk. If he did not move carefully, he feared he would fly apart. The strain of being with Jilana, yet separate from her, day after day, was beginning to tell. He did not try to see Jilana again that day; instead he went to his hut and opened the flagon of wine that had appeared there one day. A gift from Jilana, no doubt, for Heall and Clywd had received one as well. He poured a cup of the rich, red wine, silently toasted his wife and proceeded to drink himself in to a sweet stupor that was haunted by Jilana.

  He woke late the next morning to a head that felt as if a battle-axe were buried in it, and when he entered the villa his mood worsened at the sight of Lucius sitting with Jilana in one of the chambers on the first floor. They both looked up when he entered, and the sight of Jilana twisted his heart. Her eyes were red and swollen and for just a moment, Caddaric longed to gather her into his arms and erase all the pain he had caused her. He ruthlessly killed that desire and, pivoting on his heel, he left the two alone. Later that day, he saw them walking together in the garden. He watched them for a few minutes and was just about to turn away when he saw Jilana stumble and fall. Before her cry could reach his ears, Caddaric was running, and when he reached her, he thrust Lucius aside and knelt beside her.

  “Get away from her,” Lucius ordered in a cold fury. “Do not lay a hand on her.”

  “And leave her to your tender care,” Caddaric growled. “Never.” He slipped his arm under Jilana’s knees and shoulders and stood. She curled against him as if he were a fortress in a storm and his hold tightened. Lucius was forced to stand aside and allow Caddaric to return to the villa.

  ‘“Twas not Lucius’ fault,” Jilana haltingly explained as Caddaric carried her through the halls. “I slipped.”

  “He was supposed to be caring for you,” Caddaric snapped. “He should have been holding you so you could not fall.”

  “I can walk,” Jilana protested, suddenly aware of how good it felt to be nestled against him. “Please, put me down.”

  “I will, when you are safely in your chamber.”

  Wisely, Jilana decided not to argue and, against her better judgment, she rested her head against his shoulder. His beard tickled her nose and mouth and she reached up to push it out of her way. Once her fingers touched the beard, however, they lingered in the surprising softness of it and moved gently in discovery.

  “What is it?” Caddaric asked sharply, turning his head so that the beard slid away from her hand.

  Jilana swallowed. “Your beard, I like—it tickled.” Caddaric grunted in reply and a moment later he settled her on her bed.

  “Are you hurt?” he questioned as he removed her palia and tossed it onto a chair.

  “Nay.”

  “And the babe?”

  The warmth in Jilana’s heart seeped away. “The babe is fine.” She pressed the palm of her hand against the side of her abdomen. “See, he moves.” Her breath caught as Caddaric’s hand came to rest upon her distended stomach.

  Something jerked against his hand, and he looked sharply at Jilana, the question clear in his eyes. She nodded shakily and he closed his eyes, willing the movement to come again. It did, with astonishing force and rapidity and Caddaric’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Is it like this all the time?” he asked in awe.

  Jilana’s mouth was dry. “Not—not all the time,” she finally answered. “Sometimes it is worse.”

  “Worse?”

  Caddaric’s brows knit into a frown and she quickly explained, “Not worse… I mean, he does not cause me pain, only…at times he is very impatient.” Jilana gave a breathless little laugh. “I think he wants more room.” She ran out of words when his other hand joined the first. She simply sat motionless, watching the play of expression across his face, savoring every moment.

  “I had no idea—” Caddaric began, and then he merely shook his head. He did not have the words to describe what he felt. Overcome, he bent and pressed his mouth to the cloth covering Jilana’s stomach. Of their own accord, Jilana’s hands reached up and her fingers curled into his hair, holding him in place.

  That was how Lucius found them. With an inarticulate cry, Lucius flung himself at the other man, tearing him away from Jilana. Jilana screamed but the two men did not hear her. They rolled across the floor, scattering chairs and breaking one of the little tables.

  “Stop it!” Jilana screamed as they came to their feet and Lucius’ fist connected with Caddaric’s jaw. “Please, stop!” Caddaric delivered a blow to Lucius’ midsection that caused the other man to double over in pain.

  Her cries brought one of the maids who, after one look into the bedchamber, ran to get Augusta. Augusta, in turn, sent the woman to the slave quarters and a few minutes later Augusta, with Heall and Clywd flanking her, ran into the bedchamber. Neither man hesitated. Heall grabbed Caddaric while Clywd took Lucius’ arms and twisted them behind his back.

  Augusta, her arms protectively around Jilana’s shoulders, lost her temper. “This is neither a tavern nor an arena,” she hissed at the two bruised and bleeding men. “I will not tolerate such conduct! Has my daughter not suffered enough that you must subject her to such a brutal display? Get out, both of you.” When Lucius started to protest, she spat, “That is an order!”

  Claudia, watching the proceedings from the doorway, looked at her sister in disbelief when Jilana began to cry. Claudia shook her head. If she had two men fighting over her, she certainly would not ruin it by crying! She eyed Caddaric speculatively when he brushed by her and then sighed regretfully. The man was handsome in a barbaric sort of way, but she simply could not take someone like that into her bed. At least, not now.

  “Darling, I am sorry,” Augusta crooned against Jilana’s hair. “I will speak with your father about those two.”

  “Twas not Caddaric’s fault,” Jilana sobbed. “Lucius attacked him.”

  “Shh,” Augusta soothed. “Do not upset yourself, ‘twill do the babe no good.” She eased Jilana onto the pillows and brushed the stray strands of hair away from her face. “Twill all be over soon.”

  Jilana nodded, misery tightening her features. “And then he will leave and I will never see him again. Oh, Mother,” she cried softly, “how will I bear it?”

  August had no answer. She could only stroke her daughter’s hair until she fell into a troubled sleep. With each day that passed, Augusta grew more convinced that the decision she and Marcus had made was a mistake, but Marcus had closed his ears to her arguments. Augusta was left with no recourse save the purse of coins she had given to the temple of Juno with instructions to offer daily sacrifices on Jilana’s behalf.

  Caddaric did not return to the villa until his black eye had faded. Contrary to Augusta’s opinion, he had no desire to upset Jilana, but he still remembered with great satisfaction the feeling of his knuckles loosening several of Lucius’ teeth; if he encountered the Roman again, he would happily break his jaw. Jilana was not in
her bedchamber and none of the servants knew where she had gone, so Caddaric went from chamber to chamber in search of her. When he finally found her in the small storeroom on the second floor, his patience was spent.

  “What are you doing in here?” he demanded when he saw her pulling bolts of material from the shelves.

  Jilana spared him a glance and then returned her attention to the shelves. “My mother wants me to choose the material for my wardrobe,” she said tonelessly.

  What she left unsaid, Caddaric knew, was that the material was for the clothing she would take to Rome. His breathing stopped at the thought, and he looked around the room, watching the shadows cast by the lamps flicker and jump against the walls.

  As if driven to fill the silence that hung between them, Jilana went on, “My father is adding a ship to his fleet. Her maiden voyage will be to take us to Rome.” She lifted a bolt of emerald green wool and moved closer to the lamps. “I have never been to sea before. Do you suppose I will be sick?” She glanced up at him and then shrugged, as if to say he need not bother to answer, and then her eyes returned to his face. “Your beard is gone!”

  Caddaric nodded and ran his fingers along his jaw. “It itched.”

  Jilana nodded and turned away, not daring to comment upon the fact that his hair had obviously been freshly cut as well.

  “Where is Lucius?”

  “Back in Londinium I imagine,” Jilana answered distractedly, as if it did not matter.

  Which, in truth, it did not, but Caddaric did not know that. “Jilana, I am sorry, but I could not stand there and let him hit me.”

  “I know that,” Jilana said, surprised.

  Caddaric moved a hand idly across one of the bolts of silk. “I did not mean to cause trouble between the two of you.”

  Jilana stared at him and then gave a humorless laugh. “Oh, there will be no trouble. Have you not heard? Lucius believes that once he gets me to Rome all my troubles will be ended.”

  “You will have a good life there,” Caddaric offered. “Much better than you would have found here.”

  “Juno, I am sick of hearing those pious words,” Jilana spat at him, her heart bleeding. “Everyone seems to think they know what is best for me, but no one has asked what I want. Roman men do not believe in giving their women choices, but I expected better of you!”

  Caddaric met and held her gaze for an eternity. “What do you want?”

  Jilana caught her breath and then, her love for him glowing like a beacon in her eyes, she answered, “To go with you, to love you, be your wife.”

  “That,” Caddaric said, his words falling like a death knell upon both their ears, “is impossible.” He swung sharply about and left her to her misery while he dealt with his own private hell.

  For the next six weeks, Caddaric was in constant attendance, and neither knew which was worse: not seeing each other or being together but neither touching nor speaking of anything personal. Even the touch of Caddaric’s hand when they walked was impersonal, and he was quick to release her as soon as they returned to the safety of the house. Since the fight with Caddaric, Lucius had not returned to the villa and Jilana was grateful for his absence. Her moods grew more precarious with each passing day, while her body grew heavy and sluggish. Often Caddaric found her weeping and at those times he retreated quietly, sensing she would not welcome his presence.

  In order to pass the time, Caddaric taught Jilana to dice and they passed many evenings gambling for imaginary fortunes. This evening, however, as she had throughout the day, Jilana found it difficult to sit still. The chair was uncomfortable, even with a cushion pushed into the small of her back, and soon she was up and pacing the confines of her bedchamber.

  “My being here serves no purpose if you do not wish to dice or talk,” Caddaric pointed out when she left her chair for the fourth time.

  “Then leave,” Jilana snapped, unable to control her frayed emotions any longer. “Just leave. I am not begging you to stay!”

  Stunned by her attack, he raised both hands in a placating gesture. “I did not mean to offend you.”

  “Why not?” Jilana inquired waspishly. “All you care about is the child—surely my feelings cannot matter to you in the slightest.”

  Exhaling in a silent whistle, Caddaric picked up the dice and got to his feet. “I think you need to rest—”

  “Do not think for me!” Jilana rounded on him, her hands absently massaging the cramp in her stomach. “I am tired of you telling me when to eat, when to sleep, when to walk! Juno! I am so very weary of everyone thinking for me, making my decisions—Oh!” Her eyes grew wide as her midsection was engulfed in such unexpected pain that she gripped the back of a chair for support.

  “Jilana!” Caddaric was beside her in two long strides, one arm going around her waist. “What—”

  “The babe,” Jilana whispered when the pain receded. “Oh, Juno, I think the babe is coming.”

  Caddaric went cold with shock. Without conscious thought he whisked Jilana into his arms and deposited her on the bed. “I will get your mother.”

  Jilana’s fingers dug into his forearm. “Clywd. Bring me Clywd.”

  Caddaric nodded and all but ran from the room. By the time he had informed Augusta and brought Clywd to Jilana’s bedchamber, his forehead was bathed in cold sweat and his heart was pounding so hard he was certain it would burst.

  “Stay out here,” Clywd ordered when Caddaric made to follow his father into the room.

  “But Jilana—”

  “Does not need to see you this way,” Clywd interrupted. “Go tell Heall what is happening and then come back.” Gently shutting the door in his son’s face, Clywd turned with a smile and went to Jilana. “So,” he teased when he reached the bed, “you have finally decided to present me with my grandchild?”

  Panic-stricken, Jilana reached for Clywd’s hand and held on to it with all her strength. “Clywd, I do not know what to do.”

  Clywd smiled, patted her hand, and settled on the edge of the bed. “There is very little you need to know, is there, Lady Augusta?” he inquired of the woman standing on the other side of the bed.

  Augusta shook her head. “‘Twill come naturally, dearest, as it did with me. Just relax and do what your body tells you to.”

  Jilana nodded, trying to relax until the next contraction hit her and then she grew as taut as a bowstring.

  “Hush now,” Clywd soothed. “Ignore the pain, child, push it away.”

  When the next contraction came, Jilana took a deep breath and tried to do as Clywd said. She summoned tip pleasant memories, lost herself in them, and was surprised when Clywd tapped her on the arm and she discovered that the pain had passed.

  “Very good,” Clywd applauded. “Now, before the next contraction, let us get you into something more comfortable than this gown.”

  Caddaric was returning to the villa with Heall in tow when they encountered Marcus on the path to the slave quarters. Marcus halted abruptly at the sight of them, and then he nodded curtly.

  “I was just coming to tell you that Jilana is about to give birth.”

  Caddaric thought it strange that Marcus should be informing him of that fact, and then he realized that Jilana’ s father was addressing Heall.

  “You are both welcome to wait with me, inside,” Marcus invited, gesturing to his home.

  The curious look Caddaric directed to the two older men was ignored as they made their way to the villa.

  The house was ablaze with lights and Marcus led the way into the triclinium. A sealed amphora of wine and three goblets had been set out on one of the tables, while another held an assortment of food. “Men,” Marcus said as he broke the seal and poured the wine, “are useless at times like these. I know that from experience.” He handed Heall and Caddaric each a goblet and then raised his own.

  “For this night, let there be no animosity between us; let us join together in celebrating the birth of my first grandchild.”

  “A grandchild you wil
l never know,” Heall felt compelled to add. “I pity you.”

  Two pairs of brown eyes locked as the older men regarded one another. “Aye, I know you do, but I must do what is best for my daughter.”

  Heall nodded and the three men raised their goblets in salute and drained them.

  “Please, be seated.” Marcus swept a hand toward the couches. “We have a long night ahead of us.”

  They had emptied three goblets of wine before Caddaric found the courage to ask, “Have you sent word to Lucius?”

  Marcus blinked. “Nay. He has no part in this; his role in my daughter’s life will come later.”

  “Jilana will not be happy with him,” Caddaric stated with conviction, and then was appalled by his presumption.

  One corner-of Marcus’ mouth twitched. “She will learn to be happy.” He splashed wine into all of their goblets before continuing. “Do not even think of taking my daughter with you, boy,” he warned. “She deserves to live in Rome, in a magnificent villa with every comfort. What can you offer her?”

  “Nothing that can rival Rome,” Caddaric said honestly. “Do not fear, Lord Marcus, I have no designs upon your daughter. I am as anxious for her to leave Albion as you are to take her away.”

  “Aye,” Marcus nodded. “I almost believe you.” He turned his gaze on Heall. “And you, have you nothing to add?” Heall shook his head. “I have no say in the matter.” Marcus was so absurdly pleased with that response that he called for a second amphora. Augusta descended the stairs near dawn and found the men reclining on their couches, discussing, of all things, Marcus’ business. Judging by the sight of the amphorae, they had passed the night in drinking and Augusta only hoped that Caddaric was not too drunk.