Highlander's Sweet Promises

by Tarah Scott

  “De an t-ainm a tha oirbh? What is yer name?” Greum teased from the adjoining cell.

  “Shut it,” Taran growled.

  “Have ye ever seen eyes the likes of hers? Shiny and black as obsidian they were.” Greum scooted closer, as far as his chains would allow. “I think she likes ye.”

  “Ye’re the only one she paid a notion to,” said an inmate from across the aisle. “And you, the ugly bastard with the devil’s hair.”

  Taran shook his head. “She’s Roman and she means not to the lot of us. We’re all condemned. Dreaming of a wench with raven’s hair will only plant fear in a man’s heart.”

  “Aye, but ye liked her,” Greum pushed.

  “I paid her no mind.” Taran ground his teeth. He didn’t want to like her. The last thing he needed right now was Greum’s bloody taunts, but the woman was exquisite. When he caught her sweet scent, he wanted to thrust his hand through the bars and pull her lips to his. Alas, he could afford no such foolish thoughts. Escape was the only thing he would allow his mind to consider, and he needed to come up with a plan quickly. Once he was tried, Romans never waited to execute a man.

  Taran’s gut clenched. At least they didn’t just hang him and have it done with—their laws decreed they had to draw it out with a trial and make him suffer in their filth first. But that gave him time to engineer a plan.

  When the ship had docked at Arbeia, he’d received a summons from the King of Gododdin. His sworn duty was to obey, lest he turn his back on his people, his birthright. He had no choice but to pry loose his shackles and run for home. What did these bloody Roman bastards know about family, about honor?

  After years of being treated like a slave, helping them control their “empire”, what thanks did he earn? A lashing and the hospitality of the lowliest soldier, sleeping on a bed of piss-soaked straw—he had lived better as an oarsman.

  Taran closed his eyes, but the beautiful face of the temptress invaded his thoughts—her chiseled features, the supple womanly form under her peplos. Though she’d been partially covered by a cloak, the body beneath the folds of silk had not gone unnoticed. She’d taunted him praying with the holy man. Jaw set, he hoped he would never lay eyes on her again…unless. Would she help him?

  Chapter Three

  “’Tis delicious, is it not, Mia?” Valeria patted her bay mare on the neck while the horse nibbled at a handful of grain.

  “Saddled and ready to go, I see.” Quintus led his grey gelding into the stable.

  Valeria bristled at the sound of his voice. “Yes, she’s giddy. She knows we’re going to ride. ’Tis far more pleasant than trotting behind a heavy carriage, I say.”

  Quintus ran his hand along the horse’s rump. Evidently he had reconsidered his aversion to her riding. “She’s a fine specimen. Have you thought of breeding her?”

  “Possibly—if she fancies the right stallion.”

  “She fancies? When did a mare in heat find a stallion she didn’t fancy?”

  Valeria stepped onto the mounting block and slid into the saddle. “I believe the mare needs to choose the sire before she goes into heat. ’Tis the only true test.”

  Quintus fingered the hem of Valeria’s gown. “I wonder if that works for young ladies as well.”

  She reached for her reins. “It appears you have been too long on the frontier. And to think last night I considered your manners refined.” She gave Mia a tap with her heel, urging the mare to a rapid trot. Valeria glanced over her shoulder. Quintus gaped after her and launched himself onto the gelding. With a tsk of her tongue, she requested a canter. Did he think he’d already won her heart with her father’s recommendation? She’d see about that. Driving Mia toward Houseteads, Valeria spurred her to an unabashed gallop, taking advantage of the open meadow and Mia’s fine bone, bred for racing.

  Weighed down by armor, Quintus’s heavy warhorse struggled to match her pace. Valeria didn’t care. The fresh breeze whipped through her hair and gave her the first sense of freedom she’d had since leaving Rome. Inhaling deeply, she rounded her horse just before reaching a collection of local civilian merchants.

  “You must not charge ahead like that,” Quintus chided.

  “Oh heavens, the field was open. I saw no threat.”

  “If anything happened to you, your father would send me to the gallows for sure.”

  Valeria ran the reins through her fingers. “Is it me or my father you’re worried about?” She didn’t wait for an answer and steered Mia into the tiny village where the locals displayed their wares in front of their roundhouses.

  All eyes assessed her as she rode Mia through the muddy lane. They made no pretense of their curiosity. Everyone stared. No one smiled. “They are not used to seeing Roman women, are they?”

  “There are not many ladies like you about—not any actually,” Quintus said.

  She pulled her gaze away from a dirty faced man who scowled her way. “They do not seem overly welcoming.”

  “They keep to themselves. The locals always have their guards up.”

  “But why? They have the protection of Rome.”

  Quintus shrugged. “Not everyone appreciates that fact. Besides, the local tribes fight each other more than anything.”

  “Goodness.”

  Further down the road, legionaries sat around rickety tables in front of a shabby round house. A buxom woman moved among them, filling their wooden tankards while they laughed and slapped her backside. One was even so bold as to slide his hand across her breasts.

  Valeria gasped. “What is that?”

  Quintus moved in beside her. “That would be the brothel.”

  “You cannot be serious. Out here on the frontier?”

  Quintus chuckled. “A soldier’s bed is cold. Are you aware enlisted men sign on for twenty-five years and are not permitted to marry?”

  Valeria shook her head. “Oh my heavens, ’tis unbelievable. Why can officers marry when the men who follow them cannot?”

  He offered a smirk, as if the matter were trite. “My place is not to ask questions, but to obey the edicts of Rome.”

  Valeria spurred Mia out of the stench and onward toward Fort Houseteads. “Oh please. You must have an opinion.”

  Quintus ignored her remark and inclined his red crested helmet toward the approaching gate. “Women are not permitted within the battlements, but I’ve an order from your father giving us a one-day pass.”

  What were women permitted in Britannia? She looked to the sky and sighed. “That was quite generous of him.”

  “Open the gate,” Quintus commanded.

  Again, everyone stared as iron screeched and they rode beneath thick stone walls into Houseteads’s inner courtyard. Valeria nodded politely to passing soldiers who grinned and bowed. Evidently word of her visit had preceded them.

  They continued across the cobblestoned courtyard to the far gate. Bolted shut, it signified the power of Rome, a secure fortress that protected the Roman Empire from barbarians—like the rugged Pict in Vindolanda’s gaol.

  Valeria reined Mia to a halt. “I’d like to walk along the wall and see what lies beyond the edge of the Empire.”

  Quintus slid from his saddle. “A trip to Houseteads wouldn’t be complete without a stroll along the wall-walk of the frontier.”

  He tied the horses and led Valeria up the narrow steps to the top of the battlement.

  A young legionary tottered toward them with a clump of heather in his hand. “For you, my lady.” His hand shook as he held the flowers out. The dimples in his smile were endearing.

  “How lovely.” Valeria beamed and reached for them, but the boy caught her hand and kissed it before giving her the posy. Valeria couldn’t help but giggle. “What a sweet gesture. Thank you.”

  His dark brown curls jostled when he looked up, but he held onto her hand for an instant too long. Quintus scowled and shoved the lad’s shoulder. The legionary tottered backward and the flowers flew from his hand.

  Valeria lunged and tried to
catch them. Just beyond her grasp, they dropped twenty feet to the ground below.

  Quintus frowned. “You clumsy boy. Be gone with you.” He snapped his gaze to Valeria. “You were flirting with him.”

  “Flirting? Hardly.” She gestured her hand toward the posy. “’Twas a thoughtful gift and now my flowers are ruined.”

  “You were flirting and I’ll not stand for it.”

  Valeria eyed him. “I would think an officer of your rank would be more confident in his standing.”

  She turned and walked swiftly along the wall with an image of Quintus, her future husband, locking her in an empty chamber so she could not flirt with another soul. Her fists clenched.

  “This is no race.” He quickened his pace to catch up.

  She whipped around, a fire inflaming her belly. “Is this not a charade for you to impress your men?”

  “What are you inferring? If we are to be married, I must set some boundaries.”

  “Married? Heavens, we’ve only met.” She started marching again. “Is that your plan?”

  “Well, yes. Your father mentioned the possibility.”

  “Did my father mention I must also approve?” Fully aware her father could force her to marry whomever he chose, she didn’t believe Papa would compel her to wed…him. Valeria splayed her fingers, praying her father would be reasonable.

  Quintus opened his mouth—then shut it.

  That’s right. Hold your tongue.

  Taking in a deep breath, she looked out over the emerald green comprising the untamable land beyond the wall. Undeveloped wilderness sprawled in every direction. In the distance, grey smoke sailed from the chimney of a meager roundhouse with a thatched roof. Sheep grazed nearby, and beyond, trees speckled the landscape, thickening into a forest that ascended into verdant rolling hills.

  The forest captured her attention. The wild. Rather than foreboding, it looked inviting. She pictured Taran riding through the trees with his mane of fire sailing behind. She blinked and imagined herself riding Mia beside him—escaping into the wilderness. She laughed aloud.

  “What?” Quintus asked.

  Valeria pressed her fingers to her lips. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  The wall itself was Roman architecture at its finest. It stood twenty feet high and ten feet thick, smoothed by plaster and a white lime-wash finish that made it shine, a mighty barrier rising from the green and forested frontier. Valeria believed it to be grand as the great aqueduct that carried life-giving water to Rome.

  She again scanned the untamed wild and inhaled pure, untainted air. “’Tis beautiful.”

  “Beautiful to look at from here. I’ve led men into the wild and I would be happy never to return.”

  Brushing her fingers over the rough stone, she faced him. “What was your business there?”

  “Seeking deserters.”

  “Did you show kindness to the natives?”

  A sarcastic laugh rolled from the side of his mouth. “You jest. They are barbarians. They would sooner slit my throat than shake my hand.”

  Valeria’s gaze trailed from Quintus’s stern face to his palms and she couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever used them for a compassionate deed.

  He clasped her upper arm. “We should be going back. You walk fast, my lady.”

  She pulled away and rubbed the spot where he’d touched her. “I enjoy the fresh air.”

  Quintus stepped in front of her, his eyes dark. At first Valeria feared he might kiss her, but his lips pulled back over his teeth. He grasped her chin and glared into her eyes, as if he possessed command—over her.

  Valeria refused to look away and allow him to win this unspoken dual of wits. Then he grinned. “You are very beautiful.”

  When his hand released, she hugged her shoulders and proceeded back to the fort.

  What does he think he accomplished with his disjointed form of flattery? Does he consider himself endearing? Hardly.

  ***

  Resting before supper, Valeria leafed through one of her finest possessions, a bound copy of the Distichs of Cato. With the help of the bishop, she followed its teaching of wisdom and morality. Running her fingers across the grainy papyrus, she read her favorite passage, “If you can, even remember to help people you do not know. More precious than a kingdom it is to gain friends by kindness.” This is exactly what I wanted to say to Quintus this afternoon.

  She was deep in thought when Pia answered a light rap on the door. Her father slipped into her chamber and cleared his throat.

  Valeria set the book aside and jumped to her feet. “Papa, I must apologize for rushing into your meeting unannounced.”

  He frowned. “It was an awkward moment. You need to check with my tribune before you enter the principia. My station requires me to speak of sensitive affairs of state, not meant for a woman’s ears.”

  “Apologies. It shall not happen again.”

  “Now what was so important it could not wait?”

  Valeria took in a deep breath. “The bishop and I visited the gaol this morning.”

  He nodded. “I recall.”

  “The condition of the cells is deplorable.”

  He chuckled, brushing her cheek with his forefinger. “Valeria, my child, it is a gaol. It is supposed to be unpleasant.”

  “I understand, but I would not allow my livestock to sleep on urine-soaked straw as they do.” Valeria stepped back. “The stench is unbearable—it stings the eyes. Please, at the very least, change out their bedding.”

  “I can inquire as to what we have to spare. The winter came on quickly this year and the growing season has only begun. The stores are nearly bare.”

  “Surely, with spring upon us there would be some straw, ’tis all I ask.”

  “I shall see what I can do.” He waved his hand dismissively and cleared his throat. “So my dear, how was your ride with Quintus this afternoon?”

  “Mia loved breaking into a canter.” Valeria tried her best to sabotage the direction of the conversation. “Tethered to a carriage is no place for her. Her bones are too fine for a beast of burden.”

  “A brisk canter is what she needed, I’m sure.” Her father scratched his chin. “And how did you find Quintus?”

  Valeria carefully considered her reply. “Quintus will need to find his capacity for empathy before he’ll be ready to command his own legion.”

  “Yes, a firm hand without compassion is a common trait among young officers. But a strong woman would help him mellow.”

  Valeria folded her arms, cocking her head. “Papa, I do hope you will allow me a time of adjustment. I’m sure Quintus has an impressive future ahead of him. However, my feelings toward him are tepid.”

  A stern line formed across his brow. “Highborn ladies in Rome are married by five and ten. You are three years beyond that.” His hands moved to his hips. “I shall have Quintus accompany the bishop when he departs for Pons Aelius. That will give you a bit of time to adapt to Britannia.” He walked to the door and rested his fingers on the latch. “I will expect you to come to a rational decision when he returns.”

  “Thank you.” She squeezed her hands together. “There is one more matter I’d like to discuss.”

  “You have been busy for a woman who’s just arrived.”

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. “The Pict’s father is ill. ’Tis why he broke his shackles in Arbeia.”

  “The Pict again? How did you happen upon this information?”

  “I-I asked questions—but he must return home to his family.”

  Father’s arms crossed—not a good sign. “Do you believe family matters are a pardonable reason of desertion?”

  Valeria bit her lip and willed herself to stand her ground. “I believe there are extenuating circumstances that need to be considered.”

  “Go on.”

  “He was enslaved. He joined the navy not of his own freewill.”

  Father stroked his chin. “Let us look at this from another angle. What would happen if Pia were
to flee?”

  “Pia? She loves us. She’s been with us since the age of two and ten. She would never even think of leaving.”

  “That aside, what happens to slaves when they flee from their masters?”

  “They’re flogged and returned to their owners.”

  “Yes, and if their crimes are severe enough, they are put to death.”

  Valeria pursed her lips. Must he always be so sensible? “In light of Taran’s situation, I believe he should be flogged and released.”

  “Desertion from a home is one thing, but desertion from a military post is a different matter entirely.” He held up his hand and shook his head. “No, Valeria. I’m afraid the law is quite clear. He will be tried at the next meeting of the magistrate and he’ll be hanged.”

  “But…”

  Papa sliced his palm through the air. “I will hear no more on this matter. Besides, if the Pict were released, one day he might come back and raid this very fort. The Picts are a hostile race and cannot be trusted. The magistrate will be here in two days’ time and you’ll need to find something else to fret about.”

  As Father marched out the door, Valeria threw herself on the bed and buried her face in her pillow. Only two days? Her own miserable affairs were nothing compared to Taran’s. She must find some way to help him.

  Chapter Four

  Drizzling rain chilled the air. Pia wrapped Valeria in a cloak before she joined her father to see Bishop Elusius off. Standing beside the Dux, she tapped her foot nervously. She’d convinced the cook to give her five loaves of bread, which she had hidden in the woodshed beside the garden. She wanted the formalities of their farewell to be over. After, she planned to slip the bread into the gaol—this time for everyone. Had the cook any inkling of her scheme, she never would have been given the food, but the excuse that she wanted treats for the pigs and chickens had been perfectly fine.