by Tarah Scott
Valeria nodded. “Pia can help him. My grandfather saw she was trained in the healing arts.”
Pia scowled, but mounted the horse.
***
Fionn held up his slingshot as they approached. Valeria nodded to Pia, who gingerly slid off her horse. An enormous wiry-haired dog growled as she approached the boy.
“Come behind,” Taran commanded, and the dog immediately jumped to his side. He gave Fionn’s head a pat. “The old woman can help ye.”
Drust pulled a silver flask of potent mead from his saddle bags. “Drink. It’ll numb the pain.”
Pia eyed the dislocated ankle while Fionn drained the flask. She lifted his limb and he jerked, grunting at the pain. “This isn’t going to hurt me, lad, but you’d better bear down.” She looked at Drust and Greum. “Hold his shoulders.”
Seumas shoved a twig between his teeth while Pia planted her bare feet on either side of Fionn’s leg. Using her ample weight to her advantage, she twisted the foot and jerked it back into place.
The blood drained from Fionn’s face, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and a howl of agony echoed across the trees. Valeria choked back an involuntary heave and turned her face away.
Aside from the swelling, the foot looked normal. Pia stood and inspected her work. “I need a splint and some bandages to wrap it, otherwise the ankle will slip out of place again.”
Taran raised his eyebrows at Drust who shrugged. Valeria glanced around and saw nothing that would suffice. She bent down and tore two strips off the hem of her tunic and held them out.
With a stern look, Pia grabbed them.
Valeria shrugged. “I’ve got the cloak to cover my legs.”
“Yes, but one of our hosts could have offered a piece of his clothing. Not you.”
Valeria glanced at the ragged men looking guilty as sin. Not one of them was clean, their clothing splattered with blood. Her meager tunic was the cleanest piece of cloth among the lot.
Taran stepped forward and inspected Fionn’s foot. “Ye think ye can ride?”
A hiccup slid past Fionn’s grin. “If ye keep the mead commin’”
Taran circled his hand over his head. “Mount up. Give the healer one of the Attacotti’s horses, the other to Fionn—his mount is lame.” He turned to Valeria knitting his auburn brows. “Ye’ll have to double with me.”
She bit her bottom lip. Ride with Taran? The thought frightened and excited her at the same time.
Pia struggled to hoist her rotund frame aboard the horse. She held the reins out and examined them. “Valeria can ride with me. There’s ample room in this saddle.” She slid back revealing a sliver of light between her tunic and the pommel.
Pia held out her hand, but her horse reared and took off down the trail. Drust rolled his eyes and galloped after her.
“She’s no horsewoman is she?” Taran asked.
“I doubt Pia as ever ridden a horse.”
Valeria jumped when a cold nose brushed the palm of her hand. The huge dog nuzzled her mid-section. Backing away, she brought her fists under her chin.
“Stag, come behind, you mangy mutt.” Taran grinned. “He wouldn’t hurt ye.”
Taking another step back, she wasn’t convinced. “No?”
“Well, not unless I told him to.”
Taran offered his palm and gave Valeria a leg-up onto Blackie. “Ye’ll ride safer with me.”
He swung up behind her. She cleared her throat. “You smell a fraction better than Runan, but what is it with you barbarians? Are you averse to bathing?”
“Humph. Roman hospitality didn’t include the luxury of a bathhouse in yer gaol. I must send them a missive expressing my displeasure with their accommodations.”
Valeria bit her lip. Honestly, she could be a muttonhead. Of course he wouldn’t have had an opportunity to bathe.
Chapter Eight
Valeria relaxed against Taran, safely cradled in his powerful arms. The Pict’s warm and massive chest molded to her back, making it far more comfortable than riding with Runan. He cradled her buttocks between his muscular thighs. The ride on Blackie smooth, their bodies moving in tandem.
Stag trotted alongside them, looking up frequently with his wide eyes, his pink tongue lolling to one side. Valeria was sure the dog smiled at her.
“Where are we heading?” she asked.
“We’re at the outer edge of Gododdin, me kin’s land.”
“Pict land.” Breathing deeply, she admired the emerald green of the forest surrounding them. “How much further must we go to reach your family?”
“’Tis just over a day’s journey to the stronghold of Dunpelder.”
“Is your father there?”
“Nay. Me parents are in the region of Fife.”
“But I thought your father was ill. You need to go to him.”
“’Tis not me da who’s ailing. ’Tis the king.”
“Oh?” Valeria’s neck prickled. “Why the lie?”
“If the Romans discovered the king was weak, they’d raid Pict land for certain.”
What else didn’t she know about this man? Blindly, she’d trusted him because he had ridden to her rescue. However, she preferred to ride with a Pict whom she barely knew than being stranded alone in the wild—or worse, stuck with Runan and his savages.
“Do you think Runan will come after us?”
Taran’s body stiffened. “If he wakes after your bludgeoning, I reckon so. But he’ll ride for reinforcements and nurse his wounds first.”
Valeria shifted against him. “Was I a help back there…during the battle?”
“I was wearing him down. But…” He ran the length of his reins through his fist. “I suppose ye sped things up considerably.”
She cast her gaze to the sky and inhaled the rich pine fragrance. “’Tis peaceful here.”
Taran inhaled as well, his chest heaving against her back. “Aye.” His voice grew husky. “Yer hair smells of heaven, m’lady.”
A flame deep inside flickered to life, her next breath ragged. She adjusted herself in the saddle, and her hips rocked into him with a bit more pressure than she’d intended.
He growled in her ear. “Ye best not move like that.”
Valeria froze. Was she tempting him? She had so little experience when it came to men. His body touching hers sent tingles everywhere. Oh, this could be no sin. Could it? Valeria nervously changed position again.
“M’lady, I’m mere flesh-and-blood, ye have me under yer spell.”
Her heart stuttered. “Apologies. Perhaps I should have ridden with Pia.”
Taran wrapped a gentle hand around her waist. “I think not. I wouldn’t trade this moment for a hundred denarii.”
Valeria practically swooned. She closed her eyes and savored his touch. She didn’t understand what passed between her and this rugged Pict, but she relished sharing his mount. In his arms, she was warm and safe. The uncertainty of her plight slipped away with the breeze that rustled the leaves above.
Taran had escaped a long and arduous ordeal, incarcerated by the hands of her father, yet he’d made no move to harm her in any way. Had he planned to rescue her or did they happen upon her along their journey home?
“Taran?”
“Aye.” His deep voice rumbled through her insides.
“How did you know Runan had taken me?”
“I saw them spirit ye away after Drust busted me out.”
“You came after me?”
His hand tightened around her waist. “I couldn’t ride away and let those savage cannibals sell ye into slavery.”
She sat up straight. “Cannibals?”
“Rumors have it the Attacotti cut out men’s hearts and eat them.”
Valeria shuddered. “They were vile. Th…they violated Pia.”
Though he said nothing, his tension radiated against her back.
She glanced at him over her shoulder. “Runan would not let them touch me though.”
“Aye.”
Valeria
waited for him to explain, but he remained silent. “You know why, do you not?”
He took in a deep breath. “Because ye’d fetch a higher price if ye remained untouched.”
Valeria cradled her head in her palm. “Where on earth have I landed?”
Taran touched his lips to her ear. “Ye’re safe with me, lass.”
***
They rode all day with no rest. Exhausted, Valeria feared her head would fall off her neck if they pushed on. “When do we stop?”
Taran pointed up the trail. “There’s a glade ahead. We’ll pull up there for the night.”
After they rounded a bend, Taran led the group into a clearing, surrounded by a canopy of rustling trees.
When she dismounted, her bare toes sank into moist moss. She sighed, relieved to stand on solid ground. Her thighs ached from riding astride. Stag brushed up against her and she scratched him behind the ears. “You are just a big sop, are you not?”
“He’s a traitor, that’s what he is. He’ll fall for a pretty face every time.” Taran strode past with an arm full of wood and dumped it into a circle of stones that bore the charred remnants of an old fire. Clearly, this camp had been used before.
Valeria covered her mouth and hid her smile. Taran had called her pretty? Heat crept up her cheeks while tingling butterflies swarmed in her stomach.
Drust took Greum and Seumas hunting. Taran lifted Fionn down from his mount and propped him against a fallen tree. “How are you doing, friend?”
Some color had returned to Fionn’s cheeks. “I’ll be right in a few days. It doesn’t hurt near as much now the healer set it.”
“Good. Load yer slingshot and kill any rabbits that wander past. They may be all we eat this night.”
Fionn lined up some pebbles and pulled his weapon from his belt. Pia knelt beside him to check his wound.
Valeria followed Taran to help gather more wood. They’d ventured a distance into the forest when she felt confident the others were out of earshot. “After you’ve settled, do you think you would be able to organize an escort to take me back to my father?”
Taran stopped and faced her, his eyes suddenly dark, his brows knit.
Valeria shook her head. “What is it?”
“I cannot take ye back to him.”
“Yes, I know. You are wanted in the Empire, but could someone else escort me?”
He dropped his bundle of wood and grasped her shoulders. “Ye do not understand, and I don’t want to be the one to tell ye.”
Valeria’s voice caught in the back of her throat. Taran knew something. Her mind darted to the last time she’d seen her father. The general fought against the Attacotti, but there were countless numbers of them and only one of him. She eyed Taran and stepped back. Something in his expression took her breath away. She shook her head. “No. No. No.”
Taran cupped her face with his palms. “I do not know how to say it gently, but he’s dead. When we escaped from the gaol, I caught sight of the Attacotti. They took his life and then I saw they had you.”
Valeria couldn’t breathe. Father was alive when she’d last seen him. He was a general, a powerful man. Her body trembled out of control. “Noooooooo!”
Her stomach heaved. She couldn’t think. She fell to her knees and wailed. Clenching her fists, she pounded the ground. Her father dead? It couldn’t be.
Taran tugged her shoulders and pulled her into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry, lass. I couldn’t save him.”
Valeria’s legs weakened beneath her. Taran’s scent enveloped her—the power in his arms was the only thing holding her upright. The tragedy from the recent death of her mother renewed, bursting open her simmering grief. Her entire world was shattered. What would she do? Where could she go?
Sobbing, she buried her face in Taran’s chest, desperate for home, desperate for the familiar life that would never again be hers.
Pia crashed through the wood, wielding Fionn’s sword. “Release her or I will cut you down, you redheaded brute.”
Taran tensed, cradling Valeria’s head to his chest. “Put yer sword down, woman. She’s just received word her father’s been killed.”
Pia’s jaw dropped with the blade. “My God.”
***
Taran lifted Valeria into his arms and carried her back to the glade. He turned to Pia. “Can ye use the flint to light the fire?”
Nodding, Pia did as he asked. He sat, and held Valeria upon his lap. Slowly he rocked her, held her as if his life depended on it. Something inside his gut needed to protect her from all ills. He never wanted to see her this upset again.
When her sobs subsided, she fell asleep in Taran’s arms. As if in a daze, he stared into the fire. Pia crouched beside him, wringing her hands and rocking gently. Clearly, she also mourned the loss of her master.
Taran kept his voice low. “I’ll see no harm comes to ye while you and Valeria remain under the protection of the Picts.”
The old woman cleared her throat and glanced up at him. “Thank you.”
“We may have a reputation of being a ferocious people.” He met her gaze. “Our enemies ensure we train our sons to be warriors. We protect our land and protect our own. We live and die by the four corners of the Pict creed—honor, loyalty, duty and freedom.”
Pia nodded and leaned in to observe Valeria’s sleeping face. “I’m a slave—born into it and sold to Valeria’s grandfather when I was two and ten. I have nothing, no husband. My children were all taken from me and sold. But that little girl in your arms has been the only ray of sunshine in this old woman’s life. I’ve cared for her since birth. She’s always treated me as a second mother.”
Taran nodded.
“You harm her, you harm me.”
“Understood.” He patted her shoulder with his free hand. “Picts own no slaves.”
Pia’s careworn face and mottled eyes met his with silent hope.
Drust crashed into the glade and tossed a deer carcass to the ground. “We’re going to eat well tonight.” His eyes drifted to Valeria with a frown.
Taran shrugged. “I told her about her father. Cook the beast and I’ll wake her.”
She needed no rousing when the smell of spit roasted venison wafted across the clearing. Taran smiled down at her angelic face. “Ye feeling better?”
She scooted off his lap. “I’m starving.”
He passed her the waterskin. “Drink. The meat will be ready soon.”
She took a long swig and dabbed her mouth with the hem of her cloak. “I cannot wait to have a bath. The dust of the trail is thick in my hair.”
“Romans bathe frequently,” Greum said.
“Every day.”
Drust stood and motioned to Taran. “Come cousin. Let’s walk before the evening meal.”
Grumbling, Taran stood and followed Drust toward the rush of a babbling stream.
Once out of earshot, Drust stopped. “What are ye doing?”
Taran held up his hands. “Ye’d best state yer business, else my fist might find a home in yer face.”
“That lassie could have ridden with her nurse, but no, ye fondled her in front of you all day.”
“I do not have to listen to the likes of you.” Taran started away.
Drust grabbed his arm and yanked him around. “I’ve watched Leda pine for ye for near on two years, holding me own feelings inside, and I won’t have ye breaking her heart.”
Taran shoved his shoulder. “Yer feelings? And what of yer feelings?”
Drust took a step backward, splaying his fingers. “I do not want to fight ye. Pay no mind to me and think of Leda. That’s all I ask.” He pushed past Taran and headed toward the clearing.
Taran watched him leave, his fists finding a home upon his hips. Leda? How I wish things had stayed the same—defending Dunpelder, running the kings errands. I do not ken how I’ll feel when I see her bonny face again. But I’ll find out soon enough.
When Taran returned to the clearing, Seumas was cutting off chunks of fat-dri
pping meat with his dirk. Drust was right. Taran had grown too familiar with the Roman lass. He had a duty to the Picts—honor to uphold. He sat beside Drust, across from Valeria. Stag lazed with his head on her lap while she fed him strips of meat.
Watching the flames dance across her face made his mouth grow dry. He couldn’t decide if the stirring in his loins was more painful sitting a stone’s throw away, or having her cradled in his arms. Closing his eyes, he inhaled. He could still smell her honeyed scent. Hog’s breath, why couldn’t she be portly like Pia?
Seumas handed him a serving of meat. Taran salivated and tore off a bite with his teeth, but he could not pull his gaze away from her. Sitting across from the temptress was definitely more difficult than sitting beside her, though not quite as confounding as having her exquisite bottom bounce against his thighs whilst riding a horse.
The fire continued to flicker across her creamy skin. Her feline eyes glanced up at him in regular intervals. She raised her chin when again her gaze met his. She held it there, as if challenging him to be the first to look away. His heart thudded against his chest until Drust jabbed him with an elbow.
Taran swallowed and scanned the other’s faces. “Greum, tell us a story.” He desperately needed a diversion.
Always good for a yarn, Greum scratched his chin. “We-ell, I was just thinking ’bout the origins of the Picts. I’ll bet Lady Valeria has no reckoning of our ancestry.”
“Yes.” She clapped her hands. “I’d love to hear your story.”
Taran grinned and wondered how his friend would twist the old tale this time.
Looking skyward to gather his thoughts, Greum cleared his throat. “Scythia had suffered through many years of bitter cold. The summer months were so short, the growing season did not yield stores needed to carry all the people through winter. Game was scarce and our people were half-starved. The young men of Scythia got together and agreed they could not watch their kin die and the tribe’s children starve. So they built a seaworthy vessel as big as a Roman long ship. Only bachelors boarded the boat in search of a new land abundant with food. The married men stayed behind to protect their wives and children.”
Greum picked up a stick of wood and tossed it on the fire.
