by Tarah Scott
Taran’s eyes shot to Valeria. She shook her head and held her ground. “No. I will return to Dunpelder with Taran. I’ve made my decision.”
Taran’s heart thudded against his chest. Opening his arms, he stepped toward her.
“Taran!” Valeria warned, pointing behind.
Taran spun. Quintus roared, his eyes red with fury. Swinging his short sword over his head, Quintus launched his attack with the speed of a viper. Taran lunged forward and grabbed his arms before they could swing down. He shoved Quintus back. The Roman rapidly slashed the air with his short sword. Taran leapt aside, spinning toward his men.
Seumas pushed behind Quintus and wrapped his arm around his neck. The point of his blade angled toward the Roman’s jugular. “If ye think ye’ll live swinging yer sword at the king, ye’re sorely mistaken.”
Quintus spat. “He is no king of mine.”
Greum reached in and twisted Quintus’s wrist, disarming him—the short sword dropped from his hand while Greum stretched the sinews back, bending them far beyond natural flexibility. “I think ye’re as dim as a slug wallowing in its own slime,” Greum growled through his teeth. “Taran’s Chief of Gododdin, King of the Votadini Tribe and all Picts. Every man in this company would die defending him.”
Taran snatched up Quintus’s sword and stepped beside Greum. “Manas, fetch the rope.”
The bishop bent over, gasping for air. Valeria clutched his arm. “Bishop, you’re not well. I’ll ask Pia to find some food and a place for you to rest.”
He nodded, coughing.
“In the morning we’ll head back to Una’s roundhouse. Elusius can rest there until he regains his strength.” Taran looked toward Greum and Seumas. “Bind the Roman taut. He’s proven he cannot be trusted.”
***
In the following days, Valeria and Taran were inseparable. Pia nursed the bishop. Though he slept continuously, Elusius had shown improvement in the two days they had been at Una’s roundhouse. Valeria hoped he would be well enough to sit a saddle soon.
Valeria and Taran held hands, strolling through the meadows surrounding Una’s small parcel of land. When she looked at him, the sun behind made his coppery hair glow, as if he had a halo. Valeria chuckled. Saint Taran.
“You find me looks funny?”
“On the contrary. With the sun glowing through your hair, you look like an angel.”
Taran grinned and moved so the sun shone on his face, and his perfectly straight teeth sparkled. Her insides fluttered. Would there ever be a time when a mere shift of his crystal blue eyes would not turn her knees to mush?
One side of his mouth ticked up. “I must be a fallen angel at best.”
“I think not.” Valeria squeezed his hand. “I can hardly believe this is true. I cannot wait to face the elders.”
“Aye? Ye are a brave woman.”
“Hmm. I wish I knew what to expect. Can you give me any idea?”
“Well, ye already granted Pia her freedom. They’ll look favorably upon that.” He examined the lavender peplos she had donned from her trunk and rubbed a wisp of cloth between his fingers. “Do not wear Roman clothing. Ye’ll need the seamstresses to make a new dress.”
“I wonder if they can alter some of my own.”
“Probably, but for yer test you should wear Pict-made garments, including yer slippers. Don’t take a chance and wear anything Roman.”
Valeria made a mental note to discuss her wardrobe with Morag—if the matron would be willing. She had some silver coins in a hidden compartment of her trunk. She’d be able to pay for the clothing herself, thank heavens.
“What else?” she asked.
“They may challenge ye like Oisean did. Tell them of yer talents—ye’re a horsewoman and skilled with a dirk now—that’s significant.”
“What of academics?”
“’Tis important, but unusual for a Pict woman. Possibly choose one thing ye’re good at, like music.”
“Ah yes, and my lyre is in the trunk.”
“A Roman lyre?”
“My heavens, I had best use Greum’s.”
“Now ye’re thinking.”
“What else is important to the Picts?”
Taran scratched his chin. “Herbology and healing—ye’ve already demonstrated skills there.”
“Pia is much better than I.”
“She has taught you, though, and ye can commit to learn more.”
“Good idea.”
“Unfortunately war strategy is important.”
Valeria knit her brows. “For the women?”
“For everyone. No home is safe from plunder. Ye saw Dunpelder attacked. It will happen again.”
“’Tis awful.” Valeria’s mind raced with pictures of Roman fortresses and the strategies she’d heard her father discuss. “I do know a bit about the formation of Roman legions.”
Taran grinned. “That knowledge could help us strengthen our defenses.”
Valeria’s heart fluttered. It excited her that she would be respected enough for the men to acknowledge her value. As a Pict she could make a contribution beyond bearing an heir. But she worried. Would her knowledge be used against the Romans to conquer them? She then recalled Taran had said “strengthen defenses.” The Picts wanted to protect their lands and live as free men. She didn’t believe they would cross the channel and take on Rome proper. Definitely not.
Returning to the roundhouse, they saw Una in the woodshed where Quintus was interned. Taran marched ahead and pulled Valeria behind him. “Mistress Una, do not converse with the prisoner.”
The woman whipped around, wide eyed. “I was just offering him a slice of lard-soaked bread to give him strength.”
“Me men will see he is fed. I thank ye to keep yer distance.”
The Saxon flashed him a hateful glare, her grey eyes narrowed. It happened so fast Valeria wondered if Taran had caught it.
Valeria pulled him aside as they watched Una head for the house. “Do you trust her? She doesn’t seem to be fond of Picts. She told me herself.”
“Nay. ’Tis good the bishop is healing. He should be well enough to ride on the morrow. ’Tis dangerous for us to tarry longer.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
After a supper of venison and Una’s strong mead, Valeria’s head swooned. She fanned her face. “My, I’m afraid the mead has disagreed with me.”
Taran knitted his brows. “Ye look flushed.”
“It will pass.”
“We should all turn in.” Taran stretched. “We’ll make an early start in the morning.”
Reclining, Valeria closed her eyes but the room spun. She shook her head and rubbed her face. Pia stood over her and appeared to have grown four eyes.
“Are you feeling well?” she asked.
“Just tired, I think.” Valeria pulled her cloak over her shoulders and curled on her side to assuage the sudden dizziness. In minutes she succumbed to sleep.
***
Valeria awakened to a rocking motion that roiled her stomach. Her temples pounded so hard, she feared her head would burst. Disoriented, she could scarcely breathe due to a terrible pain pressing against her gut. She strained to suck in air and the unmistakable heady odor of horse filled her nostrils. Forcing her eyes to crack open, she realized she was draped across a horse, and from the bay coloring an inch from her eyeballs, she knew it had to be Mia.
She braced her hands against Mia’s barrel only to be met with hemp bindings tearing into her wrists. She tried to raise her arms, but tugged her feet under the horse. I’m tied across my mare like a bushel of grain. She turned her head to the side. Quintus rode beside Bishop Elusius. She tried to cry out, but a gag muffled her words resulting in a garble.
Quintus glanced back, a thin-lipped smile reflected no concern. “She lives. I was beginning to fear Una had miscalculated and dosed her with too much opium.”
Valeria struggled, testing the ropes. The harder she pulled, the tighter the bindings squeezed her wrists and ankles. She l
ooked behind her. Taran and the others were nowhere in sight. Panic seized her gut.
Quintus. What have you done?
***
It was late morning when Taran managed to open one eye. The vicious pounding at his temples was his first sign something was amiss. Sitting up, he discovered the others still deep in slumber. Odd, even Pia still sleeps. She was always the first to rise. He glanced at the spot where Valeria slept. Neither she nor her saddle remained. Trepidation slithered up his spine. She wouldn’t go riding alone. Standing, he stumbled to the vacant patch of straw and bent to pick up a slip of velum.
Dearest Taran,
I have decided to return to Rome. Bishop Elusius has convinced me it is best. Please do not try to follow us.
Sincerely,
Valeria
His heart racing, Taran reread the letter. Shaking, he crumpled it up and let it drop to the ground. His thoughts blanked and his knees turned to mush—he could scarcely breathe. He threw back his head and roared, “Nooooooo!”
The resounding bass of his voice shook the timbers of the tiny house.
Greum jumped to his feet and drew his sword. Purple bags sagged beneath his eyes. He teetered in place. “Wha-s it?” he demanded with a slur.
The others were soon beside him on wobbly legs, but ready to face battle. Pia crawled over and opened the crumpled parchment. “My God.” She looked over to Elusius’ bed. “The bishop is gone too.”
She reexamined the paper, holding it closer to her face. “This is not Valeria’s hand.” She turned toward Taran, her grey eyes cold as a freezing wind. “I wouldn’t think the bishop…”
Fionn ran out of the house with Taran on his heels. They raced to the woodshed. All that remained were the cut ropes that had tied Quintus to the post.
“Did ye see Una?” Taran growled through his teeth.
“Nay. I’ll wager she’s not hanging around to feed us breakfast.” Fionn’s young voice grated with anger.
The door slammed. “Valeria’s trunk is still here.” Pia scuttled toward them. “She wouldn’t have left without it—or me.” She pressed her hands against her temples. “My head feels like an overfilled waterskin.”
“Mine too,” Taran agreed.
Pia eyed him gravely. “Only one tonic would make us all lose our wits. Una laced our mead with poppy essence. ’Tis why we didn’t wake.”
“Three horses are gone, including Mia,” Greum reported.
Taran sprung to action. “Fionn, scout the perimeter and see if you can find Una. I want to speak to the wench before you kill her.” Marching inside, he looked at the dazed faces of everyone except Manas, who still slumbered in a comatose state. The drug must have affected the small boy more than the adults. Pia dashed to the lad’s side and patted his hand.
“From the tracks, they’re riding south. ’Tis no surprise,” Seumas said, returning from his own perimeter search. “Una’s nowhere in sight.”
Taran threw up his hands. The wench was not his first concern. “Valeria wouldn’t have up and left. Not now. We’d made so many plans.” Taran tried to think clearly through the cloud of his opium-induced stupor.
“I know the lady too well. Once Valeria sets her mind to something, she doesn’t change it easily. There’s skullduggery here, sire. I can taste it,” Pia said with conviction.
“’Tis dangerous to venture southward,” Greum warned.
Taran nodded. Gritting his teeth, he met Greum’s gaze. Their silent agreement needed no words. He knew Greum was right—a band of Picts would draw attention. “Seumas and Fionn, take Manas and Pia back to Dunpelder. Pull the cart with Valeria’s trunk. I vow I’ll bring her back. Ye’ll have to make do with two horses. Greum and I will follow them south.”
Taran ran into the hovel and wildly threw things off the shelves until he found what he wanted. He pulled a piece of linen over his head, securing it in place with his helmet. He straightened the cloth along his cheeks. He grabbed another swatch and handed it to Greum. “Does this cover me tattoo?”
“Aye.”
“We’ll fare better if they think us Saxons.”
Greum dropped his eyes to Taran’s belt. “Ye’d better trade swords with Seumas. Someone could recognize it.”
Taran nodded and stooped to lift Manas into his arms, then circled in place. “Take what we need and burn it.”
Once he’d traded weapons with Seumas, Taran left the older man in charge. With flames leaping from the rafters of the roundhouse, black smoke billowed into the cloudless sky. Taran and Greum headed south at a gallop, following tracks that led straight into the lands of their enemies.
***
Valeria screamed into her gag. The pain in her head thudded against her skull, made worse by the pressure of hanging upside down. Quintus reined his horse to a stop and dismounted. He strolled over to Valeria and stood beside her, balling his fists. She stared at the mud caked on his boots. The stench of filthy male assaulted her.
He grabbed Valeria’s hair and yanked her head up. “Did you want something your ladyship?”
“Un hi me,” she garbled.
“Untie you?” He threw his head back. Evil, rolling laughter shook his belly. When his eyes returned to hers, they were dark and full of hate. “I spent three days held in the woodshed, sitting in my own piss, and you couldn’t even come to pray over me?”
A bulging vein throbbed along his throat. With a hideous roar, he jerked his elbow back and slammed his fist into the side of Valeria’s head. The force knocked her into Mia’s shoulder. With staccato breath, Valeria fought to clear the stars that clouded her vision.
“Quintus, I do not condone this,” the bishop roared from his mount.
Quintus whipped his head around. “Shut up, old man.” He yanked her hair up again. Blood streamed from her nose, red droplets splashed to the dirt below. “I know why you were so eager to pray for the poor souls in Vindolanda. Your beloved Taran was there waiting for you.” Quintus dropped her head and Valeria’s chin slammed into Mia’s ribcage, making the horse skitter sideways. “You are a whore and a traitor.”
As Quintus strutted back to his mount, Valeria clenched her eyes shut against the unbearable pain. She tried to scream, but only an arid, voiceless shriek grated against her vocal chords. She swallowed what little spittle remained in her dry mouth. She had to find out what happened to Taran and the others. Why had the bishop just sat on his horse? Surely he is man enough to come to a lady’s aid?
She battled to clear her hazy thoughts. Her head pounded, unable to think past the torturing pain. With an involuntary heave, bile burned her throat and saliva oozed through her gag. The ground beneath passed in a blur. Valeria’s eyes rolled back while consciousness slipped away.
***
The horses would expire if Taran continued to push them. With Greum’s persistent urging, they slowed to a trot, a pace they could sustain throughout the day.
Incensed with rage and worry, Taran thought he would lose his mind. Memories of chasing Runan flooded back. He’d used anger and determination to block the horrific thoughts of what that scoundrel could do to her. The painful awareness Valeria rode with an equally evil man now drove him to the brink of his sanity. Quintus enjoyed torturing others. He bore the scars on his back as a testament to the Roman’s sadistic nature.
“We should have killed him on the beach. We had cause,” Greum said.
“Aye,” Taran grumbled, grating his teeth.
Greum slapped his reins. “We listened to the bishop. I thought him an honorable man.”
Taran tightened his grip. “We nursed the traitorous holy man back to health and this is how he repays us?”
“’Tis time we got our revenge.”
“Aye, but beware the cunning of our quarry. Quintus is educated. Remember he caught us leaving Arbeia. We will need to play it smart if we want to see Valeria alive.”
“Ye are stronger.”
“True. But I’ve seen the look of hate in his eyes.”
“U
se it against him. He’ll want to hurt ye bad. That dragon-hearted Roman’s a jealous man. His sword will be going for the difficult thrusts.”
Taran reached his hand down, becoming familiar with the hilt of Seumas’ sword. The iron inlaid with a braid pattern felt similar to the broadsword he used before his uncle’s death. With honor he’d use the Pictish blade to rescue Valeria and avenge the wrongs Quintus had committed not only against him, but against his people.
A crust of ice encased his heart. It would not melt until Valeria’s smile cracked it.
***
Aware of the firm, unyielding earth beneath her left hip, Valeria opened her eyes and ran her tongue across her parched lips. Her gag had been removed. It was dark. She twisted her wrist, and the raw pain reminded her it was still bound by the hemp rope. Heavy breathing of others in slumber swirled around her.
Careful not to make a sound, she lifted her head. The embers of a peat fire burned across from her. Below, the moon reflected against the bishop’s silver locks. She craned her neck to find Quintus’s slumbering form curled on his side beyond her head. As Valeria’s eyes adjusted to the moonlight, she spied his sword resting at his side.
She stretched out her legs and sucked in a sharp breath. They were unbound—he must have untied them to pull her from the horse. The leather scabbard of her dirk scraped the inside of her thigh. She let out a relieved sigh. Quintus hadn’t found her weapon. Moving slowly, Valeria made no sound as she curled down and hiked up her skirt. Her fingers grasped the knife and slipped it out of the sheath. She held her breath, silently bringing the hilt to her mouth.
Clamping onto it with her teeth, Valeria slid her bindings along the blade with her eyes focused on Quintus. Saliva dribbled out the corner of her lips.
Quintus moaned and his top leg stretched downward. With a jolt, Valeria opened her mouth and dropped the dirk. She rolled over it, her breath trembling. She pulled her wrists outward, testing her bindings. They held fast.
