by Amy Jarecki
The bow raised again. “But ye’ll pay in advance.”
Taran dismounted and pushed the weapon down. “I do not much care to be staring down the shaft of an iron arrow. I’ll pay ye half now and half on the morrow.” He reached into his saddlebag and held out the coins.
Her neck craned as she looked up at his enormous frame. Mouth gaping, she nodded her acceptance of the terms. “Come with me. Ye’ll be wanting to wash afore your evening meal.”
She led them to a trough of water and pointed to a well-used rag nailed to a post.
The accommodations of the one-room hovel were not much more comfortable than the abandoned roundhouse. She spread straw in front of the hearth to soften the hardwood boards beneath. Una also proved a decent cook, serving up ample servings of mutton stew.
“This is delicious,” Valeria said.
“Ta.” The woman offered a gap-toothed grin. “The soldiers would come from miles for a taste of me stew.”
Greum chuckled. “Just a bite of stew, hey Mistress?”
She patted the back of her hair, her eyebrows shooting up twice. “That’s what I said, young lad, and if ye want more stew, you’d best be seeing me later.”
Taran’s shoulders shook as he tried to swallow his food. “Sounds like ye’ve got an invitation ye cannot refuse, Greum.”
Valeria pursed her lips. “I think I may pay a visit to the privy.” An outhouse stood behind the hovel and provided slightly more comfort than she’d experienced on the trail. With her belly full, recovering from two days of high emotion, Valeria looked forward to the meager bed beside the fire. Her head already felt heavy. She’d surely sleep well.
Opening the door to the privy, Valeria gasped. Una stepped out from the shadows. “He said you’re looking for the holy man?”
“Yes. He is my guardian.”
“I heard word he’s holed up in a cave on the shore near Sunderland.”
Valeria’s head filled with questions. “Why did you not mention that to Taran when he told you we sought him?”
“He’s a Pict, that one. I’m no Pict. I’m a Saxon. I’ll not tell any heathen where a man of God hides.”
“You are a Christian?”
“Aye, m’lady.”
“Then we are sisters in Christ.” To demonstrate her word, Valeria took Una’s hand and kissed it. “The Pict warriors with whom I’m traveling are honorable men. They rescued me and my sl…and Pia from the Attacotti.”
Una’s look of horror was terrifying even in the moonlight. “Ye were kidnapped by the bloody Attacotti?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Then you’re lucky your heart still beats, m’lady.”
“That I am.” Valeria started toward the house but turned back. “How long is the trip to Sunderland?”
“ʼTis not far, mayhap a day.”
“Do you know if we’ll encounter Roman soldiers along the way?”
Una batted the air with her hand. “Romans? Those who survived have fled to Londontown.”
“Thank you. I shall ask Taran to keep your words confidential.”
****
Valeria thought Taran would be happy when she told him about Elusius’s location, but his lips thinned. He nodded, his blue eyes turned dark and then he looked away, not meeting her gaze again.
He said nothing the next morning while he hitched the cart to Blackie.
However, Greum stepped a bit lighter, a broad grin spread across his face as he tossed the saddle on his mount.
Fionn chuckled. “Looks like ye took the widow up on her offer.”
“ʼTis not talk fit for the presence of ladies,” Taran groused. “We’ll have to cross the river at Wallsend. Then we’ll head to Sunderland.”
“Is it wise for us to travel south?” Seumas asked.
“We’ll ride to the beach at Sunderland and no further. We cannot risk driving into Saxon territory with only a small band of warriors.”
“What will we do if ye cannot find the holy man?” Greum asked.
“We’ll find him,” Taran growled.
Once they left Una’s roundhouse, Valeria chose to ride beside Manas again. The boy smiled at her. “Have ye and King Taran had a barney?”
“A what?”
“Ye ken, a disagreement.”
Valeria laughed. “Oh no.”
“Then why are ye riding back here with me? When we left Dunpelder, ye were laughing and carrying on together. Now the pair of you look like yer heading to a funeral.”
She nodded and glanced behind her. Pia and Seumas were several paces back, conversing in low tones, their subtle laughter audible. When Valeria’s eyes returned to Manas, he raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“ʼTis hard for us to say goodbye,” she said.
“We-ell, why do ye hafta?”
“Taran and I can only be friends, and it is time I returned to my people.”
“But ye’ve the heart of a Pict.”
Valeria sighed. “That’s very nice of you to say, Manas.”
“Me ma was a Gael, and before she could marry me da, the king made her renounce her Gaelic roots and become a Pict. Ye should do it. Ye’re no’ like the Roman soldiers who ran me da thru.”
“Become a Pict?” Valeria’s heart fluttered. “That is an option?”
“Aye. Taran doesn’t love Leda, but Drust does.”
Valeria’s heart raced. “How do you know this?”
“I didn’t sit in the great hall of Dunpelder for three years without hearing many things. They thought me dumb as well as mute, m’lady.”
“Well, we know differently now. How old are you, Manas?”
“I’ve just turned ten.”
“You were seven when your father died?”
“Aye.”
Initially, Valeria wanted to race up to Taran and share the good news. Then it came to her he may already be aware. Her chest grew tight and she sucked in a deep breath. What if he did not love her? But he uttered the words out in the forest. Did he deceive me?
Valeria relaxed her reins and gave Mia her head, letting the horse amble. Tears stung her eyes as she recounted the wonderful moments she had shared with Taran. He raced to rescue her from Runan. He nearly cried when he found her alive in her chamber after the Attacotti attacked Dunpelder. He had kissed her with fierce passion in the clover. Not that I have experience kissing, but he was as impassioned as I. Can a man feign such a display of unbridled emotion?
The sun had traversed to the western sky when Taran stopped to talk to a peasant who was tilling a nearby field. Valeria swallowed her wounded pride and maneuvered Mia alongside him to listen.
The beach of Sunderland lay two miles to the east, but the man had no knowledge of a holy man taking up residence there.
“Ta,” Taran said, tossing him a brass coin. Valeria caught a glimpse of a tempest in Taran’s eyes before he turned and tapped Blackie with his heels. Something was amiss with him. If only I could hear his thoughts.
With her own feelings tying her tongue, she rode beside him until the waves of the ocean pounded against the sandy shore.
Taran gave orders for the men to set up camp and turned to Valeria. “Will ye walk with me? If we see him, he may feel less intimidated if ye are with me.”
“Yes, of course. I want to walk with you.”
They left the others behind, a distance from the shore where they found a rock shelter from the wind. Looking at the broad expanse of beach, Taran shrugged. “I didn’t realize the shore was so vast here. Let’s turn south.”
Valeria struggled to walk through the sand and bent down to remove her slippers.
Taran followed suit and untied his leather shoes. “Ye’re right. We’ll tread easier barefoot.”
Valeria smiled. The crease in his forehead had eased. Perhaps he might be a bit more approachable than he’d been that morning. “You seem in better humor, my lord.”
He nodded.
“May I ask what has been troubling you?”
“I think
there is no need to ask, m’lady. ʼTis plain as the sand beneath me feet, and likely the same as your own melancholy feelings.”
They walked on and Valeria considered his words. Doubt continued to needle her mind. She mulled over the many questions she was afraid to ask. Do you love me? Why are you letting me go? Is there anything I can do?
Valeria settled on a question that wouldn’t force him to reveal the feelings he held inside. “What does a person have to do to become a Pict?”
He stopped. “Ah.” He studied her face with intense, round eyes. “A person would have to renounce allegiance to all other nations and sects. She must go before the king and elders in Dunpelder and declare her loyalty. They would put her to the test. But the test itself could be deadly.”
Valeria lowered her eyes and dug her toes into the sand. She must ask one more question—even if the answer tore her heart out. “Why did you not tell me there was a way?”
“ʼTis not my place to bait ye. Ye must prove yourself a Pict without provocation. Live by Pict law, embody our culture and transform yer heart to that of a Pict.”
“I see.” She bit her bottom lip. “And you do not see me worthy?”
Taran grasped her shoulders. Hard. “Of course ye’re worthy, but I have already said more than I should, for ye must do this on yer own without me opinion interfering. Ye could suffer a great deal, possibly die. Do ye understand?”
She nodded.
“I know ye have the heart, but ye love Rome, and I cannot ask ye to abandon everything ye hold dear for my sake.”
“But…”
Taran held up his hand. “No. We shall not discuss this further. Think on what I’ve said. ʼTis not a decision that should be made in haste. Besides, the test could be unimaginably difficult—especially since I am king. I cannot ask ye to submit to it to appease me own desires.”
Valeria bit her bottom lip. She reached out her arms. Thankfully, he pulled her into a tight embrace, and brushed his lips across her forehead. “When I told you I loved ye, I meant it. I will never forget ye.”
“I love you too, but you’re breaking my heart.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pia chatted with Seumas beside the fire. Valeria watched them as she and Taran approached from the beach. Releasing Taran’s hand, she walked up to the couple. She should have done this sooner. Valeria stood over Pia, her hands on her hips. “Rise, for this is my last command.”
Pia obediently stood. “Yes, my lady?”
“I have watched you grow fond of Master Seamus during our trip away.”
Pia’s shoulders sagged, her eyes downcast. “Apologies.” She glanced to Seumas with a furrowed brow.
Valeria placed her hand on her nursemaid’s shoulder. “I’ve loved you as dearly as my own mother, and I want to give you the greatest gift in my power. You are now a free woman. You will always have a place in my house, but should you choose to follow another path, you have my blessing.”
Pia slowly raised her head, her eyes rimmed red. “Do you know what you’re saying, child?”
“I know exactly what I am saying. I do not condone slavery, and I cannot practice hypocrisy nor can I tolerate it in my own house.”
Pia’s lips quivered and a tear streaked down her face. Valeria held out her arms and Pia fell into her embrace, sobbing with joy. “I’ll never know how to thank you. You are truly a child of God.”
Valeria couldn’t bring herself to look at Taran. She’d thought about granting Pia her freedom, but their conversation on the beach cemented her decision. She could honestly say in her heart she felt more Pict than Roman. During her time away, the atrocity she witnessed made her realize who she was at her core. She believed in freewill, in love, honor, kindness and forgiveness. She hoped they would find Bishop Elusius so that she could share this revelation with him. She also hoped they would not find him, because she feared Taran would insist they return to Rome. Would Taran force me to leave? Her eyes stole a glance in his direction.
He watched her across the campfire, his face unreadable. Greum chatted mindlessly, but Taran didn’t pretend to listen.
“Did ye find a trace of the bishop?” Fionn asked.
Taran’s eyes did not waver. “Nay. Tomorrow we’ll saddle the horses and ride north. There are cliffs in the distance. It seems more likely we’ll find caves there.”
“I’ve never seen the ocean before,” Manas said. “Do ye think we can swim in it?”
Greum rubbed the boy’s head, making his curls stand on end. “Aye, but the water might freeze your ballocks to stones.”
Taran’s gaze snapped to Valeria. With a sharp inhale, she stared at him intently across the fire. He continued to hold her gaze when Greum handed him a rabbit leg. He held it to his mouth and tore off a piece of meat with his teeth as his piercing eyes singed through her. Her heart lodged in her throat. If only they could spend the evening in each other’s arms.
****
Valeria and Taran set out on horseback in the morning with Stag trotting between them. A cold wind blew in from the ocean and Valeria pulled her cloak tight around her body. With the beach deserted, Taran let the others stay behind to enjoy a holiday frolicking in the sand.
“Have you thought more about what we’ll do if Elusius is not found?” Valeria asked.
“We’ll find him.”
Taran’s mood had grown as black as his horse overnight and Valeria watched him brood, withdrawing into himself. She glanced down at Stag. That dog never brooded. His brown eyes looked up at her with anticipation of the day’s adventure.
In the distance they spied a rock formation that looked like a miniature mountain chiseled by the endless erosion of water, leading into the sea. Nearing, Valeria could see an archway cut through it, with blue sky reflecting from the other side like a picture frame.
“If I were raised to follow the Greek Gods, I would say this was cut by Titan himself.”
“Aye. ʼTis a remarkable work of nature.” Taran spoke for the first time since they set out. “There are cliffs yonder. There could be caves in them.”
The horses climbed up the craggy rock and crossed through the natural archway. Taran was right—in the distance, cliffs lined the beach.
After riding a half mile or so, Valeria spotted a figure crouching down, picking up something along the shore. She pointed. “Look, someone is there.”
Cautiously they approached. A Roman soldier without his breastplate stood and faced them. His beard was unshaven, and his eyes appeared sunken from starvation. The man slowly drew his sword from its scabbard. “Stay back.”
A hint of recognition tickled at the back of her mind. “Quintus?”
The man’s brow furrowed and he held up his hand to shade the sun from his eyes. “Valeria? You’re alive?” His focus shifted to Taran. He pointed his short sword at the Pict. “What are you doing with this Pict savage?” he growled, his voice hateful.
Taran’s hand flew to the hilt of his broadsword.
“Stop this!” Valeria jumped down from her horse and moved between Blackie and Quintus. “Taran rescued me from the clutches of the Attacotti.”
Quintus glanced her way, holding his sword firm. “He’s a deserter. How could you keep company with such a barbarian?”
“He is not a barbarian, and you are presuming things to which you have no right.”
“I’m presuming? We would already be wed if it were not for the traitorous acts of the Picts and Gaels.”
Taran leaned forward on his mount. “Ye were going to marry that fool-born boor?”
Brandishing his sword, Quintus shoved Valeria into the sand and rushed at Taran. He leapt down from Blackie, drawing his weapon in one motion. Quintus’s blade came dangerously close to his hip, but Taran deflected it with the screeching scrape of iron on iron.
The two men circled, each glaring at the other with eyes filled with loathing.
“No. I will not tolerate your fighting.” Valeria reached for Quintus’s arm but he batted her away.
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Taran lunged for the Roman. Quintus jumped to the side, slashing a backhand with his sword. Missing his target, Quintus spun around and faced the much larger man.
“I do not want to hurt ye. Valeria is seeking the holy man, Elusius.”
“I will slit your throat first,” Quintus seethed.
Valeria rushed forward.
“Stand back.” Quintus swung his elbow behind him and caught her in the chest.
“You’ll not touch her again,” Taran roared, swinging the hilt of his sword into Quintus’s temple.
The legate crashed to the ground with a grunt. He rolled and shook his head.
“Stay down,” Taran warned as he placed the tip of his blade against Quintus’s neck.
“Quintus, stop. Taran does not want to fight you.” She scurried around to face him, keeping a good two-foot distance. “Do you know where we can find Bishop Elusius?”
He glared at her. “Elusius is not well. He’s resting in a cave up ahead.”
“Will you take us to him?”
He glanced to Taran. “I shall take you, my lady. But the barbarian must retreat. I cannot risk him slitting the bishop’s throat.”
Valeria looked at Taran and offered a pleading cringe.
He gave a nod. “I’ll wait by the castle rock.”
“Thank you.”
Taran reached for the mare’s reins. “I’ll take Mia to insure your return. I won’t have him spirit ye away. I intend to have words with the holy man myself.”
Valeria brushed her fingers across the tattoo on his cheek. “Until I return, then.”
“How can you touch him?” Quintus sneered.
Valeria chose to ignore the legate—his beastly heart hadn’t changed since their last meeting. “Take me to Elusius.”
Quintus led her along the craggy beach, and she stole glances over her shoulder. Taran had not moved from his spot. Standing tall, regal and holding the reins of both horses, the king of the Picts watched her. She knew he would wait for days if he must.
“I cannot believe you were spared,” Quintus said.
“Pia and I were captured by the Attacotti. They murdered father and violated Pia.”
Quintus stopped. “Were you?”
