by Amy Jarecki
He should send her away. Damn it all, he should have done so the first day, and by Zeus’s lightning, he’d take care of her defiant attitude as soon as he returned from this tour.
Titus dropped onto the bed and stared at the blasted orange canopy. In the week since he’d allowed her to stay, he had become accustomed to her presence just as he would with a dearly loved pet—though not quite so. As of late, Titus had anxiously returned to his chamber each evening, pleased she would be there to attend him. In a short time, he had grown accustomed to her lovely smile, her unassuming presence. An ache spread across his chest. Hades’s fire, his cock had been hard for an entire week. He never had been one to visit a brothel, but the idea now tempted him. He needed Elspeth out of his life before he completely lost his mind.
Then Titus made the mistake of closing his eyes. He envisioned her sleeping, curled up on her pallet, her scent still lingering in the air. The fire in his groin grew ever hotter. Caesar’s bones, why the hell was he, a centurion, fixating on a barbarian lass? True, she had unusual skills with weapons and languages, and he couldn’t deny he had a nonsensical, feral attraction to her, but he could not—must not—lose sight of the fact that Elspeth was a savage. He jumped to his feet and stormed out the door. He’d regain control if he had to douse his entire body in a cold pool.
Pushing outside, he welcomed the blast of brisk air. Titus had no business allowing himself any feelings for a servant. His father was awaiting his return to Rome so he could marry Abelia. Though Titus was not the eldest son, his father had provided him with lands. As a member of highborn Roman nobility, he was expected to marry within his class. He had never seen the woman to whom he was promised, but she wasn’t the first. It was difficult to maintain a betrothal when the Emperor had him defending the empire in every province hundreds of miles from Rome.
He took a deep breath. He didn’t know if Abelia’s father would keep his word and wait for Titus’s return. He didn’t know if he would ever marry at all. But of one thing he was certain—Elspeth could no longer occupy his thoughts. He’d made his decision. Upon his return, he would have Bacchus find her other employment. It was for the best.
****
Elspeth woke before dawn, slipped out of the garrison’s side gate and headed toward the stable where Tessie was hidden. Last eve she’d wanted to give Titus a piece of her mind. Playing the demure servant was pushing her patience. Leave me behind? We shall see about that. I shan’t sit idly by whilst his lordship tours the countryside, making plans to invade me kin’s land.
No respectable spy would allow herself to be ordered around by the enemy—a Roman, no less. The sooner she discovered his plans and if they included invading Pict lands, the sooner she could return home to Dunpelder and fight beside her kin.
She reached for the comb and brushed her mare with forceful strokes. Her blood raced as if it were boiling. Last night, when Titus had grasped her shoulder, she’d feared he would kiss her. But what had frightened her more was the reaction of her own flesh. Her heart had raced, setting a fire to her very own womb. How could her body betray her? Of course, his pigheaded, boorish Roman attitude had burst forth a few moments later, proving that her mind had been right all along. A warrior like me shall never allow herself wobbly knees at the sight of a tyrant in sheep’s clothing—or, in his case, in a god’s body. Greum was right. Romans could not be trusted, least of all a highborn officer like Titus.
Elspeth combed out Tessie’s tail with long strokes.
Why must he be so handsome? She had expected an ill-tempered officer who beat her, made her sleep with the pigs, someone she could hate. But Titus? Last night had been the first time he’d even raised his voice. Instead of acting like a spoiled child with too much power, like most Romans did, he exuded masculinity from head to toe. In her observation, he showed compassion for his soldiers and admiration for work well done. The legionaries worked hard to gain his approval because they loved him, not because they feared his wrath. Or perhaps they do fear him, but I do not. He shall see where raising his voice will get him, the miserable spawn of Rome.
Her brushing slowed and she caressed her mare’s smooth sorrel coat. “Ah, Tessie. What are we to do? I wish the Romans had never ventured back across the channel.” She chuckled. “Then we’d just be fighting the Gales, Saxons and Attacotti. But this whole spy business has me twisted in knots. I hate living a lie.”
With a nicker, the horse stomped her right front as if in agreement. Elspeth threw her arms around Tessie’s neck and breathed in the heady scent of horse and hay. How tempting it was to stay in the barn and hide for the few weeks that Titus would be away. However, remaining idle would not help her return to Dunpelder any faster, and she could never ride for home a failure. The information she was providing to the Picts was necessary for the protection of the entire clan. If Titus could bring her into his confidence, her people could avoid Roman infiltration into Pictland. King Taran had trusted her, and she would see out her duty no matter how much Titus tied her in knots. And when she returned, they would erect a Pictish stone to recognize her efforts. She would be a true warrior, not just a woman, not just the sister of the king’s most trusted man. She would be her own person, and more importantly, she would make her own choices. She’d have her pick of any Pict warrior she wanted. She would choose her husband. Not Greum.
Elspeth saddled up and rode to an outcropping of stones, shaded by a massive oak. There she would be concealed from the Roman road but would still be able to hear Titus pass with his men. This should keep her from being spotted, but she hated lying in wait like a thief. Blast Titus anyway. If he’d allowed me to ride with him, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. Men think they’re so enormously important.
When the cohort rode past, she held back until they were out of sight. Elspeth followed their tracks, ensuring she remained hidden by the shadows—a feat not easily accomplished when they traversed the hills rolling with grasses and sparse with trees.
The soldiers meandered, stopping at each milecastle along the wall. Always hidden, Elspeth watched Titus dismount and inspect the grounds outside each fortress, pointing his discipline stick as he conferred with the fort’s officer.
Spying proved tedious work. If she didn’t die of boredom once they passed through the gates and were concealed behind the walls, she certainly grew stiff from sitting a motionless saddle. The only thing she could do was to reflect on the past week.
Titus hadn’t yet taken her into his confidence on sensitive issues, but earning his trust would take time—something she abhorred but knew was necessary. A good spy must learn patience.
The centurion had surprised her in so many ways. Aye, he was fiercely loyal to Rome, but as a Roman subject, he didn’t possess the cruel streak she’d seen from most of his race—heathens with little regard for human life.
Titus had a commanding presence that was overbearing at times, but he’d never acted like a tyrant. Sitting beside his hearth, taking care of his kit, she’d seen a gentler side of the warrior. He’d often look up from his work and watch her. Oddly, his stare didn’t abhor Elspeth. She knew he wouldn’t harm her—he respected her. Goodness, I ken Pict men who would have tried to force themselves upon me given the same situation.
Oft she’d glance up and swear she read longing in those dark hazel eyes. The corner of his mouth would tick up, and he’d let out a little chuckle, and then return to his work. Something about that grin always warmed her insides. And that warmth had her heart twisted in knots. She continuously had to remind herself she hated Romans, which she did. The hardest part was hating Titus. She couldn’t force herself to do that, but she could hold him at arms-length and avoid revealing too much about herself.
Unfortunately, if the Romans decided to invade Pictland, Titus could find himself on the wrong end of a Pictish lance. Should it come to an invasion, mayhap I’ll be able to find a way to avoid a battle altogether. Mayhap he’ll trust me by then. I wouldn’t want to see him killed. The thought
shocked her, and she reminded herself her loyalty was to the Picts. Sure, she’d prefer if Titus could live. But if given a choice between him and Greum? Titus and any one of her Pict brothers and sisters? It was an obvious choice. And yet the thought of making it made her stomach twist.
Ignoring her thoughts, she blinked twice to make her eyes focus on the Romans. Spying from a distance was gaining her no information at all. She needed to be in the milecastle listening to Titus’s plans. Elspeth had no doubt his men would have their forts repaired and ready to make an offensive in short order.
Titus and his men remained at Fort Halton Chesters that first night, and Elspeth found a grove of trees in which to hide. She hobbled Tessie beside a burn and settled for a meager meal of dried meat from her satchel and mushrooms she found nearby. She dared not make a fire, for she and the Romans were trespassing on Saxon land. She would most likely be raped and burned if found. She shuddered. Although the thought of rape sent sickly chills to her bones, she could not imagine the torturous pain of burning alive.
The meanderings of her mind left Elspeth restless and unable to sleep under the stars. She rested upon a bed of leaves with her head on the saddle, clutching her bow in her left hand with an arrow in her right. Every noise piqued her ears, from crickets calling to leaves rustling in the canopy above. An owl hooted. Common sense told her an owl wouldn’t hoot if there was someone lurking about, but it made her uneasy. With a jolt, she decided that she needed a weapon more suitable for defending herself in close proximity if attacked. She reached down to her calf and slid her dagger from its hidden scabbard. Yes, she had spent many a night in the wild, but she had always been with kin. Alone, the nocturnal sounds taunted her like an evil spirit waking the dead.
At some stage, she’d fallen asleep, and she awoke with a sliver of light warming her face. She squinted against the blinding sun and rolled to her side. Then her eyes popped open. Sunlight that warm could only mean one thing. Elspeth had overslept. She threw back her cloak and bolted to the burn. On her knees, she swished a handful of water around her mouth and splashed her face. She dashed back to camp and snatched a branch, raking it across the ground to cover evidence that she’d been there. Once saddled, Elspeth had little difficulty picking up the cohort’s tracks with the pummeling of the ground a few dozen horses made. Of course she could have guessed it, since the contingent naturally headed toward the next milecastle.
As she meandered toward the fortress, movement caught her eye. A deer skittered through the trees. Her empty stomach rumbled and her mouth watered. What harm would it do to take a slight detour to fell a deer? She veered into the forest. A lone stag with a mighty rack upon his head wandered through the wood, nibbling at leaves. Silently, Elspeth pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back.
Loading her bow, she had the beast in her sights. He just needed to take one more step to clear the brush and he would be hers. The animal’s head shot up and his nostrils flared. Then Elspeth heard it too. Her gaze swiveled toward the noise. Horse hooves thundered through the wood. When she looked back, the deer had fled.
Elspeth skittered Tessie away from the approaching mob and hid in a grove just off the path. She smelled the stench of a swine’s bog before they reached her—an army of Saxons, clad in ragged tunics and full-length breeches, and armed with bows, battleaxes and heavy broadswords, cantered past. The leader circled his sword through the air. “Gird your loins, men, we’ll murder that thieving Roman bastard and all who serve him!”
Elspeth’s heart raced.
Titus.
There was no way to warn him before the Saxons attacked. I should let the Saxons murder the lot of them…but I cannot. Blasted sheep-biting, miserable, good-for-nothing centurion.
Whipping her reins against Tessie’s croup, she spurred the mare after them. Branches slapped her face as she raced ahead. The picture of Titus run through by a Saxon arrow sickened her. She kicked her heels harder, keeping her head low behind Tessie’s ears.
Before she reached the edge of the forest, the battle cry resounded, louder than a blast from a ram’s horn. Elspeth yanked her bow from her shoulder and snatched an arrow. The grating sound of iron clashing iron screeched through the air, accompanied by the grunts and bellows of men. Made for battle, Elspeth steeled herself for a bloody fight. Those rank Saxons were not going to hurt Titus. She’d ensure it.
Shoving the reins in her teeth, she barreled into the open meadow, bow ready to fire. Titus and his men were outnumbered at least three to one. Elspeth let her arrow fly at the first Saxon in her path, hitting him square in the back. The man somersaulted over his horse and hit the ground with a bone-crunching thud.
Her eyes flashed to Titus, who spun his horse, defending one with his blade and another with his shield. She had no clear path to his attackers. A Saxon spun his horse toward her with a blood-curdling roar. Elspeth seized another arrow and fired. With a stunned bellow, her victim fell like the first. Elspeth loaded two arrows at once and took out a pair. She used her legs to guide her horse and move around the skirmish. Finding a direct shot at one of Titus’s assailants, she aimed and hit the brute straight through the neck. Titus sent the second man to the dirt. His gaze snapped up and connected with Elspeth’s. Her breath caught in her throat. Thank the stars he hadn’t been hurt. The instant their eyes connected, she knew she never could have let him die.
With no time to stop, Titus faced yet another Saxon, beheading the beast. Training her bow on a Saxon’s heart, Elspeth fired her arrow with expert precision. The remaining attackers fled while Titus took inventory of the bloodbath. Elspeth counted as well—four Roman legionaries lost their lives. Twenty Saxons lay dead, six shot clean with Elspeth’s arrows.
Titus spurred his horse around and cantered up to her. “Where the blazes did you learn to handle a bow like that?”
She jumped off her horse and painted on her most innocent wide-eyed smile. “Me da gave me a bow when I was but a wee lass. Seemed I took to it a bit better than cooking.”
“My oath, woman. What else did your da teach you?”
Her ears burned when she pulled an arrow from one of her victims. The heat crawling up her cheeks could give her away. She couldn’t tell him she was a Pict. Her cover would be blown. “He taught me Saxons are back-stabbing beasties who cannot be trusted.”
He looked at the trouser-clad dead. “These are Saxons?”
“Aye. Their land runs from here to Wallsend and they’re no’ fond of trespassers. They’re more likely to run a man down and cut out his heart than ask him his purpose.”
“It seems these Saxons are unaccustomed to Roman rule.”
“Aye, m’lord. They’re none too accepting of it at least.”
He gestured at her with his Roman short sword. “And you? You disobeyed my orders. Why were you following us?”
I just saved his Roman arse, and all he cares about is his blasted orders? He must realize I should be riding with him, not back at Vindolanda polishing the silver. Elspeth spread her palms to her sides. “What was I to do when ye left? I’m yer servant. I had to watch yer back, lest it end up with a Saxon battleax embedded in it.”
Elspeth glanced over her shoulder. The legionaries had surrounded them in a circle. A large soldier on a bay gelding snorted. “You’ve enlisted a woman as your servant? Since when are women allowed in the army?”
“Hold your tongue, soldier. She is not in the army—I have merely employed her to look after my kit.”
“I’ll bet she’s mighty good at that, too.”
With a strike of lightning, Titus snatched his discipline stick from his belt and knocked the overstuffed legionary off his horse. The stunned soldier struggled to stand. Elspeth clapped a hand over her mouth, making an effort not to smile. I was right to save the centurion. I could have ended up serving a Roman tyrant like that miserable sop. Titus will have no cause to doubt me now. Her chest filled with alarming warmth. ’Tis only pride. And why shouldn’t I be proud? I just proved me worth. And saved
meself from having to gain the trust of a less polite replacement. ’Twas a practical decision to save the centurion, that is all.
Titus stood over the mouthy soldier and growled. “The lady saved your hides, and I’ll not tolerate your degradation of her virtue.” He pointed his stick east toward Fort Rudchester. “Onward.”
Elspeth held Tessie back as she watched Titus canter off with the horsehair crest of his helmet shimmering in the breeze. She studied his muscular shoulders and the way they tapered to a sturdy waist. He handled his white stallion as if he were born on the back of a horse. Her heart fluttered when he glanced back and beckoned her to come.
The palpitations in her chest were so strong it scared her. She shook her head. Bloody hell, now what have I done? Will Greum take the strap to me for not letting the Saxons kill them? She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. If I had, I’d be headed back to Dunpelder, not gawking after a man who might respect me now, but would certainly kill me if he knew I’m his enemy. I must be daft.
Then Titus turned and beckoned her again. That silly fluttering escalated in her stomach. Elspeth slung the bow over her shoulder and urged her horse to a canter. Now I know I’m daft.
Chapter Four
Titus allowed Elspeth into the fort under the condition that she tended the horses while he met with the decanus, Artorius, the sergeant in charge of the milecastle. Noting quizzical glares from the legionaries, he assessed Elspeth’s blue gown. It had long sleeves that ended in a point beyond her fingers and was encrusted with mud at the hem. The bodice clung to the curves of her body, a fact that had not gone unnoticed in his chamber at Vindolanda. However, the gown was not practical garb for a servant of Rome. “If you will be riding in my company, we shall need to find clothing that identifies you as my attendant.”
Elspeth’s jaw dropped. “And what is wrong with me fine dress? Me ma stitched it for me.”
