Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2)

by Amy Jarecki

  “Who?”

  Titus marched ahead, tugging on his optio’s elbow. “Something’s amiss here. I want ten men to meet me in front of the principia momentarily. Send another ten out to follow the raider’s tracks. My hunch is they will meet up not far from here.”

  He pointed at the legionary who had returned from Elspeth’s chase. “You will lead us to the point where you lost the prisoner’s tracks.” He turned to Housestead’s decanus. “Spread the word of the raiders in both directions along the wall.”

  “Yes, sir. A missive has already been dispatched for the skin-wearing brigands. Another about the girl and her accomplices will be issued forthwith. The entire wall will be on alert by the noon meal.”

  “Very good.” Titus marched ahead and glared at his men. “You have your orders. Make haste.”

  ****

  The rain pelted down harder after Greum set out to cover their tracks. Seumas took the first watch while Elspeth tried to sleep. Overcome with exhaustion, she gratefully made a nest of musty bits of straw—none too clean, but soft. As she laid her head down, her mind raced. Her first concern was her brother, now backtracking to ensure no one would find them, at least not until they made their run at the wall come nightfall.

  Her second thought was about what they saw at Houseteads. Who attacked the fort? Roman enemies or Pict enemies? Surely Titus will think it was a diversion planned by the Picts.

  She stared at the leaky roof above. Will Titus dare to cross the wall and lead an attack on Dunpelder?

  A picture of his well-muscled torso gleaming in the firelight flashed in her mind. She rubbed her face and tried to picture anything else, but every thought turned to Titus. What would she do if he attacked her home? She would have no choice but to fire an arrow through the powerful bronze flesh that had weakened her knees. Elspeth rolled to her side and squished her eyes shut. If only she could talk with him before he did something rash—something that would ruin the chances of a truce between the Picts and Romans forever. Titus may never forgive her betrayal, but he wanted peace as much as she did. If only he would listen. Of all the Roman soldiers, he was the only one who could be trusted—but she’d ruined her chances of reaching through his tough exterior. That he hated her was obvious. He stayed away the entire time I was in the gaol.

  She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She had to remove Titus from her thoughts.

  When she returned home, she would ask Greum to find her a husband. She rolled to her back. Perhaps not. She could ask to visit her friend Leda, in Kinross Shire. Leda had recently married and was now expecting her first child. Elspeth moaned. I don’t want to dote over a pregnant woman. I don’t want to wed. If only Greum would teach me to wield a sword, I could be a Pictish warrior. I could earn enough to get a piece of land for meself. Maybe then thoughts of Titus would no longer haunt me.

  When Elspeth next closed her eyes, her lips tingled. The image of Titus, unassuming in his chamber, flooded back tenfold. When they’d been alone, he was man, not a soldier. At those times, the boundaries between Picts and Romans didn’t matter. Her breasts ached, and moreover, a yearning deep down within coiled as if it would never be assuaged. She could feel the warmth of Titus’s lips on hers, the musky masculine scent of his flesh. Elspeth opened her eyes and groaned. She had fallen in love with the very man who wanted to tie her to the stake and set her ablaze.

  She shuddered. The thought of her flesh burning stifled her longings, and she focused on the abominable pain. What would Titus’s face look like when he watched her burn? Would he be man enough to witness the execution? Again she reminded herself he hadn’t visited her in the gaol. He hadn’t tried to speak to her at all. That thought made her insides as hollow as a gourd in winter.

  In time, Elspeth’s eyelids grew heavy. Her breathing slowed and sleep carried her away until Greum shook her awake.

  Her eyes flashed open with a start. “Is it me turn?”

  “Nay. Seumas and I let ye sleep, lass. ’Tis time to ride.”

  Elspeth sat up and rubbed her face. No light shone through the weathered boards, but water from the rain dripped from the rotting roof. “Why did ye let me sleep so long? I needed to take me turn—I’m as worthy as the next Pictish warrior.”

  “Not to worry. Ye’ll be towing yer line soon enough.” Greum handed her a piece of dried meat. “I scouted out a place to cross the border. An oak grows beside the wall. It will give us cover.”

  Seumas agreed from across the stable. “Aye. We’ll ride to the wall then make the rest of the journey on foot.”

  Elspeth sucked in a sharp breath. “Must I leave Tessie behind?”

  “’Tis that or yer life, sis. I promise ye the finest mare in Dunpelder when we return.”

  Elspeth chewed her jerky. “There is no other way?”

  “This is the safest and fastest.” Greum rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I will not see ye burned.”

  “We must make haste,” Seumas said.

  Elspeth stood and brushed the damp and rotting straw from her dress. “I’m sure Pia is missing ye something awful, Seumas.”

  The old man chuckled. “I do look forward to the next night when I’ll have me wife warm me bed.”

  Everything was soaked when they mounted. Tessie smelled like a pile of wet wool, and Elspeth’s saddle was slick with water. But it got worse. In no time, her woolen dress was soaked through and hung heavily from her shoulders.

  “The rain is good and bad.” Greum led them out of the maze of briars. “Good because there is no moon to give us away. Bad because it makes scaling the wall a slippery affair.”

  “Bad because I have to leave me horse behind,” Elspeth mumbled under her breath.

  Greum had scouted the path and they quickly made their way to the massive oak. Seumas dismounted and hoisted himself into the tree. The branches didn’t overhang the wall, but Seumas was able to climb high enough to toss a rope over the battlement and pull it taught against a merlon jutting up between crenel notches on either side.

  Then he dropped the rope down, and Greum pulled it taut and turned to Elspeth. “Get off yer horse and climb, lassie. I’ll be right behind ye.”

  Elspeth wanted to scream when she slid off her beloved mare. Memories of the day she foaled in her father’s barn made her chest tighten. Elspeth had trained this horse since the day of her birth. Never before had she bonded with a beast as she had with Tessie. They sensed each other’s thoughts and moods. Now she’d never see her again—but this was a warrior’s lot in life, be it woman or man. Tears clouded her vision. One last time Elspeth threw her arms around the Tessie’s neck and closed her eyes.

  Greum tapped her shoulder. “Come on. The Romans could spy us at any moment.”

  Seumas leapt from the tree and Elspeth swiped a hand across her bleary eyes. Little good that did. “Me dress is as heavy as I am.” She wanted to lie down and die. She had just turned her back on the one thing she loved most in this world and she was running from a man who had stolen her heart. Dripping wet and miserable, she knew her world was spinning out of control.

  “Do ye need to take it off?” Greum asked, shoving the rope into her hands.

  Elspeth grabbed it and glared at her brother. “I’ll make it.”

  Greum grasped her waist and gave her a lift up. Her dress weighed her down, but she fought it. With her bow and quiver of arrows swinging from her shoulders, she climbed. Hand over hand, she scaled the wall while the rain pelted her face and washed away the tears that freely escaped from her eyes. Over halfway, Elspeth’s arms started to tremble. She glanced down. Greum waved her forward. She took a deep breath to steel her nerves and kept going. Her muscles screamed with exertion. Five more paces. I can do it.

  She reached the top and slid her leg through the crenel. Elspeth scooted forward and glanced both ways along the wall. They were halfway between milecastles and there was no one in sight. She leaned through the notch and beckoned Greum.

  He shimmied up t
he rope and hid in the crenel opposite Elspeth while Seumas hefted his barrel-chested body up. Elspeth thought Seumas must be made of pure iron, since he made the ascent look easy.

  Greum slid the rope off the merlon and pointed across the ten feet of smooth stone that spanned the wall. Elspeth nodded her understanding and dashed across.

  Greum followed on her heels. “The hard part’s over,” he whispered.

  Seumas barreled across. “A band of Romans are riding from the west. I fear they’ve seen the horses. There’s no time for the rope. Jump. ’Tis only twenty feet.”

  Elspeth crawled to the edge and looked down. “I don’t…” A sharp shove from her brother sent her down with a shriek.

  Greum landed beside her. “What ye screaming for? Ye’ll wake the dead.”

  “Ye didn’t need to push me.”

  Seumas landed with a thud and rolled. “Run!”

  As Elspeth trudged through the boggy grassland, she wished she would have swallowed her embarrassment and removed her dress. The woolen gown dragged her down and slowed her pace. The smock she wore beneath would have covered enough for her brother and an older married man.

  Seumas grasped her arm and hurried her along. “We must reach the shelter of the trees yonder.”

  Elspeth glanced over her shoulder. Through the blackness she saw nothing, but Titus’s men would soon be charging through the closest milecastle gate and attack them with loaded crossbows. Worse, the Romans would show no mercy.

  Chapter Ten

  Peering through the driving rain, Titus saw movement up on the wall. He kicked his heels into Petronius and pointed ahead. “Someone’s up there!”

  He had only made out one figure. The shadow seemed too bulky to be Elspeth. He prayed it was not she. The men circled their horses near a large oak and Titus looked up. “I’d wager they crossed here. The tree would provide cover.”

  Bacchus stopped his horse in beside him. “They’ll be on foot now. That’ll slow them down.”

  “True.” Titus gestured his thumb over his shoulder. “It will be faster to head back to Fort Chesters and ride through there. They’ll not get far in this rain.”

  A soldier trotted up, leading a saddled horse. “This filly’s got no rider.”

  Only one other time had Titus seen that saddle with stirrups. Elspeth. A lead ball sank to the pit of his stomach. They’d found her trail, and now she and her co-conspirators were on foot. Things were not looking good for the girl. He realized he had been hoping she would be successful in her escape, that she would live. But duty was duty. If he found her, there could be no sparing her life. Titus ground his teeth. “Good work, soldier. ’Tis the prisoner’s horse. Of that I am certain.” The admonition made his gut roil.

  Titus led the cohort back to the milecastle. Bacchus pounded on the heavy oak gate and demanded to see the decanus. The guard ushered them in. “’Tis foul weather for a manhunt, sir.”

  “That it is.” Titus dismounted and handed the guard his reins. “We need pallets for sleep and fresh horses at dawn. We shall camp here for the night and ride out at first light.”

  Bacchus spread his palms in question. “We could lose them during the night.”

  “They’re on foot. Not to mention we need a scout, and we shall have much better chance of finding them at first light.” Fully aware that Bacchus’s argument had merit, Titus still chose to ignore it, listening instead to the churning deep inside his gut that told him to wait.

  Run, Elspeth.

  Emedius, the decanus in charge of the fort, ran toward him, his sandals slapping the wet cobblestones. “What is afoot, sir?”

  “A prisoner has escaped Vindolanda. Did you not receive the missive?”

  “Word came and the guard notified. No action on our watch has been reported.”

  Titus frowned. “I am reporting it now. We saw someone scale the wall a half-mile west.” He marched the decanus toward the fort’s principia. “Where were your sentries?”

  “Patrolling the wall, sir. Unfortunately, we cannot have the entire span covered at every moment.”

  “Did you increase the guard?”

  Emedius held up his palms. “We’ve no more men to add, sir.”

  After they ascended the steps and proceeded inside, Titus removed his helmet. Water dripped from his uniform. “Have you had any skirmishes here?”

  “No, sir. Things have been quiet. Our rebuilding effort is nearly complete.”

  “You have seen no men wearing pelts?”

  “None.”

  “Blast.” Titus thought back to the man he’d seen scaling the wall and tried to picture him in his mind. It had been too dark to discern what he wore, though he had made out the glint of iron of his helmet. It seemed unlikely that a pelt-wearing barbarian could afford a helmet of any type.

  Titus scratched his head. “Do you know of a scout who can lead us through the wild without slitting our throats?”

  “There’s a Gale called Colin living in a dilapidated farm not far from here. You could try him.”

  Titus glanced to Bacchus and beckoned both men. “Let’s ride.”

  Emedius hesitated. When Titus folded his arms, the decanus nodded and reached for his helmet. “He’s probably warm in his bed.”

  “We will not keep him from it for long.”

  With Emedius in the lead, they cantered south until they arrived at a thatch-roofed roundhouse. Titus dismounted and pounded on the rickety wooden door. “Colin, scout of the Gales, open this door!”

  It cracked a bit and a long sword slid out. “What ye be wakin’ me for in the wee hours?”

  “I am Primus Centurion Titus Augustus Romulus. We need your assistance to track a prisoner into the wild.”

  The door opened a bit wider and a pair of blue eyes blinked in the darkness. “And who ye be chasin’?”

  “A Pict woman, imprisoned for treason.”

  Those blue eyes narrowed. “Now why would a wee Pict lass be on trial for treason against a mighty Roman officer like ye?”

  Titus stood taller. “She betrayed my confidence. Can you help us?”

  “I have no quarrel with the Picts… No love for them either.” Colin stepped back to shut the door.

  Titus shoved his foot inside before it could close. “We will pay you handsomely, of course.”

  The Gale licked his lips. “How much do ye reckon?”

  “Ten pieces of silver. Half now. Half when she’s caught.”

  “Well, why dinna ye say ye could pay in coin?” He opened the door, revealing a plaid blanket wrapped around his waist. “Ye got yerself a scout.”

  Titus doled out the coin with instructions to be at the fort at dawn. He hoped the scraggly Gale wouldn’t make off with the advance payment, or else he’d be after three lots of scoundrels.

  ****

  To Titus, sleeping on a pallet of straw covered by his horse blanket had become a comfort when away from his bed. But when he closed his eyes, the vision of Elspeth’s coppery red hair sailing under Athena’s helmet, her bare leg clutching the horse as she fired her arrows into the target, consumed him. Watching her was like watching an eagle circle above its prey and swoop down with such precision to take victim completely by surprise.

  Titus rubbed his temples and saw another vision—Elspeth’s sapphire eyes framed by her wild tresses. He chuckled when he pictured the dimples in her infectious grin. She always looked as if she were challenging him when she smiled. Perhaps she was. His chuckle turned into a groan. The woman had betrayed him, and now he had given her a chance to escape. He could be brought up on charges for delaying the pursuit. His ploy in hiring the guide and waiting for daylight when they could have possibly ridden through the gates was a tactical mistake not to be made by an officer of his rank.

  Run.

  ****

  Titus had no idea how long he’d been asleep when a sentry shook his shoulder. “A missive from York, sir.”

  Titus blinked to more clearly see the boy who waved a scroll in front of
his face. He sat up, snatched the vellum, and ran his finger under Count Theodosius’s seal. Once he unrolled it, his gut churned. The count demanded Titus’s presence in York immediately. His timing couldn’t be worse.

  He glanced toward the sound of approaching footsteps. Emedius and Bacchus pushed into the small horse stall he’d found to lay his head.

  “Forts Birdoswald and Castlesteads both reported being raided in the night,” Bacchus said.

  Emedius nodded. “Savages wearing skins again, sir.”

  Titus pounded his fist on his bed and stood. “This must be the asp-biting wrath of Medusa herself. I’ve been summoned to York and the wall is being raided by swine-hearted cavemen.” He crumpled the missive in his fist. “There is no way the prisoner could have traveled as far as Birdoswald in the bleating rain.”

  “No.” Bacchus shook his head. “Mayhap the crimes are not related. This could be the retaliation we all expected.”

  “Perhaps ’tis no’ the Picts,” a deep brogue rang out from the stable’s alley. Colin the Gale pushed his ruddy face through the stall door. “Ye’re havin’ a gathering, and I wasna invited?”

  Titus planted his fists on his hips. “What do you know of these raids along the wall?”

  Colin shrugged. “I ken Picts dunna dress in pelts.”

  “Damn it man, who does?”

  The Gale ran his fingers down his beard. “No local tribes I’m aware of. If ye ask me, they’re Roman deserters.”

  “That’s all we need.” Titus pointed. “Emedius, choose your ten best men and pick up the prisoner’s trail with the tracker. Bacchus, return to Vindolanda to act in my absence.” He stepped out of the stall and addressed his men. “You legionaries will accompany me to York. Ready your horses.”

  He returned to dress and Bacchus handed him his chainmail. “Seems everything happens at once, sir.”

  “Blast it all. Theodosius’s summons could not have come at a worse time.” He gripped Bacchus on the shoulder. “Quash this insurgence else it will ruin us both.”