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

by Amy Jarecki

  She couldn’t allow this. She slid her hand around his shoulder and down to his waist. He shoved himself against her with more force. Elspeth grunted with the whoosh of air that fled her lungs. Her fingers trembled, seeking the weapon. The cold iron of his sword’s pommel brushed her fingers. Grinding her teeth, she grasped the hilt firmly. Taking a deep breath, she roared and heaved against him with all her might.

  Josias stumbled backward. Elspeth snatched his sword from its scabbard. His eyes bulged with his booming bellow. He yanked his dagger from the sheath on his calf, slashing it through the air like a madman.

  Elspeth steadied the sword with both hands, focused on her target. Blast Greum for not training me.

  She had one chance to save herself. Her eyes darted to the bow across the room. Elspeth would need to disarm Josias before she could make a dash for it. Steadying her nerves, she watched his rage redden his face.

  Josias lunged forward. With all the power in her body, she thrust the sword under his knife-wielding arm. With a sickening squelch, her weapon plunged into the soft flesh at his flank. Bellowing, Josias recoiled. Elspeth lurched toward him and plunged the sword deeper.

  Stunned, Josias dropped to his knees. Elspeth extracted her blade and skittered to the wall. Blood oozed from his trunk. The Roman moved his mouth, but only a garbled grunt rolled past his lips. Feebly, he brandished his knife, falling forward, impaling the weapon into his chest.

  His body twitched as blood spread across the floorboards.

  Elspeth grasped the sword tightly in her hands and pointed it at his blue face. She stepped toward him and poked his shoulder with the point. Josias did not move.

  Sharp raps on the heavy oak door drew her from the shock. “Sir? Romans approach!”

  Titus?

  Two more heavy knocks echoed through the room. “Sir?”

  “Battle stations,” Elspeth boomed in the deepest voice she could muster. She wanted to tell them all to go on holiday, but that would get her killed. She ran to the cache of weapons and grabbed the bow. She pulled on the string twice to test the tension—not as taut as she liked, but it would do.

  Footsteps clamored beyond the door. Ascending to the battlements.

  Elspeth dashed to Josias and removed his scabbard. She slid the sword inside and fastened it to her belt. Wielding a sword was not her strength, but she needed distance to shoot the arrows. If she met someone head on, she must stand her ground with the sword. She headed for the door, but stopped.

  Turning back to Josias, she bit her lip. There was something about touching the dead that made her skin crawl—but she’d already removed his scabbard. Elspeth crept to the burly man’s side and tapped his shoulder with her foot. He hardly budged. Holding her breath, she bent down and heaved his shoulder with all her strength. Josias’s body rolled over, his face stunned and sickly. Blood still oozed from the dagger impaling his heart. She clasped her fingers around the hilt and yanked out the knife, wiped it on his tunic and slid it into the back of her breeches.

  Elspeth crouched behind the door and listened until the footsteps ebbed. Her gut twisted. She could not allow these mercenaries to ambush Titus. A Roman trumpet sounded in the distance. Elspeth’s trembling hand slid back the bolt.

  She cracked open the door and peered into the landing. A guard whipped around, his chest clad in armor. Elspeth snatched the dagger from her belt and threw it into his neck. The stunned guard dropped to his knees. She withdrew the knife and blood spurted into her face. She swiped her arm across her mouth and shoved the blade back in its place.

  Snatching an arrow from her quiver, Elspeth made the decision to ascend. Though climbing the steps toward Josias’s soldiers meant certain death, she could not consider saving herself while Titus rode into a trap. If she could take out the guards on the tower, Titus and his men had a far better chance of success without a barrage of arrows from above.

  The deep vibrating twang of a catapult resounded from above. They were firing stone missiles as well?

  Her toes lightly tapped the stairs as she ascended. Her own breathing sounded like a gale blowing in her ears.

  “Fire!” The roaring command came from above.

  Elspeth tiptoed around the stairwell steps. A cool gust whipped down through the narrow passage. She was close to the top. Elspeth stopped at the opening and craned her neck to see across the tower roof. Two men hefted a stone into the catapult bucket while another held the restraining rope. Five archers waited with loaded bows, watching through crenel gaps. The leader raised his arm and shouted, “Fire!”

  Elspeth focused on him and released her arrow. She didn’t wait for the leader to drop and threw her hand to the quiver. She snatched two at once, held the bow to her cheek and aimed. With her release, two archers fell.

  Focused on their tasks, the soldiers had yet to realize the tower had been breached. Cries from their fallen comrades were absorbed into the roar of battle below. No one noticed her attack from behind. She shot arrow after arrow, crouching in the portal. A catapult soldier watched his comrade fall and drew his sword. Turning, he faced her. Elspeth didn’t hesitate and released an arrow into his heart. She reached back and her heart stopped.

  Her quiver was empty.

  The last remaining archer turned. Elspeth ducked into the stairwell and fled. She drew her sword and raced down the steps. The sound of heavy feet clomped after her. She had drawn the enemy away. The tower was clear. Victory was now up to Titus.

  The footsteps behind closed in and Elspeth ducked into the shadows of a landing. She transferred the sword to her left hand and pulled the dagger with her right. The soldier rounded the corner. She threw the knife. The soldier ducked and it glanced off his helmet.

  Baring his teeth, he dove forward, wielding his sword over his head. Elspeth gripped her weapon with both hands, rolled to the side and deflected his attack. The soldier rounded and challenged, swinging his blade in an arc.

  Elspeth defended his advance. His blade hissed through the air. Cringing against certain death, she reeled away from the sharp point. The blade swiped past her midsection. With a cry of pain, she skittered back. Her foot twisted on the stairs, the sword flew from her grasp. Out of control, her body hurled downward and pummeled against the stairs.

  The soldier clamored after her, growling and pointing his sword at her throat. Her head throbbing, her vision barely able to focus, she swallowed and fixated upon his eyes. His brows knit as he realized she was a woman. Elspeth spoke. “Please,” she pleaded. “Do not kill me.”

  With a toothy sneer, he drew back his sword for the deathly blow.

  A savage roar echoed from behind. Elspeth scurried against the wall and crouched. As a man barreled past, her heart leapt. She’d recognize the sideways crest on Titus’s helmet anywhere. With two thrusts of his sword, he cut the soldier down.

  Titus whipped around and faced her. “Anymore up there?”

  “None alive.”

  His gaze fell to her midriff and dashed to her side. “You’re bleeding.”

  Blood soaked her shirt. Hissing, she pulled it up. A slit as long as her forearm seeped across her belly. “’Tis only a flesh wound.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” Titus ripped a swatch from the dead man’s shirt and held it against her wound. Elspeth shuddered at the stinging pain.

  “Where is Josias?”

  Elspeth motioned down the steps with an incline of her head. “Dead. Second landing.”

  “Dead?” Titus held the cloth firm. “I needed to question him.”

  “I already did.” She cringed at his furrowed brow. Titus opened his mouth to protest, but Elspeth held up her hand. “The milk-livered bastard untied his breeches. I was not about to allow him to violate me even if ye did want him alive.”

  A flush of red rushed up from Titus’s neck and made his eyes bulge. He grasped Elspeth’s shoulders and shook. “He placed his hands on you?”

  “He tried but he did not succeed.” Elspeth met his worried stare. �
�Ye must ken, Dulcitius is behind the raids. He was paying Josias in silver and promised him the rank of Primus Centurion after Dulcitius makes ye look a fool and becomes Dux Britanniarum.”

  Titus sat back as if this news disarmed him. The veins in his neck bulged with his clenched jaw. “I should have known Dulcitius would stop at nothing.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Titus shoved Elspeth’s hair back into her hood and yanked the brim over her forehead. His anger in seeing her had turned quickly to horror when he’d seen that monster about to run her through. Now that the battle was won and she was not severely injured, his ire ignited a fire through his belly. “I told you to stay at the roundhouse.”

  She hung her head. “I ken.”

  “Why did you disobey me?”

  “I could not sit and let you walk into the lair of a madman.” Her blue eyes filled with pain. “You could have been killed.”

  He couldn’t believe this lovely, fine-boned woman worried more about his safety than her own. He pulled her into his chest. “My God, Elspeth. You were in more danger than I ever could have been. Though none can surpass you with a bow, sword fighting must be left to me and my men.”

  She shuddered in his arms. “I ken. I was dull-witted.” Elspeth sniffled and wiped a tear from her eye. “I’ll not blame ye if ye never forgive me.”

  He brushed a kiss over her forehead. “There now, Sprite. I cannot have a crying squire on my hands. The men will guess you are female for certain.”

  Elspeth nodded and tried to pull away, but he couldn’t bring himself to release her. Overcome by an overwhelming urge to protect the woman in his arms, he hugged her tighter.

  The decanus rounded the stairs. “The building is secure, sir.” His eyes shot to Elspeth.

  “This peasant is injured,” Titus grumbled as he stood while lifting Elspeth in his arms. “But I’ll say, this young man single-handedly took out Josias and the archers atop the wall. I will attend his wounds myself.”

  Titus carried her outside where Bacchus stood over one of Josias’s men. The optio turned. A familiar frown expressed his disapproval.

  Titus looked up to the sky and shook his head. “’Tis a surprise to me too.” Titus hefted Elspeth onto her horse, regarding Bacchus over his shoulder. “Climb the tower and take a gander at her work.”

  The corners of Bacchus’s mouth turned up. “I was wondering why the barrage of arrows stopped.”

  “And the catapult,” Elspeth added.

  Titus grimaced. “Shush.” He reached for Petronius’s reins and snatched an officer’s writing kit from his saddlebags. “I must send a missive to Theodosius at once. It appears our friend Dulcitius is behind the raids.”

  Bacchus stomped his foot. “That traitorous bastard. He will be hanged for sedition.”

  “We must get word to the count before Dulcitius learns Josias is dead. I imagine they were routinely communicating. Post a guard here to intercept any missives heading this way.”

  Titus inked a quill and used Petronius’s saddle as a makeshift desk while he scrawled a quick note. After the ink dried, he folded the field missive and inscribed his mark on the outside, rather than a waxed seal. He handed it to Bacchus. “I want you to run this to York yourself.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let no one stop you.”

  With a salute, Bacchus turned to the men. “Decanus, post a sentry duty here for a fortnight. You are in charge.”

  Titus mounted Petronius. “Come, Sprite. My legionaries have it in hand here.”

  ****

  Elspeth breathed a sigh of relief when Titus led her away. Once alone with him, she wouldn’t need to pretend to be a man and could let her hair fall away from that scratchy hood. When sure no one had followed, she lifted up her shirt and inspected her wound. Though it wept, the bleeding had mostly stopped. She could probably use a stich or two in the center of her belly. Thankfully, she was fortunate the blade had only grazed her skin.

  Worst of all, her shirt and trousers were covered with blood. She would need to wash them before they returned to Vindolanda.

  “If you had not been injured, I would have traveled to York myself.”

  Elspeth’s ears piqued. She sensed a tone of irritation in Titus’s voice. She knew he was angry she had ignored his orders, but surely her efforts had allayed his concerns. He rode ahead and she could not see his face. “Do not let me prevent ye from visiting the count. I can take care of meself.”

  Titus stopped and faced her. Anger reflected in his eyes, and something else. Fear. “Elspeth. If anything had happened to you…” His eyes dropped to her blood-splattered shirt. “If you had been killed, I would not be able to live with myself.” He spurred Petronius forward. “I will take you to Vindolanda. You can recuperate in your chamber.”

  “Do ye think that wise?”

  “If you stay within your chamber, no one should know.” He glowered at Elspeth over his shoulder. “It will be dark soon. Only the guards will see you if we ride straight to my quarters. Pull your hood back over your head. Evil lurks in these woods.”

  She groaned. “Very well.” But her insides leapt—she’d be closer to Titus in her old chamber.

  As he predicted, it was dark when they trotted through the gates of Vindolanda. After they reached the stable, Elspeth leaned forward to dismount.

  “Stay.” Titus hopped off Petronius and made a quick tour of the stalls to ensure no one was watching. Returning, he reached up and pulled Elspeth into his arms, cradling her like a small child. He said nothing, bounded up the steps and headed straight for his chamber. He pulled aside the silk curtains that shrouded his bed.

  “I cannot,” she said.

  He stacked the pillows and rested her against them. “You will stay here while I stitch your wound.”

  He opened his sideboard and pulled a pitcher of wine. He filled a goblet and handed it to her. “This will take the edge off your pain.”

  “Wine? I have never tasted it.”

  “No? In Rome, women refrain from drinking spirits as well.”

  “The only spirit we drink at Dunpelder is mead. Picts believe it fortifies the soul.” Elspeth sipped. Initially, the sour bite made her scrunch her nose, but the fruity flavor that lingered made her thirst for more. She took another sip, this time more pleasant, and the liquid warmed her as it slid down her throat.

  When the goblet was empty, she sat up and swooned. “Oh my, I believe wine is more potent than mead.”

  “That it is.” Titus smiled and sat beside her, a whalebone needle and thread in his hand. “How long has it been since you ate?”

  “I had a bite of a chicken leg before I killed Josias.”

  Titus cringed. “Ah. Wine is not good on an empty stomach.” He held up the needle. “I shall call for food once I stich your wound.”

  Elspeth squirmed and pressed against the pillows. “Me thinks it will heal without sewing.”

  Titus raised her shirt and examined the cut in the candlelight. Elspeth tried not to hiss when he separated the skin with his thumb and forefinger. “If we do nothing, it will tear open the next time you mount your horse.” He straightened and looked into her eyes. Her insides melted. Those hazel eyes were so serious yet caring, loving. He blinked slowly, his long lashes shuttering his thoughts, and he leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I do not want to hurt you.”

  She’d let him do anything when he looked at her like that. “Then fill up another goblet of wine and make quick work of it.”

  Titus complied and allowed her a few gulps before he took the vessel and set it on the bedside table. The sting of the needle made Elspeth’s eyes cross, and she hiccupped with a jolt.

  “Be still. I nearly pierced you clean through.”

  Elspeth tried to hold her breath while he whisked the needle around, tying off three ragged stitches. Titus clipped the thread with a small pair of scissors, and Elspeth exhaled. “I thought I was going to faint afore ye finished the last knot.” She reached for the goblet
of wine and skulled the remainder. Her belly felt like it had been stung by a hundred angry hornets. She’d forced herself not to twitch while he probed that nasty piece of whalebone through her flesh. A drop of wine was the nearest thing to take the edge off her pain.

  “Easy there,” Titus cautioned, but he refilled her goblet and emptied the silver pitcher. He took a sip, and she pulled it from his hands.

  “I like wine. ’Tis sweeter than mead.”

  “And as you mentioned ’tis more potent. If you do not slow down, you shall have an unbearable headache come morning.” Titus tried to pull the goblet away, and she thwacked him up the side of his head with her free hand. “Wha—?”

  “’Tis mine.” Elspeth cupped it with both hands and guzzled. She handed him the dregs and giggled. “Left a bit for ye.”

  “Gratitude.” Titus swirled the drop that remained. “Remind me to lock up the wine casks when we are married.”

  Elspeth threw her head back and roared with laughter, but excruciating pain caused her to bend over and grab her gut. “That hurts worse than me da’s lash.”

  Titus placed his hands on her shoulders. “You had better rest. It will feel better on the morrow.”

  Elspeth arched her back and kissed his lips, giggling again. “Ye do not want to pleasure me, oh highborn centurion?”

  Closing his eyes, he languidly returned her kiss, letting out a satisfied sigh. His tongue swirled into her mouth, and his taste laced with delicious wine. Elspeth’s breasts grew instantly heavy—full with desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him toward her. But he did not yield to her beckoning. He raised his head and kissed her forehead. “Not this night, my love. You must heal first.”

  Elspeth folded her arms and looked away. A hiccup jolted her from her pout. Titus took her hand between his palms and raised it to his lips. “When this business with Dulcitius is finished, we will travel to Dunpelder, and I will ask your brother for your hand.”

  “I will not stand by and allow him to tell ye no.”

  “There is nothing to worry about, my love. I can be quite convincing, even if I am a Roman.”