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

by Amy Jarecki

  By the fifth day, Elspeth had lost track of time. She had no idea if it was morning or afternoon. She knew it was daylight because rays streamed in from outside. She sat beside Titus talking, telling him her life story, reciting everything that came to mind.

  “Me ma died when I was nine. I remember her screaming with the pain when the baby came. I tried to rush to her bedside, but me da held me back. He said the midwife would help her. He said she would be all right. But she wasn’t. The child was stillborn, and me ma died that night.” Elspeth drained some water in her palm and rubbed it into Titus’s forehead. “Me da never was the same after that. He and Greum were captured by the Romans during a battle south of Gododdin. King Taran was captured too. They were enslaved and forced to row a Roman ship. Me da died there. Greum said they whipped him to death.”

  Elspeth thumped her fist against his shoulder and then glanced at the pieces of Roman uniform that lay beside Titus. “’Tis why we hate the Romans. They take our lands and our men and whip them into submission.” She traced her finger down his nose and rested it on his lips. Elspeth yearned to feel him kiss her with deep-seated hunger again. If only he would reach up his arms and wrap them around her.

  She leaned forward and brushed her lips across his. “Titus, ’tis time to wake.”

  Of course he did not move, though Elspeth thought his skin felt cooler this day. With a sigh, she rubbed her face. She’d eaten nothing but meat and felt as ragged as Titus looked. She wandered out of the cave and stripped naked.

  She doused her toe in the cold water. With each move, she could smell her own body’s odor, and it repulsed her. Elspeth jumped in with both feet and crouched down. The cold shot through her like needles pricking her skin, but she swept her arms through the current and drenched herself. Gooseflesh pebbled her skin, and she leapt out and dried it with her shirt. She dressed in her peasant costume and bound her breasts, leaving the shirt on a rock to dry.

  Elspeth checked the horses and nibbled on some wild mushrooms and berries. Refreshed, she crawled back inside, knelt over Titus and watched for breathing. Her heart fluttered when she saw his eyes open.

  “Where am I?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

  “Deep in the Moors Forest, north of York.”

  Titus slid his tongue across his lips. “Water.”

  Elspeth reached for the waterskin and held up his head. This was the first time he’d done more than swallow the water she had dribbled down his throat. He sputtered a bit but took a few good mouthfuls and lay back as if the effort had exhausted him completely.

  “How long have we been here?”

  “Five days.” She cupped her hand on his face. “I thank heavens ye are not lost.”

  Titus struggled to sit up, and Elspeth cautioned, “Ye’re weakened by the fever.”

  He shook his head. “I have missed my opportunity to meet with the count. We must make haste to Vindolanda.”

  “Alerio rode for Vindolanda a few days ago. Said he would try to bring back help.” Elspeth reached for a piece of dried meat and handed it to him. “Said he trusted no one but the remaining men from his century.”

  Titus bit the jerky and tore it with his teeth. “Smart lad, that one. I underestimated how far Dulcitius’s talons reach.” He closed his eyes and chewed.

  “Alerio said he would send word to Arbeia to see if they would launch a ship to intercept the count.”

  Titus shook his head. “’Tis exactly what I would have done. I will officially name that boy my optio when we return.”

  When Titus finished chewing the piece of meat, he scooted to the edge of the cave and stood. Elspeth bit her bottom lip. If she’d tried to hold him back, he would have fought. Titus would push himself until he dropped again. He leaned against the rock, drawing deep breaths. She crept out and stood beside him.

  He shook his head. “I cannot remember ever being this weak.”

  “’Twill take some time for yer strength to return.”

  “Yes, but we must ride. I can recover on the trail.” He took two steps toward the river and fell.

  “Titus!” Elspeth raced to him and drop to her knees. He struggled to sit. “Ye dumb brute. Will ye not listen to me, ’cause I don’t want to be the one dragging yer sorry arse back into the cave. The buzzards have been waiting for ye.” She plopped onto her buttocks. “I should have let them peck yer eyes out. I’ve done nothing but tend ye for days on end, and ye wake without an utter of thanks and want to dash off as if ye were a lad of ten, awake from a nap.”

  Throwing up her hands, she stood and headed to the burn. She wanted to take a branch and crack it over his thick skull—if that would do any good. He had her worried half out of her mind for days, completely ignored her warning, and the first time he set foot outside the cave, he fell on his arse. Bloody ungrateful Roman.

  “Sprite.”

  Elspeth nearly crumpled to her knees.

  “Come here.”

  She still wanted to thrash him over the head with a thick branch, but she dropped her arms and stepped beside him. Titus reached for her hand and tugged. “Please accept my gratitude.” He pulled her onto his lap. Afraid he might be too weak, she tried to scoot aside, but his arms latched around her—very strong for a man who’d been unconscious for days. “I am sorry your mother passed in childbirth.”

  “Ye heard me?”

  “My consciousness drifted in and out. I knew not what was real and what was imagined. I remember fighting an endless sea of men as if my life depended upon it.”

  She lifted her hair and pointed to the tender spot just behind her cheekbone. “I ken when ye fought the battle.”

  He brushed his fingertips across the bruise and examined it, grimacing as if it hurt on his own skin. “Apologies. I would never knowingly hurt you.”

  Elspeth nodded her acceptance of his apology, knowing he spoke the truth. She helped him to the burn and removed his subligar. Using the fat from the venison, she bathed him and scrubbed away the soil of sickness.

  With a gentle grunt, Titus sat in the cold water while Elspeth washed his back. When her hand reached his shoulder, he clapped his hand over it and squeezed. “Thank you.”

  A lump the size of her fist formed in her throat. Blinking quickly to hide her sudden tears, she bent down and wrapped her arms around his damp shoulders and buried her face against his neck.

  Titus pulled her atop him and kissed her. By the stars, she clung to him, drinking in his warmth. Elspeth didn’t care if her clothing soaked clean through. Titus had survived, and she wasn’t about to let him go.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Titus watched Elspeth in the firelight. Truly, she amazed him. During his brief moments of sanity, her voice, filled with care and worry, had continually soothed him. He would not have survived without her care.

  His body had never been this weak. Even lifting his arms took effort. The gash in his side had begun to heal. In time he would recover, Elspeth had made certain of that.

  Her hair shimmered with copper highlights, though it was not as he remembered when she tended his kit in his chamber. Under the moonlight it glistened, almost like the fire itself. Humming, she stirred a mixture of chopped meat mixed with mushrooms and wild berries she’d prepared. “I think ’tis cooked.” She held the wooden spoon to her lips and blew then tasted it. “Mm.”

  Titus’s mouth watered. Pulling the food from the spoon then licking her lips was almost erotic. She dipped the spoon into the cooking pot and offered it to him. “Would ye like a nibble?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up.

  “’Tis nothing like haggis.”

  “No?” He chuckled then opened his mouth and let her feed him. “Mm.” An explosion of tart and savory made the juices slide across his tongue. “It tastes like manna from the heavens.”

  She blessed him with a dimpled grin. “Good. Now yer appetite has returned, yer strength will follow. I’d wager within days, ye’ll be fit as if ye’d never been injured.

&nbs
p; “I hope you’re right.” Titus took the spoon and helped himself to another bite. “Tomorrow we will commence our journey back to Vindolanda.”

  Elspeth opened her mouth as if to protest, but Titus held up his hand. “If we stay off the Roman road, we should be able to ride north without being seen by Dulcitius’s spies. It will take us longer, and I can heal as well in the saddle as idling away time in the cave.”

  She pursed her lovely lips and shuttered her eyes. He reached out and raised her chin with the crook of his pointer finger. “It will be all right. I promise I will be careful.”

  “Ye must rest then.”

  The following morning, it took every ounce of strength Titus could muster to heft his saddle onto Petronius’s back, but he tried not to show it. Titus glanced at Elspeth out the corner of his eye, hoping she didn’t realize exactly how much the blood loss and fever had weakened him.

  She eyed him with her arms folded, but Titus chose to pretend he hadn’t noticed her scrutiny, busying himself with buckling the horse’s girth. She mumbled something about having drawn an arrow on the top of the cave to indicate the direction they were traveling should Alerio return, and then mounted her horse without another word.

  ****

  With the passage of four days, Titus did grow stronger. However, Elspeth insisted on keeping the pace to a steady walk. He didn’t argue. He’d need his strength once they arrived at Vindolanda. When the fortress walls loomed in ahead, a weight lifted from his shoulders. “Pull up your hood, Elspeth. We are within sight of home.”

  Home. Titus had never considered any place but Rome his home. In a short time the rolling hills surrounding Vindolanda had filled his heart, as had the woman riding beside him. Just like Britannia was so different from Rome, Elspeth was unlike any woman he had ever met. He loved the fact that Elspeth was not a helpless maid, swooning for his attentions, though he would like her to be a bit more aware of her own vulnerabilities.

  Once Elspeth had her hood low over her forehead, they urged the horses to a canter. Though Titus had missed his opportunity to meet with the count in York, Alerio’s idea of sending a ship had merit. He was anxious to hear the details of what had happened in his absence.

  The gates creaked open as they neared the ramparts. Titus hastened to ride Petronius to the principia. After dismounting, he handed Elspeth his reins. “Take him to the stables for me. I shall see you in my chamber this night. There is much here in need of my attention.”

  Elspeth nodded and trotted to the stables with Petronius in tow. Titus watched her ride away and wished he could reveal her identity, but it was too soon. Until he addressed this issue with Dulcitius, Elspeth must continue to play the role of squire.

  Titus marched up the stone steps two at a time. After the attack outside of York, he harbored no hope Bacchus had survived Dulcitius’s treachery. Titus must train Alerio as optio quickly. Unfamiliar guards opened the double oak doors. Concern tickled the back of his mind, but many of his inner circle were killed at the battle outside York. He saw it as a good sign that Alerio had manned the gates and maintained order in his absence.

  He saluted. “Good day, men.”

  They did not respond. The tickle at the back of his mind screeched a warning as gooseflesh fired prickles over his skin. Titus slid his hand around the hilt of sword and stepped inside the war room.

  His gut clenched. An all too familiar face looked up from Titus’s table.

  A pleasurable sigh rolled past Dulcitius’s lips. “Ah. The centurion returned from the dead.”

  Drawing his sword, Titus lunged forward, only to be stopped by the two guards behind. They latched onto his arms with the force of a tourniquet. Growling, Titus struggled to pull away. Dulcitius charged across the room and shoved his dagger under Titus’s chin. “Do you believe me too dull-witted not to have prepared for your arrival?” He smirked. “You sent a boy to carry out your orders. We saw you for a mile before you reached the fort.”

  Titus jutted out his chin. “You are a traitor.”

  “I am the Dux Britanniarum and your superior officer.” He fisted his dagger and slammed his knuckles into Titus’s jaw.

  Reeling from the force of the blow, Titus crashed into one of the guards. Using the momentum to twist free from them both, he drew his sword and then shoved the man to the floor, while slamming his blade into the breastplate of the other.

  Before he could blink, Titus barreled out the doors. “Petronius!” he bellowed, his gaze darting to the stables. If he yelled Elspeth’s name, he would give her away.

  Titus caught sight of her just as a heavy weight tackled him from behind. The sword flew from his hand as his body hurled to the cobblestones. With a bone-crunching thud, the guard crashed down on top of him. Titus ground his teeth and shoved him aside, springing to his feet. Two feet away, his sword glimmered in the sunlight. He lunged for it and stopped, his hand inches from the hilt. The razor sharp points of five short swords surrounded him.

  Dulcitius marched across the cobblestones. “You, Titus Augustus Romulus, are hereby charged with treason. I sentence you to a life of slavery, rowing for the Emperor’s navy. You and that child you sent back here to usurp me shall die in the gallows of a navy ship.” His voice echoed between the fortress walls for all to hear.

  Two guards yanked Titus’s arms back and slapped manacles on his wrists. “I hope the taskmaster whips you to death.”

  Titus stole a quick glance at the stable. Elspeth’s shadow lurked in the darkness. He inclined his chin toward Dulcitius. “When do we leave for the shore?” he asked loudly.

  “A ship departs Arbeia for Gaul one week hence.” Dulcitius threw his head back and laughed. “You shall be on it.”

  And you shall burn in hell.

  Titus struggled to wrench his arms free, but the guards held fast. Dulcitius climbed the steps of the portico and addressed the gathering crowd. “Men of the Twenty-second Legion, your former leader has been found guilty of treason. As Dux Britanniarum, the supreme governor of Britannia, I demand your loyalty. Anyone who is caught aiding this prisoner shall be stoned and burned at the stake.” Dulcitius pointed toward the gaol. “Take him away.”

  Titus pretended to look at the guard behind him and stole another glance at the stables. Elspeth’s shadow had disappeared.

  ****

  Elspeth trembled, hidden beneath a stack of hay. She knew they would be looking for her next. Even if they thought her a peasant, they’d seen her ride into the fort with Titus. She clutched her bow, but there were too many legionaries and too few arrows. When she heard Dulcitius gloat that Titus would be taken to Arbeia she’d slipped into Tessie’s stall and piled straw over her body.

  She needed to think.

  Elspeth wanted to race to Dunpelder and gather an army. She hated to waste time hiding, but the best chance she had to slip out alive was to wait until dark.

  No sooner had she covered her head with the dusty hay, did a patrol enter the stable. “Where is the peasant who rode in with Titus?” A deep voice demanded.

  The young stable hand stammered. “He—he was here but a moment ago.”

  “Search every inch,” the voice commanded. Muted footsteps tramped across the dirt floor. Stall doors creaked open and horses whinnied. Elspeth’s heart thundered in her ears as they approached. She couldn’t take a chance and pull her bow from her shoulder. Trying not to shift the hay, she slid her arm to the back of her trousers and grasped her dagger.

  “That’s Petronius—the centurion’s horse,” the young voice said.

  “He’s no longer a centurion, soldier. He’s a lowly prisoner and a dangerous one at that—take the horse out and kill it. We want nothing to remind us of that traitor.”

  Elspeth swallowed back her urge to gasp. Kill Petronius? This is madness. The battle-tried white stallion was magnificent.

  Still reeling from her horror that Titus’s horse was to be killed, she jolted when the door to Tessie’s stall slid open. She took in a sharp inhale, and a pie
ce of straw tickled her nose.

  A legionary stepped in. His foot stepped so close, Elspeth feared he would tread on her. The straw tickled. A sneeze threatened to burst. Elspeth held her breath and squeezed her eyes tight to fight her urge to sneeze. The soldier’s feet turned a full circle and stepped out of the stall. “I would not be loitering around here if I were him.”

  The door slid closed. Elspeth let out her breath.

  Giving no notice, the sneeze erupted.

  Her hands flew to her face. She stifled the noise as the blast shot through her nose. The soldier’s footsteps alongside the stall stopped. Tessie whinnied and snorted, shaking her head.

  Elspeth’s heart caught in her throat. I’m dead for certain.

  “You’re a boisterous mare, are you not?” the soldier said.

  Elspeth allowed herself only shallow breaths. After the last stall was inspected, the legionaries left the stable. Elspeth waited until nothing but a willow warbler’s song whistled outside the stable doors. She pushed a handful of musty straw away from her face and grinned at her horse. “Thanks for covering for me Tessie, lass,” she whispered. Her mare had to be the smartest animal in all of Britannia.

  Elspeth crouched and looked through the bared windows on Tessie’s stall. Boar’s ballocks. Petronius had already been taken. She hoped the legionary who removed him had enough sense to hide the stallion until this madness was over.

  After dark, the stable hand slid the door open with his arms full of hay. He stepped in and walked toward the manger. Tessie impatiently butted him with her nose. Elspeth sprung from the wall and slammed the hilt of her dagger into the lad’s temple. “Forgive me.”

  The boy teetered for moment, his eyes bulging as blood streamed from the gash in his head.

  He dropped to his knees and fell face first. Tessie attacked her hay while Elspeth crouched beside the soldier and felt for a pulse. Thank goodness, she hadn’t killed him.

  She made quick work of removing his uniform, the shoulder splattered with blood. Her stomach churned when she pulled the tunic over her head. The blood stuck to her skin like honey that would not wipe away. She hastened to drag the lad against the wall and kicked straw over his body.