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

by Amy Jarecki

  With the soldier’s sword belted firmly around her waist, she saddled her mare. Opening her saddlebags, she grasped a piece of vellum and rolled it like a scroll. After stuffing her peasant clothing into her saddlebags, she slid the makeshift missive inside the uniform’s doublet. Elspeth pulled the lad’s Roman helmet over her head and mounted her horse. Stealthily they slipped out the back door of the stables.

  She wanted to race to the gaol. If only she could call down to Titus and tell him she was riding for help, but that was a risk she’d be a fool to take. Elspeth headed for the north gate. Shrouded by darkness, she prayed the guards would not notice the bloodstained uniform.

  “Halt,” a deep voice bellowed.

  Elspeth sucked in a deep breath to steady her trembling hands. “I’ve a missive,” she said in her deepest voice while holding up the rolled vellum.

  The legionary’s gaze ran from the tip of her helmet down to the Roman sandals dangling from her small feet. Elspeth’s insides churned. If only she could shout how important it was he open the gate, but she kept her mouth shut. The more she said, the more likely he would realize she was a woman.

  Her palms perspired. The passage of time seemed endless. He suspects me. Convinced he would raise the alarm, she nearly fell off her horse when the legionary waved his arm and the gates pushed open. Elspeth straightened and trotted through with an air of confidence, until she reached the open lea. Digging in her heels, she thwacked Tessie with her reins and galloped toward Houseteads.

  She found the legionaries more relaxed at the milecastle, and the Houseteads guards allowed her to pass without question. Once into the forest beyond the gates, she stopped only to tear off the uniform that sickened her with its stench of blood. She slid into her trousers and shirt, tying the Roman uniform to her saddle. Though she would have preferred to burn it, caution told her the disguise might be needed again.

  Elspeth rode day and night, only stopping for short intervals to allow Tessie to rest and graze. She dozed in the saddle and ate little. By the time they crossed into Gododdin, Elspeth was weak from hunger and exhaustion. When they entered the meadow before Dunpelder, Tessie walked with her head bowed low with Elspeth draped over her neck.

  From the stronghold, the Pictish carnex sounded. She raised her head, relieved to see the gray stone walls loom above at last. Tessie’s hooves clomped across the bridge.

  As Elspeth crossed through the gate, Greum reached for the reins. “Ye look like ye’re knocking on hell’s gate. What did that onion-eyed Roman do to ye?”

  “We must away.” Elspeth snatched her arm from Greum’s grasp. “Dulcitius has captured Titus and is sending him into slavery aboard a Roman ship.” Elspeth stopped fighting and let Greum lift her down.

  “Ye don’t say? Sounds like he’s getting some of his own hospitality.”

  “No, Greum. Dulcitius organized the raids to make Titus look incompetent—so he would not be named Dux. Now Dulcitius is in charge, Count Theodosius is headed back to Rome, and Titus will be whipped to death on a Roman ship, just as our father was.”

  Greum set her on her feet, and she wobbled into his arms. “Easy there, lass. What, have ye been riding day and night?”

  “Aye. We must make haste.” Elspeth tried to make her voice urgent, but her eyes rolled to the back of her head as Greum lifted her into his arms.

  “We shall no’ be going anywhere until ye get some rest.” He headed toward the heavy doors of the great hall. “Besides, why should we be racing off to save a Roman?”

  With a surge of ire, Elspeth pounded her fist into Greum’s chest. “We must. Promise me. I’ll sleep for a few hours, and then we must away. Promise, else I will ride out of here this moment!”

  “Bleating woman.” Greum rolled his eyes. “I give ye me vow, then.” He carried her up the stairs to his chamber and laid her on his pallet. “Ye rest, and I’ll hear about yer journey when ye wake. Bullocks balls, Elspeth, we’ve all been worried sick as to yer whereabouts.”

  Elspeth wanted to sit up and tell him everything, but her body screamed for sleep. Her head hit the pillow and she continued to talk. “Ready-th-the…”

  ****

  Before setting out for Arbeia, Titus spent three days in the gaol with Alerio. The boy had been beaten savagely. His lips looked like overripe plums, and one eye had swollen shut. He crawled to the bars of Titus’s adjoining cell. “At least I never told them where to find you.”

  Titus reached through the bars and patted the lad’s shoulder. “For that I am grateful, Son. You have landed in a precarious spot, and I am afraid it is all my doing.”

  “You cannot say that. Dulcitius is evil. He strikes fear into the hearts of the legionaries to make them obey.”

  Titus nodded. “True, though many officers who came before him led with the same iron hand—they lead by fear, not honor.”

  “Dulcitius is worse. He’s evil.”

  “I wish you were wrong, but I fear he’s the worst of the lot. He has no honor.”

  “The men in my cohort followed you because they wanted to, not because you coerced them.” Alerio chuckled. “Do not mistake me. No one ever questioned your authority either.”

  Titus nodded. He’d always tried to be fair whenever possible. “I never believed men would remain loyal if you treated them with ill will.” He looked at his battle-scared hands. Hade’s bones, he was tired. “Mayhap I have been wrong all these years.”

  “No. Your men love you.”

  “Some of the same men watched Dulcitius accuse me of treason, yet did nothing.”

  “That is because they are afraid.”

  “Yes it is, Alerio. When a coward fears his own life is in danger, he shirks from what he knows to be true to save his hide.” Titus hung his head. “I did not train my men to be cowards.”

  “No sir. I am not a coward. I will stand by you through this if it takes my last breath.”

  “I am afraid you are in this with me whether you like it or not. Did you know that they are sending us to Arbeia as slaves? We’re sentenced to man oars of a long ship.”

  Alerio sucked in a sharp breath. “More lashings?”

  “Daily lashings, of that I am sure.”

  Alerio rubbed his upper arms as if attacked by a sudden chill. “And what of…” He leaned in and whispered, “Elspeth?”

  Titus kept his voice low so that only Alerio could possibly hear. “She is our only hope.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was dark when Elspeth woke. Her head throbbed as if a blacksmith were hitting her skull with an iron hammer. After she stumbled to the stoneware basin and poured some water from the pitcher, she splashed her face and listened. From the music below, the evening meal must have been served.

  Most likely thanks to the queen, there was a Pictish gown folded at the foot of the pallet. She stripped off the filthy peasant clothing and gave herself a sponge bath with the water in the basin and an old bar of rosemary-mint soap. She pulled the dress over her head and tied her hair back with a leather thong. The pounding in her head had eased a bit.

  Greum had let her sleep too long. Heading to the great hall, she planned to throw some food down her gullet and organize troops to ride to Arbeia—or go alone.

  The last thing Elspeth needed was to face a hall full of Picts who had partaken in too much mead, but she could not wait until morning.

  When she reached the great hall, she sighed at the scene in front of her. Typical. Greum danced up on the dais with his Pictish lute in hand, flitting around a circle of lassies, making a grand fool of himself. Elspeth marched across the long hall. With the night’s merriment well underway, the butcher’s plump wife laughed and stumbled into her. With a grumble, Elspeth pushed her way through the crowd. Hamish offered her a tankard of mead, and she shook her head while forcing her way to the dais.

  Elspeth caught Valeria’s eye as she passed. The queen seemed to be the only one who noticed something amiss. She turned to watch Elspeth climb the steps to the small sta
ge. Elspeth shouted Greum’s name, but he paid her no mind and continued with his raucous flirtations. The second time he came dancing around the circle, she stuck her foot out and tripped him.

  Her brother sailed head first off the dais but somehow managed to land on his feet. The lute went sailing, and the king reached out and nabbed it midair. Elspeth stomped down the steps with her hands on her hips. “We need to make haste, ye bleating fool.”

  Greum brushed himself off and stuck his face an inch from hers. “I believe ye owe me an apology for that. If ye were a man I’d take ye outside for a lesson in manners, I would.”

  “We need to speak.” Elspeth glanced toward Taran who pounded the hilt of his dirk on the table calling for silence. The boisterous laughter ebbed, and Elspeth turned to the inquisitive faces of her king and queen. “Dulcitius has convicted Titus of treason without trial. He is sending him to Arbeia where he will be enslaved as an oarsman.”

  The queen gasped.

  The king leaned forward. “Did Titus commit treason?”

  “No, sire.” Elspeth hands shook as she stretched them out. Every sinew in her body strained to plead her case. “Dulcitius is the traitor. Titus tried to inform the count when we discovered Dulcitius was behind the raids, but his party was attacked and all but two souls were lost. Titus nearly died himself, but I spirited him to the forest and nursed him.” She hung her head. “I fear he is still weak from his wounds and the fever.”

  Greum stepped beside her. “Ye don’t think we’re going to risk our necks riding all the way to Arbeia?”

  Elspeth pushed her finger into his chest. “We must. We cannot let Dulcitius win.”

  The king sliced his hand through the air. “I will not risk the lives of me men to ride after a Roman officer.”

  Elspeth swayed in place from exhaustion and hunger, willing herself to fight. Tears rimmed her eyes, but this was no time to show weakness. She wiped her hands across them. “If ye will not help me, I will go alone.”

  Greum grasped her shoulders. “Do ye not see ye are already half dead? I forbid ye to go.”

  Elspeth tried to yank away, her head spinning. How could Greum and the king not consider helping? This could not be her flesh and blood standing before her. Elspeth backed and shook her head. “I cannot forsake him. I love…”

  Queen Valeria stood. “I believe we should give this more thought. The centurion has been open to our call for peace.”

  Greum released his grasp. “He was ready to burn me sister alive. Do not forget that, m’lady. Her brash desire to rescue him is insanity.”

  Valeria’s black eyes shifted to Elspeth. “’Tis become more than a mission for our sister Elspeth.”

  Greum whipped around and stared. “Has he violated ye?”

  She raised her chin and faced him. “I have accepted his offer of marriage.”

  Greum clutched his heart. “Ye have fallen in love with the devil himself?” He turned toward the king. “We cannot—”

  “We can and I will.” Elspeth stomped her foot.

  Valeria grasped King Taran’s elbow. “Please, Taran. Titus could become one of us.”

  The king pulled his arm away. “He is a soldier of Rome, not a mere citizen.”

  “But I am a daughter of Rome.”

  “’Tis no’ the same. Ye were no’ trained to murder women and children.”

  “But—”

  “Nay.” Taran sliced his palm through the air. “I will hear no more on it. I cannot assign a party of warriors to fight for a Roman centurion.”

  “If ye will not help me, I will go alone.” Elspeth’s fists returned to her hips as her gaze met a glowering glare from the king.

  A bench scraped across the stone floor. Manas stood and pulled his dirk out of the scabbard he belted around his slim waist. “I will go with ye, Miss Elspeth.”

  Another bench echoed through the silent hall. Seumas stood. “I will go.”

  Young Fionn was next, and he pulled his slingshot out of the back of his belt. “As long as there are stones on the earth, I will ride beside ye.”

  Elspeth looked between the three loyal warriors. “Thank ye.” She turned to the king. “Please. We must try.”

  Valeria rested her palm upon King Taran’s shoulder. With a groan, he gave a thin-lipped nod. “Volunteers I will allow, but no warriors will be ordered to accompany ye.”

  Greum cast his eyes to the rafters. “I must be the biggest dismal-dreaming fool who ever lived. I will lead ye, but if I deem it too dangerous, we will turn back. If ye do not obey me, I will whip ye within an inch of yer life. I will no’ stand for rebellion on yer part.”

  Elspeth bobbed her head in rapid succession. “Thank ye, Brother.”

  He shook his fingers. “But we will no’ leave until dawn.”

  “Hold,” Taran bellowed. “Though I allow this, I maintain my concern. Dunpelder is no place for our enemies. Mark me, do no’ bring Roman legionaries back to our stronghold.”

  “Thank ye, Sire.” Elspeth curtsied as her eyes strayed to the queen. Valeria gave her a knowing wink. Thank heavens she understood.

  “Elspeth. May I have a word?” The queen stood, the bump across her abdomen more prevalent than it had been a month prior. Valeria led her to her private chamber and closed the door. The transition from the busy hall to serene quiet made Elspeth’s shoulders ease with her deep exhale.

  The queen’s chamber contained a mixture of Celtic artwork with Roman influence smattered throughout. Valeria had the blacksmith fashion her a cross of bronze with Pictish symbols, but the religion itself had come from her Roman roots, as had Bishop Elusius, who frequented Dunpelder from time to time.

  Elspeth studied the cross and pondered the teachings of the Bishop. All men are created equal, he had said. She wondered if that applied to women as well. Of course it does.

  Valeria gestured toward a chair, padded with a cushion depicting an ornate tapestry of her husband’s Celtic sign, Taran, son of Brude. “Please sit.” She poured mead into two dainty goblets and handed one to Elspeth. “’Tis quieter in here.”

  “Aye, m’lady.” Elspeth took a sip and swirled it across her tongue. The slightly intoxicating liquid instantly warmed her empty belly.

  “You have fallen in love with the centurion?”

  “Aye,” Elspeth whispered.

  “You said he asked you to marry him?”

  “Aye—when we traveled from Gododdin to Vindolanda.”

  “You know it will be near impossible for the elders to allow him to live in Dunpelder.”

  Elspeth nodded and pressed her face into her hands. “A great deal has changed since he proposed.”

  “You may need to find lands to the north if he is estranged from the Empire. But understand, life in the wild can be treacherous.”

  “If that is our fate, then so be it. I will not see him enslaved.”

  Valeria sipped her mead and looked toward the Celtic cross. “I shall pray on it and speak to the king.”

  “Thank ye, m’lady.”

  “Go now and eat, for you must maintain your strength if you are to help your man.”

  Elspeth kneeled and grasped the queen’s hand. “Thank ye. I will never forget yer kindness, m’lady. Ye are the only one who understands me.”

  ****

  Sleeping in her gown, Elspeth woke before dawn to ready her kit. Careful not to wake the others in the single women’s chamber, she slid off her pallet, clutching her bow and the satchel containing her man-clothes. She fumbled for the door latch. It clicked with a loud metallic scrape. Elspeth stopped and glanced over her shoulder then shrugged. If anyone woke, they could very well go back to sleep. She shook off her guilt—she wasn’t sneaking through an enemy fort like Vindolanda. Everyone in Dunpelder knew her plans.

  She ran her hand along the rough stones of the castle corridors, feeling her way up the winding stairwell to the armory near the top of the battlements. Once inside, she pulled out her flint and lit the wall torch secured by black iron gril
lwork.

  The armory had always been the same. Though the warriors kept their personal sets of chainmail and armor with them, there were always stray pieces of armor and helmets piled on the shelves. She scanned past the battle-axes and mounds of stone collected for use with the catapults.

  Her gaze stopped at the grinding wheel that stood in a corner, well worn by years of use. She rolled up her skirt, unsheathed her dirk and inspected the blade. With a tsk of her tongue, she thumbed the edges, disgusted with herself for allowing the blade to dull. She pumped the mechanical pedal and sharpened the weapon with a circular motion, just as her father had taught her.

  To test the sharpness, Elspeth grasped a strand of hair from her scalp and sliced the blade across it from an angle. It cut clean through. Satisfied, she slipped the dirk back into its hiding place. She looked to the cache of arrows and gathered four quivers full—as many as she could carry. As she turned to leave, a long Pictish sword caught her eye. Being stowed with the general weapons, it must have belonged to one of her fallen comrades, unclaimed by an heir.

  Elspeth reached for it and studied the embossing along the shaft. Three stags with eight-point racks leapt through tall grass. Elspeth blinked twice at the design toward the hilt. A sprite with wings and long flowing hair chased after the deer with her bow drawn.

  ’Tis a sign.

  She searched through the shelves of discarded equipment and found an old hard-leather scabbard with an iron tip. Hanging from the top was a belt. Elspeth toyed with the buckle tongue. Though it was bent, she could still make it work. She fastened it around her waist and inserted the sword. The belt dropped to her hips. She looked down and took a few tentative steps. The heavy sword teetered at her side but did not scrape the ground, nor did it slip further down.

  Elspeth’s next stop was the kitchen. Pia, Seumas’s wife, was already up preparing the morning meal for the fifty-or-so people who occupied the upper rooms of the stronghold. Pia wore a gray wimple over her head and had come to Dunpelder as Queen Valeria’s slave. Picts owned no slaves, and Valeria had granted the older woman her freedom before embarking on her rite of passage. Elspeth guessed her age around fifty or so. Pia smiled at her with jolly cheeks and walked across the room with her rotund hips bouncing jovially. “You’re up early, Elspeth. I’ve prepared satchels of food for all.”