Enslaved (The Druid Chronicles Book 3)

by Christina Phillips

  Unthinking, she reached out and speared her fingers through Tacitus’ as he held the reins. Her hand looked so small on top of his. And yet the future of his Legion rested in her palm.

  She should feel triumphant. Victory was within her sights. Soon, not only would she be able to claim vengeance for her people, she would also, finally, avenge her mother’s murder.

  By murdering the man her mother had loved with all her heart.

  “Are you cold?” Tacitus’ voice against her ear caused her to shiver again. But she wasn’t cold. It seemed the soul of her mother clasped her hands, a silent condemnation for what Nimue proposed to do.

  “No.” Her voice was hoarse as the full implications of what might happen hammered through her heart. Could she take responsibility for the death of her mother’s beloved? For the death of her own father?

  “Do you need to rest?”

  For a brief moment, she squeezed her eyes shut. From the first time she’d met him, Tacitus had always been mindful of her comfort. Even now when they fled for their lives—for surely if he was caught abandoning his Legion he’d be executed—his first concern was for her.

  “It’s better if we keep going.” She tightened her fingers around his, willed him to relinquish his grip on the reins and crush her in his arms. But he remained rigid, as if her touch didn’t affect him at all.

  “Let me know if you need to stop for a while.” He sounded distant, as though he spoke to a stranger, and yet his actions in taking her to her people belied his chilly exterior.

  As the sun rose in the sky, Nimue’s deeply held desire to learn all the secrets of the magic bluestones wavered further. Was such knowledge worth the death of so many Romans? They weren’t all evil as she had so long believed. Marcellus was a healer. Did he deserve to die?

  A few times, she attempted to engage Tacitus in conversation but his responses were stilted and in the end she gave up. She understood. He was conflicted at deserting his people. It would take time for him to see that he’d had no choice.

  ***

  Anticipation tingled through Nimue’s senses as they walked deeper into the forest, Tacitus leading his horse by the reins. The tangled undergrowth snagged her ankles and up ahead she saw a familiar pair of great oak trees.

  They had arrived.

  She curled her fingers around Tacitus’ biceps and he looked down at her. Even in the muted light that filtered through the forest canopy, she could see the entrancing violet of his eyes. Would their child have his father’s eyes?

  “Are they here?”

  “Very near.” They’d stopped walking and her voice was hushed. She glanced around, but could see no sign of hidden ambush. It was imperative she find her people quickly so she could explain that Tacitus was with them, by decree of Arianrhod. “We just need to go beyond the—”

  “I imagined you’d return to your village.” Tacitus glared at the surrounding forest as if it offended him. “How can you be certain anyone is here, Nimue? I can’t leave you here alone.”

  “Alone?” Her voice was sharp. Even if, by some mischance, her people hadn’t made it back to the enclave she wouldn’t be alone. Tacitus would be with her. “We won’t be alone. It’s far safer here than in any of the surrounding villages.” And it would be safer still once she’d completed the sacred rituals and replaced the shard of bluestone she’d stolen.

  Her mind shied away from what would happen after she’d restored the circle of bluestones around the enclave. Perhaps, now that she was free, Arianrhod would grace her with her presence, and Nimue could beg for a further favor.

  Tacitus gritted his teeth as though her assurances both tested his endurance and tormented his soul. He cast another black look around the forest before he pulled the pack from his shoulder and ripped it open.

  “You’ll need these.” His voice was gruff as he pulled her dagger from the pack and handed it to her. She took it and a fierce joy raced through her at the familiar weight of it in her hand. How she’d missed its comforting presence at her hip. “And this.” He sounded as if the words choked him as he pulled her bow free. “The arrows are gone.”

  Reverently she took her bow and traced one finger along its elegant edge. “Thank you.” She’d never expected to see either of her weapons again. “Don’t worry about the lack of arrows. I can easily replenish my stock.”

  He looked as if the thought of her crafting her own arrows made him ill. “Take this.” He pushed something sharp into her hand and she frowned at the silver brooch encrusted with emeralds. It was one she’d never seen before. “My family name is engraved on the back of this fibula. If you ever need me, for whatever reason, send this to me and I’ll find you.”

  The warmth that had filled her with the return of her weapons instantly evaporated. She looked at him, saw the tension etched on his face and radiating from his body, and denial slammed through her.

  “But you’re coming with me.” It was an imperious command and she slung her bow over her shoulder so that she could grab his hand. “There will be no need for me to find you because we’ll be together.”

  He jerked back from her touch. “How can we be together? We come from different worlds. In my world, you’re a slave. This is the only way I can set you free.”

  Denial prickled along her flesh. This wasn’t how it was meant to be.

  “You can’t go back.” The words condemned her but she didn’t care if he found them suspicious. He couldn’t return. “Your place is by my side. You know this.”

  A strange, tortured smile twisted his lips. “Even if you’d agreed to become my concubine, in your eyes you and our child would never be free. Yet that’s the best I can offer you.” He pulled from her grasp and stepped back. “Stay safe, Nimue. Tell our child that I wish I could have known him.”

  “But—” Horrified at how her plans were turning to ash before her eyes, she watched Tacitus turn his back. “You can’t leave.” She sounded desperate. She didn’t care. How could she stop him? By throwing her dagger and felling him to his knees? What good would that be? She darted after him and grasped his cloak. “My Goddess has tied our destinies together.”

  He paused and looked at her. Her heart ached. How could he walk away from her? Was this the last time she’d ever look at his face? Into his eyes?

  “Your goddess of the moon.” It wasn’t a question. “It’s not me she wants. It’s you. All the time I’ve enslaved you, the skies have been dark. But I’m not doing this for a faceless goddess I know nothing about. I do this for you. If I took you back to Rome, your status would destroy you from the inside out.” For a brief, heartbreaking moment he cradled her face between his hands. “I won’t be responsible for crushing your spirit, Nimue, the way my father so carelessly crushed the spirits of my two beloved mothers.”

  He released her but she could still feel the imprint of his fingers on her face as he once again turned away. Fragmented denials screamed through her mind. You’re nothing like your father. But the words remained locked inside, pounding against her skull, thundering through her veins.

  She had asked him to stay. And he had refused. For a terrifying instant, she saw herself on her knees, begging him not to go, imploring him to choose her and their child.

  Pride stiffened her spine. She was a Druid and it didn’t matter if her heart was breaking or her soul weeping. She wouldn’t have Tacitus’ last memory of her as a weak woman clinging to his boots. Then he glanced over his shoulder and their gazes meshed.

  Her resolve wavered. What did her pride matter if it meant Tacitus would stay? But the words lodged in her throat, her knees refused to buckle and the pride of her foremothers forbade the tears to fall.

  He would leave her as he had found her. A warrior of Cymru.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  It was late afternoon before Tacitus returned to the garrison. Despite having left a message for his commander, he knew his exemplary military record would now be blighted for having taken the day off without leave. The knowle
dge made no impact on him at all.

  He strode toward the commander’s quarters, refusing to think of anything but the absolute present. Because if he let his guard down, the last image he had of Nimue, her beautiful green eyes glittering with unshed tears, haunted every shadowy corner of his mind.

  “Enter.” The commander’s curt tone matched his expression when Tacitus pushed open the door.

  Tacitus saluted but the older man continued to glare at him. There was no point in delaying tactics. The commander would discover what he’d done sooner or later.

  “I request the manumission of Nimue.”

  Only as the words left his mouth did he realize that on the last occasion his commander had spoken to him of Nimue, manumission was the word that had been used. He had no idea why his commander desired Nimue’s manumission and it didn’t matter. She was beyond his reach now.

  Shock flashed across the older man’s face, but within a heartbeat he had regained his previous dark glare. “Granted. Bring her to me.”

  “I require her formal manumission first.” He had no intention of angering his commander by telling him Nimue was no longer in the garrison. Not before she’d been formally freed.

  For a moment he thought he had gone too far. The commander’s eyes narrowed as though he considered Tacitus’ words a direct threat to his authority. But then, just as swiftly, his expression lost its hostility.

  “That can be arranged. No one need know that she wasn’t present at the official signing of the documents.” He pulled sheets of papyrus across his desk. “What’s your price for this, Tacitus?”

  His gut knotted. It was degrading enough that he had bought Nimue. He wouldn’t further soil his soul by selling her. “She is beyond price.”

  The commander shot him a look that he couldn’t decipher. As if he had read too much into that statement. Fuck, why had he said anything at all? He just wanted this over so that he could get on with his life.

  A life without Nimue.

  “You care for her.” The commander’s voice was oddly gruff. “I will remember that, Tribune.”

  Tacitus glared at the older man as he returned to his documents. He had no wish for the commander to assume he knew anything about Tacitus’ feelings for Nimue. And what in Hades did he mean by he would remember it?

  The only thing the commander was likely to remember about this encounter was that Tacitus had illegally freed a slave. But once the documents were signed, there was little that could be done about it.

  Finally, the commander handed him the documents and Tacitus scrutinized them before making them official. He straightened, and looked his commander in the eye. He had no intention of lying, but neither did he particularly want to raise his commander’s ire unnecessarily.

  “I’ll arrange for Nimue to be returned to her people.”

  The commander stood. “I’ll accompany you. I look forward to seeing her reaction to such news.”

  Two thoughts hammered through Tacitus’ head. First, he would have to tell the commander that Nimue was already with her people. And second—there was something very odd about the commander’s entire attitude when it came to Nimue.

  He straightened his already rigid spine. “She is no longer under Roman control.”

  Tension crackled in the air as the commander stared at him. Finally he exhaled a measured breath, clearly battling for some degree of control.

  “Where is she, Tribune?”

  “Back where she belongs.”

  The commander’s jaw clenched. “You let her go?”

  “Yes, sir.” If the commander chose to make an example of Tacitus, he would require the influence of his powerful family to prevent dire consequences. How ironic that his father should be the one to assist in Tacitus’ only time of need, considering the actions that had led him here.

  To Hades with it. He’d rather be disgraced than call on his father for nepotistic intervention.

  “You let her go.” The commander slammed his hands onto his desk and leaned forward. He looked furious yet there was a strange undertone of awe in his voice. “Despite how you feel about her?”

  Curse all the gods in existence. Why was his commander fixated on the thought that Nimue meant something to Tacitus? Was it truly so obvious?

  “Rome would destroy her.”

  His commander looked at him as though he’d never seen him before. As if he had just experienced a terrible revelation from the gods themselves. Slowly he sat down and once again, it appeared that he aged before Tacitus’ very eyes.

  “Yes.” His voice was hollow and there was a glazed look in his eyes. “Rome destroyed her. As she always claimed it would.”

  Who was the commander speaking of? Unease mounted and when finally the older man jerked his head in dismissal, relief washed through Tacitus and he made good his escape.

  ***

  Nimue stood in the center of the small glade in the forest. A circle of massive bluestones surrounded the edge of the glade and an earth-covered dolmen had been constructed countless generations ago. It had been used for sacred rituals during the time Caratacus and his rebels had hidden from the Romans, and an elusive sense of otherworldly power swirled in the air.

  She stared up into the night sky, but only blackness loomed. Not even a glimmer of silver pierced the canopy of cloud. Yet there hadn’t been a single cloud during the day and there was no scent of rain.

  The women and children who had been captured by the Romans had arrived safely in the enclave. Several others, from various tribes, had also found their way back from the battleground and they’d all greeted her as their savior.

  Tomorrow was the full moon. It was the night she was to perform the sacred rituals to restore the magical protection to the enclave. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t the first idea what she was supposed to do. She knew that, when the time came, the knowledge would be hers.

  Would the skies finally clear? Would Arianrhod, in all her shining magnificence, once again grace the night?

  Her Goddess hadn’t come to her since Nimue had returned to the enclave, despite how fervently she’d prayed. Was it because Arianrhod knew that Nimue’s heart was no longer committed to ridding Cymru of the enemy? Because she knew her acolyte had already given her heart to the enemy?

  ***

  The following morn, as Nimue purified her body in preparation for the coming night, the dark sense of malignancy that had haunted her for the last two days magnified. Her stomach churned, her palms were sweaty and it wasn’t her imagination—the forest was unnaturally silent. It didn’t feel as if freedom beckoned on the horizon. It felt like a terrifying abyss threatened to destroy everything she had ever known.

  Or was that simply her crippling guilt attempting to rationalize how close she was to betraying her Goddess, her heritage and her people?

  With shaky fingers, she undid one of her small leather pouches and took out the brooch Tacitus had given her. Even looking at it caused her heart to ache and she curled her fingers around it, unheeding of how the jewelry dug into her flesh.

  Tacitus, my love. She pressed her clenched fist against her naked breasts and saw, in her mind’s eye, her Roman’s face in the moment before he’d turned from her forever.

  How could she have let him go? Would agreeing to be his concubine have been so very dreadful? Yet how could she desert her people, the land of her birth, when they needed her most?

  Even if the terrible conviction that gripped her—that the promised devastation was wrong—didn’t feel as if it sprung solely from her own conflicted loyalties?

  But if that conviction was not entirely hers, then whose was it?

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “Glad to return to Rome.” Blandus scowled at the legionaries who were training on the field beyond the garrison. Tacitus grunted in response. Rome no longer held the appeal it had before the battle with Caratacus.

  Before he’d met Nimue.

  “The Senate,” Blandus continued, “is a far more civilized battle
field than those we encounter in these far-flung provinces. The facilities here are appalling. I’ve never endured such primitive conditions.”

  The facilities were barbaric when compared to what they were used to in Rome. In less than three months, Tacitus’ tour of duty would be over and his political career admirably advanced. With the fall of Caratacus, his military record glowed. He could pursue law, his long-held ambition.

  Or he could remain in the Legions.

  The thought pierced through his mind, as clear and sharp as if he had spoken the words aloud. For a moment he froze, disoriented by the power of the thought and the solid certainty that it wasn’t only a viable alternative…

  But his only alternative.

  In Rome, as his concubine, Nimue would wilt. But if he remained in the military and took posts throughout Britannia and Gallia, Nimue could remain in a more familiar environment.

  Still under the yoke of Rome. But at least she wouldn’t be stigmatized the way she would if he took her home.

  He’d already asked her to be his concubine. She had refused. Why did he think her answer would be any different now, simply because his plans for his future had changed?

  But he knew the answer already. It was because this time Nimue truly did have a choice. Because this time he’d ask her not when she was enslaved; he would ask her now that she was a free woman.

  ***

  Dusk settled, drifting through the forest, malicious fingers of darkness unrelieved by a shimmer of silver from the skies. Even now, on this night, Arianrhod denied light to her people.