Vile blackness engulfed him. He could feel Nimue being sucked from his grasp. He couldn’t release her to draw his sword. What use was his sword anyway?
“Heathen idol.” He spat the words into the night, the only weapons he possessed. “Your time has passed. You are nothing.”
Thunder rumbled across the sky and the thick clouds parted, revealing a dazzling display of stars. The black shadow howled, lost shape, became nebulous and was then swept away in the swirling wind that circled the glade. From the corner of his eye, he saw the panic struck Celts flee from the clearing but he didn’t care about the Celts. He only cared about the woman in his arms who hadn’t moved since she had defied her god.
“Nimue, wake up.” He crouched over her and pushed her hair off her face with a hand that shook. What would he do if she never woke up? “You can’t leave me.” The words hurt his throat, his chest, his heart.
Her eyes opened and she looked at him as if he was all that mattered in her world. He wanted to crush her in his arms, wrap her in a protective cocoon and never let her out of his sight. A foolish fantasy. His life with Nimue would never follow such a predictable pattern.
He wouldn’t want it to.
She began to smile as he lowered his head toward her. Just to taste her lips. Just to reassure himself that she was still in the world of mortals. That her vindictive god hadn’t won.
A strong hand clamped on his shoulder and thrust him back. Tacitus swung around, one arm still supporting Nimue, and the acidic words died on his tongue. His commander stood by his side, his gaze riveted on Nimue.
His commander? His brain couldn’t comprehend what his eyes told him. He watched as the older man sank to his knees and gripped Nimue’s uninjured hand. What the fuck was he doing? Had it been his commander’s presence he’d felt following him from the garrison?
“Nimue.” The commander’s voice held a tone that Tacitus had never heard before. If it was not so ridiculous, the commander sounded as shaken as Tacitus felt. “Don’t go. Don’t leave me as she did. Let me give you what she would never accept.”
“Get your hands off her.” Unheeding of what his actions might cost his career, Tacitus knocked the commander’s hand from Nimue’s. “She’s no longer a slave. She is no longer beholden to any man.” Not even to him.
Nimue struggled to sit up, and he held her securely against his chest. His commander didn’t attempt to interfere.
“Arianrhod is free.” Her voice was hoarse but her smile was as radiant as the sun. “Your belief in me caused the last chains imprisoning her to crumble. My Goddess deems you a worthy warrior, Tacitus, despite your Roman blood.”
“Stay with me.” The words sounded harsh, sounded like an order. Obscurely he realized the commander had asked the same of her. He had to explain what he meant but had no wish to discuss it in front of the older man.
“Yes.” Her response was so soft he wondered if he’d misheard. Of course he’d misheard. Nimue would never agree to anything so swiftly. Certainly not something like this.
“Wait.” He sounded desperate. Gods, his career was over. His commander would see to that. No man spoke to a woman in such a manner. At least they certainly didn’t in front of their commanding officer. “Let me explain.”
“No.” She pressed a finger against his lips. “I want to be with you, Tacitus. I know I could find my people. But it won’t be the same. Because my heart is with you.”
All the arguments he’d prepared in an attempt to persuade her to stay with him vanished. “You won’t regret this decision. You’ll be accorded all due respect as befits your status.” He wanted to kiss her, to reassure her that all would be well. But he was acutely aware of the silent figure of his commander by his side. “You’ll be my wife in all but name.”
A strange look came over her face and bizarrely she looked at the commander. Surely the light dazzled his eyes, because why would she look at his commander with compassion?
“Wouldn’t your noble patricians ostracize you for that? It’s one thing to keep a concubine. Surely it’s another to keep a foreigner, an enemy of your Emperor, in such an elevated status?”
Still she gazed at his commander. He had the strangest sensation that an unspoken message passed between them, but that was impossible. The events of the night were addling his brain.
“No one would question your status. But that is irrelevant. I’ll pursue my career in the Legions. Then you won’t have to face the hypocrisy of Rome.”
She looked at him in what appeared to be horror. “But what of your desire to study law? You can’t give that up. I know how much that means to you—”
“Enough.” The commander barely raised his voice but fury thundered through the word regardless. “We need never have returned to Rome. She knew I didn’t care about taking my place in the Senate. I would have given up everything for her. But she wanted nothing but a meaningless liaison.”
Tacitus stared at his commander as ice trickled along his flesh. Yet again the older man spoke to Nimue in words that didn’t quite make sense. Who was he talking about? And why would he say such things to Nimue in any case?
“You’re wrong,” Nimue whispered. “She once told me she loved you with all her heart. I don’t know why she left but it wasn’t because you meant nothing to her.”
Tacitus tore his gaze from his commander and stared at Nimue. Her attention was fixed on the older man, and with a dread fascination, Tacitus once again looked at his commander. Something stabbed through his chest and the world tipped.
The first time he’d met Nimue there had been something familiar about her. He hadn’t known what, just that he’d had the strangest certainty that they’d met before.
They never had. But he knew why she looked familiar to him. It was because she possessed the same eyes as her father.
His commander.
“Shit.” The word slid out, unbidden. Nimue was the daughter of a high-ranking patrician. The blood of Rome flowed in her veins. Jagged thoughts ripped through his mind. If his commander acknowledged her as his daughter there was a good chance the Emperor would approve a marriage between Tacitus and Nimue.
But what were the chances of that? It wasn’t as if Nimue was a son.
“Do you have something to say, Tribune?” The commander rounded on him. “Or are you simply pissed that your magnanimous plans of using my daughter as your concubine are crumbling before your eyes?”
For a torturous moment, the vision of his seventeen half-sisters flashed through his mind. Noble blood ran through their veins, just as much as it did his. But in the eyes of Rome they were merely the bastards of freed slaves.
“At least I’ll acknowledge to the entire world that any child of Nimue’s is my child also. Son or daughter I would be proud to claim as mine.”
The commander heaved himself to his feet and glowered down at Tacitus. “I intend to acknowledge my daughter. And as her father I also intend to ensure she has everything that her status deserves.”
Nimue made a sound in the back of her throat and staggered to her feet. Tacitus kept his arm around her. She didn’t attempt to pull away although she did shoot him an exasperated glance.
“Your concern is touching.” She glanced at the commander—her father—then back at him. “But I have status of my own and don’t require the approval of Rome to do as I wish with my life.”
“Nevertheless, as my daughter, as my only child, you will receive it.” The way the commander looked at her, he obviously expected a fight. “Whether you choose to live in Rome or her provinces you will be accorded the respect due to your rank.”
Finally the words penetrated the seething thoughts pounding through Tacitus’ brain. The commander intended to recognize Nimue?
Nimue gave an odd smile, clearly touched by the commander’s orders. “If it means that much to you, then I accept. As long as you understand I’ll never be an obedient Roman daughter at the mercy of her father’s whims.”
“I would expect nothing
less from the daughter of your mother.”
Nimue’s smile faded. “The people I freed—the people here this night. Will you pursue them?”
The commander’s jaw tightened before he let out a measured breath. “The escaped slaves will not be found. And nothing happened here tonight.”
Stunned, Tacitus stared at his commander. He had committed treason with his words, just as much as Tacitus had by refusing to voice his suspicions about Nimue. Slowly he turned to look at the woman who stood between them. The woman who united them in their betrayal against their Emperor’s decree.
Protocol demanded that his father choose Tacitus’ bride. That Tacitus sought approval from his prospective bride’s father before the woman herself was consulted.
To Hades with protocol. Once the commander officially adopted her, Nimue would be a Roman citizen. His father would be only too pleased to see an alliance between the two families. As for his commander, Tacitus had the suspicion he would do anything to ensure his daughter’s happiness.
The only obstacle, as far as he could see, was Nimue herself. She’d finally agreed to be his concubine. But he wanted so much more than that. He realized that he always had.
But what did she want?
He took her injured hand, and her skin felt dry like autumn leaves. He’d never imagined asking a woman such a question in the dead of night in the middle of a forest in a far flung province of the Empire. And yet, despite the looming presence of her father, the surroundings were perfect to ask Nimue the most important question of his life.
But the words were the hardest ones he’d ever spoken. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
She looked up at him, his beautiful savage, and it was hard to breathe.
“Why?”
A section of his mind acknowledged the grunt of laughter from the commander, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Nimue’s upturned face. Why? How could she ask him such a thing?
“Because you’re mine.” He glared at her and realized that was only half the reason. “And I am yours.”
She laid the palm of her uninjured hand against his heart. “You know I’m a Druid.” Her voice was soft. “I can’t change who I am. And I wouldn’t, even if I could.”
Finally the words were spoken aloud. It didn’t make any difference. “I would have you no other way.”
She leaned in toward him until their bodies all but touched, until their breath mingled and he could see surrender in her eyes. “Why, Tacitus?”
He should have known she would never surrender. Not until he offered her everything that he was. The words choked his throat but he forced them out regardless. “Because I love you.”
Her smile illuminated his soul and banished the dark corners in his heart forever. “Then I’m honored to take you as my husband, Tacitus.” She brushed her lips against his. “I love you, my brave Roman warrior.” And the look in her eyes wasn’t surrender at all. It was the promise of eternity.
***
Nimue held Tacitus’ arm as they left the forest. He was once again dressed as a Roman tribune and she had never seen such a magnificent warrior. On her other side strode her father, the man she’d hated for almost half her life, who had caused her self-respect to corrode since the night of her initiation. The man she was now prepared to acknowledge as her blood kin, because now she saw the truth. Her mother hadn’t betrayed her people. She had fallen in love and her warrior had been worthy.
A large owl swept by, so close Nimue felt the rush of feathers against her cheek. She gasped, followed its path as it soared into the sky and then stared, transfixed. The full moon, in all her shining glory, graced the clear night sky. And in stark silhouette against the backdrop of silver flew the owl, its wings outspread.
Arianrhod’s legacy would live on.
***
Thank you for reading Enslaved. I hope you enjoyed it!
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There are four books in my hot historical romance series, The Druid Chronicles. If you’d like to read Chapter One from Tainted, book 4 in The Druid Chronicles, please turn the page.
Amazon Buy Links:
Forbidden | Captive | Enslaved | Tainted
Behind the scenes: Legend of Arianrhod
Forged in blood, United by Passion
The Highland Warrior Chronicles
Book 1 – Her Savage Scot
When tough Scot warrior Connor MacKenzie rides into the barbaric lands of the Picts on a mission for his king, he never expects to be captivated by a beautiful Pictish widow. Drawn under her spell, yet unaware of her true identity, he risks everything for one passionate night in her arms.
Aila, princess of Pictland, swore, after watching her husband die, that she would never marry again. But after meeting Connor, her frozen heart thaws and once again she imagines a future filled with love and passion.
When Connor delivers the message from his king, Aila becomes a pawn in a deadly game of politics. Her heart belongs to Connor, but she must marry the prince of Dal Riada – Connor’s half-brother. But the fates have other plans for the star-crossed lovers as they fight their enemies and themselves to find true love.
About the Author
Christina Phillips is an ex-pat Brit who now lives in sunny Western Australia with her high school sweetheart and their family. She enjoys writing paranormal, historical and contemporary romance where the stories sizzle and the heroine brings her hero to his knees.
She is addicted to good coffee, expensive chocolate and bad boy heroes. She is also owned by three gorgeous cats who are convinced the universe revolves around their needs. They are not wrong.
Author’s Note
During the first century AD, the languages used in Britain were Brythonic by the native tribal peoples and Latin by the Roman invaders. In The Druid Chronicles I’ve used words not in common usage in the English language until the 1500s and later, on the reasoning these people had words of similar meaning in their own languages at that time. It was likely the Romans who called the ancient peoples of Europe and Britain Celts. They would have called themselves by their own tribal names. For clarity, I have taken the liberty of using the term “Celt” in reference to the ancient tribal peoples of Cymru as a whole.
Tainted
The Druid Chronicles, Book 4
A dangerous love Rome will never allow…
Driven by the knowledge he failed to protect his king, Druid warrior Gawain abandons his gods and vows to destroy the Roman invaders by any means possible.
Nothing and no one is more important than protecting his fellow Druids from the enemy until he meets the beautiful Roman patrician, Antonia. She is everything he’s never wanted in a woman, yet she fascinates him like no other. Despite the danger of discovery he embarks on an illicit liaison with her, determined to uncover the reason for the infinite sorrow that haunts her eyes.
Newly arrived in Britannia from Rome, Antonia is inexplicably drawn to the cold, tough Celt. His touch stirs a passion she long thought died at the hands of her brutal former husband and his unexpected tenderness thaws her frozen heart. But she hides a deadly secret that could be her undoing, and knows her growing feelings for him can lead nowhere. Yet when a shadow from her past threatens her future Antonia is torn between the Empire of her birth and betraying Gawain, the man she’s grown to love.
***
Chapter One
Britannia. AD52
Antonia drew aside the silken drape at the window of her father’s carpentum and scanned the flat Britannia countryside as they traveled along the straight Roman road. It was late spring but the day matched her mood—cloudy, with a hint of restless despair on the horizon.
“Antonia.” Her father clasped her hand and his smile warmed her froze
n heart. How she longed to make his dreams for her come true. But she was no longer a young girl with a glorious future ahead. She was a matron, past her prime. She feared her beloved father might never recover from the disappointment of his only child’s failure to shine like a star in the Rome of his imagination.
She returned his smile. For him, she would endure this visit. For him, she would play the perfect Roman lady despite the fact her former husband had tossed her from his life with degrading disregard.
“My beautiful child.” Her father sighed, and Antonia knew of whom he was thinking. “You’re so like your mother. I see her face every time I look at you.”
Her heart squeezed in her breast in reflected sorrow. She’d never known her mother. But even after all these years her father still loved her. Still missed her. What must it be like to be loved so faithfully?
“I will find a man worthy of you,” he said, and she tried to ignore the way her stomach churned and chest constricted at the thought of being given to another man. “The noble blood of your mother runs through your veins. You deserve nothing less than to take your rightful place in the highest echelons of Rome. And befriending this tribune’s foreign wife is the perfect way to achieve our ends.”
If she had her way, she’d remain by her father’s side for the rest of their lives. And she intended to have her way. But there was no need to distress him with her unconventional plans. Not when they were within moments of arriving at their hosts’ villa, situated a few miles south of the town of Camulodunum.
“I confess I’m intrigued to meet this foreigner who appears to hold such sway over her husband.” The tribune, Tiberius Valerius Maximus, was a member of one of the most powerful families in the Senate. It was a mystery to Antonia how he’d been allowed to marry a native of a conquered land.
“There are rumors,” her father leaned toward her in a conspiratorial manner, even though they were alone in his lavishly decorated carpentum. “She is a barbarian princess from the wilds of Cambria. But don’t let this concern you. If she takes a liking to you, I know she’ll look favorably on finding a suitable match for you.”
Enslaved (The Druid Chronicles Book 3) Page 28
