Tainted (The Druid Chronicles Book 4)

by Christina Phillips

  “Gawain.” The praetor’s voice jolted her back to the present. “You are blood kin to the tribune’s wife, is that correct?”

  “Kin, but not blood bound.”

  Antonia pushed her fears to the back of her mind. There was plenty of time to dwell on them later. But for now, she hoped she didn’t look as enthralled as she felt. In all of their many discussions, she had never outright asked Gawain about his connection to Carys. She’d simply taken it for granted that he was, indeed, her blood kin.

  Why else would Maximus allow him to reside under the same roof as his wife?

  Clearly the praetor thought that too, if his raised eyebrows were anything to go by. “And you have been in Camulodunum for how long?”

  Gawain looked perfectly relaxed. But, as impossible as it should be, Antonia could feel tension spiking from him. It reminded her, with an uncanny ripple of alarm, of the way he’d looked earlier that day in the forum.

  “I come and go,” Gawain said, which didn’t answer the question at all.

  “This is merely an extended visit, then, not relocation?” The praetor eyed Gawain over the rim of his goblet. Antonia’s glance darted between the two men. It sounded suspiciously as though the praetor were interrogating Gawain.

  “Gawain was kind enough to bring me news of my mother,” Carys said. “I haven’t seen her since before my marriage.”

  “Ah.” The praetor turned to Carys. “Your mother still resides in Cambria?”

  “Yes. She remained behind to care for elderly relatives.”

  Carys’ gaze didn’t waver from the praetor. There was nothing controversial or strange about her statement. And yet Antonia had the absolute certainty that there was far more to the simple explanation than Carys’ words apparently conveyed.

  “So you’re now a messenger, Gawain?” The praetor waved for a slave to refill his goblet. His eyes remained fixed on Gawain. “That must come hard to a man with your obvious warrior background.”

  What was he doing? Antonia glared at the praetor but he appeared oblivious. Of course Gawain was a warrior. He had likely fought against the legions as they’d marched across Cambria. But why was the praetor bringing it up now? It wasn’t a crime to fight for your people. Gawain hadn’t been captured and sold as an enemy of Rome at the time. Those who accepted the rule of the empire, no matter how reluctantly, were not punished. Therefore, what was the praetor attempting to prove?

  “Warriors,” Gawain said, his voice giving nothing away of his true feelings, “adapt.”

  The praetor’s eyes narrowed, so slightly and so fleetingly Antonia almost missed it. But it was obvious from that telling reaction that Gawain’s response had not been what he expected.

  So what had he expected? For Gawain to leap to his feet, dagger in hand, and demand that the praetor retracted his not-so-subtle insult? Why was he trying to undermine Gawain? Wasn’t it enough to know that the empire had conquered his land and people without rubbing Rome’s victory in his face?

  “One must learn to adapt to survive,” her father said. “It is, after all, far better than the alternative.”

  “Unless, of course, one is Roman.” The praetor smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Surrender is never an option for the Eagle.”

  Tension crackled in the room, causing the hair to rise on the back of her neck and along her arms. The praetor was deliberately baiting Gawain. Did he imagine Gawain such a savage that he would forsake good manners and attack his host in his own home?

  Yet where were the praetor’s manners? She’d known him for many years and he’d never displayed such overt hostility in a social situation before.

  “To the continuing good health of the Eagle.” Maximus raised his goblet. He still held Carys’ hand. As everyone followed suit, Antonia noticed Gawain’s hands remained planted on his knees. His face was impassive but he radiated coiled fury. She didn’t blame him. She was furious with the praetor on his behalf. “Excellent wine, Praetor,” Maximus said before he turned toward her father. “Is this part of your latest shipment, Faustus? Remind me to place an order.”

  Her father responded and the conversation once again navigated calmer waters. But the animosity between Gawain and the praetor seethed beneath the surface, a poisonous serpent waiting to strike. And Antonia had the chilling certainty that tonight was just the beginning.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The final extravagant course had barely been cleared away when Gawain made his excuses and rose to his feet. Not that he really bothered with an excuse. He merely stated his intention to leave without regret or false apology.

  “You’re not staying overnight?” The praetor lounged back on the couch. “You are most welcome.” Insincerity dripped from every word.

  “I have a prior engagement.” Gawain inclined his head. “Thank you for your hospitality. It’s been most…illuminating.”

  Antonia could feel heat flooding her face at his choice of words, but at least he didn’t glance her way. His gaze was intent on the praetor. But she knew Gawain was really speaking to her. Why else would he have chosen to use the same word she had after the first time they had made love?

  Sex. It was only sex. But the reminder did nothing to calm the frantic beat of her heart. Because she knew that Gawain was now fully aware that the praetor regarded her as more than merely an old acquaintance.

  She wasn’t even sure why that revelation angered him. But it did, and she had known it would, and that was why she’d attempted to allay his suspicions the other day.

  Why had she thought it exciting, at the start of the evening, when Gawain had glared daggers at the praetor for taking her arm? She wasn’t a foolish girl who found pleasure in having two men vie for her attention.

  She had no wish for the praetor’s attention. But she desperately longed for Gawain’s. And the tragic truth was, his obvious ire at how the praetor had lavished his attention on her throughout the evening had thrilled her feminine pride.

  Until that last conversation. Dynamics had shifted, as though the praetor changed battle tactics and went on the offensive. And while his attitude and questions angered her on Gawain’s behalf, it was more than that. She didn’t know what, didn’t even know why that thought was so adamant in her mind. All she knew was something fundamental had shifted and it went far beyond the events that had unfolded this night.

  Gawain made perfunctory farewells and strode from the room and Antonia fought the suicidal desire to leap to her feet and follow him. He was meant to be only a distraction. A means to educate herself on the pleasures of sensual seduction. He wasn’t supposed to invade her mind at inconvenient moments of the day and night and he certainly wasn’t supposed to interfere with her shield of self-preservation.

  The answer was obvious. She should end this liaison before she became more entangled in his hypnotic web. But even as the thought thudded through her head, she knew she had no intention of following it through.

  Not yet. She couldn’t bear to lose him just yet. Another week or two and the memories they made would sustain her through the years ahead, when her life revolved around Cassia.

  The praetor was laughing at something Maximus had said. “You are too noble, Maximus,” he said. “I know that look on a man’s face, and he was most certainly going to find the sweet comfort of a woman’s embrace.”

  Antonia’s stomach churned. She kept her gaze fixed on the table and ignored the pounding of her temples. Gawain was not going to see another woman.

  But how do I know? He’d never said she was his only lover. He could have several. After all, they hadn’t been together for two days. Yet it had never occurred to her that he might have slaked his lust elsewhere.

  How bitterly ironic. Her relief had been overwhelming whenever she’d discovered Scipio had taken a new mistress, since it meant she could enjoy a brief respite from his demands. But the thought of Gawain entertaining another woman caused nausea to rise.

  Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore. The conversation,
the musicians or the dancers the praetor had hired to entertain his guests. Everything pounded in her mind, a cacophony of colliding noise. If she didn’t leave now she feared she might scream, and she couldn’t embarrass her father in such a shocking fashion.

  She pressed her fingertips against her temple and thankfully her father picked up her cues and made their excuses. The praetor held her hand, helped her to her feet, and his concern for her welfare appeared so very genuine. As he led her into the atrium, she caught sight of Carys’ face. She looked mutinous. Clearly the thought of staying the night under the praetor’s roof didn’t appeal to her at all.

  “I trust you had a pleasant evening, Antonia?” he said as a slave brought her palla.

  “Yes, thank you, Praetor. It was most enjoyable.” Illuminating. The word mocked her, but she ignored it.

  He smiled, but oddly appeared ill at ease. “There’s no need to be so formal, Antonia. I’ve been your friend for many years. I would be honored if you would once again call me Seneca.”

  Her chest constricted, throat tightened. It was true that in the past she had addressed him more intimately. But she hadn’t seen him for months, and in the meantime, he’d been promoted. Calling him by the title of his office gave a semblance of detachment.

  She needed to maintain that detachment. Now that she was no longer married, she knew he would look upon her use of his given name as a tacit agreement to his… advances.

  “You are very kind.” She allowed him to take her hand and remained rigid as he kissed her fingers.

  “We trust you will allow us to return your hospitality, Praetor,” her father said.

  “I would be delighted.” The praetor’s voice was stilted. He hadn’t missed how she had deliberately not used his name, but she was too tired to care.

  It was only a short journey home and in the flickering light of the carpentum’s lantern, she gave her father an exasperated glare. “Why do you encourage him? You know of my feelings on this matter.”

  Her father sighed and took her hand. “If your heart is set on adopting this child you told me about, then I’m certain the praetor will have no objection to embracing her as your daughter. He even said how much he longed for a daughter. It’s as if the gods themselves bless this match.”

  She stared at him as horror clutched her breast. She didn’t want the praetor knowing she was adopting a child at all—a child who was the exact same age as her own, supposedly dead, daughter—but the scenario her father painted was nothing short of a nightmare.

  It would never happen. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her mind. When her father entertained the praetor, she would affect feminine indisposition and not join them. It was unforgivably rude, but surely the praetor would finally realize she wasn’t interested in what he offered her?

  ***

  Elpis met her in the atrium and with relief, Antonia made her way to her bedchamber. The thought of having relaxing incense burning as soothing oils were rubbed on her temples was seductive.

  It might even take her mind off the thought of Gawain with another woman.

  “Domina.” Elpis’ whisper was scarcely audible as she paused outside Antonia’s bedchamber. “I’ll be here if you should need me.”

  Antonia blinked and frowned. Her headache was worse than she thought, since she could make no sense of Elpis’ comment at all.

  “Where else would you be?” Elpis had slept in her bedchamber up until her marriage, and ever since her divorce.

  Elpis smiled and opened the door. A low golden glow bathed her bedchamber from the lamps. “Here, domina,” she whispered. “I will be right here.”

  Antonia’s breath caught in her throat and a quiver of delicious alarm skated through her breast. Surely not? But she didn’t ask Elpis the question hammering through her mind. Instead she stepped into her bedchamber, and Elpis gently closed the door behind her.

  From shadows beyond her bed, Gawain emerged, like a warrior god from the beginning of time. Her mouth dried and heart lurched against her ribs. He was here. In her bedchamber. Waiting for her.

  “Are you speechless with delight or horror, my lady?” His low, mocking voice wrapped around her, as sensuous as the incense from the Temple of Venus. “Will you scream in pleasure or disgust at my touch?”

  “I cannot believe you’re here.” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper. Her heart thundered too hard to draw enough breath into her lungs. “If my father discovered you he would…” She wasn’t sure what her father would do. Run a dagger through Gawain’s heart or die of shame at her feet?

  “Then we had best ensure your father never finds out.” He took another unhurried step toward her and her foolish heart twisted at the magnificent figure he presented. The glow from the lamps heightened the bronze of his skin and dark blond of his hair, and enhanced the breathtaking muscles of his biceps. If Celts sculpted images of their gods in marble, Gawain would be their chief deity made flesh.

  She walked toward him until merely a hair’s breadth pulsed between them. She longed to wrap herself around him, breathe in his unique scent and forget the outside world in his arms. But she feared if she did so, he might guess that her feelings were deeper for him now. And she didn’t want to give him any reason to end this insane liaison any earlier than fate had already decreed.

  “How are you here?” Of course, Elpis must have assisted him. But even so, the dangers of evading the guards, of being seen to slip into her room, were immense.

  “I have my ways.” His teeth flashed in a mirthless smile and with a jolt, she realized that he still seethed with fury. “It was not so very difficult for a man with my talents.”

  His self-scathing comment lashed across her heart. How many times had he evaded capture in order to meet an illicit lover in her bedchamber? Why had she imagined this was something as shocking and novel to him, as well as for her?

  She smothered the questions before they consumed her. It didn’t matter how many times in the past he had done this. At least he was with her now, and not with a strange, faceless woman. The knowledge eased the ache in her heart and she cradled his jaw with one hand, rubbing her thumb across his light stubble.

  “Your talents,” she whispered, “are impressive.”

  His lips quirked in obvious reluctance. “Don’t flatter me with pretty words, Antonia.”

  “Why not?” She trailed her fingertips along the strong line of his jaw. “You flatter me most charmingly.”

  His large hand covered hers. For a moment, she thought he was going to thrust her from him, but instead his fingers threaded through hers.

  “No.” His voice was harsh. “I don’t. It’s one of my irresistible traits. I’m blunt to the point of barbarity.”

  His self-condemnation caused her heart to squeeze. She took that final step and sank against the hard ridges of his body. “I have yet to see this barbarian of whom you so freely speak.”

  Tension radiated from him, coiled and waiting to spring. Did he truly imagine that she compared him to the praetor—and found Gawain wanting? How could he be so blind?

  How could she prove how wrong he was?

  “That Roman.” Gawain’s breath seared her ear as he wound his arm around her waist and held her in a punishing grip. “Every time he looked at you he stripped you with his eyes. His lust polluted the air. He will not rest until he has you in his bed.”

  Unease shivered along her spine at his words, but she forced it aside. She wasn’t as easily manipulated as Gawain appeared to think.

  “I’ve no intention of sharing his bed. But I have every intention that you will share mine this night.”

  She felt his body shake in a silent laugh and then he pulled back so he could look into her face. “I am enraged. How dare you attempt to mollify me with false promises?”

  “It’s not a false promise. It is night, you are here and my bed is beside us.”

  He glowered at her, even as his tempting mouth fought to smile. His frown lost the battle. “You are an enc
hantress. There’s no other explanation. What magic have you cast upon me, my lady?”

  “A lady never shares her secrets.” And then she laughed at the absurdity of her comment, at the relief Gawain was no longer vibrating with repressed fury and the knowledge that, for a short time at least, she could hold him close and savor each precious moment.

  He grunted and began to pull the pins from her hair. “As long as I’m the only one you enchant. I don’t share what is mine.”

  A foolish frisson of delight ignited deep in her heart. She knew he spoke purely from lust when she—ah, she could no longer deny the truth. It was so much more than lust for her. But what did it matter if she hugged his words close and gave them a meaning he didn’t intend? “And am I yours?”

  For a second he paused, his hand in her hair, his gaze boring into her as if he wanted to peel back the layers of her mind and read her most secret of desires.

  “Yes.” His voice was raw, primitive and another delicious tremor claimed her sensitized flesh. “Tonight you’re all mine, Antonia. I intend that you’ll never forget what we shared together.”

  There was little chance of that when Gawain had slid, unbidden, into her heart. She would remember him until her last breath.

  “But will you forget, Gawain? Will I be simply another Roman woman you passed a few pleasant weeks with? Will you even recall my name a year from now?”

  Somehow she kept her voice light, playful, as though she didn’t mean every word from the bottom of her soul. It would do no good for him to discover just how devastated she’d be if he forgot everything about her as soon as their liaison ended.

  ***

  Gawain stared into Antonia’s ice-blue eyes, eyes that had captivated him from the first moment they had met. He knew they would haunt him until he continued his journey in the Otherworld, and perhaps their beauty would haunt him even there.