His sons would excel at army life. He’d give Ness that. Hesitantly, he brought his hands around Wryn. To his surprise, Wryn smiled when he spilled water on the child’s body then wrapped him in a drying towel.
Sweeping Eric into her arms, Ness marched through the peristyle gardens to the rooms beyond as the boy kicked against her stomach and hollered.
Wryn’s little eyelids wobbled over his brown eyes and his head nodded forward. His little cheeks curved up to his tiny nose. He wrinkled his forehead in sleep. Lifting the child, Aquilus carried him across the dark garden.
A small oil lamp made a halo in Ness’ room and a basket bed lay in shadow beneath it. Aquilus lowered Wryn’s little body into the basket and Ness dumped a stiff-lipped Eric beside him.
Kneeling by the basket a moment longer, Aquilus glanced up toward Ness.
She walked to a wash basin. The water splashed up over her delicate hands as she dipped her fingers in the bowl.
“Wryn looks like you,” Aquilus said.
“No, he doesn’t. You managed to make him an exact replica of yourself though you didn’t even show up for his birth.” She moved past him again and grabbed a towel.
“He has your eyebrow, the crooked one.”
Still holding the cloth, Ness stopped only a few handbreadths away from him. “I don’t have crooked eyebrows.”
“Yes, you do. Right there.” Standing, he indicated her left eyebrow that did that adorable dip off-center.
“Oh.” Ness blinked and she dropped her gaze to Wryn. She bent to fix his cover and her gold hair plummeted down around her shoulders, making her look like an angel, despite the less than angelic temper within.
Her tunic gaped at the neck. Had he said an angel? He meant Venus. She stood back up, almost bumping against him. No, not Venus either. Venus would be jealous—insanely jealous.
He brushed his hand against hers. Those blue eyes just looked at him. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he tried pulling her closer.
She placed both hands on his shoulder at an angle, then opened her mouth.
He didn’t breathe.
She shoved at him, but feebly.
One hand on her waist, he ran his other through her golden hair.
“But I want a divorce.” Right now, pronounced by her falling-on- one’s-sword-worthy lips, even the word ‘divorce’ sounded illogically beautiful.
“I know.” He brushed the edge of his hand across her bare shoulder. She only reminded him twenty times a day, though she wasn’t getting one.
She fidgeted with her hands as she gazed into his eyes. Her light skin felt cool to the touch. “I don’t think I should do this.”
“Why think?” He touched his mouth to hers.
One moment hesitation and she jumped into that kiss—jumped with all the reckless abandon of the Celtic berserkers rushing Caesar’s ships. Forged toward the kiss and everything beyond with as little concern for the consequences as the Spartans at Thermopylae.
Why didn’t every man marry a Celtic woman?
Late afternoon sunshine streamed through Ness’ door as she stitched garments for Eric and Wryn. She made impatient jabs at the fabric. Already eleven months since Britannia, and far from having forced Aquilus to give her a divorce, she was inviting him into her bed. A tear rolled down the bridge of her nose. He despised her, but had she remembered that last night?
Of course, she hadn’t.
Even when she’d tried to please him those first months of their marriage, her opinions always made him angry. All they did was fight. Why didn’t he just divorce her? Why did her heart still quiver when he walked into a room?
Cornelia’s heavy footsteps shook the entranceway. She held one boy under each arm. “Eric caught a mouse and was trying to eat it.”
Gaze averted, Ness took the boys and attempted to shut the door.
Cornelia moved into the room. “Are you crying?”
“I’m fine.” Plopping the twins down, she caught up the half-sewn clothes.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing!” Ness slapped her sewing back on the bed.
A cough came from outside.
Looking up, she spied Aquilus, at which point in time Eric saw fit to bite her leg. With a yelp, she grabbed the child.
“What day were they born?” The sun lit Aquilus’ back.
“Who?” Ness asked while Eric screamed.
“Our sons, of course.”
She scooted Eric higher on her hip and he somewhat subsided. “Why?”
“Because I have to record their names in the city birth register.”
If he’d been there, he would have known the day his sons entered the world, but he hadn’t cared enough about her or them to come. He still scarcely took note of his sons’ existence. More tears pooled in her eyes. She kicked the bedpost. “Eric and Wryn don’t need their names written down in some stulte ledger so power-hungry Roman judges can count them.”
Now Wryn screamed along with Eric.
“I shan’t be writing Eric or Wryn. I’m not having my sons mistaken for barbarians.”
“What makes you think you have the right to change their names?” Her face flamed hot as she ran her hand down Wryn’s back. No use. He screamed louder.
Aquilus lifted his gaze. “Perhaps the fact that I’m their father.” He turned.
The harshness of his tone slapped against her heart. She bit her lip. “Why are you leaving?” He’d said if she stopped fighting him, they could have a happy marriage. What about him, though? Would he start approving of her and her opinions if she gave up fighting?
“To meet Praetor Ocelli,” Aquilus said, halfway out the door.
Ness shifted her stance. Maybe they should talk. Perhaps they could compromise. “Do you want to…?” Then again, his compromise would never include Britannia. Could she truly give that up?
Aquilus leaned forward, both hands up, spanning the entranceway. “What?”
Eric and Wryn collectively balled their fists into their eyes and began shrieking.
“Can’t you make them stop?”
In truth? He’d brought those screaming babes into existence and never so much as spent an hour tending to their cries. Ness shot Aquilus a murderous look. “Cedric cared more for them than you do.”
Aquilus clenched his fists. “Never say that name in my house again.” His voice was level but so angry.
She looked at Aquilus and saw a tribune. He didn’t have to wear the armor. Chin set, the breadth of his shoulders filling the doorway, his stance proved him a soldier.
Then he left. She dug her toe into the grout as she turned from the door.
“You know, if you act like that he might actually divorce you.” Cornelia perched on Ness’ bed, yellow teeth digging into a piece of mutton.
“That’s the plan.” She pressed Eric’s head against her shoulder and caressed her hand down his back. If only he would sleep and give her two moments of peace.
“You truly want a divorce?” Cornelia stopped mid-bite.
“Of course, I want a divorce.” Laying Eric by the carved oak head of her bed, she stroked his hair.
“What by Olympus for?”
Ness tucked yellow damask tighter around Eric’s body. Wryn had already curled up on the wool rug on the floor. “Because he’s a prideful Roman.”
Cornelia shrugged. “He’s got good money.”
“I can make my own money.” Ness plopped on the bed and dug her aching head into the wall. Why did Aquilus even want her to stay when he was always so angry at her? She needed sleep.
“Six million sesestertii a year? I think not.”
Even the cool touch of plaster didn’t soothe her throbbing temples. She sat up straighter. “In Britannia, I’m going to breed sheep. Big ones. I’ll use them for wool. Make the best rugs in the region.”
Cornelia rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t call your rugs best in any region.”
Ness shifted her gaze to the corner where the twisted survival of her sixth
inglorious wool attempt lay. “That’s what practice is for.”
“Help me understand this. You’re divorcing the tribune so you can consort with dirty animals and work with wool that clearly frustrates you to death?”
Put that way, it did sound like an imbecilic move. Ness tightened her scowl. “Yes.”
Eric cried again. Laying down next to him, Ness hugged his little body tight to herself. Unlike Aquilus, Cedric would have comforted the boy, not made him cry harder. That, at least, wasn’t imbecilic. “There’s someone back in Britannia too.”
“As in a man someone?” Cornelia’s wrinkled face perked up.
Ness gave a noncommittal headshake.
“I heard Celts were quite the free lovers.”
Ness groaned. “You’ve never even visited Britannia. Roman historians lie about Celts. Compare us to animals.”
Cornelia shrugged. “That lover of yours must be talented to outweigh six million sesestertii a year.”
“He’s not my lover!”
Clucking to herself, Cornelia stood. “Wouldn’t have thought it of the sweet maternal type.”
Eric howled and Ness wanted to cry too, but if she started she wouldn’t stop. She hated Aquilus’ cruel words. Why couldn’t he just divorce her instead of berating her?
Why had God let her marry Aquilus in the first place? Who knew? The ways of the Most High were unfathomable. So were the ways of Aquilus. The difference being, God was good.
Frowning, she let her eyelids drift shut. Her memories took her back home. She saw the green hills of Britain and the peaceful fields and heard the sounds of the brook and waterfall.
Squeezing Eric tight, she let the memories flicker by. Once when she was sixteen years old she’d spent an entire afternoon hunting birds and laughing with Cedric. She wanted to feel happy like that again. She jolted out of her daydream as a loud noise split the room. Cornelia stumbled back in.
Ness lurched up. “My children were sleeping.”
“It’s good for them to get woken up. They’ll be better at the night shift.”
Sighing, Ness sank into the wall. “Why would my sons work at night?”
“Paterculis generally go for the soldiering business.”
Her babes wearing the uniform of Rome and facing the threat of spear and longsword in service of some emperor she cared nothing for? Ness stiffened. “Never.”
“You’re getting rid of the tribune and dictating the rules for his children?”
“Yes.” That’s why she needed a legal Roman divorce so she’d have a claim to the twins no court could overturn.
Cornelia snorted. “I still think you’d do better with the tribune.”
Ness groaned. “Why are you even here? I’m sleeping.”
“Obviously not. You’re talking to me.”
Insufferable woman!
Cornelia pointed to the bed. “I left my dinner.”
Ness felt something with her toe. She gagged as she pulled the covers down to fish out a greasy glob. Gripping the meat in two fingers, she held it out to Cornelia. “Please tell me you’re not going to eat this still.”
Instead of answering, Cornelia studied her face. “You’re ingravesco again.”
Ness grimaced. “That’s impossible.” She’d felt strange for a week now, but she couldn’t be with child. She just couldn’t.
“Impossible?” Cornelia rolled her gray eyes. “Not the impression I got when I walked in here before dawn one morning because Eric was screaming. I may not have tended younglings in my prior line of work, but I saw a lot of women with child.”
Did the woman never knock? “What was your prior line of work?” Ness didn’t meet Cornelia’s gaze.
“Would you believe me if I said I got discharged from a chief laundress position on a pirate ship?”
“No, except for the discharged part.” Ness slouched back against the covers. She pressed her lips together. She couldn’t live like this forever. Soon a year would have passed since Britain, and these idiotic late night decisions had to stop. Cornelia was right that she’d get with child if she let this happen much more, but not this time.
She dug her fingernails into her covers. Cornelia couldn’t be right this time. It had only been that one night. And the week before that. Then last month. Oh, and she’d forgotten that one morning. On second thought, why make a list? She was not ingravesco.
Cornelia droned on. “I was with a lot of men in my day. Never had a child by them, though. Good thing, too. All knaves. I’ve given up on men.”
Flinging the covers back, Ness picked up her abandoned sewing. “Good, maybe you’ll stop trying to convince me to keep Aquilus.”
“Naw, not a chance, child. That one’s got money and he took a marriage vow. He’s the faithful type too, though that part really isn’t necessary.”
“You have disturbingly low expectations of men.”
Cornelia shrugged. “Most never even live up to those. Why raise the bar?”
“Would that I could discharge you,” Ness muttered as she dug her needle into the fabric.
“So, who’s got the better looks among the two?” Cornelia took a sloppy chew of used mutton.
“What?” Ness glanced up from a stitch.
“Your husband or this barbarian lover?”
“Cedric is not my lover!”
Cornelia shrugged. “Which one?”
Aquilus’ face, which could have been chiseled in marble, came to mind. Ness scowled.
“So?”
Wretched woman! Ness tried to suppress an image of the scar on Aquilus’ arm as she jabbed her needle in and out. “Depends.”
“In other words, the tribune wins?”
Ness glared at the fabric in her hands. “If you like the arrogant, nobleman look.”
“I still don’t understand what you dislike about rich, handsome men.” With those words, wonder of wonders, the woman left.
Wind blew through the curtain that Cornelia hadn’t pulled fully closed. Groaning, Ness fell back on the bed.
What was she going to do?
Chapter 18
You look like a savage!” Cornelia dropped a pile of clothes as she gaped at Ness.
Twisting the brush, Ness painted the last flourish on her upper arm. The market had no woad, but blue dye worked. She wiggled a bronze armlet higher on her arm. Not quite authentic Celtic make, but close enough, and cheap.
Holding up the Celtic dress she’d worn that day the soldiers came to her village, Ness took a knife to the sleeves. Her stomach knotted. Was she making the right choice?
“Not to overstep my bounds, but what are you doing?”
Mentally editing out the expletives that followed, Ness worked a wooden comb through her waist-length hair. “I don’t know how you ever got hired as a nurse.” Her fingers trembled as she tugged at a knot in her hair.
“Easy. I charged an exorbitant price. When people see a service is overpriced they assume its quality. Also, people think if you’re old and ugly you adore children. Where’s the logic in that?”
“Agreed. You’re the worst nurse I’ve ever met.” Ness dabbed more war paint on her arms, the color as bold as the actions she planned. Should she go through with this?
“Regardless, what by Pollux are you doing?”
Ness gazed into a bronze mirror. “If my sons’ first words are an oath, I really will discharge you.”
Cornelia’s mouth still hung open. “If you plan on traipsing around that barbarically, I think I want to leave.”
“It’s a distraction for Praetor Ocelli’s dinner party.” Tonight. Her stomach churned as if saying the words aloud made it more real. Ness pulled the Celtic dress down over her shoulders. It caught on her stomach, which felt unusually bloated. Likely the pomegranates she’d eaten. The cloth felt rough, unlike the slippery fineness of the expensive tunicas. The blue fabric held its own sort of beauty, however, the beauty of the Celtic oaks that lifted sturdy boughs to the heavens.
She burrowed her face int
o the skirt. Too late. The smell of hearth fire, spring grass, and wild lilac had faded. Resolution hardened her face. She would see Britain again, even if it meant doing this.
“What kind of distraction?”
“A large enough one to get a divorce.” No more of this back and forth. After tonight, Aquilus would give her the divorce. What if he didn’t? She sucked in cool air, but still her heart pounded.
Cornelia cocked an eyebrow. “Who’s going to see you looking like that?”
“Everyone at the dinner. They’re all supposed to support Aquilus’ Germanian plan.” Ness ran her tongue over dry lips. He’d hate her for this. Could she truly go through with hurting him so deeply?
What other choice had he’d given her? He loved his politics, not her or their sons. If he’d just let her go months ago, she wouldn’t have to do this to him. A chill ran through her and her palms felt moist.
“Showing up like that in front of those dignitaries. You’ve got nerve, child. Only women of infamia wear their hair down.”
“In Rome perhaps, not in Britannia. Think I’ll get my divorce?” She held her breath. She was sure he would divorce her, but what if he didn’t? No, he certainly would. Only a man deeply in love would disregard this kind of insult.
“Ruining his career? Yes, you’ll have divorce papers by first light.”
“Good.” Ness tore her cloak down from its peg.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll reveal your plan?”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll expose your nurse career?” Ness fastened the cloak around her neck.
Cornelia pursed her lips. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be on a ship by week’s end.” If she wasn’t? Ness released her breath. If Aquilus still wouldn’t divorce her, she was done fighting him. True, she’d never get to return to Britain if she stayed married to him and she still thought he bore the blame for waiting an entire year to come to her.
A vision of the waist-high wheat in the fields she’d planted with her own hand on Britain’s green shores flashed before her eyes. If she stayed in Rome, she couldn’t have her sheep farm either. A knife stabbed through her heart. Still, who wished to spend years on end fighting?
For Life or Until (Love and Warfare Series Book 1) Page 23
