Forbidden

by Christina Phillips

  He eyed her, as if weighing up her sudden shift in mood. “You ask far too many questions for a woman.” He jerked back when she dug her nails in his scalp once again. “But if you insist on knowing, it was because I wanted to join the Legion and work my way up the ranks on ability and not connection.”

  His explanation was in no way amusing, but still the overwhelming urge to giggle assailed her. “I see.”

  “By Mars, you have no respect.” He didn’t sound displeased as he rolled her over. “But you will.”

  She closed her eyes, relished the way he scraped the oil from her shoulders. In Rome he had been despised for his choices. But, even though those choices meant he had willingly fought for his Emperor, had willingly invaded her beloved Cymru, he’d risen to his present rank through his own ability, blood and sweat. Not because he was the favored son of a powerful senator.

  A smile curved her lips. He was her Roman conqueror and she loved him, even if such an admission fluttered on the wings of blasphemy.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Later, as the slaves dried her and massaged scented oil into her hands and arms, she cast a longing glance at the bath. Would she ever enjoy such a night as this again?

  “That isn’t mine.” She waved her hand at the long white tunic one of the slaves brought to her.

  “Indulge me.” Maximus’s lazy voice drifted toward her. “Just for tonight, my lady.”

  He looked magnificent and utterly foreign in his tunic as two other slaves draped a long toga decorated with a broad purple stripe around him. She glanced again at the proffered garment, torn between asserting her rights as a Celtic Druidess and a secret, shameful desire to wear this Roman creation.

  No one would know. So she allowed the slaves to dress her, allowed them to comb and twist and manipulate her hair in elaborate Roman style.

  And Maximus, from his semi-reclining position on the bench, never took his smoldering gaze from her.

  Dusk had fallen by the time they left the Legatus’s dwelling, for which she was thankful as Maximus had made it clear she wasn’t going to wear the concealing length of linen this time.

  Not that it mattered. The only others they passed were Romans who, after glancing her way and catching sight of Maximus in his senatorial glory, hastily averted their eyes.

  Such was the power of her Roman’s word. Once, her word had commanded similar respect from her people. Would the world ever return to the way it had once been?

  With a shiver she recalled the horrifying vision she’d endured earlier that day. Had it truly shown her the future?

  She had to speak to Druantia. Ask her advice. Beg the Morrigan’s forgiveness for her trespass, and offer any sacrifice so she might once again gain sweet Cerridwen’s favor.

  Iced sparks dug through her heart as the rash promise vibrated in her mind. Instantly, she refined her pledge. She would do anything Cerridwen or the Morrigan demanded, fulfill any obligation the goddesses required.

  Would sacrifice whatever was within her power to give. Anything but Maximus.

  As they entered Maximus’s quarters, the enticing aroma of roasting meat greeted them. She sniffed appreciably as he led her into another room that had a low table surrounded on three sides by couches.

  He picked up a small leather pouch from the table.

  “This is for you.”

  Enthralled, Carys unwrapped the leather. Nestled in the center, gold and green glinted up at her.

  “Maximus,” she breathed, enchanted that he had bought her a gift. She sank onto one of the couches and spread the leather across her lap so she could more easily admire her treasures.

  He sat beside her, his hard thigh snug against hers. “Do you like them?” His voice was gruff, as if he wasn’t used to asking women such a thing.

  She picked up the delicate bracelet, and the green stones glittered in the lamplight. “I’ve never seen anything so pretty,” she told him, and it was the truth, for despite owning numerous bracelets, necklaces, earrings and ankle chains, none of them had been chosen specifically for her by Maximus.

  “One day I’ll buy you the real thing. But for now, I’m glad you approve.”

  She laughed and held up one of the long, sparkling earrings. “I love them and shall always treasure them. Thank you.”

  He fastened the bracelet around her wrist, and she slid the earrings through her naked lobes. She shook her head and the sharp stones jiggled along the length of her neck, brushing her shoulders.

  “They suit you.” He scrutinized her. “I knew something was missing earlier. You weren’t wearing any of your own jewelry.”

  She thought of her precious gems hidden within her medicine bag, and hoped no one would find the bag before she managed to reclaim it. Not because she feared losing her jewelry, but because of the illicit bluestones it harbored.

  Her breath caught as a truly magnificent idea illuminated her mind. She could offer the bluestones to the Morrigan. It was a sacrifice, for it meant she could never again prepare a magical meeting place for her Roman, but she would give them up, and willingly, if the goddess desired.

  Besides, she no longer needed to meet Maximus by the Cauldron . So long as she was discreet, she could meet him here, in his quarters.

  She smothered the thought before it could manifest and find its way to the Morrigan.

  The game was roasted to perfection and served with a sweet, fruity sauce she’d never before encountered. She didn’t recognize all the vegetables either, obviously strange Roman imports, but could find no fault with their flavor.

  “You don’t look comfortable, Carys.”

  She glanced over at him, as he reclined on the couch. “Neither do you.” She’d always sat upright while eating and couldn’t imagine how the Roman way could be anything but detrimental to the digestive process.

  “You’d be surprised how comfortable I am. You should try it and see for yourself.”

  “Thank you, but I prefer not to be awake all night with a stomachache.”

  He gave a soft laugh and toasted her with his goblet. “Then I will have to teach you how to handle correct etiquette.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Roman etiquette. And why should I wish to learn that?”

  “I don’t know.” He regarded her with a thoughtful look on his face. “Perhaps it’s because you look as if you were Roman-born. I could take you into the highest echelons of society and no one would guess otherwise.” And then he offered her a sardonic grin. “Unless, of course, we attended a banquet. Then you’d give yourself away in an instant.”

  She smiled sweetly. “The likelihood of my attending a Roman banquet is remote.”

  There was a pause, as if Maximus was considering his response. Although what was there to consider? It wasn’t as if this conversation was serious. It was lighthearted flirting.

  “Carys.” He replaced his goblet on the table. “Tell me how you speak Latin as if it were your mother tongue.”

  It wouldn’t hurt to tell him. It was no secret, after all. “My father brought a scholar back from Gaul the moon after I was born.” The scholar had also been a Druid of some distinction, but Maximus didn’t need to know that.

  He frowned, as if her explanation didn’t clarify. “This scholar had a remarkable grasp of Latin. You have no accent at all.”

  It had been another stipulation from her father. That she learn the Roman language as if it were her own.

  She decided Maximus probably didn’t need to know that either, as it cast unnecessary speculation as to her father’s motives.

  “That’s because he was a Roman himself.” She sipped the wine, savoring the way it warmed her throat. “But when he grew to manhood”—when the Druidic visions had begun to turn his mind—“he discovered his father wasn’t the man he had always believed. He was, in fact, only half Roman.”

  “I should like to meet this scholar of yours.”

  She flicked him an assessing glance, but he didn’t look as if he suspected anything untowar
d. And why would he? There was no reason for him to assume her dear Gaius had possessed Druid blood.

  “Alas, he continued his journey five winters ago.” Her breath hitched in a regretful sigh. “He was ancient when I was a babe, Maximus. But his knowledge was vast.”

  There was a respectful silence. “He taught you well.”

  Carys batted away the irritating tickle against her nose, but it trailed over her cheek and into her ear. With a groan she opened her eyes, to see Maximus looming over her, teasing her with a feather.

  Instantly, her senses overflowed with alarm. She had intended to leave during the night, as soon as Maximus had fallen asleep, but their lovemaking had exhausted her so thoroughly it was she who had succumbed first.

  “Don’t look so distressed.” He abandoned the feather and smoothed her hair from her cheek. “I regret having to wake you, but I fear I require your presence.”

  Carys swallowed her trepidation. Panicking wouldn’t alter the fact she had remained outside the spiral all night. She could only hope she hadn’t been missed.

  “My presence?” Her gaze caught his, and warmth flooded her chest, smothering the remnants of unease. She had spent the night with her Roman, and deep in her heart she could never regret it.

  “Yes.” A scowl crawled over his features. “I have an unsavory duty to perform. I believe your—uh—soothing talents may be called for.”

  “My soothing talents?” Was he mocking her? But he didn’t look as if he were jesting. He looked as if he were struggling to contain his temper.

  “Pray don’t repeat every word I utter.” He tugged on one of her ringlets, a reminder of the way her hair had been twisted and coiled the previous night. “It’s hard enough to ask this favor without you laughing at me.”

  She hadn’t been laughing at him, but at his words laughter bubbled through the warmth heating her heart.

  “What favor do you require, Roman?” She trailed languid fingers over his shaven jaw, and regret speared through her that he was already dressed.

  His scowl deepened, although he threaded his fingers through hers and rubbed her palm more roughly against his face.

  “A woman’s touch.”

  Carys winced as Branwen combed through the multitude of tangles her vigorous night had created. After Maximus had painstakingly removed every last pin, she’d forgotten to braid her hair. And this was her punishment.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” Branwen muttered. From the moment she had arrived, and Maximus had left for a meeting with the other officers, she’d refused to make eye contact, as if secretly shocked Carys still remained within Maximus’s quarters.

  She gritted her teeth as Branwen fought the ringlets and began to braid her hair. It was none of the girl’s concern where she slept. How dare she judge her?

  Yet Branwen judged her as all her people would judge her. Carys gripped her fingers together and refused to think on it.

  She wasn’t hurting anyone. She wasn’t betraying anyone. All she was doing was spending as much time as she possibly could with the man she loved. And she had no intention of apologizing for that.

  Maximus trusted her to be here when he returned. He needed her. Her failure to wake during the early hours had been a sign that she should never run from him again.

  “Are you ready?” Maximus entered the bedroom and shot them a curious glance, as if he could feel the whisper of hostility tainting the air.

  “Yes.” Carys slid her new earrings through her lobes and stood, once again dressed in her own gown. Goddess only knew how Branwen would have reacted if she’d seen her dressed in the Roman finery. “Where are we going?”

  “Into the settlement.”

  Her irritation against Branwen faded. How could she accompany Maximus into the settlement? Someone would be sure to recognize her. She shot Branwen a glance, but the girl stared at the floor as if she were a deaf-mute.

  Maximus made an impatient noise and threw a length of linen onto the bed. “Wrap this about yourself if you must.” He didn’t sound happy about the prospect. “We have to leave.”

  Swathed in linen, Carys stepped outside, and a centurion snapped to attention. She stiffened in affront, and as soon as they were out of earshot she rounded on Maximus.

  “Do you set guards to watch my every movement now?” She hadn’t intended to leave before he returned. She’d given her word she would help him with whatever unsavory task he needed to perform. But why hadn’t he trusted her?

  “What?” He shot her a clearly bemused glance. She jerked her head toward his quarters and raised her eyebrows.

  His frown cleared. “All Tribunes’ quarters are guarded, Carys. It had nothing to do with watching your movements.”

  Mollified, she resumed walking. It was just as well she hadn’t attempted to slip away during the night. She would never wish to mortify Maximus by being caught in such an undignified manner by a guard.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  Was it her imagination or did Maximus wince? Intrigued, she stared up at him, but once again his face was impassive.

  “I’ve been ordered to pass a message on to a young woman.”

  It was obvious the order irked him. And why would a great man like Maximus be ordered to do such a thing anyway?

  “That’s a strange order for a Roman Tribune.” He’d told her of his promotion last night, and she’d heard the quiet pride in his voice and shared it, because he was Maximus, and berated her pleasure because he was also the enemy of her people.

  He tossed her a dark look. “It’s more in the nature of a favor to a relative.”

  “And what’s the message?” She heard the censure in her tone, but made no attempt to conceal it. Was Maximus going to tell this unfortunate woman his relative wanted her in his bed? And had he brought her along as proof such an arrangement could be amicable?

  Maximus scowled, although whether at her tone or the nature of his assignment, she couldn’t be sure.

  She halted and hooked her finger in the linen covering her face so her words would be perfectly clear.

  “And what will you do if this young woman refuses, Maximus? Because I won’t try to encourage her to go against her will. If that’s the reason you brought me, then you have sorely misjudged me.”

  And she had misjudged him. The hurt wormed into her heart, but she refused to sag, refused to break eye contact. Refused to let him see just how much his actions wounded.

  “By Mars, what are you talking about?” He sounded irritated, and pressed his hand against the small of her back in an attempt to urge her forward. She remained immobile. His jaw tensed, but he didn’t exert more pressure. “I brought you with me, Carys, to comfort the poor girl should she become hysterical at the news her lover has departed for Rome.”

  She continued to favor him with her haughty glare, while her brain stumbled over that new information. Maximus took advantage of her confusion by once again urging her forward, and this time she let him.

  Were local girls now embracing the enemy? She’d always known some would have no choice but to attach themselves to the brothels that would have inevitably sprung up to accommodate the needs of the Legion. But was it also tacitly acceptable for a young woman to take a Roman soldier, an officer, as her lover?

  She could scarcely imagine such a thing. Wouldn’t the girl be castigated, condemned? Or had her people’s attitudes really changed so radically?

  A swift glance at Branwen’s stony countenance confirmed her turbulent thoughts. Regardless of how her people felt about a peasant girl fraternizing with the Romans, when it came to their nobility, to the Druids, such a coupling would be entirely unacceptable.

  It was still early, and as they entered the settlement, Carys lowered her head so as not to attract unwanted attention. But deep inside, a thread of resentment bubbled. Why should she have to hide her face, as if she were ashamed of her love?

  The thought was treason. She knew that. But still the resentment festered.
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  Maximus ushered Carys into the timber-built tavern where Faustus had accommodated his mistress. Gods, this task galled him, but he had promised, and the abandoned girl had certainly earned the gold coins Faustus had been magnanimous enough to leave her.

  The tavern keeper directed him to the room where Efa stayed, and then cast a speculative look over Carys and Branwen. Maximus shot him a deadly glower, which the Celtic bastard chose to ignore. Had he really once contemplated installing Carys in such an establishment?

  “Do you wish refreshments to be brought through?” And again his gaze slid over Carys.

  Filthy dog. He reined in his temper, knowing Carys wouldn’t thank him if he smashed her countryman’s teeth down his throat, no matter how much his insolence deserved it.

  “We won’t be staying.” He maintained eye contact until the other dropped his gaze and shuffled away.

  “Did she love him?” Carys’s whisper was so low he strained to hear.

  He stared at her, appalled. “I hope not.” If Efa loved Faustus, the possibility of her dissolving into hysterics magnified alarmingly.

  Carys exhaled. “Maximus. She can’t know we’re together. You simply requested my presence, as I am a Celt and you need—a translator.”

  Her insistence on keeping their relationship a secret was beginning to piss him off. “And suppose I refuse to pander to your whims?”

  “Then I shall remain here, and you can face the woman by yourself.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  She had an answer for everything. He should, by rights, assert his authority and show her who her master was, but unaccountably a perverse portion of his mind enjoyed the way she stood up to him.

  “It would take no effort whatsoever,” he said softly, “to ensure you entered the room with me.”

  Instead of trembling with fear, as any other woman might, she smiled sweetly. “If you consider me your slave, Maximus, then perhaps that is exactly what you should do.”