Forbidden

by Christina Phillips

  He couldn’t place it, but there was something very wrong about this part of the forest. He’d lost count of the times his horse, a creature with nerves of iron and courage to match any centurion, shied away in clear distress from, apparently, nothing.

  And yet he understood the animal’s abnormal behavior, because the skin on his nape crawled with unspecified repugnance, as if malignant spirits hid behind each looming tree.

  There was nothing here. No tracks, no trails, no sign of human habitation. Why was he here, in any case? All he’d intended was to once again observe the forest from the hilltop, check out its boundaries, compare them to the maps.

  Instead, he’d spent Mars knew how long inside this cursed forest and he couldn’t fathom why.

  An odd shimmer up ahead caught his attention. Inexplicably he was reminded of the night he’d met with Carys in her special glade, but there were no lanterns casting a mystical glow here to bewitch his senses.

  Stealthily he approached the phenomenon. Vertigo hit him at the same instant his horse reared in fright, a dizzying disconnectedness spinning his brain in his skull, and then a sharp, stabbing sensation pierced the side of his neck and blackness engulfed his world.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Aeron slipped the blow dart into his pouch and climbed down the tree. The Roman lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious and vulnerable.

  He kicked him savagely in the ribs. Fucking bastard. He gripped the bejeweled handle of his ceremonial dagger and resisted the overpowering urge to slit the barbarian’s throat and watch the blood flow into the waiting earth.

  The time was not yet right. Only at the precise moment when the sun set and cast its dying light into the passage of the mound, when for the only moments of the year the sun’s rays penetrated to the central underground chamber, would he spill the Roman’s lifeblood.

  Swiftly, he encased the body in sackcloth to disguise its appearance, before winding restraints around the ankles and securing them to the Roman’s horse. It was only fitting the creature should drag its master to his death.

  He led the horse through the forest toward the cromlech. No one would stop him or inquire what he was doing. A sacrifice was always required at the Renewal. No Druid would assume the sacrifice this night would possess only two legs.

  A dark excitement thundered through his veins. His original plan had magnified beyond his most ambitious fantasies. To spill sacred Druid blood and cursed Roman blood during the same ceremony would ensure his position for eternity.

  As he loosened the bindings from the horse and dragged the enemy into the mouth of the deserted mound, another pleasant thought intruded.

  There would be no need to sacrifice Carys at the altar of retribution. Her punishment would be to watch her filthy lover die, to hear his screams of terror, his cowardly begs for mercy as Aeron, High Druid and God on Earth, gouged the Roman’s eyes from his sockets, ripped his tongue from his mouth and sliced his balls from his groin.

  And as the Roman lay dying, before he carved his black heart from his chest, he’d fuck Carys so the barbarian could hear every cry, every gasp, every fucking grunt and thrust.

  His cock throbbed at the vision. At the possibility that despite her betrayal he might still allow Carys to live, to service his needs as his personal slave. After tonight her status would be gone, and so would her tongue.

  He’d fuck her mouth but he never wanted to hear another word emerge from her lying lips.

  After tonight, his word would be law. His every wish obeyed. Peasant and Druid alike would worship him as the one almighty god, and his power over the old goddesses, over their ancient matrilineal traditions, would be supreme.

  The circle was complete, except for the necessary gap, and Carys poured the sleeping draught she’d prepared into a small pottery jug.

  She wouldn’t think about Druantia’s warning. Maximus would understand she had done what she had only through love.

  He’s a Roman tribune. A warrior. A commander. And she thought he wouldn’t care she had hidden him away in case a bloody battle raged?

  Carys ignored the voice and concealed the jug in a stone crevice close to the bubbling spring.

  And now she had to find Aeron and discover how to thwart his plans for tonight.

  Carys stepped outside the circle and reverently placed the last shard of bluestone in place. Instantly, the grassed area within the circle contracted and vanished, as if that piece of earth no longer existed. No one could enter the circle, for no one could see it or feel it, and she dropped a pile of pebbles by the bluestone to ensure she’d recall its exact position for later.

  Something made her glance up, but the sky looked perfectly normal. How high did the magic extend? She didn’t really understand how it worked, only that it did, and had protected her people from discovery for the last seven moons.

  Just as this illicitly wrought magic would protect her Roman from discovery.

  Panic shuddered through her, harsh and shocking, as she suddenly realized how low the sun had sunk. Evening approached already. Did she have time to confront Aeron before she needed to meet with Maximus and ensure his safety?

  She had no choice. Cerridwen had charged her with changing Aeron’s plan, and even if she failed in fulfilling that command, at least she’d tried.

  Finally she reached the outer circle of bluestones. Heart pounding, she peered toward the cromlech, but it was deserted. Of course, every Druid avoided this area on Renewal days, as Aeron required absolute privacy for his meditations, but he usually undertook those meditations in his favorite place, by the sacred altar.

  She hitched in a shaky breath and tethered her mare to a sapling. There was only one other place Aeron would be so late on this day.

  In the center of the mound. Preparing his sacrifice.

  Cautiously she approached the cromlech. It was one thing to confront Aeron, and quite another to have him catch her unawares, and she had no intention of allowing herself to be at any disadvantage.

  But as she stepped into the inner circle of bluestones, a sensation of utter despair gripped her, so violent she fell to her knees as the world spun out of control.

  Cerridwen, what was wrong? It was as if all the joy had been sucked from the world, leaving behind a decayed husk of nothingness, a black void that ate into her soul, corroded her heart and chilled the marrow in her bones.

  Her breath rasped her throat, echoed through her ears. Against every instinct that urged her to lie down and close her eyes and allow sleep to claim her, she struggled to her feet as her medicine bag tumbled to the ground.

  “Great Morrigan, what ails you, Carys?” Morwyn gripped her arms and pulled her upright. “Are you ill?”

  Carys staggered against the other woman. “Can’t you feel it?”

  Morwyn frowned. “Feel what? And what are you doing here? Aeron requires absolute solitude on these days.”

  “I need to find him.” She picked up her bag and slung it across her shoulder. “Why are you here?”

  Morwyn nodded to the woven basket she held. “The Morrigan’s sacrifice for tonight. Usually Aeron ensures he has everything necessary for the ceremony, but obviously the coming battle’s clouded his mind.”

  The nausea roiling through her system subsided as she recalled her purpose. “I’ll come with you.” It gave her an excuse to enter the mound. And once there, she would trust Cerridwen to show her what she needed to do.

  “If you wish.” Morwyn slid her an odd glance and advanced toward the stone altar, where five flaming torches were arranged in the sacred pentagram, and set the basket down. “There. Now we’ll go and prepare ourselves for this night.”

  Involuntarily, Carys glanced to the sky. Sweet goddess, how had this day passed by so swiftly? If she couldn’t find Aeron within the next few moments, if she couldn’t somehow discover a way to avert the coming battle, she’d have to flee the spiral instantly so she could put her own plans into action.

  Sweat prickled. Even if she left now
, would she make it, with Maximus, back to the Cauldron in time? Ensure he took her sleeping draught and then return to the spiral before she was missed?

  Every logical sense screamed it was impossible. And yet she had no choice.

  “I need to enter the mound and speak with Aeron.” She turned from Morwyn, but her friend gripped her arm and swung her around, a look of horror on her face.

  “You can’t do that. He could strike you insensible for daring to intrude.”

  Sweet Cerridwen, protect me.

  “No, he won’t. I have to go, Morwyn.” With another anxious glance at the sky, she ran toward the opening of the mound.

  Ceremonial lanterns swung from hooks inserted in the ancient earthen ceiling as she stepped into the downward-sloping passageway. But she’d gone only a few paces before she heard Morwyn running behind her.

  Without waiting for her to catch up, she increased her speed, ignoring the openings that led to smaller chambers in which the Druids had lived these past seven moons.

  Aeron would be in the sacred center, deep underground.

  She halted at the mouth, held her breath and peered into the dimly lit chamber. It was empty. Her heart scudded, stomach churned. She was out of time; she’d failed Cerridwen, but she would not fail Maximus.

  Morwyn panted over her shoulder. “Where’s Aeron? There’s nothing here but the sacrifice.”

  She’d scarcely noticed the bundle of sackcloth dumped at the outer edge of the faint illumination. The sacrifice didn’t matter. And yet she stared at the dark shape with strange fascination.

  “Goddess, what are you doing?” Morwyn sounded exasperated but Carys ignored her and crouched over the concealed creature.

  “Morwyn.” Her voice shook as a terrible certainty came to her. “This is a human sacrifice.”

  Morwyn hunkered beside her. “Of course it isn’t.” She didn’t sound convinced, for the shape was undoubtedly human, not animal.

  Carys pulled her dagger from her belt and rapidly sliced through the bindings. This was why Cerridwen had led her here. To prevent Aeron from sacrificing a human, which would somehow thwart his battle plans. And she would still have time to race back to Maximus’s quarters and—

  Her thoughts stumbled, backed up, choked. It couldn’t be. With shaking hands, she ripped the sackcloth from the man’s head, and all doubt vaporized.

  “Maximus.” She whispered his name as her heart squeezed with agonized denial in her breast. She wrapped her hands around his head, leaned toward him so her breath warmed his chilled flesh.

  “You know him? Who is it?” Morwyn jostled against her, trying to see.

  He couldn’t be dead. She wouldn’t let him be dead. How could she be too late to save him?

  Morwyn recoiled, breath hissing between her teeth. “It’s a Roman.” She dug her fingers into Carys’s shoulder and wrenched her back. “It’s a fucking Roman, Carys. How do you know his name?”

  Carys shoved Morwyn’s hand away. “He’s the man I love. And if Aeron’s harmed him, I swear by Arawn, lord of the Otherworld, I’ll have vengeance.”

  Morwyn visibly blanched. “A Roman?” she repeated in disbelief, but Carys ignored her, because Morwyn’s approval didn’t matter. Nothing would ever matter again if Maximus had been murdered to satisfy Aeron’s evil sense of justice.

  He wouldn’t murder his sacrifice.

  The realization thundered through her brain, and she pressed her fingers against his throat, searching for his pulse, her lips brushing his as she waited to feel his breath.

  A choked sob escaped. He was alive. As her fingers slipped from his pulse, a sharp sting grazed her and she pulled a dart from his neck.

  Rage bubbled, clouding her reason, obliterating the last lingering tendrils of terror.

  She turned to Morwyn, the dart lying on her palm. “This is how Aeron took him down. The cowardly bastard.”

  “You love a Roman.”

  Carys pulled the flickering lantern nearer and slit open the rough sackcloth. She could see no blood, his limbs weren’t oddly angled, but still she swiftly examined him to ensure there were no broken bones.

  Morwyn shoved her savagely, and she tumbled onto Maximus’s armored chest. Enraged, she glared over her shoulder, but Morwyn’s face was twisted with a matching fury.

  “What did you tell him about us, Carys, as you fucked the Roman barbarian?”

  “I told him nothing of us.” She ripped open her bag and hunted for a reviving elixir, trying to ignore the hurt Morwyn’s accusation caused, trying to ignore the way her hands shook.

  “So why is he here? How did he penetrate the sacred spiral if you didn’t tell him?”

  She turned back to Maximus and pulled the stopper from the small pottery jar. The pungent aroma caused her eyes to water. Sweet Cerridwen, let him wake.

  “The Romans aren’t stupid, Morwyn. They were always going to find the way into the spiral sooner or later.”

  “Yes, with your help. I can’t believe you’ve betrayed your people.”

  She laid her palm over his forehead, then felt his rapidly strengthening pulse. “I betrayed no one.”

  But was that the truth? Hadn’t she, in reality, betrayed both her fellow Druids and Maximus by her actions?

  Maximus gave a harsh cough and opened his eyes. And Carys knew, with soul-deep conviction, that even if she was tried and found guilty of treason by her people, she would never regret anything she’d done for the hours spent in his arms.

  “Get out of my way.” Morwyn pushed her shoulder and Carys dragged her gaze from Maximus to stare at the other woman.

  “Morwyn, sheathe your dagger.” Instinctively Carys angled herself between Morwyn and Maximus. “I won’t allow you to harm him.”

  “You won’t allow me to destroy the scum who’ve raped our land and people?” Morwyn spat on the ground at Carys’s feet. “I don’t need your permission, whore.”

  Before Morwyn had time to take a breath, Carys smashed her right fist against her jaw, and her left hammered the wrist holding the deadly dagger. As Morwyn crumpled, Carys wrenched the dagger from her hand.

  “Cerridwen led me here.” She jabbed the dagger in Morwyn’s face before sheathing it at her own waist. “If she didn’t approve of my choice, do you think she would have allowed me to find him?”

  Morwyn spat blood before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Perhaps you manipulate the Wise One, as you’ve manipulated us all.”

  Denial sprung to her lips, yet a terrible doubt throbbed in her mind. Had she manipulated those she loved?

  She thrust the thought aside. There wasn’t time to agonize over her actions now. “No mortal can manipulate the gods.” Especially not Cerridwen, the wisest of them all.

  Maximus rolled onto his side, kicked off the shredded sackcloth still clinging to his legs and let out a rasping groan. Instantly she turned to him, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders for support.

  “Can you stand?” It was imperative they leave before Aeron returned.

  He rubbed his neck where the dart had penetrated.

  “How did I get here?” He cast a suspicious glance around the chamber, pausing only briefly to assess Morwyn’s antagonistic glare, before refocusing on her.

  “I think Aeron brought you here. But we have to leave immediately.” She hoped the poison hadn’t affected the strength in his legs. He was far too heavy for her to drag any distance, and Morwyn certainly wouldn’t help.

  “Who’s Aeron?”

  “Yes, Carys,” Morwyn said in accented Latin, venom dripping from every word. “Tell your Roman lover who Aeron is. Tell him what Aeron plans for his precious Legion this eve.”

  Carys saw the sharp glance Maximus shot her way, as if he suddenly realized Morwyn was no peasant from the settlement, but an educated woman with enough status to speak to her as she pleased.

  She picked up her dagger from the ground. “Cerridwen charged me to stop him, and that’s what I intend to do.” But first she would ensur
e Maximus’s safety. If only he would stand up.

  “Be silent!” Morwyn, once more resorting to Celtic, was on her knees and glared at her with loathing. “Cerridwen has nothing to do with this, and you know it. This is all you, Carys, wanting what you can’t have.”

  “What does Aeron intend to do this eve?” Maximus heaved himself upright. And then his features hardened. “Where’s my gladius?”

  Relieved she didn’t have to explain Aeron’s plans, Carys glanced wildly around the chamber. “I don’t know. Here, take this.” She handed him the dagger he had given her the other day. “We don’t have time to search, Maximus,” she said, her voice rising in desperation as he gave the weapon a derisive glance. “Please, you have to trust me. We need to go before Aeron finds you.”

  With obvious difficulty, Maximus got to his feet. He looked as if the slightest shove would send him reeling. She pulled his left arm around her shoulders for additional support, and tightened her grip on her dagger.

  “What the fuck happened to me?” Maximus stumbled against her, his balance clearly still compromised by Aeron’s poisoned dart. “The last I recall I was in the forest. And then—here.”

  “But what were you doing in the forest, Roman?” Morwyn, stalking by Carys’s side, slung him a condemning glance.

  He grimaced, as if every step pained him. Goddess, she hoped she could take his weight until they were safe. Already the ache in her shoulders was spreading along her spine. “Searching for Carys’s kin.”

  Even without looking her way, Carys could feel the surprise radiate from Morwyn, as if the truth was the last thing she had expected Maximus to utter.

  “Searching?” Morwyn’s voice was haughty. “Surely you knew the way to our domain, Roman.”

  Another step. The pressure against her shoulders eased slightly. She peered into the passageway ahead, praying incessantly that Aeron would not suddenly appear in the distant circle of light.