Some Like it Plaid

by Angela Quarles

  “Still powerful enough for our needs, then.” He helped her stand, delighted she again took his hand so easily. His patience was paying off. “Let’s partake of their hospitality.”

  As they led their horses to the barrack stables, he drank in the sight of his wife walking tall and proud at his side. While he’d of course been pleased that the magic had supplied him with such a fine-looking woman, he was surprised by the protective warmth suffusing his chest. Intelligent and composed in the face of adversity, she possessed traits that were welcome in a future chief’s wife.

  Traits that would mix well with his own to create fine sons to lead his people.

  And while he’d been patient with her, despite his father’s advice, he was getting impatient to be making those sons.

  To take his mind off what he’d rather be doing with her, he focused on their destination.

  What would these baths be like? Of a certainty, they’d have water. “And while we’re within, do the laundry. Our clothes are begrimed from our journey.”

  She whipped around. And glared. “Real men ask nicely.”

  “Real men know how to give orders,” he growled. While he admired her strength of will, would it ever be tamed?

  She rolled her eyes in response.

  …

  Roman baths?

  Oh heck, yeah. A warm, relaxing bath was just what she needed to forget Mr. Bossy.

  Do his laundry. She’d like to do…something to him.

  Ugh. She’d like to do him.

  As they rounded a corner, they nearly ran into someone. Beside her, Connall stiffened and glanced at her.

  Who is this? Before she could ask, Domnall slapped the man on the back. “Mungan. We heard you were here.”

  The druid?

  Finally. She almost did a fist pump.

  Whoa. This hot guy was a druid? Not as hot as Connall or his brothers, but the guy would turn heads. She’d half expected him to be wearing a blue wizard’s hat with stars on it or something, along with flowing robes. He was dressed in a rich-red belted tunic and sported open-toed sandals. Blue ink, like the other men in Connall’s tribe, snaked up his arms in dips and swirls.

  And while the other men wore their hair long, with a single braid at each temple, Mungan had thick brown hair cut close enough for her to see a jagged scar on one side of his scalp, though he left it a little longer at the top—just enough for its natural curl to give him that smoldering, bad-boy look. Jeez, strip him of this tribal gear and put him in a tight T-shirt and he could be some UFC fighter-dude.

  He shot an annoyed grimace at Domnall and stepped away. His gaze narrowed on hers, and then he raised an eyebrow at Connall. “So you were successful, hearth brother? Glad I am to hear it.”

  She opened her mouth to demand he send her back, but a strange tug of panic mixed with regret hit her, stilling her from the shock of it. Because…what the hell? She definitely wanted to go back.

  Didn’t she?

  The muscles in Connall’s jaw tightened.

  Yeah. It was just the idea of missing out on the Roman baths that she would regret. Nothing more. It had nothing to do with leaving this man. And his laundry-washing wishes.

  Roman baths, am I right? Her scalp sang.

  “You’re their spellcaster,” she said. “You need to send me back to my time. Now.” Yes. Now.

  Or maybe after the baths.

  His brown eyes regarded her solemnly, making her heart pound, because it felt…as if her fate were being decided. “Alas, I cannot.” He bowed and stepped around them.

  “But— Wait!” She grabbed the edge of his red tunic, and he glanced down at her hand and then at her. She let go.

  No touching the druid, got it.

  “There must be some sacred stones or a sacred spot nearby that you can use.”

  “There are, but that is not the issue. I lack the strength to do it. I’m still recovering from the prior spell, and so you’ll need to wait until the spring equinox thirty-eight nights from now. For then the magic will not only be naturally stronger, but I will be as well.” He backed away, his gaze darting between her and Connall. His lips lifted in a tight smile. “Until then.” He disappeared into the crowd.

  Not until the spring equinox?. Dammit. And what bothered—and scared—her even more? Relief had surged through her when he’d denied her request and she was given more time with Connall.

  Thirty-eight nights instead of fourteen.

  “I’m sorry,” Connall whispered, stepping closer and continuing in a lowered voice. “I know ye had hopes he could return you to your time sooner.”

  She crossed her arms. The thing was, he did look sincerely apologetic. But she’d been played for years by her ex and that was not her anymore. “Did you know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That he could only do it at the spring equinox?”

  “On my ancestors, I swear I did not. I wasn’t aware of his limitations for this magic until now.”

  She blew out a sharp breath. “Okay, I believe you. Man, now I really want to try out these baths.”

  Connall led the way again and stopped at a large stone building toward the back and near the wall. “Let me first ascertain what this entails.” He gripped her shoulder. “The commander said you’ll need to bathe separately from the men.”

  “I should hope so.”

  With that, he stepped inside, but soon returned, his eyes round. He motioned with his head to the interior, his braids swinging. “The whole building is dedicated to bathing. The caldarium, whatever that is, is free at the moment, which has access to a hot bath.” He looked to her. “Does that interest you?”

  Uh, yeah! She nodded.

  He motioned to the others. “The rest of you—make use of the other rooms, and I’ll guard Ashley.”

  He ducked inside, and she followed with the others close behind, their eagerness palpable. Sputtering torches illuminated a slate-lined floor, and a wet stone smell fogged the air. Romans—naked Romans—looked up from where they were setting their clothes on inset shelves along the walls. They nodded to their party and stepped through the door on the far side. A mural of a tropical land covered the walls, the large green fronds almost alien. Benches dotted the sides, under which leather sandals and more stacked clothes lay scattered. A changing room? Up high, near the ceiling, rectangles of light poured into the room from glass-lined windows. Glass.

  A woman draped in white robes stepped from behind one of several wooden poles lining the room’s center, her blond braids twisting around the crown of her head in an elaborate up-do. “Tacitus sent me to guide you, as I speak your tongue.”

  “You’re Roman, though?” Ashley asked.

  The woman smiled slightly. “I’m not a citizen. I’m a slave from an area southward, but I’ve interacted with people who speak your tongue.”

  Ashley stepped back. Holy shit. Her stomach tightened. A slave?

  This time period is so fucked up. And this woman seemed to accept it as normal. Was she taken in a raid like Connall’s people and sold to the Romans?

  Connall’s jaw was clenched.

  Even though she wanted to grab her arm and march her out of there, she knew she couldn’t do a damn thing about the situation.

  The woman cocked her head. “This bothers you,” she stated softly.

  “The fact that you’ve been made a slave, yes, not you yourself,” she quickly said, to make it clear.

  The tall blonde shrugged. “I’ll be given my freedom in another year.”

  Oh. Well that was slightly better. “What’s your name?”

  The slave startled, her eyes flaring in surprise. “Seberga,” she whispered, her voice tentative. With that, she turned on her heel and pushed open a stout oak door. “Normally, you would disrobe here, but I’ll lead you straight to the caldarium—the hot room, in
your language.”

  Apparently, it was okay for her to see naked men, but not the other way around.

  Fine by me.

  Seberga motioned to the door on the left. “Your men may change in the room we just left and either join the other men in the sudatorium, which means Room of Dry Heat”—she motioned to the right—“or in the cold bath.”

  “You,” she said, indicating her and Connall, “follow me.” The new rooms were noticeably warmer and filled with naked men lounging, talking, or gambling. These walls boasted a fresco of a tropical, palm-tree lined island.

  Holy shit. The man hours alone… If a remote outpost looked like this, what did Rome look like at this time?

  They entered a smaller, and hotter, room, and Seberga motioned to the walls and floor. “Hot air and steam circulate behind these stone slabs. Have you ever used a room like this?”

  She was about to say yes, but her experience in a sauna wouldn’t be the same. “Um, no, I haven’t.”

  “You can change in here. Cover your skin in oil and scrape it off with the stirgils to help remove the oil and any grime.” She waved to an opening on the right. “And then you may enter the hot bath. Your husband can either accompany you or stand guard, whichever is your custom. Bathe for as long as you like, then return here. Repeat the oiling and scraping and bathing until you feel clean.”

  “Where does the heat come from?” Connall studied the room, eyebrows lifted.

  “From a boiler on the other side of this wall. From there, it’s piped into hollow chambers under these floors and behind these walls.”

  Impressive. Already, sweat trickled down her back from the heat.

  Connall bowed. “We thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”

  Seberga nodded solemnly and left, and Ashley slumped against the wall, staring at Connall. “The Romans have slaves?” She looked to the side. “I think I knew that, but it’s horrible facing it in reality.”

  His eyes searched hers. “I take it you don’t have slaves in San Francisco?”

  She rolled her lips inward. “I’d like to think we don’t. It’s illegal, but unfortunately there are some horrible people out there who deal in human trafficking.” She clasped her hands to her stomach and sat down on the bench. “You don’t have slaves, do you? I don’t think I saw any, but…”

  He settled beside her. “No. Our people never have, but there are tribes down the coast or across the water who will raid from time to time. We’re so remote that we don’t have much trouble from either quarter.”

  “Until this winter,” she whispered.

  Connall nodded and looked down at his leg, where he was gripping his knee. “And once before,” he said, so low she almost didn’t hear the words. Words which came out stretched with old pain.

  “What happened?”

  He cleared his throat and pulled in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “When I was young, I was playing with my brother and his friends, and with…with my childhood playmate, a girl named Muirgheal.” Misery was evident in his words, along with grief.

  “She should not have been among our number, but I was adamant she had a right to fight and play with the boys until I finally won her a spot. We were at the same place we traveled back and forth to your land. It’s sacred, but like all young ones, we were careless and believed ourselves untouchable. Then a ship of men landed on the shore, and…”

  The fingers gripping his knee tightened, the only indication—other than the brief flash of pain—that this was a difficult memory to relate. She lifted her hand and stopped, flexing her fingers.

  Her heart went out to him. Screw it—she covered his broad hand with her small one. “You escaped?”

  He tensed and then relaxed under her hold. “I did.” His jaw worked as he focused on where their skin touched. “But not my brother and his friends. Or Muirgheal.”

  “Domnall was taken?”

  “No. My older brother Cairbre.”

  Whom she hadn’t met. “He’s still gone, isn’t he?”

  He nodded, and his Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow. “I didn’t see enough to aid the council in their search. We never found them nor heard from them since.”

  Oh God. She squeezed his hand. “That must be awful. I can’t even imagine.”

  Poignancy seeped into the silence and the space between them.

  A poignancy whose intimacy and attendant expectations seemed more than she could handle right now.

  “So instead of raiding along your shores for a wife, you raided my land.” She kept her voice light.

  He jerked toward her and clasped her hand between both of his. This time his eyes held a note of pleading. “’Twas not my intention, you must believe me. Everything was strange in your land. ’Twas only the List of Craig which saved me.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “Craigslist.”

  “That one. And Norton was the one who composed it for me. I told him the duties and what I wanted.”

  Despite everything, a bark of laugh escaped her. “So you thought the wife-finding part was a given and didn’t need to put that important fact in the ad?”

  He shook his head, his braids swinging slightly. “I expressly asked for someone willing to bear my children.”

  She drew back. “I think I’d remember that part. It just said something about washing and cooking duties. And taking care of your cows, though that’s never come up.”

  “Taking care of my cows?” He shifted so he faced her fully. “I never asked him to include such.”

  “Well, he did. Though it was more along the lines of being able to increase your herd—oh!” She snorted.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “Um, yeah. He did put those duties in there, but either the magic translated your request wrong, or, more likely, Norton was being delicate.”

  He gently cupped her face, and her chuckle turned into a gasp, the rough calluses on his battle-hardened fingers strangely sensual as they brushed her skin. “It was not my intention to deceive. Regardless, the druid…” He searched her eyes and then glanced away, though his palm remained on her face.

  “The druid what?” she prompted. He touched her gently, as though she were precious to him. Even though she should, God, she couldn’t pull away.

  His eyes flared with heat. “Before I left, he assured me that the magic would help me find the one meant for me.”

  His thumb brushed her cheekbone. Back and forth. Her heart picked up its pace. “And you think the magic worked? That I’m meant for you?” she whispered.

  “Yes, ever since you stepped from that line of women.” His eyes searched hers. If she leaned forward, or licked her lips, or even glanced at his mouth like she really, really wanted to, he’d kiss her.

  And then she’d know how he tasted. How he kissed. How he possessed.

  She pulled back, and his hand fell from her face. Disappointment flickered in his eyes, quickly masked.

  She slid her hand from his, the rough pads of his fingers skimming against her skin. She clenched her hand against her stomach, repressing a shudder of desire. “I might believe you. I just…I need time to absorb this. You say the magic made sure I’m meant for you, but…” She contemplated the door where the slave woman had exited. Her first instinct was to hide any weakness, but he’d been honest with her and she owed him this much. “I’m not sure I’m meant for this time. For this way of life.”

  She stood up. Breaking away from that potential kiss, breaking away from his pull, it was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. If he was right, and she was meant to be here, then any interaction she had with him just tied her tighter to this time period.

  Would make her forget her old life.

  “I’m going to take that hot bath now,” she said over her shoulder.

  “As you wish.”

  The door shut. Leaving her alone.<
br />
  How much longer could she resist him?

  She eyed the door.

  Not much longer.

  She better find out if there were herbs or something she could purchase here to help prevent pregnancy.

  Yes, she’d fish out her divination leather ASAP.

  Just in case.

  Chapter Eight

  “We are in agreement, then?” Connall asked Tacitus, the fort’s commander, via the interpreter the following day.

  The man sat at a richly carved desk, his back straight, as if he were a statue made of flesh.

  His light-brown hair was cropped close to his head, streaks of gray at the temples. He formed a triangle with his hands and tapped it against his chin, watching Connall closely. Domnall shifted on his feet, his movements visible from the corner of Connall’s eye.

  His brother needed to learn to quell his agitation for it gave too much away.

  Tacitus lowered his hands. “Yes, but we require a show of good faith.”

  His gut tightened. Of course it couldn’t be this simple. “What do you require?” His mind raced with possible requests and responses.

  Tacitus stood, placing his hands on the desk. “We are having trouble with the people north of the wall. The Caledonians. At a time of our choosing, you shall send twenty of your best warriors to fight with us and quell their antics.”

  Connall considered delaying the response by saying he’d need to consult with his father and the council, but the man knew he’d come to the outpost with their full authority.

  The idea of strengthening the position of this Roman’s empire did not sit well within, but it would ensure the safety of his tribe.

  He nodded. “It will be done.”

  “And one more thing.” Tacitus crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “You must rid your tribe of any druids.”

  Shock coursed through him, but he gritted his teeth and kept his face neutral. “Our druids?” he asked, stalling for time.

  Domnall stepped forward, but Connall put a staying hand on his brother’s chest. Not now, brother.