Celtic Fire Part 20

" 'Tis glory purchased with the blood of his countrymen. And for what? A moment's rest before the killing begins anew?" She extracted her hand from his and rose from the bed. She paced to the window, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders as she went.

After a long moment, Lucius came up behind her and laid his palms on her shoulders. Dipping his head, he dropped hot kisses on the curve of her neck. "Let's not argue, sweet. Come back to bed and I'll make you forget any thought of discord."

"Go back to Rome, Lucius," Rhiannon said without turning. "Let me return to my people. There's nothing for you here."

"You would have me leave you? After what we shared last night?" He wouldn't be able to do it, of that he was certain. What he'd felt in Rhiannon's arms had been beyond compare.

She said nothing.

He turned her toward him with one swift motion, far more roughly than he'd intended. "Rhiannon. You are like no woman I've ever known. I ... I died in your embrace last night."

"Oh, Lucius."

"The slowest and sweetest of deaths, not the quick agony I've longed to inflict upon myself with my sword."

Rhiannon gave a cry of dismay. "You cannot truly wish to put an end to your life."

"I have seriously considered it." He looked at the door. Aulus, he had no doubt, crouched behind it. "Never more than yesterday."

He released her and stepped away. "Six months ago, when my brother's ghost first appeared, it was a wisp of mist. With every northward step I took, Aulus grew clearer. Now-" Lucius's hand clenched in a fist. "He appears to me as solid as a living man. He's been beaten-tortured-but I cannot see his tormentors. His clothing is in shreds. He stumbles about and I wonder that his blood does not stain the tile. If I don't find my brother's killer, I'll be forced to watch while he dies a second time."

Rhiannon looked ill. "Go back to Rome, Lucius. Perhaps then the vision will fade."

"I made a vow to avenge Aulus's death."

"And if you cannot?"

"I must, and soon. I've but a few short months before my successor arrives."

Her breath caught. "Truly?"

He gazed into her eyes and felt comforted despite the turmoil he saw there. Though she spoke words to the contrary, he couldn't believe she wished him to go. "This post will be my last. Come winter, I'll return to Rome and take my father's seat in the Senate." For the first time, the thought held some appeal. He smiled. "You'll come with me. I'll show you a city beyond anything you can imagine."

Her eyes clouded before they dropped to his chest. "Surely there are women enough in Rome."

He lifted her chin with one fingertip. "None like you."

She regarded him steadily with her golden eyes, but try as he might he couldn't read her thoughts. She traced his lips with the pad of her thumb.

"You are so proud," she said, almost to herself.

His tongue darted forward and gave her thumb a playful lap. "I am. Let me prove it to you. Come to bed."

Amus.e.m.e.nt chased away the shadows on her face. "Lucius ..."

"On your lips, my name sounds like music." Caught by a sudden urge, he laced her fingers in his and tugged her toward Aulus's ma.s.sive Egyptian wardrobe. "Come, I wish to show you something."

"What-"

"You'll see." He opened the brightly colored doors and searched through Aulus's collection of jewelry until he found the one piece he sought. A teardrop pendant of amber.

He dropped the chain around her neck. She cradled the amber in her fingers and looked up at him in awe. " 'Tis beautiful."

"When I first saw it among my brother's things, the color of the stone reminded me of your eyes. I want you to have it."

She shook her head. "I cannot wear this." But her fingers gripped the pendant tightly, as if she dared not let it go.

"You can. I wish you to." He tugged the blanket aside and placed a kiss just below the stone in the valley between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Please."

A tremor pa.s.sed through her. "As you wish." When he raised his head she placed a kiss of her own upon his chest.

"Be careful," he muttered, "or you will find yourself impaled on my sword a second time."

"Such a threat will do little to deter me," she said, her voice thick. She flicked her tongue over his nipple.

He groaned. "You were forewarned." His slipped his hand between her legs and she gasped as he teased her there. Her knees gave way. He steadied her with his hands on her waist and guided her to the bed.

He stretched out on his back and lifted her atop him. She sprawled on his stomach, legs spread wide, hair cascading over her shoulders. Her skin was the finest alabaster, touched with rose, the dark flame of curls between her thighs held fire enough to sear any man. No G.o.ddess could be lovelier.

His gaze drifted to the angry red scar on her thigh, bordered by bruises just beginning to fade. He traced it with his fingertip. "I'm sorry for this."

She gave a wry smile. "Don't trouble yourself overmuch. I'm not sorry for the arrow I put in your a.r.s.e."

His gaze narrowed, but her eyes held only laughter. He smiled, tension draining from his body. Rhiannon's fingers found his shaft and stroked upward. He needed no more encouragement. He slid into her body and lost himself in her welcoming heat.

Chapter Fourteen.

"Vindolanda has no need for reinforcements. My scouts found no evidence of barbarian activity in the area. Sir."

"I'd be surprised if your men could find their way out of a latrine," Lucius told Brennus. He pressed his seal into the soft wax covering his letter to the fortress commander at Eburac.u.m. "And even if nothing was found, it hardly signifies. By your own admission, there was no advance warning of the attack on my party."

Brennus rocked back on his heels, his expression unreadable. Lucius's attention drifted to Aulus, sprawled on the floor boards in the corner of the office. A loose knot was all that prevented the remnants of his shredded tunic from slipping over his hips.

"You dealt your attackers a severe blow, sir. Twenty barbarians dead by our count. More certainly died of their injuries. The Celts will not soon attack again."

"Your opinion is noted," Lucius replied. He closed the sealbox and set it with a second parcel addressed to the governor in Londinium. "Select three of your fastest riders for the journey."

"But sir ..."

"That will be all, quartermaster. You are dismissed."

Brennus hesitated, then apparently thought better of further argument. He saluted, gathered the sealboxes from Lucius's desk, and left the room.

Aulus stirred, his chest heaving with labored breath. Lucius could almost imagine he heard the rasp of air as it dragged into his brother's lungs.

He stared at Aulus's battered form. "By Pollux. Who did this to you?"

Aulus tried to rise, stumbled, and fell to the ground. Lucius jumped from his stool and grabbed for his brother's arm. It was like trying to seize a swarm of bees-a violent s.h.i.+mmer of energy with no sensation of weight or form. He shook his tingling fingers and gaped at Aulus. The ghost was writhing on the floor, hands raised as if s.h.i.+elding himself from unseen fists. Lucius's throat closed on a feeling of utter helplessness.

He fled the chamber. Aulus struggled to his feet and staggered after him into the courtyard. The rain that had begun in the night fell in gray sheets from a mottled sky, but Lucius scarcely cared if he got soaked. He turned his steps toward the south gate, dreading his intended destination but unable to turn from his path. Some primitive instinct compelled him.

He ordered the gate sentry to unbar the stout timber doors, revealing a cl.u.s.ter of huts huddled along a muddy road. At the far end of the village, a path veered off a short distance to the edge of the forest, where a low stone wall encircled the remains of Vindolanda's dead. To Lucius's surprise, a figure stood within the enclosure, head bowed.

Vetus. What lunacy could have caused the tribune to stir from his bath on such a miserable day? Lucius approached slowly, suddenly hesitant to complete the last few steps to the cemetery.

But he found he could not turn away. He halted at Vetus's side and gazed on the stone column bearing Aulus's name. Distant thunder rolled.

Vetus raised his head. "How I miss him. It's odd, really. I knew Aulus only a few short weeks and yet ..." He raised his head and Lucius saw that tears mingled with rain on the tribune's face.

"You loved him."

"Yes."

Lucius touched Vetus's shoulder. "Then we are brothers in grief."

They stood in silence for a time before Lucius spoke again. "Aulus's death must not go unavenged."

Vetus gave a furtive glance in Lucius's direction. "What do you mean? It was an accident."

"I don't believe that," Lucius said. "Do you know anyone in the fort who might have wished him harm?"

Vetus hesitated, then shook his head. "No one. Only ..."

Lucius caught his arm. "What?"

"The men with whom Aulus went that day ..."

"s.e.xtus Gallus and Petronius Rufus."

"Yes."

"They are dead."

"Yes. I know." Vetus glanced toward the fort's high battlement, where a sentry was just visible through the rain. "The two of them hunted often."

Lucius's fingers loosened their grip. "There's nothing unusual in that."

Vetus's shoulders shook. "Aulus abhorred the hunt. I should have tried harder to dissuade him from accompanying them." He touched Aulus's monument. "I had it erected at my own expense."

"Thank you," Lucius said softly.

A bolt of lightning flashed and Vetus started as if suddenly coming awake. "It's as if the G.o.ds are always angry in this place. I'll not rest easy until I reach Rome. Until then ..." He turned toward the gate. "I'll warm myself in the bath." He paused. "Will you join me?"

Lucius shook his head. "I think not."

"Then I'll take my leave." Lucius watched Vetus move off. His gut told him the tribune had had nothing to do with Aulus's death. But if not Vetus, who? The two men who had seen Aulus die, only to meet with fatal accidents soon after? That was far too convenient a circ.u.mstance.

He watched the rivulets of muddy water course over his brother's grave. It made little sense that life should turn to ashes so easily, but Lucius had seen far too much death on the battlefield to doubt the power of the Fates. Life: a fragile thread, easily snapped.

Lucius stood motionless a moment longer before realizing Aulus had not entered the cemetery. The ghost huddled at the perimeter of the burial ground, fingers gripping the top of the stone wall. His shredded tunic hung in limp sc.r.a.ps about his hips.

Lucius shuddered, but could not tear his gaze from his brother's tortured eyes. "What ghost is frightened of a cemetery? Most especially of its own grave?"

Aulus swayed from side to side, his ethereal body trembling, whispers of perspiration glistening on his brow. His eyes, almost black now, locked with Lucius's as he shook his head. One trembling hand raised and pointed north.

Lucius looked toward the hills, then back at the grave, a dread suspicion forming in his gut.

"What are you telling me, brother?"

Dear Briga, what am I to do?

Rhiannon stood at the kitchen worktable, kneading dough. Or, more accurately, pounding it. She would have much preferred working in the courtyard garden, but heavy rains forbade that activity. Marcus, accompanied by Hercules, had plodded into the library after Demetrius had ignored the lad's complaints of a headache. Not wanting to remain alone and idle above stairs, Rhiannon had offered her services in the kitchen.

Claudia, the cook, was by now recovered from the trauma of Hercules's attentions. She hovered at the stove, fleshy arms bared, preparing pastries for the ovens. Alara sat on a stool by the door, cleaning peas. Bronwyn, like Rhiannon, stood at the worktable, kneading.

Rhiannon squeezed the soft wheat dough, so unlike the coa.r.s.e barley mixture she was accustomed to preparing for Owein and Edmyg. As she worked, her mind wandered, seeking out dark memories of Lucius's mouth and tongue on her body. The man had been shameless, licking her skin, tasting her everywhere. When he'd dipped his head between her thighs, she'd cried out so loudly it was a wonder the entire household hadn't come running.

Heat rose at the thought, spreading up Rhiannon's neck and into her cheeks. She bent her head and worked the dough harder, praying Bronwyn wouldn't notice.

He'd taken her thrice last night and already she wanted more. What had come over her? She'd never before felt such a yearning to be with a man. Her muscles ached with the exertion of loving in ways she'd never dreamed were possible. Niall had always sank atop her, rutting swiftly, then rolling to the side. Lucius's teasing voice and clever hands had stretched the night into eternity.

Now, when she walked, the soft skin on her inner thigh stung from the sc.r.a.pe of his morning beard. Each time she thrust the dough against the table, the sensitized peaks of her nipples brushed the fabric of her tunic, reminding her of her lover's touch. The mere thought of Lucius's heated gaze kindled an answering fire low in her belly. Her thighs grew damp, her breathing shallow, and she cursed herself as the worst of fools.

She l.u.s.ted after a Roman. How could the daughter of queens have sunk so low?

But dear Briga, how he'd watched her! His eyes had glittered in the light of the hand lamps he'd placed around the bed. She'd been embarra.s.sed, then aroused by his scrutiny. Then he'd touched her and she'd seen her own pleasure reflected on his face.

That a lover could take such satisfaction in a partner's bliss was a new concept for Rhiannon. She'd come to understand it quickly enough, though, when she'd moved to stroke Lucius's warrior's body in ways she never before dreamed of touching a man. She'd felt his response in her heart. It was as if they inhabited one skin, shared one soul. A fanciful notion, but one Rhiannon couldn't seem to shake.

Was this love?

Rhiannon punched the dough with the heel of her hand and folded the flattened mound in half with a vengeful twist. How had her situation become such a tangled mess? She could not love Lucius. She couldn't love his harsh self-discipline and the glory she'd found when he'd lost it. She couldn't love his crooked smile and the way laughter leaped to his eyes an instant before his lips curved. She couldn't revel in the feel of his clean-shaven jaw, his unruly dark curls, the sinew and muscle that roped his shoulders and chest, his hands ...

Dear Briga. She had to escape.

The door to the alley opened. Cormac waddled into the room, a sack of wheat from the fort granaries slung over his shoulder. He upended his burden into the bin near the oven, then surrept.i.tiously swiped his finger through a bowl of cream at Claudia's elbow. The cook pivoted as fast as her girth allowed, wooden spoon raised. The dwarf raised a brow and sucked suggestively on his finger. Claudia blushed crimson and giggled.

Rhiannon eyed her brother-in-law with amazement. Was here no woman in the house, save herself, that Cormac hadn't taken?