Celtic Fire Part 8

Aulus sent him a look of reproach along with an icy chill that stopped Lucius in his tracks. "Oh, I'm well aware you're dead," he said, disgusted. "But the fact remains that a disciplined garrison would not have fallen apart in six months." He gave his brother a wide berth and strode out of the chamber.

He halted in the headquarters' courtyard and looked back. "You should have made training your first priority."

Aulus rolled his eyes toward the gray sky, which at the moment was fading into a mottled dusk. His pale lips compressed in an unrepentant line. Lucius could almost hear his brother berating him for his obsession with discipline. Jupiter knew he'd heard the lecture often enough when Aulus was alive.

He exited the headquarters building, drawing an inquisitive look from the sentry. The first torches were sparking to life on the high battlement above the west gate. "At least my love of order has kept me breathing," he muttered. "Which is more than I can say for you. If you'd had a care for something other than fantasy and roses, you might be alive rather than rotting in a fort cemetery on the edge of the Empire."

The words had no sooner left his lips than Lucius wished them unsaid. Aulus's expression had gone hollow, his eyes bleak. His fingers worried the purple stripe on the edge of his toga.

Lucius halted at the door to his residence and braced his arm on the cold wood, a fierce wave of loss breaking over him. The pale figure tormenting him wasn't Aulus. Aulus was dead. Gone. But until his shade was banished, Lucius would not be able to mourn. His arm began to shake.

"Commander?"

Lucius whirled about. Gaius Brennus stood a few paces away, eyeing him curiously.

"Is there a problem, Quartermaster?"

"I thought to ask the same of you, sir."

Lucius waited a beat, until Brennus looked away. "The difficulty lies entirely with your troops," he said succinctly. "They are a disgrace. I expect to see every able-bodied man-save those on sentry duty-mustered on the parade grounds at c.o.c.kcrow. In full battle dress."

"Yes, sir." Brennus pivoted and took a step toward the barracks.

Lucius's brows shot up. No soldier in the Legions would turn his back on a senior officer. He cleared his throat. "Quartermaster. You have not been dismissed."

Brennus halted. "Your pardon, sir."

"I'll see you tomorrow at dawn, soldier. Clean your armor before then."

The quartermaster's expression hardened. "As you say, sir."

"Dismissed."

The sentry at the northern gatehouse called a faint, "All's well." After a pause that was a fraction too long, the cry was repeated by the guard at the east gate. Lucius's hand clenched into a fist, but when he rapped on the door of his residence, the force of his blow was controlled, the sound precise.

The porter, a lean Celt with an unruly mane of blond hair, admitted him immediately. Lucius gave instructions for a late supper to be laid in the dining room. The man bowed and hastened in the direction of the kitchens.

Habit prompted Lucius to approach the house altar, where he lifted one of the lares at random and murmured a rote prayer he didn't believe would be heard. It was only when he replaced the figurine on the stone table that he took a good look at the bra.s.s G.o.d. An unclothed man in his prime, sporting a grotesquely huge erection.

"Potency." Lucius glanced toward Aulus, antic.i.p.ating his brother's smirk. A warm wash of air, rather than the chill to which he'd grown accustomed, caressed his skin. The foyer was empty.

His gaze immediately sought Rhiannon. Did the Celt nymph wield some dark power over the dead? Could she be a witch? The thought unsettled him. She hardly fit the description of such a creature that Horace had given in his Epodes. Epodes.

He found her in the courtyard garden. She was sitting on a bench near the fountain, so still she might have been chiseled from marble, save for a wary flicker in her golden eyes. He drew closer, removing his helmet and abandoning it at the base of a rosebush. Perhaps she would be more at ease if his head was bare.

She'd tamed her fiery mane into a thick braid that fell over her shoulder to curl at her waist. Lucius much preferred it unbound. He imagined sifting his fingers through the strands and spreading them over her naked body like a curtain of flame. He'd gladly plunge through such a barrier to claim her.

Never before had a woman stirred Lucius's l.u.s.t so completely. Julia had not, and Lucius had wanted his first wife with a rare fervor, even though their marriage had been a political pact arranged by their fathers. Once married, however, he'd found Julia to be spoiled and petulant, more of a girl than a woman. After Marcus was born he'd hardly cared when his wife barred him from her bed. The brief sorrow he'd felt at her death had been purely for his son's sake.

The women of the East, in contrast, had been lush and inviting, and knew bedchamber secrets unheard of in Rome, but Lucius had found their docility tiring. Now, faced with this slip of a woman who hadn't hesitated to put an arrow in his a.s.s, his rod hardened so painfully he feared it would snap. If he slaked his need on her body, would his obsession fade?

He seated himself beside her on the stone bench. She made no response to his presence.

"The night falls far later here in the north than it does in Rome," he said at length.

She did not answer.

"Have you eaten this evening?" When she didn't respond, Lucius sighed and stretched out his legs. The dusk settled silently around them. He was prepared to wait all night for her response, but he doubted it would be necessary. No woman could remain silent that long. In the meantime, a few moments free of his brother's unrelenting presence would be pleasure enough.

A slave exited the kitchens and made the rounds of the courtyard, touching a lit taper to the pitch-soaked torches set about the perimeter of the garden. Lucius waited until the man had disappeared before placing his hand on Rhiannon's arm.

Her head turned and her gaze met his. "Do not touch me."

Lucius smiled. "The hour grows late. You should be seeking your bed. I'll carry you above stairs."

"I prefer to sleep with the kitchen women." She shook off his touch and rose.

"Ah, so the little bird can hop from its perch. I'd begun to wonder if you'd spent the entire day motionless on this bench."

Rhiannon's chin went up, accentuating its sharpness. "Hardly that. I cleared your garden."

She'd been pulling at weeds when he'd found her with Marcus this morning, Lucius recalled. He couldn't fathom it. He'd given no order for her to do so.

"Why?"

"The herbs have been neglected."

Lucius peered through the torchlight. One of the planting beds looked less crowded, perhaps, but beyond that he could discern little difference from its appearance the day before. The unruly clumps of greenery in no way resembled a garden, especially since the roses had yet to bloom. "No doubt my brother tended the garden himself."

His comment seemed to cause Rhiannon such distress that Lucius found himself replaying the words in his mind. He could find nothing untoward, though his nymph seemed close to tears. "By all means," he said hastily, "do whatever you like. I recognize little beyond the roses."

"Roses?"

He nodded toward the arching canes. "The shrubs covered with thorns."

"They are hideous."

"Flowers will soon improve their appearance." He extended one hand. "Come. I'll carry you above stairs."

Rhiannon took a swift step backward and ducked her head. The shy gesture charmed him. Was that a blush spreading across her cheeks? She took a second, more hesitant step, then drew a sharp breath. Swaying on her feet, she grabbed for the bench and missed.

Lucius sprang forward. As his arms tightened around her he willed her not to struggle, and perhaps she read his thoughts, for she went as still in his embrace as a mouse stunned by the cat's claws.

"Your leg pains you?" he asked, frowning.

She blinked up at him. "No." A flicker of alarm showed in her eyes. She twisted and Lucius reluctantly freed her, only to grasp her upper arm when he feared she would not keep her balance alone.

"I'm ... I'm just lightheaded. 'Twill soon pa.s.s."

His gaze narrowed. "What have you eaten today?"

"A mug of cervesia cervesia at midday." at midday."

Lucius swore.

"I wasn't hungry."

"Hungry or not, you must eat."

" 'Tis no concern of yours."

"It is." Before she could open her mouth to protest further, he lifted her in his arms.

"Put me down!"

"No." He carried her across the courtyard toward the dining chamber, approaching the door at the same time as a man and a woman exited the kitchens bearing the late meal he'd ordered.

"You'll share my supper," Lucius announced in a tone that broached no argument.

The dining chamber gleamed in the soft light of the hanging lamps. Three wide couches, draped in fine linens, were cl.u.s.tered about a central table. On the walls Bacchus reigned, feasting merrily in a forest grove with his scantily clad supplicants. Some of the figures weren't clothed at all and taking full advantage of that happy fact. Rhiannon's eyes widened when she saw the painting, but she said nothing. Lucius eased her onto the nearest couch and tucked the bolster under her left arm as the slaves laid out the meal on the table.

She rolled onto her stomach and peered up at him. "I'm to eat while reclining?"

Lucius smiled. "It will enhance the pleasure of your meal." A heady mix of aromas rose from the table: broiled fish swimming in dark sauce, roasted eggs, and flat loaves arranged with artistic perfection. Lucius nodded his approval. His brother's Roman cook had a fine hand indeed.

He removed his armor, handing the torso s.h.i.+eld along with his sword belt to the male slave with instructions for their care. The man bowed and left the chamber.

Clad only in his tunic, Lucius settled himself to Rhiannon's left, not touching, but close enough to wrap his arm around her waist if he so chose. "Your presence will enhance my own pleasure," he whispered in her ear.

As if in response, Rhiannon's stomach growled loudly. Lucius chuckled. "Your appet.i.te seems to have recovered," he said, drawing close.

"It seems so," she said faintly, moving away.

The female slave stepped forward to fill their goblets. "Leave us for now," Lucius commanded. "We'll serve ourselves."

He reached over the bolster and used a flat knife to transfer various selections from the platters to a shared plate. When he'd finished, he lifted a plump morsel of fish with his thumb and forefinger and raised it to Rhiannon's lips. He held it just slightly out of reach.

She caught the offering on her tongue, laving the pad of Lucius's thumb as she drew the succulent fish into her mouth. Fire shot through his loins. He s.h.i.+fted on the cus.h.i.+ons until he felt the whisper of her body along the length of his own.

He chose another small piece from the plate, but before he could present it, Rhiannon made a sound of distress. She s.n.a.t.c.hed a goblet from the table and downed a hefty draught of wine.

"Dear Briga!" She swiped the back of her hand across her tearing eyes.

Lucius rubbed her back. "Have you never tasted fish?"

"None that swim in fire," she replied. Lucius chuckled and ate from his own dish while Rhiannon nibbled at the bread and ate a small portion of egg. At length, the slave woman returned bearing a platter of roasted boar's meat.

"Perhaps you will find the second course more to your liking," Lucius said. His finger brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek.

She went very still. "I've never been fond of boar's meat."

Lucius ordered the woman to take away the platter and bring the final course. Rhiannon's eyes widened when a bowl of poached pears soaked in honey and wine appeared before her. She dipped her spoon into the confection and did not stop until it was gone. She closed her eyes as she brought the final taste to her mouth. Lucius watched the pink tip of her tongue move over her lips to catch the last drop of syrup.

His arm brushed Rhiannon's shoulder as he nudged his own untouched plate in front of her. Her eyes flew open. He placed the palm of his hand on her nape. "I'm glad you found a dish to your liking at last," he said, his lips close to her ear.

She s.h.i.+vered. He slid his palm to her shoulder for the briefest of caresses before breaking contact. When the second dish of pears was empty he rose from the couch and, leaning, once again lifted her into his arms.

"I need no help," she said, twisting in his grasp.

"Perhaps not, but I wish to give it."

He stepped onto the path bordering the courtyard and strode toward the stairs. Once in the upper gallery, he paused and captured her gaze.

"Shall I carry you to my chamber, nymph?"

Rhiannon's heart pounded so violently, she feared it would leap out of her chest. She went very still, hoping that a dearth of movement would calm it. It did not.

Lucius's arms tightened about her. His steady pulse beat against her breast, not so rapidly as her own but swift nonetheless. One hand cupped her b.u.t.tocks. Its heat burned through her, feeding the torturous fire that had been kindled by their intimate supper.

Lying on the Roman dining couch with Lucius had been far too much like lying abed. Every sip of wine had been flavored by his scent; every taste of honeyed fruit had been spiced by his touch. Rhiannon had eaten too little and drunk too much, and she had clung too tightly to Lucius's shoulders as he'd ascended the stairs.

His arousal had nudged her hip with every step and even now lay heavy between them. She struggled to remember that he was her clan's enemy and that this blatant evidence of his l.u.s.t should repulse, not tempt her. But floating as she was in the pleasant haze of the Roman wine, the thought held little meaning.

Sweet fire raced through her veins, a desire so unfamiliar and fierce that it stole her breath. Lucius looked down at her, a splash of light from the courtyard playing about his face. His dark, exotic eyes gleamed.

"Shall I carry you to my chamber?" he repeated. His voice, low and vibrant, cloaked her like a mantle of darkest midnight.

Rhiannon wondered that he had asked at all. Certainly Niall would not have. The thought sliced through the wine-induced fog like an icy wind. Dear Briga. What manner of woman was she to l.u.s.t after her clan's foe?

She went rigid in his arms. "No. I would pa.s.s the night alone."

Lucius swore under his breath. In two swift paces he was at her chamber door, shoving it open. Midnight shadows shrouded the small s.p.a.ce, relieved only by the red glow of the coals in the brazier. He strode to the bed, footsteps harsh on the tile, movements rough. He deposited her on the narrow mattress so abruptly that she fell back into the cus.h.i.+ons. He braced his arms on either side of her head and leaned over her. His breath bathed her face with heat. He inhaled deeply as if to imprint her scent on his memory.

His lips parted, showing a glint of teeth. "I would stay with you." His head dipped slowly, and in the taut, endless moment before his lips touched hers, Rhiannon could think only that she could not turn away even if her very life had hung in the balance.

His kiss teased like the tantalizing flight of a b.u.t.terfly. His possession eased, then advanced, a sensual a.s.sault both urgent and enticing. Desire flowed into Rhiannon's loins. Lucius's teeth nipped her lower lip, creating tiny darts of pleasure. His tongue soothed, then probed the slick lining, demanding more.

Rhiannon trembled beneath him. Her mouth opened as if in welcome, her arms entwined his neck as if in need. His body came down on hers, the ridge of his arousal pressing against her thigh. The small part of her brain that had been protesting her surrender fell silent. She was a woman, he a man, and the night was dark.

Yet even as the sweet ache in her b.r.e.a.s.t.s rose and the liquid heat pooled low in the hidden place between her thighs, the scornful whisper returned, taunting. How fitting that the granddaughter of Cartimandua should open her legs for her enemy.

Shame seared her. She gave a sharp cry of protest. When Lucius gave no response, she slapped his chest with her palm. She tore her lips from his, twisting as she fought to free herself from his weight.

He swore softly and shoved himself off the bed. His gait was angry as he strode to the window. He stood, unmoving, hands fisted at his sides and stared out into the black night. Rhiannon swallowed hard, her fingers knotting the edge of the coverlet. Had she gained another day's reprieve? Or had she succeeded only in tapping his rage?