Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) (23 page)

“Ye think I will sit in a corner and knit?” She thrust her finger into his sternum, her face flushing crimson. “I…”

Bacchus threw up his arms. “We cannot have a woman ride with a Roman cohort.”

Titus sliced his hand through the air. “Go ready the men.” He placed both hands on Elspeth’s shoulders. “The fewer who know you have returned, the easier it will be for us. Please, go to the roundhouse. When I return, the traitor will meet his justice. Then we can be properly wed.”

“But I’m in disguise.”

“When you open your mouth, your cover is revealed.” He tightened his grasp. Her presence could jeopardize the pursuit. “Elspeth. I forbid you to follow us.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Forbid?”

Titus cringed—her damned streak of defiance wasn’t all that adorable this time. “Your presence will be distracting. What if you are hurt?”

“Me? Hurt?” She shrugged from beneath his grasp. “
Ye
are much more likely to get your arse shot with an arrow.”

“I meant what I said. Stay with the farmer. I am sure it will only be a few days.”

“Very well. Go on your raid now I’ve obtained the information for ye.” She spun on her heel and marched up the stairs.

Titus watched her with his mouth agape. The prisoner chuckled, and Titus shot him a disagreeable frown. One did not need to speak the language to know he’d just lost an argument with a woman.

Titus bounded up the stairwell after her and turned full circle. He headed toward the stables just as Elspeth barreled out the doorway with her ridiculous brown hood pulled down over her nose. She galloped past him without a glance.

Bewildered, Titus watched her ride through the gates. The trousers she wore hugged her hips. Titus admired the alluring and deliciously scandalous view, though he wished she would understand. When this business was over, he would make it up to her, but for now, she must remain hidden.

He wanted to ride with her to ensure her safely delivered to the farmer’s roundhouse, but duty called. Elspeth was an independent woman—too much so. She could take care of herself. Somehow that thought gave him no comfort. He stormed off to find Bacchus.
We must away. The longer we delay, the greater the chance that our quarry will flee.

Chapter Sixteen

Elspeth had no intention of remaining behind. She spurred Tessie toward Corbridge.
Southeast.
She would ride along the Roman road for ten miles or so and turn south. If Josias had built a tower, she would find it.

With Titus heading to Fort Corbridge to gather a century of men, Elspeth would be ahead of him by at least a half-day. That should give her time to locate Josias’s stronghold. Though less densely forested forested than Gododdin, cedar, oak, and maple dominated the landscape much like it did at home. Ahead she spotted a tall cliff, and she urged Tessie up the steep slope.

Loose stone crumbled from beneath the horse’s hooves, and Elspeth squelched. Heights usually did not faze her, but the craggy footing and sheer rock below made her palms perspire. She ran her hand along Tessie’s neck. “Easy girl. Not much further.” Her gentle words were more for her own benefit, though she did not want her horse to sense the tension through her seat.

When Elspeth arrived at the crest, she saw it. A mile, mayhap two ahead, a gray, round tower peeked above the trees. “There ye are, Josias. Ye were not so hard to find. ’Tis a pity the Roman soldiers do not use more local scouts.”

Elspeth memorized the landscape and closed her eyes to cement it into her mind. She’d ride closer and find a place to hold up—perhaps climb a tree. She would be ready with her arrows when Titus arrived. Elspeth clenched her fists. She would not leave his safety to chance. She would cover his back whether he wanted her there or not. She scanned the horizon for lookouts and saw none. That did not mean they were not about. A person alone would have better chance to slip under their scrutiny than eighty men. If they spotted Titus and his century, a battle could be lost before it began.

She had never loved a man before. Now, her every thought centered on Titus. She hated that he rode off without her.
When will he realize I’m not some helpless lassie who cannot fight for herself?
Elspeth picked up a rock and threw it down the hill and listened until it echoed into oblivion. She’d never understand why he was so pigheaded. How many times did she need to prove her skill, her worth? He knew she was a warrior and deadly accurate with her arrows. She would show him yet again that she could save his arse—save his entire century if necessary.

When her ire ebbed, she pointed Tessie back down the hill. This time her imaginings of Titus were of a more pleasant nature. A warm glow radiated throughout her lower abdomen as she descended. Every time Elspeth closed her eyes, she saw Titus. Nude.
How can a man be so strong and yet so beautiful? I’ve never felt as safe in a man’s arms as I do with Titus. Together nothing can stop us. If only I can make him realize that.

At the bottom of the hill, she rode Tessie ahead, listening and watching for signs of human life as she picked her way through the sparse forest.
Being ever so careful, she stopped and listened at each hill and at every turn.

Elspeth’s confidence grew until a twig snapped behind her.

A quick glance over her shoulder was all she needed. She dug her heels into Tessie’s barrel. “Make haste!”

Horse hooves pummeled the earth behind, but Elspeth did not look back. Her heart thudded against her chest and branches slapped at her face as she leaned forward, urging her mare faster.

Elspeth reined Tessie north toward Corbridge, hoping she’d outrun the wretched dogs and seek safety in the fort. Tessie thundered forward, but the hooves behind encroached. Elspeth saw the Roman road ahead. If she could reach it, there would be humans—someone to help her and raise an alarm.

A few more paces and she would make it to the road. She slapped Tessie’s rump with her reins. “Faster, girl!”

When the rope encircled her, Elspeth shoved her arm outward, but it tightened around her so quickly, her reflex did little to slow the taut chinch closing around her body. Her eyelids lowered to blink. The jerking motion of the rope ripped her from her saddle. Elspeth sailed through the air as if suspended. Her hand grasped the rough hemp. Her hood flew off. She landed with a jarring thud as the air whooshed from her body.

Stunned, she rolled to her side and gasped, straining for air, terrified she may never breathe again. A booted foot kicked her in the gut. Stars clouded her vision and she curled on the forest floor. Panting, she sucked in air while she looked up from her crouch. Three pairs of feet surrounded her.

“Who are you?” a deep voice demanded in Latin. “What are you doing on my land?”

Elspeth craned her neck. Beady eyes glared from beneath a Roman helmet with a busy black beard covering most of the man’s face. Her eyes dropped to a tarnished Roman breastplate that protected an overstuffed oaf.

His boot swung back, and she coiled into a ball. “I am a peasant.”

The foot stopped midair. “A woman?”

Elspeth rolled to her knees and crouched. She planted her hands on the ground and forced herself to stand and face him. Her hair dropped from its leather tie and cascaded around her shoulders. “Aye. A woman.” She met his gaze and folded her arms.

The man threw back his head and laughed. “And we thought you come to do us harm.”

Elspeth pulled on the hemp rope that still around her midsection, but he yanked it back. “Not so fast, wench.”

“Please leave me be. Me da will be looking for me soon.” Elspeth affected her
lost waif
impersonation.

The brute leaned forward. “Does your father know you are running around in the forest wearing men’s clothing?”

Elspeth bit her bottom lip. “’Tis not safe for a maid to be out riding alone.”

His black eyes narrowed. “True. And I do not believe your father is anxiously awaiting your return.” He mounted his horse and tugged on the rope. “Come, wench. We will find out who you truly are.”

Elspeth reached back for Tessie. “Me horse.”

“Bring the mare along, men.”

The rope taut around her middle, Elspeth stumbled behind the Roman…
Josias
.

****

By the time they arrived at the tower, Elspeth’s skin was worn raw around her middle. Her hands chafed where she’d tried to tug at the rough hemp.

Exhausted, she stumbled over the craggy forest floor, propelled onward only by her anger. How could she have been so careless? Titus had told her to stay behind, but no. She had to set out to show him how capable she was—aye, she would save a whole century of men. Now Josias had captured her, her horse, her bow. Titus would nay forgive her this time.

If she lived.

The forest opened to a paddock in the foreground of an ugly turret that sprouted from the ground like a grey wart. Josias regarded Elspeth over his shoulder and grinned. “You’re a fighter. Most men would be begging me for mercy by now, let alone a woman.”

Elspeth scowled. She would freeze in hell before she begged the hairy brute for anything. Her gaze darted everywhere, calculating means for escape. The stables occupied the southern edge of the clearing. Guards stared down at them from the top of the battlements and at the keep’s entrance. It was a crude defense with no walls or moat. The ugly grey stone tower jutted up in the center of the clearing like a lone milecastle on Hadrian’s Wall.

Titus will come. He will kill them all.
Determination renewed her strength.

After he dismounted, Josias wrapped the rope around his hand and dragged her through the heavy oak door. He tugged her up the winding stairs, hollering orders to the other men. “Food. Now!”

He pushed through a door on the second landing. The room was pie-shaped with a four-inch opening for a window—not large enough to jump through. On one side sat a large wooden chair. Across from it was a bed similar to the one in Titus’s chamber.
I’ll wager the blackguard pilfered it from Fort Corbridge
.

Josias pulled off his helmet and tossed it beside a stash of arms that included a bow and a quiver of arrows. Elspeth’s fingers twitched while she took inventory of the weapons.

He yanked on her rope and pulled her into a brutal embrace. She whipped her face aside. He bellowed with laugher. Elspeth cringed and glanced at his overstuffed belly as it shook beneath his tunic. His breath smelled of pickled onions. With one tooth missing in front, he was even uglier without his helmet.

“You are a pretty wench.” He grasped her chin and forced her to look at him. His lips pulling back in a sneer, he thrust his mouth over hers. Elspeth pursed her lips and tried to pull away. He grasped her shoulders and shoved. Hard. She stumbled backward until she fell, her hip crashing into the wooden floorboards.

He sauntered over to her. Every muscle in Elspeth’s body clenched in anticipation of another kick. He stood with his arms folded. “Now tell me what you were doing on my land.”

This time, Elspeth had her story straight. She could tell the truth with a minor twist or two. “I’m a spy.”

“I knew it.” He smirked. “And who’s paying you?”

He swung his boot back as if to kick, and Elspeth scooted away. “King Taran, son of Brude. He’s been blamed for the raids along the wall. He wishes to clear his name.”

Josias made a show of deliberately pulling his Roman short sword from its scabbard. His eyes crazed as he pointed it under her chin. “Do you know who I am?”

“Nay.” She lied.

“I’m growing rich off these raids.” He roared with laughter. “And the Picts are taking all the credit.”

Elspeth squinted. “So it
is
ye.”

“Yes.” He bent down and pressed his lips against her ear, the blade still at her throat. “How did you come to find me?”

Elspeth lowered her head so her eyes would not betray her. “I spirited into Vindolanda and spoke to the Attacotti prisoner.”

“Ah yes, my one failure.” He pushed the blade up slightly and drew a trickle of blood. “I chose the Attacotti because their language is unusual. The Romans have yet to decipher it.”

Steeling her resolve, she leaned away from the blade and glanced down at the knife tied to his calve. “How can you possibly be profiting from these raids? Men come in the night, set fire and leave. They’re not even thieving.”

He puffed out his chest, happy to gloat. “My benefactor is intent on making an ass out of the Primus Centurion.”

A sharp gasp escaped her throat before Elspeth could restrain herself.

His black eyes bulged, and his putrid breath whooshed into her face. Elspeth recoiled. He caught her arm. She pulled back, but he held fast and drew the point of his sword across her neck, barely pricking her skin. He played a deadly game. “What is he to you, this Titus Augustus Romulus?”

This time Elspeth swallowed her emotion and drew on her hatred for Dulcitius. “A murdering Roman with no claim to Pict land or any of Britannia.”

He harrumphed and released her arm. A knock on the door resounded. “Your supper, sir.”

“Come.”

An old bent man tottered into the room and placed the tray on a small crate beside the hearth. The man turned and glanced at Elspeth, frowning as he walked past her. He hesitated, and Josias cleared his throat with a glare. The old man shook his head and shuffled out the door. Josias marched across and shoved the black iron bolt into the hasp, locking them in.

Elspeth tiptoed to the tray of food, as the smell of cooked meat made her mouth water. “Money for raids and no one killed?” She grew bolder.
Josias enjoys boasting
.

He strode to his chair and sat with a grunt. Reaching for a pewter pitcher, he poured himself a tankard of mead. “My fortune’s too good to be true is it not, wench?”

“Aye.” She pinched a turnip and shoved it in her mouth. “What else? Surely a fine man like ye would want a title to go with his wealth.”

“I will be reinstated as an officer and given my own command, when…”