Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) (29 page)

Titus caught sight of her just as a heavy weight tackled him from behind. The sword flew from his hand as his body hurled to the cobblestones. With a bone-crunching thud, the guard crashed down on top of him. Titus ground his teeth and shoved him aside, springing to his feet. Two feet away, his sword glimmered in the sunlight. He lunged for it and stopped, his hand inches from the hilt. The razor sharp points of five short swords surrounded him.

Dulcitius marched across the cobblestones. “You, Titus Augustus Romulus, are hereby charged with treason. I sentence you to a life of slavery, rowing for the Emperor’s navy. You and that child you sent back here to usurp me shall die in the gallows of a navy ship.” His voice echoed between the fortress walls for all to hear.

Two guards yanked Titus’s arms back and slapped manacles on his wrists. “I hope the taskmaster whips you to death.”

Titus stole a quick glance at the stable. Elspeth’s shadow lurked in the darkness. He inclined his chin toward Dulcitius. “When do we leave for the shore?” he asked loudly.

“A ship departs Arbeia for Gaul one week hence.” Dulcitius threw his head back and laughed. “You shall be on it.”

And you shall burn in hell
.

Titus struggled to wrench his arms free, but the guards held fast. Dulcitius climbed the steps of the portico and addressed the gathering crowd. “Men of the Twenty-second Legion, your former leader has been found guilty of treason. As
Dux Britanniarum
, the supreme governor of Britannia, I demand your loyalty. Anyone who is caught aiding this prisoner shall be stoned and burned at the stake.” Dulcitius pointed toward the gaol. “Take him away.”

Titus pretended to look at the guard behind him and stole another glance at the stables. Elspeth’s shadow had disappeared.

****

Elspeth trembled, hidden beneath a stack of hay. She knew they would be looking for her next. Even if they thought her a peasant, they’d seen her ride into the fort with Titus. She clutched her bow, but there were too many legionaries and too few arrows. When she heard Dulcitius gloat that Titus would be taken to Arbeia she’d slipped into Tessie’s stall and piled straw over her body.

She needed to think.

Elspeth wanted to race to Dunpelder and gather an army. She hated to waste time hiding, but the best chance she had to slip out alive was to wait until dark.

No sooner had she covered her head with the dusty hay, did a patrol enter the stable. “Where is the peasant who rode in with Titus?” A deep voice demanded.

The young stable hand stammered. “He—he was here but a moment ago.”

“Search every inch,” the voice commanded. Muted footsteps tramped across the dirt floor. Stall doors creaked open and horses whinnied. Elspeth’s heart thundered in her ears as they approached. She couldn’t take a chance and pull her bow from her shoulder. Trying not to shift the hay, she slid her arm to the back of her trousers and grasped her dagger.

“That’s Petronius—the centurion’s horse,” the young voice said.

“He’s no longer a centurion, soldier. He’s a lowly prisoner and a dangerous one at that—take the horse out and kill it. We want nothing to remind us of that traitor.”

Elspeth swallowed back her urge to gasp.
Kill Petronius? This is madness
. The battle-tried white stallion was magnificent.

Still reeling from her horror that Titus’s horse was to be killed, she jolted when the door to Tessie’s stall slid open. She took in a sharp inhale, and a piece of straw tickled her nose.

A legionary stepped in. His foot stepped so close, Elspeth feared he would tread on her. The straw tickled. A sneeze threatened to burst. Elspeth held her breath and squeezed her eyes tight to fight her urge to sneeze. The soldier’s feet turned a full circle and stepped out of the stall. “I would not be loitering around here if I were him.”

The door slid closed. Elspeth let out her breath.

Giving no notice, the sneeze erupted.

Her hands flew to her face. She stifled the noise as the blast shot through her nose. The soldier’s footsteps alongside the stall stopped. Tessie whinnied and snorted, shaking her head.

Elspeth’s heart caught in her throat.
I’m dead for certain
.

“You’re a boisterous mare, are you not?” the soldier said.

Elspeth allowed herself only shallow breaths. After the last stall was inspected, the legionaries left the stable. Elspeth waited until nothing but a willow warbler’s song whistled outside the stable doors. She pushed a handful of musty straw away from her face and grinned at her horse. “Thanks for covering for me Tessie, lass,” she whispered. Her mare had to be the smartest animal in all of Britannia.

Elspeth crouched and looked through the bared windows on Tessie’s stall.
Boar’s ballocks
. Petronius had already been taken. She hoped the legionary who removed him had enough sense to hide the stallion until this madness was over.

After dark, the stable hand slid the door open with his arms full of hay. He stepped in and walked toward the manger. Tessie impatiently butted him with her nose. Elspeth sprung from the wall and slammed the hilt of her dagger into the lad’s temple. “Forgive me.”

The boy teetered for moment, his eyes bulging as blood streamed from the gash in his head.

He dropped to his knees and fell face first. Tessie attacked her hay while Elspeth crouched beside the soldier and felt for a pulse. Thank goodness, she hadn’t killed him.

She made quick work of removing his uniform, the shoulder splattered with blood. Her stomach churned when she pulled the tunic over her head. The blood stuck to her skin like honey that would not wipe away. She hastened to drag the lad against the wall and kicked straw over his body.

With the soldier’s sword belted firmly around her waist, she saddled her mare. Opening her saddlebags, she grasped a piece of vellum and rolled it like a scroll. After stuffing her peasant clothing into her saddlebags, she slid the makeshift missive inside the uniform’s doublet. Elspeth pulled the lad’s Roman helmet over her head and mounted her horse. Stealthily they slipped out the back door of the stables.

She wanted to race to the gaol. If only she could call down to Titus and tell him she was riding for help, but that was a risk she’d be a fool to take. Elspeth headed for the north gate. Shrouded by darkness, she prayed the guards would not notice the bloodstained uniform.

“Halt,” a deep voice bellowed.

Elspeth sucked in a deep breath to steady her trembling hands. “I’ve a missive,” she said in her deepest voice while holding up the rolled vellum.

The legionary’s gaze ran from the tip of her helmet down to the Roman sandals dangling from her small feet. Elspeth’s insides churned. If only she could shout how important it was he open the gate, but she kept her mouth shut. The more she said, the more likely he would realize she was a woman.

Her palms perspired. The passage of time seemed endless.
He suspects me
. Convinced he would raise the alarm, she nearly fell off her horse when the legionary waved his arm and the gates pushed open. Elspeth straightened and trotted through with an air of confidence, until she reached the open lea. Digging in her heels, she thwacked Tessie with her reins and galloped toward Houseteads.

She found the legionaries more relaxed at the milecastle, and the Houseteads guards allowed her to pass without question. Once into the forest beyond the gates, she stopped only to tear off the uniform that sickened her with its stench of blood. She slid into her trousers and shirt, tying the Roman uniform to her saddle. Though she would have preferred to burn it, caution told her the disguise might be needed again.

Elspeth rode day and night, only stopping for short intervals to allow Tessie to rest and graze. She dozed in the saddle and ate little. By the time they crossed into Gododdin, Elspeth was weak from hunger and exhaustion. When they entered the meadow before Dunpelder, Tessie walked with her head bowed low with Elspeth draped over her neck.

From the stronghold, the Pictish
carnex
sounded. She raised her head, relieved to see the gray stone walls loom above at last. Tessie’s hooves clomped across the bridge.

As Elspeth crossed through the gate, Greum reached for the reins. “Ye look like ye’re knocking on hell’s gate. What did that onion-eyed Roman do to ye?”

“We must away.” Elspeth snatched her arm from Greum’s grasp. “Dulcitius has captured Titus and is sending him into slavery aboard a Roman ship.” Elspeth stopped fighting and let Greum lift her down.

“Ye don’t say? Sounds like he’s getting some of his own hospitality.”

“No, Greum. Dulcitius organized the raids to make Titus look incompetent—so he would not be named Dux. Now Dulcitius is in charge, Count Theodosius is headed back to Rome, and Titus will be whipped to death on a Roman ship, just as our father was.”

Greum set her on her feet, and she wobbled into his arms. “Easy there, lass. What, have ye been riding day and night?”

“Aye. We must make haste.” Elspeth tried to make her voice urgent, but her eyes rolled to the back of her head as Greum lifted her into his arms.

“We shall no’ be going anywhere until ye get some rest.” He headed toward the heavy doors of the great hall. “Besides, why should we be racing off to save a Roman?”

With a surge of ire, Elspeth pounded her fist into Greum’s chest. “We must. Promise me. I’ll sleep for a few hours, and then we must away. Promise, else I will ride out of here this moment!”

“Bleating woman.” Greum rolled his eyes. “I give ye me vow, then.” He carried her up the stairs to his chamber and laid her on his pallet. “Ye rest, and I’ll hear about yer journey when ye wake. Bullocks balls, Elspeth, we’ve all been worried sick as to yer whereabouts.”

Elspeth wanted to sit up and tell him everything, but her body screamed for sleep. Her head hit the pillow and she continued to talk. “Ready-th-the…”

****

Before setting out for Arbeia, Titus spent three days in the gaol with Alerio. The boy had been beaten savagely. His lips looked like overripe plums, and one eye had swollen shut. He crawled to the bars of Titus’s adjoining cell. “At least I never told them where to find you.”

Titus reached through the bars and patted the lad’s shoulder. “For that I am grateful, Son. You have landed in a precarious spot, and I am afraid it is all my doing.”

“You cannot say that. Dulcitius is evil. He strikes fear into the hearts of the legionaries to make them obey.”

Titus nodded. “True, though many officers who came before him led with the same iron hand—they lead by fear, not honor.”

“Dulcitius is worse. He’s evil.”

“I wish you were wrong, but I fear he’s the worst of the lot. He has no honor.”

“The men in my cohort followed you because they wanted to, not because you coerced them.” Alerio chuckled. “Do not mistake me. No one ever questioned your authority either.”

Titus nodded. He’d always tried to be fair whenever possible. “I never believed men would remain loyal if you treated them with ill will.” He looked at his battle-scared hands. Hade’s bones, he was tired. “Mayhap I have been wrong all these years.”

“No. Your men love you.”

“Some of the same men watched Dulcitius accuse me of treason, yet did nothing.”

“That is because they are afraid.”

“Yes it is, Alerio. When a coward fears his own life is in danger, he shirks from what he knows to be true to save his hide.” Titus hung his head. “I did not train my men to be cowards.”

“No sir. I am not a coward. I will stand by you through this if it takes my last breath.”

“I am afraid you are in this with me whether you like it or not. Did you know that they are sending us to Arbeia as slaves? We’re sentenced to man oars of a long ship.”

Alerio sucked in a sharp breath. “More lashings?”

“Daily lashings, of that I am sure.”

Alerio rubbed his upper arms as if attacked by a sudden chill. “And what of…” He leaned in and whispered, “Elspeth?”

Titus kept his voice low so that only Alerio could possibly hear. “She is our only hope.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was dark when Elspeth woke. Her head throbbed as if a blacksmith were hitting her skull with an iron hammer. After she stumbled to the stoneware basin and poured some water from the pitcher, she splashed her face and listened. From the music below, the evening meal must have been served.

Most likely thanks to the queen, there was a Pictish gown folded at the foot of the pallet. She stripped off the filthy peasant clothing and gave herself a sponge bath with the water in the basin and an old bar of rosemary-mint soap. She pulled the dress over her head and tied her hair back with a leather thong. The pounding in her head had eased a bit.

Greum had let her sleep too long. Heading to the great hall, she planned to throw some food down her gullet and organize troops to ride to Arbeia—or go alone.

The last thing Elspeth needed was to face a hall full of Picts who had partaken in too much mead, but she could not wait until morning.

When she reached the great hall, she sighed at the scene in front of her.
Typical
. Greum danced up on the dais with his Pictish lute in hand, flitting around a circle of lassies, making a grand fool of himself. Elspeth marched across the long hall. With the night’s merriment well underway, the butcher’s plump wife laughed and stumbled into her. With a grumble, Elspeth pushed her way through the crowd. Hamish offered her a tankard of mead, and she shook her head while forcing her way to the dais.

Elspeth caught Valeria’s eye as she passed. The queen seemed to be the only one who noticed something amiss. She turned to watch Elspeth climb the steps to the small stage. Elspeth shouted Greum’s name, but he paid her no mind and continued with his raucous flirtations. The second time he came dancing around the circle, she stuck her foot out and tripped him.

Her brother sailed head first off the dais but somehow managed to land on his feet. The lute went sailing, and the king reached out and nabbed it midair. Elspeth stomped down the steps with her hands on her hips. “We need to make haste, ye bleating fool.”