Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) (3 page)

I am a fool
.

The miserable centurion would probably take one taste of her fare and accuse her of poisoning him.

Elspeth rolled onto her side.
Och. What am I doing here?

Chapter Two

Rising before the sun, Elspeth slipped through the shadowed corridors. She tiptoed on bare feet, skirted out the door and hid behind a statue of some Roman emperor that loomed over the portico. The commander’s house was located beside the
principia
, one building from the granary where the Romans stored their food. Though it was only fifty paces away, her heart raced as if she were crossing a battlefield infiltrated by enemy legionaries. She felt naked without her bow and arrows, which she had hidden outside the fortress walls. And bloody Titus had taken her knife. Now she carried only a small dagger bound to the inside of her calf.

If she were caught stealing food for the centurion, she’d be accused of being a thief. She’d be run through by a Roman soldier before she could tell him the food was for their commander.

Still as the statue, Elspeth crouched and listened. No footsteps resounded upon the cobblestones. Movement above on the garrison wall caught her attention. A guard patrolled, but his eyes scanned the reaches beyond. Sucking in a deep breath, Elspeth sprinted for the shadows of the
principia
. After a few deep breaths, she crept forward, hugging the craggy stone bricks of the building, and then hunched behind a statue of Emperor Hadrian. She peered across the cobblestoned alley. The door to the granary stood open to a black abyss.

Without a sound, she darted over the path and jutted her head through the doorway. Though she could see nothing, light snores from a guard echoed from within. His lamp must have burned out whilst he slumbered.

Elspeth took only shallow breaths and allowed a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. From the stench, meat hung to her left, and she identified sacks of grain ahead. She tiptoed in, hefted up a sack of oats, reached for an onion and snatched a sheep’s liver from the butchering table.

The legionary stirred. Elspeth’s heart shot to her throat. He grumbled something imperceptible, but she didn’t dare look his way. Her feet took over, and she dashed back to the commander’s house. Once on the portico, she stopped in the shadows and stole a backward glance. No one had seen her. Jaw set with determination, she slipped through the unhinged door and headed in to prepare a meal for her new
master
.

****

A wafting stench roused Titus awake. Rubbing his eyes, he looked toward the hearth. Elspeth bent over his cooking pot, her hips swaying in time with her stirring. Watching the perfect shape of her bottom tightened the ache of his morning erection. He tore his gaze away and sniffed. Something smelled like shite. He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand across his nose.
What shall I do with her?

Titus clenched his teeth. His entire life he’d led men into battle, and he’d earned the exalted rank of Primus Centurion of the Twenty-second Legion. Count Theodosius trusted him to secure Hadrian’s Wall, and he had done so with swift and relentless fighting. Now that his mission had been accomplished, a distressed barbarian maiden occupied his private quarters, and he’d
allowed
it. He needed to get her out of his chamber quickly. Titus had no time to deal with a local orphan, even one as lovely as she.

Elspeth glanced over her shoulder and straightened. With a ray of light beaming through the shutters, she was even more beautiful than he’d thought the night before—ivory skin, intelligent eyes, an oval face framed by waves of auburn that cascaded down to her waist like flames. The slender curves of her body reminded him of the statue of Aphrodite in Athens
. A goddess I can do without. I’ve the Roman Army’s business to attend
.

He clenched his teeth against the tightening in his groin. Hellfire, he needed a cold bath—and Titus hated cold water.

She smiled. “Ye’re awake.” Damn, those dimples could disarm him.

“Yes.” He sat up, his cloak dropping to his waist. His chest bare, he glanced at Elspeth. She quickly averted her gaze. He watched her as he reached for his tunic. Her cheeks flushed crimson and his groin tightened again with a rush of heat hotter than a blue flame.

Blast.

He yanked the tunic over his head and focused on the stench coming from his cooking pot. “Whatever you have roiling over the fire is as unpleasant as a patch of skunk cabbage.”

Elspeth offered a pitiful frown as if she was about to cry. “I snuck to the granary just so I could prepare some haggis to break yer fast.”

“Ha-ggis, did you say?”

“Aye.”

Titus stood and sauntered over to the pot. Gritting his teeth against the stench, he leaned over and looked at the blood-red oozing mass of goo. “And exactly what, may I ask, is haggis?”

“Usually, ’tis sheep’s entrails cooked in a sheep’s stomach with onions and oats, but I could not snatch all I needed from yer stores.” Her eyes lowered to the pot. “’Tis just the onions, oats and sheep’s liver, m’lord, but I’ll bet ’tis as fine as me ma’s. I oft watched her make it, I did.”

“Watched her? Have you ever made this dish before?”

“Ah…no, m’lord.” She held up the wooden cooking spoon. “Would ye like to try some?”

Titus stepped back. “If it tastes as bad as it smells, I should drop dead within seconds of the concoction passing my lips.”

Elspeth lifted the spoon to her lips and licked off a lump of goo, her eyes watching him. She swirled it in her mouth and swallowed. She pressed her petite hand to her lips and coughed. “See. ’Tis just like me ma’s.”

With hopeful eyes, she lifted the spoon again. “Please, m’lord. I made it for ye. I must prove me worth.”

Titus rolled his eyes. For a second, he recalled the fire in her eyes the night before and wondered if this wasn’t some sort of twisted revenge for him having taken her knife. But then he looked at those innocent blue eyes, and those dimples… How could he refuse one with as cherubic a countenance as she? He snatched the spoon and shoved it into his mouth.

Mistake
.

The vile mixture slid across his tongue like the raw liver of a hog. The bitter pall made him involuntarily heave. He opened his mouth and spat the mass on the floor. “Caesar’s bones, are you trying to poison me? This rubbish tastes worse than it smells.”

Elspeth bunched her fists under her chin. “I can make better. What would ye prefer, m’lord? Eggs? Porridge? Anything. Please, I’ll show ye me skill.”

Titus looked down at his bare feet. “I am sorry, but the legion has cooks to prepare our meals. I’m afraid there is no place for you here.” He walked over and slipped into his sandals and bent to tie them. “I must head for the bath to wash the filth of war from my person. When I return, I shall have my
optio
, Bacchus, escort you to the nearest village and help you find employment.”

When he swung his cloak around his shoulders, Titus couldn’t look at her face. Elspeth had already proven her disarming tactics, and the only way to assuage them was to avert his gaze. He headed for the bathhouse, which he sincerely hoped was in working order. It would be a priority with his men. Not a one had enjoyed a proper bath since leaving their post in Hispania near a year ago.

****

Indeed, not only was the bathhouse working, the water had been heated to perfection. Titus returned refreshed and bid good morning to each legionary while he made his way back to his quarters. He must dress quickly. There was much to do in Vindolanda before he could set out to inspect the milecastles along Hadrian’s Wall. Soon he would visit all fortresses himself and issue orders for necessary repairs and control of the local indigenous. His mind rifled through innumerous responsibilities and tasks required to establish his own headquarters and see to the satisfactory organization of the troops.

He stopped in the doorway to his chamber. The first thing that caught his eye was Elspeth’s hair. It glowed, shimmering copper in the sunlight that streaked in through the open shutters. The room had been tidied and swept spotless. She gestured toward the pallet. His armor lay atop, polished and looking like new.

He blanched. His sword looked almost new, as if she’d cleansed the blade.

Elspeth held up a stoneware pot. “Allow me to oil yer forearms, m’lord. It will highlight yer muscles and show the men the power beneath yer skin.”

Without a word, Titus strode to the pallet and yanked up his sword. How dare the woman touch his weapon? She could ruin the grip with her oils. He slashed it through the air twice. The grip was unchanged. He examined the sword in a ray of sunlight and ran his thumb across the blade. His mere touch slit his finger.

He turned to Elspeth and knit his brows. “How did you learn to care for weapons?”

She wrapped her arms around her shoulders and bit her bottom lip. “Me father used to say a man’s sword is as important as his arms or legs and must be maintained as if yer life depended upon it.”

“Your father was a wise man.” Titus bent down and slipped the sword into its scabbard. “What else did he teach you?”

“Me da, um…” Elspeth’s alert eyes shot to the door and she wrung her hands as if uncomfortable with the question. “He was a brave warrior. Ah…I was his squire. I cared for his weapons and his horse.”

She becomes more of a quandary by the moment. Stunningly beautiful, cannot cook worth a damn, knows how to care for weapons? This is no ordinary peasant.
“’Tis unusual for a woman to assist a warrior, even if he is her father.”

“Aye, but it is me strength.”

“Unlike cooking.”

Elspeth chuckled, her damned dimples attacking his resolve. “Aye. I need a bit more practice there.”

Titus inspected the polish of his armor. He would not have been able to make it shine as brightly if he had worked on it for an entire day. What harm was there in allowing her to stay? But it was untoward…and he was the centurion, the officer everyone looked up to. Not that other commanders didn’t bring their entire households full of servants. Titus had lived frugally in the past twelve years of his service to Rome, but he couldn’t say that was the norm.

Smoothing a hand over his armor, he appreciated the sheen.
It wouldn’t be that strange, would it? A man of my position should be allowed to choose his servants.
He nodded once. Yes, he could use a servant—as long as she slept in the
domus
servant’s quarters. Having a female’s feral scent filling his chamber would drive him mad. There was no rush to find other work for the young woman, and he abhorred the thought that a girl as lovely as Elspeth could end up in a brothel or worse. He rested his fists on his hips. “You will continue to serve me until I can find a suitable arrangement for you.” He shook his finger. “However, I have one condition.”

Her eyes brightened. “Aye?”

“You never cook that abominable haggis again. Moreover, I think you should stay away from the cooking fire altogether.”

Elspeth clasped her hands with a happy sigh. “Thank you, m’lord. Ye will no’ regret it. Yer armor will be the brightest in all of Britannia.”

He reached for his leather doublet and shrugged into it. “Yes, well, I hope that will not make me an easy target for our enemies.”

A throat cleared from the doorway. “News from Icarus, sir.” Bacchus stepped. His brow furrowed. With all the subtlety of a dragon, the big warrior looked at Elspeth as if she were Medusa. The
optio
knew every detail of Titus’s business, and though he would keep Elspeth’s presence in his superior’s chamber confidential, Bacchus’s grimace reflected his disapproval. The woman challenged him by folding her arms and tilting her head back.
There’s that defiance again. How can someone be so angelic and so fiery?

Titus stepped forward as if nothing were amiss. “Do not hold your tongue, soldier. How goes the battle to the west?”

Bacchus’s gaze snapped toward him with a crooked half-smile. “Taken, sir. Every milecastle on Hadrian’s Wall is now manned with Roman legionaries. We have secured the frontier.”

Titus grunted as he worked his heavy chainmail on over his head. “Fantastic news. Has the sentry been dispatched to advise Theodosius?”

“At sunrise, sir.” Bacchus’s gaze returned to Elspeth. He looked at her like a man starved of a good toss in the hay—probably had. But the look on his face made Titus want to slam his fist across that black-stubbed jaw.

Clearing his throat, Titus gestured toward the woman. “This is my new servant, Elspeth. She’s proved to be quite adept at weapons management.” He slid his halter of medals atop his chest. “And take a good look at my armor. ’Tis like new.”

Bacchus frowned. “A woman?” His voice actually squeaked like that of an adolescent legionary.

Elspeth slapped her hands to her hips. “Pardon me?”

“She has valuable skills. I see no problem in keeping her around.” Titus slipped the leather through a buckle at his side and yanked it a notch tighter than yesterday. “Besides, she lost her family in the fighting.”

“Oh?” Bacchus looked at her from head to breast
again
. “Do you think it wise, sir?”

“You question me?” Titus crossed his arms across his chest and stared at the other man. “Though I appointed you
optio
, I still require your respect.”

“Yes, sir,” Bacchus said as a soldier ought.

Titus turned and gave Elspeth a stare as well, for good measure. After all, she’d given Bacchus a bit of sass. If she was to be his servant, she must show his officers respect.

Titus donned his helmet and fastened his sword around his waist. “There is much to do.” He placed his hand on Bacchus’s shoulder and guided him toward the door. “Gather my officers, we must plan our rebuilding. Within the week I will tour the wall, and you will remain behind to oversee our progress in my absence.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I expect a visit from Theodosius inside the month. Vindolanda must be ready.”