Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) (30 page)

Greum brushed himself off and stuck his face an inch from hers. “I believe ye owe me an apology for that. If ye were a man I’d take ye outside for a lesson in manners, I would.”

“We need to speak.” Elspeth glanced toward Taran who pounded the hilt of his dirk on the table calling for silence. The boisterous laughter ebbed, and Elspeth turned to the inquisitive faces of her king and queen. “Dulcitius has convicted Titus of treason without trial. He is sending him to Arbeia where he will be enslaved as an oarsman.”

The queen gasped.

The king leaned forward. “Did Titus commit treason?”

“No, sire.” Elspeth hands shook as she stretched them out. Every sinew in her body strained to plead her case. “Dulcitius is the traitor. Titus tried to inform the count when we discovered Dulcitius was behind the raids, but his party was attacked and all but two souls were lost. Titus nearly died himself, but I spirited him to the forest and nursed him.” She hung her head. “I fear he is still weak from his wounds and the fever.”

Greum stepped beside her. “Ye don’t think we’re going to risk our necks riding all the way to Arbeia?”

Elspeth pushed her finger into his chest. “We must. We cannot let Dulcitius win.”

The king sliced his hand through the air. “I will not risk the lives of me men to ride after a Roman officer.”

Elspeth swayed in place from exhaustion and hunger, willing herself to fight. Tears rimmed her eyes, but this was no time to show weakness. She wiped her hands across them. “If ye will not help me, I will go alone.”

Greum grasped her shoulders. “Do ye not see ye are already half dead? I forbid ye to go.”

Elspeth tried to yank away, her head spinning. How could Greum and the king not consider helping? This could not be her flesh and blood standing before her. Elspeth backed and shook her head. “I cannot forsake him. I love…”

Queen Valeria stood. “I believe we should give this more thought. The centurion has been open to our call for peace.”

Greum released his grasp. “He was ready to burn me sister alive. Do not forget that, m’lady. Her brash desire to rescue him is insanity.”

Valeria’s black eyes shifted to Elspeth. “’Tis become more than a mission for our sister Elspeth.”

Greum whipped around and stared. “Has he violated ye?”

She raised her chin and faced him. “I have accepted his offer of marriage.”

Greum clutched his heart. “Ye have fallen in love with the devil himself?” He turned toward the king. “We cannot—”

“We can and
I
will.” Elspeth stomped her foot.

Valeria grasped King Taran’s elbow. “Please, Taran. Titus could become one of us.”

The king pulled his arm away. “He is a
soldier
of Rome, not a mere citizen.”

“But I am a daughter of Rome.”

“’Tis no’ the same. Ye were no’ trained to murder women and children.”

“But—”

“Nay.” Taran sliced his palm through the air. “I will hear no more on it. I cannot assign a party of warriors to fight for a Roman centurion.”

“If ye will not help me, I will go alone.” Elspeth’s fists returned to her hips as her gaze met a glowering glare from the king.

A bench scraped across the stone floor. Manas stood and pulled his dirk out of the scabbard he belted around his slim waist. “I will go with ye, Miss Elspeth.”

Another bench echoed through the silent hall. Seumas stood. “I will go.”

Young Fionn was next, and he pulled his slingshot out of the back of his belt. “As long as there are stones on the earth, I will ride beside ye.”

Elspeth looked between the three loyal warriors. “Thank ye.” She turned to the king. “Please. We must try.”

Valeria rested her palm upon King Taran’s shoulder. With a groan, he gave a thin-lipped nod. “Volunteers I will allow, but no warriors will be ordered to accompany ye.”

Greum cast his eyes to the rafters. “I must be the biggest dismal-dreaming fool who ever lived. I will lead ye, but if
I
deem it too dangerous, we will turn back. If ye do not obey me, I will whip ye within an inch of yer life. I will no’ stand for rebellion on yer part.”

Elspeth bobbed her head in rapid succession. “Thank ye, Brother.”

He shook his fingers. “But we will no’ leave until dawn.”

“Hold,” Taran bellowed. “Though I allow this, I maintain my concern. Dunpelder is no place for our enemies. Mark me, do no’ bring Roman legionaries back to our stronghold.”

“Thank ye, Sire.” Elspeth curtsied as her eyes strayed to the queen. Valeria gave her a knowing wink. Thank heavens she understood.

“Elspeth. May I have a word?” The queen stood, the bump across her abdomen more prevalent than it had been a month prior. Valeria led her to her private chamber and closed the door. The transition from the busy hall to serene quiet made Elspeth’s shoulders ease with her deep exhale.

The queen’s chamber contained a mixture of Celtic artwork with Roman influence smattered throughout. Valeria had the blacksmith fashion her a cross of bronze with Pictish symbols, but the religion itself had come from her Roman roots, as had Bishop Elusius, who frequented Dunpelder from time to time.

Elspeth studied the cross and pondered the teachings of the Bishop.
All men are created equal
, he had said. She wondered if that applied to women as well.
Of course it does.

Valeria gestured toward a chair, padded with a cushion depicting an ornate tapestry of her husband’s Celtic sign, Taran, son of Brude. “Please sit.” She poured mead into two dainty goblets and handed one to Elspeth. “’Tis quieter in here.”

“Aye, m’lady.” Elspeth took a sip and swirled it across her tongue. The slightly intoxicating liquid instantly warmed her empty belly.

“You have fallen in love with the centurion?”

“Aye,” Elspeth whispered.

“You said he asked you to marry him?”

“Aye—when we traveled from Gododdin to Vindolanda.”

“You know it will be near impossible for the elders to allow him to live in Dunpelder.”

Elspeth nodded and pressed her face into her hands. “A great deal has changed since he proposed.”

“You may need to find lands to the north if he is estranged from the Empire. But understand, life in the wild can be treacherous.”

“If that is our fate, then so be it. I will not see him enslaved.”

Valeria sipped her mead and looked toward the Celtic cross. “I shall pray on it and speak to the king.”

“Thank ye, m’lady.”

“Go now and eat, for you must maintain your strength if you are to help your man.”

Elspeth kneeled and grasped the queen’s hand. “Thank ye. I will never forget yer kindness, m’lady. Ye are the only one who understands me.”

****

Sleeping in her gown, Elspeth woke before dawn to ready her kit. Careful not to wake the others in the single women’s chamber, she slid off her pallet, clutching her bow and the satchel containing her man-clothes. She fumbled for the door latch. It clicked with a loud metallic scrape. Elspeth stopped and glanced over her shoulder then shrugged. If anyone woke, they could very well go back to sleep. She shook off her guilt—she wasn’t sneaking through an enemy fort like Vindolanda. Everyone in Dunpelder knew her plans.

She ran her hand along the rough stones of the castle corridors, feeling her way up the winding stairwell to the armory near the top of the battlements. Once inside, she pulled out her flint and lit the wall torch secured by black iron grillwork.

The armory had always been the same. Though the warriors kept their personal sets of chainmail and armor with them, there were always stray pieces of armor and helmets piled on the shelves. She scanned past the battle-axes and mounds of stone collected for use with the catapults.

Her gaze stopped at the grinding wheel that stood in a corner, well worn by years of use. She rolled up her skirt, unsheathed her dirk and inspected the blade. With a tsk of her tongue, she thumbed the edges, disgusted with herself for allowing the blade to dull. She pumped the mechanical pedal and sharpened the weapon with a circular motion, just as her father had taught her.

To test the sharpness, Elspeth grasped a strand of hair from her scalp and sliced the blade across it from an angle. It cut clean through. Satisfied, she slipped the dirk back into its hiding place. She looked to the cache of arrows and gathered four quivers full—as many as she could carry. As she turned to leave, a long Pictish sword caught her eye. Being stowed with the general weapons, it must have belonged to one of her fallen comrades, unclaimed by an heir.

Elspeth reached for it and studied the embossing along the shaft. Three stags with eight-point racks leapt through tall grass. Elspeth blinked twice at the design toward the hilt. A sprite with wings and long flowing hair chased after the deer with her bow drawn.

’Tis a sign.

She searched through the shelves of discarded equipment and found an old hard-leather scabbard with an iron tip. Hanging from the top was a belt. Elspeth toyed with the buckle tongue. Though it was bent, she could still make it work. She fastened it around her waist and inserted the sword. The belt dropped to her hips. She looked down and took a few tentative steps. The heavy sword teetered at her side but did not scrape the ground, nor did it slip further down.

Elspeth’s next stop was the kitchen. Pia, Seumas’s wife, was already up preparing the morning meal for the fifty-or-so people who occupied the upper rooms of the stronghold. Pia wore a gray wimple over her head and had come to Dunpelder as Queen Valeria’s slave. Picts owned no slaves, and Valeria had granted the older woman her freedom before embarking on her rite of passage. Elspeth guessed her age around fifty or so. Pia smiled at her with jolly cheeks and walked across the room with her rotund hips bouncing jovially. “You’re up early, Elspeth. I’ve prepared satchels of food for all.”

“Thank ye.” Elspeth removed her weapons and lifted a piece of bread from the table. “And gratitude for allowing Seumas to ride with me.”

Pia patted Elspeth’s hand. “Though born into slavery, I spent most of my life in Rome. I’ve seen the skullduggery that goes on there.” Pia chuckled. “Go rescue your man, and bring my husband back unscathed. ’Tis all I ask.”

Elspeth chewed on her bread and Pia ushered her to the bench at the table. “You must eat a good meal before you set out.” Pia loaded a trencher with ham and scrambled eggs and set it in front of her. “I’ll wake the men while you eat—and I want to see every morsel gone when I return.”

“Och, this is enough food for a week.”

Pia shook her finger with her eyebrows disappearing under her wimple. “I mean what I say. You’ll need your strength.”

The men straggled into the kitchen. All except eleven-year-old Manas. The lad raced past Greum and stopped beside Elspeth. “Are ye ready to ride on our great adventure?”

She mussed his curls. “Aye.”

Greum plodded in with a ferocious scowl on his face and his shoulder-length brown hair looking like he’d taken a teasing comb to it. Elspeth covered her laugh with her hand.

“What?” Greum asked.

“Ye look a sight.”

He rolled his hand in a mock bow. “Pardon me, m’lady. I did not realize I was heading to a gathering.” He glanced to Manas. “Lad, ye have to stay behind with Pia. This is man’s work.”

Manas puffed out his chest with his fists on his hips. “I’ll not stay behind. I saved Queen Valeria from the tyrant Runan. I’m ready, Master Greum.” He stepped forward with a less assured, pleading grimace. “Ye have to let me go. I can hold the horses. I’ll hide if there’s a skirmish. Pleeease, Master Greum. Ye cannot leave me behind.”

Greum rolled his eyes to the rafters—he had been doing a lot of that of late. “Why do ye have to twist me heart into knots afore I’ve broken me fast?” He climbed over the bench and sat beside Elspeth. “All right. But if ye disobey one word, I’ll hogtie ye to the nearest tree and leave ye there for the wolves.”

The lad’s mop of brown curls shook like an overexcited puppy as his white teeth beamed. “Thank ye, sir. I’ll prove me worth.”

“Aye, ye will.”

With her stomach about to burst, Elspeth finished her mound of food and stood. She slung the four quivers of arrows over her shoulders and fastened the sword around her waist.

Greum stopped mid chew. “Just what do ye think
ye’re
doing?”

“Preparing meself for battle.”

“Ye look like a Roman god of war—all ye need is a spear.”

The corner of Elspeth’s mouth ticked up. “Ye have one?”

“Och, have ye looked under yer dress in the past decade? Ye are a
woman
. Ye cannot wield a heavy Pictish sword. Yer bones are too fine. How many times must I tell ye that?”

“I need to defend meself in close proximity. I cannot fire an arrow at a man when he’s swinging a battle-axe at me face.”

Greum looked to Seumas as the older man marched into the kitchen. “Take a gander at me sister. She’s going to kill them all.” Then he pointed his dirk at her. “If ye insist on strapping that sword around yer waist, I’ll not be going with ye.”

Elspeth took off her arrow quivers, unclasped the belt and fastened it across a shoulder, with the sword snug against her back. “’Tis only a precaution.” She shot her brother a quick nod, snatched up her arrows and plodded out of the kitchen before he could say another word.

****

Taran met Elspeth and the men at the stable with a pack mule laden with parcels and two Roman shields affixed to each side of the pack harness. “Due to the queen’s condition, I cannot ride with ye, but these Roman uniforms might be useful when ye get to Arbeia.”

Greum patted the mule’s rump. “My thanks.”

“Aye, ’twill be much easier to ride through their gates if they think us Romans,” Seumas agreed.

Fionn mounted his horse. “Their helmets have side flaps that will hide our tattoos.”

A weight lifted from Elspeth’s shoulders. “Thank ye, Sire.” They had a plan. Now they needed make haste and arrive before the ship sailed.

They rode hard and fast through the long journey southeast, rising at dawn and stopping at dark. Though the summer days were long, their pace was not fast enough for Elspeth. Late on the second day, they took the path heading east toward Fort Chesters—the one Colin the Gale took when he separated from Titus and Elspeth the last time she’d passed this way. Journeying southeast would save them a day.