Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) (35 page)

Titus swallowed. Elspeth hadn’t told him that.

Greum leaned forward. “Ye see. She must marry a Pict.”

Could things grow worse?
“What about Queen Valeria?”

The king’s fingertips brushed the jeweled hilt of his own sword. “Explain yourself.”

“Valeria is a Roman noblewoman.”

“Aye, but she went through a rigorous trial to become a Pict.”

“My father is a Roman senator, and was a general before that. My breeding is similar to the queen’s.” Titus looked at the two sets of angry eyes that glared at him from across the table. “I would like to declare myself a Pict.”

“Impossible,” Taran said.

Titus’s empty belly roiled. “Help me understand. Valeria could be put to the test, but I am not eligible? Why?”

“Because you are a soldier of Rome. You have killed our own in the name of the emperor.” Taran folded his arms. “Even if I did permit it, the Pict elders would never allow you to pass their test.” He leaned forward. “And then there is the issue of Seumas’s death.”

I suppose things can always become worse.
Titus hated that any man had died because of him. “Understood. I owe a great deal—my life to you.” He bowed. “It bears me great pain he lost his life because of me.”

Both men frowned.

Titus could not allow this to pass. No matter what, his primary concern must be Elspeth and their unborn child. He would fight to the death to protect them. He would fight to the death to keep them with him.
Middle ground be damned
. “Elspeth is with child—my child.”

“Nooooo!” Greum bellowed. He launched himself across the table and wrapped his hands around Titus’s neck. The chair clattered to the floor. Titus’s head hit hard. Grinding his teeth, he shoved Greum’s jaw with the heel of his hand.

Taran bounded from his seat and yanked Greum off Titus, throwing him across the room like a bale of hay.

Titus gaped at the king’s strength. Greum was no small boy.

Taran pointed at Greum. “Stay.” He turned to Titus, his face cherry red. “Ye are no Pict. Ye do not bear the markings of a Pict man. Ye have no sign of a Pict father over yer heart. Ye are banished forever.” He drew his long sword and held it under Titus’s chin. “Guards! Put this man on a horse and escort him and his squire to the northern edge of Gododdin.”

Pict warriors funneled into the room, surrounding Titus with their pikes pointed at his head. Elspeth shrieked from the doorway. “Ye cannot do this!”

Taran sheathed his sword and glance toward her. “Ye have shamed the Picts and will be locked in the tower until I can determine what will be done with ye.” He clapped his hands twice. “Now go.”

Two soldiers seized Elspeth and escorted her away. “Titus!”

“I will return. Mark me,” Titus roared as a warrior bolted iron manacles on his wrists.

Greum scowled across the room, following while they pushed Titus out of the chamber and through the hall beside Alerio.

“Are you well?” Titus asked under his breath.

“Bloody fine,” Alerio growled.

Forced to mount horses with their hands in chains the two Romans rode in the center of the formation with King Taran leading the formation of guards out Dunpelder’s gates.

The last thing Titus heard when he crossed through the gates was Elspeth cry his name from a window high above the great hall.

****

Elspeth wailed into the pillow on the narrow pallet in the tiny chamber. She had pounded and kicked the door until her fists bled, but it was no use. Trapped, her body shook with horrid hollowness. Why had she and Titus returned to Dunpelder? They could have stayed in Rothbury Forest forever. She’d known Greum would not accept Titus. He had said himself he considered no one good enough for her.

Elspeth curled into a ball as tears clouded her vision. Her cries thudded against the stone walls. She had rescued Titus only to have him ripped from her grasp. Hugging herself, she rocked in a hopeless attempt to soothe her aching heart. Her jaw trembled as spittle moistened her lips and drooled down her chin. Every muscle in her body burned, inflamed by Elspeth’s anger. She wanted to beat down the door to the chamber and leap from the battlement—not to die, but to fly on eagle’s wings to her beloved Titus.

Darkness filled the chamber when her cries ebbed into uncontrolled staccato breaths. Her eyes swollen, her insides ached, as though someone had hollowed her out like a sheep ready for the spit.

She ignored the light rap on the door. The bar scraped across the wood. Queen Valeria slipped inside, carrying a candle. Dashing to the bed, she opened her arm and embraced Elspeth’s shoulders. “You are with child.” She placed the light on the floor beside them.

“Aye, and I’ll have no father to care for it.” Elspeth tried to calm her breathing with a deep inhale. “There was no one to marry us, so we took our vows before God. I used me hair as the ribbon and bound our wrists as one. We are wed. Greum cannot make me marry another.”

Valeria took in a deep breath. “Greum is insane with rage. But he will come to his senses when the fire in his heart ebbs.”

“But both the king and Greum tossed me in here as if I’m an outlaw.”

“They put you in here to protect you from yourself.” She patted Elspeth’s hand. “He knew you would run for Titus.”

“It matters not how long I rot in this chamber, I will find him when I am released. We are one, bound by a lifelong oath.”

“I know you are.” The queen looked toward the thick wooden rafters. “I am unhappy with my husband’s decision to banish Titus to the north. The poor centurion does not even know our language. Not only that, he could have helped us prepare for certain war.”

Elspeth clung to Valeria’s arm and squeezed. “I must go to him. Can ye help me to break free?”

She covered her mouth and nodded. “You must give the Picts time to cool first. The entire stronghold is upset by Seumas’s death. They blame Titus, and they blame you.”

“Me?” Elspeth hung her head. “If it is anyone’s fault, it is mine. I could not fire me arrows fast enough.”

“You would not have been in that situation but for Titus.” Valeria rested her palm on Elspeth’s cheek. “Give it a few days. I will ensure you are well fed to enable you to maintain your strength.”

****

Dulcitius had remained in Vindolanda while he waited for news that Titus had been delivered to the ship in Arbeia. When word came that Titus had escaped, he was confident his men would chase him down, possibly even kill the centurion. The death of a fleeing prisoner was more than pardonable—even if he was innocent.

Dulcitius pounded a fist against his chest.
Innocence
. Titus was guilty by his mere birth, by his wealthy father and all that his family stood for.

He looked up when Paulus entered the war room. “Legionaries have returned from the north, sir.”

“Send them in.”

Paulus ushered in two soldiers and stood inside the doorway behind them.

A sinking rock dropped in Dulcitius’s gut when the men approached with long faces, helmets in the crooks of their elbows. “Tell me your news is good. I have matters in York. This miserable
outpost
does not agree with me.”

“They ambushed us.”

“And?”

“He got away.”

“You came back without capturing the prisoner?”

“Yes sir, they killed the rest of our troops.”

Dulcitius narrowed his eyes and meandered up to one of the soldiers until he stood nose to nose. “A smart soldier would know not to return with news such as this.” He slid his hand down to his hilt. Tingles rippled up his spine at what he was about to do.

“Sir, we returned for reinforcements. We can lead you back to the trail.”

“The trail will be long cold, you dimwitted piece of putrid carp.” Dulcitius took a small step back, drew his sword and plunged it into the legionary’s gut. With a smirk, he looked at his next victim, planted his foot and spun. His blade hissed as he swung it across the soldier’s neck. The legionary’s head sat atop his shoulders with a vacant expression to his eyes, his mouth drawn down in a despicable grimace.

Dulcitius sneered and kicked the carcass backward. The severed head toppled and rolled against the wall. The blood of the two soldiers pooled on the stone floor. “Paulus. Get someone in here to clean up this mess.”

The
optio
stepped forward. “Yes, sir.”

“Organize a cohort. Two-hundred-forty men ought to have no problem sacking a barbarian fortress—even if the barbarians do have the former centurion fighting on their side.” He looked at the soldiers toting the bodies out of the chamber. “Fetch the scout.”

Paulus bowed. “Ride at dawn, sir?”

“No. We’ll ride as soon as the scout arrives.”

“Right away, sir.”

He clenched his fists until his fingernails bit into his flesh. “I want Titus’s head this time.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Titus stared at Taran’s back as the king led the procession west to the far edge of the Firth of Forth. Titus recognized the ruins of the Antonine Wall—the place where he’d met Taran to sign the treaty.
Miserable useless piece of velum
.

The king held up his hand to signal all to stop and steered his horse around. “This is the edge of Gododdin. Due north ye will find more of me kin. The Attacotti reside to the northeast. They’d sooner cut yer heart out and eat it than to shake yer hand. Seven days ride, northwest is the isle of Raasay. When last reported, it was uninhabited. If it is a home ye’re wishing to build, I suggest ye start there.”

Titus shot Alerio a sidewise glance. “And why show us this kindness?”

“The queen begged for leniency, and I did not lose me friend Seumas to turn around and execute the man he was trying to save.”

“What will happen to Elspeth?”

“She is a Pict and will be protected by her own. Ye must forget her. If ye return, I will nay be so kind.” Taran nodded to one of his warriors who tossed two Roman short swords on the ground. “Do not touch these weapons until we pass the crest of the hill.”

“My thanks,” Titus said.

“I’ll save yer thanks for the queen.” Taran dug his heels into the barrel of his horse and led his men over the hill—back to Dunpelder and Elspeth.

Once the Picts had ridden out of sight, Alerio hopped down from his horse and retrieved the swords. “We ride north, then?”

“Not on your life.” Titus reached for a weapon. “First, Dulcitius will undoubtedly mount an attack, and second, Elspeth is locked in the stronghold tower. I shall not leave her there to rot.”

“But will they not kill us if we return?”

The corner of Titus’s mouth turned up. “Not if we time it right.”

Alerio’s face twisted in question. “Huh?”

“We need to find a place to hide where we can monitor the Roman army’s advance. We’ll make spears and arrows, anything to flank them.”

“Are you serious? You’re planning to take on an entire century?”

“Dulcitius won’t attack with less than a cohort.”

“
A cohort
? Zeus strike me with a bolt of lightning now!” Alerio remounted. “We may as well be taking on four-hundred-eighty men as opposed to eighty. The odds of our survival aren’t much different.”

Titus slid the sword and scabbard under his belt. “We’ll let the Picts wear them down with whatever they’ve got. When the Romans go for the gate, that’s when we’ll move in. I’m not looking to commit suicide. I want to ferret Elspeth out and show the Picts I am their ally.” Titus cracked his knuckles. “Are you with me or would you prefer to run to Raasay and hide forever?”

The lad shook his head and grinned. “I must have lost my mind back in the Vindolanda gaol, but yes. I’m with you.”

Titus pointed his horse southeast, betting the Romans would venture up the path he’d first traveled with Colin the Gale. After entering a dense wood, he turned down an offshoot that appeared to be a game trail—though it hadn’t taken him long to realize most of the trails looked like they were cut by deer, and possibly they were, only reinforced by the Picts.

They rode about a ten miles in and came to a shack made of flat stone and sticks, topped with thatch. Titus inhaled. The fragrance of wood smoke told him this place was not abandoned, though no smoke billowed. “Hello the house,” he called.

A high-pitched garble resounded from inside. Using the only Celtic he knew, Titus informed the person inside he didn’t understand what was being said. “
Chan eil mi a’ tuigsinn
,” he bellowed, hoping he was saying the right words.

Alerio arched his eyebrows. “Impressive.”

“’Tis all I have in my arsenal.”

A very young blond woman scooted out the entrance with a loaded crossbow held to her cheek. She rattled off a series of Gaelic words that sounded like commands. Titus held up his hands and repeated that he didn’t understand, then put his fingers to his mouth and clicked his teeth together. “Food?”

She backed, her gaze nervously shooting to Alerio. He smiled and waved. She knit her brows. He motioned for her to lower her weapon, and she threw a startled look toward Titus. Alerio motioned again. “We will not hurt you.” His soft voice sounded as if he were speaking to a newborn foal.

She nodded and lowered her weapon away from her face. Titus peered at the palm-sized red scar on her cheek. She slapped her hand over it and raised the crossbow.

Alerio again held up his hands. “No. We don’t mind. You do not frighten us.” He leaned forward to dismount, holding her gaze. He inclined his head and she nodded back. He jumped off his mount and stared at her. She did not look away. Alerio stepped forward and held out his hands. She tilted her head toward the hut and he followed.

Titus wondered what had just happened and followed along after his new peacemaker—
Alerio the tamer of fierce maidens
. Titus surveyed the clearing and its crude stone gardening tools. A trickling in the distance made him stop. A brook babbled nearby. They could hide here.

He pulled aside the linen cloth covering the entry and bent his head down to clear the lintel. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but the smell of butchered and salted meat made his mouth water. Stepping inside, the floor beneath them was merely compressed dirt. A fire pit recessed into the far wall and to his right hung a carcass of a boar and strips of drying meat. The only furniture was a table with a single chair and a pallet of threshes that lay in the far corner.