Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) (4 page)

“You can count on me, sir.”

“You are a good man. That dull-witted Dulcitius has had many more months to restore the garrisons under his control. We shall not let him shine above us.” Titus stopped in the doorway and turned. “Elspeth, see to it that the entire house is swept and tidied.”

****

A long exhale whistled through Elspeth’s lips as she watched Titus walk out with Bacchus. The centurion had allowed her to stay, even if he had just given her a warning stare. For now. Bacchus had appeared none too pleased to see her standing there—with dark features, he was more like the type of arrogant legionary she had expected, staring at her breasts like she was a piece of roast mutton. She hoped the
optio
—or anyone else—would not cause her trouble.

But gaining the approval of the Romans was the least of her concerns right now. All she could think about was the journey Titus had mentioned.
How can I convince Titus to allow me to travel with him during his tour of the wall? I could uncover a great deal about the Romans’ plans if I could ride with him.

Of course, that would mean many days keeping even closer company with the filthy Romans. The thought of riding with them as one of their own disgusted her.
Waking up with them every day…
She gasped. Her mind flashed back to the moment Titus woke. His chest had been bare when the cloak slipped as he sat up. It had been all she could do to pull her gaze away. She’d willed him not to stand, yet the urge to see more of the muscular warrior had made her skin grow hot with anticipation. Elspeth fanned her face.
Thank heavens the mantle did not slip further. Ye mustn’t allow yer eyes to ogle the enemy. ’Tis wrong, no matter how well formed he is.

Once satisfied Titus’s house was clean and rid of all broken furniture, Elspeth bundled her hair under the hood of her cloak and slipped through the cloisters of the fort. Her brother would be happy with her progress.

Greum had arranged for Elspeth to stable her horse with a local farmer just outside Vindolanda. She paid the man with Pict silver, and he asked no questions. Though a Gale, he had no love for the Romans. The Gales were the nearest things to allies with the Picts, but Elspeth would never trust one beyond caring for her mare, Tessie.

The times were fraught with danger. She not only needed to avoid the local hostiles, she also had to take special care to avoid areas where she might encounter Romans. Once they grew to know her, it would be imperative that no one suspected her of spying. Elspeth rode far off the Roman cobblestoned road, concealed by a forest until she reached the meeting place. From the path, there was no indication a cave hid beyond the trees. That was the very cavern where her brother had nursed King Taran back to life after a narrow win in a fight to the death with a beastly Saxon.

Elspeth tied Tessie beside Greum’s horse and climbed the stony hill. Leaving nothing to chance, she slid her bow off her shoulder and pulled an arrow out of her quiver. She aimed it into the blackness.

“’Tis just me, lass.”

Elspeth would recognize that voice anywhere. She lowered her weapon and stepped inside. Greum’s arms flew around her before her eyes had time to adjust.

“I thank me stars that ye live. I slept not a wink with worry for ye.”

Elspeth stepped back. Now able to see him clearly, she smiled at the concern written across her brother’s handsome face. He was taller than her, with long legs and narrow hips that gave way to powerful shoulders—he had put on some bulk since their kin had rescued him from the Vindolanda gaol near a year ago, but his hips would never be wide as hers. All that food he ate seemed to go straight to his strong upper body. Unlike Elspeth’s, Greum’s hair was brown. His deep blue eyes, however, mirrored her own with such precision, there was no mistaking their kinship.

She traced her finger along the blue Celtic tattooed sign on his face that ran down his neck and under his shirt. It was his name’s sign, Greum, son of their father, Ewen. “Ah, Brother, did ye not believe I could fend for meself among a century of dragon-hearted legionaries?”

“As ye well know, I’d pay a thousand denarii to fill yer shoes. It pains me to send ye into the camp of our enemies.”

She twirled out of his arms. “But I’ve had success.”

“Aye?”

“The centurion did not care for me cooking so much, but he admired the polish I gave to his kit.” She threw her head back and laughed. “He’s employed me as his personal servant.”

“As easy as that? Ye truly are amazing.” Greum’s face grew stern and dark. His eyes dropped to her belly. “He didn’t….”

“Nay. He kept his cock under his tunic.”

He grunted. “Elspeth. Ye are a heathen lass. Where did ye come up with such unladylike drivel?”

“You, brother.” She grinned. “I do believe ye have the foulest mouth in all of Gododdin.”

“Bah.” Greum batted his hand through the air. “But I wished ye would have been employed in the kitchens. If that tyrant lays a hand on ye….”

“I’ll not allow it.” Elspeth folded her arms against the unwelcomed flutter in her stomach—a recent giddiness that needed to stop. “I can tell he has good breeding. Besides, this is better than working in the kitchens. I’ll be getting yer information first-hand.”

“And what of his plans? Will the Romans be seeking to advance into Pict land?”

“Titus gave orders to restore the forts along the wall. He made no mention of a raid to the north.”

“Good. Let us hope it remains as such.”

Elspeth combed her fingers through her hair and pushed it away from her face. “He seems a good-hearted man.”

Greum stepped in and shook her shoulders. “Do not let him lead ye to believe it. The only good Roman I’ve ever met is Queen Valeria, and now she’s forsaken her Roman roots and become a Pict. Any Roman officer would sooner whip yer flesh to a bloody pulp than show an ounce of kindness.” He yanked off his shirt and turned, showing her the wicked scars that crisscrossed his back after two years of savage lashings. “This is Roman hospitality. Do ye understand me?”

Elspeth turned her head away. She could not bear the sight of her brother’s scars. The puckered skin made her blood course hot beneath her skin, posing as a well-founded reminder she needed to stop ogling Titus’s masculine form. “Aye. I will watch me back. Though I’d rather be home in Dunpelder.”

“I ken, lass. But ye are performing a great service for the Picts.”

“Titus will make a tour of the wall. He’s sent word of their victory to Theodosius and expects the general to arrive at Vindolanda within the month.”

“Ye’ve done well. This news will give us time to lick our wounds after the bloody battle with the Romans.”

Chapter Three

Titus sat at his newly repaired table, and he pored over several missives that had arrived from the milecastles along Hadrian’s Wall. A week had passed since the Twenty-second Legion had reclaimed the wall. He was pleased with the progress his men had made. Bacchus had ensured his chamber was repaired in swift order, but the blasted four-poster bed was unnecessary. The legion’s tailor had wasted time stitching silk curtains, dyed Roman orange to match his shield and tunic. Had Titus known about it before the work was completed, he would have stopped Jonas’s whalebone needle and pointed it toward more useful pursuits.

Elspeth sat by the fire undertaking the tedious job of polishing the innumerous links in his chainmail. They had moved her pallet into the small servant’s chamber that adjoined his room. Of late, he’d spent most of his time on army business in the
principia
, rising before dawn and returning to his quarters well after dark. He’d had little time to talk with the woman, and she had quietly gone about her chores as if she could read his mind as to what he wanted her to do.

He set the missive down and watched her for a moment. She worked with precise, swift motions as if she might be in a hurry. Contradicting her movement, luxurious tresses hung draped over one shoulder, giving the illusion of calm sensuality. The tension in his shoulders eased. “Elspeth, what is your age?”

Her head bobbed up with a crimson glow to her cheeks. “’Tis embarrassing to admit, but if ye must know, I am one-and-twenty.”

“Why should you be bothered by that?”

She cast her gaze away and spoke softly. “I have not yet found a husband.”

“I see.” He busied himself by grasping a missive. “Perhaps we can find an old matchmaker to take you under her wing?” As soon as he’d uttered the words, he regretted it. It might be selfish of him, but he wanted her to remain exactly as she was, now he was only just growing accustomed to having a female servant. He cared not for the idea of a smelly barbarian placing his hands on her ivory flesh. The thought lit his insides ablaze with fury.
If anyone ever touched her inappropriately, I’d….

“Honestly, I do not want to think on it.” She pressed her fingers to her chest. “Me heart is not ready.”

Titus studied her. It was unusual to find a maid of one-and-twenty who did not occupy her mind with dreams of marriage—though it was refreshing to hear she wasn’t anxious about it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make her heart ready.
How could one win her heart? What kind of man is she looking for? Does she even know? With her beauty, her wit, and her skills…what barbarian could be worth of such a jewel?

Realizing he was still staring at her, Titus tore his gaze away. “You must be mourning your loss.”

“Aye.”

He risked another glance her way, but she’d already returned to her work. Titus raked a hand through his hair and read the next five missives.

Elspeth finished polishing and placed Titus’s armor neatly in front of the hearth. “Will you be needing anything else, m’lord?”

He looked up.
Caesar’s bones, must the amber fire flicker across her skin like a sultry Greek dancer?
An ache stirred deep in his gut—an ache so intense, Titus couldn’t be sure what had caused it. His heart thrummed and his tongue went dry. He stood and crossed to her, his gaze drinking in her beauty. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t move. Nearing, he caught Elspeth’s scent—the provocative fragrance of woman and wood smoke hit him in the crotch like a bolt of lightning. A quick romp came to mind.

But he’d vowed not to do that.

She smiled pleasantly, but stepped back, breaking the spell she had over him. He couldn’t read her smile or the look on her face. She simply gestured her palm toward his mail.

His gaze trailed to the armor.
Hellfire, I am losing my mind
. “As always, it looks as if it were new.”

“I am happy me work pleases you, m’lord.”

He placed a firm hand on her shoulder.
Hades’s fire, her eyes are cobalt blue
. Though she smiled again, he sensed something guarded, as if she hid a million secrets behind those eyes. He bit his lip and forced himself to release her and stand back. “I will be leaving for my tour of the wall on the morrow.”

She straightened. “I am ready, m’lord.”

Titus gaped. He had no idea she’d been expecting to accompany him. In fact, he had been viewing this trip as much-needed time away from the woman—time for reflection and to focus solely on army business. Besides, having her ride with the men would be too much of a distraction. Neither would he tolerate a cohort of lusty soldiers ogling her for an entire week. He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid this is strictly military business. You must stay behind.”

Elspeth clutched her shoulders. “But sir, I am your servant. There will be naught for me to do should I remain behind.”

“It would be disruptive to have a woman as beautiful as you riding with my company.” He gulped.
Did I just comment on her looks?

He peered at her eyes, expecting some reaction to the mention of her beauty—God, his cheeks burned from having acknowledged it aloud—but it was anger that flashed through those brilliant blues. Her defiant look shocked him. Her jaw was set, and she crossed her arms as she opened her mouth. “But….”

Titus raised a hand to stop her. A fire burned in his gut. He had been so mesmerized he’d lost reason. She was enticing, skilled and had surprisingly good manners for a barbarian. But still, she was exactly that—a barbarian. And her anger—the fire he had seen before in her eyes—only proved she was not to be treated like something she was not. Boar’s ballocks, to think only moments before he had actually thought of kissing her.

He clenched his fists. Elspeth was not a lady. She was his servant. She needed to curb her ire and recognize who was lord and master of this
domus
. Titus mirrored her posture and tilted his chin up. “Elspeth, my mind is made up. Bacchus will direct your work in my absence.”

She threw her hands to her sides and smirked. “Bacchus? He looks upon me like a magistrate would a thief. I think that man likes me not.”

“He is just guarding the interests of my person and Rome.” Titus flicked his hand toward the servant’s door. “He’s my second in command. You’d best learn to take orders from him if you intend to remain in my service.” He could have hit something. Why she could nip his temper with a look, he had no idea, but he would put an end to it. A few weeks away were what he needed to clear his head.

Grumbling something in her guttural foreign tongue, Elspeth strode toward her chamber. She hesitated with her hand on the latch and threw a hateful look over her shoulder before she yanked the door open and slammed it behind her.

Titus threw his head back and groaned. Perhaps he had made the wrong decision in retaining Elspeth as his servant. If she intended to remain, she’d best learn her station in the scheme of things.
Accompanying me on military duty? Preposterous.

Bacchus had warned that Count Theodosius would not approve of her presence in the fort, let alone the servant’s quarters—though Titus had convinced himself that once Elspeth shined the count’s armor and polished his saddle, Theodosius would appreciate her worth.

He should send her away. Damn it all, he should have done so the first day, and by Zeus’s lightning, he’d take care of her defiant attitude as soon as he returned from this tour.