Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) (8 page)

Elspeth closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, but her mind raced. Giving an archery demonstration for the count? What questions would that bring? When would the Romans realize she was a Pict? Would they care? Her new gown all but revealed the Pictish tattoos on her thighs. This new legion from Rome seemed to put all the tribes in one class, considering the lot barbarians. But Queen Valeria had mentioned that both her father and the bishop who had traveled with her had been able to recognize Pict men by their tattoos. Worse, they had considered her kin particularly untamable. Did Titus know about their distinguishable blue woad too? Would it make a difference to him?

She rolled to her side and squeezed her eyes closed. Titus’s square jaw and chiseled features invaded her mind. She could clearly see his tightly cropped chestnut hair, receding a bit at the temple, and his tanned face, with fiercely etched lines that could express his every desire. She could feel his full lips framed by the day’s dark stubble bending toward hers, and even now, her lips parted as they had a few moments ago. His deliciously spicy scent still consumed her nostrils. His tongue had flicked out and touched hers, swirled around hers. She had given in as his arms clamped around her, the heat of his body sizzling against hers.

Elspeth again groaned. It was a wonder her mind had been lucid enough to demand he stop. One more second in his embrace and she would have been lost to Titus forever.

Her hand brushed her lips once more. She must never allow him in such close proximity again.

****

Early afternoon the following week, Roman trumpets announced the arrival of Count Theodosius and the century with which he traveled. Titus jumped up from his chair and tugged the leather doublet beneath his chainmail. He reached for his helmet as Bacchus entered.

“Theodosius approaches the gates, sir.”

Titus cringed. “Thus begins our charade. Planning games so soon after we took the wall from the barbarians is like tempting fate.”

“True, but skirmishes have been few.”

“Yes, though the enemies would have needed time to lick their wounds. They’ll be back for vengeance, and we must be ready and equipped to defend our position.” He shook his head. “I’ve spent the past week finding gladiators and constructing a makeshift arena for the count’s fool-born games, when I should have been….”

“It will be a nice diversion for the men and will be over soon enough. Afterward, I shall ensure they repay the favor with renewed reconstruction efforts.”

Titus patted Bacchus on the shoulder. “I knew there was a reason why I appointed you my
optio
.”

They strode out to the portico of the
principia
and watched the official parade through the gates. Theodosius stood in a chariot embellished with a bronze relief depicting a legion in battle. He wore a broad purple sash across his shoulder indicating his royal stature, and it fluttered behind him in the breeze. Clearly, Theodosius’s ambitions were many, since he had discarded a general’s uniform to reflect his elevated status of count, granted him by Emperor Valentinian after his successful campaign in Hispania and appointment to quash the Barbaric Conspiracy in Britannia.

Dulcitius stood beside Theodosius and expertly handled a pair of pristine white stallions. His skin tanned, the centurion reminded Titus of the male courtesans that flexed their muscles outside the House of Fornicum in Rome.

Titus clenched his teeth. Dulcitius’s vanity was foolish, but Theodosius’s elitist displays of Romanism disappointed Titus the most. Not that he wasn’t a faithful servant of the empire. On the contrary. But he believed, as an officer of his beloved Rome, it was his duty to set an example. Yes, he wanted the indigenous to settle their disputes and accept Roman rule as their own. They had brought industry, roads, trade and a host of other things to Britannia. But Titus wanted to leave the pomp and arrogance behind. Hubris and tyranny had no place on the frontier.

He’d hoped Theodosius would see things as he did, but now the border had been secured, it appeared Theodosius might be making the same mistakes in Britannia as his predecessors. After a year of fighting to reclaim the entire island, the great count had not bothered to visit the battlefield. He had sent his centurions to fight the indigenous and overthrow the rebellion. But, alas, Theodosius was his supreme commander, and it was not Titus’s place to question, even though it made no sense to him.
Perhaps if the count had been injured or killed, it would have given the barbarians renewed will to fight.
Titus shook his head. Even he could not sway to such reasoning.

He marched down the steps and hailed his guests. “Greetings, Count Theodosius.” Titus gestured his arms wide. “I give you Vindolanda, headquarters of the frontier, gateway to Emperor Hadrian’s Wall.”

Theodosius stepped down from the chariot and firmly grasped Titus’s shoulders, kissing him on both cheeks. “
Primus Pilus Centurion
, you have not disappointed me.” He looked to his right and then to the left. “Yet, I see no signs of skirmish, no deterrent to remind the indigenous who rules this land.”

Dulcitius jumped down beside the count. “True, we expected the road to be lined with spikes displaying the severed heads of barbarians.”

Titus bowed his head, trying not to cringe. “Alas, I am sorry to disappoint. Bacchus and I considered the stench disagreeable. We burned the corpses.”

Theodosius placed his palm in the small of Titus’s back. “Perhaps we can arrange a statement for the locals at our games?”

Titus deliberated over his leader’s words. Since taking the wall, the local uprisings had been few. He did agree that barbarians should be reminded of Rome’s rightful rule, but why further incense the indigenous simply to showcase their power? It was yet another elitist act. He would rather prove Roman superiority by reinstating law and order along Hadrian’s Wall. “Do you believe it a good idea to entice the indigenous to rebel further?”

“Rebellion is not the question. Undoubtedly they will rebel. We simply need to show them the strength of Rome. They are a conquered race of men. Respect is due.”

“Of course, my lord.” Even though he didn’t fully agree, Titus knew better than to argue. He gestured toward the
principia
stairs. “Surely after your journey you are in need of refreshment. I have found some local wine I trust will meet with your approval.”

“Local wine? Are you sure ’tis not laced with atropa belladonna?”

Titus chuckled. “I’ve sampled it myself. Nonetheless, if we lash out at the locals without provocation, the wine could be suspect.”

Theodosius accompanied him through the thick double-doors. “Titus, I detect a certain displeasure with my tactics.”

“Not at all. I merely expect the punishment to fit the crime.”

The count stopped. “And is conspiring to overthrow the Roman Empire an act of frivolity?”

“Absolutely not. Many a barbarian has been run through with my own sword, not to mention the thousands killed in the reclamation effort.” Titus gestured into the war room. “Elspeth,” he hollered louder than necessary, changing the focus of the conversation. “The wine.”

The count sat in one of the few padded chairs, and Dulcitius, with his girlishly handsome face framed by blond curls, took the seat beside him. Elspeth, obediently wearing her new gown, entered carrying a jug of wine and three goblets.

Titus had never cared for Theodosius’s smile. It looked like a sneer as his thin lips revealed yellow teeth—and he grinned widely while he appraised the woman. “My, you have found a jewel amongst the savages.”

Titus wanted to slam his fist into that sneer as Theodosius’s leering eyes raked across Elspeth’s body when she leaned forward to pour the wine, but he clenched and stretched open his fist to dissuade his irritation. “Elspeth has become quite handy in a short time.”

“Oh?”

She flashed a disapproving glance his way, and Titus shifted in his seat. “Yes, it turns out the woman is adept with weapons and is an expert archer.”

Theodosius reached out and grasped a bit of Elspeth’s skirt, rubbing the silk between his fingers and peeking under the folds. “I dare say that is not the limit of her talents.”

As soon as he dropped the cloth, Elspeth skittered away.

Titus crossed his arms. “She will give a demonstration of
archery
to open the games.”

They watched her exit, and Dulcitius chuckled. “Titus, you dog. You took no time finding a lovely wench to warm your bed.”

Titus reached for his goblet. “Still thinking with your cock, I see.”

“You are not bedding that?” Dulcitius leered, waggling his eyebrows. “What? Do you prefer ass over quim?”

Titus’s stomach clenched as prickles of heat spread across the back of his neck.

Theodosius cleared his throat. “Enough about the wench. We’ve more important matters to discuss.” He looked at Titus. “Dulcitius has brought some impressive contenders. I do hope you are ready.”

Titus ran a finger around the rim of his goblet. “I have not had much time to prepare, my lord.”

“I sent the missive giving you ample time. Surely you’ve found a number of expendable huntsmen among your prisoners.”

“We took no prisoners.”

Dulcitius smirked, admiring his fingernails. “Most unfortunate.”

****

The journey from York to Vindolanda had taxed Dulcitius’s patience. The count was nothing but a bore—though a necessary bore.

Relieved for a moment’s leave from the miserable count, Dulcitius reclined with a tankard of mead and eyed one of the whores across the brothel. A one-room roundhouse, it had been appointed with shrouds of colorful cloth hanging from the rafters that partially hid narrow beds from view. In the center sat an array of rickety round tables. “At least the bordello is well staffed.”

His
optio
, Paulus, belched. “I doubt Titus had a hand in that.”

“Baa.” Dulcitius tipped his tankard back, his eyes shifting to a soldier rutting a wench on the bench across from them, her skirts shoved up around her hips. The sight of the girl’s creamy skin made his erection strain against his
subligar
. He lowered his hand and adjusted himself. “Titus is soft. He’d rather spend his nights polishing his armor than in the arms of a woman.”

A toothless wench with a rat’s mop of hair sidled up to their table with a pitcher. “I can scratch that bulging itch under yer tunic, m’lord.”

“Remove your ugly arse from my face.” Dulcitius narrowed his eyes and glanced toward Paulus. “There is some quim not worth the effort.”

His
optio
chuckled. “Yes, but there are finer morsels yet unclaimed.” He leaned in. “And what of your opinion of the games tomorrow? Will Titus prove a formidable opponent?”

“Titus is as ready to face our gladiators as the women in this brothel are virgins. I fear it will be a dull day indeed, though it will keep Theodosius amused.”

“And you will rise in his favor.”

“Yes.” Dulcitius smiled, catching the eye of a tart baring her breasts at him. “That is what matters.”

“When you win, Theodosius will name you
Dux Britanniarum
.”

“Theodosius will take his time, but we will ensure the office comes to me, and I will show Rome my father’s name must be remembered with honor.”

“
You
shall be honored, sir.”

“And I will see to it that you are rewarded for your loyalty.”

Dulcitius drained the mead from his tankard and slammed it on the table. “I do believe my cock is pointing to a young bit of flesh across the room. I shall see you at sunrise.”

Holding the whore’s gaze, Dulcitius rose and meandered over to her. He ran his finger across the exposed nipples that peeked from her bodice. “I believe this is your lucky night, wench.”

Wide eyed, she nodded and grasped her skirts, slowly pulling them upward. Dulcitius grabbed her wrist. “No. Not here. Take me to a place with some privacy. An officer would never pull out his cock and rut in front of his men.”

Chapter Six

Titus growled as he headed toward the
principia
. He hated it when pomp was required of his office. He preferred to carry out his duty without creating a spectacle. Fortunately, his superiors rarely called upon him to host games and parade around a field like a puff-chested peacock. But Theodosius was a different sort. The man’s entire life centered upon how things looked, and especially how
he
looked. The count had an insatiable thirst for power, and Titus’s greatest consolation was that Theodosius would not be remaining long in Britannia.

Let him return to Rome and consort with senators. Truly, I am convinced that’s where Theodosius’s talents lie
.

With Bacchus’s help, Titus felt certain the games would not disappoint Theodosius, though he wished a proper arena had been constructed nearby. Clearly, the former Dux, Fullofaudes, had not engaged in the circus, or else there would be one directly outside Vindolanda.

Titus climbed the
principia
steps.
Blast.
Theodosius and Dulcitius were already there, glaring down their noses at him. He let out a deep breath and raised his hand in greeting. “The parade is about to begin, sir.” To his reprieve, the game’s chariot drivers rounded the corner and clopped down the flagstone lane leading to the
principia
. Titus clapped his hands loudly.

Bronze reliefs on the chariots glistened in the sun. Each driver wore an immaculate uniform highlighted with polished bronze breastplates and helmets with red horsehair crests. Men carrying the flags of Rome rode in front and behind, followed by trumpeters announcing the grand procession until the retinue stopped before them.

Theodosius spread his arms wide. “This shall be a great day for Rome and all who support the Empire!”

Nodding his approval, the count pattered down the stairs to blaring trumpets. He stepped onto the first chariot. Following closely behind, Titus relieved the charioteer of his reins and stood beside the count. Dulcitius followed, riding with the driver of the second. Titus ignored the irritated scowl on the other centurion’s face. As primus, Titus had taken his rightful place at the head of the procession. He snapped the reins across the horse’s backs.
Damn Dulcitius and his insufferable pride
.