Love, Eternally (26 page)

Gigi let go of Magnus’s hands. “I too have a gift. Given now thrice in love, thrice to honor,” she withdrew Rufus’s ring from her mesh bag, “this ring I give to my husband, as a token of my love for him, and the eternal bond we share.”

Gigi slipped the ring on Magnus’s finger, and then stood back and smiled. He stared at his hand, stunned, unmoving, suddenly looking cold sober.

“Magnus?” Gigi whispered, fearful her gesture had backfired.

He cleared his throat and raised his hand for all to see. “I am deeply honored,” Magnus said, his voice trembling, “deeply honored to … to bear this ring.”

Gigi let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Another cheer went up around them.

“The marriage ring,” Verica called out, “binds that finger which is connected directly through nerve and sinew with the heart, thus binding the two of you as one, forever.”

Third down
, Gigi thought, and glanced again at Magnus, who reached out and touched her hand.

“We’re married,” he said.

Stools were placed side by side in front of the altar and they sat together, ready for the final part of the pagan service. Verica lifted a piece of cloth from the altar and revealed a spelt and honey cake. “I say these words out of the love we all share for ancient tradition, and in honor of your request, Magnus, but I no longer say them out of belief, as I told you I must confess.”

Magnus smiled and tipped his head. “I understand and thank you.”

She raised the cake over her head, calling out, “With this, our couple makes their offering to Jupiter Ferreus, Keeper of the Bond of the Hearth. May he bless their union!”

Gigi noticed Randegund chanting feverishly nearby, her palms turned outward and raised. The other onlookers remained noticeably silent while Magnus broke off pieces of the cake and handed one to Gigi. She lifted the edge of her veil and took a bite.

It was hearty, thick on her tongue, but sweet, and she realized how very hungry she was. But she wouldn’t eat anything more until the big feast this evening, after she and Magnus went to their tent and consummated their union. Blushing, she glanced at him. His gaze caught hers, his look holding her with such heart-stopping desire she felt the jolt right down to her toes.

Verica backed away, nodding to Alaric, who said, “Magnus and Jolie, er, Gigiperrin, stand before me. As king and as a Christian, it is my privilege to pronounce God’s blessing upon this union. Magnus, you may kiss your bride.”

Magnus lifted the veil, wrapped his arms around Gigi, then surprised everyone by bending her backward and grinning as he looked into her eyes. Cheers drummed
in Gigi’s ears, then catcalls, as everyone waited for the big moment. He kissed her, his lips warm, tasting of honeyed wine. Everything went still, the cheers drowned out by the thumping of Gigi’s heart.

The rest was a whirl of wedding traditions, some, like a good deal of the ceremony, strikingly familiar.

She and Magnus ran together hand-in-hand toward their tent, while the crowd chanted blessings and pelted them with nuts. Outside the tent, Theodoric gave Magnus the now blazing hawthorn stick. Together, he and Gigi lit their communal hearth fire, then Magnus took the stick and stomped it out.

“Toss it to the crowd,” he said, passing it back to Gigi. “We’ll see who is getting married next.”

Gigi grinned and searched for handsome Athaulf, whom she’d recently learned was a widower. She found him distracted, standing among his flock of children. She flung the stick straight at him, and he caught it in surprise.

As the crowd applauded, Magnus took Gigi in his arms and carried her over the threshold of their tent. They were finally alone.

Outside, cheers, hoots, and bawdy songs began. He let her down, then took her hands and pulled her close. “I must tell you something. I looked for Rufus’s ring among his remains. I knew it was he, because of his armor. His corpse was … the site was badly damaged by animals.”

“Magnus, I’m so sorry if — ”

“Listen to me.” He looked into her eyes. “Do not be sorry. I must explain. Because the ring was missing, I was sure you had been taken by thieves, and in that moment I was certain I had lost you both — one, a loyal friend, a man who’d saved my life, the other, a woman who had become my reason for living. I searched the breadth of Italia for you, and there was no sign, no sign at all. It was a very fortunate thing Alaric’s men found me when they did, or I don’t know what I might have done.” He paused. “I could not fall on my sword for Honorius or for Rome, but I would have done it, had I lost you.”

Gigi put her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes.

“My sweet,” Magnus went on, “when you brought the ring out just now, when you presented it to me, I could hear Rufus’s happy laughter very clearly, and I knew, ultimately, it was his doing and he approved. You did me a very great honor indeed, in giving me this ring.” He rested his chin against her knotted hair. “You will never know how much. You will never know.”

Gigi reached up, pulling his face to hers, kissing him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t you dare ever consider killing yourself for me, or anyone for that matter. Magnus, promise me. Don’t you dare.”

He held her tightly, but didn’t respond.

She looked into his eyes. “Swear it,” she said, holding out her ring. “Swear on this.”

He firmly kissed the carved surface of the ring. “I do swear it. I love life too much — and you even more — to ever again consider doing such a thing.”

Silence hung between them. The sober look on his face made her wonder if their conversation had spoiled the mood. “Would you rather go straight out to the feast?”

He smiled and then gave her a lingering kiss, chasing away all doubt of his intentions.

“I once thought you a goddess,” he whispered, “but now I am glad you are mortal flesh.” He took her hand and placed it over his heart. “I will worship you with my body until the day I die.”

She could feel the drumming of his heart, the heat of his skin rising through the fabric of his tunic. “Untie the knot,” she murmured, filled with an unbearable desire, the throbbing pulse like a chanting in her veins. She pressed herself against him, only vaguely aware of other chants outside, bawdy and interspersed with laughter, in opposition to the deeper purpose she felt within.

Gigi could feel Magnus tugging at the knot as her veil and cape fell to the floor.

“Magnus.” Kissing his neck, she tried to take off his tunic, but his arms were surrounding hers, blocking her efforts. “Forget the belt. It’s only ceremonial,” she said. She had his clothes up over his hips, then pulled at her gown and pressed against him. “It’s not in the way.”

Still, he fumbled with the knot between kisses, determined to see it undone. Suddenly, the belt loosened and dropped away, and they fell into bed. She moved against him, insistent, demanding, kissing his neck; in turn, his kisses feathered her throat with little nips, then her stomach, where the knot had been. She ran her hands into his hair as he moved lower, tasting, caressing, claiming every inch of her with his tongue.

Her body felt liquid, a hot, whirling pool of desire, and she moaned his name over and over, “Magnus, Magnus.”

Then he loomed over her again and entered her with a great thrust.

“Magnus!” she cried out, feeling an urgency she had never experienced before, a need to be one with him, to merge with him completely.

And he met her needs, until finally she lay spent in his arms. Until at last she stirred and smiled.

• • •

Lightheaded from the power of their exertions, Magnus kissed Gigi and rose from the bed. He needed a drink — badly — and made for the beer he had stashed away for the long, happy night ahead. He poured two mugs and glanced back, seeing her smile, her happiness more important to him than anything in the world.

He gave her one of the mugs and took a long drink.

“Magnus, I don’t want to go,” she said, “but everyone is waiting for us. Help me retie this rope.”

He grinned. “They are fully aware of why we tarry. Can’t you hear their singing? And besides, a bride cannot retie a knot of Heracles once it has been undone.”

“And I was definitely undone!”

He laughed, feeling the effects of the beer, glad she was his wife. He put on his tunic, then motioned toward her hair. “We have to go out and face them, but first I suggest you fix those knots, if you can. They’re a mess. Forgive me.”

Gigi felt around on her head, finding the greasy, twisted tresses sticking out at every angle, with bits of ribbon hung up in the wreckage. “Oh, no!”

“Actually, you look beautiful, like a woman recently sated yet still lustful, still very, very lustful! We have a lot of work yet to do tonight.”

Gigi laughed, and Magnus grabbed her hand, then threw open the tent flap to a roar of laughter and acclaim.

“Come, my sweet,” he said. “I would like to present my wife to the world.”

• • •

Deep in the night, Gigi lay in Magnus’s sheltering arms, wishing she could capture this moment and hold it fast, knowing she could not. The path they would follow was set, indisputable, and she was well aware of the dangers looming before them.

Rome. They would stay with the Visigoths and march on Rome. She listened to Magnus breathe softly, felt the slow beat of his heart. She loved him. She was bound to him now, whatever the future, their fates forever entwined.

Magnus shifted, then woke. Smiling, he kissed her thoroughly, and the heat that rose between them burned hot, but seemed different, fiercer, more real this time, more … eternal.

Rome. As eternal as Rome.

Galla Placidia’s early life might very well have happened as described in this novel: her relationship with her brother, Emperor Honorius, ever challenging; her flight from Ravenna wholly understandable, given her looming future as the intended bride of the much older Constantius. Some sources state Placidia was engaged to be married to Stilicho and Serena’s son, Eucherius, and we have deliberately ignored this for the sake of clarity in our work.

Additionally, the Visigoth names of Verica and Randegund were selected by us out of necessity, because the real names of Alaric’s queen and his foster mother are lost to history. As to the actual number of Athaulf’s children by his first wife, accounts vary from four to six, and we’ve chosen the larger number, to give him a real brood of youngsters in need of a mother.

The reason for Stilicho’s sudden murderous hatred of Honorius has long been the subject of debate by historians. We hope our fictional solution involving Stilicho’s daughter Thermantia will give the reader a sense of what might have been.

Although we strive to maintain historical accuracy in our work,
Love, Eternally
is, of course, a work of fiction. For the purposes of our novel, we ask the reader to forgive our literary license and to enjoy our historical time travel fantasy — and those sequels yet to come.

Two authors writing as one, Cary Morgan Frates and Deborah O’Neill Cordes specialize in recreating pivotal moments in history, epic adventure and romance — with a time travel twist. This is the first novel in their Roman time travel series. They live with their families in the Pacific Northwest.

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