The Warrior and the Druidess (18 page)

Nectan swung. The swords crossed with a pulsating clang of iron. He stepped back. “So, I see you are now wed to the druidess. A belated congratulations to you.” Nectan held his blade long-ways, his arms extended. “She told me that you would not wed her.” He sprung forward.

Brude swiftly sidestepped and blocked the blow. He rammed Nectan’s forearm, and held him down.

The Smearte thrust his foot into Brude’s knee, causing him to loosen his grip.

Brude let out a sharp yowl of pain yet side-stepped the foe's thrashing swing. “She told you this?” He couldn't let Nectan best him. He pivoted and lunged.

Nectan met the attack. Blades crossed in an ear-piercing grind. Their feet were as swift as their hands as they flew back. “Yes, she did not think you would come for her when I held her hostage.”

“Well, it does not matter, for I am her husband now.” Brude slid his foot forward. Aiming his sword at the Smearte’s head, he swung.

Nectan blocked the attack with a forceful parry. “No, and I do not mean to interfere with a man and his wife, I but merely repeated what she said.”

“When you held her hostage. A druidess.” Brude moved in and swung his long sword.

Nectan blocked the blow. The clash of iron rung in the air. “It was not one of my better moments.”

“It is true.” Brude brought his sword down in one swoop.

Nectan pivoted away from the deadly blade. “It’s not easy being chief.”’

“My father never held a woman hostage.”

“But he did lead cattle raids.” Nectan stepped in and forcefully lunged a straight thrust under Brude’s grip.

He side-stepped, evading Nectan’s deadly stroke. Then he plunged forward.

Nectan parried, and then swung fiercely over Brude’s blade.

Brude ducked and dropped onto his free hand. With his other, he aimed the sword straight at Nectan’s chest, the deadly point loomed less than a breath span away from his heart.

Nectan dropped his blade in surrender. The sword fell to the dirt with a loud thud. “I am glad I am on your side. I cannot wait to kill Romans with you.”

Brude stood and Nectan clasped him on the shoulder in friendship. Brude would never think of the man as a friend, but for the sake of the tribe he would show him the respect of an ally. They needed him to kill the Romans. “Let us see how the bonfire is going.”

“Yes. I am looking forward to the Beltane feast.” Nectan retrieved his sword from the ground and slid it back in its sheath.

“Yes, there will be good fare” As Brude sheathed his weapon, he thought of the baked bread and how, in time out of mind, drawing the piece with the black spot meant becoming the god king with the greatest honor as the sacrifice victim at Lughnasa. Too bad the practice no longer existed, he would have loved for Nectan to choose the blackened bread and be sent to the gods.

* * * * *

Tanwen walked to the field where Brude and the other Caledonii gathered.

Brude came up to meet her as she approached. He kissed her on her cheek. “How went it with Belatucadros?”

“Lossio and I just spoke with Calach. The God does not want a battle, not now. He wants raids, and he revealed there are men among the Romans who worship him.”

Brude nodded his head. “Yes, I have heard that the soldiers from provinces conquered by Rome worship Mars along with their native war gods and the gods of the land they fight in.”

“We need one of those men.” Tanwen’s face shined with strength and dazzling determination. “They could be helpful.”

“I will think on that,” Brude said.

“Here come the chiefs of the Boresti, the Cereni and the Carnonacae.” She smiled. “It is time to begin.”

Lossio handed her the lighted firebrand he had carried from the cheif’s hearth before he had snuffed out the fire.

The gathered crowd fell silent as, with torch in hand, she lit the twin bonfires. As she gazed into the amber blaze, feeling hot and baked, she ordered Gethin, Lossio and Brude’s warriors to herd the cattle through the path between the large, hot, flaming twin fires to purify them for Beltane.

They got the last of the cattle through, and they were the easiest. Next, the dogs herded the sheep through. The well-trained canines would eat well this eve—large meaty boar bones for each of them and a lot of petting and praise for those good dogs. But the horses reared and bucked as brawny warriors herded the spooked steeds between the fires of Beltane.

The leaping, glowing, red-orange flames caught and held Tanwen’s gaze. Her mind went blank, and words she had heard long ago filled her head. Sulwen, the druidess who raised her, often said, “We didn’t know the battle ground was so narrow that we couldn’t use our swords. Suetonius planned that. We didn’t know he would annihilate all the Iceni. We didn’t
ken
…we should have known.”

She blinked her eyes and came out of the daze. Finding Brude standing beside her, she cupped her belly as if protecting the child within. “We have to know what Agricola is going to do. We have to try to find out.”

“Can you do so by scrying?”

“It's hard to read these Roman minds; they think differently than us. We have to work outside of magic on this, but not entirely. Belatucadros will lead me to one of those Romans who worship him. Then, you must lead a raid, not to kill Romans, but to take one. When we get the man back here, he will tell us what he knows of Agricola’s plans.”

“Would he do so?” Brude’s brows arched.

“If he serves Belatucadros, he will. I shall convince him it is the god’s wish.”

“At last, we have hope for a way to gain victory over Agricola.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

“It is so,” Tanwen whispered. She looked into the smoldering fire in his eyes, and her heart hammered.

He pulled her to him, crushing her against his muscled body. Her body tingled. Covering her mouth with his, his demanding lips caressed hers. Her lips burned.

Raising his mouth from hers, his gaze captured hers as he rasped, “It is Beltane Eve.” He pointed his head toward the dark woods.

With her gaze still impaled by his, she eased out of his embrace.  She grabbed his warm hand and pulled him with her. Hand in hand, they ran into the forest. They halted at a darkened thicket at a patch of grass covered with soft leaves.

Brude eased her down onto the forest floor and peeled off her clothes. He tore off his and tossed them aside. He slid his hands down her bare body. His palms lingered at the bulge of her belly, where his child grew inside her. He stroked every curve and contour of her body.

As soft rays of moonlight flickered through the canopy of leaves, she admired Brude’s sinewy arms and legs and his broad, defined chest. His gaze held the hungry look of a wolf ready to strike its prey. He bent over her. Like a whisper, his lips barely touched hers in a gentle kiss. She stretched out, wrapping her arms about his firm back. Craving the fire emanating from his body, she burrowed into the warm contours of his firm flesh. She sighed as he ran his hands down the hollow of her back. His breath was hot against her ear, and he flicked his tongue inside it. She moaned. He nibbled her ear lobe. She crushed her mouth to his in an urgent kiss. His slid his hands ran down her body to the soft arch of her thighs. His hard erection brushed against the moist folds of her sex. She quivered.

He raised up on his knees. “I love your breasts.” He cupped one twin mound with his large hand then leaned down, flicking his slick tongue over her erect nipple.

The velvet feel of his tongue caused a sensation of warm wetness in the hot slit between her thighs. Her breathing grew shallow. She licked her lips and moaned as he whisked her nipple with his tongue. He massaged her other breast, squeezing and releasing it over and over in a rhythmic motion. She rocked her hips against him in an age-old cadence. He moved his fingers to both nipples, pinching them. She released a breathy cry as her sex clenched. She wanted him and she wanted him now.

Brude slipped his hands off her breasts and moved one to her stomach, where he rolled his fingertip over her belly button. His other hand snaked down to her soft mound, cupping it. She gasped.

He slid his fingers between the delicate folds of her skin and touched the tender bud above her moist passage. Gently, he rolled the nub with his fingertip. His finger moved lower and slowly slid into her.

She couldn’t breathe and didn’t care. Tiny hairs at the back of her neck fluttered. She trembled with the intense need rushing through her.

He withdrew his finger and stroked her legs. Bruce lifted her ankle, laying it gently upon his left shoulder. She positioned her other ankle on his right shoulder and opened fully. She quivered with the promise of the pleasure to come.

Tanwen gasped as he drove his full, throbbing erection into her, stretching her. She was a flame. He was so thick and long inside her throbbing core. She sucked in quick shallow breaths and clinched against him. Gilding upward, he pumped her rapidly. She arched into him, meeting his powerful thrusts and rippling under him. The heavy throbbing need built as her agonizing gasps grew faster. He thrust harder and higher. She arched her thighs, whimpering with wanton need for release. He bucked into her as their molten juices mingled. She convulsed in spasms. In the blackness of her closed eyes, a thousand stars burst into bright lights of every hue. She felt like she’d exploded into a thousand pieces. Her panting breath slowed to an easy rhythm. She basked in blissful afterglow as they lay on the earth, still entwined. Both of their bodies glistened with sweat.

They took each other throughout the night, moving together on the forest floor, arching and thrusting. With unabashed abandon, Tanwen and Brude quivered and moaned as they passionately coupled again and again. At the break of dawn, they returned to the field, carrying the leaves and branches they had picked to decorate the pole that they would dance around all morning.

Tanwen looked up at the splashes of plum, pink, violet, orchid, light blue and periwinkle trailing across the evening sky as the pearly moon rose. She shifted her gaze to her husband, who was holding his horse’s reins in one hand, ready to mount and ride out with Gethin and the other men who had gathered around him. Huctia stood at Tanwen’s side as she wished Brude well on the raid. Tanwen rubbed her stomach.

“The babe will come in but one more turn of the moon, near Lughnassa.” The gleaming orb had waxed and waned for two cycles since Beltane and Tanwen’s belly was a large bulge.

“How do you feel?” He cupped her face and held it gently.

“I have herbs to comfort me. I have Lossio, Huctia …” her eyes darted to the Silure guard and friend, and then she shifted her gaze back to Brude. “… your mother and all the women of the Caledonii to care for me.” She whispered, “I worry about you.”

Her hot breath fanned his face. “My men and I will spend but a moment in the camp—just long enough to find this worshiper of Belatucadros.”

“My mind will connect with yours as I enter the druid trance and, through me, Belatucadros will lead you to the soldier.” Her full lips curved into a confident smile.

“Then, we will find out why they have moved so close in, just across the Lochness.” Brude shifted his gaze to Huctia. “Guard her well.” With his eyes once more upon Tanwen, still cupping her face, he leaned his lips to hers. The delicious sensation of her mouth on his filled him with desire, though the kiss was as soft as a whisper. “I will be back soon.”

He vaulted upon his horse, and Gethin and the other men rode out with him in stealth toward the far side of the Lochness. They dismounted in the forest near the small Roman camp, and each of them tied their horses to a tree there in the dark woods.

Brude’s warriors gathered around him and he commanded them, “Swiftly rush them. Slay one man each and then retreat, all in a span of a moment.”

“That is all we do?” Gethin asked.

Brude bobbed his head. “Yes. You will cause havoc to draw attention away from me while I grab a Roman and drag him back here. Then, we will ride hard and fast back to the village.”

“Will Tanwen sacrifice the Roman to the gods?” Talorcan asked.

“No. She is in ritual now back in the woodland grove. She is calling to Belatucadros to lead me to the soldier who will give us the information we need to win a victory against Rome.”

Drest and Talorcan sprinted through the forest toward the Roman camp. Spotting two sentries, they came up on them from behind and stabbed them in the back. Glancing at the dead Romans, Talorcan croaked like a raven to signal to Brude.

Brude swung his arm downward, gesturing his men to charge. They sprung through the forest with spears raised and burst upon the camp of sleeping soldiers. Caught unaware, the Romans didn’t have time to draw their short swords. One of the unarmed men rushed forward with his fist raised ready to fight Brude with naught but his bare hands. A sharp pain pierced Brude’s head as he heard Tanwen screaming in his brain, “It’s him. He is the one.”

Drawing his long sword from its sheath in a flash, Brude held the deadly point at the man's chest. “Halt,” he yelled in Latin. “I will spare your life.”

At Brude’s words, which were the agreed upon signal, Gethin snuck up behind the Roman and tied a gag around his mouth. He grabbed one of the man's shoulders as Drest clutched the other. They swiftly hauled him away, not even noticing his futile struggle to get free.

The Roman soldiers rushed toward them, but the attempt was useless. Brude and his men melted into the dark woods and hid between the trees. The Roman commander ordered his soldiers back to camp.

Drest emerged from behind a tree, grasping the shoulders of the still-struggling captive, who now had his hands tied behind his back. In a moment’s time, Brude and his other men, each on foot leading their horses by the reins, gathered around Drest and the Roman.

Brude grinned at Drest and Gethin. “Good job.” He swung up on his horse. His men helped lift the gagged soldier up on the steed. He sat pillion in front of Brude, who commanded his men, “Mount up and ride back home.”

With one arm around the Roman’s chest, he used the other to jerk the man’s head toward him. “Do not fear, we mean you no harm. Your god, Belatucadros, has work for you to do.” As soon as Brude mentioned the god, the man's eyes flickered with recognition. “You do not speak Pictish, but you know the name of our war god.” He laughed. “Yes, you are the one.”