Celtic Fire(108)

“Owein, drop your sword!” she shouted.

“And let this dog take ye away? I’m thinking I’d rather eat dung.” He gave a savage thrust that succeeded in nicking Lucius’s mail shirt.

“Killing him will serve naught!”

“It will serve to rid the world of a Roman wolf. It will avenge your shame.” He thrust again.

The force of Lucius’s parry drove Owein back. The lad stumbled. His knee hit the ground and his sword faltered in his grasp. Lucius rose above him, both hands on the hilt of his sword, poised for a killing blow.

Rhiannon’s scream lodged in her throat. In the brief span before the weapon fell, Lucius met her gaze, his expression hard, his dark eyes unreadable.

“Nay,” Rhiannon whispered.

Lucius loosed the strike. At the last instant, his arms flexed, twisting his blade so the flat of it struck Owein’s back as the lad gained his feet. Owein staggered under the blow, but managed to keep his balance and his grip on his sword.

The close call brought her brother new fury. He turned on Lucius, snarling, his blade flashing with the speed of a serpent. Lucius grunted as the blow struck his sword arm. His grip loosened. His weapon thudded into the dirt. He fell back against one of the stones.

Owein pointed his blade at Lucius’s throat.

Rhiannon launched herself at him. “Owein, stop!” She pummeled his back, but he moved not an inch.

“Now, Roman, ye will die. I have Seen it.” Owein drew his sword back, muscles tensing.

“Nay!” Rhiannon’s fingers found the hilt of Brennus’s dagger. She slashed at Owein, desperate to stop his killing thrust.

Her blade bit into his flesh. Owein let out a cry. Madog’s Druid sword twisted and fell wide of its mark.

Blood pulsed from a gash on Owein’s shoulder, soaking his tunic. It flowed over Rhiannon’s hands. She dropped the dagger. A sob tore from her throat as she tried frantically to staunch the crimson flow.

Owein gazed down at her, his fury gone, his expression bewildered. The tears of a small lad sprung into his eyes as he dropped to his knees. “Ye would kill me for him, little mama?”

Rhiannon’s own tears flowed furiously as she tore a strip of linen from her hem and wound it about Owein’s shoulder. “Ye idiot! Why could ye not stop!”

Owein’s gaze clung to hers. “I wanted to give ye your revenge.”

“Revenge? For what? For his respect? For his gentleness? For his love?”

Owein shook his head. “He enslaved ye. Used ye as a whore.”

“Nay,” Rhiannon said. “He set me free. I love him, Owein.”

Lucius had gained his feet. She felt his presence at her back, but she didn’t dare turn to meet his gaze. She’d spoken her declaration in the Celt tongue, but some instinct told her that he’d understood her words. Her fingers fumbled on the bandage’s final knot.

“Can you walk?” Lucius asked Owein.

Owein scowled up at him. “Yes,” he replied in Latin. He rose, shaking off Rhiannon’s assistance.

“Is your village near?”

Owein nodded.

“Go home, then,” said Lucius. He looked at Rhiannon, his gaze softening. “We cannot tarry here. We must be on our way south before the rest of your kin scent our trail.”

Rhiannon’s gaze darted first to Lucius’s weary expression, then to Owein’s anguished one. Her heart tore in two as a battle raged in her soul. Dear Briga. How could she choose between them?

The morning sun broke through the trees. “You mean to leave with—” Owein began, then choked on a sob.

She drew him into her arms, and he clung like a babe. She stroked his red curls as her own tears threatened. “Hush, darling, I’m here. I’ll not leave you.”

“Rhiannon—” Lucius began.

A rustling and heavy footfalls interrupted his words. A band of four Celt warriors burst into the circle, Rhiannon’s cousin Bryan in the lead. Owein pulled himself from Rhiannon’s arms and dashed the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

Bryan looked first at Madog’s crumpled body, then at Lucius. “You will die for this, Roman.” He drew his sword.

Lucius raised his weapon in response.

“Nay,” said Rhiannon, placing her hand on his arm. “There will be no more fighting.” She turned to face Bryan. “Ye will not harm him. I give him safe passage south.”

Bryan’s sword wavered. He looked at Owein, eyes questioning. “But Madog …”

“The hand of Kernunnos was on this contest, Bryan,” said Owein. “Madog delved too deeply into the dark powers beyond death and they came to claim him.” Owein met Rhiannon’s gaze, eyes inscrutable. “We dare not draw the Horned God’s wrath on our heads by killing the Roman.”