Celtic Fire(19)
“But you thought to try anyway.”
“Yes.”
The smile returned to his eyes. “My esteemed physician will not be pleased to find you think so little of his advice.”
“Then he should refrain from giving it.”
The corners of his mouth lifted, first one side, then the other. The result was a lopsided smile and a dimple that was identical to his son’s. One dark curl fell over his forehead. He brushed it aside only to have it fall back again.
“Forgive me if I don’t relay that sentiment to Demetrius. I know from hard experience he wouldn’t take it kindly.” He took a step toward her. His hand came to rest on the bed, very close to her arm.
She inched in the opposite direction. Did he think after a bit of light banter she would welcome him into her bed? If so, he was to be disappointed. At the same time, she wondered why he bothered with polite pretenses at all. He’d claimed her as a battle prize. He could take her whenever he wished and there was precious little she could do to stop him.
“Rhiannon,” he said. “A beautiful name.”
She looked up to find him watching her. “How did you— Oh. The lad told you.”
He nodded. “My son.”
“Marcus.”
“Yes.” He paused. “You may call me Lucius.”
Lucius. It fit him. A bold name, but not a rough one. Rhiannon was drawn to the sound of it in spite of a fierce wish to snap the thread of fate that joined her soul to his. She shifted backward on the bed, away from him. No matter what he was called, no matter what connection his kinsman’s blood had forged between them, he was her enemy.
The heat in his gaze told Rhiannon that he desired her and the knowledge of it filled her with dread. Her captor was above all a man, and like all men he would take what he wanted. But she would not yield easily.
She kept her expression neutral. “How is your arse, Lucius, where it was struck by my arrow?”
His eyes narrowed. “Improving.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
He snorted, but to her relief moved away to the window. Supporting his weight with one hand on the frame, he peered through the opening as if contemplating the scenery. Beyond his dark head, Rhiannon caught a glimpse of the green hills she called home. How simple her escape could be if she had the wings of a bird.
“Where did you learn to speak the language of Rome?” Lucius asked without turning.
She bit her lip, thinking belatedly that perhaps she should have feigned ignorance. She could hardly reveal the truth—that she had been taught by a Druid master so as to better understand her enemies. Druidry had been banned by Roman law well before her birth.
“Many of my people speak Latin,” she hedged.
He turned and fixed her with a piercing gaze. “A few words, perhaps. Enough to trade in the fort village.”
“My grandparents had dealings with the Romans.” That, at least, was no lie. Cartimandua had been an ally of Rome. “I learned your language as a child.”
To her relief, he didn’t press further. But his next question proved even more disturbing. “Who was the young warrior you protected on the battlefield?”
Rhiannon didn’t answer.
“Too old for a son, too young for a lover. A brother, perhaps?”
She shrugged.
“He owes you his life. If not for your arrows, I would have killed him.”
“A pity none of my shots pierced your neck.”
That brought a smile to his lips. He moved from the window, closing the distance between them with two quick strides. “You are a brave woman.” He lifted his hand and grazed her cheek with one finger. Just a feather touch, but it conveyed a wealth of honest esteem.
An odd spark jumped in Rhiannon’s belly. It took all her strength not to lean into his caress.
“Such a beautiful nymph,” he said. “You’re mine now.”
Rhiannon stiffened. “Your bed-slave?”
His soft eyes glittered like a wash of stars in the winter sky. “If you wish it.”
“A slave has little choice as to her duties.”
“True enough, but I’m not in the habit of forcing women into my bed, slave or free.”
She forced a laugh. “You’re a Roman.” She let her contempt show in her eyes. “A defiler.”
His hand dropped from her cheek. He placed his palms on the bed, one on either side of her body and leaned close, so close that his hot breath grazed her neck, though he didn’t touch her.
“I am a man, like any other.”
A man. Niall’s face, twisted with lust, flashed before her eyes. How many times had she lain beneath her husband as he took his pleasure with no thought to hers? “I know the ways of men, Roman.”