Celtic Fire(27)

The lad wasted no time in fleeing the courtyard. Lucius watched him disappear through a doorway near the foyer, then sighed. He turned back to Rhiannon. “I must depart. If you’ve need of anything, hail one of the slave women. They’ve been instructed to serve you.”

Alone once more, Rhiannon tugged another weed from the betony. She’d expected rough treatment from her captor. Instead, he gave her careful politeness. His respect was perhaps more unsettling than violence. It diluted the terror that had sustained her in the first hours of her capture and left room for her to feel the other, more disturbing emotions he invoked.

She pulled another root free from the dirt. He’d ordered the household staff to serve her. Another surprise. She’d expected to be given a slave’s work. Instead, she had been handed more leisure than she’d had in her entire life. Of course, her true duties, those to be performed in Lucius’s bed, hadn’t yet begun.

She imagined his strong, gentle hands on her bare skin, and a pleasant ache settled in her loins. What would Lucius’s loving be like? She sensed it would not resemble Niall’s fierce coupling. The Roman’s whispered words of two days before flooded through her senses. He’d said he wanted to taste her. Dear Briga …

Her musings fizzled in a rush of horror. Did she want this man in her bed? How could she view her clan’s enemy with anything less than loathing?

Leaning forward, she splashed her fingers in the cool waters of the garden pool to steady herself. Water was the sacred gift of the Great Mother to her children. Even here, surrounded by Roman walls, Briga’s peace flowed.

A door at the rear of the courtyard opened. Bronwyn appeared, arms laden with linens. A squat figure of a man followed, a misshapen brute with limbs half the length of Rhiannon’s. His hands and feet, however, were huge. His head perched on his shoulders like a precarious boulder ornamented with dirty blond hair. His eyes, sharp and blue, glittered in his face like gems on the bottom of a still pond. Despite his small stature, he hefted an impressive load of firewood in his arms. Rhiannon snatched her fingers from the water, her heartbeat accelerating.

Cormac.

She started to rise. Edmyg’s brother swiveled his head in her direction. His gaze caught hers briefly as he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. She nodded and sank down again on the bench.

“Come along, ye lout!” Bronwyn’s tone was teasing.

Cormac leered at her, showing a wide gap in his front teeth. He murmured a lewd suggestion.

To Rhiannon’s surprise, Bronwyn giggled and blushed. “Lucky it is that yer cock is as strong as yer wits are weak,” she said.

Rhiannon’s brows shot up. Cormac, witless? Hardly. He was the eldest of the three brothers and the cleverest by far. He had far more cunning than Niall or Edmyg, though he barely cleared his brothers’ navels. If he’d been born without deformities, he would have been chieftain. As it was, she’d heard tell that he’d barely escaped being killed at birth.

The pair disappeared through yet another doorway. Rhiannon eased off the bench and onto the ground, renewing her efforts to free the betony from the grip of the weeds while watching the portal for Cormac’s return. Now that she’d found him, it was possible she would escape the fort before the day was out.

She’d finished weeding the first garden bed and had moved to a second before he reappeared. Rhiannon nearly jumped out of her skin when Cormac crept around one of the columns lining the edge of the courtyard and whispered her name. Though she’d been watching, she hadn’t seen his approach. He carried a large wooden bucket in his hands.

“Ye must get me away,” she said.

“How is your leg?”

“Better.”

He eyed her speculatively. “And the Roman? Has he bedded ye yet?”

Rhiannon nearly choked. “No! Nor will he, if ye get me free of these walls before nightfall.”

“I’ve sent word of yer capture to Edmyg.” His tone turned mocking. “I await my noble chieftain’s instruction.”

“Instruction? Are ye daft? He’ll be telling ye to bring me home.”

Cormac flicked one sausage finger in a dismissive gesture. “ ’Tis not possible for ye to leave this day.”

“Then when?”

He shot a glance across the courtyard. “Lower yer voice, woman. The entire household will be hearing ye.”

Rhiannon grasped a particularly stubborn weed and gave it a sharp tug. “I must get out of here,” she said through clenched teeth. “Now.”

He lifted his bucket and approached the fountain, brushing Rhiannon’s arm as he passed. “The guard at the gates has been doubled. Every Celt who approaches is questioned at length. I’m able to pass only because I assist the Roman cook in her endless quest for fresh vegetables.”