Celtic Fire(3)

“I’m afeared to,” Owein said. “He’s not been …”

“Not been what?”

“Not … right, somehow. He schools me in the wisdom of the Old Ones as always, but I sense … I dinna know. A wrongness.” He shoved his blanket aside. “Surely ye have felt it.”

“Aye,” she said. “I have.” For nearly two seasons, since the Roman commander’s death. She shivered, though the fire was warm. “I hoped the chill would fade with time.”

“It grows stronger.” Owein lowered his voice. “Madog visits the stones day and night. He talks to the skull.”

An icy finger clawed Rhiannon’s heart. She’d not been to the sacred circle since Samhain, when the Druid master had set the Roman’s dripping skull atop a spike within the ring of stones.

“ ’Tis not right,” she said, gripping Owein’s arm. “No soul should be imprisoned. Not even a Roman’s.”

“ ’Twill be worth my own soul if the Rite of the Old Ones brings Kernunnos to aid our warriors,” Owein replied grimly.

“Nay, do not speak so! Kernunnos is a dangerous ally. We are the Brigantes, the children of Briga. Madog would do better to seek the favor of the Great Mother. Not the dark powers of the Horned God.”

As if summoned by her words, Madog’s voice, strident but unintelligible, sounded from the yard beyond the hut’s doorway.

Edmyg’s booming speech answered. “— ’tis nay my fault.”

Owein scowled. “Nay, it never is. How can ye think to join with that hulking animal, Rhiannon? The entire clan knows Glynis is about to birth his bastard.”

Rhiannon’s hand stole to her flat stomach. “He seeks a son. I will not give him one.”

“If Edmyg wants a son, he shouldna take ye as his mate. But he will, because his lust to be king is far greater than his honor.”

“Madog blessed the match. Edmyg is the Brigantes’ greatest warrior.”

“Aye, and the tribe’s greatest brute as well.” The flash of a man’s anger showed in Owein’s young eyes. “You are queen, Rhiannon. He is nay fit to carry your cloak.”

“The clan chieftains have put aside their differences to follow him.”

“They’ll follow another just as well.”

“Nay. Niall has been dead less than a twelvemonth, but his memory is far from cold. If I do not accept my husband’s brother as my new consort, the chieftains will be at each other’s throats within a fortnight.” She shook her head. “ ’Twould be the greatest service to Rome I could perform. I canna risk it.”

Owein opened his mouth to reply, then fell silent as the hut’s wooden door scraped a path over the dirt floor. The spring wind sent a swirl of dust into the air.

Madog entered with Edmyg dogging his heels. “The clans must gather today, not on the morrow,” the Druid muttered.

“Kynan’s dun alone answers my call, and reluctantly at that,” Edmyg replied, scowling. “The other chieftains will nay come while the moon of Cutios shines. They await the fires of Beltane.”

“They be fools, then,” replied Madog. “Cormac’s message was clear. The new Roman commander arrives on the morrow afore the sun sets. Once he disappears behind the high walls of Vindolanda, we’ll not be easily drawing him out again.”

“He’ll nay reach the fort,” said Edmyg. “We’ll attack on the road with the Horned God at our backs.”

Madog stroked his white beard. “Kernunnos or no, we’ll have need of every man in Kynan’s dun and our own.”

“We will have them.” Edmyg’s gaze lit on Owein. “The lad will come as well. ’Tis past time for his weaning.”

Rhiannon sprang to her feet and drew herself up to her full height, which, to her misfortune, barely reached Edmyg’s shoulder. “Owein cannot join ye. He’s weak still.”

“He’ll ne’er be strong if ye persist in coddling him,” Edmyg retorted. He took a step toward her.

Owein jerked to his feet and stepped between them, the sudden movement causing him to sway. Rhiannon put out her hand to steady him, but he brushed it off and looked at Edmyg. “My sister is forgetting I am a man grown. I’ll accompany ye.”

“Ye serve her well in this, lad,” Madog said. “We’ll be driving the Romans south afore the next snow.” He lowered himself to a stool by the fire and nodded for Edmyg to do the same. Owein took a third seat.

“Rhiannon will sit the throne of her grandmother,” the Druid continued. “Ye’ll erase the memory of her shame, lass, once the Romans are gone.”