The syllables flowed from his tongue like a language remembered. The learning of it had been like a homecoming—each sound Madog had taught resonated in Owein’s soul.
Crackling energy leapt from the swords to his limbs. It coursed to his heart, igniting wild desire and fierce hope. A comet trail arched across the sky. Owein tracked it with his gaze, his lips never faltering in the chant. His summons must be perfect if it was to be worthy of Kernunnos’s answer.
The last syllable faded into darkness. Far above, stars illuminated the skies, but little of their light reached into the embrace of the oaks. The Horned God’s forest realm, thick with the scents of life and death, filled Owein’s senses.
The wind gusted, sending a swirl of mist into his vision. The branches and the sky faded, leaving nothing but darkness, cold and eternal. The throbbing agony in his skull spread like a fire through his body, blending with the power of the stones. Light burst in his vision. He reached for it with his mind.
He felt a wrenching sensation, like his soul being torn from his body. He floated free of his corporeal burden, rising over the treetops in a dizzying spiral. Pain vanished, swept away by the wind. The same gust bore him over the forest, past the crags, following the path of the burn as it snaked through the valley.
He halted above the barren patch of land where the conquerors had ripped the forest from Briga’s embrace. The high, square walls of Vindolanda stood in the midst of the desolation. Tracking like a hawk, he circled above the fort, searching the shadows with his mind. A woman’s sorrow floated skyward.
Rhiannon.
He swooped down into darkness and found himself hovering above a pool of water surrounded by greenery. His sister was not there, but his sense of her had grown stronger. She was close. Very close.
Higher. He floated to an upper passage lined with doors and surged toward the one that enclosed Rhiannon’s essence. He glided through it, barely noticing the breadth of the wood as his spirit-body passed through it.
The room beyond lay in shadow, but Owein’s spirit-eyes needed no light. An unclothed man sprawled on a raised pallet, sleeping. Rhiannon huddled at his side, sobbing, her naked body wrapped with naught but a thin blanket. The scent of the Roman’s seed was upon her.
Rage raced like lightning in Owein’s veins. He flung himself at his enemy’s throat, but the hands of his spirit passed harmlessly through the Roman’s body. Rhiannon sobbed harder.
Owein watched, horrified, as Rhiannon’s defiler stirred. The brute lifted himself on one elbow and peered at her, then dared to raise his hand and smooth a lock of hair from her forehead.
Owein’s fury exploded, flinging him upward through the timber and slate roof and into the night sky. Rage flashed through his soul with the light of a thousand suns.
He screamed his curse in the tongue of the ancients. The Words darkened the sky and sent a tremor coursing through the sacred oaks.
The Roman dog would die. Owein would give his last breath to make it so.
Rhiannon was crying.
The sound twisted in Lucius’s heart like the blade of a battle dagger. She’d given him pleasure beyond anything he’d ever experienced. Had he caused her pain? He smoothed a strand of hair from her face, but rather than comforting, his touch only seemed to make her tears fall faster.
He climbed from the bed and found the hand lamp. Touching the wick to the coals in the brazier, he blew gently until the flame sprang to life. Shadows leaped to the corners of the chamber. He set the lamp on the table and eased back onto the bed.
Rhiannon blinked up at him through wet lashes. He lifted her chin up with his knuckles. “Is my lovemaking so terrible then, little one?”
Her tears welled anew.
He leaned forward and kissed her eyelids, tasting salt. “Tell me why you cry. Did I hurt you?”
She cupped the side of his face with her hand. He turned his face into her palm and kissed it.
“No,” she said. “Your touch caused me only happiness. ’Tis only …” She bit her lip and fell silent. “What?”
“I never knew,” she said softly.
“You’ve never taken pleasure in lovemaking before?”
She picked at the edge of the coverlet, tearing loose a tuft of wool. The blanket lay in her lap, leaving her breasts and belly exposed. Lucius forced himself to focus on Rhiannon’s face as she spoke.
“I was wed for five winters,” she said, “and the first months after my handclasping were not unpleasant. But I never—” She blushed, swallowed hard, then continued. “I welcomed Niall whenever he sought me. I longed for his seed to grow within me.”
Lucius’s gaze fell to Rhiannon’s belly and for the first time he noticed the faint silvery lines on her skin. His finger traced the length of one from hip to navel.