Celtic Fire(72)
Rhiannon wiped her hands on a rag and followed him into the alley. The high walls on either side gave shelter from the worst of the rain, but the runoff from the slanting roof was nearly a deluge in itself.
Cormac climbed onto the wheel of the cart. “I’ve seen Edmyg,” he said, his voice tight. “Pray that he doesna find yer brother.”
Dread blossomed in Rhiannon’s stomach. “What has happened?”
“Edmyg’s son followed its mother yestereve.”
Rhiannon sucked in a breath. “Dead?”
“Aye. The second part of Owein’s curse has come to pass.” He thrust a basket of eggs into her hands. Rhiannon took it automatically, clutching it to her chest with fingers gone suddenly numb.
“ ’Tis not his fault!”
“Edmyg’s not of that mind.”
“He canna think Owein would harm a mother and babe.”
Cormac leaned over the cart’s rail, close enough that Rhiannon could smell the stale scent of last night’s cervesia on his breath. “If ye were at yer man’s side, perhaps he’d be seeing the truth of that. As it is, the chieftains gather for war and find their queen missing. There are some what are wondering if ye’ve rejected Edmyg.”
Rhiannon lowered her gaze. It would not do for Cormac to know that in her heart she had done just that. “ ’Twas Edmyg who bade me stay here.”
“True enough, but ’tis also true ye could have been safely home by now, had ye done as he ordered.” He set one large bony hand on her shoulder and squeezed hard. “Does Roman cock please ye so much that ye forget the clan?”
Rhiannon nearly dropped the egg basket in her struggle to evade his grip. “Let me go. I’ll not listen to your foul mouth.”
Cormac’s fingers tightened. “Think ye I care where ye take yer pleasure? I dinna fault ye for enjoying a cock larger than Niall’s sorry stump.”
When Rhiannon did not reply, Cormac gave a harsh laugh. “I saw the Roman this morn. Besotted, he looked to be. He’ll follow ye into the hills like a dog.”
Rhiannon twisted again and this time Cormac’s hand fell away. “In case ye had not noticed,” she said, “ ’tis raining. I’ll nay be convincing any man to lie with me in the mud.”
“Rain or no, the chieftains are gathering their warriors and there is much quarreling among them. Kynan is of a mind to abandon the attack if the Roman is not taken from the fort beforehand, and many side with him. It wants but three nights to the summer moon.”
He squinted into the sky. “Edmyg says if ye deliver the Roman within that time, he’ll nay seek Owein’s life in payment for his son’s.”
“Great Zeus, Lucius. Can we not wait until the storm passes?” Demetrius sent a look of disgruntlement at the cascade of mud flowing across the path.
Lucius shifted his shovel on his shoulder and strode through the dirty stream. “That happy event might not occur for a solid week. I must have my answer now.” He shoved open the gate of the cemetery.
Demetrius gathered his tunic in one fist and lifted the embroidered hem clear of the ground before following. “Tell me again why we have embarked on this folly.”
Lucius stole a glance at Aulus. The ghost stood on his own grave, leaning heavily on the monument. The last shreds of his tunic had fallen away, leaving him naked. Lucius’s stomach twisted. His brother’s skin was mottled with purple bruises and a harsh pattern of welts had risen on his back as if he’d been beaten long and cruelly.
“Luc?” Demetrius’s sharp tone pulled Lucius back. “Did you hear me? Why do you suspect Aulus lies elsewhere?”
The ghost plodded to the north corner of the cemetery and looked to the hills, then turned and stretched one hand, palm upward, toward Lucius. “I cannot say,” Lucius told Demetrius. “A hunch.”
The physician snorted. “I’ve never known you to go to so much trouble on a whim. There is something you are not telling me.”
Lucius replied with a thrust of his shovel into the dirt. “At least this cursed weather keeps the ground soft.”
He dug, heaving sodden shovelfuls to one side. Rainwater rushed into the hole. He bent lower, boots sinking into the muck, and liberated another clod of earth. He stabbed at the dirt with fevered urgency, not stopping for breath until he’d sunk waist-deep in the hole.
“Your labor does not go unnoticed,” Demetrius murmured. Lucius lifted his head. A cluster of Celts stood on the fringe of the village, peering at him through the rain. “They’re welcome to their curiosity,” he said. He shoved his spade into the earth yet again. This time the blade hit something other than mud.