Celtic Fire(77)

Rhiannon made little protest when at last he pushed himself off her and hoisted her to her feet. Her tunic was smeared with mud, soaked through and plastered to her skin. He snatched the sodden cloak from the ground and wrapped it around her shoulders. She looked up at him, a bemused expression on her face.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, suddenly ashamed. He’d intended only to prevent her escape, not to rut with her in the dirt like a beast. Had he lost his dignity along with his mind?

“Nay,” she whispered, but she turned away from him. The gesture tore at his heart.

He took her by the elbow and propelled her out of the forest and through the village. She offered no complaint, indeed, she gripped his arm as if it were a lifeline. He guided her between the south gate towers, ignoring the stares of the sentries. He pounded on the door of his residence as rain sluiced out of the sky, harder than before.

Rhiannon shivered and drew her arms tight across her chest. A scant moment later they stood in the foyer, dripping onto the mosaic floor. Lucius waved the porter away.

Only then did Rhiannon finally raise her head and look at him. Her dazed expression was gone, replaced with anger.

“You are a brute.”

“Then you crave a brute’s touch.”

“You cannot keep me here.”

Lucius snorted. “I disagree. Henceforth a military guard will be posted at each door. I suggest you do not try to pass.”

“And if I do, what will happen? Will you beat me with your son and the rest of the household looking on?”

“Don’t speak to me of Marcus. The boy adores you. You surely didn’t take his feelings into consideration when you decided to run from me.”

“I considered more than his feelings,” she said quietly. “I considered his life.”

He narrowed his gaze. “What do you mean?”

She drew a deep breath. “What if I told you that you were right in naming me a witch? If I promised that if you release me, I will see your brother’s spirit sent to rest?”

“If you were to say such a thing …” His hands fisted at his sides. “If you did, then I would tell you to cast your spell now, while I stand before you.”

Panic flashed in her eyes. “The words must be spoken in the forest.” She bit her lip and looked past him to the door. “I cannot cast such a spell within walls.”

“Cannot? Or will not?” He stepped close and gripped her shoulders. “Tell me the truth, Rhiannon. Did you imprison Aulus? Is his suffering at your hand?”

When she didn’t respond, he gave her a rough shake. “Answer me, by Pollux!”

“No!” she said. “ ’Tis not I, I vow! But I can free your brother, Lucius, if you let me go.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You must! I didn’t imprison your brother’s spirit, but …” She shut her eyes briefly. “I know how he died.”

Lucius stilled. “What?”

“I’ve always known. I … I saw it.”

“Tell me.”

She went deathly pale. His grip on her shoulders tightened. “I will have the truth. Now.”

“I saw Aulus die. It was no hunting accident.”

“How, then?”

Her lips opened, then closed. “I can tell you no more than that.”

In the vicinity of Lucius’s heart, something broke. All this time Rhiannon had known how Aulus had met his death. She knew his murderers but had said nothing, even as he had bared his soul to her. The betrayal cut deep, though he supposed he should have expected it. He’d admired her pride and her loyalty, but she’d gifted neither to him. She would protect her people with her dying breath. And despite her deception, he loved her for it.

He was worse than a fool. He was an idiot.

“So Aulus was killed by barbarians,” he said quietly. “Your people?”

Her silence was acknowledgment enough.

“I will find my brother’s murderers. You will lead me to them.”

“Nay. I will not.” She gathered her sodden skirt in one hand and took a step toward the stair.

“Rhiannon.”

She stopped, but didn’t look back.

“I would have your loyalty.”

Her spine stiffened. “I cannot give it to you.”

“Then seek your bed with the rest of the slaves.”





Chapter Sixteen


“What did you do to Rhiannon?”

Lucius’s exit from his bedchamber was halted by the agitated presence of his son. The hour was early; dawn was only a dull sheen in the cloudy sky. Had the boy been lying in wait all night? His hair was damp, the dark curls plastered to his forehead. The insect-infested pile of fur he’d claimed for a pet stood nearby. When Aulus staggered into the passageway, the animal issued a low growl.