Celtic Fire(81)

“Rest? You’re but a girl and we’ve ridden only an hour.”

She lowered her gaze, feigning embarrassment. “I didn’t mean that I was tired. The wine I drank before we left the fort …”

“Ah,” he said, understanding. His birdlike eyes took on a wicked gleam. “Luc told me not to let you out of my sight.”

She forced a small smile. “He cannot stand to look at me himself. Why burden you with the task?”

His features softened. “It’s not a hardship, my dear.”

Rhiannon turned away, blinking back her tears.

“I’ve known Lucius more than twenty-two years,” Demetrius said. “I came to his household as a slave, bought on the occasion of Lucius’s eighth birthday to be his tutor.”

“A slave? But Lucius respects you so.”

“It’s not the label that defines the man, but his attitude and actions. In my mind I was always a free man. Within nine years of coming to Lucius’s father’s household, I had earned enough by my skill as a physician to purchase my freedom.” He smiled. “I beat out Lucius by a year. He had vowed to purchase me from his father and free me himself when he reached manhood.”

“Why did you stay with him once you were free?”

“Why indeed? You would think I might have returned to Greece. But I had no family there. By then Lucius and Aulus had become like sons to me.” He sighed. “Aulus was still young and in sore need of guidance. He was much like Marcus is now: generous, scheming, and forever falling into trouble.”

“And Lucius? What was he like?”

The healer sent her a knowing glance. “The dutiful son, always. Athletic, good with a sword, and a scholar as well. Intensely private. He guarded his emotions closely even then. Aulus was the only one who could truly reach him, but only in rare moments.”

“I see.”

“Now I sense you are the one who holds that power. Lucius knows not how to deal with that, I think.”

“You’re wrong. He despises me.” With good reason.

He snorted. “I’ve seen how he looks at you, girl. You’ve well and truly seduced him. In bed and out.”

“I … didn’t seek to bed him! He pursued me.”

“And was caught in his own snare.” Demetrius held her gaze. “I don’t believe you regret it.”

Rhiannon searched for words of denial but found none.

“Why did you try to leave him?” Demetrius asked. “Did you not know he would grant anything you asked?”

“Barring my freedom.”

“Freedom? No woman is truly free. Few men are, either. You can live a fine life with him.”

A wistful smile touched her lips. “In Rome?”

“Yes. Would you not like to see the heart of the empire? It’s a grand and amazing city.”

Rhiannon closed her eyes. Part of her did long to travel to the ends of the earth and look upon all the Wonders she could find. Another part, just as strong, knew that to leave the northlands would cause an ache that would never fade. “I … I cannot say.”

“Think on it, my dear.” He blinked rapidly and Rhiannon realized he was crying. “If Marcus should … die … Lucius will need you.”

Her chest tightened unbearably. She could think of no adequate response, so she swung her leg over her mare’s flank and dismounted. “If you will give me but a moment, Magister …” She sent a meaningful glance toward the bushes.

“Do not be long.”

“I won’t.” She ducked into the thicket, making sure to rustle the branches as she went. When she had gained a sufficient distance from the trail, she went still for several long heartbeats. When she moved again, it was with the silence of a ghost.

She did not look back.





Chapter Seventeen


For most, mist meant blindness. For Owein, the white shroud that crept over the landscape brought vision. The pictures behind his eyes no longer needed night shadows for a backdrop. He Saw as clearly during the days now.

He sat rigid in the small clearing outside Madog’s hut, holding the Druid sword his mentor had given him. It was the sword that had killed the Roman at Samhain. The same blade that would kill Rhiannon’s defiler at the rise of the summer moon.

The hand of Kernunnos lay heavy upon him. The pain in his temple was as familiar to him as breath and he’d begun to believe it would never retreat. He cared little, if his torment brought him the power to free his sister from the vile dog who had enslaved her.

“What do ye See, lad?” Madog’s voice was Owein’s only connection to the outside world when the visions took over. He felt the old Druid lean closer.