Celtic Fire(84)

Demetrius finished his preparations and filled a cup with liquid. Rhiannon murmured her most potent healing spell as she slipped her arm under Marcus’s shoulders. A spasm gripped the lad’s body. His arm flailed, striking her in the face.

Lucius was at her side in an instant. His arms closed about Marcus in gentle restraint. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Marcus’s fit passed. Lucius held him upright while Rhiannon dripped her brew down his throat. When she finished, he eased his son’s head onto the cushions.

“How long?” he asked grimly.

Rhiannon met his gaze. “We will know by morning.”



“It wants but two nights to the summer moon.” Edmyg eyed the skull atop Madog’s staff. “My warriors are eager.”

Owein stood silent, watching the firelight paint the chieftain’s arrogant features in wavering shadows. Even at a distance of twenty paces, Owein could see hatred burning in his kinsman’s eyes. Pain spiked into his temple. The visions called. He leaned heavily on the rough doorframe of Madog’s hut and fought against them. When they came upon him, he lay as helpless as a babe. He knew Edmyg wished to kill him. He dared not show his vulnerability.

“We will be ready,” Madog said. His hand shifted on his staff, causing the dead man’s visage to swivel in Owein’s direction.

“How, when Rhiannon has failed to deliver the Roman?” Edmyg asked.

At that, Owein moved from the shadows into the firelight, fighting the pain with each step. “Deliver? How so?”

Madog’s gaze shifted toward Owein before returning to Edmyg. “A stag will take the Roman’s place,” he said.

Edmyg spat in Owein’s direction. “A poor substitute for an enemy’s blood. The chieftains will nay be pleased.”

Madog shrugged. “When warriors are discontented, the fault lies with their leader.”

Edmyg bristled. “Watch your tongue, old man.”

Another brilliant shaft of agony exploded in Owein’s head. He took a deep breath and waited for the worst of it to pass. “How was Rhiannon to deliver the Roman? She’s his prisoner.”

Edmyg paid him scant attention. “Dinna bring the lad to the circle,” he told Madog. “He is no longer of the clan.”

“Think ye that blood can be denied?” said Madog. “Ye will find otherwise.”

“He killed Glynis and her babe. My son.”

“True enough. Yet he did nay more than Kernunnos commanded.”

Owein’s blood ran cold. Madog believed his Sight had caused the death of Glynis and her bastard? Could it be true? He’d not sought to form the vision. It had come unbidden.

Edmyg snatched his dagger from its sheath and pressed the tip to Madog’s throat. “Ye set him to it, old man. Dinna be denying it.”

Owein seized the Druid sword from the scabbard at his belt. But Madog raised a palm to Owein and merely met Edmyg’s gaze with a cold stare. Edmyg slammed his weapon back into its sheath.

He turned on Owein. “Yer precious sister plays the whore with the Roman.”

“The dog forced himself on her.”

“Nay. Cormac reports she takes her pleasure gladly. Cartimandua’s blood runs strong in her veins.”

“ ’Tis a lie!”

Edmyg gave an unpleasant laugh. “Is it? Rhiannon kens she has but to lure her lover outside the fort to gain her freedom. Yet she doesna climb from his bed.”

Owein stared at him. “What do ye mean?”

“I sent her word through Cormac instructing her to bed the Roman and contrive a way to lie with him in the forest, away from his guards.” He made a slashing motion with one hand. “I was to be waiting, to take him alive.”

“She will yet bring him to the circle,” Madog said.

Owein spun toward him. “Ye knew of this?”

“Aye,” answered Edmyg. “He knew.”

Owein felt sick. “How could ye ask Rhiannon to debase herself so?”

Madog’s eyes took on a hard glint. “How many Druid women suffered worse degradations at Mona only to have their throats slit by Roman swords after? ’Tis no shameful role Rhiannon takes in this. ’Tis vengeance. She wields a weapon only a woman can hold.”

He caressed the skull atop his staff. “Revenge is precious. It canna be gained without sacrifice. Who better to offer it than a queen?”





Chapter Eighteen


Rhiannon awoke by small degrees, fighting a dream in which she searched the ground within the sacred stones, but could not find the Roman skull. Nay. It had to be there. But the spike that had once held Aulus’s severed head was empty.

She jerked upright, heart pounding. It was no dream she saw, but a memory. She’d searched the Druid circle after gathering mistletoe from the oak grove. She’d intended to bury Lucius’s brother’s remains before returning to the fort, but had found the skull missing. Had Madog moved it? If so, why? She would have searched further, perhaps even ventured near the Druid’s hut, but her fear for Marcus’s life had driven her back to the fort.