Celtic Fire(91)
A shiver tingled a path up her spine. She stopped. Some presence seemed to lurk nearby, just out of reach. She peered into the trees, circling slowly as she fought to keep her breathing steady. A wildcat or boar? Or was she being followed?
She slowed her steps, merging with the forest until her soul blended completely with Briga’s spirit. Making a wide arc through the brush, she circled until she came up behind her pursuer. A scout from the fort.
Her anger flared. Lucius had set the man on her trail, no doubt intending to wreak his vengeance on her village in payment for the death of his brother. If he thought the heavy-footed Gaul was a match for her forest skills, he was sorely mistaken. Slipping silently into the brush, she blazed a false trail, then backtracked to a shallow burn. Stepping into the water, she waded north a short distance before resuming her trek.
She forded the burn at a shallow crossing in the shadow of the crags. When she bent to drink, she murmured a prayer to Briga. Not thanks for her freedom. An entreaty for Lucius.
Great Mother, keep him safe.
He loved her. She knew it was true, for he had said it and no matter his faults, deceit was not one of them. The only lies that lay between them were her own. What price had the proud Roman paid to put his heart in her hands? Did he curse her now? She’d fled the fort quickly. She hadn’t even stopped to bid Marcus farewell.
She might have told Lucius outright that his men were poised to mutiny. If she had, he might not have brushed off her warnings as womanly hysterics. Yet if she’d told him the whole truth, he would have demanded to know whence her information had come. She wouldn’t have been able to give him an answer without bringing his wrath down upon Cormac and the rest of her clan.
Would the decision to protect her kin cause Lucius’s death? She hoped fervently she could yet prevent it. There was time to avert the siege. The uproar caused by her rejection of Edmyg would send the chieftains into debates that would last a full season at the least.
She would choose Kynan as consort immediately, or the clan might fall to warring among themselves. Kynan would be a strong leader but not a violent one. He was older and more cautious than Edmyg, and commanded great respect among the Brigantes. He had sons already, of an age with Owein, so he would not care too much about Rhiannon’s barren womb. Most importantly, he valued the life of his people more than glory on the battlefield.
Aye, Kynan would make a fine king. There was only one fault with the plan.
Rhiannon would have to couple with him.
Bile rose in her throat at the thought of lying under the old warrior’s unwashed body and watching his scarred face strain with lust. It would be no different from what she’d endured with Niall, but now that she knew the delight true lovemaking brought, the thought of opening her thighs to Kynan’s cock sickened her. Yet the choice would protect Lucius and Marcus, and Owein would benefit as well. Even if Kynan had heard lies about her brother’s visions, she would make Owein’s welcome a condition of Kynan’s kingship.
She resumed the trail at a quickened pace. The summer moon would rise on the morrow’s eve. Kynan must become king before Madog kindled the fires of Beltane.
“I want Rhiannon. Where is she?”
Lucius squeezed his son’s hand. “Gone, Marcus.”
Marcus frowned and sat straight up in his bed. Rhiannon’s mistletoe potion, which Demetrius continued to administer, had not only broken the boy’s fever but had also improved his strength considerably. “When will she be back?”
“She’ll not return. She’s gone back to her people.”
“The barbarians?”
Lucius nodded.
Marcus tugged his hand free of Lucius’s grip. “You scared her away,” he accused.
Lucius was silent for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “Most likely I did.”
Tears welled in Marcus’s eyes.
Without a word, Lucius opened his arms and pulled his son into his embrace.
By chance or fate, Rhiannon found Edmyg and Kynan together and nearly at blows.
They stood face-to-face in the grazing meadow, each backed by a phalanx of hard-faced warriors. Rhiannon watched the two chieftains from a vantage point on the high ridge south of the clearing. An assembly of clansmen, spears in hand, formed shifting half circles behind their leaders. Swords and spears were drawn but not yet raised.
Rhiannon searched the gathering in vain for Madog and Owein. Most likely the pair were in the Druid circle gathering the power of Kernunnos to the stones in anticipation of the summer fire. She’d considered seeking them out before she faced Edmyg, but had decided against it. Her resolve was set, and if they did not agree to her plan, she would waste precious time.