Boadicea's Legacy (44 page)

His face hardened, and he yanked a lock of hair from her
head. “Liar! What good are you to me then? Warin taunts me, King John doubts me—aye, but if I had the spear I could show them both. I could kill Arthur. I could take the throne!”

Ela's eyes watered as he stared at her, his revulsion for her sex clear in his clouded gaze.

“Give me the spear, and I will make you my queen.”

“There is no cure for being a sodomizing bastard,” Ela shouted, her spirit bruised at being so close to malevolent evil. “I would rather die than see you on the throne!”

Ela took advantage of his momentary confusion by hitting him in the face with the blunted end of the rod. She then leapt through the smoke, hoping to find the broken window. Her flesh caught on a jagged edge of glass, but she made it through—with the spear.

The roof was on fire. She stood, searching the scene below. Men screamed, and she saw Os fighting valiantly, side by side with the earl, who was holding his arm close to his chest as if injured.

They couldn't lose.

Not to paid mercenaries. And on behalf of a scheme that would have Britain become one with France.

She ran to the edge of the roof and jumped, landing on her feet like a cat. The energy from the rod flowed through her body, and she felt filled with ancient power.

Tossing her head back, she raised the spear and mimicked Boadicea's battle cry.

Os's head jerked up, and his mouth opened in shock.

She wondered what he saw.

“To me, to me!” she yelled.

What was left of the Edyvean knights—the real ones—and the earl's men gathered around her, fighting the enemy back. Some of the men lifted her to the top of the blacksmith's shed. She waved the spear. “Fear not, for I've Andraste's spear.” The men cheered, answering an ancient call. “Kill the mercenaries, take their plunder.”

She stumbled as a flaming arrow almost caught her in the belly.

The spear slipped from her fingers and slid down the roof.

Thomas de Havel was running for it, understanding and fury on his face.

Os flew from Bartholomew's back to catch the spear before it hit the ground. Ela's breath caught in her throat as he held it up to the cheers of his men.

What would he do?

They met each other's gazes, each finally understanding why they'd failed so many times before. He was a warrior trained to protect—he had to have faith and accept her status as a woman born to lead.

He turned and handed the spear up to her with a short bow. “Lead us, my lady. We will follow.”

Ela took the spear, and the power flowed through her body. She was Ana, she was Boadicea, she was Andraste. Shaking the spear, she ran off the edge of the roof to the ground, where she landed like an acrobat. The negative energy dissipated beneath the onslaught of her power; the very magic within the earth rose up to overwhelm the enemy.

Though the mercenaries outnumbered the knights, the knights won with not another injury to be had. Celebrating the victory, she turned to find Osbert. Antonias.

Thomas, the coward, was running from behind a wagon to stab her husband, her eternal love, in the back. “Nay!”

Osbert turned at her loud shout, then he shot an arrow in her direction at the same time that she lobbed Andraste's spear, aiming directly for de Havel's heart.

And the instant she was without the magic of the spear, Warin stabbed her in the back of the neck.

Thunder and lightning played across the sky, and she felt her life force ebb into the earth. She sank down. Floating. Os knelt over her, rain gathering in his stormy eyes. “I never meant to bring you to tears.” She reached up to smooth his bloodied face. “I will come back again.”

“Nay. This is our last time,” he said. “You can't leave me.” He scooped her into his arms and rocked her. She thought she saw the old man who'd been in their keep flash his pure light from behind Osbert. Next to him towered the giant woman warrior who had been her mother once.

I don't want to die. I want Osbert to be happy. He has to meet our children
.

You found the spear. Now hide it again. Remake the tapestry
.

Does that mean I can live?

You are a whiner. My Ana was never a whiner
.

And I get to keep my powers?

Oh, so now suddenly you appreciate them
.

I am sorry, Boadicea. Sorry that I didn't trust in your protection
.

Was that sincere?

Aye. Are you going to rest now?

There is no rest for me. And no rest for you either. I give you this life, and you must find Diyani's children. They are lost to me
.

How did I get to be so lucky?

Watch it
…

Sorry
.

Diyani went to the marshland. She gave me a burial to be proud of. And then she disappeared. Find her kin
.

Ela gasped at the pain of living, then choked on the raindrops falling in her face. “Os, Osbert. Stop shaking me, I feel nauseated.”

He dropped her to the mud. “Ela?”

“Aye—could you be more gentle please? I have a knife wound, here. I think I'm bleeding … a lot. Get Bertha to boil water. Do you have the spear, er, rod?”

“Rod?”

She whispered into his ear. “My tapestry was sewn to it. How could I know?”

He threw back his head. He didn't laugh, and he didn't howl, which Ela took as a good sign. “I surrender to the whims of fate. I cannot understand you, but I love you. It has to be enough.”

“My lady,” St. Germaine said loudly. “‘Tis dripping
wet, and ye're bleeding like a stuck pig. Mayhap we can move inside, where it isn't raining?”

“The rain's a miracle,” the earl said. “It will put out the fires de Havel started. Perverted arsonist.”

“He's dead now. Good shot, my lady.” Albric led the way to the keep. Bertha's scullion maid stood at the kitchen door with towels, and when those ran out, bed linens for people to dry off with.

“I killed him?” Ela leaned into Os as her heart skipped. “I am a healer.”

“You saved my life. That spear throw was surreal.”

She closed her eyes, feeling again the sting of Warin's blade. “And you saved my life too … excellent aim, Husband.”

“An equal partnership.” He kissed her nose and held her close. “You won't die on me?”

Already the blood was slowing. “Nay. I am a fast healer, remember. But your questing days are not quite over.”

“What do you mean?”

“Boadicea needs our family to find Diyani's children.” “Well … damn it then. Are you up for an adventure?” “Not at the moment. Don't forget about the babies.”

“As if I could.”

“We could bring them with us. Better yet, we can send my brothers.” She paused, her spirit heavy. “Osbert?”

“Yea?”

“I am sorry for each time I was angry at you for protecting me. ‘Tis your nature to be a hero, and … I'm sorry.” She reached for his face, cupping his hard jaw in her hand. “I forgive
you. For choosing my life and our love over Britain's fate. I was the one who wouldn't let you forget your Roman birth. I used my pride to exclude you. Can you forgive me for that?”

He closed his eyes, and she wondered if he would refuse her. When he opened them again, she saw all the love he had for her in his blue-gray orbs. He kissed her then for all he was worth, and the royal blue shimmer of his aura exploded in color around his body. “We made it,” she said with a slow smile.

“How do you know?”

“I see your aura.”

“What color am I?”

“Royal blue, my lover. Noble, loving, honorable. A perfect complement to my silver.”

They shared another kiss, one destined to last through eternity.

One More Moment

Check it out! There is a new section on the Medallion Press Web site called “One More Moment.” Have you ever gotten to the end of a book and just been crushed that it's over? Aching to know if the star-crossed lovers ever got married? Had kids? With this new section of our Web site, you won't have to wonder anymore! “One More Moment” provides an extension of your favorite book so you can discover what happens after the story.

medallionpress.com

A special presentation of
Theater
of Illusion
by Kathy Steffen

Prologue

September 18, 1900

The Spirit of the River, Premier Riverboat on the Ohio River

Jared's eyes locked on his sinning, betraying wife. She stood on the deck of the riverboat, hands fisted around the handle of a skillet, knuckles white. She didn't have the grit to swing it.

Emma Perkins was not a woman of courage.

She didn't even possess the backbone to be a decent kind of wife, never mind raise his children. He'd been forced to take them from her. He had no choice. She coddled them, made their lives easy, filled their heads with foolishness from books. Taught them to read and draw and sing. Why, his
son was growing up to be a nancy boy. He'd have none of that.

Emma froze before him, like a timid, hunted animal. He grinned. She'd never escape him—he knew it sure as day. Now she knew it too. No matter where she ran, who she met, what she did, there was no place to hide. She was his. To do with as he saw fit.

And he saw fit to finish this lesson. Oh, he was gonna teach her good, all right.

Her whore of an assistant, Lilly, wriggled under his foot. He leaned more weight on her chest to stop her from squirming. Damn puny slut, he'd crush the life out of her right here. In front of his wife, the woman who promised to love, honor, and obey him.

Emma didn't obey so good.

“You gonna hit me with that thing?” Jared asked his wife, and laughed. “You didn't have the guts before in our bedroom.”

Shock hit her face; fear spread in her pretty green eyes.

“Remember, Emma? I do.”

“N-no.” Her voice sounded far away. Weak.

“Y-yes,” he mocked. “I seen you that night. I see everythin' you do, Emma. I seen you sin with the scarred man. Don't despair. I erased the blight upon your soul.”

“Gage! He's kilt! Threw him over!” the little whore, Lilly, gasped out. He shifted even more of his weight on her, enough to shut her up.

“And your uncle. I saved you from his sins, too.”

More shock spread. Her face became a comical mask, stretched white with terror. Next, her expression crumpled with pain. Loss. Served her right. He'd had to take care of her messes, and he'd done it. Killed her Uncle Quentin, and just throttled the life out of the scarred engineer, threw him in the river only seconds before. He'd cleaned up her life. Seemed he was always cleaning up her life.

Sure, it was nice of him, but his duty as her husband, the way he saw things. Emma caused him a load of work. She should thank him.

Instead, she stood frozen, a skillet clenched in her hands. Her brown hair had come loose, falling around her shoulders. Escaped its binding. Well, no escape from him. Ever.

He couldn't wait for this lesson. To teach her the way of things.

“I see it all, Emma. See and redeem you from your own sinnin' and damnation.”

“No,” she whispered. Fear ran off her and he took it in, like a wolf sniffing out its prey. “No, no, no,” she continued. Each
no
came louder.

Her face changed and he saw something he'd never seen from her before. Not fear. Not cowering. Not her sickening, mousy, terrified look.

She was angry? How dare she! And after he'd gone to such trouble to fix her life.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she ground out, as if she had the right to say such words to her husband. As if she had any rights at all.

He'd teach her to love, honor, and obey, starting now.

“I'm your husband,” Jared answered silkily. “Your savior. I see all. And now, retribution for this whore.” He settled his full weight on the foot holding the yellow-haired slut. Her eyes bulged and her tongue popped out of her mouth with a small gag. She curled as he crushed her in her final judgment.