Celtic Fire (31 page)

She crept closer, scanning the stony expressions of her kinsmen as she descended the rocky slope. So many lads, so many old men! They might take Vindolanda if the garrison soldiers mutinied, but how did they hope to remove the conquerors permanently? For every Roman that fell, another would march from the south to take his place. Legionary soldiers, not auxiliary troops. If they fought with even half Lucius’s skill, her people would be slaughtered.

“Ye are a coward.” Edmyg hoisted his sword into the air as punctuation to his declaration. Rhiannon reached the bottom of the hill. She paused in the shelter of a broad oak and pulled herself onto the rise of a fallen limb.

“Ye’d best be watching yer words, lad,” Kynan said.

Rhiannon reached for a higher branch, hoisting herself upward to get a better view of the old warrior. He was hard with muscle, but lean where Edmyg was bulky. His graying hair and beard were braided in dirty strands. In his youth he might have been handsome, but now, with his nose cut away, most would call him no less than hideous. Despite his appearance—or perhaps because of it—Kynan had the respect of the clans. His reputation was that of a coolheaded warrior and shrewd chieftain. She could choose no one more suited to serve the Brigantes as king.

“We’ll ne’er be having a better chance to take the fort,” Edmyg said. He lifted his sword and angled the tip toward Kynan’s heart.

Kynan crossed his arms over his chest rather than drawing his own weapon. Edmyg’s gaze narrowed at the insult. Muttering snaked through the onlookers.

“I’ll nay act again on the advice of the misshapen brute ye call brother,” Kynan said.

“Cormac willna fail us.”

“As he didna fail us on the day of that ill-fated raid?” Kynan said. “I tell ye, Edmyg, I’ll not be risking what kin I have yet living on the word of such a creature. By rights, he should have been exposed at birth.”

Edmyg rose on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight subtly forward. The point of his sword darted upward and nicked the flesh at the base of Kynan’s throat. The warrior standing at Kynan’s right elbow unsheathed his sword. The older man waved him back.

“Will ye kill me, Edmyg, before our kin, for the sake of a plan destined to fail?”

“It willna fail. And even were the odds against us, we are honor-bound to see the attack to its end. Have ye forgotten that Rhiannon is held within the fort? Would ye be leaving her in Roman hands? She’ll be lost to us if ye turn coward now.”

Rhiannon stifled a gasp. Edmyg refused to aid her escape from Vindolanda—while he used her plight to rally the reluctant factions among the clans! An effective bit of strategy—no matter if Rhiannon delivered Lucius or not, Edmyg stood to gain from her capture. The subtlety of his thinking surprised her. Rhiannon never would have guessed Edmyg capable of it—his mind was as blunt and brutal as his manner. The scenario had the hallmarks of one of Cormac’s plots …

Dear Briga! Was Cormac the author of the scheme to use her as a whore? Did Edmyg even know of it?

“Tell me, Kynan,” Edmyg said. “Will we suffer our queen to be taken as a bed-slave?”

For the first time, the old warrior hesitated.

Edmyg stepped back and lowered his sword. “Rhiannon seeks the courage of her warriors! Who among ye will aid her?”

His warriors sent up an answering shout. Kynan’s men soon joined them. The old chieftain dropped his gaze, the slump of his shoulders signaling his defeat.

“We attack at the moon’s rise,” Edmyg shouted.

“Nay!” Rhiannon’s cry couldn’t pierce the ensuing uproar. She scrambled from the tree and into the throng, darting between the warriors until she stood panting at Edmyg’s side. He stared at her as if she were an apparition. Kynan’s expression was no less astonished.

Edmyg grabbed Rhiannon by the arm and hauled her aside. “What of Cormac?” he said in a low voice. “Has he brought the Roman to the circle?”

Rhiannon let out a gasp. “Ye knew. Ye bade me lie with another man.”

“Of course I did, woman. ’Twas our best hope of capturing the dog alive. Madog said—”

“Madog consented?”

“ ’Twas Madog’s plan. Where is the Roman?”

“I dinna ken. I escaped the fort on my own.” She wrenched her arm from his grasp. She caught one glimpse of his stunned expression before she turned to the assembled warriors and lifted her arms. “Brothers! Hear me!”

Silence fell over the crowd like a rippling shroud, as one by one the warriors realized who it was that stood in their midst. When the last man’s voice was still, she spoke.

“Kynan speaks the truth! If Vindolanda is taken, do you imagine Rome will not send her Legions to recapture it? For every man you succeed in killing, two more will march from the south.”

“Nay.” Edmyg practically snarled the word. “In my father’s day even the highlands far to the north crawled with Roman vermin. Now they’ve abandoned their forts there. Rome’s tide retreats. We have but to hasten it.”

“ ’Twill not last. Like the tide, the Romans will return,” Rhiannon said. “The clans must unite, ’tis true, but not for war. We can survive best as an ally of Rome.”

Edmyg snorted. “The Romans have no allies. Only slaves.”

Kynan stepped forward. “Nay. Rhiannon has the right of it. I can no longer count how many kinsmen I’ve lost to Roman swords. Shall our children go fatherless? They deserve a chance for peace.”

Rhiannon laid her hand on the old warrior’s arm. “Kynan, ye’ve the wisdom of a true king,” she said, but it was Edmyg’s face that she watched. “Before the witness of my kin, I choose you as my consort and king. Will ye have me to wife?”

The color drained from Edmyg’s face, then returned as a dark rush of crimson. His knuckles went white on the hilt of his sword. Beside her, Rhiannon felt Kynan shift, drawing his own weapon. The older warrior moved swiftly, inserting his body between Rhiannon and Edmyg.

“ ’Tis my place to be king in Niall’s stead.” Edmyg’s voice shook. “Ye canna deny me.”

Rhiannon squared her shoulders. “The Old Law gives me the right to choose the man worthy to be king. Ye are not that man, Edmyg. Ye fathered a bastard on Glynis.”

“Aye, I did. A son murdered by yer foul brother.”

“Nay! Owein has not that power.”

“If ye truly believe that, yer a fool.” His attention sliced to Kynan. “Step away from my woman, old man. I willna give her up.”

Kynan stood his ground. “I accept Rhiannon’s offer. I am her consort now by right of law.”

Edmyg swore. “In one thing, at least, the Romans are wise. They keep their women locked away awaiting their pleasure.” He looked at Rhiannon. “Is that not true?”

“You swine,” Rhiannon whispered.

Edmyg’s voice rose, mocking her. “A woman is nay a fit ruler. If Cartimandua had submitted to her consort and king, the Brigantes would rule their land to this day. Instead she opened her thighs to any who would enter. As her granddaughter has done.”

Kynan’s sword lifted. “Shut yer foul mouth, Edmyg.”

Edmyg raised his own weapon. “Will ye fight for yer whore’s honor, old man?”

Kynan shifted into a battle stance. “I will fight for my queen.”

“Nay!” Rhiannon cried, but the two men paid her no heed. She lunged forward, but her kinsman Bryan restrained her. She twisted about. “Stop them.”

“I willna,” Bryan replied. “And nay will any of the others. They must resolve this feud with blood.”

Edmyg’s sword flashed. Kynan’s answered. The older warrior’s skill was keen, but Edmyg’s prowess in battle had earned him the right to be called king. It took but a few strokes before Kynan lay sprawled in the dirt, the tip of Edmyg’s sword pressing into the hollow of his throat.

A thin smile played about Edmyg’s lips. “Ye might have picked a more worthy champion, my queen.”

“Spare him, Edmyg. I beg ye.”

“And let him be claiming a place by yer side? Nay.” Kynan’s eyes bulged as Edmyg pressed his sword deeper.

“Yer favor has doomed him,” Edmyg declared. He plunged his sword into Kynan’s neck with a quick, deep thrust, nearly severing the old warrior’s head with his ferocity. Blood spurted from the gash and sprayed onto Rhiannon’s skirt.

She sank to her knees, struggling to draw breath into her stunned lungs. Kynan’s spirit tore from his body with a violence that caused stars to burst in her vision. Pain pounded in her head. Tremors wracked her body, made worse by the knowledge that she alone was to blame for the honest warrior’s death.

Edmyg lifted his bloodied blade to the sky. “Does anyone else dare challenge a king?”

When no answer came, he sheathed his sword and hauled Rhiannon to her feet. She grasped his shoulder for balance and fought the urge to vomit.

“Our queen has been defiled by the Roman dog who commands Vindolanda,” Edmyg shouted.

“Nay,” Rhiannon said, but a roar of outrage shattered her weak protest. Nausea surged and darkness swirled into her vision. She heard Edmyg’s faraway voice as her consciousness faded.

“Who will join me in vengeance?”

“Drink this.”

Rhiannon grasped the wooden cup and brought it to her lips. A hand held the back of her head, supporting her as she drank a bitter potion. The light of a low fire cast flickering shadows over wattle-and-mud walls. Madog’s forest hut.

“Owein,” she said weakly.

“Hush. Dinna try to speak. Ye’ve suffered much today.”

She nodded, closing her eyes against the memory of Kynan’s slaughter. She drank again, swallowing deeply. Owein shifted on the pallet, drawing her against him in the reverse of an embrace she’d given him so often as a small lad. When had he grown so tall as to offer her the same comfort?

She laid her empty cup on the dirt floor. “Where is Madog?”

“Preparing the summer fires. This eve, your hand will spark the flames.”

“Nay.” Rhiannon sought Owein’s gaze, but his eyes were shadowed and she could not make out his expression.

“ ’Tis folly to attack the Romans. I’ll not be part of it, Owein. Would ye join Edmyg in dooming the clan?”

He laughed, an unpleasant sound more suited to a man than a lad. “For once, Edmyg and I are of one mind. The Roman commander soiled ye. He must pay.”

“He did naught but what I allowed him,” Rhiannon whispered.

Owein swore. “Edmyg said as much, but I nay believed him. How could I, when I saw plain enough what he did? I heard your grief.”

Rhiannon looked at him in confusion. “Ye saw, Owein? But how?”

“Ye know I have the Sight.”

“Ye see shadows of the future.”

“Aye, and those of the past and the present. I saw ye with him, Rhiannon. In his bed. Sobbing as if yer heart would break.” His arms tensed around her. “I’ll kill him for it.”

“Nay,” Rhiannon whispered, her mind reeling with the thought of Owein’s unseen presence in the chamber she’d shared with Lucius. “He never harmed me. I went to him willingly.”

“Willingly.” He jerked to his feet. “I am ashamed of ye.”

Rhiannon’s temper flared. “ ’Tis nay your place to approve of my union with Lucius.”

“He will die for it. I promise ye that.”

“Nay, Owein. Ye willna harm him.”

He regarded her steadily. “The Roman fort will fall. Its commander will die. I have Seen it.”

Cold dread seeped into Rhiannon’s gut. “If Vindolanda falls, ’twill seal the Brigantes’ doom. The Romans will not rest until we are all dead or enslaved. Can ye not See the truth?”

“The beasts killed our father. They slaughtered the Druids on Mona, raped their women. How can we forget?”

“Drawing blood from a wound will nay heal it! As queen I can negotiate peace. The Brigantes will once again be a free people within Rome, as we were under Cartimandua.”

“A free people? Ye are mad to think it. Our grandmother believed Rome thought her an equal. Her trust cost her the throne.”

Rhiannon closed her eyes as a swell of lightheadedness assaulted her. Owein spoke the truth. She’d little reason to believe the Roman governor would grant autonomy to the Brigantes. Still, she longed for the opportunity to intervene on her people’s behalf. Perhaps with Lucius’s help …

Nay. It was a dream that would never come true. Another wave of vertigo struck. She leaned forward and braced her palm on the floor.

Owein’s hand pressed her shoulder. “Lie down, sister,” he said. “The spinning will soon pass, leaving ye stronger than before. Ye’ll be linked to Madog’s spirit as I am.”

Rhiannon stared up at him. “Have ye drugged me, Owein?”

Guilt flickered in his eyes, then hardened into hate. Dear Briga. She’d been gone from him for less time than it took the moon to wax. Yet in that short span, Owein had passed from lad to man.

He crouched by her side, steadying her as the walls of the hut spun wildly. “ ’Tis best this way. Ye’ll light the fires of Beltane. Madog and I will call Kernunnos. The foreign swine will soon be gone from the lands of the Brigantes.”

She struggled to refute him, even as she felt the potion drain her resistance. “The Romans are not beasts, Owein. They are men like any others.”

He eased her down on the pallet. “They will bleed and die just as well, then.”

Rhiannon floated as if in a dream. She wore a checkered tunic and a mantle of blue and gold fastened at her shoulder with a gold pin worked like a leaf, but she had no memory of dressing herself in such garments. A sea of bodies surrounded her, most half hidden behind the tall stones, but a few men—Madog and Owein among them—stood within. Madog’s high, thin voice chanted a numbing path through her mind. Owein’s low tone wove across and around his mentor’s call. Ancient syllables, pulsing, urging.

Compelling.

She gripped a taper lit by the strike of iron on stone. Its flame leaped against the night, straining to break free. Two cold pyres lay within the Druid circle, great mounds of oak and fir. They wanted but the touch of her hand to send the wood into flame, but some instinct told Rhiannon to hold back. Though she couldn’t remember the reason, she knew that lighting the summer fire would be a grave mistake.

But the Druid song rose, sapping her resistance until it was as faint as a childhood memory. She stepped between the pyres and touched the taper to the tinder at the base of each. The tiny flames flickered, faded, then burst anew, snaking through the sacred wood. They lapped higher, caressing one of the white shanks that mingled with the logs and branches. Rhiannon frowned at the pale shafts, her horror rising.