Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 01] (34 page)

Carys glanced over at him. Something about her had changed since they’d been in this room, and although he couldn’t fathom what, he could feel the difference in her, an inner energy, as if a lamp had been ignited in her soul.

“My lord Tribune.”

It took him a moment to realize she was addressing him. “What is it, Celt?” He infused each word with as much disdain as possible. See how she enjoyed being on the receiving end.

The corner of her mouth quirked, as if she struggled not to smile at his attempt at offense. “Does everything in this room now belong to Efa?”

Everything in this room had the touch of Rome. Faustus had undoubtedly furnished its entirety from his own pocket. “It does.”

When they finally left the tavern, Carys had to restrain the urge to fling her arms around Maximus and tell him how much she loved him.

Cerridwen had returned.

Even now, she could scarcely believe it. But there was no doubt. Cerridwen had been with her, had shown her the spark of life within Efa’s womb, and how to smooth the life-path of not just Efa, but Branwen’s grandfather also, whose heart still trembled with the loss of Branwen’s sister and stillborn child.

“I thought you didn’t want to draw attention to yourself.” There was an odd note in Maximus’s voice, as if he was torn between frustration and amusement.

“What?” She glanced up at him, floundered in the beautiful blue of his eyes and again wanted to claim him for her very own in front of the world.

“You’re all but dancing. Not that I particularly disapprove, but people are staring.”

She immediately reined in her exuberance. “Thank you for bringing me.” She kept her voice low. “Cerridwen awaited me there.”

A frown flashed over his face, as if he didn’t think much of Cerridwen. But she wanted him to love her goddess, perhaps not as
she
loved her, but enough so she could tell him of Cerridwen’s great wisdom and generosity.

And forgiveness.

Joy bubbled through her heart once again at the knowledge Cerridwen had forgiven her transgression. Truly, she would give great sacrifice to her goddess. Anything she desired.

Almost
anything.

“Efa didn’t know she was with child, did she?”

She dragged her attention back to the present. “No. But it
is
very early. She’ll feel the changes in her body soon enough.”

His jaw tightened, as if she’d given too much information for comfort. “How did you know, Carys?”

She opened her mouth to tell him exactly how she’d known, when a slither of alarm alerted her senses.

He was her beloved, and she defied her people to be with him. But he was still Rome, and Rome was the enemy of her blood.

The euphoria dimmed. There would always be some secrets she must keep from him. For both their sakes.

“I’m a healer, Maximus. I’ve always had a particular affinity with feminine conditions.” It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

“And what of you?” He was still frowning, but concern threaded his words.

“Me?” She tried to understand what he meant, but failed. “What of me, Maximus?”

He pulled her to a stop, his hands on her shoulders. “You might also be with child.”

If only
.

But as she stared into his unsmiling face, the certainty gripped her that Maximus would be appalled by such an occurrence.

She sucked in a deep breath. “There’s no need to fear on my account. I would never burden you with such an encumbrance.”

“Burden me?” His eyes narrowed as his frown intensified. “That’s not my concern, Carys.” He sounded offended, as if she had deliberately misunderstood his meaning.

So what did he mean?

“Maximus, you don’t have to worry about it.” But even as the words left her lips, a chill shivered through her.

Just days ago she’d been so sure their liaison would be of short duration. How could it be anything more? Sooner or later the Druids would rise against their oppressors and, with the fury of the gods to guide them, obliterate the enemy forever.

But what if the long-promised attack never occurred? Her heart lurched in strangled delight at the prospect of being able to see Maximus indefinitely. But then what of her plans to conceive his child? Would he still desire her as her body changed or would he lose interest?

“I’m not worrying for myself.” His fingers tightened around her shoulders as if he wanted to give her a good shake. “I’m thinking of you. Did you—uh—take precautions?”

He looked tortured, as if the conversation crucified him. As if Roman men usually never spoke of such matters.

She smothered a sigh and pressed her hand against his heart. “I know what to do. All is well, Maximus.”

Back at his quarters, Maximus stared at Carys in growing disbelief. “You’ll stay here,” he said, “until I return.”

“So I’m your prisoner?”

He ignored her inane accusation. “How can you think of leaving?” He just prevented himself from adding
me
. “Every time I turn my back, some rutting male attacks you.”

She flushed, and far from feeling victorious he felt only a rising sensation of dreaded frustration.

“If you lend me a suitable weapon, then I’ll be able to defend myself.”

He almost laughed in her face, but not with amusement. With derision. How could a woman as fragile as Carys hope to compete against a full-grown man blinded by lust?

“You’re no warrior maiden, Carys.” He meant it as a compliment, for what did he need with one of those heathen females? But Carys stiffened in clear affront, and he realized yet again he’d managed to insult her culture without intent.

He let out an impatient breath, battened down his irritation and took her hands. “I mean no disrespect. But I can’t allow you to wander the countryside unprotected. Look what happened yesterday. If I hadn’t found you when I did, you would have been raped—perhaps even murdered.” A nauseous chill invaded his stomach at the image and he banished the thought with a shudder. He would never allow Carys to put herself in such danger again.

“That won’t happen again.” There was a note of iron in her voice, as if she had reached a decision of which he had no knowledge. “I learn from my mistakes, Maximus. It was wrong of me to go to the Cauldron and—” She cut herself off, and blinked as if she had forgotten what she was about to say.

“Then let me hear no more of your insane wish to leave.” He relinquished her hands and turned, intending to ready himself for the day ahead. Where in Tartarus had the slave hidden his favorite fibula?

“Do you think I won’t return to you?”

He flicked his gaze over her, from the top of her golden head, her delicate features and enticing curves, to her leather-clad feet. How could a woman who looked as ethereal as Carys possess so stubborn a spirit?

“Is that what you believe?” She rested her hand on his arm, demanding an answer.

Impossible female.

And yet, deep inside, an illogical certainty formed. He knew she would return to him. She would always return to him.

But only if he allowed her to go of his own free will.

A dull throb pounded at his temples. Women were there for comfort. For convenience. They were not supposed to cause a man headaches and make him question his own integrity.

But Carys would never be merely a convenience. She would never accept his word as her law, unless it suited her.

Once again, he was back at the waterfall and the choice was his. Force her to his will, or allow her to go.

He circled her wrist with thumb and forefinger and removed her hand from his arm. “I shall provide you with a horse and weapon. If you allow any harm to befall you, I’ll kill you myself.”

She flashed him an inappropriate smile, rose onto her toes and brushed a teasing kiss across his lips.

“You’ll never have any need to kill me.”

Her words echoed in his mind, an ominous refrain.

A shudder inched along his spine.
Madness
. He would never harm Carys, whatever trouble her foolhardy behavior caused.

She was his woman, his responsibility. And whether she liked it or not, in the eyes of Rome her actions were his.

As soon as Carys reached the Cauldron, she saw her medicine bag where she’d left it. She dismounted the mare Maximus had acquired for her and hastily gathered her scattered belongings together, whispering prayers of gratitude and love to Cerridwen for protecting her possessions from scavengers.

She dug into the bag and retrieved her dagger, and secured it at her waist, next to the one Maximus had given her. Never again would she allow herself to be so vulnerable.

Aeron sucked the noxious fumes deep into his lungs, holding the smoke within his physical body, freeing his spirit to commune in the astral plane.

Gwydion, the warrior magician, the greatest of the enchanters, whispered caution through his mind.
They hadn’t come this far to shatter their illusion of allegiance to the old gods yet.

Soon. But not today.

Aeron bared his teeth but dampened down his rage and derision toward the swarming multitude of gods and goddesses he’d pretended to worship most of his life.

Only Gwydion, master illusionist of the immortals, knew his true heart. Only Gwydion had seen his pure spirit at the age of eight while he writhed in the torturous grip of his revelatory vision.

Gwydion, who had taken the terrified boy and protected him, nurtured him, taught him how to hide his fear, feed upon his disgust and gain strength from his deceptions. Gwydion, who had loved him before any of the other gods deigned to acknowledge his existence.

The god of illusion had instructed him well. For even Gwydion did not know the entire scope of Aeron’s plans.