Defy the Eagle (18 page)

Artair's men. Artair's slaves. Slaves, like herself. The familiar burning resentment flared for a moment and then disappeared. Caddaric had deliberately avoided the word slave. Out of consideration for her feelings? Jilana wondered. The possibility did much to dispel her nervousness and she offered Caddaric a small, but genuine, smile. "About my bath," she prompted gently when it appeared he would not continue.

Slowly, Caddaric expelled his pent-up breath. "Though not heated, the bath house is in good repair and the water in the caldarium is pleasantly cool. If you like, I will take you there."

If she liked? Excitement shone in the violet eyes as Jilana slid from the bed. 'Twould be wonderful indeed to enjoy the deep pool rather than the confines of the wooden tub. If she liked?

Her joy went through Caddaric like a spear and he turned quickly away. Such a little thing, this bath, to bring so much happiness, and he planned to use it to his advantage. He was a cur. "Gather what you need. I will wait for you on the gallery." He bent over his own chest and removed a change of clothing before leaving the chamber.

Jilana hardly noticed his actions or his retreat. Arms wrapped about herself, Jilana whirled around the room before coming to a stop in front of her chest. Opening the chest, Jilana sorted through its familiar, meager contents. The ransacking of her chamber had left her little enough. Three stolae—two of white linen, the third a soft wool dyed blue—a like number of short tunics of fine but undyed wool; a belt; a russet paenula, a heavy woolen hooded cape; a precious vial of rose-scented oil; one pair of sandals and one pair of shoes; and her saffron bridal veil were all that remained of her once extensive wardrobe and possessions. Dismissing the loss, Jilana chose the

blue stola and, as an afterthought, picked up her comb and the vial of oil. Quickly now, lest Caddaric grow impatient and decide to forego the promised venture, Jilana slipped her feet into the pair of soft leather shoes and all but ran from the chamber.

Caddaric waited at the gallery railing, watching the activity in the courtyard below. The breeze ruffled the soft curls on his head and when he turned to look at her, Jilana was pierced by the same attraction she had felt at their first meeting. His free hand rested upon the wooden railing and Jilana was assaulted by the memory of how gently that same hand had caressed her. There was no indication that Caddaric remembered his earlier tenderness. He nodded once and started toward the stairs, leaving Jilana to follow. And follow she did, until they reached the courtyard and Jilana became aware, that several men were openly staring at her. Instinctively, she quickened her step so that she walked at Caddaric's side.

The frankly curious stares angered Caddaric. He knew, as Jilana did not, the gossip that had spread through the Iceni host regarding Jilana and himself. Everyone knew that her life had been spared because of her kindness toward Boadicea, and that the Queen had sent Caddaric to keep this one Roman safe—that much of the story, at least, held fast to the truth, as did the part which dealt with Jilana's confrontation with Boadicea the next day. Thereafter, however, the truth was liberally sprinkled with imaginings of the Celtic mind. Jilana, 'twas said, was a sorceress. How else could she have lain naked in Caddaric's arms, and then produced the dagger to plunge into his shoulder at the exact moment that his manhood pierced her, unless by magic? And see Caddaric. Had he not changed since the night he took the Roman to his pallet? Did not his men avoid him? Aye, they did. Even Heall, Caddaric's most trusted friend, was not trusted too long alone with the red-haired witch. And, as final proof of Jilana's sorcery, Caddaric bore no wound or scar from Jilana's blade. Not even Clywd's most powerful unguent could cause a wound to disappear. Aye, surely she was a sorceress, and her magic most potent.

Now a corner of Caddaric's mouth lifted in an un-amused smile. The gossips did not consider the fact that if Jilana was truly a sorceress, she would use her powers to escape her enemies—an important fact to Caddaric but apparently not to the other Celtic minds. Mayhap they chose to believe that Jilana harbored a passion for him, but whatever their reasoning, Caddaric did not disabuse them of it. A potential sorceress was held at arm's length, a source of curiosity and not a little fear. All the better; for no matter how seductive a man might find Jilana, he would hesitate before laying a hand upon her. As for the rest of the gossip, 'twas to Caddaric's benefit not to correct the other misconception. If magic would not deter a man, Caddaric's sword arm and temper would.

The bath house lay just ahead and to their right, resting in the afternoon shade of the villa. It was a small building, erected not for its beauty but for its purpose. Augusta had missed the gracious baths of Rome so, to please his wife, Marcus had built one. Since there were no public baths in Venta, as there were in Rome, Augusta and her friends were quick to take full advantage of the bath. Here in the afternoon, the women gathered to immerse themselves in the rectangular hot bath, or caldarium, and then stretch out upon the marble benches while their attendants oiled their bodies and scraped their flesh with a strigil. Then, while the ladies relaxed in the heat and exchanged gossip, they were offered wine and fruit by the household servants. Since the bath lacked a proper frigidarium, or cold bath, with which to close the pores of the skin, the women would then retire to the tepidarium, or temperate room, to cool down and receive a second light oiling before dressing and returning to their homes. It was a ritual which Jilana had shared with her mother since the age of eight.

All these thoughts raced through Jilana's mind as Caddaric pushed open the heavy door of the bath house. There was an air of abandonment about the building, as though it had stood unused for months rather than a few days and Jilana's eyes burned with sudden tears. She led Caddaric through the hall with its exquisite wall paintings of bath scenes and stopped when she reached the point where a second hall intersected the first. Directly ahead, flanked by paintings of Venus and Hylas, stood the door leading to the caldarium. To the right and left lay the short passages to the changing rooms,

"May I change and join you in the pool?"

Her soft question brought a nod from Caddaric. Jilana turned to her right and walked down the hallway. Caddaric waited until the door closed behind her before turning to his left and entering the changing room.

The changing room was small but light flowed through the bank of long, rectangular windows which ran along the outside wall just beneath the ceiling. Caddaric paced the perimeter of the room, noting the marble benches, the ornate grills in the floor which signified the presence of a hypocaust—or furnace—and the mosaic floor, where the tiles captured the image of a horse stretched out in full gallop. The mosaic was beautiful and Caddaric allowed himself a moment's appreciation before inspecting the rest of the room. Shelves were spaced along one wall, and here Caddaric found clean towels, an oil flask, and a silver-handled strigil, the small instrument with a short, curved blade which was used to scrape the oil and dead skin from one's flesh. The strigil, undoubtedly, had belonged to Jilana's father, as had the oil. From the passage a door opened and closed, and then sounded again, closer this time. Jilana had entered the bath; Caddaric stripped off his tunic and loincloth and selected a towel from the shelf. He started to walk from the room and then paused, considering. After a moment he retraced his steps and picked up the oil flask and strigil.

Jilana reclined in the pool, her head resting upon the cool marble edge while the water lapped against her neck. As Caddaric had warned, the water bordered on cool, but it was heavenly just to be able to stretch out full length and feel the water invade her every pore. The caldarium door opened and so did Jilana's eyes, but they shut just as quickly when she realized Caddaric was nude. The door closed and Jilana turned her head aside, assuring Caddaric of complete privacy even though they would share the pool. She had deliberately chosen the far end of the pool for the same reason. The bath was twenty feet long, half as wide, and four feet in depth; once Caddaric was safely submerged, and as long as she did not stand up and they both kept to their separate ends of the pool, they should be able to share the bath without embarrassment. Embarrassment or curiosity? a silent voice mocked, and Jilana quickly brought a hand to her cheek to cool the blush there. Aye, she was curious. She had tended Caddaric often enough to be aware of the differences in their bodies and to wonder at them, and this afternoon had only heightened her curiosity. She wondered what would have happened if Artair had not interrupted them, and then pushed the thought away. 'Twas unseemly. But still, the memory of Caddaric's flesh beneath her hands sent a pang through her loins.

"Wicca."

The voice, so near, startled Jilana and her eyes flew open. He was beside her in the water, one arm stretched out along the marble edge behind her head. The water swirled as he shifted position, his leg grazed her hip, and Jilana realized that Caddaric had joined her on the submerged ledge carved out of the walls of the pool. Suddenly wary, she slid away but Caddaric did nothing other than tip his own head back against the edge and close his eyes. Jilana watched him for several minutes, every muscle tensed and ready should he try to repeat his earlier advances. Caddaric remained where he was, occasionally moving to cup water in one large hand and lave it over his chest. Intrigued in spite of herself, Jilana watched as the circular motion of his hand disturbed the pattern of his chest hair and then drifted lower, below the water line. She was seized by the urge to duplicate his movements, to allow her hands to drift across his chest.....

Her fingers curled involuntarily and the sting of her nails biting into her palms brought Jilana to her senses. Striving for an air of indifference, Jilana forced herself to recline once more against the wall and close her eyes. She should be concerned for her modesty, Jilana reminded herself; for propriety's sake she should move further away, ideally to the opposite end of the pool. The water in the bath was clear and every line and curve of her body would be revealed to Caddaric if he chose to look, as would his to her. She found that thought disturbing, but not offensive. In truth, Caddaric had seen her nude so often she doubted her body held any secrets for him, but his, on the other hand... Jilana firmly suppressed such wayward thinking. They were enemies; she was his slave. She had been strictly raised in the belief that she would go to her marriage bed a virgin; this wanton, reckless curiosity about Caddaric would simply have to cease. Jilana sank lower into the bath, raised her hands to her burning face and then trickled water over her exposed shoulders. The shocks of the past week must have been too much for her, she decided, and she was now succumbing to the strain and becoming ill. Why else would the water suddenly feel so very warm?

Cautiously, Caddaric opened his eyes and turned his head toward Jilana. Her eyes were closed, her neck delicately arched over the edge of the bath in a manner that seemed to invite his caress. The red-gold braid of hair was coiled around her head, but in several places wisps of hair had escaped the pins and now curled damply against her cheeks and nape of her neck: Did she know what a tempting sight she was? How the brush of his thigh against her hip had sent his heart hammering so heavily in his chest that he had been certain the ribs would crack? Nay, Caddaric decided as he watched Jilana's slender hands trail water across her shoulders, she did not. For a beautiful woman she seemed supremely indifferent to the reactions she produced in men. Caddaric regretted, fleetingly, the forces that had decreed Jilana should be his slave, but he shrugged the regret aside. How else would she have come to be his? Without Boadicea's rebellion Jilana would have married Lucius, and even if she had not, her family would certainly never have allowed her to be courted by an Iceni warrior whose only relationship with Rome was that he had deserted one of its legions in order to buy his father's freedom from a Roman general. A bitter smile touched his mouth as he thought of Jilana and her family. Aye, the fates had not been kind to Jilana, but they had brought her to Caddaric and he would not cavil with that outcome.

The bitter smile faded as Caddaric studied Jilana's profile, and had she been watching, Jilana would have been astounded by the softening of his features. When had it all changed? Caddaric wondered. Until this afternoon he would have sworn that all he wanted from Jilana was her body and the possible product of their physical union. A week ago he would have been content with her unresisting compliance in his bed but now, having tasted her passion, Caddaric knew that would no longer suffice. He wanted all of Jilana, willing and passionate or strong and defiant. Above all, he wanted to end completely the hate that had lain between them. He wanted her trust.

Caddaric turned his gaze from Jilana to his hands. Large and square, with long, thick, blunt fingers, they were the hands of a warrior, not a patrician, and they seemed to accentuate the differences between himself and Jilana. Women, especially Roman women, liked to be wooed and courted with words, an art at which he was far from skilled. In all his life, Caddaric realized, he had never truly conversed with a woman such as Jilana. He had talked to his mother, of course, and his sisters, but he had been a child then. The women he had known during his time with the legion had been more interested in his coin than his conversation. And then there was Ede, a warrior maid with whom he could discuss the quality of a blade during the day and take to his pallet at night without the ploy of pretty, meaningless words. Jilana was different from his previous women: he could not take her like some common camp follower and he could not treat her with the casual indifference which had been Ede's. In order to make Jilana truly his, he would have to have her mind as well as her body, and that would mean sharing a part of himself which he had kept inviolate since the invasion of Claudius. A feeling of sick dread settled in Caddaric's stomach; compared to Lucius he was clumsy and vulgar, a barbarian. 'Twould no doubt be amusing to Jilana to watch him struggle to string three words together in order to converse with her. Still, he had to try.