Rescued by the Celtic Warrior (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 1) (28 page)

By the time Valeria appeared on the beach, beckoning him with a wave, Taran had nearly driven himself mad.

She ran toward him and met him halfway. “Elusius is too weak to climb out of the cave, and I don’t think Quintus can carry him.” Her eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

Taran nodded. He wanted to ask, to demand her decision, but held his tongue. That pompous Roman was watching.

Quintus managed to look occupied while Taran carried the bishop down from the cave and lifted him onto Valeria’s mare. Taran hadn’t expected the arrogant Roman to help. By the relative ease he had when lifting the holy man, Elusius must have been gravely ill. Doing what she could to help, Valeria held the horse and ensured the bishop didn’t slip off the other side.

Taran’s shoulders tensed when he caught Quintus watching them, standing with his arms folded. The lieutenant had been in command of the century that had captured him in Arbeia. Quintus had stood by with a smirk while his men taunted and kicked both Taran and Greum. Then Quintus had his men tie Taran to a pole and pulled out a lash. An inch wide it was, and spiked with pointed brass rivets. Taran’s back needled, recalling the pain of thirty lashes. Each strike drew blood, the memory as clear and grating as if it had happened yesterday. But it was worse when they forced him to watch his friend withstand the same treatment. Greum had stood like a man and took the wrongful whipping in silence. Taran’s respect for his friend had grown tenfold.

Taran shook his head. He could not stand by and allow Valeria to marry the sadist. No woman would last long living under his sick madness.

His memories changed things for Taran.

Before, he’d been wrapped up in his own remorseful feelings of seeing Valeria go, but now he realized the completely precarious nature of her situation. He must devise some way to safeguard her protection. He must speak to the bishop alone. Perhaps the holy man could ensure she would not fall into Quintus’s snare.

The bishop hunched over Mia, and Valeria regally propped herself sidesaddle on Blackie as the two enemies led the horses back to the Pictish camp with Stag wagging his tail behind the caravan. Taran knew why she reverted to riding aside. She couldn’t appear unladylike in front of the Romans, blast it all.

Manas came running as soon as they neared. “I thought ye’d been swallowed up by a sea monster.”

“Heathen boy,” Quintus uttered under his breath.

Taran ground his teeth.

“Ye found him?” Greum trotted up behind the lad.

Taran marched ahead. “Aye, and they’re starving. What have ye mustered up for the evening meal?”

Manas skidded playfully though the sand, running his fingers through Stag’s rough coat. “ʼTis a surprise.”

“Oh, it must be something special then?”

“Aye. Better than wolf meat,” the lad teased.

Taran laughed, but his jovial mood was quickly staunched by the grim frown on his friend’s face.

“What are ye doing with the likes of him?” Greum asked, nodding toward Quintus.

Taran motioned for the others to go into camp. “Manas, lead Blackie back for me and help her ladyship dismount.”

He led Greum toward the pounding waves, out of earshot. “The lieutenant spirited the bishop away during an Attacotti attack. He’s been keeping him alive.”

“But why have ye brought him into our camp? He’s likely to slit our throats while we sleep.”

“We’ll need to keep watch.”

“I say we cut
his
throat and have it over with.”

“We cannot.” Taran frowned. “He is her betrothed or near enough.”

“What? Her ladyship is going to marry that venomed sheep-biting snake?”

“It appears that was her father’s plan, but I need to talk to the bishop and ensure it doesn’t happen.”

Greum gave him a shove. “Ye need to do that, ye big brute, sure enough. She’s in love with ye, and ye’re blind if ye cannot see it.”

Taran returned the shove, pushing Greum stumbling butt first into the surf. “Do ye not think I ken? She has to choose me and cannot be provoked. She owns lands and riches in Rome. I cannot take that from her.”

“She would have lands and riches if she married ye.” Greum shook off the sand, brushing white granules from his dripping arms.

“I wish it were as easy as ye make it out to be. I’ll speak to Elusius. Bring him to me.”

Greum returned with the bishop leaning against his shoulder. Looking haggard with bloodshot eyes, Elusius agreed to sit in the sand beside Taran once he passed his sword and dirk to his friend.

“How’d ye slip away from Quintus’s watchful eye?” Taran asked with his friendliest smile.

“I told him you wouldn’t attack a holy man nor would you have brought her ladyship here if you intended to kill me.”

“True. I do not want to hurt ye.”

“That’s why we’re speaking without him.”

Taran nodded. “Thank ye for yer trust.” He shifted, burrowing his seat in the sand. “What can ye tell me of Valeria’s life in Rome?”

The bishop looked toward the ocean, taking in a deep breath, followed by a sickly cough. “She’s a privileged child, born into an affluent family. Her parents sheltered Valeria from the realities of the world. Her mother was a lady, a beautiful woman, who refused to be tainted by the antics of court. Argus and Helena raised their daughter to be a woman of love and knowledge. They spared her nothing, gave her the best tutors.” He shook his head. “Her only downfall is she is a woman.”

“Why would ye say that?”

“She is very bright and compassionate, a quality lacking in many men of power. In Rome, women are not recognized as citizens. They are chattel much like slaves. Valeria owns property for now, but if she does not marry, it will pass to Caesar.”

Taran’s stomach churned. “ʼTis unbelievable.”

“Are you aware she does not want to marry? She has asked me to speak to the Pope about her internment into a house of God.”

Taran could sit no longer. He stood and paced, fists clenched. “But she granted Pia her freedom, she is becoming a Pict.”

“A Pict? Hardly.” The bishop eyed him. “You have become infatuated with her. That’s understandable. Valeria is a beautiful woman. She told me you are promised. What of that?”

“There is a way to rescind my engagement. She first must renounce allegiance to Rome.”

“I have advised her against that. Do you realize what you’re asking? She must give up everything she holds dear. She would forsake the very foundation of her existence.”

“I will renounce Rome or I will commit to a nunnery!” Valeria shouted over the pounding surf. Taran gaped as she dashed in front of them, hands on her hips. “I am finished with succumbing to the decisions of others.”

Quintus barreled up behind her, sword drawn. “If you bow to this Pict boor, I shall cut him down where he stands!”

Unarmed, Taran took a step back, but his men poured onto the beach, swords at the ready. Even young Manas held Taran’s bejeweled blade above his head, scowling and ready to strike.

Elusius struggled to stand and wedged his body between the two rivals. He held his palms up to each man, sucking in a wheeze. “There shall be no blood shed on this beach today. I suggest Valeria return to Rome and settle her affairs. During her journey she will have time to sort through her emotions and make a sound decision on how she will proceed.”

Taran’s eyes shot to Valeria. She shook her head and held her ground. “No. I will return to Dunpelder with Taran. I’ve made my decision.”

Taran’s heart thudded against his chest. Opening his arms, he stepped toward her.

“Taran!” Valeria warned, pointing behind.

Taran spun. Quintus roared, his eyes red with fury. Swinging his short sword over his head, Quintus launched his attack with the speed of a viper. Taran lunged forward and grabbed his arms before they could swing down. He shoved Quintus back. The Roman rapidly slashed the air with his short sword. Taran leapt aside, spinning toward his men.

Seumas pushed behind Quintus and wrapped his arm around his neck. The point of his blade angled toward the Roman’s jugular. “If ye think ye’ll live swinging yer sword at the king, ye’re sorely mistaken.”

Quintus spat. “He is no king of mine.”

Greum reached in and twisted Quintus’s wrist, disarming him—the short sword dropped from his hand while Greum stretched the sinews back, bending them far beyond natural flexibility. “I think ye’re as dim as a slug wallowing in its own slime,” Greum growled through his teeth. “Taran’s Chief of Gododdin, King of the Votadini Tribe and all Picts. Every man in this company would die defending him.”

Taran snatched up Quintus’s sword and stepped beside Greum. “Manas, fetch the rope.”

The bishop bent over, gasping for air. Valeria clutched his arm. “Bishop, you’re not well. I’ll ask Pia to find some food and a place for you to rest.”

He nodded, coughing.

“In the morning we’ll head back to Una’s roundhouse. Elusius can rest there until he regains his strength.” Taran looked toward Greum and Seumas. “Bind the Roman taut. He’s proven he cannot be trusted.”

****

In the following days, Valeria and Taran were inseparable. Pia nursed the bishop. Though he slept continuously, Elusius had shown improvement in the two days they had been at Una’s roundhouse. Valeria hoped he would be well enough to sit a saddle soon.

Valeria and Taran held hands, strolling through the meadows surrounding Una’s small parcel of land. When she looked at him, the sun behind made his coppery hair glow, as if he had a halo. Valeria chuckled.
Saint Taran.

“You find me looks funny?”

“On the contrary. With the sun glowing through your hair, you look like an angel.”

Taran grinned and moved so the sun shone on his face, and his perfectly straight teeth sparkled. Her insides fluttered. Would there ever be a time when a mere shift of his crystal blue eyes would not turn her knees to mush?

One side of his mouth ticked up. “I must be a fallen angel at best.”

“I think not.” Valeria squeezed his hand. “I can hardly believe this is true. I cannot wait to face the elders.”

“Aye? Ye are a brave woman.”

“Hmm. I wish I knew what to expect. Can you give me any idea?”

“Well, ye already granted Pia her freedom. They’ll look favorably upon that.” He examined the lavender peplos she had donned from her trunk and rubbed a wisp of cloth between his fingers. “Do not wear Roman clothing. Ye’ll need the seamstresses to make a new dress.”

“I wonder if they can alter some of my own.”

“Probably, but for yer test you should wear Pict-made garments, including yer slippers. Don’t take a chance and wear anything Roman.”

Valeria made a mental note to discuss her wardrobe with Morag—if the matron would be willing. She had some silver coins in a hidden compartment of her trunk. She’d be able to pay for the clothing herself, thank heavens.

“What else?” she asked.

“They may challenge ye like Oisean did. Tell them of yer talents—ye’re a horsewoman and skilled with a dirk now—that’s significant.”

“What of academics?”

“ʼTis important, but unusual for a Pict woman. Possibly choose one thing ye’re good at, like music.”

“Ah yes, and my lyre is in the trunk.”

“A Roman lyre?”

“My heavens, I had best use Greum’s.”

“Now ye’re thinking.”

“What else is important to the Picts?”

Taran scratched his chin. “Herbology and healing—ye’ve already demonstrated skills there.”

“Pia is much better than I.”

“She has taught you, though, and ye can commit to learn more.”

“Good idea.”

“Unfortunately war strategy is important.”

Valeria knit her brows. “For the women?”

“For everyone. No home is safe from plunder. Ye saw Dunpelder attacked. It will happen again.”

“ʼTis awful.” Valeria’s mind raced with pictures of Roman fortresses and the strategies she’d heard her father discuss. “I do know a bit about the formation of Roman legions.”

Taran grinned. “That knowledge could help us strengthen our defenses.”

Valeria’s heart fluttered. It excited her that she would be respected enough for the men to acknowledge her value. As a Pict she could make a contribution beyond bearing an heir. But she worried. Would her knowledge be used against the Romans to conquer them? She then recalled Taran had said
strengthen defenses
. The Picts wanted to protect their lands and live as free men. She didn’t believe they would cross the channel and take on Rome proper.
Definitely not
.

Returning to the roundhouse, they saw Una in the woodshed where Quintus was interned. Taran marched ahead and pulled Valeria behind him. “Mistress Una, do not converse with the prisoner.”

The woman whipped around, wide-eyed. “I was just offering him a slice of lard-soaked bread to give him strength.”

“Me men will see he is fed. I thank ye to keep yer distance.”

The Saxon flashed him a hateful glare, her gray eyes narrowed. It happened so fast Valeria wondered if Taran had caught it.