Tainted (13 page)

He had never felt the need to say such a thing before when
he had been with a Roman woman. He might not personally blame them, but they
were still the enemy, and he had no compunction in using his enemy.

But he did not consider Antonia his enemy. He had never
wanted to fuck her simply for information he might glean, because she had no
information. And while that had always been the truth, the added knowledge that
she did not flit from lover to lover to add illicit excitement into her
existence stirred a strange element of protectiveness deep in his chest.

She was Roman, but he would not callously wound her with his
views.

“Of course,” she whispered, but there was an underlying
thread of sadness, as though she knew, as well as him, that their opposing
cultures would always stand between them.

The knowledge hovered, like an insistent wasp. Why did it
matter? They would not be together long enough for such a thing to matter. In
fact, why was he still lying here, holding her in his arms? He had leads to
follow up, elusive contacts to track down. If other Druids were, indeed, in
Camulodunon, he intended to discover them.

But it felt too good holding Antonia in his arms.

Eventually it was she who stirred, reluctance showing in
every move, and he pulled on his clothes before she summoned Elpis to assist
her.

Once again, Gawain leaned against the door of the tavern,
but this time he watched as Antonia walked away from him. She’d covered her
head with her slave’s cloak but nothing could disguise the fact she was a noblewoman.
It wasn’t simply the quality of her gown beneath the cloak. It was inherent in
her bearing.

With a half-smile he followed at a discreet distance. He
would ensure she reached the bathhouse in safety and only then would he be on
his way.

As she entered the main square, he decided he would catch up
with her. It would not ruin her reputation to be seen with him in such a public
place, not when she was acquainted with his kin, Carys. But before he could put
his plan in action, she was accosted by a Roman patrician in purple striped
toga and flowing cloak.

What the fuck? Gawain sank back into the shadows of the side
alley. It was not just any patrician. It was the one who had been speaking to
Maximus the previous day.

He watched as the Roman took Antonia’s hand in a far too
familiar manner. It was obvious they were acquainted and equally obvious that
the Roman believed he had the right to not only kiss Antonia’s hand but then
take her arm in a blatantly possessive way.

What was the Roman saying to her?
His head was
inclined toward her and he appeared to be admonishing her. Because he had
witnessed her leave a less salubrious quarter of town? Who did he think he was?

Irritation simmered. Not merely because of the Roman’s
behavior but because, deep in his gut, a sliver of guilt stirred. He should be
the one escorting Antonia back to the bathhouse. He had only agreed to this
compromise after she had reminded him that if her reputation was called into
question her father would never let her out of his sight again.

He was further irked by the knowledge that had the Roman
seen Gawain by Antonia’s side as they left the alley her reputation would, most
surely, now be in tatters.

The guilt, irritation and rising unease at his reaction to
this situation smoldered through his blood. Before the invasion, he had enjoyed
many Celtic lovers from the noble and Druid ranks. The woman he’d loved had
been a powerful Druid. But even with her—especially with her—he had never been
consumed by this unnerving imperative to protect them from danger both seen and
unknown.

As a warrior and member of the elite, he would have fought
to the death to save their lives. They were his people. His fellow Druids would
have done the same for him.

But Antonia was not a Celt and she certainly wasn’t a
warrior. She would no sooner know how to wield a weapon than she would know how
to assert her rights against her cursed empire and all it stood for.

Was that why he couldn’t shift this insidious mantle of
responsibility that seeped through his chest whenever he thought of her
vulnerability? But if that was the case why hadn’t he felt this way with his
Celtic lovers who had chosen not to follow the warrior path?

They had reached the bathhouse. The Roman finally left her,
stalking off toward the
basilica
, and Gawain tore his malignant glare
from the man’s retreating back to refocus on Antonia.

She stood beside a fluted column and was looking across the
square at him. She caught his gaze, gave a barely perceptible shrug that spoke
volumes of her opinion toward the Roman, and then smiled at him.

The knot in his gut eased. He made no response but waited
until she disappeared inside the building before finally turning away.

Now he could concentrate on hunting down elusive Druids.

Gawain strolled with apparent nonchalance down the filthy
back street. Thieves and cutthroats and worn-out whores infested this part of
Camulodunon, a dank underbelly of the
colonia
into which no respectable
Roman would dare venture.

For five days, he’d followed his instincts, seeking answers
from those who did not even realize they were being questioned. He’d pieced
together random snatches of information, overheard conversations and seemingly
unconnected snippets of gossip and speculation.

It was ironic to think that all the time he had been
gathering information on the mood of the local tribes on rebellion, fellow
Druids had been infiltrating the
colonia
under his very nose.

A great hulk of a man emerged from the shadows and Gawain
tensed, ready to draw his dagger in an instant. The other man made no
threatening gesture but his stance was not welcoming. But despite the rough
clothing and unkempt beard of the silent man, an aura of power radiated from
him.

Anticipation surged through Gawain’s blood. He was certain
he had found the one he’d been seeking but he had no intention of assuming
anything. He took another step forward and didn’t miss how the man’s fingers
wound around his dagger in readiness. They were close enough to kill each other.
But they were also close enough so that their words could not easily be
overheard.

“By the benevolence of Annwyn, greetings.” It was a formal,
rarely used welcome between chieftains in Cymru. But Gawain spoke the words in
the tongue of the ancients, the sacred language of the gods that only Druids
understood.

The other man did not show by a flicker as to whether
Gawain’s words made sense or not. For long moments they continued to maintain
eye contact, senses alert. No one approached or called out to them.

They might have been alone in the alley, in the way all
noise of life had stilled.

Finally the other man stirred. “By the gods of my ancestors,
welcome.” He also spoke in the language of the ancients and exhilaration pumped
through Gawain’s veins. He and Carys were not alone in Camulodunon. “My name is
Rhys,” the Druid said in their own tongue. The language of the gods was not for
everyday conversation, after all.

“Gawain. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

Rhys indicated Gawain should accompany him and they made
their way along the alley. “I’ve been aware of your presence since the day you
first entered Camulodunon,” Rhys said and Gawain shot him a look of disbelief.

“Why didn’t you make contact?”

Rhys turned a corner and they entered a small square with a
tired-looking market. Nothing like the prosperous market that graced the forum
several times a week.

“You lodge with the tribune and his wife.”

Fuck. “The tribune’s wife is from Cymru. We are kin by
virtue of our clan. I will protect the princess and her daughter with my life.”
It wasn’t so much a threat as an explanation and when Rhys gave a brief nod
Gawain knew that he had told the older man nothing that he didn’t already know.

Gawain could only hope that whatever other information Rhys
had discovered didn’t include the fact that Carys was also a Druid. Not that
she wanted to deny her heritage. But because the fewer people who knew, the
safer she was.

“You’ve been attempting to stir a rebellion here.” Rhys shot
him a glance Gawain couldn’t decipher. “I wanted to see how far you were
willing to go. Two turns of the wheel ago, I also came to Camulodunon with the
same desire. But, as you have discovered, the time is not yet ripe.”

Rhys had been in the
colonia
since Gawain and the
rest of his clan had retreated to the Isle of Mon? What the fuck had he been
doing all this time?

His thoughts must have shown on his face as Rhys gave him a
mirthless smile. “There’s more than one way to undermine an enemy, Gawain.”

It was late when he returned to the villa. Although both
Carys and Maximus had offered him a room inside for his personal use, he
preferred to sleep in one of the outlying buildings. Not that Maximus
considered them buildings. Huts, he’d called them. Likely built years ago by
locals, who had long since been evicted when the first wave of invaders had
arrived. But it suited Gawain. Made him feel less constricted than being
enclosed within a Roman constructed dwelling.

He kicked off his leather shoes, lay on the narrow, straw
pallet that served as his bed and linked his fingers behind his head. Rhys had
interrogated him although Gawain couldn’t be sure that he had told the older
Druid anything he hadn’t already known. When Rhys finally disclosed the extent
of the underground network of Druids that inhabited Camulodunon, Gawain hadn’t
been able to disguise his shock.

Even now, hours later, his mind still reeled. Why hadn’t he
been aware of their presence? Why hadn’t any of them approached him? It
certainly hadn’t taken Rhys long to discover what Gawain really was.

But Gawain knew why their presence had eluded his senses. It
was because he hadn’t been looking for fellow Druids in Camulodunon. Not once
had he sought guidance from any god but Lugus. He’d been so wrapped up in the
failure of his mission with Caratacus and his own lucky escape from certain
death at the hands of the Brigantes that the possibility had never seriously
entered his head.

And if it had, he certainly wouldn’t have imagined them
hiding with the dregs of humanity with no firm battle plan in mind.

There was strength in numbers. On his own, there was little
he could do to change attitudes and will. But he was no longer alone. They
could destabilize the enemy from within. Disrupt their love of order, destroy
their cursed administration center. Carys would be safe. For her own reasons,
she was determined that Maximus would return to Rome and Gawain would ensure
she’d left Britain before any uprising.

Antonia’s image pierced his brain and his thoughts slammed
to a halt.
Antonia
. He gritted his jaw. He would ensure Antonia’s
safety. She would not be harmed.

But left to Rhys, there would be no uprising at all. His
plans to undermine the mighty Roman Empire consisted of merely surviving. Of
teaching their ways to those who could be trusted. Of ensuring their gods were
not forgotten and their culture not erased.

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly fucking enough.

“Gawain?” Carys’ voice at the door jerked him brutally back
to the present. She pushed open the door without waiting for an invitation.
“Can I come in?”

He remained prone on the pallet. “Is something wrong?”

In the fading light of day, Carys looked nothing like the
Roman persona she perfected in public. How would she fare in Rome when she
would need to keep up that façade without respite?

“No.” Carys sat at the end of his pallet and wrapped her
arms around her knees. “Although I doubt you’ll take kindly to what I’m about
to say.”

“Why? Have you changed your mind about Antonia’s visits
here?” Since their assignation in the tavern, Antonia had met him at Carys’
three times and the two women had struck up a tentative friendship. At least,
it was tentative from Antonia’s end. Carys, as faithful as ever to the obscure
dictates of her goddess, had embraced Antonia as though she were a long-lost
friend.

As though she were attempting to fill the gap in her heart
left by her childhood friend, Morwyn.

He refused to think of Morwyn. The woman who had never loved
him, never pretended to love him, yet whom he had fallen for, just the same.

“Of course not.” Carys sounded dismissive of his concern. He
heaved himself upright and leaned against a timber post.

“Then your uptight moralistic husband disapproves of my
debauchery when it concerns the lady Antonia.”

Carys smirked. “Maximus is not uptight.” Then she sighed.
“He doesn’t approve. But he would rather you meet here, where it is safe, than
in a sordid tavern.”

Gawain kept his mouth shut. He should have known Carys had
told Maximus of that. Carys told her Roman everything. It was the reason he had
no intention of telling her about Rhys or the discovery of Druids in
Camulodunon. Not that he doubted her loyalty. But Carys’ loyalty was
continually torn between the heritage of her birth and the devotion she bore
for her husband.

She would never betray her people. But keeping such a secret
from Maximus would destroy her.

He took a deep breath and moved on. “Then what unsavory news
do you have for me?”

She pulled a face. “The
praetor
somehow discovered
your existence and extended the invitation to you to his feast tomorrow night.”

Gawain snorted in disbelief. Spend an entire night in the
company of that arrogant, Druid-hating bastard? Not to mention the overly
familiar way he had approached Antonia the other day. The next time they’d met,
she had explained he was an acquaintance of her former husband but that
certainly hadn’t done anything to elevate Gawain’s opinion of him. “I’m busy.”

Carys gave him an insincere smile. “Doing what?”

He grinned back. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Carys brushed nonexistent dust from
her gown and then shot him a sly sideways look. “His other guests are Antonia
and her father.”

His amusement fled. Why hadn’t Antonia told him? Logically
he knew she had no reason to tell him such a thing. For all he knew she might
dine with various high ranking politicians every night. He had never considered
it before. And now the thought had occurred to him, he discovered the
possibility irritated the fuck out of him.

He also realized he had no intention of passing up the
opportunity of spending an evening with Antonia in a social gathering. It would
give him the chance to observe the
praetor
, to discover whether his only
interest in Antonia was, as she had gone to great pains to stress, merely that
of an old friend.

“In that case,” he stared at Carys, daring her to comment.
“I’ll cancel my previous engagement and attend this cursed feast.”

“I thought you might.” Carys patted his foot before standing
up. “And now I am off to collect my wager from Maximus. He was certain you
would refuse the invitation.”

It was only when the door swung shut behind Carys that a
discordant thought thudded through Gawain’s mind. Why did he care what interest
the
praetor
had in Antonia? He knew she would never take another lover
while they were together. And when their affair ended, she could do as she
wished.

But the sense of unease, of something off kilter lingered,
and he could not place it. He only knew that the thought of that bastard Roman
touching her curdled his guts.

Antonia threaded the brightly colored silk ribbons through
her fingers as the stall keeper urged her to buy one of each shade at an
exorbitant price. Tonight she and her father were to dine with the
praetor
and she wasn’t looking forward to it. Especially since her father appeared to
think the evening was a precursor to the
praetor
declaring his
intentions toward her.

Well. He could declare all he liked. She had given him no
encouragement and there was nothing he could say or do that would change her
mind. And that was assuming her father had not misunderstood the
praetor
in the first place.

She returned her wandering attention to the ribbons. “The
blue will suit Cassia perfectly, won’t it?” She glanced at Elpis by her side.
“The shade matches her eyes exactly.”

“She has your eyes,
domina
,” Elpis said, her voice
warm with affection. But who could fail to love little Cassia? She was a gift
from Juno herself and no one who met her could fail to fall under her spell.

In less than three weeks, she would arrive in Britannia,
along with the guardians Antonia had entrusted her daughter’s safety to for the
last year. Last night she had broached the subject of adoption with her father.
He had been bemused, then awkwardly sympathetic and she knew he was thinking of
the babes she had lost during her marriage.

But he had never known of her final pregnancy. By then she
had been too heartsore by her losses to risk raising her father’s hopes once
more.

Eventually he’d murmured something about how she would have
her own children one day, when she remarried, and had then lapsed into a
brooding silence when she’d gently told him she desired no such thing.

The seed had been sown. Antonia knew she could persuade him.
And when Cassia arrived, her father would already be half in love with her and
unable to do anything but fall in with Antonia’s plans.

An odd prickle drifted across the back of her neck and she
frowned and glanced over her shoulder. Her heart leaped in her breast and
warmth flooded her heart as, through a gap in the crowd, she saw Gawain at the
other side of the forum.

She knew she was smiling. Knew she should try to be more
circumspect but she couldn’t help it. Just looking at him caused her pulses to
race. It had been two days since they had last been together, and she wouldn’t
see him again until tomorrow.

The truth was stark. She had missed him. Missed the mocking
glitter in his eyes, the deep rumble of his laugh, his enchanting accent when
he talked. Ah, how she enjoyed their conversations. No subject was taboo. Roman
politics, Celtic tribal traditions and the cycle of feminine indispositions.
She had almost choked on the delicacies Carys had provided when Gawain had
casually touched on
that
. But he’d been respectful, interested and
shockingly informative and his uninhibited attitude delighted her.

A whisper of unease drifted through her mind. Even though
she tried to ignore it, the thought weaved into her consciousness nevertheless.

Conversation was not the reason she was supposed to crave
Gawain’s company. It was all about the sex.
Lust
. And yes, she missed
his body, missed the way his hands and mouth made her feel but it was so much
more than that.