Tainted (9 page)

After endless moments, Gawain realized his face was still
buried in Antonia’s shoulder, his shaft was still embedded in her trembling
slit and his fingers claimed her buttocks in a punishing grip. The knowledge
drifted through his mind, languid and strangely comforting, yet an
insubstantial whisper of unease edged the haze of euphoria.

Only when her legs slid over his hips in clear exhaustion
did he finally raise his head to look at her. She peered back at him, her eyes
dark with passion, her parted lips pink and deliciously swollen, her
aristocratic cheeks flushed with the remnants of desire.

Her hair tumbled around her face in glorious disarray. His
aloof Roman noblewoman looked thoroughly disheveled and thoroughly fucked. His
gaze roved over her ravished flesh and savage satisfaction flashed through him
at the sight of his mark marring her flawless shoulder. She would not forget
him easily when she left him this day.

He freed his hands and she puffed out an enchanting little
gasp as if her arse were sore. Slowly she slid her hands along his biceps and
then clung onto his forearms as though she needed the additional support.

There was no reason for him to remain inside her body. No
reason for him to clasp her waist. But somehow, he did not have the strength to
pull away.

Instead, he continued to stare at her perfect patrician
features and waited for the mild contempt to weave through his mind. It
happened without fail in the moments after he’d fucked a Roman, no matter how
beautiful or desirable she was.

He had taken her. He had conquered her. She was nothing
more, now, than another Roman noblewoman who had risked her reputation in order
to taste the barbaric charms of a rough native.

Except Antonia had told him she didn’t think he was a
barbarian.

He shoved the thought aside with the derision it deserved.
She hadn’t meant it. Except a stubborn shred deep inside his chest knew she
meant every word.

And still the contempt failed to materialize.

“That was…illuminating.” Antonia’s breathless voice jarred
him back to the present. To the reality that he was still joined with her, when
by now he should be retrieving his clothes.

“Illuminating?” What did she mean by that? “In what way, my
lady?” He attempted to inject a touch of contempt into his final words but the
ability eluded him. And still he held her, her warm flesh an addictive drug.

She gave a breathless laugh and leaned toward him, a
bewitching smile now curving her edible lips. He gazed at her, transfixed,
unable to put the physical distance between them that he knew he should. That
he knew he should
want
. Yet did not.

“In all ways.” Her ice-blue eyes sparkled with what he could
only determine was mischievous glee. “You surpassed all my expectations,
Gawain. Thank you.”

Women, both Celtic and Roman, had said all manner of things
to him in the moments after copulation but Antonia’s whispered confession
rendered him speechless.

Logically he knew she was only spinning him a practiced line
she had mouthed who knew how many times in the past. But she seemed so genuine.
The knowledge that she could so easily manipulate his good sense with a few
enigmatic words irked him.

“It was my pleasure.” This time he managed a thread of
mockery, although Antonia did not appear to register it. With a reluctance that
disgusted him, he finally pulled free of her welcoming clasp. “I’m gratified I
exceeded the efforts of your Roman lovers, Antonia.” Except he wasn’t
gratified. He was irritated by the comparison and couldn’t fathom why.

She did not answer him but a small smile lit up her face, as
though she were recalling the performance of all her lovers and still found him
exceptional. Again, he couldn’t imagine why such a thing should touch him. He
did not normally care if the Roman women he fucked reminisced on how different
he was from their usual illicit distractions.

And then it hit him. It was because she had thanked him, as
though he had merely provided her with an entertaining service.

His illogical mood blackened further. Why did it matter if
that’s what she thought? It was, after all, mutual.

“Oh,” she said, the word breathy and seductive and to his
disbelief his cock stirred in primal response. “Yes.”

Yes? He trawled through his mind until he recalled his last
remark. “Perhaps in the future, my lady, you can teach them the pleasurable
tricks you learned from your
Cambrian
lover.” He used the Roman word for
his land deliberately, loading it with disdain.

It had to be a trick of the sunlight streaming through the
windows, but it appeared her smile lost some of its radiance and a haunted
expression clouded her eyes. She crossed her ankles and a shiver chased over
her body, and in that blink of an eye, her air of sensual seductress
transformed into reserved vulnerability.

“Perhaps.” There was no trace of the teasing note she’d used
earlier, or the dreamy quality that had so riled him a moment ago. She sounded
as cool and remote as she had the day they had conversed in Carys’ courtyard.

With a muttered curse in his own language, he snatched up
another Roman towel and draped it around her shoulders. He had no idea why. It
wasn’t as if she were incapable of wrapping herself in a towel if she was cold.
And he certainly wasn’t her slave to anticipate her every demand.

She glanced up at him, clearly startled, and instead of
stepping back as had been his intention he remained rooted to the spot,
gripping the edges of the towel across her breasts.

“Thank you.” She sounded uncertain, and an odd pain spiked
through his chest. He didn’t want her chilly patrician façade. He wanted the
Antonia who teased and flirted. If that meant she wanted to maintain her
incomprehensible illusion of innocence she projected so flawlessly, he would
play along. It was a small concession for the pleasure they had just shared.

A pleasure he had every intention of enjoying again. Soon.

He shoved the lingering remnants of his dark mood into the
back of his mind. His reaction still made no sense, but he wasn’t going to
waste time mulling over it.

“I don’t want you catching a chill and being confined to
your father’s townhouse for the next week.”

She pulled the towel across her thighs and then looked up at
him. “It would take more than a chill to keep me confined, Gawain.”

His lips twitched. It was so much better when she met him on
equal ground without that unsettling whisper of elusive innocence she sometimes
favored.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

The tip of her tongue moistened the seam of her lips. Her
seductive timing was breathtaking. “This liaison must be brief for many
reasons, Gawain, but I would like to meet with you again tomorrow.”

He realized he was still staring at her mouth. He also
realized that he did not care. “That can be arranged.”

Her mouth curved into a smile of what looked relief. Except
of course, she’d known he would agree. Why would he not? He anticipated many
days of frenzied fucking with Antonia before he tired of her.

“I will meet you at the public baths at the ninth hour. Will
you be able to find us somewhere—suitable?” Her words were once again
breathless and he could almost believe she wasn’t used to making such illicit
assignations. Except she had not only initiated their second meeting she was
now dictating where it should take place.

Not that he had any objection. He’d enjoy the edge of danger
her request would entail. He had assumed Antonia would wish only to meet him
here, at Carys’, where they were assured of uninterrupted privacy but it
appeared her sense of adventure was greater than he’d given her credit for.

“As long as your delicate sensibilities can tolerate a
primitive tavern room then yes, I can easily find us somewhere.”

She smiled up at him, as though his gentle dig at her
patrician heritage didn’t disturb her in the slightest. Only then did it occur
to him that he still hadn’t retreated. That he still held her towel together at
her breasts.

“My delicate sensibilities can withstand more than you might
imagine.” Her hand covered his in an oddly intimate gesture. “I’m not made of
spun glass, Gawain.”

He laughed.
Spun glass.
Such a Roman term to use.
He’d seen fragile glass creations and Antonia was wrong. Compared to Druid
women she was, indeed, made of spun glass.

It was only when they finally pulled apart and Elpis
returned to help her mistress look presentable that an odd realization hit.

He had compared Antonia, a Roman noblewoman, with his Celtic
compatriots. And had not found her obvious deficiencies a source of disdain.

After Antonia left, Gawain bathed in the river that bordered
the estate. He’d used public baths in the past, but only in order to glean
information from arrogant Romans who discussed their affairs without a thought
that a native might understand their words, let alone act on them. He had never
used a Roman bath for pleasure and had no intention of ever doing so, no matter
how Carys mocked him for his fastidiousness.

As he made his way back to the villa, he took stock of his
situation. Staying in Camulodunon indefinitely had never been an option. When
he’d first entered the Roman city, it had been with the burning desire to
avenge the rape of Cymru, the betrayal of Caratacus and, obscurely, the
devastating loss of direction he was experiencing from Lugus’ continued
absence.

But within days, he’d discovered Carys now lived here, and
even if he had been able to raise an army of bloodthirsty warriors from these
apathetic Britons, he refused to put Carys and her small family in such danger.
She was a link to his past and if he could believe her idealistic vision, she
and the many children she intended to have were the hope for the future.

As far as he knew, it was only the far north, beyond the
traitorous Brigantes whose queen who had sold Caratacus to the Romans, that
remained free of the empire. Perhaps it was there, among the fierce Pict tribes
and their advantageous mountainous land, that he would find a way to scrub the
bloodstained guilt from his soul.

He entered the villa and caught sight of Carys. She was
standing by a barely opened door that led into the atrium. When she saw him,
she put a finger to her lips and jerked her head.

His warrior instinct alert, he went to her side, his hand
instinctively going to his dagger. She was dressed as a Druid princess and when
he heard the murmur of male voices from the atrium, he guessed why she was
hiding.

It would not do for anyone of importance to see the
tribune’s wife as she truly was.

“Hoping to make the acquaintance of your wife.”

“Carys will be sorry to have missed your visit,
Praetor
.”
Maximus sounded sincere, but Gawain was certain the Roman knew exactly where
his wife was hiding and that she was not in the least sorry to have missed the
official’s visit. “Unfortunately, she is indisposed.”

Carys scowled and Gawain bit back a laugh.
Feminine
indisposition
was a favorite excuse when a Roman woman did not wish to face
a situation but it was never something a Celtic woman would resort to.

“My sympathies,” the other Roman said. Gawain leaned against
a marble column. Obviously Carys felt the need to stay and eavesdrop and what’s
more, she wanted him to, as well. “My late wife suffered greatly from the same
malady.”

Gawain grimaced, but Carys ignored him. He had no moral
problems listening into private conversations when there might be information
he could use to his advantage. But he had no interest whatsoever in this
tedious exchange.

The strangled response from Maximus, though, almost made it
worthwhile.

“So, Maximus,” the
praetor
said, his tone turning
brisk. “You’ve been stationed in this
colonia
for how long?”

“A little over a year.” The tribune sounded restrained and
Gawain stifled a yawn and wondered if Antonia ever suffered from
feminine
indispositions.

“Long enough to have cultivated a good sense of the mood of
the local natives.”

Gawain folded his arms. Was the
praetor
concerned an
uprising was imminent? If so, he need not worry. While the peasants might
resent the Roman presence, their masters were content to bask in the
condescending benevolence of the empire.

“The benefits of being under the protection of the Eagle are
something they’re coming to appreciate.”

Gawain was sure Maximus believed that. It was hard not to
draw the same conclusion at times. He was also sure Carys was going to make him
pay dearly for saying such a thing within her hearing.

The
praetor
grunted in apparent approval. Gawain
forcibly relaxed his fist, which he had no recollection flexing.

“Do you believe they would knowingly harbor fugitive
Druids?”

Ice slid through Gawain’s veins and he caught Carys’ steady
gaze. This was why she had wanted him by her side. Because she had known the
praetor
’s
visit directly impacted their survival.

“No.” Maximus’ voice was firm.

“No?” The
praetor
sounded taken aback, as if he
hadn’t expected such an uncompromising response. “Perhaps your view is clouded
by your personal circumstances.”

Gawain saw Carys stiffen and knew it wasn’t her own safety
that worried her. It was her husband’s.

“The emperor is assured of my loyalty.” There was no
inherent threat in Maximus’ mild tone but the threat was there, nevertheless.
Gawain pulled Carys back against his chest and leaned forward so he could catch
a glimpse of the
praetor
through the narrow gap.

He looked about forty, graying at the temples and was
dressed in the purple striped toga of the aristocracy.