The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy (51 page)

The man pursed his lips, his eyes on the leather roof. Oh, it’s a catch all right, sir.’

‘Well, where is he?’

‘At Gerat’s campfire. Shall I have the captive brought here, sir?’

‘No.’ Eremon dabbed ineffectually at the cut, which was still smearing his fingers with blood. ‘I need to clean up first. I’ll go there myself. Thank you.’

After staunching the blood with a scrap of fleece, Eremon made his way through the camp, which tumbled down the steep valley. After the attack, he and Calgacus were waiting to see what the Romans might do, so the Albans were not preparing for battle, but snatching some much-needed rest. Some were lounging by their cook-fires in the shade, mending harness or polishing weapons. Others were practice-duelling on the flatter banks of the stream that carved the valley, or washing off their stink in its deeper pools.

Eremon had to ask twice where Gerat camped, but eventually was directed to a small knot of men standing in the middle of a crescent of hide and brush shelters. As Eremon approached he heard a shout of laughter. He quickened his step, hoping that the captive had not been beaten in such a way as to render him incapable of giving information.

He was only a few steps away when one of the warriors saw him and muttered to the others, and they all peeled back from the object of their scrutiny.

Eremon’s steps faltered and stopped, his curious smile fading as he saw what manner of captive had been brought to him.

Samana
.

By all the gods … his breath slammed against a wall in his chest, and his hand came out to grasp something, to steady himself, but there was nothing to lean on. The last time he saw her, hatred had coursed through his veins, as hot as his lust had once been for her body. And despite the passage of more than two years, those feelings spiralled up even now, twisted together into an indistinguishable tangle.

At sight of him, Samana raised her chin. Her wrists were tied by a scrap of crowberry rope, her once-fine green dress caked with mud and what smelled like horse sweat, yet still she stood for all the world as if she were a queen expecting homage from these men. From him.

‘My lord.’ The man called Gerat stepped forward, his own pleased grin freezing when he saw the shock in Eremon’s face. ‘This … lady … was travelling close behind the Romans. She said you would know her, that we must ask for you.’

Yet his question trailed away unanswered. For Eremon had not acknowledged him, and was staring at Samana as if no one else was there.

CHAPTER 47

S
amana had only remained silent because she could not gain her breath; it fluttered and leaped wildly along with her pulse, making her dizzy. She’d been certain she was ready to see Eremon, after seven nights with these rough men, stopping her ears with her fingers to block out their crude jests. All that time she had thought only of the Erin prince, and what she would say to him. And now, she found she could say nothing.

The magic she wove to draw him into her bed two years ago had somehow ensnared her as well as him, yet nevertheless it should have worn off long ago. And yet, he looked more beautiful to her than ever: older and harder; his cheekbones burnished by the sun; his green eyes standing out against his tanned skin. Beneath his sleeveless tunic the faint hairs on his arms were tawny, and his legs were lean in their muddy trousers. Even his dark hair curled just the same over his temples.

Just like the morning he came from my bed
, Samana found herself thinking, and was appalled at her weakness. Yet how could she help it? He stood there dusty and sweaty and sunburned, blood beading on a cut on his jaw, yet still he managed to shoot a barb through her formidable defences, a finely tuned bolt of exquisite lust that sang along her veins.

She could not make out his expression clearly. After his first shock, he looked as if she were a loathsome insect that had just crawled out from under a rock. But there had been a flash of something else there too, far back in his cool eyes. Something she could work with.

‘Come.’ Eremon seemed to collect himself, stepping forward and grasping her elbow with a bruising grip. ‘We will speak in my tent.’ He turned to the man Gerat and his men, who were all staring with intense curiosity at the little scene. ‘You have done well, and King Calgacus and I both owe you our thanks. For this woman is the whore of Agricola himself.’ Samana saw the slight curl of Eremon’s lip. ‘You could have captured no higher informant. I will see you gain an extra ration of ale for this.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ Gerat replied, his eyes flicking back and forth between them.

Eremon firmly turned his back then and half dragged Samana all the way up a winding path, between clusters of tents, men, horses and bundled weapons. As soon as they were out of earshot, she hissed, ‘You’re hurting me!’

Yet he only glanced down at her with bright, hard eyes, and said nothing.

Then Samana was out of the harsh sun, and into the coolness of a tent. Immediately Eremon flung her from him as if she burned. Samana stumbled in the sudden gloom, tripping over a bed roll before sinking on to its hide cover.

When she looked up, Eremon was leaning against the pole that held the shelter, his hands folded tightly over his chest. Is this a trick? A joke?’

Samana twisted her sore wrists, breathing hard. Do you think I would allow my men to be slaughtered, my own person to be hauled through the mountains for a week by soldiers, like a sack of grain, without decent food or a bath or bed, for a trick?’

‘Nothing you do would surprise me, Samana.’

‘I was captured! And my hands are hurting. Could you at least get rid of this?’ She held up her bound hands, and after a pause Eremon unsheathed the dagger at his waist and cut the rope with one swipe, making sure he did not touch her. Samana rubbed the indents on her skin, and then her pounding temples, muttering a curse under her breath. It was Agricola who had put her in this position, damn him!

Eremon’s ears were keener than she’d realized, for he uncrossed his arms and took a step forward. ‘Agricola?’

Samana smirked. ‘Save your gloating – he’s well out of your reach now.’ Yet she could have bitten off her tongue when Eremon abruptly straightened.

‘
Agricola does not lead this army?
’

Samana clamped her lips together, as he stored that snippet away with some pleasure. Curse him! She was used to being the interrogator, not the interrogated. It was the tiredness, that was all.

Eremon squatted down a handspan from her face. And how
could
your enamoured suitor bear to be parted from you, Samana? Leaving you without a single Roman guard?’

She’d thought of many ways to approach this, but she had first to see how he reacted to her.

‘Could it be’, Eremon continued, ‘that Agricola grows tired of your diversions? Could it be you are no use to him any more?’

‘I have been of great use to him in recent moons, as it happens!’ She so wished to tell him who was really behind the raid on the Sacred Isle, who had planted the whole delicious idea, but drew in a shaking breath to squash her fury. Before Eremon could draw further away she suddenly cupped his chin, her thumb stroking his mouth. ‘Perhaps,’ she murmured, ‘I actually came looking for you.’

Eremon’s hand shot up to grasp Samana’s wrist in a bruising grip, his face leaning out of her reach. But yes … just for a moment, she’d seen his pupils flicker with something, and his lips had parted of their own accord. Stiffly, he released her and rose, putting a distance between them. ‘I am no fool, Samana, so do not treat me like one. As you said, it was not your choice to become our guest, so you were hardly looking for me.’

Samana sighed, and then, despite her aching legs, she dragged herself to her feet. Honesty was occasionally a wise tactic to use, for it always surprised people. ‘Perhaps not,’ she admitted, ‘but I have nevertheless longed for some way to see you again.’ She softened her eyes. Across the narrow, dim space between them, her energy reached for him, her flesh yearning for his.

Eremon must have sensed her rapid breathing, for a wary stillness now came over him.

‘Aren’t you at least going to feed me?’ Samana managed to ask, feeling surer now that he looked so unsure. He didn’t know what to do with her, that was plain, but at her words something in him uncoiled, and he went to the edge of the canopy and called out an order to a nearby warrior to bring meat and ale.

Eremon said nothing while they waited, his features blurred by the shifting shadows of the canopy as the edge of the hide flapped in the wind. Samana was just as happy to be silent, for as he stared at the rock, she could feast her eyes on him, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the pulse at the hollow of his throat. She had kissed that soft hollow once, long ago, and now he stood there like a stranger. Inside, she sighed.

Agricola still had a soldier’s body, but he was ageing. His power and danger excited her, yet Eremon was a different proposition altogether, and not just because of his beauty. Perhaps it was that with Agricola she enjoyed the game, the careful artistry, yet with Eremon she sensed she could lose herself, because he matched her in fire as well as strength. And this tantalizing promise of capitulation and loss of control – her first and last surrender – was what trapped her as nothing else could.

Suddenly Samana heard the sound of returning footsteps, heavier this time, and her eyes jerked to one side as a loud oath was uttered. Goddess, it was that big blond oaf ! Infuriatingly, he had always been quite immune to her.

‘By the Boar!’ The oaf now turned to Eremon, huge and loud and rudely vigorous in the sun, his size and bounding energy annoying Samana further. ‘I heard the rumours of her on my return just now, brother. But I had to see for myself !’ His bright blue eyes flicked Samana up and down, and when she glared at him, he grinned. He stank of sweat, and there were dark patches under the arms of his tunic. ‘Still as haughty, I see, my lady. Perhaps you’ll be less so after eating this.’ He was holding out a chunk of half-charred flesh of indeterminate origin on a curl of birch bark, and a battered leather ale flask.

When Samana tilted her chin up, looking away, he chuckled and dumped both on the floor in the middle of the tent. ‘Brother, I can stay and keep you company if you wish it.’ The amusement was thick in his voice.

Eremon was silent for a moment. ‘No,’ he said thoughtfully. I can handle this alone.’

‘Then I’ll be cleaning my boar spears in the next tent; call if you need me.’

The oaf left, and Eremon stared down at the scorned food then back up at Samana. ‘Not what you’re used to,’ he remarked. ‘But then, the price of Roman luxury was too high for me.’

Samana felt herself colour. ‘You are a man, and have a sword to protect you,’ she shot back. ‘What did I have?’

‘Quite enough, obviously.’

Samana bit back a retort and, ignoring the food, swept across the space between them in two strides. ‘Ah, Eremon, why do we quarrel?’ She caught his arm, pressed it to her breast as she leaned into him. ‘We talked pleasantly before, why can we not do so again?’

He carefully removed her hand. ‘Why indeed? After all, you nearly got me killed, tried to make me turn traitor, then did so yourself. Why should we not talk like old friends?’ He laughed and pushed her away. ‘I thought you were hungry.’

Samana breathed to calm herself, her hands balled by her sides. ‘You know why I made the choice I did—’

‘Yet I still don’t understand it!’ Suddenly, Eremon looked very tired. ‘I’m not going to debate such things with you, Samana. We are each set on our own paths.’

Our own paths
. Samana stared at Eremon, and all of Agricola’s harsh words of rejection came rushing back to her, consumed as he was with his war. ‘Yes,’ she answered at last, surrender in her voice. ‘But my path is not immovable, and neither is yours, perhaps.’

Eremon snorted. ‘So you’ll help us, then? My men will be pleased.’

‘Eremon.’ Samana fixed him with her dark eyes and took one step forward. She had long thought she would never get another throw of the dice with him. And here it was, but one throw only. She took another step, slowly this time, drawing him with every fibre of her body. ‘Eremon,’ she whispered again, and suddenly she was up against him. ‘It is you I wish to help. Let me join with you, as I offered to do before.’ She licked her lips with her small tongue and yes, his eyes were staring at them, held there. ‘You and I were meant to be together,
cariad
.’

It was at the endearment that Eremon flinched; she saw the pain flare in his eyes. And that was when she first sensed the chink in his armour. Her magic had always been sexual in nature, for her senses were attuned to such things. So she suddenly knew, by the ripple of tension in Eremon’s arm, his harsh breathing, the flush across his cheekbones, that his body was suffering. A happily bedded man would not react this way.
Something is amiss with Rhiann
.

Samana pressed closer, moulding her body to his so softly that he would hardly notice until it was done, reaching up on her toes so that her warm breath was on his face. ‘I would give you everything that is in me,’ she whispered. ‘For what we shared was rare, my love, so rare I have never forgotten it: how you buried yourself in me, how you suckled at my breasts, how you rode me until I wept for mercy.’

His breath was coming faster now, his eyes glinting with pain.

‘All this and more will I give you,’ she continued in the same murmur. ‘Many halls to rule, many jewels to lay at your feet, many nights of pleasure in my bed.’ She parted her lips, her eyes sliding to his mouth. ‘And sons to rule after you, Eremon, strong sons.’

At these last words, Eremon froze. Then suddenly Samana’s arms were encased in a brutal grip, and she gasped. The skin around Eremon’s eyes was taut, his mouth a grim line. The moment drew out, a moment where she saw him waver, something writhing in his heart she did not understand.

Then, at last, he slowly and deliberately put her away from him. And when Samana was at arm’s length he gave her a shove, making her stumble backwards. She regained her balance and clasped her arms about herself, open-mouthed.