The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One (30 page)

He considered for a moment, softly scratching his stubbled chin. ‘You have this traitor tucked away hereabout, I am sure.’

‘He is camped alone with me, very close now.’

‘Well, bring him, then.’ He started to move her away from him.

‘You don’t wish me to go, surely,’ she purred. ‘I have not received any reward yet.’

He looked at her thoughtfully, but unfortunately not with desire. Then he did push her away, setting her firmly on her feet, and went to where his personal belongings were stacked in their leather packs. He
rummaged through them, then tossed something small and bright to her.

‘I have a meeting, late though it is, and must go. There is food, there, near my bed. Bring your prince to me tomorrow night. The fewer the men who see him, the better.’ And then he was gone.

Samana looked down: nestled in her palm was a ring, the ring of a priestess, engraved with the three faces of the Mother. And then she noticed that it was encrusted with something dark.
Blood
. She tried to laugh at his cleverness, but suddenly she did not want to eat. She left the ring there when she went.

It was near dawn when Samana slipped back under the lean-to cover, next to Eremon’s sleeping form. Immediately, her arms were gripped by his hard fingers, and his body rose over hers in the dark.

‘Where in Hawen’s name have you been, lady?’

His voice was harsh, without any of the desire that she had become accustomed to. ‘You’re hurting my arms!’

‘I’ll hurt more than that if you don’t explain yourself now!’

‘I will! Let me go!’ He released her and she sank back down, breathing hard. ‘I rode to one of the camp outposts, to let them know that I was coming with you tomorrow.’

‘They know you well enough for you to just walk out of the dark?’

‘I am a woman, Eremon. They would hardly shoot at me, all on my own. Anyway, as Queen of their closest allies, they have given me a seal to show.’

‘And they did not think it strange that you come, with no escort, in the middle of the night? It hardly ranks as an official visit, does it? If you can do that, they will wonder why you bring me at all!’

She sighed. The closer she came to the truth, the better he would be pacified. ‘If you must know, I have a friendship with one of the camp clerks, and I have in fact visited on many occasions. In the night.’

He did not answer, and she propped herself on one elbow, pressing her breast against his arm. The boar tusk dug into her skin. ‘Don’t play shocked with me, Eremon. I’m sure you enjoy the favours of many women, so why can I not do so with many men?’

He snorted. ‘Because they are Romans, Samana!’

‘Romans have as much between their legs as you do!’ She nestled her head into his chest, but he remained rigid, and did not take her in his arms, ‘It was a short-lived thing, many moons ago. I gained much knowledge that was of use to my people.’

He still did not answer.

‘Eremon!’ She was exasperated. ‘How is this any different from you wedding my cousin? You do this for your own reasons – you bed her to gain something! How is this different?’

After a long while he sighed, and his body relaxed a little. ‘When you put it like that, it is little different. Except that the Romans are the enemy.’

‘You see them that way. But I have chosen not to fight, remember.’

‘You are a dangerous woman, Samana.’

She smiled in the dark, and her hand crept down towards his
bracae
, cupping him through the thin wool. The vestiges of her magic would have faded by now, but it had bought her time enough to ensure that his body was bonded to hers, and his mind less sure of itself.

Its power over him had surprised even her, for magic could only intensify existing desires. And when she cast her spell she’d no idea that such a wealth of passion lay untapped in a man such as this. The prince of Erin had obviously not found what he needed on the shores of Alba yet.

This thought made her smile even more as she sought out his lips to claim them.

Chapter 28

C
onaire did not see Rhiann on the first day of Eremon’s departure, though as he came back into the dun near dusk, breathless after a beach ride, he was seized with a sudden impulse to seek her out.

Even more surprising was the pity that drove him; a feeling that arose when he noticed her distress after learning of Eremon’s plan. He’d never anticipated feeling anything at all for his brother’s bride, and she certainly was not an object of pity for anyone else. But from the time that she proposed this mad southern journey, his interest in her had increased.

She seemed to think like a man, which was a new idea to Conaire, but intriguing. She and Eremon did not like each other, obviously, although Conaire failed to see why. She was sharp-tongued, and did not throw herself around like Aiveen and Garda. But so what? The way she handled the council and then that Roman patrol had sealed her worth so far as he was concerned. Eremon should forget about seeing her as a woman – for she obviously did not encourage that – and just treat her as a comrade. There were plenty of other girls about to lay with.

He sighed as he dismounted and handed the horse to the stable-boy. For all Eremon’s undoubted talents, he knew very little about women. Take Samana. As much as Conaire would bed her in a moment, something about the Votadini Queen made him uneasy. It was not herself, for she looked to be a wild one in the furs, and that was a pleasant thought. No, it was the change he had seen in Eremon.

Conaire had enjoyed his share of women, but had never been in thrall to a particular one. And had this hold of hers affected Eremon’s judgement? Conaire’s thought felt horribly disloyal, but as he strode along the dun path in the fading light, he was overwhelmed by a flood of frustration. He and Eremon had never been parted this way, certainly not when either of them was going into danger.

He realized that his footsteps had taken him right up to Rhiann’s door. He stared at the cover, and when he heard movement inside, acted without thinking, and entered.

Rhiann was shaking moisture from her skirts and handing her damp cloak to a servant. She seemed tired, and he blurted out, ‘I am curious how you got so wet on a fine day, lady.’

She glanced up in surprise, and then a look of wariness settled on her face. ‘The woods are still damp.’ She waved at the basket set down near the door. ‘I have been collecting plants. There are different medicines here than at home.’

Conaire rocked on his feet, not sure what to say, but she broke the silence. ‘They are gone, then?’

‘Yes, this morning.’

She nodded, and he could see now that she was unusually pale. ‘Good evening, then.’ She turned away to the bed.

‘Ah …’ he began, just stopping himself from catching her arm. Then he knew he could not say anything of Eremon, not now. There was pain there in her face, and it was clear to see if you were looking.

He struggled to choose his words, which he was not accustomed to doing. ‘I never gave you thanks, lady, for saving me and my leg.’ He grinned and patted his scarred thigh, and was gratified to see colour rush back to her cheeks.

‘Your own body did most of the work but … thank you.’

‘I seek your help again, if I may.’

The wariness returned to her eyes. ‘How?’

‘Well …’ He ran his hand through his hair. ‘I am terrible at waiting. If it is acceptable, perhaps we could eat together?’

He trailed off, knowing she would refuse, but to his surprise she hesitated, and then shrugged. ‘Yes, why not? Maybe it will help time to pass.’

He grinned again, conscious that she looked less anxious and more … approachable. But then, he only ever saw her around Eremon.

They ate together that night, eschewing the Roman chairs for benches. When the food was brought in, Conaire was surprised to see good, honest fare piled on the platters – roast pig and sorrel leaves, sea-beet and salmon. The wine had been replaced with ale.

Rhiann was watching him, with a small smile that might almost be called mischievous. ‘I told the cook to give us food from home. Nothing Roman!’

He laughed. ‘I was getting a bellyache from those spices. And the wine! The aches are worse than with ale.’

‘Assuming you drink so much,’ she returned lightly.

Conaire never expected to talk with Rhiann, of all people, in the way that he spoke to Eremon, but soon he almost forgot that she was a royal
lady, and his brother’s wife. Conaire only bedded women, never conversed with them, and having one without the other was fascinating.

The next day she invited him to join her again, and the evening after. He found that he was able to make her laugh a little, even though the dark circles about her eyes showed her real state of mind. Soon he found himself suggesting that he accompany her gathering expeditions.

So they rode, and talked, and ate.

And they waited.

The harsh challenge rang out from the gloom above. Instinctively, Eremon’s hand went to his sword, but then he remembered he had left it with Conaire. He only had one spear, as would befit a lady’s escort among allies.

Samana stepped forward, leading her horse and firing off a sentence in rapid Latin. A torch flared on high, and peering up, Eremon could see two Roman soldiers standing on an earth bank, the flame bouncing off polished leather armour and javelin tips, and the timber palisade behind. To get this far, he and Samana had already passed through two outposts, and been funnelled between a strange arrangement of other banks to reach the camp gate.

Now his attention was claimed by the scrape of the gate being dragged open, and as Samana ushered him inside the camp, he remarked, ‘They know you well.’

‘I told you, I have had much to do with this camp.’ Samana stopped, and moved closer. ‘Trust me, my love,’ she breathed softly into his ear. But fear had sharpened Eremon’s senses, and her honeyed kiss did little to allay his unease.

After releasing the horses to one of the soldiers, Samana led him towards the glow of torches, across a cleared space of crushed heather and stamped-down turf. And here Eremon had to stop, for his feet would not move.

Hundreds and hundreds of leather tents were set out in orderly rows that stretched away into the gloom, and fire glowed in pits before each one, shining off stacks of hide shields and spears and helmets. Torches wove serpents of light among the pathways, aflicker with the shadows of many men. To one side, horses nickered on their lines, and behind them the oxen teams shifted and stamped. Further off, in the darkness, he could just make out another bank and palisade.

‘The tent spaces are marked out for the troops in the same way for each camp,’ Samana whispered. ‘The position of the officers and units are known by all, so that in the event of attack every soldier knows where to go! Isn’t it marvellous?’

Eremon heard the note of awe in her voice, and followed behind her more slowly.

She led him on through groups of soldiers milling about, ducking in and out of tent flaps, stirring pots over banked fires. From every dizzying direction came sudden shouts of laughter and the clanking of weapons and harness. There appeared to be close to ten men in each tent, making for the whole camp … no, he did not wish to know the numbers. Never had he seen so many warriors in one place.

Samana came out on to a wide path that led straight to what appeared to be the centre of the camp. There, he saw a larger tent, flying a standard from its apex: the emblem of the Eagles. Eremon’s stomach tightened when the firelight caught the banner, and he wondered, with rising alarm, just who they were going to see.

The formidable guards at the tent’s entrance lowered their spears when they saw Samana. Eremon balked then, his instincts flaring, but it was too late. He must not draw attention to himself. He looked down as he followed her inside, avoiding their eyes.

A three-legged brazier bathed the interior with light. Eremon caught a glimpse of a low bed and leather satchels stacked up in neat piles, before his attention was claimed by the man who rose from a stool by a high table. Three other men with him turned to the door.

The first man only came up to Eremon’s nose, and his hairline was receding, but he carried authority in every line of hooked nose and strong, shaven chin. Eremon recognized that he was staring at another hardened warrior. Dark eyes bored into his own from a few paces away, as if the man sought to read Eremon’s mind before he spoke.

‘You are a prince of Erin, yet you have married into the tribes of Alba.’ The man spoke in accented but clear British.

Samana had tricked him! Eremon glanced at her, eyes widening, but she was at the table, staring intently at one of the scrolls. What a fool he had been! Yet despite the shock, the contempt in the man’s face made his own pride surge. ‘And you are of the Roman kind,’ he replied, lifting his chin, ‘yet you seek to take a country not your own.’

The man smiled, and said something to Samana in Latin. She swept forward to introduce them, avoiding Eremon’s eyes. ‘This is Eremon mac Ferdiad of Dalriada in Erin. And—’

The man broke in, taking instant command. ‘And I am Gnaeus Julius Agricola, Governor of Britannia.’