Celtic Fire Part 22

"Your home is with me."

"No. I am a free Celt, not a Roman slave. You have no right to keep me here."

"By Pollux, I have every right. I claimed you from the field of battle." He bent his head low and let his breath brush her temple. "You are mine." He released her wrist and trailed his fingers up the inside of her arm, under her cloak. He brushed the outside curve of her breast.

He felt rather than heard her sharp intake of breath. With it rose the scent of her need.

His rod hardened.

She must have known, for her eyes went dark and when she spoke, her voice trembled. "How did you find me? Did you follow from the fort?"

"No. I was in the cemetery. Digging."

Her eyes widened as she took in his mud-slicked armor. "Why?"

"Aulus is not in his grave."

The tip of her tongue darted forward to wet her lips. "He is not?"

"No. An interesting turn of events, don't you agree?"

"Indeed."

"My brother watched my labors, of course. Then, as I finished refilling the pit, he vanished."

Understanding dawned in her eyes. "You knew I was near."

His fingers drifted across the swell of her breast and stroked through the fabric of her tunic. "Yes." He teased her nipple into a tight nub, then flicked his thumb roughly across the hardened peak. "But I hardly need my brother to lead me to you. I scented you like the buck scents the doe."

She gasped and arched into his touch, though he suspected she would have much preferred to remain unmoved. "Lucius ..."

"I knew you were near," he repeated, "but I didn't know why, or how." He plucked one nipple, then brought his left hand up to pinch the other, taking no care to be gentle. "You had help."

"How did you-"

"Your cloak. Who was she? No, don't answer. It will be easy enough to discover."

Rhiannon tried to move away. "Nay! She did only as I asked."

"No doubt." His hands stole upward, encircling the delicate column of her neck. His thumbs covered the pulse at her throat. "Where is the amber necklace, Rhiannon?" His voice was deadly calm, but his fury crouched like a wildcat behind it. "Will I find it in your bedchamber? Or around the neck of the deceiving wench who gave you this cloak?" He made a disapproving sound. "What punishment should I mete out to such a woman?"

"Nay," Rhiannon whispered. "You must not harm her. She knew nothing of where I came by the treasure, only that I bartered it for my freedom."

The sense of betrayal bit deep. Anger surged so hot he wondered that the rain did not sizzle as it struck his skin. He crowded her against the trunk of a broad elm, his heart black with fury.

He raised one hand to touch her face and she flung up her arms as if to ward off a blow. He stared for a moment, stunned, then threw back his head and laughed. She feared him. No matter that he'd never lifted a hand against her. No matter that he hadn't forced her into his bed when another man would have used her until she broke. No matter that he had whispered soft endearments and heard them spoken in return. He'd told her of Aulus's haunting and of his own guilt and despair. He'd trusted her with the darkest secrets of his soul.

Yet despite what they'd shared, she still believed him to be the basest of criminals, a Roman dog, a defiler.

Fire raged through his veins, along with a dark purpose born of anger and need. He would give her what she expected of him, no more, no less. It was only what she deserved.

With a swift motion, he grasped her cloak in both hands and tore the fabric free of the pin at her throat. The garment landed on the ground, a bright heap on the mud.

"Lucius, nay-" Rhiannon's eyes were wide, startled. Afraid.

He couldn't bear to look into them any more than he could stop himself from reaching for her. He caged her with his arms. She resisted, twisting, but her frantic struggle only caused him to tighten his hold. He spun her around and pressed her spine against his muddy armor. Her b.u.t.tocks nestled at his groin, his hands splayed over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stomach, holding her immobile.

"Release me," she gasped.

"No." He lifted her instead, carrying her deeper into the forest with two quick strides. His hand sought the hidden place between her thighs and stroked the heat he found there. She squirmed and twisted, striking him as she was able. Her efforts succeeded only in causing his rod to go even harder.

He increased the tempo of his fingers, concentrating on the hard nub at her center. He sc.r.a.ped the fabric of her tunic across her s.e.x until the linen dampened in his hand. A moan tore from deep in her throat.

Her entreaty, when it came, was breathless. "Lucius. Please. Put me"-she moaned again as he touched her-"down."

"As you wish." He set her, face down, over the wide trunk of a fallen oak and lifted her hem.

Rain fell in glistening drops on the smooth white skin of Rhiannon's b.u.t.tocks. She struggled furiously, but his hand on the small of her back conspired with her awkward position to prevent her escape. She braced her hands on the ground but gained little leverage. "Let me go."

He palmed over one smooth globe. "How could you leave me, Rhiannon?" He slipped his hand into her cleft and stroked downward. Slick heat gripped him when he slid his finger into her sheath.

She went still. He added a second finger to the first and flexed his knuckles. She let out a cry, not of anger or pain, but of need.

His eyes burned. "How could you leave me," he said again, "when you want me as much as I want you?" He flexed a second time. "Tell me, Rhiannon. Tell me that you want me inside you."

"No."

He bent low, his hand still pulsing inside her. Raindrops fell on his arm and coursed along his wrist and into her heat. "Tell me to whom you belong."

"No." The word was a bare breath.

His low chuckle contained no mirth. "Then I will show you." His hand left her tight pa.s.sage. She made a small sound, a whimper she tried but failed to contain. He cupped her b.u.t.tocks with his palms, kneading, watching as the rain pelted her skin. He followed the path of one droplet with his finger into the crease at the top of her thigh.

Her hips lifted into his touch. "Lucius ... please."

"What do you want, Rhiannon?"

Another moan as he reached between her legs to stroke where her need was greatest. "You, Lucius. Within me. Now. I cannot bear it any longer."

He s.h.i.+fted his war belt and lifted his tunic. Grasping her hips with both hands, he plunged into her with one sure, swift stroke, burying himself to the hilt. She let out a soft cry and clamped tight around him, hot, wet, and demanding. He withdrew until he was nearly unsheathed, then paused, waiting, gripping her hips and holding her still.

She was sobbing now. "Please, Lucius. I want-"

His fingers tightened. "What?"

"You."

A heady flare of satisfaction pulsed through him. He entered her again, driving deep, losing himself in her heat. He withdrew and thrust again, savoring her cry of relief as he filled her. He bucked hard and fast, urging her surrender, until she sobbed his name a final time and came apart in his hands. His own climax followed, pulsing, unending, until his legs gave way and he collapsed atop her, gasping for breath.

Rhiannon made little protest when at last he pushed himself off her and hoisted her to her feet. Her tunic was smeared with mud, soaked through and plastered to her skin. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the sodden cloak from the ground and wrapped it around her shoulders. She looked up at him, a bemused expression on her face.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, suddenly ashamed. He'd intended only to prevent her escape, not to rut with her in the dirt like a beast. Had he lost his dignity along with his mind?

"Nay," she whispered, but she turned away from him. The gesture tore at his heart.

He took her by the elbow and propelled her out of the forest and through the village. She offered no complaint, indeed, she gripped his arm as if it were a lifeline. He guided her between the south gate towers, ignoring the stares of the sentries. He pounded on the door of his residence as rain sluiced out of the sky, harder than before.

Rhiannon s.h.i.+vered and drew her arms tight across her chest. A scant moment later they stood in the foyer, dripping onto the mosaic floor. Lucius waved the porter away.

Only then did Rhiannon finally raise her head and look at him. Her dazed expression was gone, replaced with anger.

"You are a brute."

"Then you crave a brute's touch."

"You cannot keep me here."

Lucius snorted. "I disagree. Henceforth a military guard will be posted at each door. I suggest you do not try to pa.s.s."

"And if I do, what will happen? Will you beat me with your son and the rest of the household looking on?"

"Don't speak to me of Marcus. The boy adores you. You surely didn't take his feelings into consideration when you decided to run from me."

"I considered more than his feelings," she said quietly. "I considered his life."

He narrowed his gaze. "What do you mean?"

She drew a deep breath. "What if I told you that you were right in naming me a witch? If I promised that if you release me, I will see your brother's spirit sent to rest?"

"If you were to say such a thing ..." His hands fisted at his sides. "If you did, then I would tell you to cast your spell now, while I stand before you."

Panic flashed in her eyes. "The words must be spoken in the forest." She bit her lip and looked past him to the door. "I cannot cast such a spell within walls."

"Cannot? Or will not?" He stepped close and gripped her shoulders. "Tell me the truth, Rhiannon. Did you imprison Aulus? Is his suffering at your hand?"

When she didn't respond, he gave her a rough shake. "Answer me, by Pollux!"

"No!" she said. " 'Tis not I, I vow! But I can free your brother, Lucius, if you let me go."

"Why should I believe you?"

"You must! I didn't imprison your brother's spirit, but ..." She shut her eyes briefly. "I know how he died."

Lucius stilled. "What?"

"I've always known. I ... I saw it."

"Tell me."

She went deathly pale. His grip on her shoulders tightened. "I will have the truth. Now."

"I saw Aulus die. It was no hunting accident."

"How, then?"

Her lips opened, then closed. "I can tell you no more than that."

In the vicinity of Lucius's heart, something broke. All this time Rhiannon had known how Aulus had met his death. She knew his murderers but had said nothing, even as he had bared his soul to her. The betrayal cut deep, though he supposed he should have expected it. He'd admired her pride and her loyalty, but she'd gifted neither to him. She would protect her people with her dying breath. And despite her deception, he loved her for it.

He was worse than a fool. He was an idiot.

"So Aulus was killed by barbarians," he said quietly. "Your people?"

Her silence was acknowledgment enough.

"I will find my brother's murderers. You will lead me to them."

"Nay. I will not." She gathered her sodden skirt in one hand and took a step toward the stair.

"Rhiannon."

She stopped, but didn't look back.

"I would have your loyalty."

Her spine stiffened. "I cannot give it to you."

"Then seek your bed with the rest of the slaves."

Chapter Sixteen.

"What did you do to Rhiannon?"

Lucius's exit from his bedchamber was halted by the agitated presence of his son. The hour was early; dawn was only a dull sheen in the cloudy sky. Had the boy been lying in wait all night? His hair was damp, the dark curls plastered to his forehead. The insect-infested pile of fur he'd claimed for a pet stood nearby. When Aulus staggered into the pa.s.sageway, the animal issued a low growl.

"I've done nothing to her. Why? Is she ill?"

"She's crying." Marcus seemed almost ready to break into tears himself. Red patches adorned his cheeks and his eyes were unnaturally bright. "She's huddled in the back of the storeroom, weeping, and nothing I say will make her stop."

A pang of guilt stabbed Lucius, but it was a small p.r.i.c.k compared to the horror he'd felt when Rhiannon had admitted being a witness to Aulus's death. His mind was still reeling from the shock of it. Once his sense of betrayal had settled to a dull ache, a new thought had arisen. His brother had been murdered by Celts, not mangled by a boar. Who in the fort had concocted the false report? And why?

"Go to her, Father. Tell her you're sorry."