Tainted (27 page)

Gawain kept off the Roman road, but for a perverse reason he
couldn’t fathom, kept it within his sights as he rode across the countryside.
It wouldn’t be long before dusk fell and he knew he should have waited until
the morning before he left Camulodunon, but he’d had to get away.

Carys had urged him to stay longer. Even the queen had
suggested he was being hasty, which had only spurred his departure. There was
nothing to keep him longer in Camulodunon. Within weeks, Carys and Maximus were
leaving for Rome. The queen and other Druids were discussing their options.

He would travel into the land of the Picts. And when he had
gathered the information he needed, he’d return and see if the queen and others
wished to accompany him into the mountainous north.

Storm clouds darkened the sky and a chill wind pierced his
skin. A sense of foreboding clung like malignant fog around him, inexplicably
urging him to return to Camulodunon.

He dug in his heels. He had no desire to be around when
Antonia’s betrothal was announced. Or when she wed that bastard. Even now,
knowing that she had never imagined a future with him, the thought of her with
the
praetor
turned his guts.

His horse stumbled. Gawain cursed and dismounted. The animal
had come with him from the Isle of Mon. Had been his constant companion when
he’d trekked the British countryside and not once had it ever lost its footing.

He held onto the reins and took a few steps back, then
clicked softly for the horse to follow. It did not appear to favor any leg, but
he couldn’t take any chances. The creature stood patiently as Gawain ran his
hands over each leg from shoulder to pastern. His pressure was firm, his hands
sensitive to any sign of soreness or fluid. He examined each hoof, carefully
digging the dirt free with his dagger, then using the hilt to press on the sole
and sensitive frog area. As far as he could tell, there was no damage.

He straightened and frowned into the distance. The village
he’d intended to stay at this night was still some way ahead, but he didn’t
want to risk riding in this light. He might have missed a small injury and did
not want to worsen it unnecessarily. And so he began to lead the horse forward
by the reins.

The silence pressed into him. It was unnatural. He missed
the forests of Cymru. Would the mountains in the north be anything like the
mountains of his homeland?

With every step, the sense of dread that thudded through his
chest magnified. An insidious sense of wrongness permeated his soul but he
couldn’t fathom why.

Sanctuary could never be found in Camulodunon. It was too
Romanized. Held too many memories he wanted to forget. Even though he knew, in
his heart, the memories of Antonia would never fade.

So why did this overpowering need to retrace his steps
hammer through his mind?

An ancient Briton pathway caught his eye up ahead. The Roman
road had cut across it with callous disregard for the old ways of travel,
intent only in reaching another Roman destination with military precision.

His step slowed as he reached the ancient path. Already it
was becoming overgrown as locals abandoned their traditional routes and made
use of the new. His gaze traveled onward to the Roman made road. It irked him
to admit, but perhaps his journey would be faster if he made use of it.

The silence was broken by the distant thunder of approaching
horses. Stealthily he began to back away into the encroaching shadows but his
horse whickered and tossed its head in unprecedented mutiny.

Eerie shivers crawled over the back of his neck and he froze
as the Roman horse riders thundered toward him from the direction of
Camulodunon. There had to be at least a dozen, but they were not of the Legion.

Disbelief trickled along his spine as he stared at the
rapidly approaching leader.
It was Antonia.

His eyes were playing tricks.

She pulled up some distance from him and raised her arm in a
clear signal to halt. The other riders—clearly her guards—obeyed her unspoken
command. The sense of unreality expanded as she dismounted without waiting for
assistance and began to walk along the road, leading her horse.

Gods of Annwyn it really was her. The thought hammered
through his mind and acted as a trigger. He pulled on the reins, but his horse
was no longer recalcitrant and followed without protest.

They met at the point where the ancient road vanished
beneath the new. Her hair was windswept, her cheeks flushed. She looked like a
wild Celtic goddess in the guise of a gentle Roman noblewoman.

Curse all the gods. This woman made him think of the most
fanciful, insane things.

“When Carys told me you had left, I was afraid I would never
find you again.”

Her breathless voice sank into his heart, as though it had
been years since they had last spoken instead of earlier that day. And then the
meaning of her words registered.

If his horse had not stumbled, he would have already reached
the next village. And once there, it was unlikely Antonia would have been able
to find him until the sun rose. And by then he would already have left.

He ignored the ripple of awe that feathered across his
shoulders. It was a coincidence. Lugus, despite his affinity with horses, had
no hand in this. His god remained distant. Gawain traveled this path without
guidance and Antonia had made it very clear she wanted to be no part of it.

Yet if that were true, what had possessed her to follow him?

“Why did you wish to find me?” His voice was harsh and his
grip on the reins tightened. She was so close to him her elusive scent of
woodland flowers drifted in the breeze, intoxicating his senses. If she came
any closer, he’d be unable to stop himself from dragging her into his arms.

“I had to see you again. I had to speak to you.”

He gave a mirthless laugh and kept his distance from her
only by sheer brute willpower. She had rejected him once. He would not give her
the opportunity to reject him a second time.

But why had she followed him?

“I believe we said everything earlier this day, my lady.”

She swallowed and straightened. Only then did he realize how
intimately she had leaned toward him. The loss of her evocative scent was like
a physical blow.

“I’m sorry for the things I said, Gawain. I hope—I pray you
can forgive me.”

“Why are you here, Antonia?” He fisted his free hand to
prevent himself from grabbing her shoulder and shaking her. “You didn’t ride
all this way simply to offer me an apology and beg for my forgiveness.”

There was only one reason he could think of as to why she
would follow him.
Because she had changed her mind
. But there was no
reason why she should have. She had made it very plain where her priorities
lay.

“Circumstances have changed since we last saw each other.”

His senses sharpened. “In what way?”

She hesitated for the briefest moment. “I would rather not
discuss my reasons.”

He gripped her shoulder and jerked her forward. From the
corner of his eye he saw one of the riders—
her father?
— canter toward
them, only to pull to an abrupt halt when Antonia raised her hand in warning.

For some reason her action ignited the smoldering fury,
frustration—
love
—that had seethed beneath the surface for untold hours.
He had resigned himself to never seeing her again. And here she was, seeking
him out. Grinding his pride into the dirt with every word she uttered.

“If you want to keep me as your lover while you marry your
Roman patrician then you’ve had a wasted journey. I decline the offer.”

Even in the dusky twilight, he saw the blush stain her
cheeks. But she did not break eye contact or stiffen in affront.

“I came to tell you that I am not going to marry the
praetor
.”

Shock stabbed through him. She had been so adamant earlier
that day. He’d wanted nothing more than for her to change her mind. But he had
not seriously imagined she would. So what had happened?

“Why not?” He realized his fingers were biting into her
shoulder and forcibly relaxed his grip. But he couldn’t release her. Gods, he
never wanted to release her. What life would he have in the land of the Picts,
if Antonia was not there to share it with him?

She angled her head in a proud manner that sent a lingering
pain through his heart. “I choose to embrace my destiny, instead of having it
thrust upon me by outside forces.”

A chill inched over his flesh.
Embrace your destiny.
Those were the words his gods had said through Antonia the night she had
suffered a vision. It was sheer coincidence she repeated them here, now.

“And what of your daughter? Does she no longer deserve to
embrace her destiny, as a patrician in Rome?” The words seared his throat. The
way they had seared his heart when Antonia had thrown them in his face.

“Please, Gawain.” There was a pleading note in her voice
that instantly raised his suspicions. What was she hiding? “Can you not simply
accept that I was wrong? I’ve—had time to think it over, and I could never
resume another life in Rome with a man I don’t love.”

He didn’t believe her. She’d had plenty of time to think of
how her life would be if she returned to Rome. His hand slid along her arm and
he threaded his fingers through hers.

“Tell me, Antonia.” His voice was unforgiving. “What
happened to change your mind since you left my hut?” He used the word
deliberately. Reminding her of the vast differences in their lifestyles. In
case she had forgotten.

Her thumb caressed his and despite how she had trampled on
his heart, despite the current circumstances and the anger that seethed beneath
the surface, desire flared with rampant disregard.

Desire would always be a facet when it came to Antonia. He
gritted his teeth and refused to succumb to the insistent imperative to claim
her lips and remind her that
she was his.

She hesitated for another moment. The she took a deep
breath. “Do you swear on the names of your forefathers that, no matter what I
say, you will not seek vengeance?”

Dull rage thudded through his chest. He had been right. The
praetor
had blackmailed her into agreeing to marry him. And that bastard had looked him
in the eye and sworn he had not.

And Gawain had believed him.

“He will never harm Cassia as long as there is breath in my body.”
He tugged Antonia closer. He would protect her and Cassia with his life. “How
can he call himself a man, to threaten an innocent child?”

Antonia frowned, as though she had not the slightest idea
what he was talking about.

“The
praetor
did not threaten Cassia.” There was an
unmistakable note of shock in her voice and he stared at her as confusion
gnawed through his chest. If the
praetor
hadn’t threatened her beloved
daughter, then what was Antonia talking about? He was convinced he was right.
That he had always been right in this matter. The only reason Antonia had
agreed to the
praetor
’s demand was because she felt she had no other
choice.

“Then who did he threaten?” The only other person was her
father. So had her father confronted the
praetor
and somehow released
Antonia from her pledge?

The silence ate through his gut as Antonia stared at him as
though she regretted having confided in him. Finally she spoke.

“You.”

For a moment Gawain didn’t comprehend what she meant. Him?
The
praetor
had coerced Antonia by threatening
him
?

Disbelief slammed through him. “What were you thinking? How
could you even imagine doing such a thing?” He resisted the urge to shake her.
The need to crush her in his arms. The overwhelming desire to bury his face in
her hair and reassure himself that she was here. She was safe. That the danger
of her leaving for Rome had passed.

But how could she have agreed to something so vile in the
first place?

“Why do you think, Gawain?” Her voice was soft but there was
a thread of unmistakable power that pulled him from his jagged thoughts. “I
would do a great deal to ensure your safety.”

No. This was wrong. Antonia should never have to put her
happiness at stake because of him. He’d gut that fucking Roman before he
allowed the bastard to put one hand on her.

Above the roar that filled his head and the thunder of his
heart in his chest, Antonia’s words echoed through his mind.

She was not going to marry the
praetor
.

The constriction around his chest eased. It didn’t matter
what the
praetor
threatened against Gawain. He could take care of
himself. Thank the gods Antonia had come to her senses in time and realized
that.

“The
praetor
,” Antonia said, “has concluded his
mission for the emperor in Britannia. He is returning to Rome shortly.”

Why would he return to Rome when he had vowed vengeance on
Gawain? Unease slithered through his veins. There was still something that
Antonia had not told him.

“What did you promise him, Antonia? Why is he leaving
Britain without,”
he had almost said crucifying,
“killing me for taking
who he covets?”

“Because I confronted him with the truth.” She took a deep
breath, as though for courage. “There have been too many lies in my past. I
don’t need to be protected for my own good or because a man considers I’m
incapable of making and living with my own decisions.”

She looked up at him, her gaze intent, as though she were
trying to see inside his head and discover his deadly secrets.

But he couldn’t tell her what he truly was. To expose her to
that aspect of him could put her in danger. It had nothing to do with him
considering her incapable of handling the truth. He simply didn’t want to risk
her safety by knowing the truth.

“We will travel north together, as soon as Cassia arrives in
Britain.”

She didn’t answer right away but he saw a flicker of what
looked oddly like disappointment in her eyes. Before he could attempt to
decipher why he should imagine such a thing, she lowered her head and focused
on his jaw.

“Yes.” Her voice was low and although she had agreed with
him a sense of unease pierced through him. “I know it will not be an easy life,
living with a warrior, but I would rather be by your side than anywhere else in
the world.”

“I am more than a warrior, Antonia.” He raised her hand and
kissed her chilled knuckles. “Before the invasion I was a seeker of truth and
teacher of my people.”

As a Chosen One of Lugus he was a custodian for the sacred
history of the Druids. He had upheld their laws and counseled people in times
of despair or dispute. While he was, and would always be, a warrior, a part of
his soul craved to return to the time when he could also assist his people in a
less bloodthirsty manner.

Only time would tell whether the Picts would ever trust him
enough to enjoy such a life.

Antonia remained silent and as he stared at her averted
face, a sliver of guilt stirred deep inside. He had just told her he was a
seeker of truth. Yet he withheld from her the most important element of who he
was.

She had just told him there had been too many lies in her
past. Did he intend to dishonor her courage by lying to her, even if merely by
omission, in the future?

Instinctively his fingers tightened around hers. He did not
fear that she would call her guards to arrest him when she learned the truth.
Only that she might decide to leave him here on this unlikely crossroads, and
return to her own people.

“There is something about me you should know.” His voice was
gruff. She looked up at him and he forced himself to continue. “Something that
may cause you to change your mind about sharing your life with me.”

“You can tell me anything, Gawain.”

He knew that. But the confession stuck in his throat. There
was no easy way to say the words. Only the stark truth.

“I am a Druid.”

The tense expression on her face relaxed and a smile
illuminated her face. Stunned, he stared at her. Whatever reaction he had
expected, it most certainly had not been this. She appeared
relieved.

“Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.” Her whisper
was scarcely loud enough to be heard, but it wasn’t the words that rendered him
speechless. It was the meaning behind her words.

She had known. How long had she known? Would she ever have
confronted him, if he had not taken the leap of faith and confessed to her?

He watched her raise his hand and press her lips against his
knuckles. He cleared his throat and barely noticed how the storm clouds faded
in the sky.

“It was never about a question of trust.”

She looked up at him and he realized that was not what she
had meant. She knew he trusted her not to share the deadly secret of his
heritage. It was because he trusted that she was strong enough to accept the
legacy of his forefathers and everything it entailed.

“I have a confession of my own.” She pressed his hand
against her breast. Against her heart. “I discovered today my heritage is more
tainted than even Rome imagined. I am the daughter of a Druid, Gawain. I am the
half sister of Carys.”

Antonia was the daughter of a Druid? She had the blood of
the ancient gods in her veins? Awe trickled along his spine as he recalled her
nightmare. He had blamed his gods. Thought they were using Antonia to get to
him.

But his gods were as much a part of Antonia’s heritage as
they were of his own. Was it possible they had not been speaking to him at all
that night?

Could they have been speaking to Antonia herself?
Had
they spoken to her before?

“It seems our destinies were always intended to collide.”

On the western horizon, a blaze of orange and gold from the
setting sun burst through the remnants of the storm clouds, banishing them from
the twilight sky. The ethereal glow bathed Antonia as she stood before him. He
had often likened her to a goddess. But now, as the golden light illuminated
her, a shiver raised the hairs on his arms.

She did possess the blood of the gods. Was she, in her own
right, also a Druid?

“Do you still want me to come with you to Caledonia?”

She stood on the Roman road and used the Roman name for the
ancient land of the Picts. But she was willing to sacrifice her Roman heritage.

To be with him.

The lingering tendrils of foreboding that clouded his soul
faded as he finally faced the truth.

His home was wherever Antonia was. She was the path he had
been searching for.

He stepped forward onto the road, leaving the dusty, overgrown
trail behind. How could she even ask him such a thing?

An odd thought hit him. He had never asked her if she would
go with him. He had always assumed. She deserved more than that. Gods, she
deserved everything, but all he could give her was himself.

And the courtesy of giving her the choice.

“I have no wish to go anywhere without you, Antonia. If I
could, I would take you back to the valleys of Cymru.” He untangled their
fingers and tenderly cradled her face. “But my homeland is fractured. Will you
come with me into the far north so we can forge our own destiny together?”

He’d expected her joyful capitulation. At the very least a
smile of assent. But instead she stared at him as though she was frozen. He
gently traced his thumb across her cheek. “Antonia?”

“Cassia’s daughter would unite a fractured land.” Her voice
was hushed and he frowned. What was she talking about? What did her future
grandchild have to do with it? “
You must bring them home to me.
That is
what Juno has been telling me since I arrived in Britannia, Gawain. The message
I have never been able to recall.”

The spirits of his ancestors brushed over his arms and he
gave an involuntary shudder. Antonia gazed at him, clearly waiting for his
response, but his voice was locked in his throat.

She had no idea that she had just spoken in the language
of the gods.

He dragged in a deep breath. How could there be any doubt?
Antonia was a Druid, whether she knew it or not.

“Juno has often spoken to you in visions?” He used the same
ancient language, but her words thundered through his mind.
You must bring
them home to me.
The same words she had gasped in the throes of her vision
that one night he had stayed with her.

“Ever since I was a child.”
She had understood him
.
But she now spoke in Latin. “I remember now, she told me stories of gods I had
never heard of and places I had never seen. But why would Juno speak to me of
such things?” She pressed her hand against his heart. “Yet if the goddess is
not Juno—
who is she
?”

Before the invasion, he had often been called upon to
decipher the confusing visions of young acolytes, or children who had not yet
been welcomed into the sacred fold. But none of them to his knowledge had
possessed Roman blood. Until this moment, the only other one he had known was
the ancient one from Gaul who had taught Latin to his clan.

Spectacular red streaks splashed through the deep orange of
the dying sun, casting mystical shadows across the land. The knowledge of the
Druids was vast and ancient. But even Druids could not know all the secrets of
the gods.

“What else do you remember of your visions, Antonia?”

For a moment, Antonia’s eyes glazed, as though she was
searching through half-recalled memories. Then she blinked, and all confusion
vanished.

“She is young, like a goddess of spring. Yet she possesses
such an aura of power and majesty I’ve always thought she was the queen of
Olympus.” She hesitated for a moment. “I’ve always worshipped her as Juno. Even
though sometimes—in my heart—I feared it was not her.”

A goddess of new beginnings. Yet one that wielded the power
of majesty. Suspicion stirred. But surely not. The goddess in his mind was the
most powerful one of all.

“What else? Do you recall where the goddess spoke to you?”

“It was dark. But I knew I was standing on the precipice and
one false move would send me plunging to my death. And yet…” Her voice trailed
off and she frowned, obviously trying to understand her fragmented
recollections. “The path I should take was not certain. I had to choose. And I
never knew whether my next step would lead to destruction or a future filled
with hope.”

“The crossroads.” His voice was hushed. For a moment they
stared into each other’s eyes until, as one, they looked down at their feet.

Where the Roman road crossed the Celtic path.

Lugus was the finder of paths. But the Morrigan stood at the
crossroads of life. Yet it was not the great goddess in her warrior aspect that
had taken Antonia for her own.

“Your goddess is Blodeuwedd.” The Morrigan in her maiden
form. The goddess who overcame the manipulations of those who would enslave
her—to find her true destiny.

“She wants me to bring you home.” For the first time Antonia
sounded uncertain. “To Caledonia?”

Caledonia—the land of the Picts—was not his home. In his
heart, he knew it never would be.

“Cymru is my home. But how can any of us return there? It’s
infested by Romans.”

A small smile touched her lips. “I am half Roman, Gawain.
And I am as proud of my mother’s heritage as you are of yours.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” She traced her fingertips along his
jaw. “But Rome is here, Gawain. And she has no intention of leaving.”

His fingers tangled around one of her irresistible ringlets.
“I will never succumb to the cursed Eagle.”

“I would never wish you to.” She paused for a fleeting
moment. “But that doesn’t mean you couldn’t utilize what Rome offers for the
good of your own people.”

“Do you wish me to become a politician?” He might have once
held a position of responsibility among his own people. But until this moment,
he’d never considered there was any similarity between a Druid upholder of the
law and a Roman official. “I would likely choke on the rhetoric.”

“You could speak for your people in the Roman
administration, and I could speak for mine in your Celtic courts.”

She was jesting. Surely. But he was not entirely certain.
“Cymru is a land in revolt, Antonia. Unlike the Britons we have not surrendered
our freedom.”

“I have heard, the Caledonians are a fierce, warlike people.
They might resist Rome but they continue to fight each other. Their blood feuds
are legendary,” Antonia said.

The people of Cymru had legendary blood feuds also. But
since the invasion, they had buried their rivalries in an effort to oust the
enemy.

Yet he knew what she meant. If he had to ride into battle,
would he rather be among Picts or leading his own from Cymru?

With a sense of disbelief, he stared down at Antonia. From
the moment Aeron, the mad High Druid, had unleashed the fury of the gods and
devastation had swept across the land two turns of the wheel ago, Gawain had
not imagined it possible he could ever return to Cymru except in the role of
insurgent.

But why shouldn’t he?