Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) (10 page)

Driving his team, Titus worked to unwind the lash from its tourniquet-like grip. Dulcitius bellowed with pain as his body was dragged through the dirt. With one last slap of his reins, Titus raced across the finish line.

His men poured into the arena surrounding him with shouts of victory. Titus glanced back at Dulcitius, who shoved aside the offered hand of his
optio
, Paulus. From the officer’s box, Theodosius nodded his approval.

Titus thrust his fist in to the air. “Let us celebrate our victories with food and drink for all!”

****

The raw skin on his thigh and upper arm stung while Dulcitius stomped toward his tent with Paulus on his heels. “The count will expect you in the officers’ mess, sir.”

Dulcitius yanked aside the canvas, unbuckled his sword and tossed it on his cot. “Dammit, fool, do you not think I know what the count expects?” He inspected the open wound that oozed blood from his hip to his knee, and then examined the same on his arm. “Get the salve. That flatulent bastard will pay.”

Paulus produced a stoneware pot. “This will ease the burn.”

Dulcitius clenched his fists against the agonizing pain. “I knew there would be no way for Titus to prepare for these games. ’Tis your fault the charioteers faltered. I want them punished severely.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They focused too much on fighting and not enough on driving their horses. They need to do both. If they are going to strike out at another driver, they must take him out and do so without losing ground.”

Paulus gaped at him with wide eyes. His expression exposed his ill-placed doubt.

“Hold your tongue. I stayed up with Titus and injured him mercilessly. My lashes will scar him for life, and every time he looks at them, he’ll remember my wrath.” Dulcitius hissed at the stinging pain in his thigh as Paulus rubbed in the ointment none to gently. “Watch yourself.”

“The salve will start soothing soon, sir.”

“I should murder that bastard.”

Paulus chuckled. “That would end Theodosius’s indecision.”

“Yes. And Titus needs to suffer.” Dulcitius clawed his fingers as if he could grasp the centurion’s neck between them. “A good lashing followed by a team of horses dragging the cur until he draws his last breath would suit.”

“Hold your arm out, sir.” Paulus examined the bloody scrape on Dulcitius’s arm with a sly grin curling the corners of his lips. “I like how you’re thinking, sir. But you’d need good cause. Would you be so bold as to share your plans?”

Dulcitius licked his lips—Paulus was the one man he could trust with any confidence. “I’ve spent many a night devising….”

“You are quite the tactician.” Titus pulled back the canvas of the tent. “Pardon my intrusion. I’ve come to collect on our bet.”

Dulcitius yanked his cloak over his exposed wounds. “Paulus will see to it a stallion is delivered to your stables.”

“Without my prior inspection?”

Dulcitius glanced toward the sword sheathed upon his cot.
If only I were properly armed, I’d create that “good cause” this moment
. “Paulus, when we are through, please meet the centurion at the yard and give him his pick of our finest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Gratitude, Dulcitius.” Titus stepped forward. “I did not intend for us to be matched. I trust no hard feelings exist.”

Dulcitius swallowed the sickly lump that formed in his throat and assumed a thin-lipped smile.
Ill will? Please, one does not make amends with their sworn enemy. I will avenge my father’s death, and Titus will pay for his father’s accursed conviction.
“Of course not. The games were all in fun.”

Titus nodded toward Paulus. “I will meet you by the stables anon.”

Paulus bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

Dulcitius eyed the congealed blood on Titus’s arm. “You best have that tended to by your wench. ’Tis a pity. I would have enjoyed a romp with the likes of her.”

Dulcitius smirked at Titus’s narrowed eyes and tight-jawed grimace. The man could never mask his ire.

When the canvas closed, Dulcitius shoved Paulus aside. “Stop with your doting.”

He snatched his sword from its scabbard as he paced the tent. On the second time round, he grabbed Paulus’s tunic and growled in a low voice. “The archer wench is the key to defeating Titus. That much is clear. That woman is a vixen—and she holds the centurion’s heart in a vice-like grip. I want her followed.”

“She does seem odd, that one.”

Dulcitius strengthened his grip and pushed his lips to within an inch of Paulus’s ear. “There should be no rest along the wall. Make Titus look incompetent. I would think it easy to pay a mob of thieving renegades to rein havoc on his precious milecastles. Just see to it they cannot trace any uprising back to us.”

Paulus’s shoulders shook as a deep chuckle rumbled from his belly. “We’ll bring such disorder, Theodosius will be calling for Titus’s head.”

Chapter Seven

Elspeth sat up from her pallet when the door to Titus’s chamber clicked. She had not seen him since her archery demonstration. He’d asked her to make a good impression and she’d contemplated missing—firing her arrows at the arrogant count and his even more pretentious fair-haired centurion. It wasn’t until she spurred Tessie into the ring that she’d made her decision. Bungling her performance would have made Titus look bad in front of the Romans she truly despised. She may have been upset with him for making her wear
Athena’s gown
, but otherwise, he’d treated her with kindness and respect.

Few locals attended the games, and she chose not to stay and watch the gladiatorial contest. Men fighting to the death for sport did not sit well with her or any of her kind. No self-respecting Pict would dishonor his sword by using it to show off his skill and murder another simply for the applause of the crowd.

Though Titus had been ordered to orchestrate the games, the fact that he put up men to lose their lives for sport helped her form the barrier she needed between them. She stood and placed her hand on the latch to her door, wishing to ask him about the games—gain his approval for her performance. Elspeth hesitated. It would be improper for her to enter his chamber at this late hour.

What if he kissed her again? Her stomach fluttered. She could not allow herself to desire him.
The gentle caress of his lips and the hardened muscles of his shoulders beneath my hands…
She shook her head to drive those thoughts away. Her body had betrayed her when he kissed her. Oh no, she could not allow it to happen again.

The sound of flint striking iron resounded from the adjoining chamber. She rested her forehead against the door and steeled her resolve. It was best if she forced herself to wait until the morning. Elspeth stood a moment longer, the palm upon the latch perspiring. She nearly fell on her face when the door swung outward. Stumbling, she sprawled right into Titus’s arms.

His eyes were rounds as coins. “You’re a-awake.”

The stench of pickled sprits invaded her nostrils and she coughed. “Why, ye’re in yer cups.”

“Me?” He belched, blinking rapidly. “You are qu…quite mistaken.”

“I can smell the spirit on yer breath.” She pushed him away. “Off to bed with ye…
sir
”

He frowned. “I am not s…so bloody drunk I cannot talk.”

Elspeth folded her arms. “Aye? Then speak yer mind and do it quick.”

He waved her in and plopped onto a wooden chair. With a huff, Elspeth scooted forward and stood in front of him, keeping her arms crossed. He shook his pointer finger at her, his eyes straining to focus. “Your performance impressed the count, a—as well as the
Ordo Centurion
.”

She wanted to scream—to spit out a sting of insults for those two pompous officers. “I care not what they thought.”

“You should.” He swayed sideways, but caught himself and teetered back to center. “Dulcitius wagered his finest stallion against a night in your bed.”

Elspeth’s jaw dropped. “No. I cannot…I will not.”

Titus waived his hands. “N-no need to worry,” he slurred. “I won the wager. His fine white stallion now stands in the Vindolanda stables.”

Elspeth heaved a sigh of relief and wrung her hands. “Thank ye, m’lord. I will forever be grateful.”
But still. He wagered for my virtue? What did I expect? He is a Roman. Just like the rest of them. Just as I’ve always told myself… Do your work and pray to Atar no one will lay a hand on you. Boar’s bones, I still cannot believe Titus would do such a thing!

Elspeth took a breath.
Although he has always defended me…

Titus grinned. Clearly oblivious to her inner battle, he reached for her hand. “I am happy it pleases you. Losing any wager to the likes of Dulcitius would have topped a completely miserable day. But giving you to him…” He clenched his jaw. “Would have been much worse than losing any game.”

Every muscle in her body clenched. “How could you have placed a wager with
me
?” Before she could stop herself, she snapped back her hand and slapped him across the face. As his servant, she’d probably be sent for some whipping, but Elspeth didn’t care. He’d overstepped his bounds when he’d kissed her, and even more when he dared wage with her virtue.
I’ve played his game, flaunted myself for his pompous count and then his thanks was to make a wager with me as a prize?
Her blood boiled, and she did not recoil at the stunned look on his face, or the mix of fury and hurt in his eyes. Instead, Elspeth glared at him. She deserved an answer.

Titus blinked, a sober expression in his eyes. “You are right.” His tongue snuck to the side of his mouth and lapped up a droplet of blood. “I should have told Theodosius exactly how inappropriate his order was.”

Incensed, Elspeth threw her palms to her sides. “Theodosius? You said the wager was with Dulcitius.”

“It was. But when I tried to reject him, Theodosius ordered me to accept.” Titus leaned forward and pressed his palms against his face. “I am but a soldier, bred to take orders from my superiors—but this time I should
not
have allowed such a command.” His voice strained like he was in pain, and when he looked up, agony stretched his features. “When I agreed to take the assignment in the northern frontier, I wanted to bring peace to Britannia—for all the people to be proud of what we have accomplished here. I believe in Roman values, Elspeth, and in Roman civilization and in Christianity—I really do. But the one ignoble thing that comes with Roman rule is misplaced superiority. When I accepted Dulcitius’s wager, I not only let you down, I betrayed the whole of Britannia. I betrayed my very own dreams.”

Taken aback by his confession, Elspeth clapped a hand over her mouth and hesitated. She’d never heard a man be so completely honest. He hadn’t placed the wager like an irresponsible drunken soldier. He hadn’t wanted to place it at all. “Ye honestly believed you could bring peace?”

“With every beat of my heart.” He sat back, a painful grimace stretching his lips. “I also had to win that wager, because I couldn’t allow Dulcitius to touch you.”

A lump the size of her fist formed in her throat. If only Elspeth could confess her identity. If only she could wrap her arms around his neck and tell him how much she admired him. Now, without a doubt, she knew Titus wasn’t like other Romans. He did not want to conquer. He wanted peace, just like the Picts.
Why can they all not be like him? Why can our races not live in peace?

He grasped her hand and ran his finger over the back of it. “But don’t ignore what you heard me say. My dreams for Britannia weren’t the only reason I needed to win the wager.”

Those words had her fingers trembling.
And I’m the one betraying him
. “Aye?” Her voice was breathless.

“If he’d have laid a hand on you, I would have killed him.”

Now she couldn’t even breathe. How could she respond? If she declared her feelings without revealing her identity, she would be cheating the only honest Roman soldier in all of Britannia. “I…” Elspeth placed her hand on his arm and Titus pulled back with a hiss. Blood covered her finger. “Ye’re hurt.”

“’Tis but a scratch.”

Elspeth leaned in to inspect the wound. Jagged, it ran all the way up his forearm. “What happened to ye?”

“To decide the victor of Dulcitius’s challenge, the count matched Dulcitius and me in a chariot race…and my good friend decided ’twas more important to send his whip my way than to win the race.”

“’Tis a good thing ye won then.” She stepped back into her room and rummaged through her satchel. “I’ll put a salve on it, then to bed with ye.”

“Yes, your ladyship.” Titus didn’t stand, but he rolled his hand through the air and bowed at the waist.

Elspeth kneeled beside him with the stoneware pot of ointment in her hand. Though he said nothing, his eyes bore into her as if he were studying her like one of his war maps. She made quick work of her ministrations and patted his shoulder. “That should see ye fixed until morning.”

He grasped her hand and squeezed. Elspeth tried to pull away but he held fast. The stern look behind his hazel eyes softened and he held her hand to his lips and kissed it. “You are a good woman. You need to find a husband. ’Tis not wise to tarry long in an officer’s quarters.”

He released her and she rubbed away the burning kiss. “I’ll leave ye to sleep now, m’lord…and my thanks—ah—for keeping Dulcitius at bay.”

When she turned, Titus grasped her shoulders before she took her first step. She froze. His lips caressed the back of her neck and fire melted the ice in her back. Her heart raced, and her breathing rushed in short gasps. She wanted to whip around and face him, wrap her arms around him and feel his lips press against hers, but she clenched her fists against her traitorous desires and wormed her shoulders out from under his grasp.

Titus cleared his throat. “I fear the drink has affected my sensibilities.”

Elspeth glanced over her shoulder. He looked like a forlorn puppy left out in the cold. Though her mind screamed no, she faced him. As if her arms had grown a mind of their own, she stepped into him and slipped her hands around his neck.