Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 01] (31 page)

How many women had he pleasured this way in the past? His touch was so sure, his technique so skillful, he must have had plenty of practice.

It didn’t please her, despite the fact she was now the beneficiary of his expertise.

“You’re frowning again.” He waved the strigil under her nose. “I trust you’re not communing with your Cerridwen while I slave here for your every comfort.”

“No. I was simply wondering how many women you’ve done this to before.”

“This?” He glanced at the strigil, as if he’d never seen it before. “Do you think I was a slave in Rome?” The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he found the concept amusing.

“I don’t know what you were in Rome.” She knew he had been no slave. “All I know is you command your soldiers here in Cymru.”

“In Rome,” he said, gliding the blade along the curve of her breast, “slaves would take care of such menial tasks.” He flashed her a grin. “I’m gratified we’re not in Rome. This experience far exceeds my expectations.”

“Then you also are not of the peasant class.” But she knew that already. His bearing was regal, his attitude that of one who expected deference as his right. It went deeper than military rank. It was in his blood, his bones. His heritage.

“Does it matter?”

It shouldn’t. And yet it did. Not because she wanted him to be of similar status to herself. But because she craved to know everything she possibly could about him.

“Do you miss your kin?”

He flicked her an amused glance. “Believe me, distance is a virtue when it comes to my father.”

She tried to imagine living so far away from her own relatives, being unable to see them whenever the desire arose. Her mother, who had visited distant kin on the Isle of Mon ten moons ago and intended to be gone only a short while, became stranded once the invasion spread, and Carys missed her wise words, her infectious laugh and irreverent sense of fun more every day.

“Is that why you joined the Legion?”

“I was always destined for a brief sojourn in the military.” The strigil brushed perilously close to her pussy and she tensed involuntarily. He glanced up. “It bestows honor on one’s family.”

“So you only joined up to honor your family?” That meant he hadn’t voluntarily become a soldier or conquered her land.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then why did you join?” But she didn’t really care. Because if he had not joined his famed Roman Legion, they would never have met.

“If you insist on knowing, I ran away to join the Legion when I was eighteen years old.” From between her legs he shot her an evil grin. “To prove that I could.”

She speared her fingers through his short hair, rubbed the spikes over her palm. “You rebelled.”

“You’re not supposed to laugh.” But he looked as if he was on the verge of laughing also. “It’s unheard of for the son of a prominent senator to be a mere centurion in the lowest cohort. I’m astonished my father didn’t disown me entirely.”

“I’m sure he’s proud of your success now.” She rubbed his head again. “Surely it’s honorable to work your way up the ranks?”

“Not for a patrician.” He pushed his head against her hand, as if encouraging her to continue. “The parents of my betrothed were so scandalized they ensured all of Rome knew of my appalling behavior.”

Carys dug her fingers into Maximus’s scalp as her bubbling laughter vaporized. “Your betrothed?” She dug her fingernails in further and ignored the pained expression on his face. “You’re married?”

Why had that not occurred to her before? Of course he was married. He wasn’t a common foot soldier. He was an officer. And a Roman patrician.

And he probably possessed a perfect Roman noblewoman as his wife.

Her stomach churned with sudden distress. Had he also fathered children with the weak-minded harridan?

He twisted his head from her grasp. Laughter gleamed in his beautiful blue eyes, and her fingers clawed as the tempting vision of gouging them from his sockets thudded through her mind.

“Careful.” He waved the strigil at her as he knelt between her spread knees. “I don’t like that look on your face.”

“I asked you a question.” She propped herself up on her elbows and glowered at him.

“At the time I joined up, my
betrothed
”—he emphasized the word and offered her an inappropriate grin—“was three years old. Her parents were offended that her future husband was a common centurion and severed the contract.”

Carys narrowed her eyes. “And?”

“And they demanded recompense from my family.” The humor faded from his face. “I’m not proud of that. But my father and I had just had another gods-awful fight, and all I wanted was to get away.”

Carys didn’t care about his father. “Were you given another wife?”

The corner of his mouth twitched as if she had just said something amusing. “No other family would touch me after my former betrothed’s parents had finished blackening my name.”

“So you don’t have a wife waiting for you back in Rome?”

Although why it mattered, she wasn’t going to analyze, because it wasn’t as if
she
could ever be his wife or bear his recognized children.

No matter how much she wanted to.
That didn’t make her a traitor.
She couldn’t help how she felt about him.

“Jupiter.” He clasped her waist, and the bone handle of the strigil dug into her skin. “I do not possess a wife in Rome or anywhere else.” He paused for a moment as if reassessing his declaration. “And I don’t intend to have any such encumbrance for a good many years yet.”

She sucked in a long breath and willed her heart to stop hurting. There would be plenty of time, years, eternity, for her heart to ache once she and Maximus were severed by fate.

She couldn’t let her feelings come between them now, couldn’t let her newly discovered love create barriers when their time together was fraught with so much jeopardy beyond her control.

She smiled and rubbed his head once again to indicate her forgiveness. “Why did you and your father fight?”

He eyed her, as if weighing up her sudden shift in mood. “You ask far too many questions for a woman.” He jerked back when she dug her nails in his scalp once again. “But if you insist on knowing, it was because I wanted to join the Legion and work my way up the ranks on ability and not connection.”

His explanation was in no way amusing, but still the overwhelming urge to giggle assailed her. “I see.”

“By Mars, you have no respect.” He didn’t sound displeased as he rolled her over. “But you will.”

She closed her eyes, relished the way he scraped the oil from her shoulders. In Rome he had been despised for his choices. But, even though those choices meant he had willingly fought for his Emperor, had willingly invaded her beloved Cymru, he’d risen to his present rank through his own ability, blood and sweat. Not because he was the favored son of a powerful senator.

A smile curved her lips. He was her Roman conqueror and she loved him, even if such an admission fluttered on the wings of blasphemy.

Later, as the slaves dried her and massaged scented oil into her hands and arms, she cast a longing glance at the bath. Would she ever enjoy such a night as this again?

“That isn’t mine.” She waved her hand at the long white tunic one of the slaves brought to her.

“Indulge me.” Maximus’s lazy voice drifted toward her. “Just for tonight, my lady.”

He looked magnificent and utterly foreign in his tunic as two other slaves draped a long toga decorated with a broad purple stripe around him. She glanced again at the proffered garment, torn between asserting her rights as a Celtic Druidess and a secret, shameful desire to wear this Roman creation.

No one would know
. So she allowed the slaves to dress her, allowed them to comb and twist and manipulate her hair in elaborate Roman style.

And Maximus, from his semi-reclining position on the bench, never took his smoldering gaze from her.

Dusk had fallen by the time they left the Legatus’s dwelling, for which she was thankful as Maximus had made it clear she wasn’t going to wear the concealing length of linen this time.

Not that it mattered. The only others they passed were Romans who, after glancing her way and catching sight of Maximus in his senatorial glory, hastily averted their eyes.

Such was the power of her Roman’s word. Once, her word had commanded similar respect from her people. Would the world ever return to the way it had once been?

With a shiver she recalled the horrifying vision she’d endured earlier that day. Had it truly shown her the future?

She had to speak to Druantia. Ask her advice. Beg the Morrigan’s forgiveness for her trespass, and offer any sacrifice so she might once again gain sweet Cerridwen’s favor.

Iced sparks dug through her heart as the rash promise vibrated in her mind. Instantly, she refined her pledge. She would do anything Cerridwen or the Morrigan demanded, fulfill any obligation the goddesses required.

Would sacrifice whatever was within her power to give.
Anything but Maximus
.

As they entered Maximus’s quarters, the enticing aroma of roasting meat greeted them. She sniffed appreciably as he led her into another room that had a low table surrounded on three sides by couches.

He picked up a small leather pouch from the table.

“This is for you.”

Enthralled, Carys unwrapped the leather. Nestled in the center, gold and green glinted up at her.

“Maximus,” she breathed, enchanted that he had bought her a gift. She sank onto one of the couches and spread the leather across her lap so she could more easily admire her treasures.

He sat beside her, his hard thigh snug against hers. “Do you like them?” His voice was gruff, as if he wasn’t used to asking women such a thing.

She picked up the delicate bracelet, and the green stones glittered in the lamplight. “I’ve never seen anything so pretty,” she told him, and it was the truth, for despite owning numerous bracelets, necklaces, earrings and ankle chains, none of them had been chosen specifically for her by Maximus.

“One day I’ll buy you the real thing. But for now, I’m glad you approve.”

She laughed and held up one of the long, sparkling earrings. “I love them and shall always treasure them. Thank you.”

He fastened the bracelet around her wrist, and she slid the earrings through her naked lobes. She shook her head and the sharp stones jiggled along the length of her neck, brushing her shoulders.

“They suit you.” He scrutinized her. “I knew something was missing earlier. You weren’t wearing any of your own jewelry.”

She thought of her precious gems hidden within her medicine bag, and hoped no one would find the bag before she managed to reclaim it. Not because she feared losing her jewelry, but because of the illicit bluestones it harbored.