Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 02] (19 page)

Why couldn’t Carys accept the truth? She drew in a sharp breath, tried to channel her thoughts, but then Carys looked beyond her, a smile illuminating her face, and with a stab of regret Morwyn knew they would never again have the chance to speak so freely with each other.

“Carys.” Maximus held his wife’s hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Morwyn glanced away, an odd pain slicing through her chest at the tender note in his voice.

“Maximus, look.” Carys threaded her fingers through his and turned to her. “Morwyn’s arrived. She’s going to stay with us.”

Of course she was. Where else could she go? And yet for some reason the assumption irked.

“Morwyn.” Maximus smiled in greeting, and for the first time Morwyn noticed the scars marring his face. Scars inflicted by Aeron’s evil magic. “Welcome. It’s good to see you again.”

She doubted that, but offered him a tight smile in return. No longer was he dressed in the Roman centurion uniform. Instead he wore the white toga and purple stripe of the cursed aristocracy.

He stepped toward her, fingers still linked with Carys’s. “I’ve wanted to thank you for saving my life that night, Morwyn. I know how hard that must have been for you.”

She didn’t want to have this conversation with anyone, least of all Maximus.

“It was nothing.” She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and hoped he would leave it at that. She had acted out of pure instinct that night, but even now couldn’t think of it without her guts twisting into knots of confusion.

“What are you doing here?” Maximus said, as if this was a perfectly normal greeting of old friends, instead of the most excruciating moment of her life. “Did you travel alone?” He sounded vaguely shocked by the possibility.

She shrugged, as if the matter was of little account. “I accompanied the Gaul. I wanted to see Carys in any case.”

“The Gaul?” Both Carys and Maximus pounced on her words as if it were some extraordinary confession.

For a reason she couldn’t fathom, heat rose in her cheeks. “Yes. He had business in Camulodunon so I—I came too.” Why was she protecting him? It didn’t make sense. Especially since she had no intention of ever seeing him again. And besides, what did it matter if Carys and Maximus knew she’d initially been abducted? She was free
now
.

“A Gaul?” Carys sounded fascinated. “Do I know him? What’s his name?”

Gods, why hadn’t Morwyn kept her mouth shut? “No, you wouldn’t know of him. He’s an auxiliary in one of the cursed Legions.” She shot Maximus a glance, but he appeared unmoved by her insult. “His name is Dunmacos.”

“Dunmacos?” Maximus sounded as if she’d just uttered an obscenity. “By Mars. You didn’t travel willingly to Camulodunum if you accompanied that scum.”

Her spine stiffened in affront. Who was this Roman to call her Gaul scum?

“Maximus?” Alarm threaded through Carys’s voice. “Do you know of this Dunmacos?”

He turned to her. “Remember I told you of the Gallic butcher?
That
was Dunmacos.”

Carys visibly blanched. “Goddess. Why didn’t you tell me how you truly received your injuries, Morwyn?” She reached out to gently trail her fingers along Morwyn’s face. “How did you escape him?”

Morwyn jerked back. Resentment curdled deep in her belly at the assumptions Carys and her husband were making.

“I told you.” Except she hadn’t told her everything. “I was with three fellow Druids when we were ambushed. They were killed, and I—You can imagine what they had in store for me. Dunmacos”—she said his name with a touch of defiance—“was the one who saved me from such indignity.”

“So he could rape you himself.” Carys’s eyes flashed with fury. “Maximus, you have to hunt down this barbarian and ensure justice is served.”

“I’m perfectly capable of serving justice, Carys,” Morwyn said. “And while I expected nothing less from him, he did
not
rape me.”

“Then who chewed on your neck like a rabid animal?”

Morwyn resisted the instinct to press her fingers against the tender flesh of her throat. Bizarrely, she recalled a similar situation when she’d been infuriated on Carys’s behalf, thinking she had been raped by the enemy.

Carys had been defensive. Morwyn had never understood why.

Until now.

And it didn’t make sense. Carys had loved her Roman.
Morwyn
felt nothing for the Gaul. So why did Carys’s insistence of his guilt irritate?

“My last lover.” She knew she should leave it at that, but somehow couldn’t help herself. “And he is neither rabid nor an animal.”

Carys let out a ragged breath and pressed her hand against her belly. “Then you traveled with this Dunmacos of your own free will? He truly hasn’t abused you?”

She thought back to the forest. He might have abducted her, but much as it irked to admit, she understood his reasoning.

Of course, she still hadn’t—and never would—forgive him for shackling her like a common slave. But since she knew how Carys would react to that piece of information, she decided to keep it to herself.

Again,
why
? Why did she care if Carys and her husband ripped the Gaul’s character to shreds? They could say nothing about him she hadn’t already thought herself.

“When I discovered he was traveling to Camulodunon, I decided to accompany him.” It was, if she conveniently closed her eyes to a few details, the absolute truth. “For an auxiliary attached to the Roman Legions I found him—honorable.”

The sane section of her mind curled up on itself in despair but she ignored it. He
had
shown her honor and she had no compunction ensuring Carys and her husband were aware of that.

Carys looked wary; Maximus completely unconvinced. “As honorable as any man can be who was responsible for the devastation of his entire village.” His voice was grim, but before she could take issue with his outrageous claim he turned to Carys. “Take care, my Druid princess.” His words were soft, as if for his wife’s ears only, before he tilted her chin with one finger and claimed her lips.

The he turned back to Morwyn. “Take my advice. Now that you’re free of him, never think of returning. Our home is yours for as long as you wish.”

After Maximus left them, Carys took Morwyn’s hands. “Come. We have a town house not far from here. Although we won’t be there for much longer. We’re having a villa built in the countryside, for more privacy.”

An odd reluctance snaked through her limbs, and instead of allowing the other woman to lead her from the forum, Morwyn resisted the gentle tug.

“Carys.” It wasn’t fair to let Carys think she intended to remain in Camulodunon indefinitely. “The reason I came here was to ask you to return with me to Cymru.”

Carys continued smiling but it was a brittle smile, a smile that threatened to shatter at any moment. “You want me to leave Camulodunon?”

Yes. But she knew Carys never would. Not without Maximus.

Weariness bit deep into her soul, a bone-aching sadness at the knowledge that, no matter how enduring their friendship was and ever would be, they were now ultimately on opposing sides. Carys might believe in freedom for her kin, but she would never willingly take up arms against her husband’s people.

Morwyn jerked her head in denial. “No. I wouldn’t ask you. Not now.” Her glance slid to Carys’s womb. “You have other priorities now.”

“But you will stay until after the babe is born, won’t you?” There was a vulnerable note in Carys’s voice. “She’s due to arrive when day and night are equal. I think that’s a good time for her birth, don’t you? A day of perfect balance.”

It was also in three moons.

Three moons without seeing her Gaul.

The thought slid into her mind, unwanted and treacherous. Heat flooded through her veins, twisted deep in her belly.
Where had that come from?
She had already made her decision not to see him again earlier this day, when they had parted at the inn. Whether she stayed with Carys for three moons or six, the outcome was the same.

Yet the thought sank into her mind like poisoned hooks, and as impossible to dislodge without ripping flesh.

When she returned to Cymru she would join with the rebels. She had no intention of seeking out a Gallic
auxiliary
. Was she insane? Why had this notion even entered her head?

“Yes.” Her voice was hoarse. “It’s the perfect day for her birth.” The perfect day for a child with parents who should inherently be enemies. Druid princess and Roman aristocrat. But what true balance could such a child ever attain when she was raised in the Roman way? When her matrilineal heritage was being eaten away by her father’s power-hungry Emperor?

“You can do so much here, Morwyn. You were almost fully trained before Druantia was murdered. Imagine how much you can teach our people.”

In an occupied town? For one chilling moment clarity flashed through her mind. She could stay here with Carys. Help raise her daughter.

And slowly her status would erode.

How could it not when she’d have to rely on her friend for so much? She would have to hide her Druidic ancestry, hide her true loyalties. Worship foreign gods she believed in even less than her own.

And never see her Gaul again.

“I can’t do it, Carys.” As the words fell from her lips, she didn’t know if she meant she couldn’t stay as a dependent or give up the chance of spending a few more days with her Gaul.

It had nothing to do with the auxiliary.
She needed to return to Cymru, find the rebels and fight for freedom. But buried deep inside the darkest recess of her mind, she knew the sordid truth.

She just wanted to hold her Gaul until the raw pain eating her heart subsided.

Carys let out a shaky breath. “You’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question. “You’re going to fight, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Don’t you see, you can’t help anyone if you die. You have to live, the same as I have to live, so the Flame of Knowledge burns forever into the future.”

“Cerridwen’s Flame of Knowledge. She needs only you for that. Not me.” Because
Morwyn
was an acolyte of the Morrigan. And she no longer believed in the great goddess.

“There are so few of us left. We’re all needed, Morwyn.”

And that was why she had to fight.
Because there were so few of them left.

After collecting the dispatch from the Tribunus, Bren went to the forum. It was a spontaneous decision, acted upon between one breath and the next, and even as he examined the brightly colored goods on the market stalls, he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was doing there.

Except he could.

He wanted to give Morwyn something frivolous and pretty. Something that wasn’t necessary for survival but created purely for pleasure.

Something to compensate for the way his countrymen had ripped her gown and bloodied her body.

And murdered her companions
.

He ignored the last thought. There was nothing he could do about that. But there was something he could do about the rest.

Silken ribbons, tied to a pole and fluttering in the warm summer breeze, caught his attention. Reminded him of the feel of her hair, soft and wet, as he’d washed it the other night.

The smile had already twisted his lips before he even realized, and he allowed it to linger for a moment before reverting to his more usual countenance.

The ribbons were a luxurious indulgence. He purchased half a dozen.

As he made his way through the noisy throng of stallholders shouting their wares and buyers haggling for a bargain, an odd sense of peace settled deep in his gut. Instantly alert, he stiffened, glanced around, but could find no reason for the irrational sensation.

Besides, if someone were following him,
peace
was the last thing he’d be feeling. He took a few more steps, gingerly probed the unnatural emotion. And an image of Morwyn drifted across his consciousness.