Defy the Eagle (14 page)

The gash on Caddaric's left cheek showed garishly red against the unexpected pallor of his face. Clywd's revelations—indeed, the tirade itself—were shocking considering the Druid's mild, unassuming nature. After a long moment Caddaric found his voice. "Father, I did not know."

"Only because you never thought to ask," was Clywd's harsh reply. "If you had—had you thought beyond your own mockery—you would have learned long ago that my gift offers both comfort and agony beyond compare." The anger drained from Clywd; he turned wearily and walked toward the gallery doors.

"Father, stay." So seldom did he address Clywd as such that Caddaric felt his tongue twist around the word. Yet, Caddaric now remembered a time when the name had been warmly familiar. "I... I would speak with you."

Clywd shook his head. "There is too much to be done; sacrifices and prayers must be offered up for Mona's dead." He paused beside Jilana and spoke in a voice so low that only she could hear. "The gift of vision is a sacred one, child. Open your mind and your heart—and do not fear what you will see."

Before Jilana could reply, the Druid was gone. I am no prophetess, she thought with a shiver of apprehension. I had no visions, only nightmares, dreams of Roman revenge upon the Iceni, and yet... Jilana forced her attention to the conversation Caddaric was holding with Heall and listened in growing horror as Caddaric described the Roman assault on Mona as he had heard it from an Ordovician warrior. Unbidden, the specters of her nightmare rose before her eyes; Caddaric's voice faded to an unintelligible drone. It did not matter. Jilana did not need words to know what had transpired upon the Isle of Mona. She had seen it all too often. Mona—that which was now a legend.

Black-robed priests lined Mona's shore, their wild curses mingling with the shrieked taunts the priestesses hurled at the Roman legions across the strait. Interwoven with the holy ones stood the warriors, spears and swords held aloft as their battle cries joined the cacophony which rent the thin shroud of fog surrounding the isle. The magnificent display of Celtic defiance sent a ripple of apprehension through the Roman troops who stood silent and unmoving upon the opposite shore. A barked order came from the Roman officers and all traces of hesitancy evaporated. The foot soldiers marched in perfect unison onto the waiting flat boats; the cavalry took to their saddles and, with a counterpoint of creaking leather and Jangling harness, spurred their mounts to the water's edge. There was a second, strident command and the legionaries surged forward.

Jilana closed her eyes, her fingers curling into her palms as she fought off the remainder of the vision. She would not view the carnage again! Through sheer force of will the images receded but the sounds remained: the sound of sword meeting sword, the cries of the wounded, the terrified screams of the innocent children whose families had sought refuge on Mona.

"Jilana! Jilana " A pair of hands gripped her shoulders, roughly shaking her from the last vestiges of her trance, and Jilana gasped at the pain Caddaric was unwittingly inflicting. "By the gods, woman, you try my patience! I am in no mood for your defiance today!" Caddaric released her so unexpectedly that Jilana staggered backward into the door frame.

"Your mood is all too plain," Jilana retorted, her anger flaring at his callous treatment. "You are fit company only for scorpions! I do not wonder Clywd has never before claimed you as son within my hearing. How great must be his shame at having spawned such as you!"

Caddaric's arm arced backward; his eyes darkened before the gathering storm of his anger. Jilana raised her chin, rebellion snapping in the depths of her violet eyes. They stared at each other for a long moment, the air between them charged with electricity until, grudgingly, Caddaric lowered his arm. This woman sorely tried his control and he would not allow her that weapon. "My mood," he stated perversely, his lips curling, "is not your concern. Nor is my father. You exist only to serve me, to fulfill my wants."

Jilana flew at him then, her fingers curved to rake the smirk from his face. Laughing, Caddaric caught her wrists and twisted them easily behind her back. "Release me," Jilana hissed, oblivious to the fact that her body was intimately molded against Caddaric. "Release me or by all-the gods I will—"

"Scratch out my eyes?" Caddaric chuckled mirthlessly. "I have sheathed your claws, little wicca, and this time you have no dagger."

The blunt reminder of the fate of her only weapon brought Jilana up short. On the morning following the Iceni uprising Caddaric had awakened first and found the dagger embedded in the headboard. He had risen, shaken Jilana out of her slumber and, while she watched, returned to the bed and casually snapped the blade at the hilt. Wordlessly, Caddaric had dropped the useless dagger hilt onto her lap and quit the chamber. Though Caddaric had never spoken of the incident, from that time forward no weapons of any kind—save the sword Heall carried for Jilana's protection—were allowed within the bedchamber.

"I will not always be defenseless," Jilana spat. "One day, Briton, you will pay for the way you have treated me."

"Have you been treated badly?" Caddaric mockingly inquired. "I think not. Your meals are brought to you here in this room, as are your daily baths."

"Baths which you insist upon watching!"

Caddaric grinned and nodded. "I am certain others, including Lucius, have viewed you thus, so you need not pretend shyness with me." Jilana's indignant gasp passed unnoticed as he continued. "In truth, little wicca, your life is hardly changed, save for the fact that you no longer pass your days gossiping. Although," he added, recalling the scene upon which he had just intruded, "even that may not have changed."

Jilana's voice, when she finally found it, shook with rage. "Do not expect my gratitude, Briton! I repay your kindness every night by changing the dressing on your leg."

"Hardly an odious task." Slowly, Caddaric released Jilana's wrists and slid his hands up her back. "I could banish you to the kitchen to work beside the other captives during the day and take your rest in the stable at night."

"Then do so," Jilana challenged with false bravado. She had encountered the other captives only once, when Caddaric had at last allowed her the freedom of the courtyard. Recognizing one of her mother's dearest friends in the bedraggled group of slaves, Jilana had rushed to greet her fellow countrymen, only to find herself the object of scorn and derision. Whore, the Romans had named her in their hatred. Iceni harlot. A slut who clung to her worthless life by gracing the enemy's couch. The taunts had grown uglier, hands had yanked at her hair, and when Jilana had sought to explain her situation she had been shoved to the ground. Jilana shuddered to think what might have happened had Heall not come to her rescue. Heall's low growl and menacing look had sent her attackers scurrying away and Jilana had fled to the safety of her bedchamber without a word of thanks. Since that day she had ventured into the courtyard only when the other captives were occupied elsewhere.

Caddaric studied the set of Jilana's jaw, irritation mingling with admiration. He knew full well what had happened between Jilana and the Roman slaves and he silently acknowledged the courage it took for Jilana to calmly issue such a challenge. "Nay, Jilana, I will not. Lovely you are, but I doubt you could bake so much as a wheat cake without reducing it to a cinder."

With a furious exclamation Jilana twisted away and paced about the room. "If I am so worthless, then give me up. Let another deal with my inadequacies." The slender back she presented to Caddaric stiffened resolutely. "Or set me free."

"Never!" Caddaric's bark spun Jilana around and a few strides of his long, powerful legs brought him within inches of her. "Understand this, Roman: you are mine until I decide otherwise. Neither tears nor pretty entreaties nor shrewish behavior will sway me—they will only anger me." He paused to allow Jilana to take his words to heart while he casually wound the thick, red-gold braid around his hand, drawing her ever closer. "Beware, my dream witch. I could break you, snap you with my bare hands as if you were nothing more than dry kindling."

The breath caught in Jilana's throat; her eyes darkened with apprehension when her breasts brushed Caddaric's lower chest. She realized, suddenly, that at some point Heall had left the chamber, and she was alone with Caddaric. That realization and Caddaric's strangely taut expression sent a premonitory chill through Jilana.

The faint tremor brought a raised eyebrow from Caddaric and he allowed his gaze to wander from Jilana's face to the hollow of her throat. Her pulse fluttered wildly and Caddaric succumbed to temptation and touched a forefinger to the sensitive spot. How delicate she is, Caddaric thought as his hand easily circled the slender column of her throat. The image of Jilana rising in damp splendor from her bath flashed into Caddaric's brain and sent a sharp pang through his loins. Desire flared within him, a desire he knew must be carefully controlled. He had held himself in check during the past few days, allowing Jilana as much time as could be spared in which to adjust to and accept her new life. But time, that most precious commodity, was no more. Boadicea would march soon and battles would follow and he would once again face death. Jilana's reprieve had ended with the return of the Iceni messengers.

Jilana understood, instinctively, the resolve which hardened Caddaric's features. Panicked, she turned to flee only to be brought up short by Caddaric's hold on her hair. Tears of pain and humiliation welled in the violet eyes as Caddaric slowly, inexorably, drew her across the room to the bed.

"Briton, nay," Jilana managed to whisper. Caddaric was systematically unbraiding her hair and Jilana frantically sought to divert his attention. "What if Heall returns?"

"He will not," Caddaric stated with such confidence that Jilana believed him.

"The gallery doors—"

"The villa is empty, as is the courtyard." Caddaric combed his fingers through her unbound hair, glorying its color and texture.

"Then you should be with your men—" Jilana's voice died as his fingers skimmed the flesh at the back of neck. Against her will, tiny bolts of lightning dance across her skin at the contact. Praise the gods her was to Caddaric; Jilana could not have borne his mocking laughter had he seen the color which now rose in cheeks.

The electric spark raced through Caddaric as well; tautened the muscles of his arms into iron bands tripped the steady rhythm of his heart. "My men," Caddaric murmured in reply as his hands fell to Jilana's shoulders, "grow weary of my biting tongue, and I sweeter company than they afford."

"Then go to Ede," Jilana returned in a voice that was far less emphatic than she would have wished. "You will find no comfort here."

"Shall I not?" An odd smile softened the line of Caddaric's mouth and his hands persuasively kneaded the set of Jilana's muscles.

A soothing warmth flowed from Caddaric's hand threatening the stability of Jilana's senses. "Caddaric, let me go." When he neither replied nor loosened his grip, Jilana swallowed back the cry of despair which rose in throat. "I will not play your whore, Briton," Jilana lashed out in a strangled voice when Caddaric pulled her back against the solid wall of his chest.

"So ready to judge, to accuse. Your temper mate your hair, little witch." Caddaric lowered his face to Jilana's hair and rubbed his cheek against the soft, sweet smelling tresses. With a muted sigh, Caddaric hands down the slender length of Jilana's arms, crossed his own arms beneath the swell of her breasts. I do not ask you to play my whore." He briefly closed eyes, savoring the feeling of Jilana securely enfolded against him. "You offered me flowers once."

Caddaric's breath danced across Jilana's cheek and a tremor coursed through her. "That was before I knew you."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Caddaric withdrew one of his arms and turned Jilana until she stood facing him. "And now, wicca? Do you know me now?" At her shaky nod, Caddaric placed his forefinger beneath her chin and raised Jilana's face toward his own. "What am I, Jilana?"

Jilana's mouth went dry. "My enemy," she answered, amazed by the gentleness in Caddaric's eyes and touch. "My enemy," she repeated, as if to reassure herself of the fact. In truth, she thought hazily, Caddaric appeared far less threatening than he had only minutes before.

"I would not treat my enemy thus." As he spoke, Caddaric's lips traversed her brow, her cheek, and then, with curious restraint, hovered only a breath away from her mouth. "Do you not weary of our constant bickering, of the barbed words we fling at each other?"

Jilana nodded. The need to be constantly on guard whenever Caddaric was near left her nerves in tatters but she had no choice. Caddaric held her as slave, subjugated her will to his and made a mockery of her pride. But 'twas the ghosts of her family which gave strength to Jilana's legs and drove her out of Caddaric's embrace.

"Jilana!" Stunned by her unexpected resistance, Caddaric watched in disbelief as she fled to the opposite corner of the room.

"Stay away from me," Jilana cried when Caddaric took a step toward her. Aah, Juno, how could she have allowed him to touch her so intimately? The blood of her' family stained his hands!

"Nay, Roman, I will not." Blue eyes narrowed, Caddaric stalked across the floor toward his prey. The arm of the chair struck his thigh and with a savage oath he picked the chair up in one large hand and sent it splintering against the door.

Jilana's heart pounded erratically at the violence in Caddaric's face. She wanted to flee, to hide, to throw herself on the floor and beg his mercy, but she did not. To cower before the Briton was the coward's way and Jilana, the screams of her family crying out to her from the grave, was no coward. "I hate you," Jilana spat. "Murderer! Barbarian!"