Defy the Eagle (54 page)

For a stunned moment Jilana lay in the grass, wondering what had happened, and then she realized she had fallen. When she looked up, the sky with its fleecy white clouds spun wildly and she closed her eyes against the sight. When she opened them again, the spinning had stopped and, using the wagonbed, she pulled herself upright. Her stomach lurched, then settled back into place, and her strength gradually returned. Puzzled, but not alarmed by the strange occurrence, Jilana considered lying down for a few minutes but then rejected the idea. She needed to water the horses before she did anything else. . Halfway to where the horses were staked, her stomach lurched again and the buckets she carried slipped from her numb fingers. She fell to her knees just as her stomach emptied itself. Drained, Jilana struggled to her feet but she managed only a few more steps before the nausea claimed her again. When the last spasm passed, she spat, wished fleetingly for some water with which to rinse her mouth and tried to rise. Her legs refused to obey and she pitched head-first into the grass.

Panic curled through Jilana. She tried to call for help, but all that emerged was a pitiful whisper. Her eyes focused on the trees only a few feet away and all the stories her father had told of the wild beasts which lived in Britannia's forests came back to haunt her. She needed help, needed to get back to camp. Cramps gripped every muscle in her body and she moaned in protest, knowing she was terribly ill. Her head spun giddily as Jilana raised it to see where she was. Grimly, she thrashed around in the tall grass until she faced their camp and then, setting her teeth against the pain, she began to crawl.

She would be found, of course, Jilana reassured herself as she measured her progress by inches. Caddaric would check on the horses and find her. If he took the same path she had. Even if he did not, he would certainly search for her! As he had before. He would know she had not run away again. Or would he? Oh, Juno, why had she ever run from him?

"Caddaric," she whispered, tears running down her face. "Help me."

Four miles away, in the heart of the forest, Caddaric abruptly reined in his mount and sat stiffly erect, listening.

"Caddaric, wha—"

Caddaric sliced a hand at Heall, silencing him. The two men sat unmoving for a long time. The sudden tension in Caddaric communicated itself to his mount; the well-trained horse stood as if carved out of marble. At last Caddaric reined his stallion in a tight circle, surveying the woods. His eyes probed every shadow, seeking... something.

"Did you hear?" Caddaric asked Heall, the question a mere breath of sound on the air.

Heall shook his head, his hand falling to his sword. Across his saddle lay a brace of rabbits they had snared earlier. They had been on the trail of a deer when Caddaric had suddenly halted. "I heard nothing." He eyed the younger man worriedly. "What did you hear?"

"My name. Or I thought I did." A cold chill ran up Caddaric's spine and he shuddered. "Let us find our camp."

Heall had relaxed at Caddaric's answer but now he frowned. "Now? Caddaric, we need that deer—"

Caddaric shook his head. "Not today. 'Tis important we find my father and Jilana." How he knew it, Caddaric could not say, but at this moment he did^not need a logical reason. Every fiber of his being was crying out a warning he could not fathom, but he knew it was urgent that they return to camp. Without another word, he kicked his mount forward, guided by some unseen hand.

Behind Caddaric, Heall grumbled, but he followed. When they emerged from the trees, Caddaric recognized their camp a short distance to their left and he galloped the rest of the way there.

"Jilana!" Before his horse had come to a complete stop, Caddaric had thrown himself out of the saddle and was racing for the tent.

"Perhaps she went with Clywd," Heall said when Caddaric emerged from the tent, his face rigid with fear.

"I should hope my father would have the,sense to take her with him," Caddaric ground out, but he found no comfort in Heall's words.

Heall dismounted and walked around the campsite. "Mayhap they are watering the horses."

"Mayhap." Caddaric walked around the tent and spied the tethered beasts. Clywd had selected an area with tall grass, ideal for grazing. Unable to shake his feeling of dread, Caddaric strode toward the horses. The same force that had guided him unerringly through an unfamiliar forest brought him directly to where Jilana lay, unconscious.

His breath froze in his lungs as he dropped to his knees and rolled her gently onto her back. Her face was pale, her flesh clammy. Shaking, he held a hand in front of her mouth and nose and gave a choked sob of relief when he felt her exhale. "Jilana." Desperately, he touched her arms and legs, checking for broken bones, and then ran his fingers over her scalp. He could find nothing wrong. He gathered Jilana in his arms, stood, and hurried back to camp.

"Find my father," Caddaric snapped when Heall ran to meet him.

"The girl—"

"She is alive. Hurry!"

Inside their tent, Caddaric stripped Jilana, checked her from head to toe, and then covered her with a blanket. There were no wounds, no lumps from a fall, nothing! He chafed her hands in his and called her name in the hope that she had fainted. Jilana did not respond. Nothing he said or did brought so much as a flicker of an eyelid.

When Clywd entered the tent, he was accosted by a man he barely recognized as his son. "Where have you been?" Caddaric snarled, his hands gripping the front of Clywd's black cloak. "You knew you were not to leave her alone! You knew!"

"Caddaric, let him go." Heall was beside him, prying his fingers away from the material.

"Damn him! He knew. All of us knew! We agreed Jilana was not to be left alone—" His voice broke and Caddaric jerked backward, away from the two men. He pointed a trembling finger at his father. "If she dies, old man, I will never forgive you. Never."

Clywd's face was the color of bleached linen as he knelt beside Jilana and examined her. Heall crouched at Jilana's head while Caddaric, his face a stony mask, watched the proceedings from the door. "Well?" He grated when Clywd rose.

"I need my case." Clywd walked to where his son stood and tried to brush past him. An iron fist around his arm stopped him and Clywd looked into his son's stormy eyes.

"What is wrong with her?"

Clywd swallowed, berating himself for his own stupidity. What had he cost them all by believing so deeply in Be'al? When he spoke, his words fell like stones into a dry well. "She has been poisoned." The fingers around his arm fell away and Clywd stepped out of the tent. When he returned scant moments later, Caddaric had not moved. Heall was crying quietly and stroking Jilana's hair. Clywd had opened his case and was searching for the proper herbs when Caddaric spoke again.

''Can you save her?"

Clywd carefully crushed the herbs and stirred them into a cup of water. "I can try."

Caddaric stared at his father and then turned his gaze to Jilana. He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms and kiss her until she wakened. He wanted to feel the silk of her hair against his skin and the warmth of her body curled against his in the middle of the night. There was so much he wanted—and now he doubted if he would have any of it. The pain in him grew until he thought he would go mad with it. "So much for your gods and your prophecies, old man!" He swung on his heel and stalked out of the tent. The thought of losing Jilana seared white-hot through his heart and drove him through the Iceni camp. Some distant part of his mind screamed that he was out of control, but he ignored the warning. Perhaps being out of control would drive the pain out of his heart.

Those who saw him stepped out of his way, and when he stopped at one campsite to ask direction, the old woman he accosted stammered out her answer. The black look on his face reminded her of years past, when a blood feud was about to be declared. Although, given the question he had asked, a feud made no sense. When Caddaric was gone, she ran to the adjoining camp to tell her friends what had happened. Caddaric found the camp he wanted and when two of the guards made to stop him, he tossed them aside as if they were nothing more than kindling. Before other guards could come to their aid, Caddaric was upon the man he wanted.

"Lhwyd," Caddaric growled.

The Druid was kneeling at the altar he erected every night. Before he could rise, Caddaric had seized him by the shoulders and thrown him a good ten feet, into the outer edge of the fire. Dazed, Lhwyd scrambled to his feet. When he saw the hem of his cloak smoldering, he tore it off and tossed it aside.

"What are you doing, warrior?" Lhwyd asked tauntingly. "You, above all others, know it is death to lay hands upon a Druid."

"Aye, death," Caddaric agreed with a feral grin. "But whose will be first, Druid, yours or mine?" Before the guards could step between them, Caddaric charged across the space that separated them and clamped his right arm around Lhwyd's neck. The Druid made a harsh, gasping noise. "Stay away," Caddaric warned when the guards drew their swords and edged closer, "or I will snap his neck like a dry branch right now."

"Caddaric," Lhwyd managed to croak. "Release me!" His long, thin hands clawed frantically at Caddaric's arm.

"Afraid to die," Caddaric jeered, tightening his arm fractionally. "Do you not long to join your Morrigan, priest?" Lhwyd tried to reply, but Caddaric increased the pressure again. Lhwyd's hands fell to his sides and dangled helplessly.

"Caddaric, nay!"

Caddaric's eyes flickered up briefly to see Ede and Ewan running toward him. Ignoring them, he dragged Lhwyd back to his altar. "Let us see how the Morrigan takes the offering of your blood, priest!" His left hand released his right wrist in order to draw his dagger, but the pressure on Lhwyd's throat never wavered. There was a savage motion of his left arm and Lhwyd's tunic was slit open from neck to waist and the dagger was pressed just under the Druid's breastbone.

"Caddaric, nay," Ede cried again and stumbled forward, Ewan on her heels. "Caddaric, he is a priest"

"A murdering priest," Caddaric threw back fiercely. "He poisoned Jilana."

All the blood drained from Ede's face and she fell back against Ewan's chest. Part of her denied the words, but another part, the one which was sickened by her brother's fascination with death, knew instinctively that it was true. "L-Lhwyd?"

Lhwyd could not speak but he managed to move his head from side to side. His movement stopped when he felt the tip of the dagger bite into his flesh.

Ewan took a hard look at the two men in front of him and came to a decision. He pushed Ede behind him and walked forward. Unnoticed, Ede whirled and ran from the camp. "Caddaric, even if what you say is true, you cannot kill him. The Queen will have no choice but to have you executed. That is the law. You know it as well as I."

"My woman lies dying," Caddaric snarled back, "because of this pathetic excuse of a man. Think you I care about the law?!"

Ewan shoved his hands beneath his broad belt and considered what Caddaric had said, looking for all the world as if their discussion was of no great importance. At last he said, "Are you certain she is dying?"

Caddaric hesitated. "She has been poisoned; my father confirmed it."

Ewan nodded solemnly. "I am sorry; Jilana is a good woman."

"Aye." Inadvertently, Caddaric flexed his arm and Lhwyd's tongue lolled out of his mouth.

"But that does not mean she will die," Ewan pointed out. "If Clywd is with her, I would wager that she will live. What will her life be like if you are dead?"

Some of his rage faded and Caddaric drew a shuddering breath. "Even if she lives, it will not change what this,'" he gave Lhwyd a nasty shake, "has done."

"You will put down your weapon this instant and release the Druid." The command was delivered in a strong, feminine voice that demanded attention.

Caddaric's gaze shifted to the source of the voice and pure shock eased his hold on Lhwyd's neck. Not enough so that the Druid could escape, but enough so that he could speak.

"My Queen," Lhwyd rasped. "This man has gone mad."

Boadicea flicked a contemptuous look at the Druid. "You are not a wise man, priest. Never call the man who holds your life in his hands mad." She looked back at Caddaric and her eyes softened. One of her chieftains had rushed to her tent with news of the impending murder and she had arrived just in time to hear Caddaric's reasons. If what the warrior said was true, Boadicea believed he was well justified in his actions, but she could not allow a Druid under her protection to be coldly murdered—no matter how much she personally disliked him. "Caddaric, you know I have forbidden fighting. You sat at council when I made the edict."

Caddaric nodded. "I know, my Queen, but—"

Boadicea silenced him with an upraised hand. "I have heard your reasons. That does not change the fact that you are about to break the law." Her voice filled with sincere regret, she continued, "I cannot allow that." She nodded once to the imperial guards and the four of them drew their swords. The Queen looked back to Caddaric. "Do what you must, warrior, and so will I."

"So be it." Caddaric stepped over the low wooden altar and dragged Lhwyd across it.

"Nay, Caddaric!" Clywd's voice floated across the campsite and Caddaric's head jerked up. His father was running—running!—past the onlookers, Ede at his side.