Tainted (10 page)

“I would never question the loyalty of the house of Tiberius
Valerius,” the
praetor
said. “But you are aware many of the Druids
escaped justice two years ago when your esteemed wife thwarted their revered
High Priest. I am convinced many made their way into our prestigious city.”

Carys threaded her fingers through his. As far as he knew,
they were the only two Druids from Cymru in Camulodunon. But was it possible
Druids from other clans were here? Anticipation surged through his blood.

Of course it was possible.

“If that were the case,” Maximus said, “we would know. You
will soon discover,
Praetor
, that the Eagle has a tight grasp of this
corner of Britannia.”

“I have no doubts at all. But our emperor wishes to leave no
stone unturned in the pursuit of our bitterest enemies. I relish the challenge
of hunting them down.” The
praetor
puffed out his chest like a fucking
rooster. Gawain relished the vision of wringing his neck like one. “But enough
of this political talk, Maximus. I’d be honored if you and your wife would
attend a feast at my townhouse. Just a small gathering, at next week’s end.”

Antonia remained frozen as the impenetrable blackness of the
night seeped into her soul. In some buried corner of her mind, she knew this
was only a dream, but it didn’t stop the terror from pounding through her
heart.

An unnatural breeze brushed across her arms, causing her to
shiver although it was not cold.

Her future hung in the balance
.

She knew she had to move. Knew it was up to her to make the
decision whether to turn left or right on the rocky path beneath her feet. But
if she took one wrong step, she would plunge to her death.

On the far horizon, an eerie silver glow bloomed,
highlighting the ominous clouds that hung low in the sky. From the ethereal
luminosity came the figure of a woman—no, not a woman, no mere mortal could
radiate such a devastating otherworldly beauty.
Even in a dream?
But the
thought was ephemeral because she knew who this goddess was.

Juno. Queen of the gods.

The great goddess approached and a different fear clutched
Antonia’s breast. It had been so long since Juno had honored her with a
visitation that she had forgotten—

Forgotten that in her dreams, Juno did not resemble the
glorious statues or paintings in the temples dedicated to her worship.

She looked too young and wore a crown of flowers, like a
goddess of spring. Yet the majestic power that swirled around her was not that
of a minor goddess.

“Antonia.” The feminine voice whispered through her mind,
the power in that one word both mighty and terrible.
“You must bring them
home to me.”

“
Domina
.” Elpis’ familiar voice penetrated the
paralysis that gripped her and she clutched her slave’s hand as the lingering
tendrils of the dream faded.

She looked up at Elpis in the glow of dawn. Her heart
hammered against her ribs but she could not quite recall what had so terrified
her.

“Did I speak?” Her voice was hoarse and when Elpis bowed her
head, dread knotted her stomach. “What did I say?”

“You spoke in Juno’s tongue.”

Antonia pulled her hand from Elpis and speared her fingers
through her hair, digging her nails into her scalp. It had been years since
she’d had the nightmares of impending doom. Years since foreign words had
spilled from her mouth while her future was determined by faceless shadows.
Before Elpis had arrived, her father had been devastated by her inexplicable
nighttime ravings. But the little Greek slave girl, who even now still
worshipped Hera, the goddess of her people, had convinced them both that it was
Juno speaking through Antonia, in the language of the gods.

As a child, she had accepted it. As she grew older, less so.
If Juno was trying to tell Antonia something, why would she use a language no
mortal could understand? But more than that, there was an uneasy certainty
that, in the dreams, Antonia could understand every word the goddess uttered.

“Why now?” She pushed herself upright and hugged her knees
as if she were still that frightened child. “Juno hasn’t spoken through me
since the night before I left Gallia.”

The night before she had left for Rome, for her new life as
Scipio’s wife.

“I do not know.” Elpis hesitated. “Perhaps it has something
to do with the Cambrian, Gawain.”

Antonia trailed the tips of her fingers over the tender
flesh of her shoulder where Gawain had marked her as though she belonged to him.
Although unease flooded her veins, she smiled at the thought. Truly, she had
chosen wisely when she had decided to take him as her lover. Already his touch
had done much to eradicate the memory of years of forced submission she had
endured with Scipio.

“I cannot see how. Gawain has his own gods. Why would Juno
return because I had taken a Cambrian lover?” As the words left her lips, a
dreadful possibility occurred to her. Was it because Juno disapproved?

Her smile faded. No, surely not. Why would such a thing give
the great goddess pause? Antonia was no longer married, so she wasn’t even
betraying her husband. And Juno knew how dedicated Antonia was in her desire to
give Cassia a loving upbringing. Gawain was simply an intoxicating interlude.

No. She refused to believe the return of Juno had anything
to do with her liaison with Gawain. It was a coincidence.

Her father joined her as she broke her fast in the opulent
dining room. She hadn’t seen him the previous day after she had left him with
the
praetor
, as he had been occupied with business. Self-consciously she
checked that Elpis had arranged her
stola
so that Gawain’s mark did not
show. How would she be able to explain
that
away?

Shockingly, the thought caused her lips to twitch with
amusement and she hastily pushed some dried fruit into her mouth. Now, as her
father reclined by her side and regaled her with the success of his current
business ventures and the benevolence of the great Mercury, was not the time to
lust over Gawain’s sexual prowess.

She could do that later, when they were alone in a squalid
tavern room.

Even that thought sent wanton heat blazing through her
blood.

“The
praetor
thinks very highly of you, Antonia.” Her
father smiled at her, pride glowing in his eyes. “I did not realize you were
both so well acquainted with each other in Rome.”

Antonia wasn’t sure what her father implied by that, and was
equally sure he was reading far more into it than he should.

“The
praetor
,” not that he had been a
praetor
back in Rome, “would often visit my former husband. But so too would many of
the other senators.”

Her father squeezed her hand. “You know, of course, that his
wife died in childbirth over two years ago.”

Of course she knew. His wife had numbered among her friends.
If she had lived would she, also, have turned her back when Scipio had made it
clear he intended to rid himself of a useless wife?

“Her death was a tragedy.” Antonia had mourned for her
friend. But at least she had delivered a healthy son for her husband. Wasn’t
that all Roman patricians cared about? Her husband had never appeared
distraught at her untimely death. But neither had he immediately taken another
bride.

Perhaps, in private, he had cared. Despite how often his
lustful eyes had glanced her way during the last eight years.

“He greatly admires you.”

Her teeth lodged in the soft fruit and she shot her father a
probing look. Surely he was not suggesting—?

“I have high hopes that, with the right encouragement, he
will elevate you once again into your rightful sphere.”

She choked down the fruit. “I am already in my rightful
sphere. I have no desire to leave you again, Father.” She took a steadying
breath. Perhaps now was the time to tell him of her plans to not only stay with
him, but to ultimately adopt a child. “The truth is—”

“The truth is you are too modest.” Her father gazed at her
lovingly and she stared at him, appalled. How could he imagine that the
praetor
might want to take her back to Rome? There was only one way he could do that,
and it was if they were married. And she was certain that while he would have
no compunction in taking her as his mistress, the
praetor
had no use for
her as his wife. “After you left us, he made it very clear to me that he has
your best interests at heart. You don’t belong in a barbarous province,
Antonia. You were born to grace the highest echelons of the empire.”

“No, Father.” She hated to upset him, but he had to face the
truth. “My mother was born to grace the upper echelons of the empire, not I.
You know as well I do that in the eyes of Rome, I am but the daughter of a
merchant.”

He winced at her blunt words, but she recognized the
obstinate set of his mouth. “Your patrician relatives accepted you, Antonia.
You were not cast out.”

Unlike her mother, when she had married outside her social sphere
and been forever ostracized by her powerful relatives. Not for the first time
Antonia wondered if her mother would still have married her father had she not
fallen pregnant with Antonia before the wedding night. Her father had never
confirmed this fact and she would cut out her tongue before she raised the
matter with him, but she had worked out the truth long before she had left
Gallia.

“Yes,” she conceded. “My mother’s relatives accepted me.”
But would they have accepted her if she had not possessed the coveted Roman
ideal of blonde hair and fair complexion? She had overheard their relieved
whispers. Bristled at the knowledge that they had feared she would be a coarse,
uneducated Gallia-spawned pleb.

Had she been any of those things, Scipio would never have
noticed her. Would never have gone to such lengths to secure her as his bride.
But it was not long before he took spiteful pleasure in reminding her of her
lowly plebian roots.

“I only want what’s best for you.” Her father sighed heavily
and guilt chewed through her breast at how she was deceiving him with Gawain.
And how she would soon deceive him about his own granddaughter. “I cannot allow
my own selfish desire to keep you by my side blight your future. The
praetor
is a powerful man. He has the ability to protect you against anything.”

Antonia couldn’t imagine what her father meant. She did not
care, either. “If you’re right about him wishing to marry me then I must tell
you now. I have no intention of doing so. Not to him or any other man.” There.
She had told him. Relief washed through her, along with a thread of concern.
She hoped he would not be too disappointed in her.

He patted her hand, as though she were still his pampered
child who knew nothing of the wider world. “Perhaps not yet. But when you’ve
had time to think on it, I know you will feel differently. When the
praetor
returns to Rome after his tour of duty in Britannia, I am determined you will
go with him—as his wife.”

As she and Elpis approached the public baths, Antonia still
couldn’t get her father’s words from her mind. “He is set on this course of
action, Elpis. He is deaf to my protests.”

“The
dominus
will never force you to do something
against your will.”

It was true. She knew it. And she knew how rare that
situation was. Had her father been a patrician, a member of the class he so
admired, her wishes would mean nothing to him. If he decided she would remarry,
then there would be no discussion.

She knew all this. But it didn’t prevent the spark of
irritation that he was so set on doing something he believed was in her best
interest, no matter how she tried to dissuade him.

“Beside the fact I will never marry the
praetor
,
surely my father knows that if I did, I would once again be among those who
shunned me during this last year?” It was a horrifying thought. Not least
because she knew the women who had turned their backs on her would, upon such
an advantageous remarriage, be only too eager to take up the severed threads of
friendship once again. As if nothing had happened.

“The
dominus
does not know of the true circumstances
of this last year,
domina
,” Elpis said, and their gazes clashed.

No, he didn’t know how she had been frozen out of the social
gatherings and invitations. How, in the eyes of Roman society, she had become a
persona non grata. If she told him, she knew he would be devastated on her
behalf. If she ever confided as to how Scipio had treated her, she feared the
possible consequences of her father’s fury.

It was best he believed Scipio had divorced her for purely
political reasons. It wasn’t a lie. It simply wasn’t the full depth of truth.

She drew in a deep breath. The situation with her father
would be resolved eventually. But now she was moments from meeting with Gawain.
She pushed her father’s ambitions to the back of her mind. Gawain was her
secret fantasy, a fleeting diversion, and while they were together, she would
not disturb it by thinking of reality.

They entered the building and swiftly Antonia exchanged her
blue
palla
for Elpis’ plain one. It wasn’t much of a disguise but since
she was virtually unknown in the city, it would suffice.

Heart pounding, she slipped outside and instantly caught
sight of Gawain across the road. He did not acknowledge her. He merely turned
and began to stroll down a side road.

She let out a ragged breath and glanced at Elpis, whose face
was impassive. “Do you think me entirely wicked, Elpis?” she whispered, as they
followed Gawain at a respectable distance.

“No,
domina
,” Elpis said dutifully. “But I don’t want
you to end up hurt. And I fear this path leads only to heartache.”

Antonia laughed softly. “I have no heart left to ache,
Elpis. Everything I have is devoted to Cassia. This is simply…” She hesitated
for a moment. It sounded wrong, somehow, to encompass everything Gawain made
her feel into one clinical word. Yet it was nothing less than the truth.
“Physical.”

Elpis turned to look at her. “I hope so.” Her tone was not
that of a slave to her mistress. Worry clouded her eyes. “There can be no
future with this Cambrian,
domina
.”

Gawain disappeared around a corner and Antonia shot Elpis a
scandalized glance. “I’m not looking for a future with him, Elpis.”
Juno,
where had that idea come from?
Elpis knew better than anyone else why
Antonia would never tie herself to another man. “Cassia will be here within the
month. The day she arrives is the day this affair ends.”