Tainted (18 page)

Late the following morning, as Gawain made his way over to
the main villa, Antonia’s words echoed in his mind. She had woken up soon
afterward, and had been so distressed at the thought he had witnessed her
having a nightmare that he hadn’t told her she had also spoken aloud.

What could he say in any case? She was obviously merely a
conduit his gods had used in order to get his attention. He would not upset her
further by telling her such a thing. Especially when he had no idea how to
answer the inevitable questions she would ask him.

Why?
And how? She was a Roman, not a Celt. But she
was a Roman he cared for and like it or not, the tactic had worked.

His gods had his attention. Curse them all, it was not he
who had turned his back on them in the first place. Could he be blamed for his
loss of faith after the way Lugus had vanished the moment Gawain had left the
Isle of Mon?

But unless he wanted to risk Antonia suffering from more
nightly visitations from gods that were not of her culture, he’d have to
swallow his anger at their manipulative ways and attempt yet again to reconnect
with Lugus.

Before dawn had broken, he had left Antonia in the care of
Elpis and although he and Antonia had made arrangements to meet tomorrow it had
still been a wrench leaving her. She’d looked so lost and vulnerable, sitting
on her bed, that he’d battled the urge to scoop her into his arms and take her
with him.

Carys had been right to warn him from pursuing Antonia. He
had become involved without meaning to, and what had started out as merely
another erotic game was now something far more deadly.

Not only to himself. Antonia would suffer too when this
dangerous liaison finally ended.

A side door to the villa opened and Branwen, a girl Carys
had brought with her from Cymru, hurried toward him. “Gawain, Carys asks you to
come quickly.”

In Cymru, Branwen would never have spoken of Carys, a
princess with the blood of the gods in her veins, as though they were equals.
But many things had changed since the invasion.

He followed Branwen into the villa and she nodded her head
toward the atrium before she vanished in the opposite direction. Frowning, he
entered the atrium and instinctively went for his dagger at the crowd that
greeted him.

But only for a fleeting moment. Although he had never
expected to see them in Camulodunon, these people were not strangers. He strode
forward, where Carys held the hand of her mother as though she would never let
her go. He bowed his head in a gesture of respect. “My queen.”

“Yes, Gawain,” Nia said, a dry note in her voice. “I am
here.”

“Cerridwen brought them safely to us.” Carys’ voice shook
and tears glittered in her eyes as she once again gazed at her mother.

He folded his arms across his chest. “What happened?”

Nia sighed heavily. “Within days of you leaving Mon, the
gods claimed Altair as he ascended into trance. It was seen by many as a sign
that his adamant refusal to leave the Isle was…flawed.”

Altair, the revered Elder who had been most vocal in his
opinions and the one whose word held great sway with their people, continued
his journey. And with his passing through the veil to the Otherworld he had
allowed Nia and the other Druids who were of like mind to finally leave the
Isle of Mon.

It was hardly the mass exodus that Nia had wanted. But
perhaps she had finally realized that many of the Druids would never leave the
sacred sanctuary, no matter what signs they were given.

Gawain had no idea what his queen planned on doing once
Carys left for Rome. Would they all journey north? At least this way he would
be among his own people in the land of the Picts.

But that was a discussion for another time. Carys would no
doubt want time alone with her mother and going by the shadows cast by the sun
he was late for a meeting with Rhys.

He swept his gaze around the dozen or so Druids who had
accompanied their queen, and they exchanged silent greeting. Then he returned
his attention to Nia.

“By your leave. I will see you later.”

“No.” Still holding Carys’ hand, Nia took one step toward
him. “You will remain here, Gawain. There are things to discuss.”

“But my queen—”

“It was not a request.”

He stared at her, and unease trickled along his spine. “I’m
meeting someone.”

Nia said nothing for a moment, but tension crackled in the
air. Then she drew in a deep breath. “No, you are not, Gawain. You are not to
leave here until the eighth hour has passed.”

Antonia could not throw off the sense of impending disaster
that hugged her like an unwanted blanket of fog. She had gone to the forum in
the hope the change of scene would help, but if anything, the bustling crowds
and numerous scents and odors from stalls and livestock only increased her
disquiet.

It was humiliating enough that Gawain had witnessed her
foolish nightmare two nights ago. But she had the unshakable certainty that he
had also witnessed her speaking in the tongue of Juno.

Under normal circumstances that wouldn’t matter. A
visitation from a mighty goddess, even a goddess he did not personally worship,
was worthy of respect. But they weren’t normal, because not only could she
never remember what had transpired in her visions, nobody could understand the
words she uttered while unconscious.

If Gawain had witnessed that, he would think her
weak-minded. But he had said nothing about her muttering in her sleep and she
had been too mortified to ask.

It was her own fault for asking him to stay with her while
she fell asleep. But it had been almost a week since Juno had come to her, and
the possibility she would again had not even crossed Antonia’s mind.

She wouldn’t make that mistake again. But oh, how wonderful
it had been to close her eyes with Gawain’s arms around her.

And how wonderful and strangely liberating it had been to
tell him of Cassia. It was something she had never imagined telling him, and
yet the words had spilled from her and as they had, a great weight had lifted
from her soul.

He might not know that her precious child was still alive.
But at least he knew she had been born, and that she had been dearly loved. How
close she had been to telling him the whole truth of that night. How she longed
to tell him the truth. His compassion had been as genuine for her beloved
daughters, as well as her sons, and for that alone, he would forever have a
place in her heart. Perhaps, after Cassia arrived in Britannia, she and Gawain
might still be able to see each other. He could meet Cassia. Perhaps, one day
in the far future, she might even be able to tell him how she had defied
Scipio’s cruel edict.

“
Domina
.” Elpis clutched her and pulled her from the
path of a suddenly riotous crowd. What had happened? What had she missed while
she had been daydreaming of an impossible future that included both Cassia and
Gawain?

She grabbed a young boy as he dashed by. “What is it?”

He twisted in her grasp, caught sight of her and with great
reluctance stopped trying to escape. “Crucifixion. Out on the road.”

Her fingers slackened and he took immediate advantage to
disappear in the throng. Antonia turned and stared at Elpis, her heart thudding
high in her breast making it hard to breathe, hard to think clearly. The boy
had spoken in his native tongue, but she understood enough to know exactly what
he had said.

She had no idea why panic gripped her heart or why her knees
had the terrible urge to buckle. It made no sense that her stomach churned and
skeletal fingers scraped over her arms.

It was not Gawain who was being crucified.
The
praetor
,
for all his faults, was an honorable man and wouldn’t kill another because of
something as trivial as a perceived threat to the affections of a woman he was
interested in.

She knew this. Yet the horrifying vision of Gawain, bloodied
and tortured, blinded her good sense.

“
Domina
, no.” Elpis’ urgent voice and hand on her arm
caused her to pause and glance over her shoulder. “We should return home. It’s
not safe for you on the road.”

“I have to see.” She began to run, holding up her gown so
she wouldn’t trip over the material, and knew that Elpis was by her side. She
followed the milling crowd through the streets, toward the triumphal arch that
had been constructed to celebrate the Emperor Claudius’ victorious campaign.

Legionaries were everywhere. Trying to push back the crowd;
trying to bring order as they finished their grisly task. Just beyond the arch,
by the side of the road, a roughly hewn cross had been erected. Even from this
distance she could see the naked man lashed to the wood wasn’t Gawain.

Thank the gods.
She stood by the arch, panting, her
hand pressed against her breast. Muted whispers rippled through the gathered
people and a subdued sense of unease permeated the relief pounding through her
blood.

Druid.

There were Druids in Camulodunum. And, like he said he
would, the
praetor
was hunting them down.

Now she was no longer sick with terror that it was Gawain
enduring such a torturous death, a resigned sense of disgust and regret flooded
her veins. Of course Druids had to die. They were a cruel, vindictive race that
sacrificed babies on the altars of their gods. She had learned all this as a
small child at her father’s knee, and her years in Rome had only strengthened
the knowledge that Druids had to be wiped from every corner of the empire.

But she hated crucifixions. No matter how many she had
inadvertently witnessed, it had never served to change her mind. It was a
barbaric death and surely even Druids deserved some dignity even if they were
incapable of offering such to their own wretched victims.

She reached out to Elpis, who took her hand. But just before
she turned away to return to the litter that would take her home, something
tugged in a buried recess of her mind.

It meant nothing. She tried to ignore it but despite her
best intentions she once again looked at the man on the cross. Really looked at
him.

And recognized his face.

He was the huge man dressed in peasant clothing she had
seen in the forum.
The man Gawain had passed a silent message with.

It was a coincidence. Nothing more. Gawain did not know this
man. And even if he did, it did not follow that Gawain was aware the other man
was a Druid.

She barely felt Elpis gently tug on her hand as another
jumbled thought surfaced. Gawain had spoken of the woman he had once loved. How
she had warned him that treachery awaited in the land of the Brigantes.

When Gawain had admitted he had once loved another, she had
been too foolishly wounded to understand the significance of his words. It had
been more than a simple wish for him to remain safe. Gawain had been specific.
She
had saved his life with her warning.

Had it been a warning direct from their gods? Was the woman
he had loved a Celtic priestess?

A Druid?

Gawain said she was a warrior. But everyone knew Druids were
fierce, bloodthirsty savages who took pleasure in leading their people into
battle. Yet she couldn’t believe that Gawain had loved a bloodthirsty savage. A
brave, noble warrior—yes, that she could understand, no matter how much it hurt
her heart to admit. Gawain deserved a woman like that by his side, one who
could match his strength, one who shared his heritage and could face his
future.

Shared his heritage.

The words thundered in her brain.

No.
She would not believe it. Gawain was not a Druid.
He was kin to Carys, and Carys had led the legions to the mad Druid who would
have destroyed them all. She wouldn’t have done that if she were related to a
Druid.

But Gawain and Carys were not blood kin.

“
Domina
, we should leave.” Elpis’ anxious whisper
pierced her mind and she stared at the other woman, but all she saw was
Gawain’s face as he told her
treachery awaited him in the land of the
Brigantes.

During her last year in Rome, there had been great celebrations
when the Briton king, Caratacus, had been captured and paraded through the city
in chains. He had been betrayed by the queen of the Brigantes and all the
Druids who had fought with him had been slain.

Coincidence.
But no matter how she clung onto that
answer it felt hollow, and threads of panic weaved through her breast.

Her suspicions were insane. Gawain was nothing like any evil
Druid she had imagined. Just because he might have known the man being
crucified, had once loved a woman who could foresee danger and had been
betrayed by those who had turned on Caratacus did not mean he belonged to the
elite ruling class of Celts who, by all accounts, could even out-rank their
kings.

“Lady Antonia.” The male voice sounded shocked and she spun
around, heart pounding, to see the
praetor
frowning down at her.
Did
he suspect Gawain of being a Druid?
Was that why he had asked so many
questions the other night? “This is not a sight for your eyes. Come, let me
escort you to safety.”

He did not wait for her reply and took her arm in a
possessive manner, allowing Elpis to follow behind. Short of creating a
scene—although would anyone notice with the gruesome entertainment on
offer?—she had little choice but to go with him. Words were beyond her at the
moment in any case. What could she say? Ask him outright if he suspected Gawain
of being Rome’s bitterest enemy?

He took her to the
basilica
that flanked the forum,
led her across the mosaic-floored antechamber and ushered her into what she
presumed was his private office. Elpis stood a few steps behind and Antonia
resisted the urge to reach for the other woman’s hand.