Tainted (19 page)

“Please, sit.” The
praetor
placed an ornate stool
before her. She remained standing behind it and somehow dredged up a smile.

“Thank you, but no. I must return home before my father
worries.”

“Of course.” He stood there, hands clasped behind his back,
his gaze fixed on her in an unnerving stare. She forced herself not to fidget.
She would do and say nothing that might cause his suspicion to fall in Gawain’s
direction.

A shiver raced over her arms. Was that why he had brought
her here? To interrogate her about what she knew of Gawain? Did he know of
their liaison?

Nausea roiled and her heart slammed a heavy tattoo against
her ribs but she kept her face impassive. There was nothing the
praetor
could say that would induce her to betray the man she loved.

She swallowed and stiffened her already rigid spine. What a
time to acknowledge the truth. Even the possibility that Gawain was a despised
Druid did nothing to change the fact.

“Antonia.” His voice was gruff. “I deeply regret you saw
that crucifixion.”

Breathe.
“It’s not the first I have witnessed.” She
sounded as though such things were an everyday occurrence that didn’t disturb
her in the least. She hoped that was how she sounded, anyway.

“And yet I would protect you from such distasteful aspects
of life if you would allow me to do so.”

Too late, she realized the trap into which she had fallen.
Why had she accompanied him into his private office? She should have insisted
that he take her directly back to her litter. But it was too late to berate her
stupidity now.

Either the
praetor
was going to ask for her hand in
marriage, or he wished to make her his mistress. She had no intention of
agreeing to either but the thought of an unpleasant confrontation, on top of
her horrifying suspicions about Gawain, churned her stomach.

She forced herself to meet the
praetor
’s gaze. “You
are too kind but I am more than capable of looking after myself.”

He took a step toward her and she was relieved that the
stool remained between them. “You must know how I feel about you.”

Shock stabbed through her breast. Yes, she knew he had
lusted after her for many years, even though he had always behaved with the
utmost decorum in her presence. But for him to state the fact so baldly—she had
not expected that.

“I—”Words lodged in her throat and she hitched in a shallow
breath. “You’ve always been very kind to me.”

His jaw tightened. “Kind?” He appeared to consider the word
and find it greatly lacking. “I would certainly be kind to you, Antonia. You
deserve that at least after the mockery of your first marriage.”

“
Praetor
—”

“Seneca. At least grant me that honor once more, my lady.”

Heat seared her skin. This was becoming worse by the moment.
“Seneca. I have no wish to discuss my marriage with anyone. Not now and not at
any time in the future.”

“I respect you for that.” He glanced at the stool, clearly
regretting its strategic position. “I respect you for many things. Your conduct
has always been impeccable. Let me assure you that as my wife your life would
be one of untold luxury and indulgence. You will never want for anything
again.”

He hadn’t thrown her tainted heritage in her face as a way
of underscoring the great honor he was offering her, the way Scipio had. At
fourteen, she had been awed by the handsome, arrogant Roman and overwhelmed
that he was prepared to overlook her father’s common bloodline.

That tactic wouldn’t work now, of course. But how much
easier it would be if the
praetor
had only wished her to be his
mistress. She could have used the excuse of affronted pride to refuse him. Now,
she had no choice but to tell him the one thing that would be sure to dampen
his desire to take her as his wife.

“I’m honored by your offer, Seneca. But I fear I cannot
accept. I’m unable to have any more children.” She had almost died giving birth
to Cassia and while no physician had told her she should not attempt another
pregnancy Antonia had made the decision herself. She would never put herself through
such heartrending agonies again—unless the outcome was as perfect as Cassia.
And who could guarantee such a thing?

She only hoped the
praetor
concluded it was a medical
directive. No man would take the word of a mere woman in such a matter.

“I have three sons. That is more than enough for any man.”

Speechless she stared at him. Was he actually saying that,
if he took her as his wife, he didn’t expect her to breed for him?

Certainly three sons was admirable. But a man always wanted
more. Desperately she clawed through her mind to find a counter maneuver. And
recalled their conversation from the other night.

“But you have always wanted a daughter, Seneca.” Most men
did, once they had sired a good few sons. Daughters were, after all, a valuable
asset when it came to strengthening allegiances through their advantageous
marriage. “I would be unable to give you one.”

A taut silence stretched between them. Unease fluttered in
Antonia’s belly. Why didn’t he say something?

Finally he cleared his throat. “There would be no need for
you to endure another pregnancy. I know what you did, Antonia. I know your
daughter is still alive.”

Gawain stood in the shadow cast by the monstrous Roman arch
at the outer edge of Camulodunon and his hands fisted in impotent fury at the
sight of Rhys. It was obvious the other man had been tortured before this final
indignity, and equally obvious he hadn’t betrayed his fellow Druids.

Fucking Romans. But threaded through the anger was a sense
of shaken disbelief. Because if Nia had not arrived when she had, if she had
not forbidden him to leave the villa, then he would have been with Rhys when
the legionaries had come for him.

If not for Nia there would be two Druids being crucified
this day.

He knew it was a sign from the gods. Knew he was being
warned that if he did not follow the right path, this was the fate that awaited
him. But, although he would never admit it to anyone, least of all his gods, he
no longer knew his path. But more than that, he no longer possessed the belief
in Lugus to show him the way.

Yet he could no longer ignore their command. For them to use
Antonia in the way they had was bad enough. To take Rhys as an example was
sickening. He had to find a way to communicate with Lugus before they did
anything else.

He made his way back toward the market and leaned against
one of the columns of the bathhouse. This evening, after he had met with
Antonia, he would make the necessary preparations and request the counsel of
his god.

Frustration seethed at how carelessly the gods used whoever
crossed their path in order to fulfill their wishes. It was something he had
barely acknowledged before the Roman invasion yet since leaving Mon it had
plagued his mind.

He had to calm his thoughts before approaching Lugus,
otherwise the god would likely strike him down before he even had the chance to
take a breath.

Antonia would calm his soul. He didn’t know what it was
about her, but she had the ability to soothe him with merely a glance or a few
inconsequential words. Except nothing about her was inconsequential. Being with
her gave him a sense of purpose, as though he could accomplish anything he set
his mind to. And that was insane. Why would he feel such a thing when he was
with her? What good was it, when fate had decreed at the moment of their births
that their futures could never be one?

In his peripheral vision, he saw movement at the entrance of
the
basilica
, the administration building where the local tribal
aristocracies allegedly took responsibility for their own decision-making. As
far as he could see, it was little more than a focus for the military
occupation. Yet something snagged his attention and he glanced across the
square. And froze.

The
praetor
was leading Antonia from the building. He
held her arm and there was a predatory air about him as though he already owned
her. Savage fury blazed through Gawain, raw and ugly, as he watched them
approach her covered litter.

What had she been doing in there? The
basilica
wasn’t
a place for Roman women.

But he knew why she had been in there. It was because of the
praetor
. And the way he helped her into her litter, the way he kissed
her hand and then stood and watched the slaves carry her down the road, all
pointed to one distasteful fact.

In the Roman’s eyes, he did own her. Had Antonia promised to
marry him?
How could she have done such a thing?

Rage boiled through his veins but it was more than rage, a
primal emotion he had never before experienced. He could not name the fire that
scalded his blood and scorched his reason, and caused his body to burn as
though in the grip of a fever.

He couldn’t name it but he’d be fucked if he would just
stand by and let Antonia be pushed into marrying a man she did not love.
Because she didn’t love the
praetor
. There had been no reciprocal lust
or attraction in her eyes or manner during that feast whenever she had looked
at the Roman.

Was it her father pushing for the marriage? Would Antonia
really give up any hope of happiness just to please the old man?

So what was he thinking?
That Antonia would give up
everything, her pampered lifestyle, her ties with her father—and follow
him
?

The thought slammed through his brain, a frigid blast of
winter ice that cooled his fury but did not extinguish it. Instead the thought
solidified; became tangible. With Antonia by his side, he could embrace a life
in the harsh lands of the Picts.

The litter stopped and Antonia got out. What was she doing?
Going back to the Roman? He looked back to the
basilica
, but the
praetor
was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, he watched Antonia and Elpis enter the market
and savage pleasure speared through him.

She had fooled the Roman into thinking she was returning
home. Somehow, that gave him hope that she wasn’t yet fully committed to the
praetor
.

He marched across the square and followed her through the
market. She did not appear to be inclined to shop and instead sat on a stone
bench, Elpis by her side, in the shade of a despondent-looking tree.

Anticipation surged through him. He would persuade her that
her path was entwined with his. That was the message the gods had given him the
other night. Why else would they have spoken through Antonia? She was meant to
be by his side. He could keep the secret of his heritage from her. What use was
his heritage in any case, in the land of the Picts?

Antonia took a deep breath and took Elpis’ proffered hand as
they sat on the bench. Her stomach fluttered with nerves and her throat was
parched but there was an odd sense of calm in her heart.

She was doing the right thing.

“
Domina
,” Elpis whispered. “Will you accept the
praetor
’s
offer?”

“If I refuse him,” Antonia’s fingers tightened around
Elpis’, “do you think he would inform Scipio of Cassia’s existence?”

“I don’t know.” Elpis sounded reluctant to admit it. “He
seemed genuine in his desire to adopt your daughter and love her as his own
blood.”

Yes, he had. As she’d reeled in shock at his disclosure that
he knew Cassia was alive, the
praetor
had continued to speak of her
beloved child as though he could not wait to claim her. At her prolonged
silence, he had then assured her that he would present Cassia as his own
bastard daughter. Antonia’s actions would never be known to anyone. She would
be Cassia’s mother in the eyes of Rome and Cassia would enjoy a lifestyle that
was her birthright.

It was unnerving to learn how close an eye he had kept on
her in Rome. Unbelievable that he knew how she had arranged for her daughter to
be saved and brought up by trusted former slaves of Scipio. The couple was
elderly, of no further use to him, but their loyalty toward Antonia had never
wavered. She had ensured they never went without necessities, and when Cassia’s
life was threatened, they had been only too happy to take the baby in.

The
praetor
knew all this. Yet her own former
husband, Cassia’s father, did not have the first idea.

“I believe he would love her.” Antonia curled her fingers
around her locket and saw Cassia’s sweet face, when she had gone to say goodbye
to her just before she left for Britannia.

But what right did she have to deny Cassia knowledge of her
heritage? Every child deserved to know of their true blood lineage.

Her resolve strengthened. For more than a year, she had
denied her daughter’s existence to the world. But once Cassia was in Britannia,
under Antonia’s care, what could Scipio do? He had no jurisdiction over her
now. He had already denied Cassia’s right to live. Therefore, he had forfeited
any further rights over her upbringing. And if he tried to assert those rights,
Antonia would fight him with every means at her disposal.

She had no doubt that, if she married him, the
praetor
would keep his word and protect her and Cassia from any vindictiveness Scipio
might harbor toward her. But they would be living a lie. And always in the back
of her mind, whether she agreed to the
praetor
’s proposal or brought
Cassia up in Britannia by herself, would be the fear that one day her deception
would be revealed.

Until the other night with Gawain, she had never imagined
telling anyone in Britannia about the bloodied events surrounding Cassia’s
birth. But the events had happened. She could not change the past. And she
would not face the future burdened by a guilt that was not hers to bear.

She was proud of her child. She was not ashamed of what she
had done to save her life. When Cassia arrived in Britannia, she would arrive
as her blood daughter.

“My lady.” The deep masculine voice sank into her senses
like warm honey and it took a moment to realize that the voice was real and not
a figment of her imagination. Fierce joy speared with raw denial thundered
through her and she turned to see Gawain standing by her side.

He was not a Druid.
But he was here, when she had not
thought to see him for hours. If that was not a sign from Juno to trust him
with her most precious of secrets, then what was?

He sat beside her on the bench without waiting to be asked.
Something no Roman noble would ever do, and yet where it mattered Gawain
treated her with more respect than any of her fellow countrymen ever had.

Yet it was tempting the Fates to meet so openly, even if
there was a decorous distance between them. She smothered the urge to wrap her
arms around him, to feel his body against her, to reassure herself that he was
alive and well and not in danger of being crucified for his beliefs.

“Anyone might see us here, Gawain.”

With his legs stretched out before him and hands splayed
across his thighs, he looked deceptively relaxed. But she could feel coiled
tension radiating from him and surely, no one who glanced his way could be
deceived that he was anything but a warrior on full alert.

“Anyone?” His intense gaze scorched her. “Or someone in
particular? The
praetor
, for instance?”

Had he seen her with the
praetor
? Had Gawain followed
her here to confront her?

She wasn’t sure whether the knowledge thrilled or dismayed
her. And threaded through every thought was the devastating suspicion of what
he might truly be.

Once again, she thrust the suspicion aside. “If word got
back to my father, he—” The words locked in her throat as, for the first time,
she questioned what exactly her father could do. She was not a young girl whose
reputation needed to remain pristine in order to make an advantageous marriage.
And while she would never wish to shame him with her behavior, speaking in public
with Gawain, kin to Carys, was not something that would besmirch her name and
reflect badly on her father.

“But your father wouldn’t mind that you had been alone with
the
praetor
, is that what you’re saying?”

If her father knew what the
praetor
had asked, he
would be delighted despite the fact she had been alone with him. But she had no
intention of telling Gawain of that conversation. She had no intention of
telling her father, either.

Before she could stop herself she leaned toward him, and the
horror of the morning smashed through the defenses in her brain. Panic churned
through her breast, constricting her breath as she recalled those terrifying
moments when she had feared it was Gawain who hung on the cross.

“I witnessed the crucifixion. The
praetor
merely saw
me there and escorted me back to the forum.”

Gawain’s jaw tensed. “You saw the crucifixion?” From the
corner of her eyes, she saw his hands fist on his thighs. Was it because he
didn’t like the thought of her seeing such a thing? Or because the Druid had
been a friend of his?

Don’t go down that path.
She had to stop thinking
that way. Yet with Gawain by her side, looking at her as though he wanted to
drag her into his arms and never let her go, she could think of little else.

“They say he was a Druid.” The words were out, stark, and
sounded like an accusation. Gawain’s expression didn’t alter, but since his
face was a chiseled mask to begin with, that meant nothing.

“Who are
they
? The Romans?” Contempt edged every word
but it was not condemnation she saw in his eyes. She couldn’t decipher what she
saw in his eyes but it made her want to take him into her arms and shield him
from all harm.

What a foolish thing to think. As if she could ever protect
Gawain from anything.

She gripped her fingers together on her lap before she made
an exhibition of herself. “If there are Druids in Camulodunum they will be
hunted down and destroyed.” Juno, what was she doing? Was she trying to make
him convince her he was not a Druid or warn him that if he was, he needed to
flee?

She did not want him to flee.

“Because your emperor fears their ancient knowledge.” His
words were no longer filled with contempt but with a strangely weary
acceptance.

Startled, she gazed at him. “No, of course it’s not for that
reason.” She hesitated. No, surely that was not the reason. It was because
Druids incited fear in their people and stirred up rebellion against the mighty
Eagle.

Unease quivered through her heart. Stories her father had
told her of the long-departed Druids in Gallia haunted her mind.

“They steal the babies of their enemies,” she whispered, as
an unformed dread knotted the pit of her stomach. “They drink their blood and
offer sacrifice to their gods.”

Gawain didn’t answer. He just continued to look at her, and
there was no condemnation in his gaze. He looked at her as though her words did
not surprise him. As if her beliefs were something he had already resigned
himself to long before she had spoken.