Tainted (25 page)

If she loved him, none of that would matter.

The question thudded in his mind.
Unanswered.

“I have learned something else since coming to Britannia.”
Now she didn’t look at him at all. Her gaze was fixed on one of the many holes
in the wall, where sunlight spilled through. “I miss the vibrancy of Rome. This
far-flung province has its merits but I have no desire to remain here
permanently. I wanted to tell you myself, before you find out from someone
else.” She hesitated and glanced at him, before once again focusing on the
broken, dirty wall. “I have decided to marry the
praetor
.”

“You don’t love him.” He flung the accusation at her. Denial
hammered through his brain. She could not marry the
praetor
. The very
thought of it disgusted him.

Devastated him. He shoved that thought aside.

She made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Love has
little to do in such matters. It is an advantageous match, for the daughter of
a merchant. I will no longer be a burden on my father, and my daughter will be
raised as the patrician she is.”

Her arguments were reasoned. Logical. Marriage was often
nothing more than a strategic maneuver to bring more power or prestige to those
involved. It happened in his society, between the royal families and chieftains
of various tribes.

But not between Druids.

“You can’t marry him, Antonia.” He would sink to the lowest
depths and make her confront her deepest fears, if it meant she’d change her
mind. “All he wants is a brood mare. He would never accept your decision to
have no more children.”

Unlike him.
Had he ever told her that? How could he
tell her that now?

For a brief, heartbreaking moment her lip trembled. He hated
himself for causing her more pain. But he would make it up to her. He would
spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

If she only gave him the chance.

And then she spoke. “The
praetor
already knows of my
decision. He has no desire for more children. He merely…wishes me to be a
mother to his sons.”

His chest tightened. Antonia had no intention of discussing
this matter, or trying to find a solution. Their affair had been, as she had
always maintained, nothing but a brief liaison.

“You have obviously thought this through.” His tone was
bitter. “You are a true Roman noblewoman, whatever your precious empire might
think.”

She flinched, as though he had physically struck her with
his barbed words. The knowledge he could hurt her did nothing to salve the ache
consuming his chest.

“I don’t want us to part with angry words between us.” For a
fleeting moment, she caught his gaze. “I’ll never forget you, Gawain. I hope
one day you will remember me with…kindness.”

Kindness was not the way he would remember Antonia. “Perhaps
I should carve your name into my torque after all.” He allowed his gaze to roam
over her, from her messy hair to her dainty sandals and then back up again.
“That way I will always recall your name when your face has faded into the
mists of time.”

Who was he trying to fool? There was not the slightest
chance in all of Annwyn that her face would ever fade from his memory. There
was no need to carve her name into his torque.

She was carved into the beating core of his heart.

Her fingers clutched her gown but she didn’t otherwise react
to his derisive taunt. She didn’t laugh with contempt or tell him he was
delusional if he imagined she had ever wanted him to be a part of her future.

He could think whatever he wished of her. But the truth was
Antonia was as he had always believed.

A strong, honorable woman. She had never promised him
anything. She was doing nothing but trying to give her child the best life
possible. How could he condemn her for that?

Yet he did. He understood her motives but he could not
forgive her for it.

“Farewell.” Her whisper was so soft he scarcely heard it
above the frantic thud of his heart. Then she turned and left his world.

And returned to her own.

Gawain remained rooted to the spot, his gaze riveted on the
closed door. She would come back. She had to come back.

But he knew she would not.

He turned and slammed his fist through the wall of the hut.
The pain gave only momentary satisfaction and it did not even touch the pain
eating its way through his chest.

His heart.

Except she had taken his heart with her.

He doubled over, his hands grasping his thighs. Blood
dripped from his knuckles and he watched the crimson drops soak into the
earthen floor.

She was going to marry the
praetor
. Share his bed.
Allow him to touch her body. And for that, he would take her back to Rome.

Rome. The city where she had endured so much heartache and
loss. Where her bastard ex-husband was.

Slowly he straightened. From the moment he had met Antonia
she had given him the impression she despised that jewel of the empire. After
he had grown to know her better, his first impression had only strengthened.

Antonia did not love Rome. Her father was immensely wealthy
but she had never flaunted that wealth as some daughters might. She was, as she
had once told him, easily pleased.

Why would she want to take her beloved Cassia back there,
when she had gone to such pains in order to bring her child to Britain?

He knew the
praetor
lusted for Antonia. Knew he was
the kind of man who would do anything to get what he wanted. But Antonia, to
his knowledge, had never given the
praetor
any encouragement.

It wasn’t Rome that Antonia wanted. It was the chance to
give her daughter a good life. And Antonia possessed the means to give Cassia a
good life here, in Britain.

Antonia had not consented to marry the
praetor
of her
own free will. It was because that bastard Roman had blackmailed her into it.
And the only way Antonia could be blackmailed into doing such a thing was if he
had threatened her beloved daughter.

Gawain took a deep breath and unclenched his fists. No one
would force Antonia to do something against her will.

He owed the
praetor
a visit.

Antonia kept her spine rigid and head high as she walked
from Gawain’s roundhouse back toward the villa. She’d known their final
farewell would break her heart. But she had never imagined Gawain would look so
devastated.

He had imagined them sharing a future together. Had thought
they could find a life in Caledonia. He would never know how dearly she had
wanted to fall into his arms and beg him to take her and Cassia far from
Camulodunum. How she, too, had dreamed of such a future.

She blinked rapidly to clear the foolish tears from her
eyes. She had to keep up this despicable façade for Carys.

Her steps faltered and against her better judgment, she
turned and looked back at Gawain’s roundhouse. She had desperately wanted them
to part amicably but his final taunt had shattered all hope of that.

He despised her, as she’d always feared he would. Yet better
that he despised her, believing she would chose the decadence of Rome above
him, than for him to guess the truth.

Her throat ached with grief as she entered the courtyard.
Gawain’s face was etched into her heart and soul. She would never be able to
forget him, even if she wanted to. How long would it take for his pride to
erase every last memory of her from his mind?

Carys was on her knees, tending to her herb garden. Antonia
forced a smile to her lips.

“Sweet Cerridwen save us.” Carys’ eyes widened as she took
in Antonia’s appearance. Antonia felt her face heat. She had forgotten the
state of her gown and hair. But what did it matter? Her palla would hide the
worst of the damage until she arrived home.

Carys stood up and planted her hands on her hips. She was
once again wearing a Celt inspired gown and looked little like the noblewoman
she played for the outside world and every inch the foreign princess she truly
was.

“What is Gawain thinking, to let you walk out like that? He
should have come and found me for a replacement gown. And you know you’re
always welcome to use the bathhouse.”

“Yes, I know.” To her horror, her voice was husky. Until this
moment, she hadn’t considered that her actions would also affect her
relationship with Carys. She liked the Celtic woman. But she knew Carys was
fiercely loyal. Why would she want to remain Antonia’s friend after knowing how
she had hurt Gawain?

And how desperately she wished to keep Carys’ friendship. It
seemed they were both destined to live in Rome, after all. How wonderful it
would have been to know a noblewoman there who had not once turned her back on
Antonia when she had most needed support.

“Are you well?” Carys frowned and took a step toward her.
“What has Gawain said to you?”

She had to pull herself together.
“Nothing.” At least
her voice no longer betrayed her shredded heart. “All is well, Carys. I-I have
good news. I am to marry the
praetor
.”

Carys stared at her in disbelief. “The
praetor
?” Her
tone left no doubt as to her disgust. “Antonia, you cannot do this. If you tell
your father you don’t love him, he will never force you into this.”

Carys sounded so certain. How odd. And yet how right she
was. After the
praetor
had left, apparently satisfied that her shocked
silence equaled acceptance, her father had barely said a word when she’d told
him of her marriage plans.

Perhaps he would have more to say this evening, when the
praetor
returned to make their betrothal official.

“It has nothing to do with love.” Did Celtic nobles only
ever marry when their heart was involved? Or was that something peculiar to
Druids?

Was Carys a Druid, too?
The thought slid into her
mind without any shock or denial. It seemed, now, perfectly possible that she
was a Druid even if she had married a Roman tribune and lived the life of a
patrician.

It was, after all, only one more layer on the façade Carys
portrayed to the empire.

“But…” Uncharacteristically Carys appeared lost for words.
“But this is not Cerridwen’s will.”

“Why should your goddess be interested in my fate? I am not
a child of Cerridwen.” No, she was a child of Juno. And once again Juno had
failed her.

Great goddess forgive her. She did not mean her treacherous
words.

Yet she did. Juno had let her babies die. And now she merely
watched as Antonia walked away from the only man she had ever loved.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move on the far
side of the colonnade. Inexplicably a shiver chased over her arms. How long had
the shadow been there, listening to their conversation?

A regal woman emerged into the sunlit court. Her long auburn
hair cascaded over her shoulders and her gaze remained fixed on Antonia.

“Mother.” Carys appeared flustered, another state Antonia
had never before witnessed. “Let me introduce my dear friend.”

Before Carys could continue, the woman held up her hand in
an imperial gesture. Carys immediately fell silent. Although the woman’s eyes
never left Antonia’s, she had the eerie certainty that the older woman had not
only taken in her disheveled appearance but despised her for it.

“I know who she is.” There was the faintest trace of
contempt in her tone. Obviously she knew Gawain, and had overheard everything.
Antonia tensed her nerves for further insult. “You are Cassia’s daughter.”

Shock punched through Antonia’s breast. Of everything she
might have imagined the older woman saying, this had not even crossed her mind.
How was it possible this Celtic noblewoman—
queen
—knew her mother’s name?

“You knew my mother?” It was impossible, but what other
explanation could there be?

“I knew of her.” The queen paused beside her daughter, who
looked as staggered as Antonia felt. “Your father spoke of her often.”

Antonia clutched her gown in a futile attempt to make sense
of the queen’s words. But they made no sense.

“How—” She cleared her throat, tried again. “How could you
know my father? He lived in Gallia until he moved to Britannia three years
ago.”

“No, foolish girl. Not the man who raised you. I’m talking
about the man who sired both you and Carys.” The queen’s deep blue eyes
glittered. Antonia suppressed a shudder and the urge to back away. She would
not allow this woman to intimidate her, even though it was obviously the
queen’s intention.

“You lie.”

“So.” The queen raked her gaze over Antonia. When she
finally looked her in the face again some of her antagonism had faded. “You
truly are ignorant of the circumstances surrounding your birth.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” But her father’s recent
outburst thundered through her mind.
Her mother was murdered by the hand of
a Druid.

“Is that why Cerridwen sent me visions of Antonia before I
even knew of her existence?” Carys’ voice was hushed. “Is that why my goddess
charged me to embrace a woman of Rome? Because she is my half sister?”

“I am only surprised,” the queen said, turning to Carys,
“that Cerridwen did not share this knowledge of your blood kin with you
sooner.”

“But my father—”

“He never hid the fact from me that a Roman patrician had
captured his heart during the time he lived in Gaul.” The queen looked back at
Antonia. “He loved me. But I always knew Cassia was his beloved.”

“No.” Antonia’s chest constricted and she took a step back,
her hand raised in denial. She knew who her father was. This foreign queen
lied. “
No
.”

“You have always known I had a half-sister?” There was a
note of disbelief in Carys’ voice.

“Of course.” The queen sounded impatient, as though her
daughter’s question was irrelevant.

“And you did not think to tell me of this? Even knowing how
dearly I have always longed for a sister?”

“I’m not your sister.” Panic coiled deep in Antonia’s chest,
spreading through her limbs, threatening to close her throat. How dare Carys
and the queen suggest her mother had been unfaithful with a Celt? “My father is
Drusus Antonius Faustus, a merchant from Gallia.”

“Why would I speak to you of your father’s eldest daughter,
Carys?” The queen angled her head in a regal manner. “His other daughter was
nothing to
me
. But I chose to accede to his wishes in the matter of your
education. He was adamant you learned Latin like a native of Rome. Not only
because of the advantage it would give you when confronted by your enemy. But
because he wanted both his daughters to be equally educated.”

“I refuse to listen to any more of your lies.” Antonia
infused her voice with all the contempt she could, but her feet refused to
move. She remained rooted to the spot, staring at the queen with rising dread.

She did not believe a word. Of course she didn’t. But a tiny
kernel of doubt wormed through her breast, rendering her immobile. Forcing her
to listen as the queen spewed more of her insanity.

“I knew this day would come when his daughter of Rome met
his daughter of Cymru.” The queen paused for a moment, lost in the past.
Lost
in the web of her lies.
But why would she lie about such a thing? What
could she gain by it? “He told me Cassia’s daughter would unite our fractured
land.”

“You are mad.” Antonia retreated another step and glanced
wildly around for her slave. She had to get out of here. “I’m leaving.”

“Leaving to marry the
praetor
.” The queen gave a
soft, scornful laugh. “How like your weak-minded Roman mother you are.”

Antonia froze. “Do not speak ill of my noble mother.”

“Your father begged her to go with him. She may have loved
him but she did not possess the courage to face an uncertain future with her
lover.” The queen raised one eyebrow in condemnation. “In what way are you
different?”

But she wanted nothing more than to share her future with
Gawain. The queen did not know everything. The queen would never know
everything.

“My mother was scarcely fifteen when I was born. She was
just a girl. You have no right to presume to know what she may or may not have
done. Just as you have no right to presume you know the reasons for
my
actions.”

Silence screamed in her ears. Both the queen and Carys
stared at her with identical expressions on their faces. As though they had
never truly seen her before.

Heat washed through her. Had she said too much? What
had
she said?

“Then perhaps you should rethink your strategy,” the queen
said and Antonia glared at her. She had no strategy. All she could hope to do
was save Gawain’s life. “The strength is within you. After all, no Druid gives
their heart lightly.”

She might have meant Gawain. But Antonia knew the queen was
referring to the man she insisted was Antonia’s father.

The panic reared again, searing her breast and flooding her
veins with a wild frenzy. Before she could stop herself the words spilled from
her lips.

“I’m not a Druid.”

The queen’s lip curled. “You may possess the blood of one of
the greatest Druids of our Age, but unless you are also chosen by the gods then
no.
You
are not a Druid.”

Her heart hammered in her breast. Her palms were sweaty,
breath restricted. She had not been chosen by the gods, because the queen
referred to her heathen, Celtic gods.

But Juno had blessed her with visions ever since she was
a small child.
Visions that had terrified her. Delivered by a goddess who
looked nothing like Juno was depicted in the temples. A goddess who spoke to
her in an unknown language. A language that made perfect sense to her until she
awoke.

Terror gripped her and she turned and fled from the
courtyard.

Back at her father’s townhouse, she found Elpis in her room,
sewing. She tore off her palla and flung it onto the bed. Elpis’ eyes widened
and she leaped to her feet.

“
Domina
, what has happened? Are you all right?”

Antonia whirled on her. “I’m no longer your
domina
.”

Elpis held her hands and Antonia drew in a deep breath, but
it failed to calm her shredded nerves. Could it be true? Had her father lied to
her all these years?

“You need to bathe, my lady.” Elpis was so calm, so serene.
For some reason that fueled Antonia’s agitation.

“Tell me.” She snatched her hands free and twisted her
fingers together. “The first time you heard me speak in the language of the
gods. How did you know, Elpis?”

Elpis swallowed and refused to meet Antonia’s eyes. “I don’t
understand, my lady.”

“Please, Elpis.” Antonia took the other woman’s hands. “This
is so important. How did you know, all those years ago, that it was Juno
speaking to me?”

Elpis shifted uncomfortably. “Your father was so panicked,
my lady. He feared you had been possessed by evil shades of Tartarus. I told
him what I thought would calm him. And…it did.”

Antonia stared at her in disbelief. “You lied to him?”

“Not exactly.” Elpis finally stopped fidgeting. “I had heard
the language before. In the temples of Athens. But it was not the voice of Juno
I heard speaking through you. It was the voice of Hera.”