Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 02] (46 page)

“Brennus.” She hesitated, unsure whether she could continue, but he rubbed his jaw against the top of her head in a familiar, comforting gesture, and she sucked in a deep breath. “I want to return with you to your homeland. To Gaul. Take my place by your side.”

His arm tightened around her waist, a painful grip edged with desperation. As if, until this moment, he hadn’t been certain she would want any such thing.

“Be my wife, Morwyn.” His voice cracked on her name. “Gods know I don’t deserve you, but I can’t help loving you. I’ll defend you to my last dying breath.”

“Oh.” She threaded her fingers through his, glad he couldn’t see the foolish tears trickling down her cheeks. “I don’t need defending, Gaul. I’ll just take your love. If you take mine.”

“Always.” His pledge muffled against her hair and she closed her eyes, willing herself to continue. To offer him a chance of spiritual peace.

If he could accept.

“I’m a chosen one of the Morrigan.” How could there be any doubt in her mind of that now? “A Druid. I can’t change that.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” A jagged sigh speared his body. “Morwyn, your Druidic heritage is a fundamental part of who you are. I can see now. Not all Druids are blinded by ancient prejudice.”

“There’s something . . . I wish to offer you.” Goddess, she hoped he could not hear the tremble in her voice. “If it wouldn’t offend you, when we reach Gaul, I want to perform the sacred ritual of Arawn. The ceremony for those of noble blood who are continuing their journey.” She flicked the tip of her tongue over her lips. “For your wife, Eryn.”

He gave a sharp indrawn breath. “You would do that—for Eryn?”

“You have royal blood. She was your wife. She deserves nothing less.”

“Gods.” The word tangled in her hair and his warrior hard body shook as emotion ripped through him.

Had she ever loved him as much as she loved him in this moment?

She blinked back the dampness stinging her eyes. “If it doesn’t offend, I also wish to attend the restless spirit of the . . . other girl.”

He didn’t answer. But the jerk of his head in assent was answer enough.

With a shaky sigh she sank against him. She would call on her foremothers for guidance and strength. Invoke the ancient rituals, ease the troubled spirits of Eryn and the girl, not only because she was a Druid of the Morrigan and it was her sacred duty.

But because by so doing, she would soothe the wounded soul of her beloved Gaul.

Ten Months Later

 

“By the goddess, Gaul, say something.” Morwyn shook her head and then laughed before she once again returned her attention to the tiny scrap cradled in her arms.

He glanced at Gwyn, who sat on his hip with one arm hooked around his neck. She also appeared transfixed.

“I fear words fail me.” Gingerly he sat beside Morwyn on the bed, once again gazing at the bundle she cradled so tenderly.
His son
.

“Because you’re awed by my cleverness in birthing such a perfect babe.”

“Yes.”

Morwyn looked up at him, sweaty hair streaking her face, remnants of the severity of her labor etched around her eyes. Faint scars from Trogus’s dagger traced her nose, and her forehead was forever marked with the claw of the sacred raven.

She was beautiful. Brave. And his.

“He is perfect,” she whispered. “Because he’s yours.”

A year ago, he had nothing but a blood pledge to his king and bittersweet memories to keep him alive. Now he had everything. A wife whose strength of will would never cease to astound him, a daughter he adored and a newborn son.

Was this why the gods had kept him alive?

He tugged Gwyn’s braid. “What do you think of your brother, princess?”

She reached out one tentative hand and he angled her over the babe, so she could trace her finger over his dark thatch of hair. “Soft.” Her tone was reverential. She glanced up at Morwyn and her plump lower lip trembled.
“Safe.”

One arm around Gwyn, he slid his other around his wife and she melted against him. So deceptively soft and fragile a man could be forgiven for thinking she needed protecting.

But she was a warrior, a Druid of ancient stock. As willing and able as he to defend herself and their family against the enemy.

Yet she was and would forever be his vulnerability.

He’d have it no other way. She had dragged him back from the precipice, demanded that he open his eyes and his heart, and in return she had given him a new world.

During the first century AD, the languages used in Britain were Brythonic by the native tribal peoples and Latin by the Roman invaders. In both
Forbidden
and
Captive
I have used words not in common usage in the English language until the fifteen hundreds and later, on the reasoning these peoples had words of similar meaning in their own languages at that time.

 

Annwyn:
the Otherworld; source of the Universal Life Force

 

Arawn:
lord of the Otherworld

 

Belatucadros:
god of war and destruction

 

Camulus:
warrior god, important in pre-Roman times; equated with Mars

 

Cerridwen:
goddess of wisdom

 

Gwydion:
greatest of the enchanters; warrior magician

 

The Morrigan:
triple aspect Great Goddess: maiden, mother, crone; goddess of war and rebirth

 

Taranis:
god of thunder and lightning

 

 

 

Charon:
the Ferryman; takes the dead across the river Styx

 

Jupiter:
king of the Roman gods; river, sky, lightning, thunder; symbol is the eagle

 

Mars:
god of war, revenge, courage

 

Minerva:
goddess of wisdom, learning, the arts

 

Venus:
goddesss of love and beauty

 

Wings of Mors:
god of death