Rescued by the Celtic Warrior (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 1) (5 page)

Valeria folded her arms, cocking her head. “Papa, I do hope you will allow me a time of adjustment. I’m sure Quintus has an impressive future ahead of him. However, my feelings toward him are tepid.”

A stern line formed across his brow. “Highborn ladies in Rome are married by five and ten. You are three years beyond that.” His hands moved to his hips. “I shall have Quintus accompany the bishop when he departs for Pons Aelius. That will give you a bit of time to adapt to Britannia.” He walked to the door and rested his fingers on the latch. “I will expect you to come to a rational decision when he returns.”

“Thank you.” She squeezed her hands together. “There is one more matter I’d like to discuss.”

“You have been busy for a woman who’s just arrived.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. “The Pict’s father is ill. ʼTis why he broke his shackles in Arbeia.”

“The Pict again? How did you happen upon this information?”

“I-I asked questions—but he must return home to his family.”

Father’s arms crossed—not a good sign. “Do you believe family matters are a pardonable reason of
desertion
?”

Valeria bit her lip and willed herself to stand her ground. “I believe there are extenuating circumstances that need to be considered.”

“Go on.”

“He was enslaved. He joined the navy not of his own freewill.”

Father stroked his chin. “Let us look at this from another angle. What would happen if Pia were to flee?”

“Pia? She loves us. She’s been with us since the age of two and ten. She would never even think of leaving.”

“That aside, what happens to slaves when they flee from their masters?”

“They’re flogged and returned to their owners.”

“Yes, and if their crimes are severe enough, they are put to death.”

Valeria pursed her lips. Must he always be so sensible? “In light of Taran’s situation, I believe he should be flogged and released.”

“Desertion from a home is one thing, but desertion from a military post is a different matter entirely.” He held up his hand and shook his head. “No, Valeria. I’m afraid the law is quite clear. He will be tried at the next meeting of the magistrate and he’ll be hanged.”

“But…”

Papa sliced his palm through the air. “I will hear no more on this matter. Besides, if the Pict were released, one day he might come back and raid this very fort. The Picts are a hostile race and cannot be trusted. The magistrate will be here in two days’ time and you’ll need to find something else to fret about.”

As Father marched out the door, Valeria threw herself on the bed and buried her face in her pillow. Only two days? Her own miserable affairs were nothing compared to Taran’s. She must find some way to help him.

Drizzling rain chilled the air. Pia wrapped Valeria in a cloak before she joined her father to see Bishop Elusius off. Standing beside the Dux, she tapped her foot nervously. She’d convinced the cook to give her five loaves of bread, which she had hidden in the woodshed beside the garden. She wanted the formalities of their farewell to be over. After, she planned to slip the bread into the gaol—this time for everyone. Had the cook any inkling of her scheme, she never would have been given the food, but the excuse that she wanted treats for the pigs and chickens had been perfectly fine.

Upon the portico of the principia, they watched Quintus climb the stairs, clad in a fine coat of bronze and leather armor. As customary, he kissed the Dux Britanniarum on each cheek.

“Protect and defend,” Father said.

“Hail Caesar.” Quintus saluted then cast his eyes to Valeria.

Her breeding insisted she offer him a pleasant smile and her hand. He bowed deeply and kissed it, then turned up his face and looked into her eyes. “My heart will be yours until my return.”

She glanced at her father. With a half-smile, he inclined his head toward Quintus. She hesitated before holding out a handkerchief embroidered with bluebells. “Carry this to remind you of our friendship.”

Papa had instructed her to say, “…to remind you of my love,” but she couldn’t bring herself to utter the words—besides, a marriage agreement had not yet been signed.

Quintus snatched it from her hand and held it to his enormous nose, inhaling as if she’d actually dabbed scented oil to the linen cloth. “I shall return in a fortnight and will think of you every waking moment.”

The bishop stepped forward and wrapped his big arms around her. “Remember your lessons, my child. I’ll expect to see you again soon.”

“Yes, and I hope your journey is a safe one. ʼTis a pity the fine weather could not have held out a few days longer.”

“A little rain never hurt a soul and they tell me we shall have fine Roman-built roads to prevent the carriage wheels from bogging.” The bishop shook Argus’s hand. “Take care of my student. She is a precious jewel, as clever as any man.”

“That she is.”

Valeria watched the holy man climb into the heavy wooden carriage, the same one that had brought her to Britannia with its dark interior and jerking motion. She felt no remorse to see it leaving.

Quintus lead the contingent of ten soldiers. The gates to Vindolanda opened and Argus placed his arm around his daughter’s shoulder while they watched the party traverse the bridge. The heavy doors slowly closed and the bishop with his escort disappeared from sight.

“What have you got planned for today?” her father asked.

Valeria smiled. “I think I shall visit Mia in the stables.” Of course that would be after she made a detour to the gaol.

“What a splendid idea. I think I may join you. It has been a long time since I rode for pleasure.”

Valeria’s heart flew to her throat. “Ride? Now? But it…it’s raining.”

Her father looked up at the sky. “Ah. That it is. I have become so accustomed to the wet, I hardly noticed.” He patted her shoulder. “Perhaps we can ride later when it clears.”

A sigh of relief escaped Valeria’s lips. “I’d like that very much, Papa.”

****

Taran used a link in his chain to etch another notch into the bar of his cell. He’d been rotting in this gaol eight days and had yet to come up with a plan. The iron shackles binding his arms and legs were solid without a spot of rust and he had found no weakness.
Bloody Roman engineering.

“They’ll be coming for us soon,” Greum said as if he could read Taran’s thoughts.

“Aye. It may be our only chance.”

Greum scooted closer to the bars keeping his voice low. “Tell me ye have a plan.”

Taran shook his head. “The only thing I’ve come up with is to overpower them when they take us to the magistrate.” He held up his cuffs. “This chain is long enough to twist around a man’s neck.”

“Aye, that takes out one, but what of the others?”

“If they fetch us together, it may be two on four. We’ll strangle the rear guard and when the leading man turns round, we’ll use the one we’re strangling as a shield.”

Greum scratched his head. “Ye think they’ll do that—fetch us together?”

“Why not? We’re both being tried for the same crime.”

“ʼTis a risk.”

“Ye got a better idea? It’s the closest we’ll come to a sword.” Light footsteps resounded through the dungeon. Taran pressed his lips taut. His chest tightened with a myriad of emotions from excitement to dread.

Greum sniggered. “Sounds like yer lassie friend is coming for another chat.”

Taran kept his voice low. “She could help us.”

“I don’t know why she fancies the likes of you.”

“Nor do I, but who’s complaining?”

Taran’s stomach churned when she appeared in the passageway. He pretended to take a deep breath, hiding his gasp. Every time his eyes glanced her way, the room spun. Yes. Him. The giant, fearless Pict was stirred by a temptress, a
Roman
, no less.

He didn’t care for the way she made him feel. He wouldn’t have minded if she had been a local lass, but a Roman and a privileged one at that? The sooner he could spirit away from Vindolanda
and
Valeria, the sooner he could return to the life he loved.

The taunts began as hungry stares from ragged prisoners ogled her from every direction.

A prisoner in the corner cackled. “Come over here, wench.”

Taran grasped the bars, trying to force them apart with all his strength. He ground his teeth and strained. He’d gouge the eyes of every last bastard who taunted her.

“I’ve got a present for ye right here in me lap.”

“Show us some leg.”

“Leg? I want me lips on a ripe breast.”

Valeria’s frightened gaze darted across the slovenly and haggard faces while she listened to their jibes. Looking like a cornered rabbit, she backed against the wall.

“Stop this!” Taran roared, but his voice was swallowed in the echoes of the taunts.

“What’re ye afeard of, wench?”

Valeria grasped the handle of a torch and slammed it against the wall. The booming racket echoed through the dungeon. “I did
not
come here to listen to your taunts. I’ll have no more of it, else you’ll be hanging from the gallows this night. So help me God.”

Taran stood dazed. Oh yes, he liked her spirit.

She glared back at the gaping faces, either stunned with fear or astounded a woman had taken charge. Taran figured they were all stunned—a tiny lass slamming an iron torch handle against the wall? She certainly had more mettle than her Roman male counterparts.

A legionary’s voice echoed from above. “Is everything all right, my lady?”

“Yes, splendid, thank you,” Valeria replied with a higher pitch than Taran had heard before.

She proceeded, making the sign of the cross and mumbling prayers under her breath, dragging the clanking torch in one hand and carrying a basket in the other. By the time she reached Taran, he was ready to break out of the damned gaol and spirit her back to Gododdin.

She held out her basket. “I brought enough bread for everyone. Though I say they don’t deserve it, heckling me so.”

“ʼTis all right now,” Taran said. “Portion the loaves.”

“I had to tell the cook it was for the animals, otherwise he would not have let me take it.”

“That’s bloody right, the beasties eat better than we do,” said a man as he reached for his share.

Valeria nodded. “Unfortunately, that’s how it appears.”

She handed a large ration of bread to Greum and Taran watched him tear at it with his teeth. Her cloak rustled against her skirts until she stopped beside him. He gazed down upon her head. Sitting, he hadn’t realized how petite she was. She came to the center of his chest and craned her neck to look at him.

She passed a parcel through the bars. His hand brushed hers as he accepted it. How delicate her slender fingers were, his tingled at her touch.

“This is for you,” she whispered. “You’re going to need your strength. The magistrate will be here on the morrow.”

His gut churned as he accepted the gift. “Is there anything ye can do?”

She shook her head. “I pleaded your case to my father. He is unbending. I’m sorry.”

As if his hand grew a mind of its own, he reached out and brushed the rose-petal soft skin of her face. “Ye have shown me more kindness in just a few days than any Roman I have ever met. For that I’m grateful.”

“ʼTis the least I can do. I wish our laws were otherwise, but as a mere woman, I’m powerless to change them.”

Her lips quivered on a strained smile. Taran could not drag his gaze away. She cleared her throat and shuttered her fathomless eyes with lids fanned by long black lashes. A tear spilled upon her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. “I’m sorry. I must go. God’s blessing be upon you.”

He watched her sunflower-yellow peplos billow under her cloak as she raced for the stairs. Motionless, Taran stared after her, holding the parcel in his hands.

“She gave ye a present,” Greum said, jolting Taran from his trance.

He slid down the bars and crouched on his pile of fresh straw. Slowly, he pulled the thong that bound the parcel. Inside was a block of cheese and two chicken legs. Taran picked one up and handed it to Greum. Glancing back down, his eyes narrowed at the glint of steel hidden under the cheese. He peeked up to see who was watching.
Everyone
.

Taran turned his back and gnawed on the second chicken leg. Slipping the cheese onto his lap, he wrapped the linen cloth around the knife. It was a small ivory-handled dagger, but sharp, and what he needed to fight his way to freedom.

****

Pia’s light snores echoed through the walls of the adjoining room. Valeria couldn’t sleep. If they suspected her of passing the knife to Taran, the soldiers would come for her. Would Papa uphold the law and have her whipped or worse? She prayed he would be lenient and restrict her to her chamber for life. Perhaps he would banish her to the Pons Aelius to serve Bishop Elusius. At least she wouldn’t be forced to marry Quintus.