Rescued by the Celtic Warrior (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 1) (6 page)

She worried about Taran and how he would use the weapon. Though only a dagger, it could buy him enough time to spirit away. She prayed no blood would be spilled, but then armed men in a fight for life could inflict mortal wounds. She hadn’t armed him so he could kill others. She’d done it so he might live.

Voices carried in the distance. She sat up. There was urgency in those voices, shouting.
Has he mounted his escape already?

She bounded out of bed and opened the shutter. Though a blanket of clouds blocked the moon, the ramparts surrounding the fort were afire. The blaze lit the skyline orange and she swallowed the choking lump in her throat.
Has Taran caused this?

Valeria gasped. An army of men scaled the walls. This was not a small skirmish of a man trying to escape. She watched a Roman guard crumple as the enemy ran him through with a sword. His body tottered backward and fell from the battlement.

She slammed the shutters and pounded on Pia’s door. “We’re under attack. Come, quickly!”

Pia sprang to her feet. “We must dress.”

“There’s no time, come.”

Pia snatched cloaks off the hook as Valeria pulled her into the corridor. The slave threw a cloak around Valeria’s shoulders to cover her sleeping tunic. She raced down the passageway and pushed open the doors of her father’s chamber. His window was shuttered and Valeria sensed no movement.

She rushed in. “Papa, you must wake.”

Pulling the bed curtains aside, she groped in the dark until her hand hit flesh. She kneeled beside him and shook his shoulders. “Papa. Wake up!”

He jolted upright. “Valeria? What is it?”

“Vindolanda is under attack. I heard the shouts of the soldiers and saw a legionary murdered with my own eyes.”

Argus reached for his tunic and slid it over his bare chest. “Light the candle quickly.”

Pia had already found the flint, making a spark. A smoky glow flickered across the walls.

He placed his hands on Valeria’s shoulders. “Tell me what you saw.”

“I heard the voices shouting and opened the shutters. A soldier was run through on the wall while countless barbarians climbed over. The ramparts are burning. ʼTis mayhem, Papa.” She threw her trembling arms around him. “I’m so afraid!”

He pulled her into his arms and Valeria inhaled his protective leathery scent. She squeezed his waist, wanting to crawl into his lap like she had when she was a child, but he released her and reached for his sword belt. “There’s a hidden chamber under the principia.” He buckled it. “Follow me.”

The General flung open the doors to his chamber. The stench of unwashed men churned the bile in Valeria’s stomach. As they stepped into the light, the snarls of half-naked, unshaven brutes pushed them back. These heathens barely appeared human as they growled, shoving through the doorway.

With a cry of terror, Valeria groped for her father. She struggled against hands that ripped her away from his protective arms. “Release me!” she shrieked, lashing out. Her fingers scratched flesh. A hand covered her mouth. She bit down hard.

A foreign curse grated in her ear. Though she didn’t understand the words, there was no mistaking the tone—it threatened and Valeria’s veins ran ice cold. The lethal clang of iron striking iron reverberated through the air. Valeria craned her neck. Father fought four on one. She lurched forward. “Papa!”

Powerful hands dragged her away. She struggled and reached out for Pia. The slave used her weight against a barbarian. The brute reeled back and slammed Pia in the face with the hilt of his dagger.

“Pia!” Valeria fought harder, desperately trying to reach her nursemaid until a thud against her skull brought an illusion of stars across her vision. Valeria’s legs gave way and her assailant hefted her body over his shoulder.

Crouched in the shadows of his cell, Taran popped open the last rivet on his shackles. He slid Valeria’s dagger into his sleeve and rubbed the raw skin on his ankle.

Shouting in the distance grew louder. A horn blared. He jumped to his feet, his blood rushing beneath his skin. A fire flickered through the tiny gap at the top of his cell wall. “Greum. Listen.”

His friend pushed up from his nest of straw. “Ye think they’ve come for us?”

“I heard the Pict carnyx sound. A battle’s begun for certain.” Their eyes shot toward the stairs when the clamor of swordplay echoed off the walls. The lifeless body of a Roman soldier clanked down the steps. His helmet rolled until it hit the iron bars.

The shadow of a familiar face appeared under a Pictish helm, illuminated by the torch on the wall.

“Drust!” Taran called.

His cousin ran to the cell, followed by a band of Pict kin, swords and battleaxes at the ready. “Ye’re a sorry sight.”

“I never thought I’d say it, but ye’re the best thing I’ve seen in two years.” Taran eyed Drust’s blood-splattered mail. “I was fixing to bust meself out. Another day and ye would’ve been too late.”

With one swing of his axe, Drust shattered the lock on Taran’s cell. “I wondered why ye stayed here so long. Thought mayhap the Roman hospitality had suckered ye in.”

Battleaxes and broadswords smashed off the locks and chopped through the welds of the iron manacles, freeing the prisoners.

Greum stretched his arms, pulling the chain between them taut. He turned his head and cringed. “Mind yer aim.”

“Would ye not rather have a bludgeoned arm than hang in the Roman gallows?” Drust chuckled and swung back his axe. With one swift strike, Greum was free.

Taran peered through the window at the growing flames. “What’s happening up there? It sounds like the whole fort’s under siege.”

“’Tis not just Vindolanda, ʼtis all of Hadrian’s Wall. We’re taking back our lands. Father’s made a temporary truce with the Attacotti and the Gaels. The Saxons have sailed to Gaul to reclaim their lands as well. The entire Empire is under attack.”

“The
Attacotti
? Oisean made a truce with those cannibalistic bastards?”

Drust kicked Greum’s leg shackles aside. “Only to drive the Romans out, and as long as they keep their thieving hands off our own. If they cross the line, we’ll hunt them down and show no mercy.”

Taran grasped his shoulder. “I must know. How is me uncle?”

“He’s well enough to worry about you—he loves ye more than me, ye bastard. I swear if ye died, he’d pine forever.” Drust inclined his head toward the stairs. “Hurry.”

Though there was no time for questions, Taran didn’t miss the grim line of his cousin’s frown. Oisean was dying. Before his uncle passed, he must return to Dunpelder, the Pict stronghold in the region of Gododdin, land of Taran’s birthright.

Taking charge, he raced ahead. “Ye’re all free men,” his bellow echoed across the dungeon. “Ye can follow us to Gododdin, or be on yer way.”

Greum crept in behind him. “Let’s go.”

Barreling up the gaol stairs, Taran snatched the short sword of a fallen Roman.

“This way,” Drust roared.

Taran’s gaze swept across the burning compound and stopped at the commandant’s home. Flames of a bonfire illuminated the courtyard. Unshaven Attacotti heathens forced Argus Fullofaudes to his knees in front of the stone portico. From the uncontrolled listing of his body, the Roman general had survived a brutal beating. His hands were bound behind his back, and his chest heaved while the savages shouted and danced around him.

Taran’s insides froze.
Valeria!

In the mayhem, a battle-axe swung with rapid precision, severing the head of the Dux Britanniarum. With a spray of blood, the lifeless body of the most powerful Roman in Britannia flopped forward.

A marauding Attacotti snatched the general’s head by the hair. Holding it high, he roared an animalistic battle cry as he puffed out his chest and strutted in a circle. The savages around him danced and shoved their bloodied swords and axes in the air. Cheering their victory, each one took their turn to mutilate the fallen corpse.

Taran charged toward the mass of frenzied men, only to be stopped by Greum, who clamped both hands around his arm. “Ye want yer throat cut?”

Taran backed slowly and scanned the riotous anarchy. Where was Valeria? She’d tried to save him. She’d given him a knife. Was she already dead? He clenched his teeth, his gut churning. He owed the lass a debt of honor. Had the Roman soldiers spirited her away? Greum was right. Fighting through a mob of crazed Attacotti was no way to find out. He’d end up with his head on a spike like Fullofaudes and could be of no use to her.

Clutching the Roman sword he’d taken at the gaol, Taran raced beside Drust through the shadows of the barracks. Quickly, they slipped out the north gates toward a group of tethered horses.

Taran jumped when a wolf moved in the shadows.
That was no wolf.
A twinge of recognition tickled his nape. “Stag?”

The grey, rough-coated deerhound stepped closer. “Stag!” The massive deerhound bounded up to him and his large paws crashed into his chest, nearly knocking him flat. Raising his chin to avoid the slurp of Stag’s tongue, Taran ran his hand over the dog’s head. “Och, ʼtis good to see you.”

“We’ve no time for sappy reunions. Mount yer horse and let’s ride,” Drust snapped.

Taran released his beloved dog and grasped the reins of a black steed. He leapt astride, but the mount reared before he could settle. Clamping his knees, he yanked hard on the left rein, pulling the beast in a tight circle. “Did ye expect me to break him on the run? What sort of mule did ye stick me with?”

Drust’s rolling laughter faded into the night while he and five other Picts sped north. Taran grumbled under his breath. The horse bucked twice before finally straightening out. They galloped toward the others, Stag on his flank. The horse’s gait smoothed. With the wind in his face, for the first time in years, Taran enjoyed the immense power beneath his legs. He’d broken enough horses to know he rode a stallion with heart, one that could carry him into battle without fear.

It didn’t take long to catch up to Drust. “I see ye haven’t forgotten how to ride.”

“Blackie’s a powerful beast.”

“Blackie is it now? He’s not let a man stay on his back for more than a five-count. He must like ye.”

Miserable heartless cousin. Comes to break me out of the Roman gaol, and then tries to kill me.

Before they continued north, Taran turned back. The flames from tar-soaked arrows leapt above Houseteads’ stone ramparts. His eyes panned the line of the wall. “Ye weren’t jesting. The whole border’s ablaze.”

“After three hundred years of tyranny, it was time we united and took a stand.”

In the distance, a mob of Attacotti galloped northward on their heavy-boned horses, their silhouettes illuminated by the fire. Taran leaned forward in his saddle. His gut clenched with recognition. Valeria rode in front of a vile Attacotti, her head bobbing, her body limp.

“Valeria,” he whispered. With a sharp jab of his heels, he spurred Blackie toward them.

Drust raced beside him, trying to match the stallion’s pace. “What the…?”

“The Attacotti have Valeria,” Taran shouted over his shoulder. Urging his horse faster, he leaned forward and drew his sword. Drust managed to keep pace. His hand reached out and jerked Taran’s rein. Blackie’s head whipped to the side, his hindquarters bucked out of sync with the front. Taran tumbled through the air and landed on his arse in a muddy bog.

There was no time for a fight with kin. He jumped up and grabbed Blackie’s reins. “What did ye do that for?”

“Ye want to die this night? ʼCause that’s not what I sprung ye for, now let’s go.”

Greum trotted up beside them. “The Attacotti have taken Valeria.”

Taran nodded at his friend, then glared at his cousin. “We’ve no choice. We have to go after her. Ye’re either with me or no.”

“What is she to you? She’s Roman, yes?”

“She doesn’t deserve a fate with the Attacotti. They’ll sell her to the highest bidder or worse.”

“She helped us at the gaol. Taran’s enraptured with her,” Greum said.

“Shut it.” He couldn’t allow himself the luxury of heartfelt feelings for the woman. But he knew one thing. The Pictish vow of honor and duty prevented him from ignoring her plight and heading for the safety of Dunpelder’s stronghold. He could not live with himself while the only person who’d shown him a sliver of kindness was spirited away by a pack of marauding cannibals. It didn’t matter if the king had formed an alliance with the Attacotti to overthrow the Romans. This was different.

Taran faced down the stern countenance of his younger cousin. “If ye’ll not help me, I’ll do it alone.”

Greum led his gelding forward. “I cannot live with meself knowing we’ve let her fall into the hands of those bastards.”

Drust shook his head. “All for the likes of a woman.” He turned to the men. “Engus, ride ahead to Dunpelder and tell the king we’ve been waylaid. Fionn, Seumas, we’ve no choice but to keep our reckless prince alive.”

During the time it took for Taran to convince the others to follow him, the band of Attacotti had disappeared behind Hadrian’s Wall. No doubt they headed to the northern Highlands where the vermin had an impenetrable stronghold. He must reach them before they set foot on their lands, else Valeria would be lost forever.