Tainted (22 page)

She had never entered this dwelling before. He had never
even pointed it out to her. Somehow that was significant. That she had not only
taken a chance on his being here by journeying to the villa without prior
arrangement, but had then wanted to see where he slept.

He rolled onto his knees before standing. The ache in his
bones diminished as he rolled his shoulders and flexed his biceps. “A minor
skirmish. The back streets of Camulodunon seethe with such bloodlust.”

She made no move toward him, simply stood on the rammed
earth floor, looking as out of place in the dingy surroundings as a displaced
moon goddess. The only light came from the smoke hole in the roof and from
where parts of the thatch had disintegrated over time and yet Antonia seemed to
radiate an ethereal glow of her own.

His head must have been hit harder than he realized to
imagine such fanciful notions. But the possibility did not stop him from
enjoying the way her gown draped over her shoulders and clung to her curves. He
ached to reach out and cradle her breasts, feel their weight, rub his thumbs
over her responsive nipples and once again hear her breathy gasps as desire
consumed her.

He shifted, trying to ease the pleasurable discomfort that
throbbed between his thighs. He would have her. But he would not grab her like
a starving man with no thought but to slake his hunger.

“You should be resting.” She stepped toward him, one hand
outstretched as though she intended to push him back down onto the pallet. The
thought made him grin.

“I have rested enough.”

She didn’t return his smile. “You’re in pain.” She sounded
distraught although the only outward sign of her evident distress was her
raised hand and the oddly intense expression in her eyes.

He threaded his fingers through hers and tugged her toward
him. Surprisingly, he detected a slight resistance but that made no sense. Why
would she be here if she didn’t want to be in his arms?

“I’m in pain because it’s been too long since I felt the
silk of your skin beneath my body.” Just saying the words aloud caused his
muscles to tense in anticipation. Her tempting scent of woodland flowers
drifted in the air, innocence and seduction combined in an irresistible
bouquet. “You torture me with your icy Roman reserve when I know it’s nothing
but a façade. When I know I’m the only man you allow to stir your hidden
passions.”

Her eyes glittered and for a brief, uneasy moment, he
thought she was going to cry. But then she reached out with her free hand and
gently trailed her fingers along his jaw.

“Your face.” She choked on the words and curled her fingers
into a fist. He covered her hand with his, pressing her knuckles against the
damaged skin that so distressed her.

“I have no injuries that won’t heal, Antonia.”

“You could have been killed.” Her voice was low but vibrated
with fear and a dark suspicion gnawed through his gut. Did she know who was
behind the attack? Or did she merely suspect?

His male pride did not want her to know. The fight might not
have been a fair one between him and the Roman but nevertheless, he was the one
who had been bloodied, not the
praetor
. “It would take more than two
desperate drunks to kill me.”

“Please. Promise me you’ll take more care, Gawain.” Her
ice-blue eyes beseeched him in a way they never had before, and his dark humor
drained away. In its place, a raw protectiveness blazed through him. For her he
would curb his recently acquired inclination to seek out danger at every
opportunity.

The irony was not lost on him. Before the Romans had invaded
Cymru the only dangers he had faced were those any warrior would. And now,
because of another Roman, he would temper his thirst for vengeance. It was not
the right time, and the peoples of Camulodunon were not in the right frame of
mind. He would not risk his life, would not risk losing Antonia, in attempting
to stir apathetic Britons to revolt.

An odd sense of peace weaved through his chest, as though a
great weight had lifted from his heart. Antonia did this to him. Centered him.
Gave him the clarity of mind that was so essential for a warrior. A clarity that,
since he had left his homeland, he’d found so hard to recapture.

He smiled down at her, his unlikely Roman savior. “I
promise.”

Antonia knew she should pull away from Gawain’s touch. She
had not meant for them to touch. Yet all along, she had known it was inevitable
that they would.

How could she not touch him when every inch of her skin,
every breath she took and every despairing beat of her heart called for him?
When her body craved to feel his strong arms around her, when she wanted
nothing more than to bury her face in his shoulder and pretend the world
outside this primitive dwelling didn’t exist?

Yet she remained where she was. Trapped by the hunger in his
eyes; the raw need that pulsed between them and the feel of his scarred fingers
interlocking with hers. But even as desire coiled between her thighs, igniting
liquid flame that licked over her pussy, crimson terror raked through her
breast.

There was no doubt in her mind who was behind Gawain’s
attack. It was a warning. For them both. If she hadn’t already made the
decision not to tell Gawain of the
praetor
’s threat, seeing Gawain’s
injuries would have been enough to keep her mouth shut forever.

He would bow to no Roman. He would confront the
praetor
.
And Gawain would die.

A shudder racked her and her fist shifted along his jaw. His
stubble grazed her knuckles and her skin tingled at the abrasive contact. The
fierce desire to rub his jaw across her face, over her breasts and belly and
between her thighs pounded through her. She wanted him to brand her with his
rough day-old beard, to mar her flesh the way she had inadvertently marred him.

She wanted to stay with him forever. He and Cassia were all
she wanted. It was a fantasy, had always been a dream, but lately she had harbored
the secret hope their liaison might continue indefinitely, regardless of
outside forces.

The torn flesh on his aristocratic cheekbone and the myriad
bruising across his face and naked chest caused every fragile dream to crumble.
And she acknowledged the harsh truth.

She had come here today to end their affair. But buried deep
in her heart, where she hardly dared to venture, the tiniest of hope had
continued to flicker. The hope they could somehow evade the
praetor
’s
power that encompassed her world like a vindictive spider’s web.

But the time for foolish delusions was over. And a delusion
was all this affair had ever been. She was of Rome through the blood of her
mother, and Rome did not relinquish her captives so easily.

Slowly she pulled free of Gawain’s possessive grip. He did
not attempt to stop her and instead of severing contact as quickly as possible
she lingered, savoring the way their fingers caressed. Until this moment, she
had never realized how sensitive her fingertips were, how her flesh tingled at
the languorous touch.

She focused on their hands as she sculpted each of his
fingers and then laid her palm flat against his. His size dwarfed her. He could
crush her in the blink of an eye and yet for all his size, for all that she
knew, in her heart, that he was a Druid, she trusted him with her life.

“I won’t break, Antonia.” There was a thread of amusement in
his voice as he dragged her fist to his lips. “Like you, I am stronger than I
appear.”

She managed to smile as he nibbled kisses across her
clenched knuckles. His intense gaze never left her face. “If that were true,
you would belong on Olympus and not here among us mere mortals.”

His eyes crinkled. He clearly was not offended that she
compared him to her gods and not his own. “You flatter me outrageously, my
lady. What are you after? A few mind-shattering orgasms? I assure you that I
intend to give you them regardless of your pretty words.”

She did not want to think of the orgasms she’d shared with
Gawain. Yet they sparkled in her mind like the stars at night, causing quivers
of primal need to grip her whenever she recalled them.

How had she ever imagined that she would be able to let him
go with barely a shrug at the end of their liaison? How had she imagined that
only the memory of their times together would be enough to sustain her
throughout the rest of her life?

How could she tell him that it was over, and walk away
without taking one more glorious, heartbreaking memory with her?

She circled her forefinger over his palm, spiraling downward
toward his wrist. She manacled him with her hand, but her hand was too small to
enchain him. Instead she brushed the pad of her thumb across his pulse,
secretly enthralled by the unexpected silkiness of his skin there.

A glimpse of masculine vulnerability. And instantly her
pleasure died. She didn’t want Gawain to be vulnerable in any way. And the only
way to ensure he remained the invincible warrior she cherished in her mind was
if she left him.

“Antonia.” His voice had lost its bantering tone. He cradled
her face and gazed into her eyes as though she was the only woman in the world.
Her heart would shatter irrevocably if she did not leave right now. But why was
she trying to blind herself to the truth? Her heart had already shattered.

He sighed and his thumbs caressed her cheeks in a gesture so
tender she wanted to weep. “Don’t be afraid. I have given you my word. I won’t
seek retribution.”

He could read her mind, her fears, too easily. They both
knew who was behind this attack. And neither would say the name aloud. As
though, by acknowledging it, it would force them to face the harsh truth that
the
praetor
had won.

She couldn’t let Gawain believe that. Because, no matter
what he had promised her, if he believed she went to the
praetor
against
her will, his pride would demand justice.

He would die. His blood would be on her hands. She gripped
his wrists, intending to pull free of his embrace, but it was impossible.

This was their last time together. Tonight her betrothal to
Seneca would be made public. She would never again enjoy the freedom she had
experienced since arriving in Britannia.

She was under no delusion. She would never see Gawain again,
either.

“I know.” She refused to allow her voice to crack and
somehow managed to give him a smile. He would never guess that she could read
his mind in this matter as easily as he could read hers. “You are the most
honorable man I’ve ever met, Gawain.”

The words came straight from her heart. She prayed he would
always remember them, when he remembered her.

For a moment, his eyes clouded, as though her words had
inadvertently wounded him. He did not say anything for several heartbeats, and
she thought the moment had passed. Then his fingers tensed against her face.

“My honor is tainted, Antonia.” The words were low, as
though he spoke against his better judgment. “A warrior is judged by his
victories.” Bitterness tinged his voice but he didn’t look at her with
condemnation.

And then she knew. He was not referring to the invasion of
his homeland. He spoke of the capture of Caratacus in the land of the
Brigantes.

Her heart squeezed with empathic pain. He was a Druid and
had been charged to protect the Briton king. He had escaped the fate of his
fellow warriors only because his gods had forewarned him.

Without honor, a warrior was nothing. Roman, Celt or Druid.
Was there really that much difference between them?

“A warrior is judged by his actions.” She slid her hands
from his wrists, over his forearms and gripped his powerful biceps. “He cannot
be held responsible for the betrayal of those he thought his allies.”

“Yet still, I was the only one who escaped.” There was no
mistaking the self-contempt in his voice and his hands dropped to her
shoulders. “The one who witnessed the defeat of Britain’s last hope.”

It was true. After Caracatus’ capture, Britain had accepted
the might of the Eagle. Cambria still rebelled, and a treacherous corner of her
heart rejoiced in the knowledge that Gawain’s homeland continued to cling onto
their tenuous freedom.

But she could not bear to see the recrimination in Gawain’s
eyes. Perhaps her words would mean nothing to him. But perhaps they would help
ease the guilt that she could now see fueled his every action.

“Caratacus gave a mighty speech in Rome, Gawain. The emperor
was so impressed, he pardoned Caratacus and his queen and family. They were not
executed or enslaved. They are…admired.”

She saw the question in his eyes even as relief skated
across his features. And then she remembered. He had never mentioned who had
been betrayed. He was clearly surprised she had managed to put the pieces
together.

“I’m not entirely ignorant of politics.” She had been
educated in politics since she was a child and it was just as well. Patrician
women might give the impression of being empty-headed vessels in thrall to
their husbands. But a noblewoman who had no concept of the politics of Rome was
rare indeed.

It all came down to survival.

“You are not ignorant at all, Antonia.” There was an oddly
wary note in his voice. “It never occurred to me Caratacus would be freed. I
assumed he had been executed with great triumphal ceremony.”

As the Druids who had accompanied Caratacus to the land of
the Brigantes had been executed. And she realized Gawain was not shocked that
she had known he had been charged to protect Caratacus. It was because he
feared she might jump to the conclusion that Gawain was also a Druid.

Did he think she would turn her back on him? Did he imagine
she would betray him, as was her duty as a Roman?

It hurt to know he didn’t trust her enough to share such an
important aspect of his life with her. But at the same time, she understood his
reasons. No matter what they had shared over the last two weeks, she was still
a Roman. And only the day before she had displayed her prejudiced ignorance before
him by repeating what her father and others had told her. Why should he confide
in her, when he believed she thought Druids murdered babies and drank their
blood?

“The emperor appreciates a stirring speech.” She would not
let her wounded heart taint her memories of the time she had spent with Gawain.
Just because she had told him her secrets didn’t mean he had to tell her his.
“Perhaps if people talked more to each other there would be less bloodshed.”

He laughed, and while she loved the sound of his laughter
and the fact she amused him even at a time like this, a part of her balked. Her
words had not been said in jest. Why could a warrior see no option but to
fight?

What other life was there for a warrior?

“You should be a politician, Antonia.” He tugged on one of
her ringlets. “But since Rome doesn’t acknowledge women in their precious
Senate perhaps you should consider using your powers of persuasion in a Celtic
court.”

She stared at him. Was he mocking her? Or was he serious?
Sometimes it was hard to tell when Gawain made a passing comment about women,
because his views were so different from those of Roman men. She mirrored his
actions and twined a length of his hair around her finger. How she would miss
playing with his hair. But not as much as she would miss their strange,
exhilarating conversations.

“I’m sure your Celtic chieftains would be only too eager to
take advice from a woman with the blood of Rome in her veins.”

“You might be surprised.” He smiled down at her, a smile
filled with warmth and laughter and something else. Something so infinitely
tender it made her heart ache and chest constrict.

No man had ever looked at her in such a way. But she had
dreamed of this since she was a young girl. And now, when she had found what
she had always yearned for, it was with the knowledge that she could never
claim his love.

When this day was over, it would not simply be Gawain’s
pride she injured. Had she really thought it would be? His warrior pride was
one thing. But now she knew, in her heart, that he loved her, it was more
important than ever that he never discover the depth of her own love.

Let him believe she had merely used him as a diverting
dalliance. At least then, he would let her go without swearing vengeance on the
praetor
.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his chest,
so he could no longer look into her eyes and guess the truth.

“I would be astonished.” Her voice was husky and she wrapped
her arms around him, a gentle hug, mindful of his bruised body. His skin was
warm, his muscles taut. His evocative scent of wild forests invaded her senses
and desire pooled between her thighs.
Juno, how could she bear to walk away
from him?

“I look forward to astonishing you on a regular basis, my
lady.” Amusement vibrated through every word, as he continued to toy with her
hair as if her ringlets bewitched him.

She closed her eyes, but the impossible vision of sharing a
life together shimmered in the darkness. He was a Druid. A leader. A fearless
warrior. Among his own people, she knew his word would carry great weight. Was
he also a chieftain? Had he once presided over a Celtic court of his own?

There were so many things she wanted to ask him. The
questions remained locked in her heart. Already she knew too much about him. If
she learned any more she feared she might never recover from losing him.

And she had to get over him. For the sake of her beloved
Cassia.