Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 01] (40 page)

She felt nothing. Trepidation trickled along her nape.
Where was Cerridwen?

Maximus dismounted as he entered the wood that led to Carys’s special glade. All morn he’d ignored the sense of urgency that had throbbed in his brain since the moment she disappeared from sight, but no longer could he put off scouting the area.

It had nothing to do with regard to her safety, or the possibility that today she might not return to him. Despite the annoyance that spiked through him at the knowledge she would never simply sit in his dwelling all day and wait for his return, he didn’t actively mind her visiting her kin. He knew, with solid certainty, she would always come back.

This urgency was completely unconnected with her, and focused entirely on the anomaly of the shrunken forest.

And the closer he’d ridden to the forest, the more insistent the desire to enter it became.

Even his fury for the Druid bastard, which coiled around his guts and raked through his chest every time he recalled the scene in the glade, diminished beneath that all-consuming need.

He hadn’t expected to see Carys by her spring, but she was there and appeared in deep discussion with her companion.

She whirled to face him the moment he stepped from the shadows, as if something had warned her of his approach. The woman she was with also turned, and his heart ricocheted against his ribs. Never had he seen such an ancient creature. She appeared so fragile, so wizened, he could scarcely comprehend she was still in the mortal realm.

Slowly he advanced. Tension crackled in the air and the look of frozen horror on Carys’s face as she shielded the old lady from his sight was like a blade through his heart.

He halted and removed his helmet as a sign of trust. His eyes never left Carys.

“Carys, who is this man?” The old woman spoke in Celtic, and hobbled to stand beside Carys, her milky eyes fixed on him with chilling loathing.

Carys swallowed and shot him an agonized glance, as if begging him not to acknowledge their relationship. “A Roman tribune.”

Every nerve tensed. Was that all the introduction she deemed necessary? All the introduction he deserved?

He tore his gaze from her and stared at the other. “My name is Tiberius Valerius Maximus, at your service.” He spoke in her language and inclined his head as a show of respect for her great age.

The old woman advanced two steps, before Carys clutched at her arm and halted her progress. “And I ask again, Carys.” The woman’s voice was clear, strong, at startling odds with her appearance. “Who is this man?”

He watched the blood drain from Carys’s cheeks, as if she too guessed the old woman already knew the answer.

“He saved me from attack in the settlement.”

Not a lie. Yet not the full truth. And again he wondered whether she had spoken such to him.

A shudder rippled over the woman’s frail frame, but when Carys went to comfort her, she held up one trembling hand in autocratic disdain.

Carys sprung back, as if the action scalded.

“This is the one who found you in the goddess’s domain.” It wasn’t a question. And still those eerie eyes bored into him, as if searching out the secrets of his soul.

Carys cast him a despairing glance and he took a step toward her, wanting to support her against her antagonistic kin, but he stopped short when she sank to her knees before the old woman.

The blade in his heart twisted. Carys didn’t belong on her knees. She was proud, independent, beholden to none, so why did she hold this old crone’s hand in a gesture of reverence, kiss her fingers as if she begged for mercy, and look as if she was worshipping at the altar of one of her wild, heathen goddesses?

The sight offended him. More, it enraged him. And yet he could do nothing, for Carys clearly loved this wretched woman and didn’t want her displeasure.

For Carys, he would hold his tongue, still his sense of injustice. But he couldn’t prevent the warning glare he shot the old one’s way.

“Druantia, please forgive me. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

The old hag finally severed eye contact with him and focused on Carys. “Thank Cerridwen that the Morrigan can no longer see you, child. For if she could, you would be naught but dust beneath my feet.”

Carys visibly blanched, and he gritted his teeth at the threat.

“I’ve done nothing wrong, Druantia. Please. You understand? All I’ve done is love.”

Druantia hooked her twisted fingers beneath Carys’s chin and peered into her upturned face as if searching for words unsaid. Then she gave a rasping sigh, as if the last breath from her body was escaping.

“I see the truth in your eyes. I feel the truth in your heart. But it changes nothing. Rome is our enemy.” Briefly she glanced his way, and a needle-sharp pain darted through his brain, vanishing as instantly as it had began, as if the witch had somehow penetrated his core and assessed his worth.

For a fleeting moment her features softened before she once again returned her attention to Carys. “Yet Cerridwen protects you. She allowed the Roman access to physically reclaim you from the Morrigan’s sacred realm. I don’t pretend to understand her motives, Carys. But all I know is this.”

She tugged Carys to her feet, and as the two women held hands and maintained eye contact, a shiver scuttled over his arms despite the warmth of the day.

Druantia straightened, although he could tell the action caused her great discomfort. “Whatever path you’re on, my child, is the path chosen for you by Cerridwen. I can’t approve of it, but I’ll do nothing to jeopardize your safety.” There was a taut silence, as if the words held hidden meaning. “Do
you
understand?”

“I understand.” Carys bowed her head. “Thank you.”

Druantia advanced toward him. For one insane moment the urge to fall to his knees before her assailed him, as if she were a female embodiment of how he’d always secretly imagined Charon would look as he ferried the dead across the Styx.

Sheer willpower alone kept him upright and rigid as she paused by his side and gave him another assessing look. Then she turned back to Carys, who hovered behind her in obvious distress.

“He is Roman. And yet my words to you remain true. Think on the morrow, Carys. The sun will always rise no matter how you wish it otherwise.”

Her words made no sense to him but obviously did to Carys, as heat flared in her cheeks as if she resented the remark. But without another word she helped Druantia onto her mare and then stood by his side to watch the old woman ride over the ridge toward the forest.

He should follow her. She’d lead him to the hiding place. And yet the thought of tailing such an ancient one caused bile to rise.

He was a soldier, and he would find where Carys’s kin were hiding by his own efforts. It couldn’t be far. Druantia was in no state to ride for any length of time.

Yet the urge to forgo his principles and follow her anyway plagued his mind.

“Thank you.” Carys curled her fingers around his arm and smiled up at him, but he could see the tension traced around her eyes, the strain etched around her lips.

“For what?”

Confusion flared in her eyes. Would he ever tire of looking into those eyes of hers?

“For not questioning her. About where we live.”

He offered her a brief smile devoid of humor. “I’m not in the habit of terrorizing elderly women.”

Her smile softened, the tension diminished. “Oh, I wasn’t concerned that you’d terrorize her, Maximus. I simply want to thank you for not questioning her.”

“You can thank me later.” He had a few ideas how she could thank him, but now was neither the time nor the place. He had to investigate why the cartography was so amiss and discover the mystery of the illusion.

But more than any of that, he had to enter the forest. It was of paramount importance. And only then could all other concerns be addressed.

“I want to speak to you about later.” She hung on his arm, smiling up at him in an enchanting manner, and a part of him wanted to take her in his arms and elicit a promise from her that
later
she would accede to all his demands, whether they concerned her future status as his wife, or her future home in Rome.

But he had to unravel the puzzle of the forest
.

“What about it?” He glanced in the direction Druantia had vanished. He didn’t want to follow her, and yet the certainty gripped him that there was only one path into the cursed forest he could take.

Carys tugged on his arm, and with strange reluctance he turned back to her.

“I want us to have our evening meal here, by the Cauldron.” She stared at him expectantly, as if waiting for his enthused response.

He flicked his glance at the spring. Recalled the first time they’d fucked.
Made love
.

His cock stirred as arousal flared through his veins. “If you wish. Tell the slaves to bring whatever you require here.”

For a moment she looked startled, as if she hadn’t expected him to agree so readily. “I’m preparing everything myself tonight. Just the two of us.”

“I look forward to it. But now I must go.”

Still she clung on to his arm, and he saw the furtive glance she cast in the direction Druantia had gone.

“So soon? Can’t you stay with me a little longer?”

He wasn’t fooled. “Carys, I have no intention of following Druantia. I’ll find your hiding place by my own efforts.” He uncurled her fingers that were biting into his flesh, and brushed his lips across them. “I understand your concern, but there’s no need to fear. I’ll never harm Druantia or any of your kin.”

“I know.” And yet he clearly saw the fear in her eyes even as she denied it.

There wasn’t time to discuss it further. The urgency thrummed through his blood, pulling him onward. Briefly he wondered at the logic of his haste, but brushed it aside.

It was imperative he investigate the area, before Aquila led the First Cohort there.

“I’ll see you back at our quarters. We’ll come here together.” He kissed her lips, and for a brief moment the urgency faded as her mouth welcomed his, but then he pulled away, replaced his helmet, and shot her a lascivious grin. “Don’t forget the blankets, Celt.”

He couldn’t place it, but there was something very wrong about this part of the forest. He’d lost count of the times his horse, a creature with nerves of iron and courage to match any centurion, shied away in clear distress from, apparently, nothing.

And yet he understood the animal’s abnormal behavior, because the skin on his nape crawled with unspecified repugnance, as if malignant spirits hid behind each looming tree.

There was nothing here. No tracks, no trails, no sign of human habitation. Why was he here, in any case? All he’d intended was to once again observe the forest from the hilltop, check out its boundaries, compare them to the maps.

Instead, he’d spent Mars knew how long inside this cursed forest and he couldn’t fathom why.

An odd shimmer up ahead caught his attention. Inexplicably he was reminded of the night he’d met with Carys in her special glade, but there were no lanterns casting a mystical glow here to bewitch his senses.

Stealthily he approached the phenomenon. Vertigo hit him at the same instant his horse reared in fright, a dizzying disconnectedness spinning his brain in his skull, and then a sharp, stabbing sensation pierced the side of his neck and blackness engulfed his world.