Tainted (5 page)

“I shall start taking them this day.”

“
Domina
?” There was an unmistakable edge of concern
in Elpis’ voice, reflected on her face. “Did something happen to you that the
dominus
is unaware of?”

“No.” Antonia could feel her face heating and she turned
away from Elpis’ penetrating gaze. “I was not attacked. But even though I’ll
never marry again, I don’t want Scipio to have been the only man I’ve ever
known.” She risked glancing over her shoulder. Reluctant understanding glowed
in Elpis’ eyes. “There was a Cambrian warrior, kin of the tribune’s wife, who
showed interest. I believe I will take him up on his unspoken offer.”

Gawain leaned with studied nonchalance against a stone wall
adjacent to the main market—the forum, the Romans called it—and glanced at his
companion. The man was a close confident of the Iceni king but Gawain had
learned nothing from him that he didn’t already know.

Although other Briton chieftains periodically rose up
against their Roman invaders, the Iceni were content to be a client kingdom, a
puppet of the foreign emperor. Before the Caratacus rebellion last summer, he
would have railed against the Icenis stand, berating them for cowardice. But
after the bloodied betrayal and his near escape from death from those who had
pledged allegiance to Caratacus, the Iceni king’s oath of fealty to Rome barely
stirred an ember of anger in his chest.

There would be no large-scale revolt in this corner of
Britain, despite how poorly the town was fortified. At least, not yet. Who knew
how allegiances might change in the future?

At least the Iceni king didn’t attempt to deceive anyone
about where his loyalty lay.

“Life under Rome can be good,” the man said. “My liege sees
no reason to jeopardize his relations with the emperor for no good reason.”

Gawain could name a dozen good reasons without even thinking
about it, but there was no point. Unlike those who rebelled, the client kings
retained their lands and an illusion of power. Not for the first time, he
questioned his actions in coming to Camulodunon after the fall of Caratacus,
instead of returning to Cymru and continuing the battle.

But he knew why. If Caratacus with his army of warriors and
Druids and a magical enclave that had hidden their whereabouts from the enemy
hadn’t been enough to defeat the Legions, how could small bands of untrained
and poorly armed rebels hope to make a difference?

He’d hoped the Britons might be stirred to insurrection.
Where better to hit the enemy than in this newly constructed capital? With
their greater numbers, they might stand a chance against the Legions. But so
far, the reality had fallen far short of his expectations.

And then, of course, he had discovered Carys and her tribune
were stationed here. How could he stir up a full-scale rebellion, even if such
a feat was possible, when it would put her and Nia in danger?

His meeting with this man today was for no other reason than
to gather information he might be able to use in the future.

A flash of a blue cloak in the milling crowd caught his
attention and unthinking he turned. For a moment, the blue vanished but then
reappeared and a jolt slammed through his chest.

Antonia.

Irritation spiked that such a fleeting glimpse of her
recalled all the reasons why she haunted his nighttime fantasies. He didn’t
want reminding. The last thing he needed was her beautiful face, ice-blue eyes
and pale golden hair invading his dreams.

He barely registered the other man’s farewell. His attention
was fixed on Antonia as she weaved her way through the crowd. In the three days
since they had met, he’d made no effort to contact her. He had attempted to
convince his rampaging lust that he’d only found her so irresistible because it
had been more than two moons since he’d last had a woman.

As he stared, riveted, at her elegant profile as she admired
silken frivolities at a stall, he acknowledged the truth.

He still wanted her. And doubtless his desire-fueled nightly
visions would continue until he’d sampled the real thing.

Without warning, she looked up from the ribbons in her hand
and unerringly caught his gaze. She didn’t appear surprised or startled at
either his presence or his direct stare. Had she been aware of him before she’d
deigned to acknowledge him?

He pushed himself from the wall and sauntered toward her.
She didn’t turn away, didn’t attempt to break eye contact or disappear into the
bustling crowd. She merely stood there, waiting for him.

Anticipation thrummed through his veins. She might not have
arranged for an illicit assignation as his other Roman conquests had. But her
surrender smoldered in the air, enhanced by the foreign spices and exotic
delicacies on offer at neighboring stalls.

“Lady Antonia.” He didn’t offer her his hand. He knew she
would never accept his kiss of greeting. At least, not in public. Instead he
gave a half bow, unable to keep the smile of satisfaction from his lips. “I
trust the day finds you well.”

She inclined her head, a familiar gesture he recalled from
their conversation at Carys’. “Thank you.” Her voice was as cool as he
remembered and just as enchanting. For a moment, he thought she intended to say
more, but instead she dropped the ribbons she’d been holding back onto the
stall.

He waited, but she appeared fascinated by a collection of glittering
colored beads displayed in a woven basket. Was she waiting for him to make the
next move? If she’d changed her mind then surely she would not still be
standing here beside him, looking so remote and untouchable?

“Would you care for some company?” Gods, the stilted words
all but choked him. If she were a Celt, he could come right out and say what he
meant. But that hadn’t stopped him with the other Romans he’d laid. They’d been
superficially shocked by his blunt, barbarous manner but also delighted. So
why, with Antonia, did he feel this odd need to coat his base intentions with
honeyed words?

He’d not felt so restricted the other day. But when they’d
conversed before, they had not been in the middle of a busy marketplace.

She gave him a lingering sideways glance. “Perhaps.” A
delicate blush highlighted her cheeks, giving her an irresistible air of
seductive innocence. It took him a moment to drag his mesmerized thoughts from
such a laughable illusion. Antonia might be a seductress but she was no innocent.
He wasn’t interested in innocence. And he couldn’t fathom why such a thought
had drifted across his mind in the first place.

Antonia was playing a game. She might have played it
countless times in the past with various lovers. He had no objection. Not when
the outcome remained the same.

“Do you often visit the markets?” He glanced at Antonia’s
companion, a young woman who, although doubtless a slave, didn’t instantly drop
her gaze to the ground when he caught her eye. Instead, she appeared to be scrutinizing
him in a way he couldn’t fathom.

He returned his attention to Antonia who was now once again
looking his way. If she made a habit of visiting the market it would be an easy
matter to secure a room somewhere nearby for their mutual pleasure.

“Rarely,” she said, demolishing that idea. “My father is
convinced danger lurks for me on every corner.”

“And what do you think? Does danger lurk for you at every
corner?” Even as he spoke, he knew the answer. She was too fragile to defend
herself against any form of attack. That was why she would never be allowed to
wander the markets without her slave and, he was certain, a guarded litter to
escort her through the streets.

But there were ways around such obstacles.

“Oh.” A smile tugged at her lips. “Not
every
corner.”

He laughed, surprising himself, but her response had been
slightly deprecating and unexpectedly amusing. An intriguing combination for a
Roman noblewoman.

“Do not fear. My sword is at your disposal.”

She didn’t simper or gasp in mock outrage at his words. Her
smile deepened and with an odd sense of disbelief, he realized she read no
sexual implication in his comment at all.

“I trust you’ll never need to use it on my account.”

Her words confirmed his suspicion. Unless this, also, was
part of her seduction routine?

He leaned toward her, enough to give them an illusion of
privacy but not close enough to cause heads to turn.

“I look forward to nothing more than using it on your
account, my lady.”

A blush suffused her cheeks and he stared at her, transfixed.
Anyone would imagine she was an untouched virgin, unused to such banter. Yet he
knew that, despite their outward show of modesty, in private Roman matrons
could be as earthy in matters of sex as his own countrywomen.

Unless Antonia truly was a virgin? Unease slid through his
mind. He couldn’t imagine why any husband would leave a woman as desirable as
Antonia a maiden. Or was this the reason for her divorce? Because her husband
had no interest in women?

“In that case, I have no objection to encountering
your…weapon.” Her whisper was so low he had to lean in closer to catch every
word. Her elusive scent of woodland flowers teased his senses, stirred his
blood and made a mockery of his vow to withdraw. Her eyes no longer reminded
him of winter’s ice. They smoldered like a scorching summer sky. Virgin or not,
he wanted her.

Relief seared through him. Antonia was good, he gave her
that. For a moment he’d fallen for her façade of innocence.

“Then we should make haste with our introductions.” He
couldn’t help but laugh aloud, both at his outrageous words and the look of
bewitchment on Antonia’s face. He knew she likely practiced that enchanting
expression a dozen times a day in order to snare her lovers. It didn’t matter.
He had no intention of becoming ensnared but saw no reason not to enjoy her
entertaining performance. “My weapon is primed to defend your honor.”

Her eyes widened seductively before she lowered her gaze,
her long lashes several shades darker than her elaborately styled hair. Her
lush pink lips parted and the tip of her tongue pressed against her teeth and
he fought the urge to fling caution to the winds and capture her provocative
mouth.

She played her part to perfection. But he was disciplined
and had no intention of losing control because of a Roman woman.

He watched her glance at her companion and was aware of the
imperceptible message that flashed between them. Then Antonia clasped the other
woman’s hand.

“I’ll meet you outside the temple shortly.”

Satisfaction fueled his lust when her slave melted into the
crowd, giving her mistress additional freedom.

Perhaps there would be no need to arrange another meeting.
Perhaps Antonia intended to slake their mutual passion without further delay.

His cock thickened with renewed anticipation of possessing
this Roman ice-maiden. And tonight the only dreams that plagued him would be of
bloodied battlefields.

Antonia turned back to him. “I’ve been—”she began, but then
a great bear of a man stumbled into her, pushing her forward. Without thinking,
Gawain wrapped his arm around her shoulders to steady her and pulled her
against the safety of his body. For a fleeting moment, the seductive sensation
of finest linen and softest wool molding her curves distracted him. Then
instinct took over and his other hand whipped out in an unyielding fist and
punched the drunken bastard in his face, sending him toppling onto the ground.

Even as his body responded to Antonia’s erratic gasps
against his throat and the erotic rise and fall of her breasts against his
chest, he swiftly assessed the situation. It was more than one solitary
ale-sodden Briton who’d tripped over his own feet. A fight had broken out and
was growing by the moment. He knew it would soon be stamped out by the
legionaries and punishment administered. Once, in another life, he’d been the
one restoring order to chaos. But since leaving Cymru he had, more often than
not, helped instigate such disturbances in Roman strongholds. Small,
insignificant rebellions but the inconvenience to the enemy had offered him fleeting
satisfaction.

Had he been alone, he would likely have joined in the fray
but he couldn’t leave Antonia unprotected.

He swung about, still gripping her against his body, and
pushed his way through the now jeering and chanting crowd. He glanced down at Antonia
and saw the way she pressed her lips together, how she kept her arms wrapped
around her waist and the trepidation in her eyes.

Instinctively, he tugged her even closer, even though they
had now left the commotion behind and there was little chance of her being
injured. How odd it felt to pull a woman to safety. Had he attempted to protect
the woman he had once loved in such a manner she would have laughed in his
face, and then used her dagger to save them both.

As they hurried down a deserted alleyway, he waited for
contempt to weave through him at Antonia’s inability to defend herself. But all
he felt was an incomprehensible spike of heat deep in his chest, along with the
strange compunction to keep on going until Camulodunon was far behind them both.
Because only then could he truly keep Antonia safe from harm.

He halted and swung her around so her back was against the
rough stone wall. His last thought pounded in his mind, unwanted but not easily
dismissed.

Antonia was not in danger. She’d been in little enough
danger back in the market, but he’d seen an opportunity to get her alone and
had instantly taken it. Why then did the insistent voice in the back of his
mind urge him that this Roman patrician deserved more from him than a fleeting
fuck?

She looked up at him, her eyes dark with need, and tendrils
of pale gold hair that had escaped its prison curled around her flushed face.
Raw lust stabbed low in his groin and his hands tightened around her hips.

“Gawain.” Her voice was hushed, breathless, insanely
arousing. Through the pounding in his head, he realized it was the first time
she’d called him by his name. And his name on her lips sounded exotic,
forbidden, even though she was not the first Roman woman to whisper his name in
a Latin accent.

Beneath her cloak, he molded the flare of her hips, the
curve of her waist and her uneven breath caressed his jaw with seductive
promise.

“It seems Fate is on our side.” His thumbs brushed the
tantalizing swell of her breasts and he forced his knee between her legs,
parting her thighs. Curse her Roman gown for impeding his access. “I did not
imagine my sword would so swiftly be at your disposal.”