better when she met him on
equal ground without that unsettling whisper of elusive innocence she sometimes
favored.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
The tip of her tongue moistened the seam of her lips. Her
seductive timing was breathtaking. “This liaison must be brief for many
reasons, Gawain, but I would like to meet with you again tomorrow.”
He realized he was still staring at her mouth. He also
realized that he did not care. “That can be arranged.”
Her mouth curved into a smile of what looked relief. Except
of course, she’d known he would agree. Why would he not? He anticipated many
days of frenzied fucking with Antonia before he tired of her.
“I will meet you at the public baths at the ninth hour. Will
you be able to find us somewhere—suitable?” Her words were once again
breathless and he could almost believe she wasn’t used to making such illicit
assignations. Except she had not only initiated their second meeting she was
now dictating where it should take place.
Not that he had any objection. He’d enjoy the edge of danger
her request would entail. He had assumed Antonia would wish only to meet him
here, at Carys’, where they were assured of uninterrupted privacy but it
appeared her sense of adventure was greater than he’d given her credit for.
“As long as your delicate sensibilities can tolerate a
primitive tavern room then yes, I can easily find us somewhere.”
She smiled up at him, as though his gentle dig at her
patrician heritage didn’t disturb her in the slightest. Only then did it occur
to him that he still hadn’t retreated. That he still held her towel together at
her breasts.
“My delicate sensibilities can withstand more than you might
imagine.” Her hand covered his in an oddly intimate gesture. “I’m not made of
spun glass, Gawain.”
He laughed. Spun glass. Such a Roman term to use.
He’d seen fragile glass creations and Antonia was wrong. Compared to Druid
women she was, indeed, made of spun glass.
It was only when they finally pulled apart and Elpis
returned to help her mistress look presentable that an odd realization hit.
He had compared Antonia, a Roman noblewoman, with his Celtic
compatriots. And had not found her obvious deficiencies a source of disdain.
After Antonia left, Gawain bathed in the river that bordered
the estate. He’d used public baths in the past, but only in order to glean
information from arrogant Romans who discussed their affairs without a thought
that a native might understand their words, let alone act on them. He had never
used a Roman bath for pleasure and had no intention of ever doing so, no matter
how Carys mocked him for his fastidiousness.
As he made his way back to the villa, he took stock of his
situation. Staying in Camulodunon indefinitely had never been an option. When
he’d first entered the Roman city, it had been with the burning desire to
avenge the rape of Cymru, the betrayal of Caratacus and, obscurely, the
devastating loss of direction he was experiencing from Lugus’ continued
absence.
But within days, he’d discovered Carys now lived here, and
even if he had been able to raise an army of bloodthirsty warriors from these
apathetic Britons, he refused to put Carys and her small family in such danger.
She was a link to his past and if he could believe her idealistic vision, she
and the many children she intended to have were the hope for the future.
As far as he knew, it was only the far north, beyond the
traitorous Brigantes whose queen who had sold Caratacus to the Romans, that
remained free of the empire. Perhaps it was there, among the fierce Pict tribes
and their advantageous mountainous land, that he would find a way to scrub the
bloodstained guilt from his soul.
He entered the villa and caught sight of Carys. She was
standing by a barely opened door that led into the atrium. When she saw him,
she put a finger to her lips and jerked her head.
His warrior instinct alert, he went to her side, his
equal ground without that unsettling whisper of elusive innocence she sometimes
favored.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
The tip of her tongue moistened the seam of her lips. Her
seductive timing was breathtaking. “This liaison must be brief for many
reasons, Gawain, but I would like to meet with you again tomorrow.”
He realized he was still staring at her mouth. He also
realized that he did not care. “That can be arranged.”
Her mouth curved into a smile of what looked relief. Except
of course, she’d known he would agree. Why would he not? He anticipated many
days of frenzied fucking with Antonia before he tired of her.
“I will meet you at the public baths at the ninth hour. Will
you be able to find us somewhere—suitable?” Her words were once again
breathless and he could almost believe she wasn’t used to making such illicit
assignations. Except she had not only initiated their second meeting she was
now dictating where it should take place.
Not that he had any objection. He’d enjoy the edge of danger
her request would entail. He had assumed Antonia would wish only to meet him
here, at Carys’, where they were assured of uninterrupted privacy but it
appeared her sense of adventure was greater than he’d given her credit for.
“As long as your delicate sensibilities can tolerate a
primitive tavern room then yes, I can easily find us somewhere.”
She smiled up at him, as though his gentle dig at her
patrician heritage didn’t disturb her in the slightest. Only then did it occur
to him that he still hadn’t retreated. That he still held her towel together at
her breasts.
“My delicate sensibilities can withstand more than you might
imagine.” Her hand covered his in an oddly intimate gesture. “I’m not made of
spun glass, Gawain.”
He laughed. Spun glass. Such a Roman term to use.
He’d seen fragile glass creations and Antonia was wrong. Compared to Druid
women she was, indeed, made of spun glass.
It was only when they finally pulled apart and Elpis
returned to help her mistress look presentable that an odd realization hit.
He had compared Antonia, a Roman noblewoman, with his Celtic
compatriots. And had not found her obvious deficiencies a source of disdain.
After Antonia left, Gawain bathed in the river that bordered
the estate. He’d used public baths in the past, but only in order to glean
information from arrogant Romans who discussed their affairs without a thought
that a native might understand their words, let alone act on them. He had never
used a Roman bath for pleasure and had no intention of ever doing so, no matter
how Carys mocked him for his fastidiousness.
As he made his way back to the villa, he took stock of his
situation. Staying in Camulodunon indefinitely had never been an option. When
he’d first entered the Roman city, it had been with the burning desire to
avenge the rape of Cymru, the betrayal of Caratacus and, obscurely, the
devastating loss of direction he was experiencing from Lugus’ continued
absence.
But within days, he’d discovered Carys now lived here, and
even if he had been able to raise an army of bloodthirsty warriors from these
apathetic Britons, he refused to put Carys and her small family in such danger.
She was a link to his past and if he could believe her idealistic vision, she
and the many children she intended to have were the hope for the future.
As far as he knew, it was only the far north, beyond the
traitorous Brigantes whose queen who had sold Caratacus to the Romans, that
remained free of the empire. Perhaps it was there, among the fierce Pict tribes
and their advantageous mountainous land, that he would find a way to scrub the
bloodstained guilt from his soul.
He entered the villa and caught sight of Carys. She was
standing by a barely opened door that led into the atrium. When she saw him,
she put a finger to her lips and jerked her head.
His warrior instinct alert, he went to her side, his
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