Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends, Book 1) (24 page)

“They are the
Smertae
,” he said.

“Are the
Smertae
our friend or enemy?” I asked.

“They are sometimes friend, sometimes enemy. The others that rode past us this morning were
Cornavii
. The number of horses and men of
Smertae
are down by more than half.”

That meant their men were gone too. “Did they fight in a battle?”

He shook his head. “Not here. I’ve been tracking the
Smertae
. They’ve traveled in our same direction. Soon, we’ll meet up with them all.”

“Including Velloc?” I asked.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes. Velloc will be there.”

Rather than pepper him with questions on how he knew everyone would be there, or what he expected to find when we arrived, I let the discussion settle. The man of little conversation had offered more information in one exchange than on our whole journey thus far.

The tribal names rang an academic bell. Ptolemy’s ancient and begrudged map—thanks to the Roman geographer torquing the top half of Scotland onto its ear—had listed them all. Hearing the names gave greater meaning to our northerly location.

“Talorcan, what is our tribe called?”

“
Caereni
,” he said.

Caereni
. Mental gears fell into place right as he spoke the word. The sheep people—herders.

As silence wrapped around us like a comfortable blanket, my stomach growled. Brilliant Isobel hadn’t thought to pack food. At least we’d found abundant clean water sources, enabling me to save my filled waterskin for emergency use.

We journeyed across rocky mountainous terrain, around tributaries and streams, and through dense and sparse forests. Gloaming dusted the clouded sky in hues of gray and midnight blue as Talorcan led us up a steep rise. The air chilled as we dismounted to survey the landscape from the top of the ridge.

When we reached the crest, the magnitude of what we saw ahead robbed me of my next breath. A massive invading army pressed through the southeastern
Highlands, its metal scales undulating like a dragon stretching from head to tail before its next meal. Soldiers made camp across the land as far as my eye could see . . . numbering in the tens of thousands.

The unfolding historical event gave me my first solid time stamp for the period. The Roman army had marched into the
Highlands in the later part of the first century, with true military campaigns happening from around AD 80 to 84. The Roman governor Agricola’s battle occurred around AD 83 or 84. What scarred the expanse of ground ahead had to be his army or a close predecessor. Tacitus, the venerated historian for the Romans, had called Picts . . . Caledonians.

A hand on my wrist yanked me from my awestruck historical reflection back into the reality. Talorcan led us with haste back to the horses. We rode them as hard as the difficult terrain would allow, skirting exposure along the ridge, picking our way down to the shelter of wooded areas between the legions of soldiers and our recent overlook.

Darkness fully fell by the time we reached a more dense cover of trees. The shroud of thick foliage brought forth an entirely new adventure. Varied animal calls that cried and howled into the night in random intervals became a tribal roll call. I identified ours for the first time when Talorcan replied to a shout-out.

In the span of a few slow breaths, shadows materialized from the night, surrounding us. I recognized the men from our tribe but remained on horseback, scanning their faces, searching for Velloc.

Our gazes locked at the same moment. By the time I slid from my horse, I landed within his hard embrace. We stood there for an eternity, tightening our hold and gently releasing, inhaling each other. Velloc gripped me against his chest, our heartbeats falling into sync.

Talorcan tethered the horses. In hushed tones, he regaled the tribesmen with all we’d seen along our travels. The quiet chatter faded with the men into the night, leaving me alone with Velloc.

He pulled back, tilted his head, and crashed into my lips with a hard, possessive kiss. Our hungry mouths fought for supremacy. His hands roamed across my back, around my hips, and up my chest, tugging at fabric until his callused fingers touched my skin. I cried out softly when he pinched my nipple, my hand dropping to the heavy bulge in his leather pants. Nimble fingers tore through the laces, releasing his hardened shaft. I caught it in my hand, stroking once from base to tip. He growled low against my neck.

Velloc backed me into a tree, pinning me. The fur hanging from my shoulders protected my back from the rough bark. He ran his hands down my thighs, squatting slowly as he pulled the deerskin pants to my ankles.

I couldn’t see anything . . . but felt everything.

Hot breath fogged the sensitive skin at the juncture between my thighs. A single lick made me gasp. His lips and tongue assaulted the throbbing nerve center, sucking hard. My hand flew over my mouth to muffle a scream I couldn’t harness. He growled, vibrations inciting a riot against the tender flesh, and I moaned as a deep ache filled my depths.

Velloc shot up and pressed into me, stepping inside my bound ankles. Firm hands gripped under my thighs, lifting my hips. I clamped my legs around his waist, and in a fluid movement, he impaled me. I bit down on my lip, drawing coppery-tasting blood as I silenced a scream.

Deliberate thrusts met curving hips. Every movement pulled him ever deeper inside. The primal coupling fired my arousal toward total meltdown as a devastating ache consumed me. I moaned, hovering over the brink, each slight movement taunting a climax just out of reach.

Velloc’s hands gripped my ass, pulling me hard into his forceful plunge. I hissed at the intensity. Ache turned nearly unbearable until a single spasm lit me up—causing my loud gasp—then detonated, exploding through every nerve ending. My body jerked forward, and I threw my face into the fur on his shoulder, burying my scream.

He staked his claim, driving harder, while erotic pulses spiraled through me, firing hotter. My every exhalation came with a low moan in utter pleasure. I gripped his shoulders as he hardened and swelled further. He gasped, his body going rigid. On a low growl he gave a final thrust, his release overtaking him. He slowly dropped his face into the crook of my neck.

Time stopped. Breaths panted. Pulses raced.

We simply clung to each other, actions speaking in wordless beauty our desire: we never wanted to let go.

Reunited in body and spirit, my heart ached as it rejoiced. I pressed my lips to his ear. Not another minute would be wasted on my twisted journey. With no guarantee of a tomorrow, whispered words tumbled from my lips sent from the depths of my soul.

“I love you, Velloc.”

My words were spoken in English, but he knew. Heavy emotion misted around us through our hearts, binding our souls. The small phrase culminated our experience with meaning so vast, it stretched to the ends of the glittering night sky.

Commotion behind Velloc prompted him to drop me. His hands shot up as an afterthought, grabbing my shoulders so I didn’t land on my ass. Animal calls from the tribes fired out, one after another. Velloc tugged my arm once then released it, running off. I quickly fastened my pants and bolted after him, a waning gibbous moon casting plenty of silvery light to guide my way.

Every movement Velloc made, I copied. We traveled in the shadows of trees, darting from trunk to trunk. A gathering of hundreds of men from dozens of tribes rippled under the cover of night. I hugged into Velloc’s side, slipping my hand in his. He grasped it firmly, squeezing.

Most of the men had stripped their bodies, baring inked symbols on their skin in armored protection by their gods. Many, like Velloc, had brass or golden torques around their necks.

Velloc dropped his skins and fur at the base of the tree behind me. He lifted his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks gently. “Stay here, Isobel. Find a place to hide. Our return will be quick.” Velloc said the words in hushed tones, sealing his promise with a passionate kiss.

I nodded, agreeing. Before my next blink, he vanished, and everyone disappeared into the night.

CHAPTER
Twenty-four

The field around me, littered with molted skins off the backs of all the tribesmen, hadn’t been completely abandoned. Talorcan, my former guide, and two men from other tribes remained. They all stalked after their counterparts to watch. In the darkest part of the night, the Romans were about to get a very unwelcomed awakening.

I grinned. The archaeological historian in me didn’t want to sit out on all the fun either. The protective company seemed like a heaven-sent favor as we followed to observe history.

We snuck up the rise of a hill and all became clear. Down the opposing slope, our tribesmen crept closer to their prey by hiding behind trees and scrub. My elevation afforded a panoramic, moonlit view.

An entire Roman legion camped in small groups along the other side of a North Sea inlet. Flickering lights illuminated their supply ship anchored offshore. The second sighting of Roman soldiers blew my now-habitually blown mind. Their bold exposure in the wide open stated the confidence they had. I smiled. Only fools boast before an unknown enemy, and they had no idea their adversary followed no rules of warfare.

We had a commanding vantage point of the unfolding scene. My fingers gripped the alligatored bark of a pine tree as I peered around its wide trunk. Three Roman soldiers scouted the fringes of their encampment, one squinting toward our location. My fingers instinctively flew to the blade strapped to my thigh. The hard wooden handle grazed the palm of my hand, soothing my anxiety.

A hawk’s cry marked the start of the raid. Subtle movements occurred at the corner points and sides of the nearest encampment as our tribesmen seized upon unguarded fronts.

Like water spilling over a cliff, a silent river of men descended, incapacitated, and pirated. One soldier had his throat slit. Another was stabbed from behind. A spear flew through the air, piercing an unarmored chest. Every tent was entered and exited without incident. A single Roman let loose a shout seconds before being silenced with two daggers to his lungs. Several soldiers turned heel and ran, only to be chased down by their Pict attackers. The entire scuffle ended before it began.

Neighboring fires marked the location of the rest of the Roman legion. I searched for a sign of retaliation, but I saw no reaction. No alarm had been sounded. The space between camps must have appeared smaller than actual size. The Roman’s loss of men and weapons wouldn’t be discovered until later, morning perhaps.

The action slowed as Picts scoured the soldiers’ bodies and belongings for loot. A few Picts led dozens of plundered horses into our forested protection.

Images whirled in my head. My memory banks imprinted a beautiful firsthand account of an undocumented event. Too distant to see or smell any of the bloodshed, the violence left me unfazed. Were it not for the cold breeze feathering across my arms and the scent of smoke from the fires, I would’ve thought I’d watched a well-choreographed movie scene.

All of a sudden, a dark shadow crossed my vision. I gasped as hard arms clamped around me from behind, pinning my hands to my thighs. The man in front stepped closer, and the stench from their unwashed bodies made me gag. A large, blond-bearded man lifted my ponytail and sniffed it, holding it between filthy fingers.

“Ahhh, look vhat vhe found: a fehr, golden-haired beauty dressed like zhe zavages. Are you zheir prisoner?” He spoke English in a thick, Germanic accent.

No, master-of-the-obvious. I’m yours.
The man held his mouth inches away, suffocating me with his putrid breath. He crushed his offensive mouth on mine in a disgusting, bruising kiss. I bit down hard on his lip.

“Bitch! You’re vild
like all zhe heazhen Caledonians. Let’s zee just how vild you ahr.” He tore at the cloth covering my breasts.

I spit on his face, struggling in the vice-grip hold of his friend. My jailor shifted his hands up my arms, thinking it gained him more control over his prisoner. With my hands unbound, I gripped the handle of the short sword strapped to my thigh. I unsheathed and plunged the blade into the thigh of the man behind me. He screamed, releasing his hold.

I pulled the weapon out, reached up, and slashed forward. My forceful side arc met flesh, ripping through the midsection of the soldier below the lone armor over his chest.

A foot swept my ankle from behind, and I toppled sideways to the ground. My attacker jumped on me, his hand clamping onto my wrist, his body pinning me down. His weight shifted over my chest, pressing the air from my lungs, making me work for every cubic inch of oxygen.

With crushing force, his hand squeezed my wrist until blinding pain forced me to drop the sword. Colored dots spotted my vision while he wedged my legs apart, his hips snaking his body between them. A hard erection pressed into my groin. The brute drew his weight off, brought a hand down, and yanked my pants down to mid thigh.

As he fumbled with the front of his clothing, my freed lungs gasped for air, firing more oxygen to my brain to think. No amount of wriggling bought me enough leeway to reach the discarded blade or the ax strapped to my ankle. With my legs pinned and his weighted leverage, I couldn’t even bring a knee to his groin. I bucked and squirmed, trying to gain breathing space any way I could, until a pressure at my entrance stopped me, fearing any more movement would only further his cause, not mine.

I sucked in a lungful of air and ripped out a piercing scream. My attacker went rigid. He gasped and fell forward. A wooden spear protruded from his back at a low, sideways angle. Dead weight collapsed onto my chest, knocking the wind out of me. Again.

The body was dragged off, and strong arms lifted me from the ground. I stared into Velloc’s wide, wild eyes. He banded his arms around me, hugging me so hard I found it difficult to breathe for the third time. Though, nothing in the world, not even the need for oxygen, would’ve had me push his loving protection away.

Velloc released me. His quick, thorough hands skimmed my body, moving clothing aside, confirming I hadn’t been harmed. He pulled my pants up and fastened them. Suddenly exhausted, I rested my forehead on his broad chest, encased in his protective hold, just breathing.

His finger lifted my chin, forcing me to look up into eyes shadowed by deeply furrowed brows. “Isobel, did he .
 . . did they . . .”

My heavy blinks moistened eyes dry from a shock-filled stupor. I shook my head.

On a slow exhalation, I pressed trembling hands into Velloc’s lower back, clinging to him. Disturbing, gruesome images tortured my mind like a broken record, the scene replaying against my will. I’d killed a man—
disemboweled him
. Another died
on
me. The repulsive, metallic scent of blood mixed with other putrid odors assaulted my nostrils.

I spun around, gripping Velloc’s forearm, pulling us away from the stench of death. With deep breaths, I sucked in every cool, fresh lungful of air possible. He ran a hand up my arm, spreading his comforting touch across my shoulders. His quiet strength held me together like the binding of a book.

Without warning, I doubled over, dry heaving over a patch of barren ground at the base of a tree. My empty stomach clenched in protest. Velloc’s hands rubbed up and down the length of my back, his voice murmuring soothing, unintelligible words. After a few minutes, I stood again, leaning into his side, feeling a yellowed shade of green.

The sounds of horses nickering and snorting increased as his tribesmen came forward, leading our animals. I moved toward
Malibu. Velloc pulled me back and lifted me up onto his horse instead. Through distant eyes, I looked down as someone handed him my cleaned weapon. He sheathed it in my scabbard before mounting his horse behind me. Exhausted and thankful for the reprieve, I closed my eyes and leaned back into his solid, warm chest.

Rapid movement jerked me awake. Velloc’s arms tensed around me, easing when I settled back into his hold. I absently watched the shadowed scenery blur by. We galloped the same way Talorcan and I had traveled. Velloc worked his horse forward through the group.

When we reached the front position, Velloc leaned away, speaking in low tones to Sennian, his second in command. Sennian nodded, and the commander changed our course to the left, separating the
Caereni
from the dozen or so other tribes.

Several hundred strong, we picked our way through densely woven forest, galloped across shallow streams, and traversed rocky terrain. The pace slowed as we climbed up a steep, rocky slope in a northerly direction.

Sennian halted, letting out a low whistle. Two scouts appeared on either side of us. They rode forward, one at a time, through the mouth of a narrow chasm, its sheer gray walls stretching up to the night sky. One of them returned.

“The passage is clear,” he said.

Our scout led the way. Velloc held his stallion back until dozens had funneled into the narrow opening. My breaths shortened as we entered. Walls ascended on either side until they vanished into darkness. The channel we squeezed through stretched eight feet across at its most-tapered point. Dead-calm air and the echoing hoofbeats added to the claustrophobic nightmare. Even the horses showed their anxiety, heads pulling back, tails swishing, muscles tensing. They hated the confinement as much as we did.

After what seemed like an hour, but likely only a tense fifteen minutes, we emerged from the natural bottleneck. The line of animals ahead of us wove through boulders half-buried in the grass-covered earth. I look
ed around at the moonlit scenery as we followed their lead.

The group meandered along the perimeter slope of the mountain until a small stream cut across our path. We changed direction to follow the flow, the snowmelt leading us down from the mountain to where it fed into a long, narrow loch. Sennian led us around the shoreline until an area opened up between the forest and the water large enough to accommodate our party.

Velloc dismounted and pulled me down into his arms. Numbness occupied the space between my ears as I let my man take charge.

Four men stayed mounted. They rode off in opposite directions, two to the west and two to the east, skirting the water’s edge. Safety remained a top priority, and the mood remained tense and alert.

While we waited for the patrols to return, others collected firewood, dropping gathered branches into a pile next to a sizable fire already taking shape. Minutes later, our security system returned, giving us a measure of peace for the moment. Then all four men took off again, presumably to stand guard at our flanks.

I stared out over the loch. The glassy surface appeared inky black, the setting moon behind us casting a shimmer over its peaceful surface. Churning happened beneath the calm, though. Outside tributaries secretly flowed beneath the vast watershed we’d traveled through. A shiver raced down my spine in response to a reaction that had nothing to do with the cold night temperature. Attentive to my needs, Velloc added his fur to the one already wrapped around my shoulders.

Rabbit, pheasant, and legs from what looked like several deer were brought out by the fire, skewered, and rotated on spits made from nearby branches. My mouth watered. Apples, pears, quinces, dates, and other exotic fruits were brought out and passed around; the raid had yielded more than stealing horses and winning a small battle against a large, advancing enemy.

I wriggled my hips between Velloc’s bent legs, nestling further back into his embrace. We sat on a gently sloping flat boulder as the men regaled each other with tales of the success they’d achieved only hours before. A sense of home and family surrounded me. Velloc tightened his hold, crossing his hands over my knees. I rested my cheek on his forearm, watching the orange tips of the flames snap into the air.

“Velloc, what brought you down to the Roman army?”

He nuzzled his lips against my ear, kissing it lightly. “A scout from a southern Pict tribe came to us, warning of the invaders coming north. We went down there to assess the situation, bringing most of our men. Larger tribes sent only part of their forces. Our combined group was only one of several raiding parties all across the enemy line. We attacked to ascertain their weaknesses before we regroup and return again. You call them .
 . . Roman?”

I nodded. “Yes. The Roman army comes from a land far away .
 . . over the ocean. They attempt to conquer the world.”