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  ‘Have you met my stepdaughter, my lord? Clodia, come forwards.’

  Shy, but willing to please her handsome stepfather, Clodia allowed herself to be presented to the new guests before going to stand beside her mother, as if to make way for Dora to endure the same formality. But it was her mother who reached out to draw that young lady to her side as if to shield her bulge from exposure. ‘And Theodora,’ she said, kindly, ‘stays with us until she can join her husband. Is it tomorrow he comes, my dear?’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ Dora whispered. ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Is he far away?’ Quintus asked.

  As if to pre-empt any gaffe on her part, Valens replied rather quickly. ‘Oh, Helm has his own rules,’ he said. ‘He goes about on family business. You’ll meet him.’

  Helm? The name struck Brighid with a sickening thud, reverberating around her head in a void while people mouthed words she did not hear. The cold chill returned to freeze her limbs, her face, her tongue, even her thoughts. Helm. Dora’s husband. His wife. His wife?

  ‘Princess?’ Quintus’s voice reached her from the far end of a tunnel, like a distant whisper. ‘What’s the matter?’

  The group had begun to move away along the path, chattering, leaving her with numbed legs and unfocused eyes. She began to feel nauseous and faint, but knew she must fight it. No one must know.

  ‘What is it, lass? Tell me.’ His arm and body steered her in the opposite direction, and she walked with him in a dream, willing one foot to move in front of the other like an invalid. A hard ball formed at the back of her throat, making her pant for breath like a stranded fish. ‘Tell me?’ he insisted.

  ‘I can’t. No … I can’t. Don’t ask me.’

  ‘I am asking you.’ When she could only shake her head, he took her arm and walked her along the pathway to the guesthouse where their room on the ground floor had its entrance under a covered walkway.

  It was peaceful enough for her to hear the heavy thump of her heart, to hear the creaking shift of her world, her plans, her future. What a fool she had been to think she could mark out her own destiny when men always held the upper hand. Keeping herself pure for him. Travelling hundreds of miles to seek him out. Forfeiting her dignity, her identity, her pride. This, of course, must have been the meaning of those warnings. Not for the Tribune, but for herself. Treachery. Betrayal. Her first time away from her father’s protection, and she’d been taken for a ride. Literally.

  So much for her prayers.

  One thing was certain, she must get away from here as soon as possible.

  He closed the door and stood by it, as if he knew. Waiting.

  Brighid stood in the middle of the room, not wanting to touch any part of it. ‘We have to go … no … I have to go. You must free me. I cannot stay. I’m sorry. I really cannot stay here. Those warnings were right.’ Spreading her hands, she looked around her at the tasteful prosperity, the high point of her material education. It had been for Helm she had transformed herself and he had married a shaven-headed slave, after all that. How he would laugh when he saw her.

  Unconsciously, her hands cupped her face, her eyes searching for a grain of sense. ‘What have you seen?’ he said. ‘Tell me what it is. Unless you tell me, I shall not be able to help. Is it him … Valens? Is it the girl … the slave? Being pregnant? Is it the husband? The one who comes and goes?’

  Her cry was muffled by her hands and she shook uncontrollably. ‘Just let me go,’ she whispered. ‘Please.’

  ‘Is this how Brigantian Princesses go on, then? They flee, do they, when the going gets rough? Would your father have been proud of that?’

  Her head jerked out of her hands at his question. ‘Would?’ she whispered. ‘Would? Then you know. You’ve known all along, yet you said nothing to me about it. You cared nothing about my loss. How could you do that? How could any man be so unfeeling?’ Her body tensed like a tightly coiled spring, her fists clenched.

  ‘Feelings don’t come into it. I’m being paid to find things out. It’s what I do. It didn’t suit my purpose to tell you, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s all,’ she spat at him, her green eyes flashing in anger. ‘How much more important does news have to be before you can forget how much you’re being paid, my lord? Do you have a heart somewhere in that fine chest of yours, or did you lose it along with your humanity?’ With a sob, she flung an arm into the air, stabbing with one finger. ‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You knew about Math, too, didn’t you? You almost said as much when you agreed to let him stay here with us. Tell me, my lord, what don’t you know?’

  By now, Quintus had arranged himself sideways on the couch to watch her ride out the storm, knowing that anything he could say in his defence, or by way of explanation, would be twisted out of all recognition. She had a point, but he was not inclined to concede it, suspecting how little love there had been between her and her father, and that her distress was more about his silence than about the losses she had suffered. ‘Of course I knew,’ he said. ‘What do you take me for? A green lad with cloth between his ears?’

  ‘Then you must have brought me all this way for a purpose, not for the reasons you gave me and not to warm your bed either. You’ve not had your money’s worth there, have you?’ she shouted.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ he said with a glance at the door.

  That was like a red rag to a bull, for the weight of her words lay in the volume as well as the content. ‘Nor will you!’ she roared at him, ignoring his command. ‘You want something for nothing … no! Get away … no … no! You were using me, weren’t you … to lead you to something … and like a fool …’ Snatching at a soft woollen coverlet, she hurled it, hoping to divert him, but he caught it and flung it aside as his other hand grabbed her wrist, twisting it behind her before she had time to evade him.

  Clamped hard against his chest, she was hoisted high into the air and dumped like a sack on to the wide couch and, without being allowed a moment to recover, she found herself pinned down by the weight of his body and the tight grasp of his hands. His grim expression warned her that she could expect no mercy and that, once he knew about Helm’s role in her life, her main reason for remaining chaste had gone. The requirements of potential slave-merchants had ceased to be a threat, for she knew his desire for her was on a tight leash, and this attempt to chasten her was only a short step away from her complete surrender. Held down with such force, there was nothing she could do but toss her head wildly from side to side and to kick like a furious mule. To no avail.

  ‘Now, barbarian, you can answer my questions,’ he growled, glaring into her eyes, his brows lowered like thunderclouds. ‘For a start, you can tell me about the man called Helm. The father-to-be. He’s the one you’re most upset about, isn’t he? The one who’s not so high in rank that he can marry a slave woman. Tell me about him.’

  To his astonishment, the lovely green eyes welled with tears as the helplessness of her situation overwhelmed her. The realisation that none of her schemes had worked was more than she could bear. Betrayal and disappointment flooded into her, along with the knowledge that she had lost control of her plans, her body and her heart, too. Yes, she would have gone with Helm if he’d been free, choosing security over an uncertain future. But now her heart was no longer hers to give. Sobs racked her and gobbled up her attempt at words, her face contorted by the pain of failure.

  The merciless grip on her wrists slackened and, though she could not see, the steely eyes piercing hers softened with concern. Taking a fistful of her linen gown, he wiped her eyes and pushed damp strands of her hair aside, shocked by the vehemence of her distress. Here was something he’d not anticipated. Had she given her heart to this man? Was that it?

  ‘I have to go,’ she sobbed. ‘You must let me go now.’

  ‘Shh! You’re going nowhere,’ he replied, harshly. ‘You hoped to find him here, didn’t you?’

  She nodded, too confused to deny it.

  ‘He’s the one who came to seek
your hand, then disappeared again.’

  Another nod.

  ‘So who told you he’d be here at Watercombe?’

  ‘Math.’

  ‘Ah, Max. The brother with divided loyalties. Well, he’s not been as much use to you as you’d hoped, has he? I suppose this Helm would recognise him?’

  ‘Yes. How did you know … about him … seeking my hand?’

  ‘I’m asking the questions. But you may as well know that I was using you to lead me to him. He’s high on the Emperor’s “wanted” list. Now we only have to wait for him to appear, ostensibly to visit his wife. Did you and he form an attachment while he was visiting your father? Did you spend time together? Alone?’

  If there was a hint of envy in his tone, she did not recognise it. ‘We exchanged no words. I saw him, that’s all. And he saw me. My father did not keep me informed.’ Angrily recalling those events, she pushed a tear from her cheek. ‘And you need not think we became lovers. He can marry as many women as he likes, but no honourable man takes a princess as his second wife after a slave girl, for anyone can see that’s what she was. And if my father had known, he’d have thrown him halfway across the moor for his impertinence. We have our pride, Roman.’

  ‘So I’ve discovered. Well, Helm won’t be too pleased when he discovers that you’re now my woman, will he? He’s in for a shock there.’

  ‘I’m not your woman!’ she snarled, though the edge was taken off its effectiveness by a sob catching at her breath.

  ‘Then I shall be putting that right in the very near future,’ he said. ‘For which I have the contemptible Helm to thank.’

  ‘He was not the keeper of my virginity, sir!’ she retorted, hotly.

  ‘No? Just coincidence, was it? You’re not too good at deception, are you, lass? And your anger is all about being used when you thought you were pulling the strings. I doubt you’ve shed one tear for your father since you discovered his fate, not the way you grieved for your maid. Eh?’

  ‘My losses have been great, my lord.’

  ‘Then stop thinking about them and put your mind to how best we can make use of the situation,’ he countered, callously.

  Stung by his lack of sympathy, she turned her head aside. ‘No woman of status likes to be told that she’s being used,’ she whispered, ‘even when she’s being given in marriage. Why do you pursue Helm? Has he commited some crime?’

  ‘He’s an ambitious chieftain’s son,’ he said, sliding to one side of her, ‘with high ideals about putting a British king on the throne. That’s why he contacted your father, hoping for an alliance that would provide men and funds. It has to be nipped in the bud, or we shall have yet another revolution on our hands.’

  ‘I see,’ she said, attempting to roll away to the other side of the couch. But Quintus bridged his arm across her, scooping her back to him and settling her under him once again.

  ‘So,’ he said, grimly, ‘if you’re thinking of warning him.’

  ‘Why would I do that?‘ she retorted, trying again to push herself away. ‘I owe him no allegiance.’

  ‘You kept your virginity for him though, despite what you say.’

  She lay still, looking up into his eyes, hard as marble, and troubled. ‘You harp on that string at great length, Roman. Why not put your mind to how best you can make use of the situation?’ Mimicking him, she realised as soon as the words were out that he would place a different construction on the advice.

  His hand moved softly over her breast, cupping the perfect fullness and sending a shudder of excitement into her thighs. ‘Excellent advice,’ he whispered.

  After her struggles, her gown had slipped off one shoulder, almost exposing the breast beneath, the proud nipple just below the surface inviting his touch. Her attempt to hold him off stood no chance against the power of his great shoulders and, as her body arched, she felt his teeth pull down the fabric, taking her into his mouth like a greedy infant, and all she saw was the side of his handsome head and feel the tender assault that sent hot waves of yearning into her deepest parts. She cried out, helpless against his strength and the sensation, against her longing for him and his love, emotions that engulfed her in surge after surge, holding her weightless and whimpering. She touched his hair, sinking her fingers deep into the silky mass as he moved to her other breast to begin suckling again while his hand slipped between her thighs into that place she had denied him only yesterday. This time, they parted for him without persuasion, all sensations merging into one, all signs of danger suspended.

  Tenderly, his fingers explored, touching and fondling, and this time there was no reasoning in her to stop him, only the breathtaking revelation that, after this, life could never be the same without him. But it was Quintus himself who could tell how close she was to capitulation when she whispered typical words of contradiction that meant, he believed, that he must relieve her of all responsibility. ‘No … no, my lord!’

  ‘Shh!’ he said, softly. ‘Time has run out on you, my beauty. I know why you’ve been keeping yourself chaste and I have aided you although it went against all my needs. But he doesn’t deserve you and I do; before you meet him tomorrow, you’ll belong to me in every way. I shall risk no misunderstandings about that. Now, we have to go and eat with the rest of them. We have some plans to make.’

  His hand withdrew like a warm shadow, leaving her aching, wanting him, trembling with emptiness. His kiss was hard, demanding her obedience, and she put up no argument against his determination to solve the problems in his own way. Which, she thought, cynically, must have been what he intended all along. Not for one moment did she believe that his heart had softened towards her, or he would hardly talk of deserving her, would he?

  Chapter Nine

  Having stepped out of one set of problems straight into another, Brighid turned her immediate attention to the new suite of rooms in which their belongings were being unpacked and arranged. There was nothing for it now, she realised, but to accept the circumstances with a good grace and not to do anything that would make the difficult situation any worse. Perhaps, after all, she had underestimated the Tribune’s ability to be in command of every detail, just as she had misjudged the loyalty of the love-struck Florian. She should have heeded his warning.

  But without labouring the point, Quintus was not unaware that her assessment of him was at this moment being revised and that a new respect, and perhaps trust, would help to oil the wheels of their ambiguous relationship. Certainly he needed no one’s permission to do as he wished with his own property, but the Princess was no ordinary woman and theirs was no ordinary alliance, nor was he the kind of man to take what he wanted from a woman without due consideration, even though some kind of drastic action was called for to prevent Helm believing she was still a good prize, worth a sudden abduction. It was a callous and calculated reason for taking a woman’s virginity, to prevent someone else from doing the same, but Quintus was a soldier with a soldier’s methods. If it would divert her mind from whatever Helm had to offer and bind her to him instead, it would have gone some way to solving that particular problem. He could then dispose of the lad according to his Emperor’s orders and get on with his other investigations. The pregnant slave Dora could hardly be counted as either a help or a hindrance, Quintus thought, when there were all kinds of reasons why Helm had not declared his previous marriage to Brighid’s father. Perhaps it was not a true marriage at all. Who knows what these chieftain’s sons got up to away from home?

  They took a mid-day meal al fresco on their private terrace during which Quintus handed out instructions on what not to say or do, this being an unknown set of circumstances calling for some caution. To young Math, his command was that he should stay out of sight of both Valens and, when he arrived, Helm, too. The revelation that his identity had been known to the Tribune for some time was a source of embarrassment to him. ‘Yes, sir, if you say so,’ he said. ‘But I was to have been my sister’s personal companion.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Things have c
hanged. I know more now than I did then. You will stay behind the scenes or return to Aquae Sulis. I don’t want you being identified. It can only complicate matters. The Princess will be escorted at all times either by me personally, or by Tullus and Lucan, or by you two guards.’

  The two burly guards nodded agreeably, their faces now revealed as rugged, deeply lined and as concerned as two favourite uncles. Devoid of their armour plating, scrubbed and dressed in brown tunics, they were no longer threatening.

  ‘You don’t trust Valens, then?’ said Lucan.

  Quintus’s eyes were half-closed against the sun as he watched distant figures wander along the terraces, and his frown was no more than a shadow across his brow. ‘A man of his standing is unlikely to take a local tribesman as his personal friend unless there’s something in it for him, and I want to know what it is. I doubt he’s going to offer us an explanation.’

  ‘Won’t Helm wish to speak to the Princess in private, once he recognises her?’ said Tullus. ‘If you don’t allow that, we’re losing a chance to discover what he’s doing here, aren’t we?’

  ‘I admit that he’ll want to know what the Princess is up to, but I doubt he’ll explain his presence here, except to visit his wife. There has to be more than a simple friendship between him and Valens,’ Quintus said, wiping a hand across his jaw, ‘some business or other. One way to find out is through the woman who’s expecting his child. I wonder if you,’ he said, looking at Brighid, ‘might try to get to know her better.’

  ‘Do you indeed, my lord?’ she said, fixing him with a murderous glare. ‘You’d like me to offer her my friendship, would you? You astonish me.’

  Quintus countered the look, then his slow blink swept over Florian, Math, Lucan and Tullus before coming to rest on the two genial guards, whose participation had begun to take on a new interest. ‘You two, come with me,’ he said, rising. ‘A word in your ears.’

  ‘No need to go,’ said Brighid. ‘I’ve heard enough. You stay here while I go in to make a scalding hot plaster for your leg.’