Celtic Fire Part 26

"I suggest a shave and bath before you fall into her bed, Luc," Demetrius said, chuckling.

Lucius half turned as he shepherded Rhiannon out of the chamber. "As always, Magister, I bow to your wisdom."

The healer let out a bark of laughter. "Begone, boy. I'll tend your son while you tend your woman." He waggled his bristly brows. "Make your ancestors proud."

Lucius moved his hands over Rhiannon's body, dipping into her gentle curves and exploring her sleek, muscled limbs through the soft fabric of her tunic. The feel of her spun through his soul like an intoxicating fire. It would consume him, leaving little more than ash, but he no longer cared.

With Rhiannon in his arms he felt alive in a way he'd never before experienced: more vital than dawn, his mind sharper than the instant before a battle horn sounded. When he looked at the world through her eyes, the narrow path of his life split open. A myriad of possibilities spread out at his feet, each choice glittering like a gem. The expectations heaped upon him at birth faded. With Rhiannon by his side he would have the courage to become the man he longed to be, not the figurehead tradition and family demanded.

He nuzzled her breast.

She tried to push him away. "Lucius! Someone will see."

No doubt. They stood on the upper pa.s.sageway in full view of anyone who might venture into the courtyard. Dawn's light painted the sky in shades of rose and violet. After the long, dark hours shut in Marcus's chamber, its effect on Lucius was like that of a drug.

"If some curious eye cares to watch, let it," he said, "as long as Marcus and Demetrius are safely occupied." He buried his face in her hair, inhaling her scent-mist and flowers underlaid with the fiery musk of her arousal. He could hardly wait to lose himself inside her. But where? The chamber adjoining his own? No. He would not let Demetrius amuse himself by listening. On the stair?

Lucius was envisioning the possibilities when Rhiannon swatted his arm. "I a.s.sure you, Lucius, I will care if someone watches."

He toyed with her braid, plucking off the binding cord and separating the strands. "I want you, Rhiannon." He drew back and met her gaze. "I need you. Now."

He heard the soft hitch in her breathing, saw the light in her expression that quickly overlaid a flash of pain. Her hand drifted from his neck to his face, where her fingers sc.r.a.ped the stubble on his jaw. Her gaze darted to the courtyard, the tiles, the sky-anywhere but toward his eyes.

His urgency dimmed, but his determination increased. She had a right to fear him-he'd taken her in the forest like a green soldier pumping a wh.o.r.e. Perhaps she was afraid he'd do so again.

He swept her into his arms and strode toward the stairs. She clung to his neck. "My chamber lies in the opposite direction."

"I know," he said, taking the steps to the lower level two at a time.

When he halted before the door to the bathing rooms, Rhiannon looked up at him, confused. "Tribune Vetus-"

"Fled the house when Marcus fell ill," Lucius informed her. "He's ordered Brennus out of his private room in the barracks."

A shadow flitted across Rhiannon's face. "I doubt the quartermaster will take kindly to such an imposition."

"He has little choice unless he wishes to share his bed with the man." He snorted. "Vetus might enjoy that arrangement."

"What do you mean?"

"The tribune prefers men to women."

Rhiannon's eyes went wide. "For coupling? I've never heard of such a thing."

"It's common enough in Rome."

"Oh." She frowned. "Have you ever-"

"By Pollux! No."

He shouldered open the door to the baths. No slave boy slept in the antechamber, and Lucius was glad of it. He set Rhiannon on her feet. "Stay here. I'll return in but a moment."

Tepid water filled the bathing pool. In the furnace room, the fire that had heated Demetrius's bath water burned low. Lucius stirred the coals and stoked the reborn fire with logs from the wood pile.

He returned to the antechamber, half afraid Rhiannon might have fled. She hadn't. She'd taken a seat on a low stone bench in the changing alcove. He paced slowly toward her. She watched as he advanced, shifting her thighs on the bench in a way that made him wonder if she were already slick with wanting.

The thought pleased him immensely. By returning to the fort-even if concern for Marcus had been her first motive-she'd shown that she knew to whom she belonged. He resolved now to erase her last remnants of fear and bind her to him completely. From this moment forward, her loyalty to him would outweigh her sense of duty to her countrymen. She would lead him to Aulus's murderers and his brother's ghost would rest at last.

He dropped to his knees before her and loosened the leather ties on her shoes. He slid them from her feet and set them aside. He caressed one small foot, then the other, before his hand drifted to the hem of her tunic.

He slid his hands beneath the linen and stroked her calves with his palms. He kneaded the smooth skin, softening the taut muscles beneath. Her golden gaze heated as his hand moved higher. Her tunic bunched as he went, hiding his arms and hands. He teased the tender flesh at the back of her knees and the inside of her thighs. She let out a soft sigh and parted her legs.

When his fingers grazed the tight curls guarding her s.e.x, she braced her hands on his shoulders and went very still. As he'd suspected, she was soft and wet. Her dew slicked his finger and he stroked deep, gathering it as if it were honey.

"You give me a king's welcome," he said. He stroked again, earning a gasp as he delved deeper. Her fingernails bit into his flesh.

He chuckled. "Do you like that, my love?"

"You mock me," she whispered. "You know that I do."

He lifted her tunic higher, baring her stomach, and swirled his tongue into the sweet indentation of her navel. Her hips arched. He seized the opportunity to glide the rear portion of her hem beneath her b.u.t.tocks. "Raise your arms."

She obeyed, and he slipped the garment over her head. It fell to the floor in a languid flutter. But when she reached for him, he stopped her with another order. "Keep your hands above your head, clasped."

Once again, she obeyed without question. He sat back on his heels and drank in the sight of her. She sat before him, arms raised and legs parted, gloriously naked and more beautiful than Venus. Her unbound tresses were curls of flame that licked at one breast and covered the other. The taut peaks of those perfect mounds thrust forward invitingly. He imagined her budded nipples as ripe cherries, ready for the harvester's hand. Or mouth. He dipped his head and tasted one, then the other.

She abandoned her seductive pose to thread her fingers through his hair, urging him closer. He drew harder on her nipple. Her thighs opened. He felt one slim leg, then the other, rise to encircle his hips. Her boldness pleased him. She'd been so hesitant that first night, as if she'd never taken the initiative in lovemaking before. Perhaps she hadn't.

He left her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, inhaled a ragged breath, and moved lower, painting a trail with his tongue across her creamy skin. He buried his face in her belly and kissed her navel, then drew back and blew a cool stream of air across her wet skin.

She made a sound in her throat like the coo of a dove. He licked lower, lapping, then blowing across the path he'd traced with hot bursts of breath. Rhiannon squirmed, trying to lift her hips. He eased her legs from his waist and opened her completely, holding her thighs and keeping her bottom firmly anch.o.r.ed to the cool stone. He nuzzled her curls and inhaled a scent more intoxicating than wine. She'd guessed where his path was leading, for she clutched his hair in her fingers and tried to guide him lower.

He resisted, drawing another moan from her lips. "Lucius ..." She all but tore the hair from his head.

He chuckled. "Have a care, sweet. Unless you prefer a bald lover." He licked a wet path along the upper edge of her Venus mound. He kissed the hooded place where her pleasure lay-once, twice, then again. "I'll give a thousand kisses, then another hundred," he whispered.

Her hips strained against his hands, inviting him in. A magnificent invitation, but one he wasn't yet ready to accept. He wanted her begging. Delirious. So stricken with need that she would never leave him. She would surrender to him at last, and if he could not quite subdue the niggling voice that told him she would never be completely his own, he could at least pretend he didn't hear it.

She tossed her head from side to side as he parted her sweet folds and kissed her again. "And yet a thousand kisses more." Withdrawing, he blew short puffs of air across her sensitized flesh, then turned his attention to the tender ivory skin of her inner thighs.

She groaned in protest, a low throaty growl that hardened his rod almost past bearing.

"Lucius-" Her tone was no longer breathless but demanding.

He laid his cheek against her thigh and circled one finger about her entrance. "Do you like this, I wonder?"

Her answer was a sharp intake of breath.

"No? Perhaps this, then?" He flicked his tongue gently over the exquisitely soft skin covering the swell at the opening of her sheath, then caught the tight bud between his lips and suckled.

Her cry rang off the tiles. Her fingernails dug into his nape. Triumph raced through him. No other before him had made her scream with pleasure; he was certain of it. No other after him would get the opportunity to try.

"Dear Briga. Lucius ..."

He drew back until his touch on her was no more than the tantalizing movement of his breath across her swollen folds. "This?"

"No." She surprised him by slipping out from beneath his hands as easily as a water nymph. Before he could react she was behind him, pressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to his back and encircling his torso with her arms. She reached beneath his tunic and took hold of his rod. Her fingers stroked his length.

"Do you like this?" she said, giving his words back to him.

"By the G.o.ds!"

"No? Then perhaps ..." She gripped his flesh in her hand and stroked upward.

"You are a vixen."

Her laughter fell on his ear like music. She danced away, her golden eyes flashing with mirth. He caught her by the arm, pulled her back to him, and lifted her in his arms. In two long strides he carried her through the door that led to the bathing room.

He descended the tiled steps. Rhiannon let out a sigh as the water lapped at her legs. Lucius lowered her onto the top step and reached for the flask set in a nearby niche.

"So warm," she murmured. "Like a dream."

He tipped a generous amount of fragrant oil into his hand and rubbed his palms together, generating heat. He anointed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, tracing circles around her areolas. She melted into his touch with a sigh.

He ma.s.saged the balm on her shoulders, stomach, legs. When he would have delved into more intimate places, Rhiannon shook her head and eased the bottle from his hands.

"Let me return your attentions."

Her fingers fluttered over his biceps, spreading the oil onto his skin. She ma.s.saged a trail over his shoulders and chest, a gentle siege before which he lay helpless. The tension of the last few days seeped away. In its place another, more pleasurable tension grew.

Her eyes glinted as she scrutinized his arousal. It crested the water's surface between her legs, dangerously close to her russet curls. She looked up at him and smiled. "Lie back."

He did as she commanded, spreading his arms on the edge of the pool, enjoying his pa.s.sivity. She continued her ministrations, ma.s.saging oil onto his chest and stomach as he had done with her, sliding down his body with hands and lips. How far did she dare go? Antic.i.p.ation coiled tightly as he watched her progress through half-closed eyelids.

Hot breath bathed his rod. She looked up at him, eyes glittering, the tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s just cresting the water. "Would you like this?" she murmured.

"Very much."

Her mouth closed on him and all sense of time stopped. The bathing room faded. There was only Rhiannon, until he could bear it no more.

He grasped her shoulders and hauled her into his arms. Shining rivulets cascaded over her skin to fall like raindrops on the water's surface. He pressed a kiss on her neck and eased her into the center of the pool where the water deepened. Her hair fanned out over the surface; her legs caged his hips. They were both slick with oil-one small movement and their bodies were joined. They moved slowly, in unison, seeking their deepest pleasure in the buoyant warmth. Flesh and bone, skin and water melded into one.

Then all thought fled. Somehow Lucius found the edge of the pool and anch.o.r.ed Rhiannon against it. He plunged faster, deeper, his chest sliding over her oiled b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his tongue ravaging her mouth. She made a soft mewling sound and he lifted his head to watch her pa.s.sion. With her head flung back and her face a reflection of bliss, she seemed more than a mere woman. She was the nymph he'd once thought her to be. A G.o.ddess of the wild forest.

He worshiped her with his body, in the end offering his essence with each shudder of his heart until she broke in his arms like the fall of a thousand stars.

"I love you."

Lucius's whispered words fell on Rhiannon's ears like a curse. She squeezed her eyes closed and endured the stroke of his hand on her bare shoulder and back. She lay sprawled on the narrow bed in her chamber, her cheek pillowed on her lover's chest. Sunlight filtered through the closed shutters. It fell on the bed, warming her skin, but the brittle ice in her heart was beyond its touch. I love you. I love you. She'd never dared to hope to hear those words on his lips. If only she could give them back to him. She'd never dared to hope to hear those words on his lips. If only she could give them back to him.

Lucius's wandering hand had moved from her back to the long fall of her hair. He lifted the tresses, weighing them in his palm. Rhiannon imagined raising her head and looking into his dark eyes. The corners of his mouth would lift-first one side, then the other, in the crooked smile that she loved. The dimple that made him look like a lad would show in his cheek. He would kiss her gently at first, and then ...

She burrowed her face further into his chest. If those things happened, her heart would overflow and she would return his words of love. She couldn't allow that to happen. If it did, she would never find the courage to leave him.

"I love you," he said again.

His voice wrapped around her and for a moment she felt dazed, as if caught in a dream. Then, with the care one would use to ease away from a mad dog, she raised herself from his chest.

She wouldn't, couldn't, look at him. "You cannot love me."

"I can and I do. I want you as my wife."

Dear Briga. Her gaze darted to his despite her resolve. He looked as surprised as she to hear his words. "You would take me to wife?" Her gaze darted to his despite her resolve. He looked as surprised as she to hear his words. "You would take me to wife?"

His tone gentled. "Yes. If you'll have me."

"Oh, Lucius."

He must have felt her withdrawal, for his arms tightened about her waist. "You returned to me when you might have fled. I thought ..."

She disentangled herself from his arms and hugged her knees to her chest. "You would wed a slave?"

"You are no slave."

"You named me so."

"I was a fool to believe I could own you. I could more easily grasp the forest mist." His expression grew serious. "It matters not how we first came together. No one in Rome need know you were once my captive."

Rome.

"I'll return there before winter."

"To fill your father's seat in the Senate."

"Yes." The prospect didn't seem to please him.

"Do you wish to?"

He rose from the bed and paced to the window. "In truth? No. I spent a year as a magistrate after my first tour of military duty and found I preferred to face my enemies with a sword in my hand rather than words of flattery on my lips. When my term was finished, I left Rome to take command of my Legion."

"Then why do this thing now?"