Druid Bride - The Druidess & the Warrior

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ © 2010 by Cornelia Amiri

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

An Eternal Press Production Eternal Press A division of Damnation Books, LLC P.O. Box 3931 Santa Rosa, CA 95402-9998 To order additional copies of this book, contact: www.eternalpress.biz

Cover Art © 2009 by Amanda Kelsey Edited by Andrea Heacock-Reyes Copyedited by Andrea Heacock-Reyes Layout and Book Production by Ally Robertson

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61572-089-7 Print ISBN: 978-1-61572-090-3 First eBook Edition * June 2010 First Print Edition * June 2010

Production by Eternal Press, A division of Damnation Books, LLC Printed in The United States of America.

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Cornelia Amiri

Druid Bride The Druidess & the Warrior Cornelia Amiri

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Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~

Also by Cornelia Amiri

A Fine Cauldron of Fish ****

Queen of Kings

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Cornelia Amiri

Dedication To Kavon, stay forever young and always keep the Celtic Warrior spirit of your ancestors.

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Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~

Chapter One The empty eye sockets of the white, weathered skull peered at Tanwen from the timber gate. She turned to the druid couple, Rhys and Sulwen. “I accept my destiny.” Rhys nodded his gray head. “But we do not send you alone. These brave Silure warriors shall guard you well, at all times.” He pointed his gnarled hand to a short, muscular woman with spirals of blue woad painted on her face. “Huctia, take care of her.” Then, he gestured to a man with the swarthy skin and curly black hair of the Silure tribe. “Gethin, guard her well.” The two warriors bobbed their dark heads. “It pains me, too,” Druidess Sulwen’s wrinkled hand patted Tanwen’s shoulder in comfort, “to see you go.” Tanwen’s copper hair whipped her face as her gold-speckled and white cloak flapped loudly in the wind. She flung her arms around Sulwen’s shoulders and squeezed tight. “I will never see you, again.” When Tanwen pulled back, Sulwen said, “We will miss you greatly, but your destiny awaits.” Her eyes were moist with tears. Rhys’s gnarled fingers curled around Tanwen’s smooth hands. “Your future lies elsewhere, in Caledonia. Tanwen ferch Wena ferch Boudica, child of sacred fire, the gods are with you. Elen of the Ways will guard your path on your quest, and we send our finest warriors to aid you.” “I am ready.” Tanwen lifted the skirts of her blue novice robe and druid cloak as she headed down the steep rock path, putting space between her and the Silure hill fort. 5

Cornelia Amiri All the way to the shore, she heard the footsteps of her two warriors close behind. Tanwen took a deep breath and stepped into the small, ox hide boat, as did Huctia and Gethin. “We shall travel down the coast and walk the rest of the way to the Caledonii village.” Gethin rowed, focusing his gaze on Tanwen. “Druidess, do you go to Caledonia to gain allies to battle the Romans?” The hope she saw in his eyes hurt, because her words would crush it. “No, the battle here is over. If we keep fighting, there will be no Celts left in Britannia.” “Now that Romans have taken the land of the southern Caledonian tribes, a new battle begins.” Huctia drew back on the wooden oar, then pushed forward. “Druidess, if there is any tribe who can keep their land free of the Romans, it is the Caledonii. Chief Calach is as brave and strong a warrior as Boudica herself,” Gethin said with a firm set of his chin. Tanwen smiled back. “You believe Calach can halt the Romans?” “I do.” A spark of conviction gleamed in Gethin’s brown eyes. Tanwen clasped her knees to her chest as the small boat gently rocked back and forth. “I go to Caledonia to wed Calach’s son.” She swallowed, then added, “The spirit of Boudica declared this my destiny.” Neither of the guards questioned this, as they both spoke to their ancestors daily. Gethin nodded. “It is good. As a druidess, you will be welcomed there.” Huctia leaned closer to Tanwen. “What type of man is Calach’s son?” Images sped through her mind. One of a young, tall, muscular man with a generous mouth, a straight nose, and long, auburn hair. Next, she envisioned a short, pudgy man with kind eyes and a humorously bulbous nose. She then imagined a small-boned man of medium height with a sensitive face and dark hair. Suddenly that image faded, and she thought of a big and powerful man who towered over everyone. “I know not.” 6

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “You know nothing of him?” Gethin’s brow furrowed. “I’ve been told little.” Her body had vibrated with energy she couldn’t contain when her grandmother’s spirit had appeared to her in the Cave of Draigs. Eye to eye with the ghost of the warrior queen, Tanwen had accepted her destiny...to wed Calach’s son. “He has not been told of me at all.” “Only that he is to wed you?” Gethin pulled out a leather bag of grain cakes and an ale skin. A jolt of hunger shot through Tanwen at the biting scent of ale and the homey aroma of oat cakes. “Boudica sends me to wed him. There is no betrothal agreement. Neither he nor his father know I am coming. Nor that I wish to marry him.” Gethin’s eyes grew wide. “This will be a surprise, then.” Gethin handed an oat cake to Tanwen. “Yes.” This is madness, she thought. What if Calach’s son is already wed? “I must heed the wisdom of my ancestors. Boudica would not send me to wed him if it was not to be.” Her stomach churned. She swayed with the rocking of the tiny boat. “This is so.” Huctia bobbed her dark head. “Well, they will know soon enough,” Gethin added. “Any man would want to wed you. As far as Calach’s son, all I know of him is he is a fierce warrior. All the Caledonii are.” Huctia cocked her head. “And of the Caledonii, I know the oldest of the gods are with them.” Tanwen no longer had an appetite for the oat cake, and handed it to Huctia. “We may need that ancient power to keep the Romans out of Caledonia.” Gethin agreed and took a swig from the ale skin before passing it to Tanwen. As the druidess gulped from the leather bag, the warm, soothing brew ran down her throat. Though the salty, fishy smell of the sea assailed her nostrils, she grew calmer with the sway of the boat. Her clenched stomach began to relax. Soon, moonlight glistened on the water. As the oval boat bobbed on the ocean like a walnut floating in a puddle, her mind swayed to and fro. Drowsy and eyes heavy, she drifted to sleep and nodded off for moments at a time, only to awake with a start and causing the boat to jerk. When she awoke fully, she gazed 7

Cornelia Amiri up at a rock-strewn coast. They’d come to shore. Gethin scanned the area as if he expected trouble. Tanwen climbed out of the coracle. “Is something amiss?” “No,” Huctia whispered as she shook her head. “But Picts are the best of warriors and silent in their movements. I sense them watching us.” “Once they find out who you are and why you’re here, they will not harm you,” Gethin said softly, as he offered a slight smile. Alarms sounded in Tanwen’s head. Sand crunched beneath her feet as she followed Huctia and Gethin across the shore and onto a well-worn path into the forest, where she trod on grass and twigs. Loud grunts and yells assaulted her ears as a charging beast and warriors headed straight toward them. She barely managed to jump out of the way of a raging, sharptusked boar. A warrior burst out of the woods with more fierceness than the wild beast. He leapt like a deer. Beneath his short tunic, his long, lean, bare legs raced at the speed of a bird in flight. He pulled to a halt with the flexibility of a leather thong, bent back and then leaned forward to launch a long, black spear. The weapon soared through the air, struck hard, and impaled the beast. The boar’s high-pitched squeal tore through the forest air as it twitched in its death throes. Tanwen nodded toward the warrior and his prize. “Good throw.” “My lady.” Danger shone in his alluring grin and the gleam of his eyes. “Do I know you?” Over his tunic, he wore a black cowl that fell to the elbows, leaving his forearms bare but for the blue tattoos of beasts pricked onto his skin in the way of the Picts. “No.” The air crackled around him with masculine energy. Tanwen’s breath caught in her throat. “I am from the Silure village on Eryri.” “With the Romans afoot, few druids dwell in Britannia.” He stepped toward her. Flames of fire licked the inside of her body as her gaze drank in the features of his evenly proportioned face and his hair, thick 8

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ from lime wash and spiked like a hedgehog’s, with strands ranging from dark brown to a golden hue. A fire ignited in her belly. “It is a long journey, with naught but two warriors for an escort.” He spoke in a melodic voice, sweet yet strong, like a bard and a war leader fused into one. “Why do you seek the Caledonii?” Her gaze leapt to his bright eyes. “I fulfill a quest. I have come to speak with the son of Chief Calach.” He stared at her, open-mouthed. “The son of Calach?” His eyebrows arched. “Do you mean Brude?” She became uncomfortable. “Yes, if he is the elder.” “What do you want with Brude?” She wouldn’t let this stunning warrior’s intense gaze unnerve her. Tanwen wasn’t about to tell him she was wandering around the wilds of Caledonia to make her own match for a husband. It wasn’t her idea, anyway. Boudica had called her to this destiny, and it was none of this warrior’s business. “It is a private matter.” “In truth?” He stepped forward without taking his eyes off her, as if he enjoyed looking at her as much as she did him. But she was here for Calach’s son, not a mere warrior. Her destiny had been chosen. The gods had decided her fate. “How intriguing.” His ample lips opened to a smile, revealing an even row of white teeth. “Yes.” It was hard to remember she had come for Brude as she gaped at the chiseled face of this man, with a high forehead, firm chin, and eyes like sacred pools that opened to the otherworld. “Calach is my chief.” “Then you must know Brude, as well?” He chuckled. “You could say that.” “Good, you may introduce me to him.” She was lost in his deep eyes, holding magic. Fire. “I can.” His eyes narrowed and his voice grew softer, near to a whisper. “If I know who you are?” His breath blew against her neck and left her skin tingling. “Oh, I am Tanwen ferch Wena ferch Boudica of two extinct 9

Cornelia Amiri tribes, the Iceni and the Ordovices.” “Boudica.” His gaze was steady as he apprised her. “Granddaughter of the rebel queen, you are welcome in Caledonia.” He cupped her shoulders warmly. “Come, I’ll show you the Caledonii village.” Gethin and Huctia walked at their heels as the other hunters followed, carrying the dead boar on the warrior’s wide shield. As the path led out of the forest and into open farmland, she passed fields of wheat, rye, and barley. She gazed ahead at the capital of the Caledonii, the place that would be her home for the remainder of her days once she wed Brude. She wondered what he looked like, as her eyes scanned the village set along the banks of the river Tay. Stepping under the wide gateway, her gaze chased a group of gold-torqued youths racing chariots. She kept pace with the boar hunter as he moved with sure steps across the earth, as if he was king over it, giving off strength and confidence. Tanwen passed the blacksmith hut, the horse corral, granaries, and the stables. They came to rows of wheelhouses, built of circular walls of tightly stacked stones and heather thatched roofs. Barking dogs and barefoot children in short tunics darted up to her as she followed this man through a village larger than the Ordovices and Silure hill forts put together. There was no bounce or sway in his walk as he led her past at least thirty circular homes on his way to the tallest and largest wheelhouse. Tanwen crossed the stone floor to the amber blaze dancing around a black cauldron, which hung over the hearth. She glanced at a large, rectangular shield mounted on the wall. A man, sitting on a pile of lush furs near the fire, addressed his spearmen. Dressed in a short sleeve tunic, his legs were bare and gold rings adorned each of his toes. The tattoos covering his arms and legs were similar to the sacred images engraved on the long stones which stood all over Caledonia. The largest swirl began small and curved into a larger loop, with a little one for wings, and long, thin lines as legs. So his patron goddess was Corra—the crane goddess—which revealed his closeness to the otherworld and his gift of prophecy. She shifted her gaze to the next tattoo: two connected circles, 10

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ like two wheels, and she counted five knotted swirls within each. From the image of a four-legged animal with a prominent tail and a narrow head (a wolf), she knew his last five ancestors were all cousins who married each other. So, he was fifth generation of that bloodline, which began with his great-greatgreat-great-grandmother from the house of Wolves. The gold torque banding his neck gleamed in the firelight. “Welcome to my village. I am Calach, Chief of the Caledonii.” His long hair, streaked with gray, matched his pointed beard. “But, do not tell me who you are, nor why you are here, until you have eaten. A banquet of roasted boar awaits in the feasting hall.” The two Silure guards followed her to the rectangular, wooden hall. There, she sat on a lush fox fur at a small wooden table. A pang of hunger came over her as she was served warm, fresh bread, chewy boiled beef from the cauldron, and a juicy joint of roasted boar. After eating her fill, she washed it down with a cup full of thick mead. Then, along with Huctia and Gethin, she went back to the wheelhouse and nodded to the chief as she entered. “I am Tanwen ferch Wena ferch Boudica, and I have traveled far, from the snow-topped peaks of the grandmother mountain of Eryri.” “Greetings. We of the Caledonii know of Boudica and have long mourned her passing.” “My thanks, Chief Calach.” “Sit,” Calach said. “You know of my grandmother?” The druidess sat down in front of Calach. “I am here at her urging.” Her guards sat down beside her. Briskly, the chief gestured to his spearmen to leave. Only Tanwen, Gethin, Huctia, and the Caledonii chief remained. The chief leaned his broad body toward Tanwen. “What message does Boudica send from the otherworld?” She kept her gaze locked on Calach. “My ancestor, Boudica, foresees you will stop the Romans from coming north, but only by uniting the tribes into one army.” “It is good. I have given some thought to this idea based on Boudica’s army of mixed Cymru tribes.” He took a swig of 11

Cornelia Amiri mead. “And so you come to aid us with your grandmother’s blessings and your druid gifts?” She took a deep breath. This still didn’t make sense to her, but she had to do as her ancestor bade. “My grandmother sent me to marry your son and keep her bloodline alive. Somehow, this will thwart the Romans.” Calach’s brows arched. “In truth.” “This is what Boudica bids.” Tanwen shrugged her shoulders. “I must do as she wills.” “You may deem you need to marry Brude, but I know not how he will take the news.” His mouth quirked, as if he tried to stifle a laugh. “His ancestors have not bid him to wed you, yet, I will speak to him.” “My thanks for your kindness and hospitality.” Calach nodded. “Did you enjoy the wild boar you feasted on? Brude brought one like it back from his hunt to feast on tomorrow. You were with him, I believe.” His eyes twinkled. Brude? He was the warrior who made her blood boil? She was sure her eyes were as large as apples. “By the Goddess.” Calach called the spearmen back and commanded them to show her, Huctia, and Gethin to a small wheelhouse that would be hers as long as she stayed with the Caledonii.

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Chapter Two Brude entered the wheelhouse and sat at the fire across from his father. Now, he’d find out the real reason the druidess was here. Calach gazed into his son’s eyes. “It is strange for a novice druidess to travel all the way here from the Silure lands.” “She wants something. I do not like it. I fear she has already enchanted me. As we walked together, I could not tear my gaze from her. I was lost in her piercing eyes and found myself wondering at the hue. For though I clearly saw they were brown, at other times they seemed so much lighter. I swear, they appeared blue at times and green at others.” “Her eyes change colors.” Calach picked up the clay pitcher and brimmed his cup with mead. “Druids are known for such things.” “It is true, but there is more. I tried to place the shape of her eyes. There is something so rare about them. But it is not that they are unusually large nor the shape exotic in any way. It is the perfection of shape and size. Are they not the eyes of a goddess?” “She is Boudica’s granddaughter.” Calach’s breath smelled of mead. “That must be it.” Brude filled his cup to the brim. “So, do you think she is telling the truth about that?” “Aye, she is a druidess. They do not lie.” “Druids are well known for speaking in rhymes and answering questions with questions, so no one understands what they truly mean.” Brude took a gulp of mead. “She has not done that.” Calach grinned. “When it comes to 13

Cornelia Amiri who she is and why she is here, she has been most plain.” He laughed heartily. “There have been no rhymes or guessing games there. She has made it quite clear. She is here to wed you, because her ancestor told her to.” Mead sputtered out of Brude’s mouth. “She wants marriage? With me?” “Yes.” Calach rubbed his chin. “Boudica’s spirit appeared to the lass and deemed a union to keep the queen’s bloodline alive.” “Marriage to a druidess, secrets and spells beneath my own roof. I won’t have it. Never.” He sat his cup of mead down. “Sire, it is moon madness. All of Caledonia honors Boudica for her battle prowess and courage against the Romans, but I will not let her ghost dictate whom I shall wed.” “No, you will never marry her. You are just passing time, speaking on and on about her eyes.” Calach rocked with laugher. “And what is this of her eyes? Have you not taken a look at the rest of her?” Brude couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, Father, I have noticed her body.” It heats my blood to a boil, he thought. Though she has a slender build, aspects which are ample on a fuller figure stand out on her as well. Her breasts appear small until you truly gaze at them, and then they are a feast, an unexpected treat for the eyes. Plump and full and as ample as breasts can be on a body so thin. They jiggled when she walked beside me. It was all I could do to not reach out and touch them. And when my gaze lowers to her hips, there again, though she seems thin as a pole, there are slight, yet enticing curves. I long to place my hands on her firm, tight hips, my palms itch and burn for the touch of her flesh. Brude leaned his head back and dumped the entire cup of mead into his mouth, burning a trail of fire down his parched throat. “Mayhap I will marry her.” He didn’t laugh. Calach was silent. The unmistakable twinkle in his eyes was his only response. **** Brude walked to the clearing, on the other side of a cluster of wheelhouses, where Tanwen stood before the cauldron. In the open air, she was brewing a mix of blue woad dye, while her two guards tended to the horses. 14

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Brude gazed across the amber blaze at her. He set the cup on his thigh and basked in the heat of the flames. As he listened to the crackle and spit of the fire, he realized there was an easy way to discover how powerful a druid she was. He needed to know if she could enchant him, read his mind, or control his dreams. A good warrior never underestimates his foe. “On Ynys Mon,” he paused and looked deep into her eyes, “were you chosen to gather the all heal?” “No.” She shook her red head. “I am but a novice, but I accompanied the arch druid when he reaped the mistletoe with the golden sickle.” She stood over the cauldron of dye and stirred the thickening brew with a wooden spoon she’d tied onto a large stick. A novice mayhap, but still Boudica’s granddaughter. There was power in her. “The druids do not share the secrets of the mistletoe.” “It is a sacred plant. If handled by those unknown to it, mistletoe can be deadly.” She withdrew the spoon from the dye, and checked the thickness of the woad paste. “The all heal is poisonous, yet druids use it to save lives. If I ate it, I would die, but if you—an oak seer—gave it to me, it would cause me no harm.” “It is true, for I would brew the right portion: no more than six pinches of chopped mistletoe, soaked in a beaker of water. And the tea is brewed from one pinch of mistletoe leaves in a cup of boiled water, with no more than two cups had in a day.”He gasped. “I am honored. Druids seldom share their sacred secrets with anyone.” “You are to be my husband. I will share all with you.” Tanwen flashed a challenging grin. His heart leapt in his chest. Gods, this woman is dangerous. “You still insist that I am to wed you.” “Yes.” Her voice was warm and sultry. It made his skin tingle. “Boudica would not have sent me here if it were not to be.” He had to be strong. He could not let this creature and her druid magic enchant him into a marriage he didn’t want. “Nevertheless, you shared your secret with me. I shall share 15

Cornelia Amiri mine with you.” He leaned closer. “Heather mead.” “I have heard of a mead brewed from heather that makes the Picts invincible to their foes.” “It is so.” She’s falling for the trap, he thought. “As mistletoe grows on oak, moss grows on heather. Bees feed on the heather and make a special treat: heather honey. We brew mead from that honey, along with heather tops. It is all we need, no barley.” A small voice inside him said, A few cups of heather mead, and she’ll answer all my questions. Her bright eyes gleamed with curiosity. “Due to the moss on the heather?” “Yes, that is the secret. It also makes the mead stronger.” Tanwen smiled. “Let us drink of this heather mead, together.” “I do not think you can handle it.” He prodded on purpose to ensure she would drink with him. “I have drunk mistletoe afore, stronger than what is given to the sick. I use it to aid travel through the oak door.” “You must be a powerful druidess if you have crossed the veil to the other world.” “The mistletoe helped. If I can handle it, I am certain to be able to hold my own against your mead.” “We will see.” Brude stood and walked away, but quickly returned with a skin of mead and two smooth, wooden cups, which he brimmed with the golden drink. He handed one to her. The sweet smell of fermented honey perfumed the air and dulled the strong odor of woad dye. She raised her cup high, flashing Brude an enticing smile. “With this draft, drawn from the well of wisdom, I fill the cauldron of my spirit with the brew of inspiration.” Tanwen pressed the rim of the cup against her lips and tossed the golden liquid down her throat in one motion, as Brude did the same. Drink freed his spirit from the constraints of the mind. Unable to think, he watched her breasts bounce and her hips sway as she began to dance. She gazed deep into his eyes. “We enter the world naked, in our natural state. Only when we shed our outer clothing, can we know our true selves.” Tanwen licked a drop of honey mead 16

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ from the corner of her mouth. “I want to know you.” She was a red flame, flickering freely this way and that. Fire raged in him. His groin tightened and swelled. Hastily, he filled another cup and drank it dry. He didn’t notice Tanwen’s first cup was still half full. With the confidence of those whose ancestors watched over them, and with the boldness brought on by the heather mead, Tanwen threw her bratt aside and seductively shed her tunic dress. “When the mead was brewed, the cauldron was hot.” His erection throbbed. His heart raced. He wanted to grab this woman. With lithe movements, she danced around the fire. Her breasts jiggled for Brude, and her legs leapt as they would move in love play. “Do you feel the heat flowing underneath your skin?” she rasped. He burned like a flame and couldn’t form a solid thought. Blood pounded in his head. He yanked the wool tunic off his hot skin and threw it to the ground. He stepped out of his checkered braies and stood fully nude before her, stiff and pulsating with need. He gazed into her eyes. She stopped dancing. After a long breath, she refilled his cup and hers. “Drink of the flowing wetness.” Together they gulped down the golden mead. Never, not once, did they tear their eyes away from each other. “As the mead flows through you, let the spirit fill you.” Tanwen walked over to the cauldron and dipped her hand in the dark, gooey, blue dye. Her finger slinked down his face, streaking both cheeks blue. The woad was warm, her touch hotter. His tinted checks burned. After dipping her hands into the dye again, her ring-bedecked fingers danced over the muscles rippling down his arms, tracing each of his tattoos, following the lines as she painted them blue. He quivered. The gods shielded him through these symbols. The first was a wolf, with an open mouth drawn as a curve. Then the boar with tusk made from a circle, with a line drawn though it and two knots on each end. His flesh tingled as she painted the lines of a swirling snake. His arousal throbbed, pained him with 17

Cornelia Amiri the need for release as she traced the last one, a man. Far more potent than heather mead, the power the woad awoke in the tattoos left him light-headed. He drew in a deep breath to clear his head as she spread her hands over his firm stomach and down his strong legs, coating them in blue dye. She took a step back and smiled coyly, as if wondering what mischief she could stir up next. With her woad-covered hands, she cupped her breasts, squeezing and massaging the soft, full peaks. He groaned with need. She wrapped her smooth arms around his neck and crushed her lips against his. The softness of her breasts pressed against his chest. Her nipples had tightened to hard dagger points, rubbing against his flesh, imprinting woad dye on his chest, coating the small whorls of hair with blue. Shivers of heat rushed through him. Brude cupped her neck and twisted his wet mouth over hers. His tongue thrust between her lips, flicking in and out. Her mouth was so hot. Tanwen moaned. She slid her soft hands down the side of his body, grasped his muscled thighs, and dug her nails into his flesh. He groaned. Her slick, woad-painted body skimmed down his, until she was on her knees. She fondled his hot, bulging sword, sliding her hand up and down from base to tip. Brude burned from her touch. She opened her mouth wide, stretched her lips over the fullness of his arousal, and drew his length inside her. Her suckling lips pulled him deep into her. He groaned and rocked against her mouth. Tanwen withdrew her lips, to dance her woad-tinged fingers across the hardened, bulging flesh. Stroking back and forth, she painted it blue. When she rose to her feet, he gripped her hip tight with one hand. His other hand roamed down to the cleft between legs, where he slipped a finger within the hot folds. Her core was on fire. Breathless, Tanwen whispered, “Do you wish to gaze into the flowing heat of my cauldron?” Brude rasped, “Yes, I do.” With his arms wrapped around her, he lowered Tanwen to 18

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ the ground, where she spread her legs wide, opening to him. His arousal throbbed with growing hunger, a pressing need to plunge into her. Brude dipped his finger into her sweet vessel. The blazing fire pit ignited his flesh as he churned her creamy, liquid core, until she panted in a heaving rush of breath. She gasped as he withdrew. She groaned as he jabbed his finger between his lips and sucked, licking off the intoxicating elixir he had milked from her. His erection grew tighter. He dipped his head and dove for her core. With his lips on her entrance, his tongue plunged into the wet fire of her depths. Gasps and soft whimpers escaped her. He was boiling. Breathlessly, she rasped, “Dip your sword into my cauldron.” Brude bent down, covering her body with his. His engorged sword prodded and then lunged into her wet heat. Tanwen bucked with the impact of his thrust. “I am a cup, a vessel. Fill me.” On fire, feral cravings took hold. He plunged deeper. The pressure was maddening. On the brink, he had to have release. With a constant flow, in and out, he pumped her. He grew hotter with each thrust. As he pressed harder, her moans came deeper, more desperate. It goaded him into a faster rhythm that heated his blood even more. He couldn’t get enough of her. He grew hotter. She ran her hands down his slick, blue-tinted body. He moaned. In the heat of it all, between his gasps he called, “Tanwen, Tanwen.” As he quivered, she burst out, “Brude, Brude. We shall wed on the morrow, will we not?” What? What did it matter what she said? Whatever it was. “Yes...yes.” He plunged again and again into her seething cauldron. Mad with heather mead, and most of all, mad with want for Tanwen, he hammered her in a wild frenzy. He thrust higher and groaned deep from his gut. His erection clenched, and they screamed together in ecstasy. As she snuggled against his bluepainted flesh, his pulse slowed. He fell asleep with Tanwen wrapped in his arms, their woad-stained legs still entwined. 19

Cornelia Amiri

Chapter Three Brude woke up naked, with Tanwen’s blue-streaked legs wrapped around him. He slid out of her embrace, somehow managing not to wake her. But he couldn’t leave her there. He grabbed his clothes off the ground and dressed. Then, he laid her discarded tunic dress in her cloak and wrapped that around her nude body. Brude lifted her into his arms, and cradling her against his chest, he carried her to her wheelhouse and gently laid her on a pallet. She slept so deeply, it amazed him. He turned and headed hastily to the chief’s wheelhouse. Upon entering, Brude stood before Calach and ran his hand through his hedgehog-spiked hair. “I cannot marry a druidess.” “Sounds like you are ready to do just that.” Calach picked up an apple in one hand as he held a dagger in the other. “What has happened?” He sliced the apple in two. “I lay with her.” Calach chuckled. “That’s my son.” He tossed him half of the apple. “You seduced a druidess, and the granddaughter of Boudica at that.” “No, she enchanted me.” Brude bit into the apple, savoring the juicy sweetness, which brought Tanwen’s ruddy lips and sweet, wet kisses to his mind. “The druidess has control over me, as I feared.” All the time, the creamy skin and the rosy hue of her cheeks and lips on her well-molded oval face, and those full, gleaming eyes and sweeping lashes were on his mind. Whenever she was within sight, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her, nor think of anyone but her. While he throbbed with this ravenous hunger, 20

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ he would do anything she asked. She could so easily make a fool of him. Calach cut a hunk off the apple and tossed it into his mouth, then he pointed the blunt end of the dagger toward his son. “She has gifts that could be of great use to you when you are made chief.” Brude thought, She has great gifts that I made use of last night. “Da, she is a druidess. She can control my dreams, my very life. Every time she peers into a bronze mirror, I will not know if she is merely looking at her reflection as other women do, or if she is gazing into the future.” “She has come a long way to marry you. I do not think she means you harm. And why are you stained with blue woad on your face and arms? It is spread all over your body.” “Da, that is of no importance.” “What did the two of you do last night?” Calach skewered a chunk of apple on the end of his dagger and bit it off. “That matters not. Listen to me. She is not the type of woman I dreamed of wedding. As a druidess, she is more powerful than me.” “She is wise, mighty, young, and comely, and she carries Queen Boudica’s bloodline. Do not turn away such a gift, my son.” “I cannot wed her.” Brude took off to the fields, hoping hard work would rid his mind of Tanwen. He still envisioned her nude body, painted blue, twisting and bucking wildly in the firelight. **** Tanwen grabbed her head. The pain felt like a shard of glass lodged in her temple. “Heather mead.” She had to force herself to get up. As she drew in a deep breath, memories of last night played in her mind. She’d heard no brew held the kick and potency of the Pict’s heather mead. She rubbed her aching head. When Brude offered the famed drink to her, she thought to get Brude drunk to hasten his desire to wed her. Her ancestor had sent her alone to this strange foreign tribe. She wanted to fulfill her quest as soon as possible. It was better to be known to the 21

Cornelia Amiri new tribe as Brude’s wife than as a strange Britannia druidess turned down in marriage by the chief’s son. Then, there were the wild feelings his smooth, even skin, his outstanding height, his muscular thighs, broad well-defined chest, and his deep magnetic eyes stirred in her. She had to fulfill her ancestors wish as soon as possible and wed Calach’s son. Tanwen rose from her pallet, noticing the woad paint streaking her body. “Ah, last night.” She sighed. She didn’t even remember walking back to the wheelhouse. Had Brude carried her to her home and laid her on the pallet? Tanwen threw on the wadded tunic dress and wrapped the plaid cloak around her. As she walked outside, her mind swirled with memories of last night. She’d prodded him to drink with her by telling him, if she could handle mistletoe, she could hold her own against his heather mead. Tanwen planned to drink only half a cup to every full cup of his, to pull off her plan of seduction. Yet, she had spoken too soon, rendered woozy and numb with the first drink of heather mead. She proceeded to dance, jiggled her breasts, and kicked her legs high in the air to seduce him in an attempt to bring about the marriage Boudica had foreseen. But, then he pulled off his woolen tunic and britches to stand before her in bare glory, as tall as a mountain fir tree. His stance heightened the force of his muscular thighs and the slimness of his hips. Shivers of warmth ran down her body at the memory alone. Once again, she was flushed with heat at the thought of him. It had been so hard to tear her gaze away from the bulge of his arousal. When she had wrenched her eyes away, they had settled onto the strong features of his face, which were so perfect that they enhanced his manly aura with beauty. She recalled losing herself in the depths of his compelling eyes. She dipped her fingers in the dark, gooey woad dye and traced his tattoos. She recalled the tingling in her finger as she painted over the lines of a swirling snake. Warmth had throbbed through her body as she went over the last one, a man. When she’d dropped onto her knees, burning for the taste of him, she’d parted her lips and taken his full length into her mouth. The hollow depth of her flesh was on fire now from just thinking about it. The ache between her legs had throbbed with a growing 22

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ hunger, the need to be filled. When he dipped his finger into her throbbing moist heat, it was a firebrand, a hot flame. She felt herself clench as she recalled his tongue as it plunged into her depths, bringing her to the point of boiling, bubbling over. Then he penetrated her with a powerful plunge. Her body thrummed as he pumped heat into her. She’d tingled with each thrust, rode wave upon wave of orgasms with him. In the heat of it all, as he called her name aloud, inside her head, she heard Boudica call out her name as well. Tanwen smiled as she recalled that at that moment she’d cried out, “Brude, Brude. We shall wed on the morrow, will we not?” He had said, “Yes.” Her quest was complete, her destiny set. She would wed the son of Calach as Boudica commanded. He had promised. She put last night’s memories aside and now alert to the those around her, she called out to the first person she spotted. “Where is Brude?” “In the fields.” First harvest, she thought. She wondered, How could I have forgotten? I’m a druidess. I should be there. He should have woken me. What else did he choose to exclude me from? **** The tribe was in the wheat fields when Brude arrived. He and all others held scythes at their side as wrinkled, grayheaded Lossio pulled off a few ears of golden wheat. “Brude, should we not consult the druidess? She has the ear of the gods and could best deem if it is time to reap.” “She is asleep.” “This late in the day?” Lossio plucked kernels from one ear and rolled the grain between his finger and thumb. “It is but dawn.” The elderly man picked the grains off another stalk of wheat and tested it in the same manner. “Does she not wake each dawn to give blessings to her ancestors?” “Yes,” Brude sighed, “I am sure she does. Who does not?” What could he do? The last person he wanted to see was 23

Cornelia Amiri Tanwen. She was incredible, but he was not about to marry a druidess, heather mead or not. The most beautiful body he had ever seen or not. Never mind if his blood boiled and he couldn’t stop thinking of her. He wouldn’t wed her. “Yes, we should call for Tanwen.” Brude nodded to Lossio. “Get the druidess.” His stomach churned, his head ached. It was naught but the heather mead from last night. As for the druidess, she had not affected him. She was a woman like any other. He wasn’t ready to marry her or anyone. His father must have been mad to even suggest it. There were other women. Women who weren’t druidesses. Women who did not think they had to marry him. Tanwen walked through the wheat field. Half willow tree, half fey was the only description that fit. Tall but lithe, her red hair waving in the wind, streaming down her slender body. Her skin was still pale blue from the woad, giving her the appearance of an enchantress, summoned from the other world to bless the crops. Everyone gazed at her as she walked forward and halted at a stalk. She plucked an ear of wheat and rolled the grain between her finger and thumb as Lossio had done. “It is plump and yielding.” She stared at Brude with an intense gaze that set his insides on fire. “Yes, it is time.” A cheer went up from everyone, but Brude was captured by her gaze and couldn’t look away. He didn’t want to. He wanted to step forward, scoop her up into his arms, and carry her off to his bed. By the gods, the druidess had enchanted him. He did not say a word to Tanwen, nor she to him, but she turned her head and flipped her red hair across her back as she walked off. He schooled the desire she raised in him, for a moment, to take pride in the good crop, which ensured the tribe would fare well in the coming winter. The people watched as he, the son of the chief, moved forward to be the first to reap the wheat. He worked his firm, muscular arms, swinging the sharp scythe down through the golden crop with an easy rhythm. He did not have to marry her. Boudica was dead, and she wasn’t his grandmother. She was not a Caledonian. He moved the blade forward through the tall stalks. That was 24

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ what he would tell her. He could not marry Tanwen. He had to marry a Caledonii woman. Yes, he would choose a wife among the women of his tribe. As he reeled through the field, cutting the golden grain, Brude gazed at the other fields, full of his tribesmen swinging scythes through crops of oats and barley. When he turned, he nearly jumped at the sight before him. It was Tanwen with a sharp scythe, heading toward him as she cut down wheat. He stood his ground, waiting for her approach. “Hail, Tanwen.” He gazed into her bright, beckoning eyes, waiting. “Brude, good morn.” She scowled. He glanced around to see if her guards were nearby, but then they didn’t need to be. Tanwen was more intimidating than any army as she stared daggers at him and grasped the sharp scythe. “Tanwen, put the scythe down.” She tightened her hold. “Why? I have come to cut the wheat with my betrothed. Is it not so? You said last night we would marry today, did you not?” The thought to deny it blared in his head. After all, he had drunk a great deal of heather mead, and so had she. No one would hold him to a betrothal made in such a state: drunk, naked, and covered in blue woad paint. “I do not recall.” She raised the scythe a bit higher. Her eyes sparked with anger. “But last eve, you swore we would be wed this day.” “We were both drunk and naked.” Her glaring eyes were like sharp claws holding him down. And her lips thinned with anger. Would she really swing the scythe at him? His stomach knotted. He fought to keep his composure. “Why don’t you put down the scythe? You are a druidess and Boudica’s granddaughter. My father has offered you full hospitality. You do not need to cut wheat. There are many women in the tribe who can do that. Sit and rest.” Her gaze bore into him with a stabbing anger, but she did not say a word. “Do you not ken it to be best?” Brude asked, shaken by her piercing gaze. 25

Cornelia Amiri “No. I think it best you announce our betrothal.” “I decide when and whom I wed.” He felt the heat of everyone’s gaze on him. But it was too late to back down. “I have no plans to marry you. I recant any promise I did or did not make last eve when we coupled afore the fire.” “An oath sworn by a warrior of the Caledonii should be held to. I will take the matter up with Chief Calach. In the name of my grandmother, Queen Boudica, I demand justice.” In a blink of an eye, Huctia and Gethin appeared at Tanwen’s side with scythes in their hands. Brude thought, Where did they come from? It has all gone too far. I cannot dishonor my father by breaking an oath. “Huctia, Gethin, good news. Tanwen and I have chosen to wed.” He feigned a pleasing tone and forced a smile for the two guards. He jerked his head back to Tanwen. “If you wish to wed me, so be it. I hope you do not come to regret your choice of groom.” The venomous threat spilled from his mouth before he even knew he had said it. He spoke in anger, which was why he didn’t want to marry a druidess. Brude couldn’t think around them. They gave orders and worked magic. Let her go back to Britannia where she belonged. But he saw the pain in her eyes at his words, guilt hitting him like a Roman whip in the face. “Tanwen, if you will have me, I will wed you.” He bit his tongue, thinking, What did I say? “So be it. I will wed you as my grandmother wishes.” Tanwen spoke each word evenly spaced and in a calm tone, and then loosened her grip on the scythe. Huctia walked up to Tanwen and hugged her. “Congratulations, Bright One.” “My thanks.” “Now that it is settled, let us get back to work.” For a second time, I swore to wed the druidess. How did that happen? Brude nodded at Tanwen, then turned away and moved through the fields. He pushed conflicting thoughts aside and focused on the simple task of the harvest. The day went by fast. The entire tribe worked alongside Brude and Tanwen, cutting down crops of oats, barley, and rye. Tanwen wiped the sweat from her brow. Then, she took 26

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ twelve sheaves and wound a long straw of hay around them, knotting the end. She glanced up to see that Brude and the other villagers were doing the same. She stepped back and watched Brude and Gethin throw the stooks into a wagon. The driver gave Tanwen a hand, helping her up onto the wagon seat. As she rode back to the village, he told her, “It is good to have a druidess here to bless the wheat for reaping.” “I was glad to do it. Do you not have a druid?” “Our younger druid died. We have Druid Lossio, but he is elderly and ailing. Though the gods give him strength, there are many days when it is not enough, and he lays in his bed in pain.” The driver pulled the wagon to a halt near a stone house not far from the chief’s. “But the gods blessed us by sending you.” The driver leapt off the wagon, unloaded the stooks, and carried them on his shoulder, one at a time, into the threshing house. A warm glow flowed through Tanwen at the man’s words. She left him to his task and strolled to her small wheelhouse. Exhausted from the day of hard work, she dropped down onto her pallet and fell asleep. **** Tanwen woke early at sunrise and walked to the threshing house. As she picked up a flail, her mind transformed the pile of golden wheat into a tall man with a broad well-defined chest, thick, sinewy arms and legs, and a comely oval face capped with thick brown hair. Boudica’s own granddaughter. A sacred druidess of Ynys Mon. And plenty have told me, a beautiful woman. But still not good enough for you to marry, she thought as she whacked the wheat with all her might. Again, she hit it, thrashing the wheat in place of Brude. She pounded the wheat in rhythmic movements, shaking all the kernels loose from the husks. Done with the threshing, as she gathered all of it into large, flat winnowing baskets, she felt light and free. She drew in a deep breath. Outside, she raised the wicker basket above her head and shook it while swaying side to side in a fast, rhythmic dance. All 27

Cornelia Amiri thoughts flew from her mind. Her body spoke for her as her mind fell silent. With graceful movements, she swirled with the wind as the wispy chaff caught in the breeze and floated above her head. Her arms and legs moved at will as the husks and kernels leapt up in the basket that she shook. The wind left the heavier grain behind in the baskets. It was as if the worries in her mind drifted away with the wind as well. It was first harvest, a celebration. She would make it a happy day no matter what. After the winnowing, the women carried the grain inside and stored it in baskets and clay jars, as well as putting some of the grain aside to brew the first ale of the harvest. Her mouth watered for the taste of it, but not yet. There was something more important to do first. She swung a basket of grain in her arm as she walked to the chief’s wheelhouse. There, Calach’s tall, slender wife—with pale skin and raven hair—greeted her. “Welcome druidess. I am Ciniatha ferch Ninia ferch Tava. I have seen you but not met you as of yet. I was away visiting my sister. She just birthed her seventh son.” “My blessings to your sister and her family.” She nodded her head in greeting. “I am glad to meet you. I am Tanwen ferch Wena ferch Boudica of the last of the two extinct tribes: the Iceni and the Ordovices.” “Oh, I have heard all about you.” Ciniatha handed Tanwen a stone mortar and pestle. “You wish to marry my son.” “It is so. My ancestor sent me.” Tanwen grabbed the pestle and pounded away at the grain. As she beat it into fine flour, she thought, It is unfair that all explanations of this strange destiny are upon me. I didn’t ask to have a sacred bloodline, to be the only survivor of the Iceni and the Ordovices, and the lone living descendant of Boudica. No one understands. She pounded the grain harder. “Brude has agreed. I am sure he will announce the betrothal at the moonrise ritual tonight.” She smiled at Brude’s mother. As the chief’s wife, she could speed the wedding feast along. And she could get all this over with, finally. “This eve?” “Yes, at the ceremony we are making this loaf of bread for. It will be the best time to announce the wedding, since it is to take place so soon.” As she worked the pestle, she vowed to keep this 28

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ a happy day. A day to celebrate the harvest. She smiled, and bubbling warmth floated through her. “Yes, there will be merriment of course, with the first night of Lughnasa, but after all, the games and the feasting are a moon long, and the tribes won’t gather here until next week. That is the best time for my husband to announce your betrothal to Brude.” She laid her hand gently on Tanwen’s shoulder as she continued to pound the grain. “I would welcome you to the family and to the Caledonii tribe.” You have my thanks, Ciniatha.” I can wait one more week if I have to. Tanwen sat on the floor in front of a small, short table covered with a sheepskin. She gazed fondly at Brude’s mother, who reminded her of the Druidess Sulwen, whom she had to leave behind at the Silure hill fort. Tanwen dumped the flour onto the sheepskin and then dipped her hands into a washing bowl Ciniatha held. After sprinkling droplets of water onto the flour, Tanwen dug her hands into it. She loved this part of baking. She slammed the dough on the sheepskin, wishing she could pound and shape Brude as well and make him hasten the wedding. It seemed odd that Calach would not announce the wedding at the feast tonight. Could she trust Brude to go through with the marriage? He had lied about it once already. As she pounded the dough hard with her fist, she thought, at least Ciniatha is on my side. Surely she’ll encourage Brude to marry me, and as soon as possible. But will he listen to his mother? The door flap opened, and a dark-headed boy ran forward with a stack of hazel wood cradled in his skinny arms, to fire up the flat stone hearth on which Ciniatha, as the chief’s wife, would bake the first loaf. Tanwen jabbed pieces of wood into the flames. As she fed the fire, she knew the great blaze of destiny couldn’t be changed by one week of waiting. Whether they moved forward today or a week from now, their actions fed the fire of fate all the same. “What will be, will be.” She smiled at Ciniatha. “I shall return this eve for the sacred ceremony of the first bread.” “Druidess, I am so pleased that you will perform the ritual for us this night.” Ciniatha took the rest of the kindling from her, 29

Cornelia Amiri so she could feed the fire. Tanwen pushed the door flap aside to walk outside into the balmy summer evening. She cast her eyes up at the sky, noting the moon would soon rise. She had to hurry. The ceremony of first bread must be tonight. It couldn’t wait a week. When she entered her stone house, tallow candles burned brightly throughout the home, and both Gethin and Huctia sat around the central hearth. Eager to splash cool, soothing water all over her dirty, tired body, Tanwen nodded to her guard and friend. “Huctia, you must help me bathe and dress as fast as I can for the moonrise ceremony.” “Yes, you have been working in the threshing hut all day. You need a bath.” Huctia turned to the tall, muscular warrior. “Gethin, go fetch water.” Gethin grabbed a bucket and ducked outside. “As soon as he gets back, you can wash, but now let me style your hair.” “Yes, we must hasten.” Tanwen sat on a pelt, and pulled the torque off her neck, placing it on her lap. She closed her eyes as Huctia untied the braids and massaged her scalp. Her head tingled as tired muscles throughout her body relaxed under her friend’s tender care. “There, now you look like the daughter of Boudica.” Huctia stuck a bronze mirror into her hands. Tanwen wrapped her fingers around the bottom loop of the handle and gazed into the well-polished bronze at her face, so like her mother’s. “They said my mam looked like Boudica.” “Yes, and as you are the spitting image of your mother, you must favor your grandmother as well.” “It is she, the warrior queen, who bade me marry Brude. But, the wedding will not be announced until the other tribes gather here.” Huctia smiled. “It matters not when it will be announced. It was made clear this day, so he will hold to his oath. You will wed the chief’s son as your ancestor deemed.” “Yet, I shall have a marriage with an unwilling husband, who no doubt thinks he was forced into it.” 30

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “You will have a marriage declared by the gods. Brude will come around. He is young, as are you.” “Mayhap. If not, I shall be in for a bitter life.” “I think not.” Huctia’s voice grew softer. “Remember, you are helping the people. The union will keep the Romans from moving any deeper into Caledonia and will also help the Cymry regain the old ways when they forget them in the years to come.” Tanwen sighed. “It is so, for Boudica spoke of it and the great druidess, Sulwen, foretold of it as well. Though Brude may never love me, I will be thwarting the Romans. That is worth it.” Gethin returned with a pail of water and filled the large, shallow laver bowl. Tanwen dipped her hands into the cool water and splashed her face before washing her hands and feet. She sighed, her clean skin tingled. She peeled off her dress and threw on a blue tunic that fell between her ankles and calves. She wrapped a new bratt of red, white, black, green, and yellow plaid around her waist, tied it tight with a rope belt, and admired her curves. She waved her fingers in front of her face to cool off the heat that rose in her at the memory of Brude’s warm, bare skin rubbing against hers. His full, wet lips stroking hers as they burned. Her body had throbbed with the need for more. She’d found what she was seeking, when they came together in a frenzy of molten sensations: shuddering, clenching, and then erupting. Tanwen placed the torque back around her neck. She walked as regal as Boudica herself to the chief’s house, holding her head erect and her shoulders back. Everyone stood as the druidess entered and held her arms out to them. “The moon has risen. It is time to begin the ritual.” Her two guards, as well as Calach, Brude, Ciniatha, and the other nobles gathered in a circle around the druidess. A glow of warmth filled her, as if family gathered around her, taking comfort in rituals and traditions. She loved conducting celebrations more than all the other duties of a druidess. Tanwen spread her arms wide. “Lleu Strong Hand, god of 31

Cornelia Amiri sun and war. We the druidess, chief, and high nobles of the Caledonii give thanks for the bountiful harvest. For the light you shone on the crops, we honor you. Our bellies will be full, even in the dark of winter.” A warm, soft, purring-cat vibration began in her chest and spread to every pore in her body. As Tanwen beckoned Ciniatha to step forward with the first baked bread, she chanted, “Shining One, Lleu of the sure hand, we come together to share our first baked loaf. For as you honored us with a fruitful harvest, we honor you with our labor in reaping, threshing, and baking.” With her arms raised high, Tanwen invoked, “Great Goddess of Lughnasa, Blodeuwedd, you give us seeds for sowing. Your womb of earth birthed our wheat, which gives us life. From your bounty, we glean the first grains, to bake the first bread, and to brew the first ale.” Ciniatha handed Tanwen the loaf. She broke off a piece and handed it to Calach, who tore off another and gave it to Brude, the third to Ciniatha, and in turn to each member of the noble ranks. She gave Huctia and Gethin one piece each. Her heart clinched. She wanted to reach out and hug them. They were like her family now. As she performed the ceremony, she thought of the druids who had taught it to her, Rhys and Sulwen. She missed them so much, and the entire Silure tribe, who gave her succor and sanctuary. She gulped, smiled at her guards, and then continued the ritual. She tore her remaining `hunk of bread into two pieces and shook them in the air. “Goddess of seed and flower, as you give to us, we give to you. Accept our offering. Lleu, Sun King, Lord of Summer, we partake of this sacred bread, which ripened under your sultry heat. So the tribe will be bountiful, live long, and sire many children. God and Goddess, as you, the earth and sun, conceived our grain, we bless you. We call on you to bless our tribe, as we share this bread.” Tanwen tossed a piece of bread into the central hearth. As it burned to a crisp, the smoke curled and rose to the gods. She let her sadness over leaving Sulwen and Rhys, and the deaths of her family, melt away. This was her new tribe, and she loved them. 32

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ She led the chief’s household and her two guards in a circle around the central hearth as she chanted, “Earth gave us life. Death returns us to her womb. Unending, the circle runs forevermore. Sun, earth, and grain: all which falls shall rise again.” And that is why I’m here, Tanwen realized. She symbolized two great tribes destroyed by Rome, yet with Brude, she would make a stand to keep the brutal foreign force from Caledonia’s borders. She and Brude would see to it that no Pict tribe would be annihilated. And her descendants would teach the Celtic ways to those in the future, who after accepting foreign beliefs, would come to forget their ancestors. In that, she was like the goddess: she carried the seed of rebirth, so that which had fallen would rise again. Now, she was hopeful for this marriage. A soft, warm feeling rose in her and spread its hopeful glow through her body. She knew her face had broken into a smile. Boudica was wise and had led her to the right tribe, the right man. Her new tribe, the Caledonii, would not be annihilated by Rome, as was her mother’s and her grandmother’s. She and Brude would rouse the northern tribes to fight the Romans and win at last, keeping her new tribe and her future family—the children she would have with Brude—safe and free of Rome. At that moment, her eyes were caught in Brude’s fiery gaze. He wanted her, and she wanted him. The gods had made it so. Tanwen stuffed the piece of bread into her mouth as the others did the same. The soft warmth melted on her tongue as she chewed. It was so delicious, so filling...so blessed.

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Cornelia Amiri

Chapter Four Tanwen gripped a wicker basket and headed to the apple grove with Huctia. The sun shone golden and bright on the trees, bursting with red fruit. She glanced at Huctia, who had plucked a ripe apple and munched on it. “Are you joining the games?” “No, but Gethin’s in the stone throw and the caber toss.” Huctia threw the apple core down, reached up high into the tree, and plucked enough sweet fruit to fill the basket that dangled on her arm. “Brude will join the games.” Tanwen moved to the next tree. “Show off his warrior skills.” She looked down to see that her basket was almost filled with shiny apples. “I think we have enough.” “Yes.” Huctia pointed toward the forest. “But we need more hazelnuts and mushrooms.” Tanwen followed her down a narrow path between tall, ancient trees. Her eyes fell on one leafy tree where three chirping wrens fluttered from branch to branch. Tanwen’s skin soaked up the warmth of the sun, shining on her. She loved this time of year. Harvest. But she knew the warm days were numbered. Frost would chill the air before the moon-long festival ended. Lughnasa, one of her favorite festivals. She and Brude would pick bilberries together and stay out until dark. He would thread the dark berries they plucked together into a bracelet for her to wear that day. At least, he should. She imagined his lips on hers, pressing down, hot and wet, kissing her beneath the light of the white moon, his mouth and breath tasting of sweet, juicy 34

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ bilberries. Her lips burned. She could almost feel the warmth of his strong arms wrapped around her, while in her daydream, he carried her back to his wheelhouse. They would lie together by candlelight, bodies entwined and moving as one, moaning and panting from one explosion of ecstasy to the next. And in the morning, when the tribes gathered, he would announce she was the woman he wanted to wed over all others. All the tribes and their chiefs would shout cheers and clap spears against their shields in celebration of their marriage. But he was a real man, not a girlish dream. He had made it clear that he didn’t wish to marry her. But the gods wanted it, so it would be. Through Boudica, they led her to grasp the need for the union, and they would guide Brude to believe in it as well. Tanwen spotted a clump of bluish-tinged, violet-capped blewitt mushrooms. Bending down, she raked her fingers through the dirt to dig them up. “Do not get your cloak dirty, bright one,” Huctia called out. “You must look regal, like a druid priestess. Word of your betrothal to Brude has spread. His people love him well and will watch you warily.” “Brude will proclaim the betrothal next week, when the tribes gather.” She threw some mushrooms into her wicker basket. “I don’t see why the son of the chief must wait to make the announcement.” Huctia plucked hazelnuts and tossed them in her wicker basket. “I do not either, but as long as he weds me, I do not care.” With the basket of mushrooms swinging on one arm, Tanwen clung to the basket full of apples in her other hand as she walked over to Huctia. “Whether he announces it or not, it is the will of the gods, and it will take place.” “How can any man not wish to wed you?” Huctia leaned her back against a hazel tree. “He is afraid. You are a druidess, and your power threatens his place in your life. I have seen this before.” “Do you think there is any hope of this becoming a love match?” Tanwen set the basket of apples down on the grass and plucked hazelnuts. She dropped a handful of nuts on top of the 35

Cornelia Amiri mushrooms. “Boudica would have never sent you here if it was not so.” Huctia turned and moved to the next tree to gather more nuts. “She died before I was born. I did not know her.” “Neither did I, but I know of her. She is celebrated here in Caledonia and throughout Britannia at the harvest festival, as a great warrior like the god Lugh. She would never want her granddaughter to be unhappy.” “Do you think Brude will ever fall in love with me?” “I think he has. I think that is the problem. That is what scares him the most.” Tanwen laughed. Brude had never acted like he loved her. The closest had been the night she seduced him, and that was lust. “I do not think so, Huctia.” “I am sure of it.” Huctia crossed her arms over her chest. “Pay attention a bit more to your betrothed, and you shall see what I mean.” Tanwen shook her head. How could she pay attention to Brude? He had avoided her since the harvest. By the gods, he ignored her the day of the harvest. She had to approach him. As they returned to the village with their baskets full, heavyset fell ponies carrying riders with helmets on their heads, gold torques on their necks, and gold bracelets on their arms and wrist rode pass them. Tanwen gazed at one man wrapped in a cloak of six colors including crimson, blue, and purple—all sprinkled with gold. She stopped to ask one of the villagers who they were. “Bright one, those are the three chiefs of the Venicones, Vacomagi, and Epiddi. Chief Calach summoned the northern tribes to gather for Lughnasa. These tribes want nothing to do with the Romans or their ways.” The old woman paused. “The tribes of the hill country, the Selgovae, known as the hunters, are an offshoot of the Votadini; to their east, is a tribe that gave in to the Romans’ bribes; and the Novantae, to their west, were all conquered by Agricola, so they are not here.” “Yes, I know the governor crushed those tribes. We will pray for all those under the yoke of Rome at the feast.” She smiled at the gray-headed woman and then strode with Huctia to the 36

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ village. As Tanwen brewed apple cider with the other women, her mind flitted between thoughts. She recalled that when Brude smiled, the angles of his face and his eyes softened. Then, there was his stubbornness. The firm set of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrows, the slight tilt of his head, and the intensity of his gaze. He was so set on not wedding her, she had to remain faithful that he would come around to the idea of their marriage. It was why she was here. Her head also filled with thoughts of the gathering of the tribes and the need for Calach to persuade them to fight the Romans under his lead. Agricola had advanced to the Tay and was already building forts there. **** The next day, Tanwen and Huctia walked into the forest with baskets in hand. “I need to gather birthwort.” Huctia wheeled around to face Tanwen. “Be you...” “No, I am not with child.” Tanwen took a deep breath and slipped her hand against her chest. “I need the leaves and petals for a brew to ease birth pangs for the village women. And any cows or mares who have trouble with birthing.” “Well, it does like to grow along the border of the forest.” Huctia shrugged. “Just look for flies. They’re always about it.” “Here are some.” Tanwen waved one hand at the pesky flies to shoo them away, while she clamped down on her nose with her other hand. “I hate the smell. It’s like a rotting corpse.” “In truth, birthwort stinks like naught else.” Huctia turned her head away. Tanwen plucked a clump of yellow-green flowers with heartshaped leaves and tossed them into her wicker basket. “I love Lughnasa, but as the only druidess, all the preparations and sacred rites fall to me.” Huctia tossed a bunch of birthwort into her basket. “Gethin and I are here to help you, as are the chief’s wife, Ciniatha, and the elder druid, Lossio.” “Yes, but I am little more than a novice. I was young when Agricola destroyed the druid center for the final time. Sulwen and Rhys taught me alone at the Silure hill fort.” Tanwen threw 37

Cornelia Amiri more of the medicinal herbs into her wicker basket. “But you learned fast, and Sulwen would not have let you travel here as a druidess if she did not feel your worth. Neither would Rhys.” “But all these chiefs are coming here.” Tanwen brushed the dirt off her hands from plucking birthwort. Huctia shrugged. “I do not even know how many northern tribes there are.” “Neither do I. Since Rome conquered Britannia, the Picts stay away from us, save for the ones on the Orkney isles.” Tanwen glanced down at her basket. “We have enough, now.” “Yes, the broch-dwellers want Roman rule, so they befriend and trade with Rome.” “Brude said those tribes asked Agricola to invade Caledonia.” She walked down the woodland path toward the village. “They are crazy to want Roman rule.” Huctia followed. “Do you think any of them will come to the feast?” As she stepped out of the forest and onto the side of the main road to the village, she heard the rhythmic clip of trotting horses, and came to a halt. “I hope not.” Huctia stood at her side. Tanwen gazed at two sturdy Celtic ponies trotting past them toward the village. One rider was a lean, yet muscular redheaded man, and the other stout and dark-headed. Both were adorned with thick, twisted torques on their necks, rings on their fingers, bracelets, and ear clasps of gold. Long, clanking swords hung by silver chains tied onto their belts and plaid cloaks dyed of six colors draped their hooded black cowls. Tanwen saw a village boy watching the men as well, and called him over. “Who are theses chiefs?” “Druidess, the tall one is chief of the Boresti. They live at the end of the island, and are true Picts who can be trusted.” “It is good.” She smiled and turned to Huctia. “All these chiefs. We need to hasten and finish our work.” Once they were back in the village, Tanwen and Huctia discussed the Roman invasion of Caledonia as they ground up the birthwort petals and flowers, then mixed them with honey. 38

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Tanwen stored the potion in clay vessels on a cupboard in her wheelhouse and then lay on the soft pallet to sleep. Yet her thoughts spun, worrying over all she had to do for Lughnasa, the invasion of Agricola, and most of all Brude’s feelings toward her. “If only Sulwen were here. She would know what to do,” she whispered. **** The buzz of busy bees sung through the air. Tanwen and Huctia wandered into the forest to gather a wild harvest. They skirted clear of a full hive hanging from a tree. Tanwen pointed out a clump of blue, star-shaped borage flowers. “Warriors eat them raw before battle to exhilarate their minds.” They both bent down to pluck them. Next, Tanwen pointed at a stalky marjoram plant. “That makes a potent painkiller.” After picking the sweet-scented marjoram for their baskets, they moved on to the chamomile flowers to make a remedy for stomach problems and sleeplessness. “You need to make a draft of chamomile for yourself, bright one. You have not been sleeping well.” As she threw a bunch of the shiny yellow flowers into her basket, Huctia sniffed the delicate scent. “It is from being in a new place and having so much happen. I had a long talk with Brude yesterday, and I feel better knowing he hates the Romans as much as I do, and he does not trust the broch-dwellers.” As they walked back into the village, each carrying a basket full of medicinal flowers, Tanwen heard the pounding of horses’ hooves. “More riders.” Three men approached on strong, healthy horses. They held large bronze-hilted swords, and long cloaks of six hues— including blue, purple, and crimson—were draped across their broad shoulders and pinned with gold brooches. Tanwen called out to a redheaded Caledonii maiden passing by, “Where are these chiefs from?” “Bright one, those are the chiefs of the fiercest northwest tribes: the Cereni, Smertae, and Carnonacae. They smear their 39

Cornelia Amiri faces with the blood of slain foes.” “Ah, these are the wild Picts everyone in Britannia tells stories about. I did not think they were real.” Tanwen gazed after them. “If any of the broch-dwellers do come to feast, we shall sit the Cereni, Smertae, and Carnonacae chiefs next to them.” “You are truly wise, druidess.” Huctia chuckled. “If any broch-dwellers say one wrong word to them, such as speak of the luxuries they have gained from trade with Rome, then they’ll just kill them.” For the rest of the day, they spoke of the horse races and who would win, as they dried the borage and the chamomile, then stored them in the clay vessels. Busily, Tanwen crushed some marjoram into a yellow oil to ease pain, and poured it into small clay bottles. The pale pink tufts of the rest of the marjoram simmered in a large cauldron. Her mind and muscles relaxed from its sweet, spicy fragrance drifting through the wheelhouse. When the marjoram cooked into a liquid, turning into a rich purple dye, she tossed in a bolt of woolen cloth she’d woven. Later, she would speckle it with gold flakes and fashion it into a druid robe to wear at the bonfire. She worked all night, and even finished dying and fashioning the purple cloth into a robe, then laid it by the fire to dry. While it was still dark outside, as it was not yet daybreak, she stuck her finger in the bowl of blue woad paint and drew a sun on her forehead, with spikes for rays extending out from a circle of Celtic knots. The power of Lugh flowed through her mind. The sun’s beaming energy streamed into her, and she bubbled with excitement. When she unfastened her braids, her long hair hung down to her thighs. Huctia draped the purple robe speckled with gold flakes over Tanwen. With a silver brooch, she fastened a flowing white robe speckled with gold over it. She placed the gold torque on Tanwen’s neck and clipped gold clasps onto her dainty ears. “You look beautiful, bright one.” “I think Boudica will be proud of me on this day.” Tanwen smiled. 40

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “All your ancestors: your mother, father, aunts, Sulwen, and Rhys will all be so proud.” With Huctia and Gethin following her, Tanwen walked up an old path to the hill where the chieftains gathered. She scanned the faces of the men and women standing around the bonfire. Strength and intelligence shone in their eyes. The men had long moustaches and a few had pointed beards. Some chiefs were garbed in crimson cloaks, some in cloaks of green, some had long hair, others straight, and some curly. The women chiefs wore their hair plaited in four braids with a ball of gold on the end of each. These were the leaders who would do what the tribes of Britannia had not: keep the Roman invaders out of their land. This was why she had left Sulwen and Rhys at the bidding of her ancestor: to wed a man who would lead the chieftains of Caledonia against Rome. Amid roaring and shouting from the crowd, Tanwen led the chiefs around a standing stone nine times. She dipped her cupped hands into the pond by the megalith and drank of its water for clarity and wisdom. Tribesman blew bronze horns and blared their pipes as Tanwen moved toward a large, spoked wagon wheel coated with black, gooey tar. From the hill, she gazed down at the fertile fields below. Brude, the chieftains, and the crowd joined her as she chanted, “The sun burns, yet winter nears. The season turns. Summer comes to an end. Sun and earth, Lugh and Macha. Life to death, the wheel turns, Lughnasa, Lughnasa.” Brude handed her a firebrand, and she lit the wheel aflame. My life has turned in a new direction like a wheel on a wagon, rolling from one street to go down another. Will my life with Brude be as passionate as the fiery wheel? Her mind filled with the memory of wild, blinding pleasure and of his firm, muscular body taking her over the crest until she’d screamed in ecstasy. With an iron rod, she rolled the fiery wheel down the hill. “The end of Lugh’s reign, god of the sun.” She gasped air as she ran with the rolling symbol of the sun. She glanced at Brude, who kept pace with her on the other side 41

Cornelia Amiri of the burning wheel, garbed in a red tunic interwoven with gold and draped with a plaid bratt of blue, green, purple, gray, white, and black. Tanwen’s gaze fell to his eyes, which smoldered with heat and enflamed her with desire. Smoke rose, as flames ate the wood. The flaming wheel reached its end and crumbled into pieces of burning wood. The crowd stopped in their tracks and encircled the dying Lugh. She spread her arms into the air and focused on the gods. “The sun begins its journey into dark winter. The season turns, sun and earth, Lugh and Macha, life to death. Winter nears, Lughnasa, Lughnasa.” I’m part of the turning season. Soon I’ll transform from maiden to wife, and then to mother. With the fire nothing more than smoldering embers, the wheel no more than ashes, and with Brude at her side, she led the crowd back up the hill.

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Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~

Chapter Five The gentle wind tousled her hair as she whispered to the rising moon, “You come so soon now.” She glanced at Brude, beside her, and followed his gaze to nine warriors climbing the steep path toward them, each clutching a stack of wood. Warmth and energy flowed through her as, one by one, each man gave her a bundle of one of the nine sacred woods. “Hail willow of the streams, hazel of the rocks. Welcome alder of the marshes, birch of the waterfalls. Greetings rowan of the shade, yew of resilience, elm of the brae, oak of the sun, and sweet pinewood.” Tanwen bowed to each. “Great blessings to you for feeding the sacred fire.” She piled the blessed wood together. The chosen men made several trips up the hill, delivering stack after stack, until she’d created a towering Lughnasa bonfire. Lossio’s wrinkled hands trembled as they struck sparks from flint, lighting the firebrand aflame. The crowd grew silent as Lossio handed the torch over to her. She raised the firebrand high and walked a full circle around the tower of wood, which reached to the sky. She lit the Lughnasa fire. Brude’s shouts of glee rang through the air as it ignited. The sparks flared into a rising flame. Hungrily devouring the nine sacred woods, the amber blaze roared. As the harper’s vibrating notes danced to the height of the raving mountain of fire, Lossio stirred the hearts of all gathered there as he sang ancient paeans to brave heroes of bygone days. As the smoke rose and vanished in the vast, ebony sky, Tanwen 43

Cornelia Amiri opened her mouth and rang out a melodic song. “Boudica, Championed by the goddess, Andraste’s image adorned your hilt. Your white blade drank Roman blood. The Celts were strong. The gods were happy. Boudica, Championed by the goddess, Hear the Carnyxs blow, Hear the drums beat. Up the slope you led us, But Rome struck with venom. Boudica, Championed by the goddess, We took death, like our queen, Fell on Roman blades, Robbing Rome of Prisoners and slaves. Boudica, Championed by the goddess, Sure as dragons Slay eagles, The day shall come When Rome leaves these shores, And Celts stand evermore.” Tanwen brushed a wayward tear from her eye. The druidess, Sulwen, who’d written that song, had also told her about the Lughnasa festivals of old, when a chosen one, the god king, was sacrificed so the deities would protect the tribe. Boudica gave her life to the gods when the final battle was lost. When Tanwen came to Caledonia, she felt like a sacrifice, here to wed a man she’d never met, who didn’t know her or love her, but now she felt blessed. She could not imagine having another man for her husband. If only Brude felt the same way about her. As Tanwen stood next to Brude, she burned for him. She 44

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ laced her fingers with his and led him in a circle around the roaring blaze. Fire pulsated through her blood. The harpers and pipers played as the drummer kept a fast beat on the bodhran. Tanwen and Brude whirled together, singing, “Lughnasa, sun and earth, Lugh and Macha, life to death, the wheel turns, Lughnasa, Lughnasa.” Tanwen leapt high, bouncing up and down on her feet, laughing. As soon as the dance ended, Brude pushed a cup of heather mead into her hands. As she drank it down, mellow warmth flowed through her. **** Brude couldn’t tear his eyes from her nor rub out the memory of her long shapely legs entwined with his. The way she looked in the firelight, covered in warrior paint. She was the perfect wife for a Pict prince, save for her powers. She could read his mind, affect his dreams. Who would marry a druidess? He would. Though known for his cunning and his ability to soar above all, Brude couldn’t fathom his way out of this. He’d never been so trapped in all his life. He stood with aplomb, as the son of a chief must, but his mind turned in chaos—disturbed and exuberant with Tanwen. His gaze slid from the smooth skin and full lips of her oval face, down to her up-tilted breasts and her slim waist, which flared into rounded hips. This was an eve for pairing and coupling around the bonfire. He didn’t want to marry a druidess, yet she enthralled him like no other woman. His hands slipped up her warm arms, and he dug his fingers into the soft flesh, massaging her shapely shoulders. One whiff of the sweet, yet earthy scent of her hair had him lightheaded and giddy. He whispered in her ear, “Will you share my bed tonight?” “Aye, my husband to be.” His lips captured hers in a fiery kiss, melting away all his concerns. He swayed, dancing like a flame of the great fire, leaping as the heat built. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along, running to the wheelhouse. He lifted her into his arms, carried her through the entrance, and laid her on the bull hidecovered pallet. 45

Cornelia Amiri He unfastened the silver brooch that pinned the white robe speckled with gold to her—the ceremonial garb of a druidess, his druidess. Brude slipped the purple robe bedecked with gold flakes open, slowly revealing her smooth calves, then her knees, and finally her arched thighs. He cupped her slender foot at the ankle and kissed his way up her long, shapely leg. Brude’s fingers wandered up her soft inner thighs, and she writhed at his touch. Tanwen curled her arms around his broad shoulders and crushed her lips against his. With his fingers still stroking her inner thighs, his hand rested on the tuft of hair between her legs. She gasped. He probed the wet crevice there. As the kiss lingered, he slipped his tongue between her lips, thrusting in and out, while his finger plundered her slick opening in matching rhythm. Her heart raced. He pulled his lips from hers and withdrew his finger. She groaned. Hastily, she slipped off her cloak and robe. He pushed her dress over her flat belly, to her breasts, and tugged it off over her head. She smiled up at him. She wore a gleaming gold torque around her neck and gold clasps on her ears, but the rest of her body was bare for him. Kneading and stroking each aching breast, he lowered his head and reclaimed her mouth. Brude suckled her trembling, swollen lips as his hands pressed her breasts hard. As he palmed and molded her soft flesh, his tongue stroked her mouth to ecstasy. He withdrew his lips and gazed down at her curved mounds and rosy teats. He rolled the nipples as they tightened to pebble hardness. She gasped as he flicked each one. Cupping one breast, he lowered his head and captured the nipple between his wet lips. He sucked the throbbing peak. He moved to the other breast, covered the pink bud with his mouth, and taking it between his teeth, he nibbled the tortured teat. She cried out. He was on fire. She was not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but by the gods, she was the most alluring. He wanted no one but her. He slid his hand back down to the hot cleft between her legs and probed the curly mound. He plunged one finger into the damp, deep heat within. She spread her legs further apart as he 46

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ pumped his finger into her soft flesh. Fast breathing turned to urgent gasps. Between pants, she breathily commanded, “Take me.” He slid deep into her, emitting a low, soft grunt of primeval pleasure. Ecstasy thrummed through every pore of his being. “You are so tight. It feels so good.” She rasped, “Yes. Yes.” He was as hot as a spark from a flint, and had the same need: to be placed on a candlewick to burn the wax down to nothing, or set to a pile of wood and engulf it in a roaring fire, driven to consume her or he would flicker out. He was aflame and had to engulf her in it. As he rode her in a hard, rocking rhythm, she matched his every thrust. Her raw desire took him to a great height of arousal. He pumped harder. Passion raged, until he burst within her. Exploding. Never had he celebrated Lughnasa so well. He wouldn’t want to make merry at the fire festival with anyone but her. Ever. He rose up on his elbow and gazed at her eyes, closed in sleep, exposing the long fringe of her lashes. His gaze settled on her bow-shaped lips. He lowered his mouth to hers, and with a gentle kiss, soft and warm, his soul melted. Women always came at his beckoning. They liked virile, handsome warriors. And he knew it. They had hungered for him since he was little more than five and ten turns of the year. But after he bedded them for a moon cycle or more, he needed another: prettier or sweeter or more adventurous. A new delight. Tanwen’s radiance, her unsurpassed strength, well, she was different. The more he bedded her, the greater his need. Both sweet and bold. And he had to have her. She wore on his mind, burned in his heart. Her eyes flew open. “What time is it? I have to go.” “Go where?” His lips covered hers as he drank in her sweetness. She pulled away and rose. “The ritual of foresight is today.” She picked up her clothes. “The gods await.” He raked his eyes down her oval face and the soft color of her lips. As she slipped her tunic dress on over her head, his gaze 47

Cornelia Amiri slid down to her smooth breasts, to her ample thighs, and shapely legs—until they were covered. “I’ll stay on the hill alone for the next three days,” she pulled on the flowing purple, gold-speckled robe, “fasting.” She wrapped her white, gold-speckled cloak around her. “I had forgotten.” Three days. I cannot wait three days to lie with you again. “I shall come with you.” “No, you cannot.” She slipped her feet into the flat leather shoes. “For the prophesy, for your tribe...our tribe.” She pinned on the silver brooch. “The gods will not grant it to me if I’m not alone.” She slid the gold clasps onto her ears. “Only my body will be on the holy hill. My mind must be with the gods.” The wry smile she flashed enticed him even more. “Would coupling not heighten your perception?” His shoulders shifted in a slight shrug. “I’ve never had a vision, but I’m sure the nearest I’ve come to it is the eruption, the ecstasy in bedding a woman.” A trill of laugher spilled from her as she turned and ducked out of the wheelhouse. He pulled his tunic and braies on as fast as he could and chased after her. She called for Gethin, who came with the druid drum in hand. Taking the sacred instrument, she continued on as Brude followed her all the way to the base of the hill. There, he gathered her into his arms. Her soft curves molded to the corded muscles of his body. His lips descended to meet hers. With his hands locked against the smooth plane of her back, his mouth swooped down onto hers in a caress that grew into a deep massage. As his lips twisted over hers, fire spread through him. She pulled away. “You must see to the other chiefs, our allies now.” Her face flushed, and her eyes gleamed with yearning. “Use this time to test them and their men, so when Calach blows the battle horn, you will know the strength and weakness of all you lead to war.” She clutched the drum. “Ever the druidess.” His lips burned, aching to cover hers. “You, better than anyone, know I am a woman as much as a druidess.” She headed up the trodden path, then turned her head back to him. “But this is not the time or place.” He grinned at the sway of her hips as she climbed the 48

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ trodden path cut into the grassy hill. His arousal swelled again, but he left her to her duty. I will forever have to share my wife with the gods. It is not the marriage I had in mind. **** A thick mist engulfed Tanwen as she reached the top of the hill and stood in front of the great standing stone. “Pillar of stone, giant of rock. The ancients labored in pain and sacrifice to move you to the top of this green hill, where your magic stands for all the people who came after them. I seek your wisdom. You have been here longer than all the trees of the forest, and within you is more wisdom than any oak could contain. Speak to me. Lead me. You have been on this earth since time out of mind, and you know all of its secrets. I seek the way to halt the Romans. Tell me what we need to do, spirit stone.” She sat on the ground with her back and head leaning against and supported by the stone. Her energy fused with it. She stretched out her feet into the most comfortable of all positions. She drew in a deep breath, soothingly bade her toes to relax, and once they were free of all tension, she moved to the soles of her feet, to her heels, her ankles, her calves, on up to her knees, thighs, and stomach—to the point that her whole body, all the way to the top of her head, to the strands of her hair, had let go. Feeling more relaxed than ever before, she concentrated on the rush of her breath, in and out—a comforting sound, like the purr of a waterfall. She drew in and held each breath for the time it took to move five fingers up and down, and breathed out to the same count. She concentrated on the land, which the stone represented. The land allowed them to be here. The chiefs married the land. If the land liked the chief, the crops were good. If it didn’t accept the chief, the crops were bad, and a new chief was chosen. They gave to the land, and the land gave to them. They honored the gods of the land, fields, and springs, the rivers, the sea. They honored the gods of the air, the sun, the moon, and gods of the hunt, the cattle, and the mountains. The land wanted them here. It allowed them to live on it. But the land didn’t accept the Romans. It was not their land. They imposed themselves on it. 49

Cornelia Amiri They brought foreign gods that did not honor this land. They brought animals and crops that were not native to or part of this land. The Celts wanted them gone, and the land wanted them gone. She concentrated on the one question: How do we get rid of the Romans? She saw herself in a chariot, brandishing a long sword and leading the troops on a battlefield to fight the legionnaires, but Tanwen knew that path failed her grandmother, Boudica, as it would her. She began again, whispering aloud, “Ancient stone, from your wisdom, I ask prophecy. Spirit stone, lead me to she who fights for the land. Summon Andraste to me.” Slowly, she hit her palms upon the leather hide of the drum. She concentrated on the pounding beat, like that of a galloping horse. “Come, Andraste. Ride to me.” The goddess galloped forth on her magic stallion, Maten. Tanwen leapt upon the mighty horse and rode it on the spirit journey. She wrapped her arms taut about Andraste’s waist, for the horse’s hooves hammered fiercely and swiftly. They rode to the battlefield, again. This time, Brude fought beside her. Suddenly, her eyes fell only on him, with no notice of the Romans. He fought nude, with naught but the power of the woad symbols upon him. His skin glistened with sweat. His muscles bulged. “No. This is not the answer I seek. I have not come to think of Brude. Goddess of battle fury, shifter of the hare, I wipe my mind from Brude. I open my mind to you. Give to me as I give to you. Answer me this, how we might defeat the Romans.” Andraste turned the great beast, Maten, around and galloped with the wind through the air to a Roman fort in Caledonia. **** It’s been a day, a full day. Up on the hill, alone. This is what it will be like to be married to a druidess. Brude picked up a piece of wood and lit the firebrand from the central hearth, and then he banked the fire. He walked out of the wheelhouse, holding the torch. Even in the depth of night, the fat, waxing moon beamed as he headed toward the hill. He took his time with every step, every movement. Halfway up the hill, he laid the firebrand down and kicked dirt over it to extinguish the flame, hoping the dark of 50

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ night concealed him. He crept the rest of the way up the hill. The light of the moon allowed him to barely make her out. She lay at the foot of the stone on her bratt, asleep. He had snuck up to watch over her, unnoticed. He headed to the edge of the hill where the forest began, to hide behind the trees, concealed so he could still watch over her unnoticed. He had to. Something could happen to her up here alone for three days with naught but water. His mother had told him that she hadn’t seen him pout this way since he was a boy. She didn’t need to recall what he was like as a small child all the time. He didn’t pout. As a child maybe, but not now. Why would he pout? He was concerned. Everyone should be concerned for a woman alone on a hill. In troubled times. With Romans in Caledonia. Why was he the only one who cared? Pouting. His mother was wrong. He had to be here. He had to protect her. After all, he was betrothed to her. Even though he still hoped to find a way out of the marriage, it didn’t mean he shouldn’t treat her like his betrothed in the meantime. He spread his bratt out on the ground and lay down. Now that he knew she was safe, sleepiness overcame him. At last he could rest. He lay down, and his mind drifted into a deep dream. He awoke to find the sun had already risen. He had gone to bed so late, he had awakened late. He stood slowly, so as to not make a noise, and lifted his bratt off the ground. He shook the dirt from it and wrapped it over his shoulders. He stood behind the tree so it concealed him, and moved his head slightly so he could see her. She had wakened and sat with her back against the stone. And she appeared to be in a trance. Is this what she would do for the next two days? What she did all day yesterday, and with one skin of water and no food? His belly rumbled. Hungry. He’d eaten a full meal yesterday, but he needed to today, also. With small steps, he moved as silently as he could. He came upon a bush of bilberries and stuffed the juicy morsels into his mouth. He wiped the juice off his face with the back of his hand. When he made his way back to the edge of the woods, he noticed she sat there, her position unchanged, in deep concentration. Her mind had traveled 51

Cornelia Amiri somewhere only druids went. Whether the past or the future or the otherworld, he didn’t know. But he would make sure she came back from there in two days, and back down the hill unharmed. He had an urge to know what she was doing. To understand it better. He was a warrior, not a druid, so why would he care? He knew the answer: she brought out the concern in him. She made him a better man. The words “dangerous” and “trouble popped into his head. He had known that the first time he saw her. He’d been chasing a wild boar and diverted his eyes away from the hunt, but he couldn’t help it. She stood there like some goddess who had come from the otherworld to hunt him the way he did that boar. That was the look in her eyes—the fiery gaze of a predator who wanted to capture him. Caught, her prey forever, the moment his eyes met hers—those emerald shards. When he launched his spear and slew the beast, she told him, ‘Good throw’. He had craved her praise ever since. He grew mad with boredom, and he moved about the forest, returning now and then to a spot where she was within his sight. But she had sat in the same place without moving and was as still as the rock. The sun was high in the sky when she shifted her back against the stone. Reaching for her water skin, she took a long drink. She set it back and returned to her intense mental quest. He didn’t get much sleep that night. He drifted off, and when he awoke, all was engulfed in darkness. The moon was waning, so there was a bit less light than the night before. He headed up the hill to check on Tanwen. She was asleep, lying on her plaid bratt in front of the long stone. He could not go to this place she visited. She walked the path of a druid to help him and the other warriors. She had to go there, alone. He understood now. In the dark of night, he made his way down the hill and back to the wheelhouse. He woke up in his wheelhouse without her on the third day of her fasting on the hill. Throughout the day, his mind turned with thoughts of her. He yearned for her, more and more. Near the end of the day, he gasped as he heard her voice. He ran toward the hill to see her speeding down it, calling to him, 52

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “Brude, get your sire, Chief Calach. The gods have tidings for him.” **** The glowing sun beamed down in the clear azure sky, but the vision was a thick mist clinging to her mind. Whipped out of the present and thrown into the raid to come, she rubbed her head to pull away from the fire, the blood, and the screams, and root her spirit back in the here and now. Breathing deeply, her heart still hammered as she ran down the hill toward the chief. The gods bestowed their foresight, handed the Caledonians a victory, but only if Calach heeded her vision, or the advantage would be lost. Now or never, together, the tribes had to move as one. As she called for Calach, the villagers ran toward the chief’s wheelhouse. She combed her fingers through her hair. She must look a fright—no food, no mirror, and no bath for three days. But it was well worth the insight the gods gave her. Before she made it halfway to the chief’s wheelhouse, Calach—with Brude at his side—rushed up to her. Brude looked at her with a seductive gleam in his eyes. He didn’t seem to even notice her disarray. They stood in the middle of the village with the entire tribe and the visiting chieftains. “Hail druidess, what message have the gods brought forth?” Calach pierced her with an intense gaze as he waited for an answer. “Hasten, you must raid the camp of the 9th Legion at once. Now separated from Agricola, they are vulnerable, but only at night. The gods granted me foresight of the attack, and we were the victors.” Brude pulled her into his arms and spun her around. “You will bring us a victory.” He pressed his open lips to hers in a warm kiss of celebration. Like fire on her mouth, she’d hungered for his wet, delicious kiss. What happened to the crowd that had clamored around them? No Romans, no chiefs, just Brude holding her in his warm embrace against his broad, throbbing chest. She and Brude. What else could there be? 53

Cornelia Amiri It wasn’t a kiss of celebration, but a kiss of passion, of longing—a declaration that he had missed her as much as she missed him. Completely, she gave in to his passion. The caress of his mouth stroking hers set her heart racing. He crushed her to him. She savored every moment of pure pleasure as he plundered her mouth and her senses. He raised his mouth from hers and gazed into her eyes. Her mouth burned with fire. Calach and the crowd had somehow not been as affected by the kiss as Tanwen had. The chief yelled out in joy. “Let it be so.” He turned to the crowd. “Come nobles, chieftains, and warriors to the hall.” He gazed back at her. “Druidess, impart the message the gods blessed you with.” “Yes, Chief Calach.” She felt a loss as Brude released her from his embrace. A moment ago, nothing had been as important as the vision. Nothing, until she’d realized how much she had ached for Brude, though they had only been apart for three days. The chiefs, all with long hair and thick moustaches, crowded into the hall with their war bands of young men, eager for battle. She entered the hall behind them, with Brude’s muscular arm draped over her shoulder. Her skin tingled. It seemed he wanted to stay near her as much as she desired to be close to him. Calach bid Tanwen to sit. He had a bowl of boiled pork and leeks, and a platter of fresh-baked bread brought to her. She broke her three-day fast by digging into the tender meat. It melted in her mouth. As she savored the fresh, interesting taste that lingered on her tongue, servants rushed here and there, filling cups with heather mead. Everyone drank while the druidess ate. Brude raised his cup, brimming with mead, in her direction and winked. The memory of her first cup of heather mead and the cauldron of woad dye sent a rush of heat through her body, and her cheeks burned. She knew they blushed red. Finished with her meal, she pushed her bowl aside. Calach made haste to seize the moment. He stood and addressed all those who had gathered in the feasting hall. “Grab your pointed spears, sharpen your long swords, and shine your shields until they gleam. For the gods bid us to attack the 9th Legion of Hispania.” The Picts lifted their cups high, and mead splashed as they 54

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ cheered. When the chief nodded at Tanwen, she stood and raised her arms to the ceiling. The crowd fell silent, even brave, hotblooded warriors would never dare interrupt a druid. “Men of the Pict, the gods gave me a vision of northern tribes united under Calach. One dire army. The gods go with us as we crush the 9th Legion. I shall cast a spell to lull the sentries into a deep sleep, and we shall raid the fort. The gods bid us to take no prisoners.” Hurrahs rang through the hall. Spear bearers shook their long weapons so hard, the brass apples on them rattled with the din of victory. A zealous energy swelled in her with Rome’s demise near at hand. A desire to scream the war cry of her now extinct tribe, the Ordovices, bubbled inside her. She almost grabbed a spear, and led them all to war, as her own grandmother had done. Instead, having taken a deep breath, she pointed to the man at her side, her husband-to-be. “Brude, son of Calach will lead the surprise attack.” In her mind, she saw him battling the Romans, brandishing his gleaming long sword. “Out-manned and caught off guard, the sleeping legionnaires will not even have their armor on.” She gazed into the eyes of the chiefs standing before her, and she felt like a war leader, like Boudica. “Do not take time to sever their heads for battle trophies. Hasten to slay as many and as swiftly as you can, and then retreat into the woods before dawn.” “So be it,” the men roared. “Victory is ours.” Brude swung his head toward Calach, “Father, I bid we march now.” He turned to stare hard into the faces of each of the northern chiefs, challenging them to join Calach. “We ride to war to kill the Roman dogs and leave Governor Agricola shaking in his hobnail boots.” Every chief to a man matched the young warrior’s gaze. Brude swallowed and kept his body straight, with the full aplomb of a great war leader. Tanwen schooled herself to not whoop with glee as tremulous pride rippled through her when, one by one, the northern chiefs stepped forward and swore allegiance to Brude. 55

Cornelia Amiri Then, in a great flurry, the men scattered to their wheelhouses, and almost as suddenly, each returned, naked save for the permanent tattoos on their legs, arms, and chests. So when the Morrígan gazed down on them from the sky, she would see symbols of her power. No armor was stronger than bare skin with magical markings to insure the gods’ favor. The nobles clutched long swords, and the other warriors grasped spears and shields. Tanwen smiled with pride as a glowing warmth throbbed through her. Gethin ran to her wearing only his braies, and Huctia sprinted up to her, dressed in naught but a tunic. Each handed Tanwen a jug of leek oil. “My thanks.” She turned to see that the warriors had lined up in front of her. Lossio came and stood beside her. She called upon the gods to be with the warriors as she and Lossio rubbed their muscular bodies with the potent leek oil. Lastly, Tanwen rubbed the leek oil deep into Gethin’s chest and smoothed the oil over Huctia’s toned arms and legs. She grasped both of their hands. “Take care my dear friends, and kill as many Romans as you can.” “So be it,” said Gethin. “That we will do,” added Huctia. Tanwen’s heart beat as fast and loud as a bodhran as she watched Brude vault onto his stallion. Swirls of blue tattoos, etched into his flesh, spread up his legs, just below his knees, and up his sinewy, muscular thighs. Engraved with the warrior design, his body was an absolute living work of art as well as a deadly weapon. Blue Celtic tracery swirled to his buttocks, as firm and rounded as a standing stone. His waist was the only part of him not bare, ringed by a belt of hemp, dyed blue with woad, and tied in intricate Celtic knots, one after the other, from which his sword hung. Wild beasts drawn with swirls of blue, flowed up the plane of his back and the across the bunched muscles, and streamed to his shoulders and down his arm. She took a deep breath. Her burning, throbbing body lurched forward, urging her to leap onto the horse with him. She clutched her chest. She’d almost forgotten he rode to battle the Romans. Gods, bring him back safely. He cannot end up covered with 56

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ blood. He is needed so, by his tribe, all of Caledonia, and me. She hung her head and solemnly prayed to the gods with all her might. Lifting her eyes, she watched the other Pict nobles vault onto their horses and ride at a gallop behind Brude. Then, at their rear, Huctia, Gethin, and the other foot warriors ran toward the camp of the 9th Legion. **** A dry wind whipped Tanwen’s hair about her face as she took the well-worn dirt path to the top of the green hill. She raised her arms to the night sky. “Hail, Goddess Andraste, War is in your heart, And you are in The heart of warriors.” Her arms tingled as the energy of the goddess streamed through her. “Onward to battle. In your wake, Our enemies quake.” An inner heat pulsated from her toes, to her fingertips, to the top of her head. “Come Forth, Andraste. Undefeated Battle heroine, Mounted on Maten, Galloping across the sky.” The vitality of the goddess flowed in her. “Hear my call. On a magic stallion, Fly to me, Goddess of victory.” She leaned her head back and let the goddess form her words as she chanted a sleeping spell to cast the Roman guards into a deep slumber. “Drift away.” Images of Roman sentries dropping off to sleep filled her mind. She was but a breeze circling around the 57

Cornelia Amiri legionnaires. “Deep, deep, deep in sleep.” Though they were far away, she magically surrounded them and lulled them. “Sleep, Roman sentries, sleep.” The virile energy—which had jolted through her—now vanished. Dizzy and spent, she sat down on the ground, crossed her legs in druid fashion, and breathed deeply to restore her stamina. Brude and his men would slay the slumbering guards with ease and take the fort by surprise. She’d given Brude the advantage he needed, calling for the justice and vengeance of the goddess’s long ash spear. Now, she but waited for him to return, alive and whole. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the image of Brude’s full smile, which lit up his entire face with evenly spaced features, and his magnetic eyes that her soul dove into. She could gaze at him forever. She whispered aloud to the wind, “Brude, I love you.” **** The horde of nude Picts rode and ran into the dense forest that bordered the fort. Those on horses dismounted and gathered around Brude, along with the warriors on foot. “Here, under the cover of bush and bracken, we will hide until night conceals all in darkness. Then we attack. “Brude watched over his men as they climbed up trees and hid behind trunks, their flesh bare like the other animals of the woods, only deadlier. Brude set his mind to think like an animal, for he had to kill or be killed. He would run as fast as a galloping horse and attack with the viciousness of a female boar, tear into his enemies like a wild wolf, and strike as silently as a snake. His rage was rekindled, remembering the massacres at the druid learning center on Ynys Mon—the sacred peacekeepers— where holy men and women were slaughtered. He recalled stories of women, even maidens who had not yet reached womanhood, raped by gangs of legionnaires and auxiliaries. And women and children captured and enslaved by Romans, shackled in heavy chains and shipped overseas. Dogs were not mistreated as cruelly as the Romans treated his people. Blood lust boiling, war scowl on his face, he moved forward 58

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ through the forest. He and his men stepping so lightly, their footsteps fell silent. The men near nut trees and berry bushes picked and dispersed the nuts and fruit among the others. They all munched like squirrels, more to pass the time as they waited than to stave off hunger. Thoughts of Tanwen filled Brude’s mind as he squatted behind the trunk of an ancient oak. The confidence by which she held her head high and her piercing, intelligent eyes lent strength and bravery to her beauty, enhancing the delicate features of her face. Her legs, her hips, her waist, her breasts— slender yet curvy—and she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But to wake up to the same woman each day, eat all meals with the same woman, and have to wait while she healed someone or performed a ritual to the gods—the services of a tribe druid more important than being with her husband. No marriage. He was not ready. He sighed. Sleeping with her every night didn’t seem bad, nor did eating every meal with her. And if not for her druid skills, they wouldn’t have this victory in their grasp. She was their druid now. The tribe needed her. And so did he. And it would be useful to have a wife favored by the gods. As the tribe’s druidess, she would be the one to conduct the bull dream and see his visage during the ritual. Choose him as the new chief. When she told him why Boudica chose him to be her husband, he knew it meant he would be the next chief. She’d already blessed him with that news and this battle. He had itched for the chance to kill Romans since the 9th Hispania moved to the Tay. Men among that legion had raped and murdered several women from local tribes. Knowing these women and the changes the attacks had brought on them, hot rage rose in him. If anything ever happened to Tanwen...if a Roman ever touched her...That was why each Pict longed to stab a sword into the cold, hard hearts of the brutes of the 9th Hispania. At last, the Romans would pay. And it was Tanwen who made this possible. When he returned victorious, he might take her as his wife. His heart throbbed as he recalled the warmth of her skin, the feel of her soft flesh in his arms. He could barely believe it, yet he 59

Cornelia Amiri couldn’t deny that he’d fallen in love with her. He had to have her, in marriage and all. Soon the forest was covered in darkness. Brude stood at his father’s side as he ordered his best spearmen to key positions to halt fleeing legionnaires. Once the men were in place, Calach and Brude chose the strongest warriors to advance and kill the guards. “The sentries should be in a deep slumber.” Brude gazed into the eyes of his chosen men. “Yet, keep sword and shield ready, for their gods may have empowered them to resist Tanwen’s spell.” They flew through the woods to their task, and Brude, Calach, and the other men waited in silence. The chosen warriors let out caws like ravens as they each slew a sentry. Brude’s heart raced. This was the moment he had been waiting for, and he would kill many Romans this eve. Brude unsheathed his long sword and brandished the naked blade. He pushed his muscled legs into a hard run. He rushed into the fort with Calach at his side and the confederated army of northern tribes at his back. With their mouths open wide, the naked Picts let out bloodcurdling war cries, reverberating in the air, piercing the Romans’ eardrums. With no further warning, Brude’s men filtered through the dense growth of trees, poured out of the woods, and attacked the fort.

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Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~

Chapter Six Amber flames rose against the ebony sky, gaining strength by feeding on the wooden gate of the Roman fort. Sweating from the heat of the fire, the smell of smoke and burning wood assailing him, Brude stormed the fort, blaring the Caledonii war cry. His men brandished barbed spears and sharp swords in their muscular arms. Free of the restraints of clothing, their long legs, tattooed with Pict symbols, leapt into the air. Calach and his army of northern tribes charged from the rear. The united Pict army poured into the fort by the thousands—all ready to die rather than be ruled by Rome. Awakened from sleep, underestimating their enemy, the Romans were caught bare of their armor and weapons as armed Picts struck with strong shields, sharpened swords, and deadly spears. Legionnaires scattered like ants in a stomped hill. Others dropped to their knees and begged Brude for their lives. A few soldiers were able to grab armor, but most could barely pick up a sword, as they were all asleep when the fort was lit afire by Caledonii torches. Picts in bare skin, Romans in red tunics, metal clanged against metal as they clashed hand to hand. Brude swung his long sword, and the blade locked with a legionnaire’s. They circled, stepped back, and then Brude whacked with his long sword. The Roman sidestepped, then thrust his short sword. Brude leapt clear. He swung again, metal clashed. Calach snuck up behind the Roman and rammed his blade into the soldier’s back. He dropped dead. Brude vowed to live as a free Celt or die battling Romans. He 61

Cornelia Amiri blocked the next legionnaire with his round shield and pushed forward. Romans jabbed spears and thrust short swords at him. He charged forward, thwarting the blows with his shield, and whacking Roman heads. Bodies fell. The sweet, yet acrid stench of blood hung in the air. Scarlet dripped off of blades, shields, and limbs—both whole and severed. Men jabbed spears back and forth. The Picts used a warrior trick, staring at one man when targeting the one at his side. At the moment of attack, they shifted their gaze and struck in one fluid movement, taking the legionnaires off guard. The Romans’ jaws dropped in surprise as they were struck dead. The air reverberated with the din of swords clanging against spears and wooden shields banging metal blades. The Caledonii spearmen attacked in pairs. With two against one Roman at a time, they slew them swiftly. Amidst the heat of the blazing fire and dark smoke, the ear-piercing screams of the dying, and the haunting war cries of the Picts, men fell. A Pict warrior fighting beside Brude, with hair like his, spiked like a badger’s mane with woad paste, shoved a Roman to his knees with his shield, grabbed him by his hair, pulled his head up, and chopped it off. The severed head fell in front of Brude’s feet. He stepped over it and plunged forward, his face streaked with sweat and blood. Breathing heavily from fatigue, he drove onward. He would win or die. Never captured or enslaved. He leapt in the air and came down with his blade, impaling a Roman. He swung the heavy, long sword left and right, pushing on. Roman blood soaked the ground. His life or theirs: whack, swing, thrust. For freedom, for the tribe, for the future of his children, he moved his shield with his blade in the rhythm of battle. Swords swung on all sides of him. Men yelled in death throes. Brude ran toward a soldier, and with all his might he hacked the blade into the Roman’s neck. The soldier gasped as blood poured from his throat. He tumbled to the ground. The more Romans Brude killed, the more came at him. His father’s voice interrupted the height of battle lust. Calach yelled, “Their reinforcements have arrived. Agricola just rode in.” 62

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Brude glanced at the influx of Roman soldiers. “We face two forces.” He raised his voice to a reverberating bellow. “Retreat.” **** Tanwen sat on the grass of the sacred hill, resting her back against the firm, long stone. She was in the middle of a trance when her body became tight and her breath shallow—overcome with the sense of dread—as if a weight was pushing inside her. The visage of a man formed in her mind—tall for a Roman, standing straight as a spear, the red plume on his gleaming bronze helmet added a foot to his height. His nose and chin were well defined, yet proportioned to his face, which featured dark, hard eyes. She gasped. Gnaeus Julius Agricola. She knew him on sight. Her chest squeezed painfully. Tanwen’s heart hammered as if it could beat its way out of her body. The man who wiped out her entire tribe, murdered her mother, father, brother, and aunt, rode into a battle with Brude and her new tribe. She shivered, overcome with an icy chill. “Brude, run. Retreat,” she yelled aloud. A short distance from the fort, Agricola leapt off his horse. In his hobnail sandal boots with straps wrapping his muscular calves, he spread his feet and gazed at the fort. Boudica fought this man on the battlefield, the final day of her life. Younger, less regal then, he’d served under Governor Suetonius. Now, with his chest contained in heavy Roman plate armor, his white tunic hitting his legs at the top of his knees, and a scarlet cloak draping his broad shoulders, he looked the part of a governor. Tanwen searched the vision in her head for Brude, but the rage throbbing inside her burst and threw her out of the trance. She clutched her forehead. She fought to push away the pain of the past in order to cope with the present. She drew in slow breaths and reassured herself that Brude and his men had survived. They had to be alive. Tanwen tried to scry for Brude and his warriors, but her pain blocked the vision. She turned to Lossio, who had watched over her while she was in the trance. “The connection broke when I saw Agricola.” “Gods, he is there?” 63

Cornelia Amiri “Yes, somehow. I have to know if Brude...if the Caledonii are safe.” “Someone made it through our line to report to him.” Lossio paused. “Let me scry to find what has befallen them.” “My thanks.” Be brave, she told herself in her mind, Brude is a great warrior. He will make it. Tanwen rubbed her upper teeth against her lower lip. Her gaze locked on Lossio as he positioned his skinny, aged limbs in the meditation stance of a druid. He stood on one leg, the other tucked in at his side in an imitation of a crane, and stretched his arms out with palms upward to the sky. “I’m sucking breath in slowly, through some type of thin reed. My eyes are shut, and I’m coated in something gooey and wet.” He shook his head. “Someone’s speaking. My men are near, scurrying up tree trunks. Like squirrels skimming up trees, blending in, hiding.” “They have shape-shifted to squirrels and what...fish?” Tanwen rubbed her forehead. “No. Only hiding as if they were fish or squirrels.” “What say you?” She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “It is what I feel.” “You are too vague, Lossio. I do not understand.” She heard a sharp intake of breath. Lossio’s eyes sparkled. “I ken it now.” His toothless smile filled his face. “Until now, our men have only battled with other Caledonian tribes. They are trained when hiding from foes to block their thoughts so the enemy’s druids will not scry their position.” “They are hiding in trees and in water. Surely, even Romans will know to look there. They’ll be captured.” Tanwen’s heart hammered, and her head ached as if an axe split her skull in two. “Not in water, in bogs. Submerged, breathing through reeds. It is an ancient Caledonii trick. The Romans will not find them. They never do.” Tanwen rubbed her forehead. “So, they are alive, in hiding, unseen? How many? All of them?” “A large number. These men are not filled with despair. In truth they seemed pleased.” Lossio smiled. 64

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “They are submerged in bogs, but they are happy. The battle must have gone well.” “I think so, from the little I can scry. Some hide in trees, on high branches, concealed by leaves.” “And Brude?” She held her breath as she awaited Lossio’s answer. “I cannot see these men’s faces. They are blocking their thoughts. I only get vague images and emotions they cannot hold back.” Tanwen heard the tension in her neck crack. Brude lives. And Calach too. If any harm had come to them, Lossio would feel sadness from the warriors rather than joy. She clutched her chest. “I ken he is unharmed.” “As do I. Brude is alive.” He placed both feet back on the ground. “What if he is hurt, wounded, or captured?” “If he has been wounded, we will cure him. We are druids, and healing the sick and injured is what we do.” Lossio reached out for her hand and gently patted it. “And if he is captured?” She wrapped her fingers around his and squeezed his hand. “He would kill himself rather than become a Roman slave,” Lossio said. “That is true.” She nodded her head. “You must hope for the best. You must be strong.” She freed his hand and reached out her arms for a comforting hug from her fellow druid. “Lossio, you remind me so much of my foster father, the Druid Rhys.” “I am honored. He was known as a great teacher at the learning center, before the Romans destroyed it for a second and final time. But, the Romans will not destroy the Caledonii.” “It is so. We will not allow it.” Tanwen forced a smile. She would see Brude again, soon. “Let us drink to the good news of our brave Caledonii warriors.” Lossio pulled out a skin of ale and passed it to her. She drank her fill and handed the leather bag back to Lossio. As he drank, she sat by his side, awaiting word of Brude’s fate. 65

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Chapter Seven Brude hid himself from Roman eyes, burrowed in the bog. Covered in dark, muddy water, he drew in a trickle of air from a hollow reed. His chest felt squeezed. He craved a big gulp of air. Though he was starved for air, the minimal breaths he sucked in through the reed allowed him to live. The gluey mud squeaked when he moved. He grabbed a fistful of weeds at the slimy bottom to anchor him in place. He had to hide long enough for the Romans to search the area, then he’d return home to Tanwen. Her image filled his mind. Features so firm yet delicate, her soft body so slender, yet curving in all the right places. While he was buried in this muck, knowing he would be with her soon kept him from going mad. Breaking through the surface, he rose to his feet and stood up in the bog. The mud squeaked as he strained against the hard mire. He’d laid a branch near the bog before he ducked into it. He leaned and levered his chest on the limb, struggling with all his might. He wrestled free of the muck, breaking loose at last, and lugged his heavy mud-caked feet onto dry ground at the bog’s edge. Hungrily, drawing in generous gasps of breath, he filled his lungs. He stunk as bad as the buckets of cow and pig manure used in daub to make wheelhouses. He yanked out a handful of weeds to wipe the mud from his eyes as he walked home. He swiped off the mire clinging to his arms and legs with leaves he grabbed along the way. At the sound of horses’ hooves galloping toward him, Brude ducked behind the trunk of a large tree. A wave of relief washed over him. It was two of his men. He 66

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ leapt out. “I am glad to see you.” The men rode up to him with wide grins on their faces. Drest, the spearman, swung off his mount. “Brude.” He slapped him on the shoulder in a warm greeting. “Bless the gods we found you.” Talorcan dismounted and grinned broadly. “When your horse trotted into the village alone, Calach ordered us to search for you.” “All have been awaiting your fate, but none feared for the worst. If any man could make it alive out of a Roman fort, it would be you,” Drest said. Brude chuckled and patted the spearman on the back “In truth, I am unharmed. I am glad my horse made it back. But best of all, you say my sire is alive and well.” “Everyone is.” “We did not lose a man,” Talorcan added. “No losses.” Brude gasped with joy. “None.” Drest grinned. “You were the only one unaccounted for.” Talorcan’s eyes glittered with humor. “Are you unharmed? I cannot tell. You are caked with mud, like a hog who wallowed all day,” Drest quipped. “Yes I am.” Brude laughed. “I have been in a peat bog, for...well too long.” “But they didn’t find you,” Talorcan said. “No, and not a single loss of man. This is good news.” A warm glow filled Brude, so happy about the victory. “And we killed a lot of Romans.” “It was a fine battle.” Drest’s smile grew brighter. Talorcan pointed to his black stallion. “Take my horse and hasten back to the village. The tribe awaits you. I will ride pillion with Drest. But first shake yourself off like pigs do. I will not have you muddying my steed. I just washed him down this morn.” “Do it, Brude,” Drest quipped, “I want to see if your ears flap like the hogs do when they shake mud off their faces.” “Oink, oink. Talorcan, I have yet to see you or this horse of yours truly clean. And Drest, if anyone’s ears flap, it would be 67

Cornelia Amiri the oversize ones you have. They’re as big as your head!” “Well, I can say one thing,” Talorcan held up one finger, “With all that time in the bog, I bet your belly is growling, so you can eat like a pig.” “That I can. There better be a whole hog boiling in a cauldron as we speak. I am going to eat every meaty joint and not share a single bite with the two of you.” Full of warmth, floating like the rising sun, Bruce vaulted onto Talorcan’s black horse. His men raced their one horse beside his, and Talorcan yelled out, “The druidess halted the Lughnasa rites and has kept to the hill, secluded in prayer to the gods until you return.” “She will be glad to see you,” Drest added. “All the maidens in the village will be glad to see you.” Talorcan grinned. A surge of heat flowed through Brude. Tanwen had kept him safe. Though as a warrior, he did not fully understand the ways of the gods, he knew their success. They had not lost a single man in the raid, and he knew it was due to the rites and rituals she’d performed. As they rode into the village, the entire tribe poured out of their wheelhouses, roaring with cheers at Brude’s return. He eased off the horse, and Calach announced a feast had been prepared to celebrate their victory. “First I must bathe the bog off of me.” He eased off the horse, caked with mud, and sprinted to the river the village bordered. Wading into the chilly water of the Tay, quivering, he dunked his head and scrubbed roughly at his skin. “I forgot the soap,” he said aloud. He stood, turned to go back for the soap, and gasped. He stood, nude in the river, eyes fixed on Tanwen wading out to him, her skirt knotted above her knees as water splashed her red tunic. With her eyes, she devoured his manly face, smooth, taut skin, and full mouth, but his hair no longer shined as it was coated with mud. She laughed. Racking her eyes down to his groin, she moaned softly. The river was like ice, but fire ripped through her body. She wanted him. The chill water rose to her hips as she neared him. 68

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ She halted, her gaze still locked on his, standing a breath span away. “Did I hear you say you forgot the soap?” In her open hand, Tanwen held out a lump of soap Huctia made from sheep fat, offering it to Brude. “My thanks.” He didn’t lower his eyes to the soap, but locked his gaze with hers. His eyes burned into hers, smoldering with fire. “I thought you might need it. That is why I came.” She placed the cake of soap on his palm, and as her fingers brushed against his hand, a frisson of heat shot through her. She covered the soap with her hand over his. Wrapping her arm around his shoulder, she rose on her tiptoes. The soap slipped into the river. “Thank the gods you have returned.” She covered his full lips with hers. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him. He returned the kiss with fierce abandonment. He savored her warm sweetness, feeding from her soft, trembling lips. When his lips left hers, an amused smile filled her face as she gazed at his hair. She slipped her arms from his shoulders, and she reached up to pinch a clump of mud between her fingers and slid it down the strands of his hair. She flicked the mud from her fingers. “Brude, you must bathe before you lay with me.” Laughter burst from him. He looked around. “Where is the soap?” Both bent down, ducking their heads under the icy water as their hands groped the river bottom, searching. With a huge splash, she lifted her head out of the water. She held the prize in her hand. “I found it.” “Now I can wash this mud out of my hair.” “Let me help.” Tanwen gestured for him to lean his head down. As she rubbed the soap into his wet hair, the shudder that ran through her wasn’t from the chilly river. Massaging his scalp, her fingers tingled. Drawing out clumps of hair strands, she sifted them between her fingers while wiping the mud off. His face beamed as if lit from within as he smiled at her. “Where are your clothes?” Her eyes devoured the smooth ripple of muscle beneath his wet skin. 69

Cornelia Amiri “I fought nude.” The blaze in his eyes and the rasp in his voice ignited a fire that flowed through her veins despite the icy water. “I forgot.” She felt lightheaded. She still held the cake of soap in her hand and he covered it with his palm. Their gazes caught. Breathless, she didn’t move. His compelling eyes were irresistible. “I hoped each day you would return,” she whispered. “I do not think I would be here if not for you,” Brude said as his gaze bathed her in admiration, but also burned with an inner fire, a hunger that she knew her eyes matched. “Do you mean the sentries?” She paused, then added, “Yes, I cast a spell on them, putting them to sleep so you and your men could enter the camp in stealth.” “I led my warriors into battle and protected them with my commands as best I could, but you guarded them with the help of the otherworld, with spells and rituals made manifest by the gods.” “Are you saying the skills of druids can help warriors?” Her eyes grew openly amused. “Not even I can deny that. In this, we were a team.” “As we have been before, but in a different way.” Their eyes melted together. She tilted her head upward. He leaned downward. Their lips met and molded together. His mouth was moist and firm. She gave in freely to her hunger for him. His moist, firm mouth sent spirals of ecstasy through her. As their lips parted, he moaned. “Ah, yes I recall our previous unions well.” Their last was in his thoughts now. “You wore nothing but a gleaming gold torque and gold clasps on your ears.” Every pore of his being had surged with ecstasy. She had felt so tight as she moved against him. Hot. Wet. He had ridden her in a hard, rocking rhythm, and she matched every thrust until they both exploded together. “Speaking of which, all you are wearing now is a gold torque.” Her gaze swept over his body. “I forgot to get my clothes.” “How are you going to walk back to the feasting hall?” “I will just walk. My tribesmen have seen me bare before.” 70

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “But women will be there, as well.” He winked. “Yes, and I don’t think they will mind. Women find my body pleasing.” Tanwen’s face flushed, and she let out a sigh. “Your mother will be there. Wrap my cloak around you and run to your wheelhouse. You can change before attending the feast.” “My thanks.” He swallowed as his eyes locked on her full, beckoning lips. He pressed his mouth to hers as softly as a whisper. A delicious sensation raced through him. He raised his lips from hers and gazed into her eyes. “We should go.” He wrapped his wet arm around her taut waist. The contact kindled an inner fire, which spread from his arm through his body as they walked together to the grassy riverbank. The heat of her body warmed his flesh, still slightly quivering from the chill of the cold river. She picked up her cloak and handed it to him. Brude wrapped the warm, woolen plaid around his broad shoulders. “You look, cold. You need your cloak more than I.” “No. You need it more.” “We can both share it.” He opened the cloak, stepped forward, and wrapped it around her as well. As the plaid bratt draped them both, his bare chest pressed against her breasts. His mouth covered hers in a slow, searching kiss. The smooth wetness of her lips sent a jolt of heat through him. Her mouth was as warm as honey, and he drank her in. His tongue swept inside, stroking her mouth. She moaned, softly. When she came up for air, she stepped back and untied her belt. Her skirt fell to the ground. She stepped out of it, then back into the cloak and Brude’s waiting arms. He threw the cloak to the ground. His heart hammered as he urgently gathered the fabric at both sides of her tunic, and yanked it up, pulled it off over her head. Hastily, he tossed it on the river bank with her other garments. As he wrapped his arms around her silky nakedness, her body sank into his embrace. Warm shivers shot through him. As his hands explored the hollows of her smooth back, he smothered her wet mouth with his. His lips tingled hungrily as they twisted against hers. He forced her lips open with a hard 71

Cornelia Amiri thrust. Her breasts moved against his chest. He felt the pang of his arousal as it swelled and hardened. He flicked his tongue in and out of the heat of her mouth. He whisked his tongue back into her mouth, and she quivered in his arms as she crushed herself against him. In one fluid move, he picked Tanwen up and lay her down on her plaid cloak, spread out on the grass. His head spun with thoughts. A man and a woman in love play, a druid and a war leader working for the same cause, protecting the tribe. We fit together like magic in both. My father says it is the perfect marriage. Wedding her would ensure that I become chief when he passes on, as she is both a druidess and Boudica’s granddaughter...Yes, thanks be to Boudica for sending Tanwen to me. His gaze swept over her body, drinking in the beauty of her long, shapely limbs, lush breasts, and captivating eyes, hazy with lust. But marrying her? I had deemed to not wed for a few summers more. But I cannot speak of it with her now. Not while she lies stretched out before me. He swallowed tightly as he dropped down beside her. Impelled by the passion which flared in him, he straddled her bare ivory thighs, and he gazed into her blue eyes, illuminated with the light of desire. As he gently caressed her cheeks, he covered her wet, quivering mouth with his. Tanwen’s kisses were delicious, smooth as cream but as warm and heady as honey mead. His senses spun. His lips moved down from her mouth to her neck. Eagerly, he slid his hands down to her beautiful, jutting breasts. Blood surged in his fingertips. He cupped her magnificent, flushed breasts, squeezing and massaging the jiggling mounds of pink tipped flesh. Jolts of pleasure spiraled through him. He flicked the erect, rosy nipples with his finger. Tanwen moaned as he rolled the tight buds. A hot ache grew in his loins. His erection hardened and throbbed. He lowered his mouth to one pebbled tip and whisked her nipple with his tongue, leaving the hard nub wet and taut. Taking the nipple between his teeth, he tugged gently. As he suckled the teat, his hand slid down her flat stomach to the juncture of her thighs. His heart leapt with a lurch of excitement. She gasped. His palm burned as he caressed the smooth skin of 72

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ her thigh. He slipped his hand up to the curly mound of red hair between her thighs. His fingers explored the downy mound, fondling the damp petals of her arbor. His heart pounded in an erratic rhythm. She let out a ragged gasp, and spreading her legs to open up for him, she thrust her body forward. His fingers teased the pebble hard nubs of both her nipples and the cleft between her legs. Both hardened and swollen. She writhed beneath him and panted breathlessly as her breasts heaved. In response to her body, his bulging flesh throbbed and ached for her. Rigid with desire. His hands slid to her waist, and holding her tight with urgent longing, he slid his engorged arousal between the pink folds of her delicate rosebud. He gazed into her dreamy eyes as he lunged and thrust. She whimpered. A look of anguish, of deep pleasure, and pain filled her face as she leaned her head back. He moved his hands to cup the cheeks of her derriere. With his hands hard on her plump bottom, he plunged into her heated core. Her long red hair swung back and forth as her body rocked with his relentless pounding. As she arched her back, he glided higher into her moistened depths. Her panting grew to whimpers, which heightened to breathless squeals as he drove into her in a frenzied rhythm. She grew wetter with excitement. Her lower lips clenched shut. She shuddered uncontrollably. Buried deep inside her, he ground her hard. He stilled. Brude burst into liquid heat as his seed spilled into her. With a tortured groan, he held her tight as she let out a wild passionate cry. Slowly, he pulled out of her, and with his hands hard on her shoulders, he eased Tanwen to her knees before his wet, limp love muscle. “Use your druid magic, and make me hard,” he rasped. She pushed her long red hair out of her face and clamped her lips over his manhood, taking the slick length of him inside her mouth. She glided upward until she had taken in all of him. Her parted lips slid up and down his full length as her tongue lashed him, hardening him. Earthy grunts and groans bellowed from deep inside him. Fire spread through his body. Before he 73

Cornelia Amiri erupted, she pulled back. “Come here.” On his knees before her, he pushed her down on her back onto the plaid bratt. He parted her thighs with his knees and covered her body with his. Brude eased his hard staff just barely inside her. Drew back, eased in again, then pulled back. He was burning now. With a sudden plunge, his fire brand lit into her. With a gasp, she arched into him, tipping her hips, she took all he had to give. He lifted her ankles to his shoulders and drove deeper with each rhythmic plunge. She matched his thrust with a fiery passion. They were a roaring wild fire, out of control, growing more frenzied. He pounded into her again and again. Covered with sweat, he heaved like a bellows. He erupted into a towering inferno—spewing molten liquid and sparks. Tanwen quivered with him. He arched and cried her name. She whimpered in climax. Brude sucked in his breath with a loud gasp as he burned to a cinder. With the fire in him quenched, he withdrew and rolled over to her side. He kissed the back of her neck, salty with sweat. With his face buried in her long hair, he inhaled the scent of her, heather and oak moss mixed with the sharp yet musky fragrance of sex, lingering in the air. His breathing began to settle to a more even beat. Brude whispered in her ear, “That reward was well worth battling Romans and burying myself in a peat bog.” She rose up on her elbow and smiled at him. “Are you ready to do it, again?” “Yes.” He sat up and pulled her into his arms. She pushed back laughing. “No. I mean the Romans. Are you ready to war with them, again?” “More than ever.” He could feel the weight and strength of his sword in his hands at the mere thought of it. “We did it. We attacked a Roman fort and gained the upper hand.” “Until Agricola came, but your men managed to retreat with no losses. It’s a great victory.” A proud smile spread across her face. “Only you could have done it.” “I ken we have found their weakness. They cannot muster full strength in a surprise attack when Agricola is not there.” 74

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “You are right.” She snuggled up closer to him. “We must continue to strike in stealth like a snake, until they leap out of our way and run back to Rome.” “Yes, oh yes.” Tanwen leaned her head toward his. Brude opened his mouth to speak, but his words were smothered by her lips. His mouth burned. Hungrily, he ravaged her moist, swollen lips, giving in to the heady sensation.

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Chapter Eight Since Lughnasa, the moon diminished each night until it was a mere sliver. Then, Tanwen watched as it grew fatter each day until ripe. Now, the moon shined bright and full over the wheelhouse where she slept and dreamt. She shot up in bed, trembling and damp from sweat. Her own scream woke her up from the nightmare, the haunting memory fresh in her mind. Though gripped by fear, she rose from her rush-filled pallet. Her head spun, and her heart beat hard, battering her chest. The image of blood gushing from her brother’s body began to fade as she drew deep breaths through her nose with a slow steadiness. First, her mother and her father, chief of the Ordovices, had died, killed by Agricola’s men. The tribe was nearly exterminated that day, but Boudicius, her brother, escaped to Ynys Mon, where she was. Then Agricola’s men attacked them there. Boudicius fell dead, but Sulwen and Rhys pulled Tanwen away to safety. They hadn’t let her go back. “There is not now,” she told herself between slow breaths. “That place and time are gone. I am in Caledonia, now. In a wheelhouse, trying to sleep.” She couldn’t fall back to sleep, now. Her rage was a dark storm, so fatal it could lift houses, snap trees in two, and flood whole villages. “Brude needs to kill more Romans. And I am going to see that he does,” she vowed aloud. She dressed, ran to Brude’s wheelhouse, pushed aside the leather door flap, and rushed in. He sat before the central fire, eating a bowl of oat porridge. “I need to speak with you.” “Yes, come sit with me.” 76

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Gracefully, she settled into a sitting position on the floor at his side. “Brude, we must work together to get the northern chiefs to fight with the Caledonii as they did in the raid. All the time. Until we slay the Romans.” “It is being done. My father has spoken to them.” He gestured at his bowl of porridge, offering her some. She shook her head no at the porridge. “Have they sworn their swordsmen and spearmen to him? For whenever the time is right to attack, like at the fort, the tribes must be aligned. So we will have men at the ready.” She could hear the agitation in her tone and took a deep breath to calm down. “Tanwen, we Picts know of swearing allegiance.” He devoured a heavy spoonful of thick porridge. “We perform a ritual, unfamiliar to you and the tribes of Britannia. We bind all oaths and allegiances by blood. No Pict has ever broken a vow such sworn.” “And the tribes have sworn a blood oath to your sire?” “It shall be done this day.” He shoved another spoonful of porridge into his mouth, then said, “At the feast for the chiefs, before they ride back out to their own tribes.” “I am here to help the Caledonii. Gethin, Huctia, and I will go and help Ciniatha prepare for the feast.” “While you do that, my sire and I will prepare for the oath binding ceremony.” He hungrily licked his spoon while his eyes glowed with an inner fire, extending a silent invitation from the smoldering depth of his gaze. His heated gaze held her, and she couldn’t help but smile. “As it is a Pictish tradition and new to me, I will leave the matter of blood oaths in the hands of the chief and his son. I know it will be done.” “I assure you it will, but later in the day.” Brude stood as she did and stroked a wayward strand of hair back from her face. “It is early. We have time.” He tilted his head down. Their lips met, pressing together. His mouth was warm and wet. His kiss sent a hot shiver though her. When he withdrew his lips just a few inches from her mouth, Tanwen fought not to return the kiss, as he clearly wasn’t going to offer anything more at this time: offers such as 77

Cornelia Amiri words of commitment, a confirmation of their betrothal. Yet, the feast would be the perfect place to announce their troth. She was here not only to get the Caledonii and other tribes to fight the Romans, but to marry Brude as well. The first part of her destiny was taking place, and she would have to handle the rest. She thought, While you get oaths from the tribal chiefs, I am going to get a pledge of betrothal from you. **** Tanwen entered the feasting hall, which was full of the clank of cups and pottery. Women brushed past her, carrying buckets of heather ale to keep all the feasters’ cups filled. After dodging a sweaty-faced servant, lugging a platter piled with fine fare, Tanwen took her rightful place, as tribe druidess, at the chief’s table. As she sat next to Brude, four boys carried in a huge tray holding a plump boar. One whiff revealed it had been boiled in ale with leeks and wild carrots. The noisy hall fell to a hush as Calach rose. With a huge grin on his beefy face, he gripped his dagger tightly, stabbed the sharp blade into the boiled flesh of the boar, and carved a meaty joint. “The champion portion for he who led the raid against the fort of the 9th Hispania.” He laid it on a plate, and handed it to Brude. The din of men beating spears against shields and women and children whooping loudly with glee was music for the celebration. Tanwen dug her fingers into the soft flesh of a salmon from the Tay and stuffed the tender flakes into her mouth. They melted on her tongue with a distinctive, somewhat buttery taste. She tore off a strip from a slab of venison that dripped with juice, stuffed it in her mouth, and chewed slowly, relishing the rich flavor. She grabbed a slice of wild boar and devoured it, savoring the strong, sweet, and nutty taste. Dishes of mushrooms and leeks, apples boiled with hazelnuts, fennel seeds, and honey were passed around. With a whiff of one of the apples, which Ciniatha had roasted to a light brown on a spit, Tanwen inhaled the rich, sweet aroma which embodied all the best of the season. There was an abundance of fresh baked bread and sweet creamy butter churned by Ciniatha as well. 78

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Lossio stood, along with the bard of the Boresti tribe, stepping forward to add true music to the feast. Tanwen smiled at Brude and then glanced at the bard, who used a circular breathing rhythm to play the triple pipes. With one flute longer, and of a deeper pitch than the other two, it created the soft barrage of a vibrating hum. Calach rose. “My chiefs, take these gifts I offer you.” Servants carried finely crafted silver bows, engraved with Pictish symbols, and penannular brooches, and handed one of each to every chief at the feast. Everyone stood and raised their cups, toasting Calach’s generosity. When the din quieted down, Calach said, “I bequest these gifts to you, great chiefs of Caledonia, to show our unity. For if we are to defeat Agricola, we must unite under one war leader. We must vow to this.” Calach waited until the rumble of agreements ended. “We have with us the granddaughter of a great war leader. I speak of Boudica of the Iceni.” He motioned for Tanwen to stand. “Great chiefs, I give to you our honored guest, the holy druidess, Tanwen ferch Wena ferch Boudica.” She felt the heated gaze of all eyes upon her as she stepped forward with her harp. Turning, she looked every chieftain in the eye and spoke with a clear, strong voice. “In Britannia, the Romans take our cattle, our harvest, all of our goods for their tribute. Worse, they take our greatest treasure, kith and kin. The Romans tear children, wives, and husbands from their families and make them slaves to work clearing forests and toil in the dark mines under the lash.” Tanwen strummed her harp as she sung the paean to Boudica that Druidess Sulwen taught her. “Skin of cream, Hair of flame, Swift chariot, Spear held high, Boudica avenged Her daughters’ pain. Hear the drums beat, 79

Cornelia Amiri The Carnyxs blow. Woad warriors With whetted swords, Slew the Roman scourge. Warrior queen, Andraste’s image on her hilt. Her white blade Drank red blood. Celts were strong. Gods were happy. Slaughtered by Rome, We took death Like our queen. Dragons slay eagles. The day will come When Rome falls, We will yet stand.” Calach stepped forward and spoke “In truth, under the leadership of Boudica, the Britons burned the Roman capital of Britannia, destroyed a rich merchant town, and had the battle not ended badly, might have thrown off the yoke of Rome. We are new to this war with Rome, but we are an unconquered people and will not let anyone take our freedom. Let us show these Romans, from the outset, what heroes we have in Caledonia.” Brude stepped forward and added. “By this union which we swear a blood oath to, we will keep our freedom.” At his signal, Ciniatha brought him the sacred earthenware cup of his ancestors. It had two handles in the shape of boars with silver fangs and flat feet which ran from the top to the bottom of the cup. Two people could drink from it at the same time in the Pictish manner of oath-taking. All were silent as Calach withdrew his dagger and ran the point of the blade down his palm. His scarlet blood dripped into the cup. Each of the chiefs drew forth their daggers. As Calach approached each one and they cut themselves, their blood 80

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ flowed into the cup. When the last had bled into the sacred chalice, Calach mixed a portion of wine into the cup. He held the cup up to the first chief. Both placed their lips to the rim and together they took a gulp of the intermingled blood. It was then passed to the next two kings until all had drunk in the same manner. Tanwen pulled her dagger from the sheath at her waist and walked to Brude. As she held the cup, she gritted her teeth, and held in her pain as she slit her hand and let the blood fall. Brude grabbed the other boar handle, and together, they raised the cup to their lips and gulped. When he lowered the cup, she swore to the oath. Brude uttered the same pledge. “I swear loyalty this day. I vow we are bound together. If either of us breaks this oath, our blood shall pour out as it does now.” When he lowered the cup, she gazed at his parted lips. With a tilt of her chin, she covered his mouth with hers. His lips tasted of blood-oath wine. She sealed her vow to marry him, twisting her mouth over his. As she eased her mouth off of his, she wondered if he knew the importance of what had taken place. They were now bound in the way Boudica had deemed. She’d become his destiny as much as he had always been hers. She gazed into his eyes, intense and assessing. He knew. The chiefs turned their attention from Brude and Tanwen to Calach, who strode forward. “All of you, from this day forth, solemnly swear to fight the Romans under my banner as war leader. If any of you should prove disloyal to my rule, your blood shall pour out as ours does now as we take the oath.” Calach paused and gazed intensely at each chief. “If anyone breaks this vow, they and their descendants will be forever cursed.” Tanwen reached out for Brude’s hand and held it to her heart. “It has been done. By uniting the tribes, we will conquer the Romans.” Her heart pounded as fast as the feet of a Beltane dancer. She was so excited, as if the final victory had taken place. More than ever, she was secure in following Boudica’s wishes about Rome, and Brude as well. He draped his arm around her shoulder. “We will defeat 81

Cornelia Amiri them. I swear to you. You no longer have to fear the Romans. They will not penetrate Caledonii territory. This northern land of ours is the safe haven Boudica wanted for her bloodline.” Her skin tingled from the warmth of his arm around her. “A safe haven for your children as well. You will be the father of my children, according to Boudica’s wishes.” “Do not say I am your destiny. I am a free man. A chief’s son. Many choices are before me.” Something flickered in the back of his eyes. “I decide who my bride will be.” “So you say.” As Tanwen took a deep breath, she thought, It is you who will relent, not I. She smiled. “Come, we must lead the chiefs to the oaken grove. There, I need to make a libation of the remainder of wine and blood in the cup for the war god, Belatucadros, so he will bless the oath and the alliance and grant us the power to defeat our enemies.” She inhaled deeply, thinking, I need you with me. I want the warmth that radiates from you. The masculinity that fills the air around you and heats my blood. But more so, I need keep you at my side, for I cannot give you time alone, time to think, which will only strengthen your resistance and stubbornness to the destiny Boudica has seen for us. That which will be. “You ask me to assist you in a ritual?” She shrugged. “In Britannia, other druids, my great uncle, Rhys, and my foster grandmother, Sulwen, always helped me.” “But they’re druids. You have your Silure warriors to render you aid.” “Why do you fear druids and gods?” “I fear nothing.” “Then you will help me. You worship the war god, Belatucadros. He will bless the Caledonii even more if he sees you, as the chief’s son, partaking in a ritual for him. It will please the god.” “I do serve my tribe and its gods.” He met her gaze. “So be it, if it will so please Belatucadros.” **** Beneath the shade of the stretching branches of the oak copse, Brude slapped his palm against the goat skin hide of the war drum while his heart pounded just as fast. As a chief’s son, he 82

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ knew the ways of music and poetry, so when she placed the drum in his hands, he knew how to play it. When she placed herself in his hands, he didn’t know what to do with her. To make love to her, yes, but to wed her, no. He wasn’t ready for marriage. But he couldn’t seem to persuade her to give up the farce. Moreover, it seemed less of a farce to him. There were times when he could see himself happily marrying her. He was in trouble. He stared at her slender feet. Naked upon the lush forest floor. As he noticed she wore rings on her toes in the way of the Picts, he wondered, Who gave them to her? It must have been one of those chiefs. Howbeit the law of hospitality forces me to refrain from jealousy. Brude took a deep breath. What, no I cannot be jealous. She does not belong to me. I have no say nor wish for any say over her. It is she who means to hold sway over me. Says I am her destiny...or Boudica says. The dead queen. The gleaming silver bands on her toes drew his eyes to her feet, her shapely calves, and up her long legs to those ample thighs that he straddled when in love play. His arousal swelled and throbbed. Flames flickered in him. He was burning up. He needed her like a fire needs wood. He thought, One of those chiefs, mayhaps all of them, gave her those silver toe rings. Her gracefully curving legs flowed from the short tunic, which allowed freedom of movement for dancing. When dancing in rituals, druidesses often disrobed to stand bare before the gods in body and spirit. Brude sighed as he thought, Gods help me, if she undresses I will burst. I won’t be able to stand it. His palms began to burn as he continued to beat the drum. Fighting to gain his composure, he shifted his gaze to Lossio, who held the sacred oath cup and its remnants of blood and wine. But the moment Tanwen stepped into the center of the ancient circle of long stones, his gaze fell on her. As she leaned her head back, her long, loose red hair tumbled in ripples down to her thighs. She lifted her arms high in the air and invoked the war god. “Belatucadros, god of war 83

Cornelia Amiri From beyond the oak door Heed our call Come to us all.” She took the cup from Lossio’s hands and raised it high, chanting: “Belatucadros, god of war. Honor us as we honor you Give to us as we give to you Take our oath of unity Bravery and feats of battle Give us victory Leave Agricola in a death rattle.” Brude stood mesmerized, as he watched Tanwen with a twist of her wrist, fling the red liquid from the cup to splash and run down the Standing Stone. Resting her hands against her back, just above her waist, she began to dance in a circle around the gray standing stone. The soles of her feet slapped and shuffled across the dirt of the grove. Brude’s palms tapped the bodhran as his heart hammered in his chest. Tanwen kicked one foot in front of the other. As she leapt in the air, her breasts jiggled against the wool of her tunic dress, and a wisp of red hair fell across her face. It appeared like she climbed up her own legs as she moved one foot, then the other, to the front and then the back of her leg. When she kicked and leapt, her hips and rear wiggled wildly. Gazing at the silver rings, glistening on her toes, her shapely legs, twitching hips, and bouncing breasts, he could hardly breathe. It was a dance to boil the blood of a war god. A dance to unite the wild tribes of Caledonia and drive them to war against Rome. The dance of a woman who could steal his soul and leave him grateful for it. The leaves on the forest floor fluttered as her feet hopped and glided. Brude turned his head. He had to use every ounce of strength to find a way to leave her. For if he fell into her arms or grabbed her into his, which was even more likely, he would be done for. In an instant, Tanwen came to a stop, her breasts heaving 84

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ with a huffing breath. Sweat covered her skin. She raised her arms into the air and bowed her head as she chanted, “Our thanks to you. God of War For with your might Blessing our fight We shall bring the Romans To their knees. Rid our shore Of them, send them Back across the seas Leaving us free Forevermore.” She stared at him and reached out her hands. Unable to turn away from her gaze, Brude pushed the drum in her hands instead of falling into her arms himself. Before she could speak, he said, “My father needs me. We must have a war council now. I shall see you on the morrow.” “Do you not want a druid there?” “No,” he managed to say before wheeling about and walking away. He increased his pace, flying through the forest, to run off the tension at turning away from what his body, his mind, and his soul screamed for. Her. But he couldn’t let her know. He had to maintain control. **** The next morn, Tanwen watched as the Smertae chief, Nectan, rode out. Brude told her the Smertae got their name from smearing the red blood of the enemies they killed on their body. The way he looked the cattle over as he rode past the Caledonii fields sent a feeling of alarm through her. So much so that when she felt another’s presence, she suddenly jumped. “Brude, it’s you!” “Yes, it is I. You watch Nectan.” “He eyes the cattle as if they belong to him.” “It is the season for cattle raids. He will be back to try to take them.” 85

Cornelia Amiri “I think it is so.” She paused noticing that the idea didn’t alarm Brude. He’d probably participated in many cattle raids himself. Some of the vast heard of Caledonii cattle may well have once belonged to other tribes. “He did not drink the blood oath.” “He does not want to fight under my father as war leader. He said he alone will lead his people into battle.” “The fool,” Tanwen said with scorn. “Was he and his tribe the reason Calach called that private war counsel last night?” “Yes.” She didn’t believe him. The war counsel was an excuse to get away from her. But it wasn’t going to be that easy. She’d see to it. “Did you come up with a way to get him to join us in fighting the Romans?” “No.” “Did you come up with a way to stop him from raiding your cattle?” “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of Nectan. He won’t take our cattle.” “He and his men are accomplished warriors.” “So am I and my warriors.” “This is true.” “You are gazing at him a long time.” “He concerns me.” “I noticed you have toe rings in the style of Caledonian men and women.” “Yes. They were a gift.” “From one of the chiefs, no doubt.” “Did you want to praise the generosity of the giver on my behalf?” “No.” “Then for what reason do you ask?” “I suppose Nectan gave them to you.” “No. He gave me no gifts. He just seemed to scowl a lot, at me and everyone else.” “It is the Smertae way.” Brude paused. “Who gave you the rings, then?” “They were a gift from your mother.” 86

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “My mother is known for her generosity as befits the wife of the chief of the Caledonii.” “This is true. She reminds me of my own mother and my foster mother, Sulwen.” Tanwen wondered, Was he jealous? That was a good sign. He thought Nectan had given me the toe rings, and this made him angry. I should bait him a bit for fun. “The people of Caledonia are most generous. Many chiefs have bestowed gifts on me.” “So it should be. You are a druid and the granddaughter of Boudica. Did you not know we follow the laws of hospitality as well as any of the tribes in Britannia?” She smoothed her hair with her fingers. “It is odd that I have not received a gift from you.” “I will have to remedy it.” His even white teeth shown as he flashed a wry smile. “I would not have you telling others that Calach’s son is not generous and hospitable.” “I would not say that, not precisely.” “Yes. Well I am off to seek a gift for you.” Brude brushed his lips across her cheek in a butterfly kiss. “I will speak to you this eve.” He smiled, turned on his heels, and walked away. Filled with a warm, bottomless joy, Tanwen smiled. Her ancestor, Boudica, would be pleased. The chiefs had united against Rome. And she vowed to unite with Brude in marriage as Boudica bid. In truth, wedding him had become Tanwen’s deepest desire.

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Chapter Nine Her eyes flew open. Her heart raced, and she panted with shallow breaths. Tanwen pulled the tartan cover tight around her as she lay on her pallet. She shivered with cold. A loud roar outside drew her attention, the wind. The weather had changed. It must have affected the nightmare she just awoke from. She sighed. This time it wasn’t a memory, but a portent of things to come. In her dream it was winter, here in the Caledonii village. Skinny children cried out with hunger pangs. She spent all day going from child to child, trying to heal them of the sicknesses that come with starvation. The mothers shook their heads saying, “There’s no beef.” What did it foretell? Would a disease kill the tribe’s cattle? She would look at the stock first thing in the morning. Tanwen laid her head back down then shot up into a sitting position. Unable to sleep, she’d look at the cattle now. Tanwen rose, pulled on a tunic, wrapped a plaid skirt around her waist, and fastened her heavy woolen cloak with a large, round brooch pin. As she headed down the moonlit trail to the cattle pen, sounds of croaking frogs and chirping crickets filled the night air. She grew alert at the unexpected sound of horses’ hooves. As the chill wind whipped her hair around her face, she watched men ride into the village and rein in at the pasture. The cattle. It was a raid. Without beef for winter, the Caladonii could die from starvation. These were her people now. She had to alert the warriors and Brude. From deep in her gut she screeched the Ordovices battle cry 88

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ into the wailing wind. The warriors heard her, pouring out of stone wheelhouses with spears and long swords drawn and grasping round shields. She pulled her cloak tighter against the bite of the icy wind. The raiders shouted protest about leaving the cattle behind, but one of them, a man with a deep, gruff voice shouted over the wind, “We have something better.” A rider was upon her before she knew it. He draped a woolen plaid cloak over her head and upper body and wound a rope around it. Trapped, all was dark with her face covered, her voice muffled. She couldn’t see or cry out. Thrown over the saddle like a bag of oats, the man rode off with his prize. Unable to see, Tanwen’s stomach jolted as she bounced on the galloping horse, the rider gripping her tightly. Though she kept struggling, she couldn’t break loose. The hand clutching her tightened its grip so she wouldn’t fall off. In addition to the rage knotting inside her, nausea overcame her. She quivered from both her queasy stomach and from the cold, riding at a gallop in the icy wind. Panic rioted within her. What were they going to do with her? Did they know she was of Boudica’s blood? Would they sell her to the Romans? Did some minor chief mean to force a marriage so he could wed the granddaughter of Boudica? Would they hurt her? Unable to do anything now, she kept her fears under control. Once they untied her and she tore that cloth over her head off, she’d escape. She’d have her chance as soon as they arrived at whatever tribal village they were headed to. **** Where is Tanwen?” Brude bellowed above the blustering wind at Huctia and Gethin. “It was she who yelled out the Ordovices’ war cry,” Gethin said, clutching a sword in his hand. “Where were you two? You came all the way from Britannia to guard her.” Brude wheeled around facing his own men. “Where were my guards? Why was the druidess the only one who alerted us of a cattle raid? And so close to winter.” “My prince, we must find our lady. We must find Tanwen 89

Cornelia Amiri and rescue her from the Smertae,” Huctia said. “Are we sure it was the Smertae who took her?” Brude took a deep breath. “Aye,” one of his men spoke up. “I recognized Nectan. He grabbed the druidess and rode off with her flung over his lap.” “The beast,” Huctia snapped. “We will get him and save Tanwen,” Brude swore. At that moment, tiny white specks swirled thought the air. As he drew his cloak tighter around his shoulders, a chill filled Brude’s insides and guilt gripped him. He should have protected her. How did this happen? He couldn’t fault the Smertae for raiding their cattle, but to attack a druidess, moreover Boudica’s granddaughter. Brude was addled. “If they have hurt her in any way, it will be war.” What he had to do now was get her back home. The village had become her home. He thought of her as part of the tribe, now. They needed her. Needed a druidess. He couldn’t help but admit that he needed her. But she deserved better than him. She deserved a husband who would protect her. “They will want to trade her. Hold her as hostage for ransom,” Gethin said with his hand on his hip, as his cloak flapped against him in the wind and tiny white flakes sprinkled his long hair and moustache. “What will they want in return?” Huctia asked as she gazed with an empty expression at the night sky and the icy bits of snow falling down. “What they came for and didn’t get.” Brude inhaled slowly. “They will want our cattle.” He flew through the village and stormed into his father’s wheelhouse. Some of his men had come first and were sitting by the chief’s bedside, speaking to him. Sitting up in bed, Calach called out to Brude, “The brutes took the druidess, Boudica’s granddaughter.” “Yes, I am going to take our best men and ride after them.” Calach grunted. “Is that noise the wind?” “Yes.” Brude shrugged. “It’s wailing, and an early snow flurry has begun. I care not of that. We have got to get Tanwen.” “You won’t help the druidess by riding through a snow 90

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ storm and endangering our best men and yourself, my only heir.” The chief rose and poured a cup of mead. “Nectan won’t harm her. He took her to guarantee that he received the cattle he wanted.” “What if he deems the granddaughter of Boudica is a better prize than our cattle.” “If you mean he keeps her and weds her, I ken you would be pleased. You don’t wish to marry her.” “I never said that.” Brude shook his head. “Aye, you did.” Calach bobbed his head. “Many times.” He rolled his eyes. “Tanwen is my betrothed, and we must save her.” Energy pulsed through Brude. He had to find Tanwen, now. He didn’t have time to discuss all this with his father. “Betrothal?” “Yes, I agreed to wed her at Samhain, in two moons.” Brude had come to care about her. He couldn’t say it now. But he loved her. He gazed intently into his father’s eyes. “I need to bring her back.” “Wait until morning, my son.” “I must ride now. What if they harm her?” Brude had to get out of there. Leap on his horse, ride hard and fast, and bring Tanwen back. “I do not think they will, son. But if they do, you will war with the Smertae.” Calach leaned back. “If he dares to touch her, I swear I’ll chop off Nectan’s head with my sword, dip it in cedar oil, and tie it around my horse’s neck.” “You must do what you must do.” Calach swallowed a swig of ale. Brude stormed out of the wheelhouse and stomped off to the stables. After mounting his horse, he dug his heels into its flanks and rode at a hard gallop into the snow storm. His head spun with thoughts. Boudica sent her granddaughter into my keeping, and I let the Smertae steal away with her. But I’ll have her home, soon. Home? I mean here. Her home is here, isn’t it? After all, she is going to be my wife. He felt a tinge of pride at the thought. The wind pulled at him, and flakes of icy snow bit into his 91

Cornelia Amiri skin, but he drove on, barely noticing it. He did realize that he no longer heard his men yelling behind him. He was riding too fast, too recklessly in the storm, and they couldn’t keep up. It was then, when their voices faded away, that he realized he now rode alone. **** Tanwen’s insides turned somersaults from hanging upside down for the hard ride. Once the horse came to a stop, she was pulled off and set on her feet. They untied her woolen hood and yanked it off. Now she could see the man who took her. Tanwen glared at Nectan. Words exploded from her boiling rage. “You dare to harm a druid. I will see you destroyed for this.” “I have brought no harm to you, bright one. I spirited you away on my finest horse and offer you my own wheelhouse for your stay with us. You will be afforded full hospitality, every courtesy due a sacred oak seer.” “You grabbed me and terrified me by flinging a cloth over my head and tying it, binding my hands and throwing me over the horse like I was nothing more than a leather skin of ale. Then, riding at a hard, reckless pace, endangering me. I see no good in that, Nectan.” Tanwen crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do you hold me hostage?” “I will answer that,” he nodded, “but first the laws of hospitality demand that I offer you food and drink.” He motioned for her to sit down, and a woman handed her a cup of ale as another served her a plate of boiled pork. Her stomach craved food and her jittery nerves cried out for ale. She gulped down the heady brew and tore her teeth into the thick, juicy meat. As her hunger faded and her stomach felt heavy, she sat her ale cup down and gazed at Nectan. “Why did you steal me away? What do you want with me?” “The raid was cut to an end before I could take any of the herd, therefore I hold your freedom as the price of the cattle we need.” “Are you addled? You bring the wrath of the gods down on your tribe for holding a druid captive.” 92

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “No, I will not let my people starve.” He lifted his chin and met her gaze straight on. “Our crops failed, and the little cattle we have are scrawny. We need meat for the winter. The gods will not wrong me for doing what I must to save my tribe.” She tossed her head. “You fool. Why did you not speak to me or Lossio?” She slid both hands onto her hips. “As druids, we would have had Chief Calach and the other tribes share food with you. We want unity with all the tribes so we can stop the Romans. They would have freely given your people meat and any other food that could be spared.” “I am a Smertae warrior chief. I do not beg druids for favors when I can see a way to give my tribe what it needs myself.” Tanwen took a deep breath. She’d been taken hostage by a man whose reasoning abilities were unreasonable. Yes, he was a chief, but she was a druid, and he would listen to her. “Free me now, and give me your best horse to ride back to the Caledonii village, or I will release the wrath of the gods on you. Your crops will fail and your cattle will be scrawny for the next ten by ten turns of the year. Release me now and save your people from extinction.” “Enough of this talk, bright one.” Though he steeled his fear, Tanwen could see a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He walked out of his wheelhouse into the snow, hastily leaving her with the women. The next day, giving in to the anxiety that had built up in her through the restless night, she jumped up from her pallet and dressed hastily. Her muscles were tight with tension, driving her to find a way to escape, to get back to the Caledonii village. She ordered one of the women take her to see Nectan. She called out to him as she entered the wheelhouse. “Chief, I would speak to you.” As he sat in front of a hearth fire, he gestured to her to come over. “Come, Druidess. Sit with me.” She walked up to him but did not sit down. “You’re mad to keep a druid hostage.” Glaring at him, she thought he would undo all she had worked for. If he demanded the Caledonii cattle for her return, these two tribes would battle each other, and the Romans would win as a result. “What has your own 93

Cornelia Amiri druid told you about this foolishness?” “He doesn’t have to feed the tribe. My people do not blame the druids. They blame the gods, and they blame their chief.” He slapped his palm to his chest. “Me.” She gazed firmly into his eyes with all the power she could muster and thickened her voice so it resounded like an echo. “Release me, or I shall banish you and your tribe from all rites and rituals, all feast and god days.” “Druidess, I give you my own house to show my hospitably to you, yet you leave it to wander the village, seeking me out to harangue me. Your threats have no sway over me. I have a duty to feed my people by what means I can.” “How will holding me hostage feed your tribe?” “Calach will pay for you in cattle.” She flamed with anger and flung her arm toward Nectan as if she would hit him. “No, he will not. I am not Caledonii. He cares naught for me.” “Druidess, all know you are betrothed to Calach’s son, Brude.” “Brude has never agreed to the betrothal. He wants to be rid of me. They will not come for me. I tell you the truth. A druid cannot lie.” Nectan’s forehead furrowed as if he was finally listening to her. Then he shook his head. “This is my village. I will find a place here where you cannot bother me.” He turned and stormed out of the wheelhouse. She followed, and at that moment they both turned their heads toward a galloping horse fast approaching. **** Having ridden hard into Smertae territory, Brude leapt off his horse with his spear raised high, ready to battle. Tanwen stood near Nectan. It looked like they were walking somewhere. Brude closed his eyes for moment and exhaled, thinking, She is alive, safe. Thank the gods. The chief pointed at Brude as he told Tanwen, “It is as I said. Calach’s son has come for you.” “He does not want me. He is here only to show he is the 94

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ better man,” she said, but her mood seemed suddenly buoyant and her eyes shined with joy for a brief moment. “Is that true, Brude? Have you come only to show me that I cannot take a hostage from your tribe?” Nectan’s eyebrows arched. Brude couldn’t take his eyes off Tanwen. She filled his head, he thought of nothing but her, even in the presence of the Smertae chief. He ran to her, grabbed her by her shoulders, and jerked her to him. A deep felling of peace entered him. He pressed his lips upon hers in a hungry, devouring kiss. Her warm, wet lips were as sweet and heady as heather ale. “I have come to take you home, Tanwen,” Brude rasped. As he clung to her she said, “You do not want to marry me.” “Not true. I did not want to, but I have changed my mind. I need you.” He gazed deep into her eyes and saw a bright flare of desire. “Ah, good,” the Smertae chief said. “For twenty head of cattle, you can have her.” “You cannot keep a druid against her will. Release her now.” Brude kept his grip tight on Tanwen. If he had to kill the chief and every warrior of the Smertae tribe, then so be it. He was not going to leave without her. Tanwen looked up at him, gazing deep into his eyes. “Brude, he needed cattle. The tribe’s crops failed. That is why he took me,” she said in a calm, gentle tone. Brude looked Nectan in the eye. “I will give you nothing. Let her go now.” “I can go when I wish, but they need cattle.” Tanwen raised her voice. “Listen to the druid.” Nectan grinned. Brude squeezed his hand into a tight fist, drew back his arm and rammed his iron hard hand into the chief’s face, slamming his nose. “You are not smiling, now,” Brude said as he gazed at the scowling Smertae and the red blood trickling down from his nose and his lip. Nectan stood, a tower of mass, tight muscles, and male fury. He drew his hand back then pounded his fist into Brude’s jaw. “I am now,” Nectan countered. 95

Cornelia Amiri Tanwen yelled, “I call for peace. As a druid, I demand you stop fighting. We will never be able to band together as one army against Agricola unless you make peace.” The two men stopped but kept their gaze on each other. “I will give you nothing,” Brude said to the chief as he rubbed his jaw. “We cannot battle each other. All tribes need to bind together to fight the Romans.”She tilted her head toward Brude. “The Smertae are warriors. They raid. It is in their nature. We need wild warriors like them to conquer the Romans. Their crops failed. They need food, or they won’t be able to fight against Rome. Give them the cattle they need.” She shook her hand at him. Brude wheeled around, facing her. “I rode all this way to rescue you, and you but scold me.” She let out a long sigh. “I was rescuing myself when you rode up. You do not care about me, so why pretend?” “I do care, and I want you home. We will marry, soon.” She took a quick, sharp breath. Her eyes widened in astonishment and shock. “When did you decide this?” “When the Smertae took you from me.” Tanwen’s eyes grew wide. “The goddess has intervened,” she said under her breath. “Very well, then I am ready to return to the Caledonii village.” “I’ll ride with you to bring the cattle back,” Nectan said. “Let’s be off.” Brude would deal with the Smertae chief later, but now he wanted Tanwen back home with him, where she belonged. He vaulted onto his horse and reached down his hand to lift her in front of him. Her smooth back molded into his chest. The heat of her body pressed into his nearly unmanned him. He let out a gasp of breath. With his arm wrapped about her tiny waist, he rode pillion with her, at a leisurely gait, taking pleasure in the warmth of her body pressed against his. The Smertae chief had the good sense to ride far behind and give them privacy. She tilted her head back and gazed into Brude’s eyes. “I am surprised you came for me at all. You have made no secret that you do not want this marriage.” 96

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “You are wrong. Or I was wrong. Tanwen, daughter of Wena, granddaughter of Boudica, will you marry me?” Her whole face spread into a wide, open smile. “Yes, I will wed you and fight at your side when the Romans come.” An excited light shone vividly in her eyes. “You will father my children and down the line of our children’s children—our descendants—a chief named Arthur and a druid called Merlin, will help the people revive our Celtic ways and worship the Celtic gods.” “Our descendants?” “Yes, so Boudica said.” He reined the horse to a halt, cupped Tanwen’s dainty chin and turned her toward him. He captured her lips with his and sipped from the sweetness of her mouth. The gentle kiss grew fierce. She twisted her mouth against his with intense passion. His warm, thrusting tongue plundered the depths of her mouth. His groin swelled and throbbed. Her warm lips burned his mouth. His heart hammered. He wanted to take her then and there. He didn’t even care if Nectan watched. If not for her, he would have killed Nectan. The addled chief had taken his woman. He would marry her, and no one could claim that she was not his. It had nothing to do with Boudica. It had to do with his need for Tanwen. He would never let anyone take her from him again. He burned so badly for her, his phallus pained. He didn’t know how he would make it back to the village. The fever for her spread through him as he sipped from the sweetness of her mouth. He plunged his tongue into the warm depth of her mouth. He darted his tongue repeatedly inside her mouth. Her soft mewing and moans drove him mad. He didn’t know how he managed to pull his lips away from hers, but he did. He couldn’t look at her. Every pore in his body pulsed with need to ram his sex organ into hers to meld together, to bring her to the brink of passion. He wanted her to pant and scream for him and then for them to explode together, entwined in a trembling spasm of frenzy. He had to get her back to the village first. He jerked his face forward and dug his heels into his steed. At a hard, swift gallop 97

Cornelia Amiri he rode back to the Caledonii village at a dirt-kicking pace. Nectan drove his horse to a swifter gait but still kept his distance at the rear. Half way there, two of Brude’s men galloped up to him. He jerked the reins and pulled his horse to a halt. “We were coming to join you now that the snow has stopped, and we could see to ride.” Talorcan flashed a wide grin and reined his horse in. “Well done, you saved the druidess.” Drest drew his horse in beside Brude’s. “I did not need saving. But yes he did come for me.” Tanwen corrected them. “That’s a matter of opinion,” Brude grinned wryly. “But I am bringing her back to the village.” Talorcan pointed down the road. “Do you know Nectan is following you?” “He is not following us. He’s riding with us.” Tanwen put in. “He’s agreed to ally with the Caledonii and the other northern tribes to fight the Romans.” Brude winked at his friends. “Why don’t you two ride back there and accompany our new friend, Nectan.” He wrapped his arm tighter around Tanwen. “The druidess and I will lead the way home.” With a big smile on his face, Drest nodded his head. “Yes, let’s do that.” “We’ll ride with Nectan while you and the druidess discuss important matters about the tribe.” Talorcan chuckled. As they rode off toward the Smertae chief, Tanwen asked Brude, “What did you need to say to me that you didn’t want them to hear?” “Oh, nothing” He brushed his fingers against her breasts. He didn’t think he would make it back to the village. His groin was throbbing and on fire. He needed relief. He needed her, and had to have her now. She slapped his hands away from the lush mounds of her chest. “Ouch, Tanwen” “This is not the place. We will speak alone...after Nectan gets 98

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ his cattle.” Suddenly, his mind turned to a more serious thought. “He didn’t harm you, did he?” “No, he treated me with utmost respect. He even gave him his wheelhouse to stay in while I was kept at the village.” “Nectan is lucky he’s not dead, after stealing our druidess.” Taking my woman. “He only did it to help his people.” “So he says.” With her smooth back molding itself against his chest, his heart thudded. He breathed in her intoxicating scent. His groin lit on fire. His arm locked around her waist. He goaded his horse into an even faster gait. Nectan and Brude’s men picked up their pace and closed the distance as Brude rode pillion with Tanwen into the village. Everyone quit what they were doing and headed toward the chief’s house to welcome the druidess. Brude spotted Calach standing outside, and reined his horse to a stop in front of his father. Brude glanced at the crowd, who had gathered around. “I have brought your druidess back, unharmed.” He eased off his horse. “The Smertae gave Tanwen full hospitality.” Still mounted, Tanwen waved at the crowd, and they cheered. The tribe turned their eyes upon Nectan, who drew his horse in behind Brude’s. He ignored the murmurs of the crowd as if he didn’t care, and sat aplomb in the saddle. Brude spread out his arms. “People of the Caledonii, to show true friendship to the Smertae, we will share our cattle with them.” The crowd began to murmur dissent, but Brude raised his voice, “The Smertae’s crops failed, and they need meat to survive the winter. We need them to battle the Romans with us, so we shall share our wealth with them as allies do, as befits the hospitality of the Caledonii.” His tribesmen fell quiet and nodded their heads in agreement. Nectan vaulted off his steed and a young boy led the horse away to the stable. Brude turned toward Tanwen and reached up, placing his hands on her tiny waist, he helped her dismount. With her feet 99

Cornelia Amiri on the ground, he stepped behind her and folded his arms around her so her spine pressed against his chest. He couldn’t help but smile. He wanted her for his wife. He had never wanted anything more. Brude announced to the crowd, “In less than a moon, the fire festival of Samhain begins. The new year day festivities will include my wedding feast.” The tribe roared and Chief Calach smiled broadly. As Huctia and Gethin ran up to Tanwen, she eased out of Brude’s embrace and hugged each of them. “Bright one, forgive us for not guarding you as we should,” Gethin said. “The goddess was with me. We have Nectan and his tribe as allies now, to smear Roman blood on their faces when they kill Agricola’s men.” “So it shall be.” Huctia smiled. “We must begin to prepare for Samhain and your wedding feast.” “Yes.” She strolled with her guard and friend toward her wheelhouse. “Tanwen,” Brude called out. “Where are you going?” “To prepare for the festival and all the weddings which will take place there, including ours.” “My mother and Lossio will help you.” He ran up to her and came to a sudden halt, no more than a breath span from her. He eased his fingers up her smooth neck and leaned her head toward his. “We just got back.” He pressed his lips against her soft, warm mouth. She pushed her hands against his shoulders and gently eased away from him. “We will wait for Samhain,” she said as she gazed into his smoldering eyes. “Wait. No.” Taut with need, he burned for her. His erection swelled and throbbed. “We belong together. Come to my wheelhouse.” As she gazed into his eyes, she seemed frozen, speechless. Slowly, she turned her back and walked with Huctia and Gethin to her own home. Brude stood in the road gazing at them, as all around him, his tribesmen still cheered his upcoming wedding. Calach, Nectan, and Brude were caught up in the crowd, which headed to the hall, where heather ale was had by all. 100

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ When they were all reeling with drink, they headed to bed. Nectan swaggered off with Brude and Calach to stay the night in the chief’s wheelhouse. If Brude could have gotten up, he would have walked over to Tanwen’s wheelhouse and lay with her, but he was too drunk. Before he fell asleep, his last thoughts were, It won’t be long. She’ll be mine at Samhain.

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Chapter Ten Tanwen smoothed out the wrinkles, brushing her fingers across the blue, gray, brown, white, crimson, and emerald plaid of her woolen skirt. Huctia draped a cloak with the same six colors over the white tunic and pinned it with a gold leaf-shaped brooch. Both of her guards accompanied her to the hall where Nectan, Brude, and Calach awaited her. She walked over to the Smertae chief. “Greetings. I pray you slept well?” She smiled at Nectan only because they needed him. “Yes, druidess, with a comfortable pallet and fine ale to ensure good dreams.” “It is good.” And he would be riding out soon. She’d put the horror of her kidnapping aside for the good of the tribe and Caledonia, but in truth she did not trust Nectan any more than she trusted the written words of the Romans. Not at all. In that, she appreciated the Pict way of holding to oaths, more than ever before. Brude told her no man had ever broken an oath after drinking to it in blood. She understood why, since the outcome would be to die, bleeding to death. She unsheathed her dagger and handed it to him. “Chief.” Calach clutched the two-handled cup beneath Nectan’s muscled forearm. Rich blood flowed into the waiting vessel as he cut his arm with the whetted tip. Tanwen lifted an amphora and poured in a portion of wine. Slowly, she stirred the scarlet mix with the dagger and then handed the cup to Calach. He and Nectan each clasped a handle and drank simultaneously from the same cup. Having sworn allegiance to Calach with the Pictish blood oath, the ceremony came to a close. 102

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Outside the hall, a Caledonii spearman stood holding the reins to the Smertae chief’s horse. Other warriors sat on their mounts, driving the small herd of cattle. “May the gods keep you all, until we meet again.” Nectan vaulted upon his horse and drove his cattle home with the help of several Caledonii warriors. “Ally or not, I am glad to see him gone from us.” Brude’s entire body tensed. Even his jaw tightened. “He has food for his people, now.” Tanwen crossed her arms against her chest. “We will only have to see him when we call the tribes to war.” “When I think of what he did to you, I want to kill him,” Brude spat out the words and then clenched his teeth. Brude’s surge of fury hung on the air, and Tanwen cringed against it. “It is best you did not.” She flashed a half-smile. “But I ken the feeling.” It was nice to have Brude show his concern for her. Deep down it pleased her that he wanted Nectan dead. The brute had thrown a tartan over her head and dragged her off into the night. Another thing to have nightmares over. But she could deal with crazy Celtic tribes, if she could just get rid of the Romans. “Let us think of happier things. Join me, today.” Brude reached out and took her hand in his. “In what?” His grin spread across his face, and his eyes twinkled. “In the hunt.” “For boar?” “Yes.” He slid his arm around her shoulder. “I first met you while I was hunting boar.” “Yes, bursting out of the woods, fiercer than the beast you hunted.” He’d had that same alluring grin and gleam in his eyes. Brude had worn the same black cowl he had on now over his green tunic. She found her eyes exploring and appreciating the blue tattoos covering his muscular arms, just as she’d done then. “Come, Tanwen my sweet. I’ll lend you a bow and arrows.” He pulled her along with him as they headed to his wheelhouse. She drew back. “I cannot.” Gods, if her life was only so easy that she could just go with him. And the things they could do 103

Cornelia Amiri together, alone in the woods. Ah, so much more than hunting. But Samhain was upon them. Nectan had upset the plan of things, and she’d been to unable to prepare for the feast. Her days and nights would be full with work to ready everything for the New Year’s festival. She tromped off into the woods. “There is so much to do, I cannot even list it all.” His smile vanished, and disappointment flashed over his features. “Brude, I want to go with you, but Samhain...” She threw her hands in the air. “So be it. I will come to your wheelhouse this eve. Until then, take pleasure in preparing for the feast.” “Enjoy the hunt.” She felt her muscles clench as she thought, How can he not ken all that goes into the Samhain celebration? As a yearly tribute to the dead, the New Year’s feast insured the gods saw the tribe through the hard winter. It had to be perfect, and it fell on her shoulders. Not to mention, she’d never put on a Samhain feast alone. Sulwen and Rhys always did it, and she merely helped. She began to relax, taking deep breaths as she strolled to the pasture where the cattle grazed. Tanwen walked through the herd and selected the cows to slaughter for the fire festival. Then, she headed to the chief’s wheelhouse. “Good morning, Ciniatha. Have you chosen the nine maidens to cook the feast?” “Yes, we just came from the garden. Come see.” Though too busy to take the time to squeeze and smell the fruits and vegetables, Tanwen deemed they looked ripe. The bright, red apples appeared sweet and juicy, and the oblong, yellowish, purple-capped turnips were fat and sure to be crisp and filling. Tanwen’s nose wiggled at the strong smell of the long, green leeks. “You’ve done well. I can tell this is the best of the harvest.” “And taste this.” Ciniatha held out a spoon of yellow butter. Tanwen glanced to the corner where two maidens pumped wooden churns. She dipped her finger into the spoon of butter and popped it into her mouth. So creamy and sweet. Rich. “It is good enough for the gods.” After licking her finger, she ran her tongue over her lips to get every dab. “Delicious.” 104

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ As she inhaled the mellow scent of fresh baked bread, she imagined the taste of a soft, warm slice with the soft butter. She had to leave before she started eating the food intended for the feast. “I see all is well here.” She smiled at the chief’s wife. “There will be plenty of bread for the visiting spirits.” Tanwen turned to leave. Ciniatha called after her. “Did you see Brude today?” “Yes, he’s hunting boar for the feast. Now that we have caught each other, we have no time to spend together. There are feasts and battles, but after Samhain, there should be more time for us.” “You have much to do. You are a druid. And rest assured, I have the fare for the feast well in hand.” She flashed a sweet smile at Tanwen. “Calach and I welcome you into the family. My son is making a wise choice.” “My thanks.” She reached out and hugged Ciniatha, though Brude was still on her mind. Did he still feel that way? He seemed so disappointed about the hunt. She released her mother–to-be by marriage, smiled, then turned and continued the many tasks she’d set aside for that day. After she ate the evening meal that Huctia brewed over the central fire of her wheelhouse, Tanwen laid on her pallet. Exhausted, she fell into a heavy sleep. **** There she was, standing on the hill, enveloped in a flowing, speckled, white cloak held with a gold brooch, and wearing gold clasps on her ears and a thick gold torque around her neck. Brude watched as the villagers took the nine sacred woods and built the great fire. He felt like he didn’t know her. He didn’t think of her as Tanwen while watching her there, but simply as a druidess, a human personification of a war goddess. A woman yes, but one who spoke for the gods, and therefore had more power than the mightiest chief of the land. Not the woman he longed for when the Smertae captured her in that botched cattle raid. Not the fiery lady he’d slept with, who filled his dreams. When was the last time she’d wrapped her long legs around his and he’d melted and exploded inside her fiery center? Every 105

Cornelia Amiri night he visited her wheelhouse, and Huctia swore Tanwen was asleep, spent from the day’s work. And here the day was upon them—Samhain, the beginning of the New Year. It was a day without time, when the veil was at its thinnest. Boudica herself would come and feast, as well as all his ancestors. He would like a word with Boudica. The dead queen could walk through the oak door all she wanted, and tell her granddaughter anything she wanted, but who he married was up to him. Why was he marrying a druidess? She’d have no time for him. He’d known wedding her was a bad idea. Why did he agree to it? He couldn’t go through with this marriage. After taking a deep breath, he climbed the hill. Now that the fire was blazing, Tanwen raised her hands above her head and twirled, chanting as a gray-headed Lossio beat the bodhran. “The fire sparks. The veil parts. Spirits among us. Bones, ashes, dust Are once again Family and friends. Ancestors come near, Feast with us here. Dance and Sing Around the stone ring. Great powers abound. The Circle comes around. All hail Samhain.” Musicians came forth, strumming a harp and playing the Pict triple pipes. Brude meant to tell her they couldn’t wed this eve, but as he neared her, she seemed more like the woman he longed to lie with again. Between thoughts of Tanwen entwined with him, the roaring bonfire, and the music, he forgot his forebodings. He joined in a dance around the flames. The earth beneath him vibrated to the beat of Lossio’s goatskin drum, the haunting hum of the triple pipes, and the ethereal tone of the harp. He was smoke rising from the fire, and 106

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ the music pushed him high into the air. Mellow warmth swirled in the pit of his belly. Brude spun faster and faster around the blaze. As he leapt in the dance, he turned his gaze toward Tanwen. The nine women of the feast and his mother gathered around Tanwen as she placed a garland of white swan feathers on her head. The white, soft feathers of a female swan symbolized their marriage was blessed in this world and the next. The time was upon him. He would wed as soon as the dance ended. If Boudica wanted this and the gods wanted this, then who was he to say no. He wanted to wed her. The nine women stood by, ready to serve the feast they had been preparing and cooking for days. But first, the weddings. And as the gold-torqued son of the chief married the tribe’s druidess, his nuptials would lead all the others. Brude gazed at Tanwen, reached out his hand, and wriggled his curled fingers to beckon her to him. The train of her gold-bedecked robe trailed on the ground as she strolled toward him. The dancing came to a halt. The crowd formed in a half circle around the blaze. The couple stood with one side to the fire and the other to the Caledonii. Brude gazed at her, his heart hammering, filled with a glowing happiness, and drowning in the green depths of her eyes. His mind was numb, his body was hot, and his heart was in love. He didn’t realize Lossio had joined him until the elderly druid began reciting the marriage vows. **** Her heart beat loudly and rapidly, and her throat tightened, but she forced her voice to repeat the words Lossio uttered. “Man, loved by me, may you bare your heart, soul, and body to me.” She felt overcome with heat, and it wasn’t just from the flames. She cupped her hand over her chest, feeling as if her heart bounced against her, trying to leap out. Do I want this? In one moment, I’ll be bound to Brude. I’ll be a wife. Boudica bid me to wed him. The gods demanded it. It is important to the future of my kith and kin to come. I love Brude. She wiped a tear away from her eyes with her knuckles. He has come to love me 107

Cornelia Amiri as I had hoped. Did I ever want to be anyone’s wife? It will interfere with my duties as druidess. Mayhaps I will end up bearing children every year, with no time for druidry. She felt another tear slide down her cheek. She wasn’t sure why. A thought vibrated through her mind, I’m making a mistake. Then, she gazed at Brude’s beaming smile. Her fears melted away. “By peace and love, I swear to stand heart to heart and hand to hand. Hearken all gods and goddesses, and spirits round. Hear me now confirm this sacred vow.” With both his hands clasped in Tanwen’s, Brude recited the sacred words. “Oh woman, loved by me, give me your heart, your soul, and your body. I swear by peace and love to stand, heart to heart and hand to hand. Hark gods and goddesses, hear me now attest to this sacred vow.” With the ritual swan feather, Lossio touched Brude’s head, then Tanwen’s. “I vow this man and this woman, Brude map Calach map Galanan and Tanwen ferch Wena ferch Boudica, stand as mates for life like the sacred swans, heart to heart and hand to hand, in air, earth, and water. In this world and the next.” He then handed the feather to Tanwen, who took it for good luck and as a bridal keepsake. The second part of Boudica’s biding had been fulfilled. Brude was her husband now. A giddy pleasure filled her. She shifted her gaze to Brude. A sensuous light gleamed in his eyes, riveted on her. There was a tingling in the pit of her stomach. His large hand touched her face and held it. He leaned his face to hers. Lips joined with an inflow of warmth. Mouths molded together. His hand stroked her neck, as his lips twisted against hers. She throbbed as his lips tugged on hers. Brude slipped his tongue between her lips. He stroked her mouth. She gasped at the contact. He swirled his tongue, and she released a soft moan. He raised his mouth from hers and gazed into her eyes. She melted into his arms. If only he could carry her away, but duty called. “I have to wed the other couples.” “What?” The fire in his eyes turned to ice. “You would leave me the instant I withdraw my mouth from yours in our wedding kiss?” The anger in his eyes and tone turned her cold as well. 108

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Always resistant to the marriage, again he showed he wasn’t willing to share her. “I am now your wife, but I am still the tribe’s druidess. You must recognize me as both. You have no choice in this.” He pulled out of her arms. “Is it too much that I ken on our wedding night, at least before the ceremony ended, you would be a wife to me, and not turn into a druidess on duty the very moment we seal our vows with a kiss?” “No.” Lossio gently patted her shoulder. “You go. I am performing the other marriages.” “My thanks,” Brude said, then took her hand in his and pulled her with him to the standing stone on the hill. The crowd stood apart from the megalith, so the couple had privacy by the standing stone. Moonlight rippled on the water of the pond, which lay near the ancient rock. When Tanwen was with him, she knew he was the man for her. The warrior she would spend her life with. It was only as they went their separate ways in their day-to-day duties, he as the son of the chief and her as the druidess of the tribe, that she had doubts. “I cannot wait until tonight to be with you once more. It has been so long.” “Yes.” She dreamt of him every night and burned to share her body with him again. He pressed her back against the stone. As his body covered hers, his firm muscles pressed against her, stirring the feral need within. Her skin went from hot to flaming. His breath fanned her face as he rasped. “It is our wedding night. They say the stone blesses women with fertility, those who make love against the phallus sculpture will bear a babe nine months later.” “Boudica wants me to have children.” The moist heat between her legs yearned for him. Thinking of this incredibly handsome virile man holding her in his arms, not babies, she laughed. “It is my destiny and my wedding night.” On tiptoes, she pressed her lips to Brude’s and slid her mouth in a massaging motion over his, sucking in his heat. She grabbed his braies, and her breath grew shallow, near a pant as she loosened the knot on his belt. With both hands, she yanked his 109

Cornelia Amiri checked britches down. When their lips parted, she saw his pants hanging about his ankles. He kicked them off. As he lifted her gown, she quivered. Fire spread through her. His mouth swooped down onto hers. Tanwen’s heart vibrated as her back rubbed against the ancient stone. Wrapping her body around every portion of his, she opened to him. Flesh upon flesh. She pooled into a lake of liquid heat as he dove into her. Plunging in and drawing back, he pumped her as she panted and shrieked. He huffed and groaned. Every essence of her being throbbed. She yelled, on the brink of explosion. Bursting white sparks and the boom of taut muscles melted into molten heat. Ripples of sheer joy ran through her body. He wrapped his arms around her. With his wet lips on top of hers, he breathed fire into her. When he released her mouth, he pulled the druidess gown off over her head. She stood before him as bare as the stone. Tugging his tunic off, he threw it to the ground. He stood in the moonlight, his sex hard as the standing stone. Grabbing her soft shoulders, he turned her so her supple breasts and smooth belly pressed against the ancient rock. His hard chest and flat stomach covered her smooth back and soft, lush bottom. He plunged into her as she reached her hand up high and pressed her palm against the stone. He covered her hand with his as she dug the heel of her palm into the megalith. As he pumped into her, his firm, muscled flesh pressed hard against her shapely, smooth body, crushing her against the rock. Her essence, liquid heat, flowed down the stone as it drenched his arousal. They stood with the sacred rock, panting and spent, and rapt with joy. As they basked in the light of the full moon and the warmth of sharing their bodies on their wedding night, roars, yelps, and hurrahs cut through the air from the Caledonii by the bonfire. “The last couple has said their vows, and the feast begins.” “Yes, they are all heading down the hill to the banquet hall.” Hastily they threw on their clothes. With his arm wrapped around her, they joined the migration down the hill. Sitting at the short table at the head of the hall, Tanwen and Brude took their place beside Ciniatha and Calach. The nine women served the food. She chewed the crunchy 110

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ apples and hazelnuts and shifted from their sweet taste to the bitter one of leeks and turnips as she devoured them along with a slab of juicy, roasted boar. Brude ate his fill from all three choices of meat: the boar, as well as roasted bull and stag. He and Tanwen gobbled and guzzled an unlimited supply of bread and sweet mead, butter and honey. Like the other newlyweds, Tanwen picked up one of the little antler-shaped cakes made by the nine women for the god of Samhain, Cernunnos. Holding it to Brude’s mouth, he ate from her hand, biting off a whole antler with his teeth. He ran his tongue over his lips, licking up every sweet crumb. He then fed a sweet antler to Tanwen in the same way. As she devoured the soft, moist cake, she couldn’t help but remember the way they feasted on each other against the standing stone. The sacred phallus stone...conception this night? A baby? She came to fulfill Boudica’s destiny, but to think of the change a child would make. Yet, the miracle of it, a babe of her own, feeding from her breast. If not tonight, then soon she would give Brude a child. With thoughts of the new family she and Brude would soon have, Tanwen fastened her gaze on the feasters scattered across the hall. Here and there, between clusters of people, lay empty animal pelts with plates piled with food in front of them. Places for the spirits of the dead who came through the oak door to feast at Samhain. Her ancestors, all of her family was here at her wedding, and sharing this day with her. Her brother Boudicius, her mother, her father, her aunt, and her grandmother Boudica, who had foreseen this very day. It brought a tear to her eye. After feasting, the tribe climbed up the hill, where the kids played a game with an apple hanging from a stick alongside a lit candle. One by one, amid squeals and giggles, they tried to take a bite of the fruit, while the flaming candle dangled dangerously near. Adults sat with each other, telling funny stories and some serious ones of the events of the past year, encouraging the dead who gathered with them to take interest in the affairs of the living. Others danced around the bonfire, and many couples broke off from the crowd, to find little spaces of privacy here and 111

Cornelia Amiri there, for coupling long into the night. Brude swept Tanwen into his arms and carried her all the way down the hill and to his wheelhouse, where he laid her on his soft bed.

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Chapter Eleven As Brude led his men on horseback through the cold, windy day, trotting over snow-covered ground, and herding three skinny cows, he hoped he’d have time with Tanwen this evening. Curing the sick in the cold winter months kept her so busy, she had little time for him. Drawing his horse to a halt, he raised his hand, signaling his men to stop. “Let the cows roam here.” He pointed to the copse of oak trees nearby. “We will hide behind those trees and wait for a Roman hunting party, scouring for food.” With a solid oak between him and the road and holding his sword at the ready, he awaited the Romans. Some of his men were naked in the freezing, biting air, though he chose to fight in his cloak and braies. Tanwen had painted a woad symbol of the goddess Andraste on his forehead. Her prayers and rituals guaranteed success in the raid today. One of his men croaked like a raven, signaling that they had spotted the enemy. For the black scavenger birds would feast on Roman flesh this day. Alert, Brude’s warriors raised their swords and spears and clutched their shields tight as three Roman warriors rode into sight. He waited as the soldiers circled the cattle, flashing broad smiles at the cows, jabbering away in Latin, their voices rising in excitement at the thought of eating beef tonight. Brude had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing as he thought, at least the ravens will eat well from your corpses. With a blast from the horn hanging around his neck, Brude signaled his men to attack. Rushing forward, they blared the 113

Cornelia Amiri Caledonii war cry while waving long swords and throwing spears. Soon, the three Roman soldiers lay on the white snow, soaked in scarlet blood. Brude ordered, “Round up the cattle. We’ll slaughter the fattest cow and feast tonight in honor of our victory.” The men cheered and offered praise to Brude all the way back home. He rode into the village, victorious from yet another raid. Tanwen ran up to his horse. He vaulted off his steed and drew her into the circle of his arms. “My thanks to you, Tanwen. The gods were with us once more.” She glanced at the cattle they had herded back. “And I see your spear and sword skills made waste of the Romans.” “Three dead with little trouble.” He grinned. “We feast tonight.” He held her snugly. “It is good, but we don’t have to wait until this eve to celebrate.” He pressed his lips against her soft, pursed mouth. The wet kiss blasted bolts of fire through him. When he released his mouth from hers, she pressed her head against his broad chest, nestling there. “I am so glad you returned safe and sound.” His chest burned where she laid her head against him. His heard pounded. “I did, and the Romans we slew were out hunting, so the men back at the fort will likely go hungry tonight.” Brude ran his fingers down her silky, red hair. He breathed in her feminine scent, reminding him of wild spring: violets, roses, and blackberries. “This is the way we will drive the Romans from the shores of Caledonia,” Tanwen said with the sense of conviction that was part of her character. “They excel in warfare on a battleground, but ambush and surprise attacks are their weakness. Yet they are our strengths. We must continue to fight them in hand-to-hand combat in small numbers.” With his arm wrapped around her shoulder, they headed to their wheelhouse. “You know, there are those who disagree with you.” Tanwen looked up at Brude, and in a serious tone she 114

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ queried, “Are the other chiefs still pressuring Calach?” “Yes, they want to end it once and for all. A pitched battle to wipe out Agricola’s legions in a field of blood.” “The chief should not listen to these fools. Our strength is in surprise attacks and quick retreats, so they can’t capture us as slaves or prisoners. That tactic succeeded for Boudica, and she burned three main cities to the ground.” Tanwen’s face shined with steadfast strength and pride. “But the chiefs do not ken, and yet to battle the Romans we need these foolish leaders as allies. Therefore, Calach must honor them by listening when they speak. This you know.” “Brude, you must persuade Calach to do right by the gods. Battle the Celtic way, not line all his men up on a field for the Romans to slaughter.” The corner of her mouth twisted with frustration. “I see the wisdom of your words, but he is chief. When I am chief, I shall heed your counsel over all others, but with my father it is not so.” “Our land, our beliefs, our whole way of life is at stake,” Tanwen solemnly said. “I’ve been calling upon the gods in rites and rituals, casting violent storms against Agricola, thwarting his campaigns this winter. I shall continue to do so. But if Calach listens to bad advice, he’ll ruin all the gods have done for us.” “But for now, put these cares away.” He couldn’t tear his gaze from her. “We feast tonight, and fill our bellies with meat and mead.” The celebration this eve, eating and drinking, and the merriment they would make alone in their wheelhouse tonight filled his thoughts. The tingling in the pit of his stomach reminded him how much he missed her, though he had only been away for a short time on the quick raid. “It is good, husband.” She wrapped both her arms around his neck and leaned up to give him a heady kiss with her full, pink lips. He clasped her body even tighter against him. Brude’s heart beat erratically as Tanwen’s soft curves molded to his hard, muscular physique. His mouth covered hers hungrily. The delicious sensation of her soft, slick lips sent spirals of heat through him. Their lips parted, and he rasped. “It is good.” He 115

Cornelia Amiri swallowed as he gazed into her eyes, smoldering with fire. “So good.” **** Tanwen could no longer imagine life without Brude. If he battled the Romans in the field, he would likely die and leave the Caledonii slaughtered like cattle before winter, as was the fate of the Iceni and the Ordovices. Calach had to ignore the foolish chiefs. The Caledonian tribes would only defeat Rome if they heeded the will of the gods. The hem of Tanwen’s druid cloak trailed across the rushes, strewn over the packed earth of the feasting hall. She loved the warm hall in winter, steam rising from the large roasting pits dug into the packed earth, and the black cauldrons were all a boil, hanging above the roomy central hearth. As they sat near the hearth, at a square, squat wooden table with Brude’s sire and mother, a servant girl poured them all a cup of mead. Raising their glasses high, all four knocked them together in a toast to the day’s victory. “A fat cow roasts in the pit for us,” Brude’s mother announced. “You did well today, my son.” Calach patted Brude heartily on the back. “The cattle made for good bait, Father,” Brude took a swig of ale. “You must stay on this path of ambushes and surprise attacks.” “Battle on a field against the Romans will not end well.” Tanwen leaned toward the chief. “Heed the fate of my own grandmother.” Calach offered her a slight smile and nodded his head as if acknowledging the babble of a child. She had to take this matter to the gods. All could be lost. The Smertae were so hungry for blood to wipe on their faces, they would bring all the tribes down, trying to slay all of Agricola legions at one time. An impossible task. “Mayhap we should sup first and talk war later.” Brude smiled at her. A reward for the successful attack, a leg of tempting beef set 116

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ on his plate as the chief, his wife, and Tanwen received generous slabs of juicy meat on their dishes. Tanwen’s fingers played with the golden torque around her neck as she gazed at Brude. She drank in his masculine beauty as he gulped the sweet, thick mead. After the feast, she would honor him in her own way in their chamber, in their bed. Tanwen silently vowed they would heat their bedchamber in the dead of winter, hotter than the glowing hearth fire. Brude gnawed on the leg bone, ravishing it as he gazed at her with fire in his eyes. She burned for him. The pit of his stomach tingled, and it wasn’t from the mead. Her pulse pounded from just gazing at him. She studied the inviting mouth and arresting eyes on his lean, tan face. She reached out her hand and covered his wrist with hers. Lacing his fingers in hers, she squeezed his hand. His lips came down on hers in a slow, shivery kiss. Her mouth burned. When the harper began to play and the dancing started, Brude stood, taking Tanwen’s hands in his, and pulled her to a standing position as he gazed into her eyes. “I would rather dance with you, alone.” “Yes.” Tanwen whispered. Arm in arm, they strolled to the wheelhouse, and as soon as they reached the door, Brude covered her mouth with his. She wrapped her smooth arms around him. Her pulsating heat shot through him. Lifting her off her feet, cradling her in his arms, he carried her inside and laid her on the smooth bull hide draped over the soft pallet. She let out a low, whispery moan. His heart beat erratically. Having eased her checkered shift off her and dropping the garment to the floor, Brude gazed upon Tanwen. Her bare, creamy flesh, beautifully formed pendant breasts with rigid, rose tipped nipples, and the curves of her hips tapering into long straight legs. His eyes roamed up to the downy mound at the juncture of her lithe thighs. His breath caught. Blood pounded in his brain. Slowly his gaze swept up to her face, skin pink with eagerness, an expression of raw hunger. She quivered, but he knew it wasn’t from the cold. She trembled with need as her gleaming eyes held him. 117

Cornelia Amiri She watched as he urgently undressed, dropping his cloak, tunic, and braies onto the floor. Placing one knee on the pallet, slowly like a lion to his prey, Brude crawled onto the leather hide toward the druidess, who lay there, awaiting him. Brude slipped his legs over her limbs, his torso covered hers, his muscular biceps laid on top of her shapely shoulders. Warm, yielding, she stretched out beneath him. Fiercely, his mouth swooped down on hers and sucked the sweet honey of her nectar. Tanwen’s fingers fondled his limewashed spiked locks. Instead of the chill of the dead of winter, his senses experienced standing on a soft, sandy beach on a Summer day. Sea waves rushed in, wetting his feet as his toes sank deep into the shifting sand, and the warm sun caressed him as a gentle breeze ruffled his hair. “Tanwen, my love.” The heat from her body spread through every fiber of his being. Her lips were wet and warm from the kiss. Brude burned. Again, his lips captured her pink, petal-soft mouth. He pressed down, molding her willing lips with his. Blood pounded in his head. His tongue grazed the softness of her mouth, and then slid between her parted lips. Brude thrust his tongue in and out of her mouth. Blasts of heat surged through him. Sliding her soft, warm hands down the sides of his body, she grasped his muscled thighs, and dug into his flesh with her nails. Brude burned. His arousal swelled and ached with the yearning to sheath it to the hilt, deep inside her. Tanwen skimmed her hands down his body and danced her fingers across the hardened, bulging flesh of his sex, stroking back and forth. Brude felt he would burst there in her hand. “Tanwen, dearest wife. Might I gaze into the flowing heat of your sweet cauldron?” Tanwen rasped, “Yes, my love.” Spreading her long creamy legs wide, she opened herself, offering herself to him. Brude’s body throbbed with fervid hunger as he peered into her deep, sultry heat. He dipped his finger into her sweet vessel. He churned her creamy, hot liquid core until she panted and moaned. He withdrew his hand and dipped his head, diving for her 118

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ core. With his lips on her open vessel, his tongue a wet fire, plunged into her depths. Gasps and soft whimpers escaped her lips. Boiling, bubbling over, she breathlessly rasped, “Husband, dip your mighty sword into my hot cauldron.” Brude bent down, covering her body with his. His throbbing arousal prodded and then lunged into the hidden, wet heat. As he filled her, Tanwen bucked with the impact of his powerful thrust. On fire, feral cravings took hold. With a constant flow, in and out, he pumped heat into her, plunging deeper each time. As he pressed harder, her moans became deeper, more desperate. The rhythm inflamed his blood even more. He plunged again and again into her seething cauldron. Mad with battle lust from the earlier attack, but most of all, mad with love for this druidess, his wife. They were an inferno, wave after wave of rising flames, until together they quivered with release. His body stilled and his pounding pulse began to slow. He breathed deeper. Brude eased off of her and leaned up on one elbow, gazing at her as she lay by his side, warm and breathtaking. She whispered soft words of love to Brude, her warrior husband. **** Other than the times Brude lead surprise attacks, the stark, icy winter days blended together—one seeming much like the rest, with everyone lodged in their wheelhouses and huddled around blazing hearth fires. But as creamy-yellow primroses blossomed, and the bellies of ewes grew fat and heavy with the promise of fluffy lambs, thoughts of spring arrived with the feast of Imbolc. Tanwen noticed subtle changes in her body as well. In the two moons since her woman’s cycle had come, her breasts had grown fuller. After retching the little food she’d eaten that morning, she stopped by the well, drew up a bucket to cleanse her face and hands, and then headed into the woods to prepare for this special Imbolc—the first one she’d celebrate as a motherto-be rather than as a maiden. 119

Cornelia Amiri Garbed in her voluminous and gold-speckled white cloak, Tanwen stood in the sacred grove as Ciniatha, parading a mother ewe, and Huctia, cradling its newborn lamb, led in the women of the tribe, who each held a white burning candle. They gathered in a circle around Tanwen. “Let us honor the mysteries of motherhood.” Tanwen held out a cup. “We drink the milk of the first ewe to give birth after winter.” Tanwen gently milked the mother sheep and passed the cup around so everyone had a sip. “We drink the magical milk of motherhood, which the goddess gives us. Blessings on new life.” “Blessings on new life,” the women repeated back. The ewe’s milk provided the main staple of the Imbolc feast, a celebration for women only. Women held the highest level of magic: birthing, creating new life. Only women held the gift of fertility and creation, one of the many reasons why women were sacred. After the cup was handed back to her, Tanwen held it with one hand as she rubbed her belly with the other and gazed down at the slight bulge in her tummy, thinking, A mother? Me? A baby? My baby? “Druidess, what is it?” Ciniatha asked with a worried look on her face. “Does your stomach pain you?” “No, Ciniatha, the standing stone blessed me with fertility.” Tanwen smiled at her mother-by-marriage. Her tone rose with excitement as she said, “I have not spoken of it to Brude yet, but I am with child.” She clutched the cup to her chest. Ciniatha walked forward and drew Tanwen into her arms. “Blessings upon you.” Held in her mother-in-law’s embrace, Tanwen balanced the cup against her chest to keep from spilling the remainder of the milk. Ciniatha stepped back as the circle of women cooed with good wishes. “My thanks,” Tanwen said.” Blessings to the goddess and to mother earth, whose fertility feeds us all.” She poured the rest of the offering of milk onto the ground, drenching a patch of the fertile earth, feeding it as it nourished them. One of the women handed her a burning beeswax candle, 120

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ and holding it to the towering pile of logs and branches, Tanwen ignited the bonfire into a roaring blaze. The heat of the flames warmed the chill from her bones on the cold night. The women gathered closer to the crackling fire for warmth. As the flames flickered, the women leapt like the sparks. They shot up into the air like the flickering embers as they danced for the goddess. Her hot skin was slick with sweat from the heat of the red amber fire as she twirled and leapt. She thought of the babe who would soon be kicking inside her. Her head and her arms, legs, and whole body moved freely and fervently around the blaze with the other women of the tribe. Deep into the night, the women departed the grove. Bubbling forth with energy from the celebration, Tanwen briskly walked to the wheelhouse she and Brude now shared. Her home. Finding him asleep, she slid into bed beside him and covered his lips with hers. With the unquenchable hunger she had for him, Tanwen moved her mouth over his in a demanding caress. He stirred and opened his eyes as his warm, wet lips met her ravishment with savage abandonment. Now awake, he ran his hands slowly down her bare back. Straddling his muscular thigh, she wrapped her fingers around the smooth skin of his swollen phallus. Her fingers slid up and down his bulging arousal, stroking the hardening flesh. He moaned as she pumped his throbbing erection. He placed a hand on each of her breasts. Her nipples tightened. He squeezed them, and she mewed with delight like a purring cat. His fingers ran loosely over the fullness and softness of her luscious mounds, kneading and stroking. The cleft between her thighs burned with need. He arched, stiffening as she guided the head of his erection inside her burning flesh. She slid down the girth and length of his rock hard shaft. Her quivering sex fully impaled on his, fire ignited inside them both. Her skin was hotter than when she’d danced around the flaming bonfire. Tanwen and Brude began their own dance, rocking to and fro in the ancient ritual of the creation of new life. He slid his warm palms up her body, from her tight stomach to her jiggling breasts. He cupped an aching mound in each hand and gently squeezed them. His warm, firm hands 121

Cornelia Amiri continued caressing her breasts as she pumped her hips up and down, harder and faster. She gasped as he stroked her nipples. He flicked the erect buds with his fingers. As he tugged on and pinched the tight tips, she moaned. The flesh within Tanwen’s heated center tightened and throbbed as she pounded him into her. She squeezed his hard shaft. Panting heavily, they moved together to the low, rhythmic music of their urgent pants as flesh slapped against flesh. She took him deeper and deeper inside her. Pleasure rioted in her, taking her to the brink. Her moist, swollen lips stretched further around his erection, then clenched down tight. Expanding. Contracting. Massaging his arousal. She sucked in quick breaths. Ragged groans tore through his lips. He met her thrusts, jabbing hard and deep into the fiery center of her need. She shuddered. A tormented expression of deep pleasure and pain crossed his face as he burst inside of her. Shaking violently, an inferno burst from inside her and surged from her heated core to the tip of her head, then exploded. For a few moments, she didn’t know who she was or where she was. She quivered in spasms as jolts of pleasure racked her body. Her panting began to slow. She eased off of him and slid down by his side as he wrapped his warm, muscular arm around her. Fully sated, she shut her eyes. Tanwen had not known she had drifted to sleep until Brude awakened her with moist butterfly kisses on her forehead, cheeks, and lips. “Good morn.” He grinned. She reached up and hugged him, squeezing him fervently as she planted her lips on his. Her mouth throbbed as she sucked on his full lips. Her skin felt on fire as his bare chest pressed against her breasts. Her insides felt like molten lava. The sensations of his kiss alone were so riveting that it took all her might to tear her lips away. “I have something to tell you, my husband,” she said in a near breathless whisper. “What news have you?” She gazed into his moist eyes and knew her face beamed with a bright smile as she announced the best tidings she had ever had. “Our child lives within me.” 122

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “What?” He began to laugh with joy. “A baby?” “Yes, it is so.” Wrapping her arms around him, tingling warmth spread through her. Each uttered, “I Love you.” Simultaneously. They eased out of bed, dressed, and with her hand in his, Brude hurried to the chief’s wheelhouse to share the news of the blessed event. “Father, you are to be a grandsire.” “What?” Calach patted Brude on the back. “This is wonderful!” The chief turned toward his wife, who had her back turned to them as she pulled things out of the kitchen cupboard. “Ciniatha, we are to be grandparents!” “Yes. I am getting the mead to celebrate.” She came toward them with a tray of cups and a jug of mead. All four poured themselves a generous drink and chugged it down. “This one will be a great warrior, like his father.” Calach said. “What if it is a girl?” Ciniatha smiled. “Then she will be a great warrior,” Tanwen said. The round house filled with laughter as they all chuckled. “We have a need for more warriors.” Calach sat his empty cup down. “The chiefs grow impatient. Many of our allies sent messengers, demanding a grand battle to wipe out the Romans once and for all.” “No.” Brude leaned closer to his father. “It is not the way to fight the Romans. Planned battles on a large field are their strength. We must continue to fight in concealment with small raids. It is the only way we will win.” “Are you saying we will lose a battle their way? Do you have so little faith in your men?” “No.” Tanwen folded her arms. “We and our men have not been drilled for years in Roman warfare as they have. We need to fight as Celts, not as Romans.” She placed her hand over her stomach. “Calach, for the sake of your grandchild I carry within me and for your entire tribe, I implore you to heed the gods.”

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Chapter Twelve Tanwen sat on a pelt turned toward the hearth and rubbed the back of her neck. Though her growing belly put a strain on her body, her neck ached due to the strain of Calach’s changing view on fighting the Romans in a final battle. The hot-blooded chieftains had grown over-confident from the success of the raids and wanted to put a quick and final end to the war with Rome. After continually pushing their foolish idea of an all-out battle onto Calach, he finally nibbled at their bait. The babe leapt within her, and she slid her hand from her neck to her belly to feel its tiny foot push against her from the comfy womb. She let out a sigh of pleasure as warm hands cupped her shoulders and nimble fingers kneaded her knotted flesh. “That feels good, Brude.” She leaned back, into his broad, muscular chest as he continued the thorough massage. “What fare are we to break our fast with on this morn?” he asked. “Oak cakes and honey.” “Again,” he said with a rich chuckle. “It is all I wish to eat in the morning.” “The baby likes sweets.” “I think so.” She let out a soft giggle. “What fare do you wish, my husband?” “Oat cakes and honey.” “You are such a good husband.” “Well, I like oat cakes and...I like you.” He trailed whispery kisses down her neck. 124

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Her flesh tingled as a blast of heat surged through her. Slipping to her side, he placed one arm around her now relaxed shoulders as he gently patted her belly. “How is my son or daughter?” “Lively. He or she’s been kicking all morning.” “The babe wants to come out to play.” Brude placed his hand on her stomach and felt the soft bounce against his palm. “He’s strong.” “Yes, but it is not yet time for him or her to burst forth. Our child will be inside me at least five more full moons.” “It is for the best. Mayhaps my sire will come to his senses after the birth.” “I am of like mind. If your father does not listen to reason, this little warrior will see his first battle against the Romans before he is even born.” “Tanwen, you do not mean to fight in the battle pregnant?” “If you go to battle, then so will I. I am Boudica’s granddaughter.” “Tanwen, you cannot go to the battlefield while you carry my child.” “I am not the first, nor will I be the last woman to walk onto a battlefield with a babe in my womb. Many Pict women fight in such a state. And I carry the full protection of the goddess with me even more so as I carry the life she blesses within me.” “There is no talking to you. A druidess. You will listen to your own council before anyone else’s, even that of your loved ones.” “Well, that is true. You know you cannot persuade me to change my mind once I have decided to do something.” “And you speak of my sire’s foolishness.” Brude pulled her into the circle of his arms. He didn’t want to ever let her go. “I have a better chance of dissuading my sire from this plan of a final battle with the Romans than forbidding you to join the ranks of warriors with our child in your belly.” Leaning her head up to his, she gazed into his eyes. “You are wise, my husband.” He pressed his warm mouth over hers. She melted at the touch of his firm, wet lips. 125

Cornelia Amiri “Brude, I hate to spoil the mood, but will you speak to Calach?” “Yes, it will be worse in a few days.” “Yes, for the chiefs will all gather here again, for Beltane as they did at Samhain.” “They will begin arriving today.” “I know. I have much work to do.” “Well I am preparing for the feast by hunting.” “For boar?” “Yes, join me.” A big smile spread across her face. “I will.” He stood and reached out his hands to help her up. They each grabbed a long black spear from off the wall where they were hung, and arm in arm they headed to the woods with her two guards and his friends following. **** Drawing in a deep breath, Brude inhaled the lively, primeval scents of oak, yew, elm, earth, dew, ferns, and sweet flowers as his gaze locked onto Tanwen’s lush breasts, now fuller with the blessing she carried. His eyes swept down to the slight bulge of her tunic, where the baby nestled in her womb. She had left off the belt that she usually wore, the only difference in her attire since she became pregnant. Even with a child within, she gracefully clutched a spear in her left hand, looking so much like Boudica herself. Having walked deep into the forest of towering trees, densely rooted, all their branches reached out against each other like a giant web of wood and were draped with thick canopies of leaves. Brude bent down, untied the dog’s leash, and freed him to flush out a boar. Brude kept his gaze alert and suddenly spotted a black creature emerge from behind a tree. The dog barked and shot off in a rapid chase. The boar darted into a copse, hidden from Brude’s view until he could get closer. He and Gethin flew at a hard run behind the hound, toward the small grove. Due to the distance, the dog disappeared from Brude’s sight when he turned into the copse as well. The boar’s low-pitched grunts mingled with the dog’s howls. Brude leapt over a large fallen 126

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ tree as he rushed through the lush forest, past trees and leaves in jade, celadon, emerald, and viridian. Gethin had been keeping pace with him, but soon passed Brude to take the lead. Brude heard Tanwen’s racing footfalls behind him. Even pregnant, she ran nearly as fast as him. The barking dog stopped up ahead. “They’ve got one.” Gethin yelled out. Nearing the boar, Brude saw the huge wolfhound had clamped its teeth on one of the boar’s hind legs, holding it for them. Thrashing its small yet rock hard body this way and that, the boar fought to shake free from the dog’s clenching bite. “Hold him, Colwyn. Good dog,” Brude yelled out to the shaggy wolfhound. Gethin took the lead and had almost reached the boar. As he closed in, the beast wrestled free from Colwyn’s teeth. Bristles covered its sagging belly. The beast’s paltry worm of a tail pointed straight down to Hades. With a toss of his huge tusk, the beast veered toward Gethin. In a flash, the boar’s tapered, pointed snout rammed forward. Jagged ears lay back against its flat head. Thrusting its sharp tusk, it pierced through the warrior’s flesh. As the deadly tusk ripped through Gethin’s leg, his roar of pain thundered through the forest. Blood burst out of the gash in his leg. The dog grabbed hold of the boar’s legs with its teeth again. The beast’s high pitched squeals vibrated through the air. Brude ran up to the bristlehaired beast. Just as he raised the long spear to slay the boar, a black iron spear flew past him. He leapt back, and the dog stood its ground with its teeth clamped on the wild beast, holding the boar in place. The spear hit its mark and impaled the thick hide of the squealing boar. Still alive, though. Brude jabbed the boar’s rough hide with his spear for the kill. The boar’s ear-splitting shrieks filled the air. Brude glanced up to see Nectan, the Smertae chief, walking forward. Tanwen rushed up to them, panting from exertion. “Gethin, can you walk?” “Yes,” Her Silure guard and friend said through gritted teeth as he gazed down at his blood-soaked braies. “We need to get back and tend to that wound.” She pulled off his belt and wrapped it around his wound to staunch the 127

Cornelia Amiri bleeding. “I got him,” Nectan said smugly. “You did well too, Brude.” “You took my kill,” he said. “Well, we will share warrior honor.” Nectan clasped Brude on the shoulder in friendship. “How generous you are.” Brude didn’t feel friendly. “We’ll both feast on the joint of the boar tonight for Beltane.” Nectan grinned. “It is agreed, for Beltane we shall share the champion portion.” Brude nodded as he thought, I will give you that, but naught more. “But the head is mine.” Nectan placed his foot on the slain boar and drew his sword from its sheath. “I mean it as gift to your father.” Bending down, he plunged his sword into the beast’s neck, and sliced off its head. Blood gushed onto the ground. He picked up the bloody, severed head in his hands. Soon, I shall bring Agricola’s head to him in the same way when we fight the great battle.” Brude turned to Tanwen. “I have to talk to my father, now.” “I’m coming with you,” Tanwen said. Brude nodded. “Good.” And he reached out his arm to Gethin, who leaned on him and hobbled back with Tanwen and him.

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Chapter Thirteen With Tanwen at his heels, Brude pulled back the flap to the chief’s wheelhouse. He entered and sat down on a fox pelt before his father. Tanwen eased down beside him. “Hail my son. Did you have a good hunting?” “No, someone took my kill.” Brude flashed a wide smile. “Nectan has arrived for Beltane.” Tanwen let out a soft chuckle. “He is an ally, though I dislike him as much as you do. Is he bringing the boar?” Brude nodded. “It is trussed up and being carried here.” “So it is, my chief. But there is more,” Tanwen said. Ciniatha handed them each a cup of ale as they continued to discuss war tactics. “Sire, he speaks of fighting a battle with the Romans.” Brude took a gulp of ale. “Do you deem it best?” “You have talked to me of this. I ken you deem a battle is not the way to defeat the Romans, and you want skirmishes and raids instead.” “They work, my chief,” Tanwen said. “A great battle would be won by the Romans. My grandmother Boudica fought a large battle, and it was her undoing.” “It is not the way to win against Rome,” Brude agreed. “This is Caledonia.” Calach gulped the last drops of ale in his cup. “Father, you must harry the Romans with raids and not a full-out battle.” Calach shook his head. “The tribes are tired of fighting then 129

Cornelia Amiri running away to hide in bogs and trees. The warriors want a great battle, to cover the land with Roman blood and to be done with Agricola once and for all.” “The way to a victory over Agricola is not a battle on his terms.” Tanwen shook her head. “If the Romans are to be stopped, it is up to us. We are the farthest shore they’ve come to.” Brude exuded a dynamic vitality as he spoke. “No one else has defeated them. We are on the right path with raids and tactics that they are not trained to fight against.” Calach met his son’s gaze. “The other tribes want a quick revenge.” “But they consider you as wise as you are brave, and they will listen to you.” Tanwen smiled. Calach leaned closer to his son and daughter-by-marriage. He peered deep into Tanwen’s eyes. “I have listened to the wise council of my druid and my son. But my allies seek a swift battle. What I need to know is, druidess, what say the gods on this matter?” Tanwen leaned back and took a deep breath. Her gaze latched onto the pillar of billowing, gray smoke from the cook fire. She lowered her eyes and fixed them upon the red flames. Clutching the cup of ale in her hand, with a flick of her wrist, she threw the brew onto the center fire. The flames shot up. Tanwen chanted, “Fair Shining One, accept this sacrifice of strong ale. In turn, we ask for victory against our enemies the Romans. Great Belatucadros, what path shall we take in this war?” Within the flames, a clear image of a serpent appeared. Before their eyes, it transformed into a boar, and then at last a hooded deity gazed back at them from the crackling fire. “Belatucadros, Lover of Death, what say you?” Tanwen asked the god. As she awaited the god’s response, a loud noise broke her concentration. She looked up as Nectan entered the wheelhouse, clutching the severed head of a boar in his arm. “A gift, my chief.” He handed the bloody head to Calach. “My thanks.” Calach tried to hand it to Ciniatha. 130

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “What am I to do with that?” Ciniatha asked with one hand planted on her hip. Tanwen waved her hands at the chief’s wife to attract her attention. Ciniatha got the hint and said, “Druidess, we must offer this to the gods. I give it to you for a sacrifice to appease Belatucadros, as he answered your summons only to be interrupted.” She shifted her gaze upon the Smertae chief and scowled at him. Tanwen grabbed the awful thing out of Calach’s hands. “My chief, I must speak to the god at his alter and perform a proper sacrifice to appease him. I will return with a message from the war god.” As she stood, Brude did as well. “I’ll go with you.” She placed her hand on his shoulder. “No, it is best that only druids conduct this ritual. I will get Lossio to accompany me to Belatucadros’ shrine in the woods.” She turned, and clutching the bloody boar head, she left the wheelhouse. Brude turned to Nectan. “Chief, if we are to fight Romans, then should we not sharpen our sword skills?” Nectan grinned. “Are you asking me to spar with you?” “That I am.” He placed his hands on his hips and waited for the Smertae chief to accept the challenge. “So be it,” Nectan said with ease. They walked to a verdant pasture nearby where a herd of red, long-haired cattle sauntered through the grazing field with their head to the ground, leisurely munching on the wild, green grass. Brude faced the Smertae chief, and glaring hard into the man’s eyes, he gripped the smooth bronze hilt tightly and drew his long sword from its sheath. Nectan pulled out his whetted blade and slid his feet into a battle stance. With his gaze locked on Nectan, Brude sidestepped to and fro, like a wolf stalking prey. Suddenly, he rushed forward and swung his sword. Nectan blocked the blow. “I see your cattle are well.” The muh sounds of the grazing cows filled the air. 131

Cornelia Amiri Brude laughed. “Yes, Tanwen will drive them between the Beltane fires on the morrow to purify them.” He kept his eyes on the Smertae chief. “And how are your cattle?” he asked and swiftly lunged. Nectan warded off the blow with a quick back step. “They are fat off the spring grass. Those we slaughtered kept my tribe fed during the lean winter.” Brude stepped back. “It is good.” Then he moved his foot forward, and with his gleaming blade raised, he charged. Nectan swung. The swords crossed with a pulsating clang of iron. He stepped back. “So I see you are now wed to the druidess. A belated congratulations to you.” Nectan held his blade long-ways, his arms extended. “She told me last I saw her that you would not wed her.” He sprung forward. Brude swiftly sidestepped and blocked the blow. He rammed Nectan’s forearm, and held him down. The Smertae thrust his foot into Brude’s knee, causing him to loosen his grip. Brude let out a sharp yowl of pain, yet side-stepped the foe’s thrashing swing. “She told you this?” He couldn’t let Nectan best him. He pivoted and lunged. Nectan met the attack. Blades crossed in an ear-piercing grind. Their feet were as swift as their hands as they flew back. “Yes, she did not think you would come for her when I held her hostage.” “Well it does not matter, for I am her husband now.” Brude slid his foot forward, and aiming his sword at the Smertae’s head, he swung. Nectan blocked the attack with a forceful parry “No, and I do not mean to interfere with a man and his wife. I but repeated what she had said.” “When you held her hostage. A druidess.” Brude moved in and swung his long sword. Nectan blocked the blow. The clash of iron rung in the air. “It was not one of my better moments.” “It is true.” Brude brought his sword down in one swoop. Nectan pivoted away from the deadly blade. “It’s not easy being chief.” 132

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “My father never held a woman hostage.” “He led cattle raids, though.” Nectan stepped in and forcefully lunged a straight thrust under Brude’s grip. He side-stepped, evading Nectan’s deadly stroke. Then he plunged forward. Nectan parried, then fiercely swung over Brude’s blade. Brude ducked and dropped onto his free hand. With his other, he aimed the sword straight at Nectan’s chest, the deadly point loomed less than a breath span away from his heart. Nectan dropped his blade in surrender. The sword fell to the dirt with a loud thud. “I am glad I am on your side. I cannot wait to kill Romans with you.” Brude stood, and Nectan clasped him on the shoulder in friendship. Brude would never think of the man as a friend, but for the sake of the tribe he would show him the respect of an ally. They did need him to kill Romans. “Let us go and see how the bonfire is going.” “Yes. I am looking forward to the Beltane feast.” Nectan retrieved his sword from the ground and slid it back into its sheath. “Yes there will be good fare.” As Brude sheathed his weapon, he thought of the baked bread. Long ago, drawing the piece with the black spot meant becoming the god-king, with the greatest honor of being the sacrifice victim at Lughnasa. Too bad the practice no longer existed. He would have loved for Nectan to choose the black lot and go to the gods. **** Tanwen walked to the field where Brude and the other Caledonii gathered. Brude came up to meet her as she approached and kissed her on her cheek. “How went it with Belatucadros?” “Lossio and I just spoke with Calach. The god does not want a battle, not now. He wants raids, and he revealed there are men among the Romans who worship him.” Brude nodded his head. “Yes, I have heard the soldiers from provinces conquered by Rome worship Mars, along with their native war gods and the gods of the land they fight in.” 133

Cornelia Amiri “We need one of those men.” Tanwen’s face shined with strength and dazzling determination. “They could be helpful.” “I will think on that,” Brude said. “Here come the chiefs of the Boresti, the Cereni, and the Carnonacae.” She smiled. “It is time to begin.” Lossio handed her a lighted fire brand he had carried from the king’s hearth, before he snuffed out the fire. The gathered crowd fell silent as with torch in hand she lit the twin bonfires. As she gazed into the amber blaze, feeling hot and baked, she ordered Gethin, Lossio, and Brude’s warriors to herd the cattle through the path between the large hot flaming twin fires, in order to purify them for Beltane. They got the last of the cattle through, which were the easiest. But the horses reared and bucked as brawn warriors drove the spooked steeds between the fires of Beltane. Next, the dogs herded the sheep through. The well-trained canines would eat well this eve—large meaty boar bones for each of them, and a lot of petting and praise for those good dogs. The leaping, glowing red-orange flames caught and held Tanwen’s gaze. Her mind went blank, words she had heard many times, from long ago, filled her head. Sulwen, the druidess who raised her, often said, “We didn’t know the battle ground was narrow, so we couldn’t use our swords. Suetonius planned that. Didn’t know he would annihilate all the Iceni. Didn’t ken…should have known.” She blinked her eyes and came out of the daze, finding Brude standing beside her, and she cupped her belly as if protecting the child within. “We have to know what Agricola is going to do. We have to try to find out.” “Can you do so by scrying?” “It’s hard to read these Roman minds as they think differently than us. We have to work outside of magic on this, but not entirely. Belatucadros will lead me to one of those Romans who worship him. Then, you must lead a raid, not to kill Romans, but rather to take one. When we get the man back here, he will tell us what he knows of Agricola’s plans.” “Would he do so?” Brude’s brows arched. “If he serves Belatucadros, he will. I shall convince him it is 134

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ the god’s wish.” “At last we have hope for a way to gain victory over Agricola.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “It is so.” Tanwen whispered as she gazed at his lips, and his mouth softened. She gazed into the smoldering fire in his eyes, flames burning through her. Her heart danced in her chest. He pulled her to him, crushing her against his powerful, well-muscled body. Her body tingled. Covering her mouth with his, his demanding lips caressed hers. As his lips suckled hers, his mouth felt full, throbbing. Her lips burned. Raising his mouth from hers, his gaze captured her as he rasped, “It is Beltane eve.” He pointed his head toward the dark woods. With her gaze still impaled by his, she eased out of his embrace, grabbed his warm hand, and pulled him with her. Hand-in-hand they ran into the forest. They halted at a darkened thicket, at a patch of grass covered with soft leaves. He eased her down onto the forest floor. Brude peeled off her clothes, tore off his own, and tossed them all aside. His hot, smooth hands slid across her face and arms. His palms lingered at the bulge of her belly, where his child grew inside her. He stroked every curve and contour of her body. As soft rays of moonlight flickered through the canopy of leaves, she admired Brude’s sinewy arms and legs, and his broad, defined chest. His gaze held the hungry look of a wolf, ready to strike its prey. He bent over her. Like a whisper, his lips barely touched hers. She stretched out, wrapping her arms about his firm back. Craving the fire emanating from his body, she burrowed into the warm contours of his firm flesh. She sighed as large, smooth hands explored the hollow of her back. His breath was hot against her ear, and he flicked his tongue within. She moaned. He nibbled her ear lobe. She crushed her mouth to his in an urgent kiss. His hands ran down her body to the soft arch of her thighs. The hardness of his truncheon brushed against her. She quivered. He stroked her legs and lifted her ankle, laying it gently upon his left shoulder. She positioned her other leg on his right 135

Cornelia Amiri shoulder and opened fully. She quivered with the promise of the pleasure to come. Tanwen gasped as he drove his full, throbbing erection into her, stretching her. She was a flame. He was so thick and long inside her throbbing core. She sucked in quick, shallow breaths and clinched against him. Gliding upward, deeper, he pumped her rapidly. She arched into him, meeting his powerful thrusts, rippling under him. The heavy, throbbing need built as her agonizing gasps grew faster, and he thrust harder, higher. She arched her thighs, whimpering with wanton need for release. He buckled into her as their molten juices mingled. She convulsed in spasms. In the blackness of her closed eyes, a thousand stars burst into bright lights of every hue. She felt like she’d exploded into a thousand pieces, and they all floated away. Her panting breath slowed to an easy rhythm as she basked in blissful afterglow, lying on the earth, still entwined. Both of their bodies glistened with sweat. They took each other throughout the night, moving together on the forest floor, arching and thrusting. With unabashed abandon, Tanwen and Brude quivered and moaned as they passionately coupled again and again. At the break of dawn, they returned to the field, carrying leaves and branches they had picked to decorate the pole, which they would dance around all morning.

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Chapter Fourteen Tanwen looked up at the splashes of plum, pink, violet, orchid, light blue, and periwinkle, trailing across the evening sky as the pearly moon rose. She shifted her gaze to her husband, holding his horse’s reins in one hand, ready to mount and ride out with Gethin and the other men gathered around him. Huctia stood at her side as she wished Brude well on the raid. Tanwen rubbed her stomach. “The babe will come in but one more turn of the moon, near Lughnasa.” The gleaming orb had waxed and waned for two cycles since Beltane, and Tanwen’s belly was now a large bulge. “How do you feel?” His large hand took her face and held it gently. “I have herbs to comfort me, Lossio, and Huctia,” her eyes darted to the Silure guard and friend, and then she shifted her gaze back to Brude, “your mother, and all the women of the Caledonii to care for me.” She whispered, “I worry about you.” Her hot breath fanned his face, and his fingers tingled from the mere contact of cupping her chin. “I and my men will spend but a moment in the camp. Just long enough to find this worshipper of Belatucadros.” “My mind will connect with yours as I enter the druid trance, and through me, Belatucadros will lead you to the soldier.” Her full lips curved into a confident smile. “Then, we will find out why they have moved so close in, just across the Lochness.” Brude shifted his gaze to Huctia. “Guard her well.” With his eyes once more upon Tanwen, still cupping her face, he leaned his lips to hers. The delicious sensation of her mouth on his filled 137

Cornelia Amiri him with desire, though the kiss was as soft as a whisper. “I will be back, soon.” He vaulted upon his horse, and Gethin and the other men rode out with him in stealth toward the far side of the Lochness. They dismounted in the forest near the small Roman camp, and each of them tied their horses to a tree there in the dark woods. Brude’s warriors gathered around him, as he commanded, “Swiftly rush them, slay one man each, and retreat—all in a span of a moment.” “That is all we do?” Gethin asked. Brude bobbed his head. “Yes, to cause havoc and to draw attention off of me while I grab a Roman and drag him back here. Then, we ride hard and fast back to the village.” “Will Tanwen sacrifice the Roman to the gods?” Talorcan asked. “No, she is in ritual now, back in the woodland grove. She is calling to Belatucadros to lead me to the soldier who will give us the information we need to win a victory against Rome.” Drest and Talorcan sprinted through the forest toward the Roman camp. Spotting two sentries, they came up on them from behind and stabbed them in the back. Glancing at the dead Romans, Talorcan croaked like a raven to signal Brude. Brude swung his arm downward, gesturing his men to charge. They sprung through the forest, and with spears raised, they burst upon the camp of sleeping soldiers. Caught unaware, the Romans didn’t have time to draw their short swords. One of the unarmed men rushed forward with his fist raised, ready to fight Brude with naught but his bare hands. A sharp pain pierced Brude’s head as he heard Tanwen screaming in his brain, Him, he is the one! Drawing his long sword from its sheath in a flash, Brude held the deadly point at the man’s chest “Halt,” he yelled in Latin. “I will spare your life.” At Brude’s words, which were the agreed upon signal, Gethin snuck up behind the Roman and tied a gag around his mouth. He grabbed one of the man’s shoulders as Drest clutched the other. The soles of their feet hammered across the ground as they swiftly hauled him away, not even noticing his futile 138

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ struggle to get free. The soldiers rushed toward them, but the attempt was useless. Brude and his men melted into the dark woods and hid between the trees. The Roman commander ordered his soldiers back to camp. Drest emerged from behind a tree, grasping the shoulders of the still struggling captive, who now had his hands tied behind his back. In a moment’s time, Brude and his other men, each on foot but leading their horses by the reins, gathered around the two. Brude grinned at Drest and Gethin. “Good job.” He swung up on his horse. His men helped lift the gagged soldier and eased him up onto the steed, so he sat pillion, in front of Brude. He commanded his men, “Mount up and ride back home.” With one arm around the Roman’s chest, he used the other to jerk the man’s head toward him. “Do not fear. We mean you no harm. Your god Belatucadros has work for you to do.” As soon as Brude mentioned the god, the man’s eyes flickered with recognition. “You do not speak Pictish, but you know the name of our war god.” He laughed at the Roman. “Yes, you are the one.” As Brude rode pillion with his captive through the woods, Gethin pulled his horse closer to his. “How do you know he is the one Belatucadros wants?” “When he came at me, with no weapon but all that rage, I knew him for a worshipper of Belatucadros, and also Tanwen guided me. She was in my mind, and she yelled at me that this was the one.” Gethin chuckled. “Druids do have the magic of reading minds.” Brude couldn’t help but grin. “It is why I did not wish to marry one, but having Tanwen as a wife does have benefits.” He swallowed tightly, recalling her nude body—skin smoother than cream and pink with the flush of arousal. His heart beat erratically as he envisioned her heavy, rose-tipped breasts jutting above her narrow waist, fine hips, and shapely thighs. He kicked his horse’s flank, speeding his mount into an urgent, dirt-kicking gallop back to the village. 139

Cornelia Amiri **** Her skin tingled, bubbles of excitement burst inside her chest as she stood outside the chief’s house, gazing down the road. She strained her eyes for a glimpse of a tall warrior on a black horse, riding back home to her. Nothing calmed her. Her entire body would remain jumpy until she set eyes on him once more. Tanwen’s thoughts had kept her up all night, from memories of the heat of his hard and muscular body pressing against her bare skin, to fears that he’d been stabbed by a Roman dagger, and rage at images in her mind of Brude lying on the dirt, bleeding helplessly as soldiers in hobnail boots looked down at him, jeering. Her pulse hammered and then it seemed her heart stopped at the sound of a tattoo of horses’ hooves. She screamed with joy the moment Brude came into view alive, safe. Then, her gaze impaled the man riding pillion with him. Tanwen gasped. “It is the Belatucadros devotee.” Brude pulled the horse to a quick stop and vaulted off. She smiled and opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, he swung her into the circle of his broad arms. Crushing her against his warm, firm chest, he claimed her lips. Her heartbeat quickened. His full lips sucked at hers as if he could lap her up. The feral hunger in his kiss sent a jolt of heat down to the pit of her stomach. Tanwen’s mouth burned with fire. She deepened the kiss, twisting her lips over his. He thrust his hot tongue deep into her mouth. With sweeping, swirling motions inside her mouth, his tongue found hers. His tongue curled against hers. She moaned. His lips and tongue moved over hers in a frenzy. The sensation that her entire body burst into flames engulfed her. When he drew his mouth away from hers, she took a deep breath and stood there, trying to get her bearings, her lips still throbbing. “Should we go inside?” He grinned. She looked around, and no one was there but the horse. “Our captive awaits.” Brude pointed to the chief’s round house. While they kissed, Gethin and the others hauled the Roman into the wheelhouse. “Yes.” She turned and entered the chief’s house. 140

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ The god’s devotee sat in front of the hearth fire with Calach at his side. Drest untied the Roman’s hands. “Ale for our honored guest.” Calah called to the servant. The man’s hands shook as he reached out for the brimmed cup of ale, grabbed it, and downed it in one gulp. Brude smiled at Tanwen as he told her, “Here he is.” Her eyes had fastened onto the Roman the moment she entered the house. Finally able to speak with him. She opened her mouth, but just as she began to talk, a noise from outside drowned out her words. She jerked her head toward the door. “What?” “How did they find out so fast?” Brude asked. She swung her head toward him “Some of the men who saw you ride in must have told the whole village.” “No, not that we returned, but that we mean to let the Roman live.” “Oh.” Tanwen gulped “They want the Roman killed.” “It would seem so,” Calach said. “Who will calm them so we can speak to him?” Brude nodded at the captive, now downing another cup of ale. “It is my duty as chief.” Calach stood and walked toward the door. “No, it is by Belatucadros that this Roman’s life shall be spared. As druidess, it is I who must proclaim the will of the gods to the people.” “I graciously give way to you, druidess.” Calach stepped back. “My thanks.” She couldn’t help a tinge of sarcasm from edging her tone. Tanwen walked outside, meeting an angry mob of Caledonii tribesmen, their thundering shouts shook the ground beneath her feet. Savagely, they yelled even louder in her presence, hammering for the death of the captured Roman. The mass of warriors surrounded her and squeezed in on her. Tanwen took a long breath and let out a deep bellow, “I am your druidess. Here me speak!” Suddenly, the mob hushed. Her voice now rang out as everyone else grew silent. “You dare to go against your gods? Woe to you.” She raised her hand, shaking 141

Cornelia Amiri her fist at them. “Hear me. Belatucadros knows not that you mean to kill a man he has sent to us. This man, this Roman, will be loyal to us, and in doing so, he will give us victory. So the war god has said. Go now! Leave before Belatucadros knows you are here and what you are doing, how you mean to go against him. For then, he will bring down his rage on all of us. And smite each of you dead.” The mob of warriors scattered like a flock of birds at a loud noise. She turned around and entered the wheelhouse. Calach and Brude stood on either side of the captive, each holding one of the man’s arms. He was babbling in Latin. “He threw the cup of ale down, leapt up, and started jabbering so fast I can’t understand him. What is he saying?” Brude asked. “He’s chattering, ‘Do not let her burn me alive, to set me on fire in a big wicker basket. No, do not let the druid get me. I will do anything you want.’” Tanwen folded her arms across her chest. As the Roman continued speaking Latin to Brude and Calach, Tanwen translated, “He is begging the two of you to kill him rather than turn him over to me.” She looked at the man eye-to-eye, dropped her tone to a calming one, and in Latin she said, “Belatucadros knows you worship him. The god is happy with you. We mean you no harm. You are an honored guest, not a prisoner.” She turned her head to Brude and switched back to the Pictish tongue. “Let him go.” Both he and Calach hesitated. “Need I speak to you as I spoke to the mob out there? This is the man Belatucadros led us to. We have nothing to fear from him. He will help us.” As they released their hold, Tanwen gestured to the Roman to sit back down on the pelt by the fire. “Refill his cup of ale, and bring him bread and honey.” “You shouldn’t be here.” Brude rested his hand on her shoulder. “You are near your time. Tanwen, go home. You have done your part, and I can take over now.” “I speak Latin better than both of you. The god Belatucadros 142

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ gave me the command to find this man, so I need to be here. Slowly, she eased down onto a pelt, facing the Roman. “What is your name, and what part of the empire do you hail from?” “Laca is my name. I am from Pannonia, the village of Seribinum.” “Do they like the Romans there?” He shrugged. “We have many legions in Pannonia. In Seribinum, the Romans have a river fleet that sails from our port. They are there. What can you do?” “We do not like them here.” Tanwen crossed her arms. “We will not let them stay here. We can stop them.” Her words brought a smile to Laca’s long face. “This I know. What will you do with me?” “Nothing.” She shrugged and flashed him a half-smile. “We only hope that you will help us. We all worship Belatucadros. He told me I could trust you. You can trust me. Pray to Belatucadros, and he will tell you.” Huctia came in with food and ale for the soldier. Tanwen flashed him a warm smile. “I will leave you now, so you can eat, and then pray to the gods. Ask them if you should help us. Let them guide you. The way Belatucadros guided us to you. I know this is hard to believe, but we are your fiends.” She knew the gods would not fail her, but still the decision would be his. She prayed he would heed the will of Belatucadros. Brude helped her to her feet, and they walked together, back to their own wheelhouse. She eased down into a sitting position at Brude’s side, by the crackling fire. Taking his hand in hers, she pressed his palm over her belly so he could feel the baby kick. Gethin ran in. “Bright one, the Roman has drunk a full skin of ale, and he says he is ready to speak with you.” “I am coming.” Brude shot up. “No. It is better if I go alone.” She rose to her feet with his help and left the wheelhouse. She waddled down to the chief’s round house and entered. The Roman smiled and gestured for her to sit beside him. He reached up and pulled his tunic off. It was strange for a man, a Roman soldier at that, to suddenly undress in front of her. It 143

Cornelia Amiri scared Tanwen for a moment, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. Old scars from a flogging marked his back. “Soon after I was forced to join the army at an age of ten and four, I was punished. I did not stand up straight enough for the commander.” He pulled his tunic back on. “I am far from home, and I have no love for the army or Rome. In truth, I would rather be here than in my camp, as long as you vow I am safe.” Tanwen looked directly into his eyes. “By all our gods, I swear no harm shall come to you here.” He leaned closer to her. “I have not been told of any of Agricola’s plans. But we are out in the far north, searching for each tribe’s grain pits.” Tanwen let out a gasp of breath. “He is planning to burn the grain when we collect it at Lughnasa.” “It must be so.” Laca bobbed his head. “It is all the information I have, but I truly want to help you.” “I believe you. We thank you for this information. We may ask you to help us, again.” “In what way?” “As a decoy.” His thick brows drew together as he seemed deep in thought. Then, his solemn expression gave way to a broad grin. “I think I would find tricking high-ranking generals in the Roman army fun.” “That is what I hoped you would say. We did indeed choose the right man.” His smile widened in agreement. When she left, Brude stood outside the hut, waiting for her. “I knew you would come here,” Tanwen said. “I didn’t come inside, though I was ready to if I heard you scream or call for help.” “He is our friend and wants to help us. He told me Agricola has him and other soldiers searching for grain pits.” “Grain?” Brude’s face suddenly turned to a deep scowl. “He means to starve us out, to burn our stores of oats and barley after Lughnasa.” Tanwen nodded. “I am sure of it. Sulwen told me Governor 144

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Suetonius burned the Iceni crops and set our crop fields on the island of Ynys Mon on fire. Agricola means to do the same here.” “What will we do? Have you a plan.” “It is never too soon to prepare. With rituals, I will place wards at all the oak trees in and near the village to strengthen the protection they give off and help keep us safe from whatever Agricola plans.” “Do not go alone. Take Lossio with you.” “You are like a mother goose. I and the baby in me are fine, but Lossio will go with me. Two can complete the work faster than one.” “Can I not help?” His tone felt warm and enchanting. They smiled at each other. “Come, husband. I will find something for you to do. We will place extra protection around the grain storage. Though he will not strike until it is filled with grain at or after Lughnasa, we should safeguard it now. After all, he is a Roman, and he may be too stupid to know when we actually reap our grain. I don’t think the governor has actually farmed himself.” “No, they have slaves for that. Mayhap, Celtic slaves. I’m sure it is so.” They fetched Lossio, and the three walked off to begin placing rituals of protection around the village.

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Chapter Fifteen Tanwen hurried outside to tend to her personal needs. Gazing down at the puddle at her feet, she knew her water had broken. Walking back to the wheelhouse, she yelled for Huctia. The Silure friend and guard ran to her aid and helped Tanwen home. She eased her down onto the pallet. While Tanwen breathed through the labor pains, Huctia ran to get Ciniatha. Upon entering, the chief’s wife dipped a piece of wool cloth into a bucket of fresh water Huctia brought in. As Ciniatha patted her forehead, Tanwen’s body felt revitalized from the wet, soothing touch. She smiled at her mother-by marriage. “The baby is coming.” “Yes. You were asleep when Brude left for the fields to scythe the barley for Lughnasa. He does not even know the birth has begun.” Ciniatha lifted the cloth and dipped it into the bucket again. “I’ll send for him.” “No, the goddess needs Brude and the other men for the harvest. If we reap the goddess’s bounty, she will help me birth my child. The babe will come as soon as the harvest is in.” “So be it. As Brude says, you are ever the druidess.” Ciniatha laughed. Huctia let out a soft chortle. “The Roman is in the field as well. It’s his first Lughnasa, but he told me about a similar harvest festival in his country. He says Caledonia reminds him of home.” “This will be my baby’s first Lughnasa, also. And do not call him Roman. His name is Laca.” “He is one of us now, a Caledonii,” Ciniatha laid the soft 146

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ cloth back on Tanwen’s forehead. “He helped us fare better in our raids. Dressed up in his uniform, he sneaked into Roman camps, let loose their horses, and lit fires.” Huctia nodded. “You did well to have Belatucadros lead you to him.” “Bless the god.” Tanwen yelped out as the labor pains grew sharper and increased in frequency. She turned to Huctia at her side, who grasped her hand, squeezing it tight. “We must get word to the hillfort, and to the Silures, to let Sulwen know Boudica’s bloodline carries on.” “Yes, though I am sure she knows. I ken Boudica’s spirit is here, for the child is not only her kith and kin, but a descendant of the Iceni tribe,” Huctia said. “Yes, Boudica will be pleased.” As soon as Tanwen spoke, a sharp pain ripped through her belly. She cried out. “You are doing well.” Ciniatha wiped Tanwen’s forehead once more. “You will be remembered during the Lughnasa rites. We will bring you the first loaf of bread, so you may partake in the ceremony.” “Partake,” Tanwen scoffed. “You bring me the first loaf of bread. I will conduct the ceremony. I am still the tribe’s druidess.” Both Huctia and Ciniatha laughed at her stubbornness to lead the Lughnasa rituals while giving birth to a child. “It is birthwort, to ease the pangs.” Ciniatha held a cup up to Tanwen’s dry lips, and she drank deeply. Huctia moved to sit behind her, so Tanwen could lean her back into her for comfort while she gave birth. Tanwen pushed her back against the Silure warrior, her best friend, as she let out another strong scream. “The pains are coming faster,” Huctia said. “That is good,” Tanwen panted. “I can’t take much more of this. I need to deliver this babe, soon.” “It will come when it comes,” Ciniatha said. Tanwen screamed again. Ciniatha smiled up at her from the foot of the bed. “Push, Tanwen. I can see the baby’s head.” Sweat beaded Tanwen’s forehead. She grunted and panted 147

Cornelia Amiri from the strain and pain of bringing her child into the world. Brude rushed into the room. “Tanwen.” Ciniatha turned to her son. “The child is coming.” “Brude,” Tanwen cried out as another pain shot through her. He rushed to her and eased down onto the bed by her side. As the next contraction cut through her, she shrieked. “Help her!” Brude yelled at his mother with concern. “It won’t be long. I see the head,” Ciniatha shouted with joy. “Push Tanwen, push hard.” She bore down with all her might and thrust forward. Her blaring scream pierced the air. The intense pain tore through her. She felt like she’d been torn in two. Another shriek ripped through the air. But it was followed by a steadier, loud bawl. The cries of a babe. “Let me see my baby.” “Tanwen.” Brude’s eyes gleamed with rapt joy as Ciniatha held the wrinkled infant up to them. “It’s a boy,” Ciniatha proudly announced. The babe cried like he was mad and wouldn’t stop for several tides of the sun. “You know who screamed like that when he was angry, when a lad?” Ciniatha asked. “Brude.” “Me?” He shook his head. “Did you? I was thinking of my brother, Boudicius, killed by the Romans. He was named after my grandmother. When he was little, he yelled for hours like that.” Tanwen cradled the infant against her breasts. “And it was her spirit that brought you to me.” Brude leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her sweat-drenched forehead. “I think I know what you will name him.” Huctia smiled sweetly at the baby, who waved its tiny arms erratically. “Boudicius,” Brude said. “Yes, it is the best name for our son.” Tanwen gazed deep into Brude’s gleaming eyes. Ciniatha took the baby from Tanwen and washed the blood off the child by dipping a clean cloth in the laver bowl. She then placed the clean child in Brude’s arms and showed him how to 148

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ support the baby’s head. Huctia got the other large bowl of water, cleaned up the afterbirth, and washed Tanwen. Brude stared at the squirming infant, with its eyes still closed and its small mouth opened wide as it continued to yell. “Boudicius, my son.” Brude cooed gently to the baby and snuggled up against Tanwen, kissing her cheek and chin. “You have made me so happy.” Brude’s throat was muted with joy. He turned his gaze to the pink-faced, screaming baby and softly fluttered his lips upon its tiny forehead. The baby hushed. Tanwen gently ran her hands across the babe’s head. “Greetings my son. Boudicius, you are welcomed here in the Caledonii tribe, land of the Picts, free of Roman rule.” She smiled and softly sung. “Hush little one, while I sing to you our father, mother baby song.” “He has the look of you, Brude,” Ciniatha said. Everyone but Ciniatha and the baby broke out in laughter. Tanwen grinned at her mother-by-marriage. “I do not see the resemblance right now, but I’m sure you are right.” “Wise answer.” Brude chuckled. “Here.” Huctia handed Tanwen a goblet she had just filled with ale. Tanwen sipped it slowly, savoring each calming drop. “I need one as well.” Brude poured a cup of ale and gulped it down. “The Lughnasa fire and wheel will be lit at dawn. Did you want to have the first grain ceremony, now?” “Yes, bring the loaf.” “No,” Huctia chided Tanwen. “You must rest.” “Boudicius is the son of a druidess. It is good that in less than a span of the sun after his birth, he witnesses a Lughnasa ceremony. He will love it. Bring the sacred bread.” “There is no stopping her,” Brude said to Huctia. Ciniatha smiled. “I will bring the loaf.” She left to get the bread the other women had baked from the first grain, while she had helped her grandson come into the world. Brude handed the baby back to Tanwen, and they sat together on the bed, peering and cooing at the now quiet child. Huctia sat on the chair at Tanwen’s bedside. 149

Cornelia Amiri Ciniatha returned, cradling the sacred golden-brown loaf in her hands. “Look who I have brought.” Lossio entered behind her. He flashed a radiant smile at first sight of the baby. “A fine son. The gods have been good.” “Yes.” Tanwen flashed a beaming smile at him. “I will perform the ritual, while you stay in bed with the baby.” “I will not argue with you, Lossio.” Feeling exhausted and light-headed, she didn’t think she could get up if she wanted to. “The moon has risen, so it is time to begin,” Lossio spread his arms wide. The weathered man looked regal in his flowing goldspeckled robe. Calach entered the chamber, bringing Gethin and the Roman with him. Brude eased off the bed and stood like everyone else except for Tanwen, who stayed in bed, cradling Boudicius in her arms. “Lugh long arm, shining one, god of the sun. We gather here to give thanks for the bounty of your harvest. For the light you shined on the crops, we honor you. Our bellies will be full, even in the dark of winter.” Ciniatha stepped forward. “Lugh of the sure hand, we come together to share our first baked loaf. For as you honored us with a fruitful harvest, we honor you with our labor in reaping, threshing, and baking.” Tanwen lifted little Boudicius into the air and invoked, “Great Goddess of Lughnasa, Macha. Your womb of earth birthed our wheat, which gives us life. You bless us with fertility. On this your day, I gave birth to my first born son. I thank you for our bountiful crops. I thank you for Boudicius, and the other children which have been born to the tribe from the last Lughnasa to this one.” Ciniatha handed Lossio the loaf. He broke off a piece and passed it to Calach, who tore off another and gave it to Brude and handed the third to Ciniatha, who in turn gave it to Huctia, who passed it to Gethin, who gave it to the Roman. Tanwen’s heart clinched. She smiled down on her newborn son, an incredible miracle from the gods. This was her family, her husband, her mother and father-by-marriage, and the others 150

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ were brothers and sisters to her, even the Roman. She knew Boudica was looking on. Again, she wished so much that Rhys and Sulwen could be here. Lossio took the loaf from the Roman and handed it to Tanwen. She broke off her hunk of bread. “Goddess of fertility, of seed and flower, as you give to us, we give to you. Accept our offering.” She handed the chunk of bread left to Lossio. “God and Goddess, as you, the earth and sun, conceived our grain, we bless you. We call on you to bless our tribe, as we share this bread.” Lossio then walked out of the chamber to the fire in the central hearth of the round house and tossed a piece of bread into the flames. As it burned to a crisp, the smoke curled and rose to the gods. He danced around the blaze, chanting. From her perch on the bed, with Boudicius in her arms, Tanwen chanted with him. “Earth gave us life. Death returns us to her womb. Unending, the circle runs forevermore. Sun, earth, and grain, all which falls shall rise again. Blessings all the while.” Tanwen stuffed the piece of bread into her mouth as the others did the same. The soft warmth melted on her tongue as she chewed. It was so delicious, so filling...so blessed. Then, she bared her breast and put Boudicius to her nipple. Her breast tingled as his lips clasped around the teat, and his tiny mouth began to suckle her milk. **** At Dawn’s light, as Tanwen and her baby boy slept, Brude led Huctia, Gethin, and the Roman up an old path to the hill where the Caledonii tribe and the visiting chiefs waited for them. Brude grinned broadly as people congratulated him. He was a father. He had a baby. This was the best Lughnasa, ever. His eyes drank in the beauty of the vibrant azure sky, which began so pale and deepened to the truest blue. He gazed up at the brilliant glowing ball, the hue of the bit of bright orange tuft on a Caledonian bee. Joy beamed within him, as dazzling as the dawn sun. His spirit floated high in the sky. This was the best Lughnasa, ever. He’d never known he could be so happy. Lossio led him, Calach, and the others around the tall 151

Cornelia Amiri standing stone nine times. Cupping his hands, the gray-headed druid dipped them into the pond by the megalith, and drank of its water for clarity and wisdom. From the hill, Brude gazed down at the fertile fields below. Tribesmen blared bronze horns and blew their pipes as Lossio approached the spoked wagon wheel, coated with black gooey tar. Brude joined in the chant Lossio led, “The sun burns, yet winter nears. The season turns. Summer comes to an end. Sun and earth, Lugh and Macha. Life to death, the wheel turns, Lughnasa, Lughnasa.” “Life to death, a new life had come last night.” His own son. With that thought, he repeated the chant even louder. “The seasons turn. Life to death. Lughnasa.” Garbed in a gold-speckled robe, Lossio struck a flint and put that spark to a torch, flaring into a brilliant amber flame. With that firebrand, he lit the wheel aflame, and with an iron rod in hand, he rolled it down the hill. “The end of Lugh’s reign, god of the sun.” Brude kept pace with Lossio as he ran with the burning wheel, the rolling symbol of the sun. The flaming wheel reached its end and crumbled into burning wood and ashes. The crowd stopped in their tracks, took each other’s hands, and moved in a slow circle around it, the dying Lugh. Focusing on the gods, Lossio spread his arms into the air. “The sun begins its journey into dark winter. The season turns, sun and earth, Lugh and Macha, life to death. Winter nears, Lughnasa, Lughnasa.” Brude was part of the turning season: he’d transformed from warrior to husband, and now to father. With the fire nothing more than smoldering embers and the wheel no more than ashes, he knew his future consisted of Tanwen, Boudicius, and their other children to come. That thought was on his mind when he suddenly turned his head to the sound of riders. A small group of Romans rode away from the pits, where the grain was stored. He could barely make out the billowing smoke in the dark of night. But he knew. His stomach lurched. “How did they get by us?” He charged down the hill and to the stables, quickly 152

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ mounting, as did his men. Lossio, and others from the Lughnasa celebration, handed several of the riders a torch so they could easily follow the Romans into the dark. Those not clutching firebrands held long spears at the ready. Brude raised his long, black iron weapon into the air. “After them.” He slapped his thighs against his stallion’s flanks and took off at a dirt-kicking gallop. His men spurred into a hard gait behind him, in pursuit of the fleeing Romans. The foreign soldiers had a head start, but they were riding in the dark and unfamiliar with the territory. Brude and his men swiftly gained on them. When Brude had them close in his sights, he aimed and hurled his spear, which struck and impaled one Roman. The man fell to the ground, quivering in death throes. The others tried to escape, but Brude’s men launched their spears, and soon only three Romans were left alive. They reined their horses in and surrendered to Brude. “What do we do with these three?” Gethin asked. “Sever their heads. We will dip then in cedar oil and tie them around our horses. They will come to know, if they battle with us, their souls are forfeit. When the Romans see their comrades’ heads hanging on our horses, they’ll realize it then.

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Chapter Sixteen “If I follow your advice, the tribe will never make it through the winter,” Calach’s brows drew together. “A battle will not change that.” Sitting on a fox pelt, facing his father, Brude leaned closer to him. Sunlight flitted through the tiny slits between the thatch of the roof. Having just had a son, Brude noticed the creases at his father’s eyes and the lines at his mouth: the signs of aging. “Do not forget, the raids are working. They burned the grain to push us into a battle on their terms. Just ask Laca or Tanwen, and they will tell you about Agricola’s tactics.” His tone grew louder. “Her mother’s tribe, the Iceni, was wiped out when they fought them on a battlefield rather than small surprise attacks.” Sitting face to face, Calach peered deeply into his son’s eyes. “What happened to our neighbors in Britannia has much to do with my decision. We are at the farthest north of the island—the last of the free, save for those in Erinn. And if we don’t stop the Romans, they will attack Erinn next. We were shrouded by obscurity, but now we lie open to our enemies.” “So we most stop them. On that, Tanwen and I agree with you. This you know. And to that end, the raids are best.” “If we win the battle, the Romans will be gone for good, and yes it will help. We will have the supplies from their forts to see us through. It’s better to die in battle than to starve.”Calach lifted his chin into the air. Brude drew in a long breath. “This is true, and I feel the same way.” 154

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ “Tanwen knows as do all Celts that what the Romans call government is, in truth, robbery, butchery, and rape. They create deserted villages, destroy entire tribes, and call it peace. If you and others do not choose to follow me into battle, you will end up submitting to Roman taxes, unjust laws, and laboring in the dark mines, like slaves,” Calach said in a firm tone of authority. “Think of your son. If you and Tanwen do not want Boudicius to endure atrocities his entire life, then you will join me for a quick end and swift revenge. For by fighting Agricola in a great battle, we will be victorious.” Brude lowered his gaze from his father’s hawk-like eyes. Calach began to make sense to him. He felt fired, ready to fight in a huge battle, to destroy all of Agricola’s legions at one time. He struggled with those thoughts, for he knew Tanwen deemed otherwise. She had an infuriating habit of being right. Most druids did. It was another reason he hadn’t wanted to marry one. Though he chuckled as thoughts of the heat of her skin, the softness of her willing flesh, the earthy flora and fauna scent of her, her long red hair, and the things she could do with it in bed reminded him that he’d made a good decision to wed a druidess after all. Brude’s lips parted in a half smile. “Well, as you dream of this glorious battle, I must go speak to my druid wife and explain how her wise counsel has been disregarded by her chief.” His mind spun. How will I ever convince her? What will I say? Boudicius. She will do what is best for our son. If we do not fight a pitch battle to free the land of the Romans, Boudicius may come to live in subjection to them. Tanwen will not like that. It will give her cause to change her mind. “It is a good job for a man that will be chief one day. A good test. And better you than me.” Calach chuckled. **** Tanwen sat on the pallet in her wheelhouse, peering down at the sweet face of her son hungrily suckling at her breast. Glancing up, she saw Ciniatha at the doorway. “Greetings, you have come in time to see your grandson feed.” 155

Cornelia Amiri Ciniatha entered and flashed a warm smile at Tanwen and her grandson. “He is such a good baby.” “He only cries when he needs to be fed,” Huctia said as she swept a straw broom across the packed dirt floor. Tanwen’s nipple dropped out of the child’s mouth, and he didn’t seem to want any more at this moment. “Would you like to hold him?” Tanwen picked up a dry cloth lying in her lap and wiped a dab of drool off the baby’s chin. Ciniatha walked over to Tanwen. “I have come to see if you’d like me to care for him while you finish any task you have today.” She held out her arms and Tanwen handed the baby to her. “Brude is speaking with his father, and I left them to their discussion.” She cradled her grandson against her chest, gently swaying to and fro in a slight rocking motion. “Are they?” Tanwen nibbled her lower lip. “Huctia, you and I need to gather some herbs.” “Yes, I think a walk in the woods will do you good.” Huctia grabbed two baskets and handed one to Tanwen. Tanwen swung her legs over the bed, down to the floor, and stood up. She fluttered a soft kiss on Boudicius’ forehead and bid farewell to Ciniatha. With Huctia at her side, she strolled into the woods, swinging the wicker basket in her hand. Bending down, she plucked all the fat hen plants she came across out of the ground. She glanced at Huctia and saw she also had filled her basket with fat hen leaves. “This will help. With the harvest destroyed, the succulent leaves will keep the tribe from going hungry.” “We need more than fat hen plants.” “The cattle are healthy. We will make do. Huctia, I’m more worried about what Brude and Calach are speaking about.” “What do you think they are talking about?” Huctia asked as she plucked another fat hen leaf from its stalk. Tanwen set her filled basket down on the grass. She crossed her arms. “What everyone speaks of? They want to fight a pitched battle.” “Mayhaps they are right,” Huctia said softly. Tanwen pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. “I 156

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ cannot talk them out of it.” She paced back and forth. “It will take place, right or wrong. I need to call upon the gods and do what I can.” Her throat tightened. “I do not want my son to lose his father.” She clasped her hand over her mouth, smothering a sob. “And I don’t want to lose Brude.” Tears formed in her eyes, and Huctia reached out to her, hugging her snugly. Tanwen let her wall down and sobbed freely on her friend’s shoulder. She raised her head off Huctia’s shoulder and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hands. With her tears now gone, she took a deep breath, and gathered her strength. Sulwen’s words came to her with so much clarity, it seemed more than a memory. It was as if she was speaking to her right now. ‘We should have never let the women and children come. We were trapped by the family wagons. They were all slaughtered. The women, children, and elderly must be protected, always, just in case the battle fails. Rome cannot annihilate any tribe if the children are hidden, kept safe. The women, children, and the elderly can carry the tales of the tribe, which are a sacred treasure.’ “Trapped,” Tanwen said under her breath.” What are you speaking of, bright one? Have you scryed something?” Huctia’s eyes widened and her lashes flew up as she held her breath, waiting for Tanwen to voice some profound revelation that only druids seem to be capable of. “The gods have answered, my dear friend. I ken what we must to do.” Her body vibrated with a sense of confidence and certainty. She basked in this new knowledge. At that moment, she spotted a tall, muscular man heading for her. She ran up to him, leaving her basket of fat hen leaves on the ground. “Brude.” She grasped and held him by the hard bicep of his arm. “I must speak to you. I ken what we must do.” “I came here to speak to you.” A grimace fleeted across his lips. “I have just come from Calach. It is not good news.” “I am sure it is what I expected.” She turned her head back toward Huctia. “Get my basket and bring it back with you to the wheelhouse. I need to go now. I must speak with my husband.” She leaned her head back to gaze into Brude’s eyes. He blinked in bafflement. She let out a soft chortle. “All will be well. Let me tell you.” She let go of his upper arm and took his hand. 157

Cornelia Amiri “Come.” She dragged him out of the woods, past the homes and various Caledonii tribesmen who greeted them as they passed by, until they entered their wheelhouse. They both smiled and nodded at Ciniatha, who sat on a stool with the baby in her arms, telling him a story of heroes of old. Tanwen plopped down on a soft pelt before the central fire. Brude sat down at her side. Both crossed their legs in a comfortable position. “What is it?” Brude asked. “Sulwen often told me of what happened at the final battle. When Boudica called retreat, she found she and her army were trapped. She had not foreseen that the family wagons of women, children, and the elderly, who came to watch the victory she expected over Rome, would come and block the only way out.” “Yes. I know of this.” She shook her head. “They were wrong. The women and children shouldn’t have been near the battlefield.” “Are you saying the women and children should stay in the village while the men go to a great battle?” His brown eyes narrowed. “It may be hard to persuade them.” “No.” Her hands flung up, palms facing him. “They should not stay in the village. Not this village,” she said each word slowly with emphasize. “We must find a new village, a hidden place, that is secret to the Romans and where they will not look for them. So if the battle goes awry, at least the women and children will not be massacred. The warriors as well will have a place to retreat to where the Romans will not find them.” As she saw his brow crinkle in confusion, she added, “The gods have spoken.” Sulwen had often told her the gods carry much more power than a lone druidess when it comes to a chief’s pride at war skills. His eyes grew brighter as he pondered her words. “Go to one of the lesser villages of the tribe further north, that the Romans don’t know of.” Gradually, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. “Yes,” she bobbed her head excitedly. “The Romans will see us as deserting the village and will think we are scared or no threat.” A giggle slipped from her lips. “They will not know we 158

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ have relocated with the warriors who survived the battle and all the women and children in tact, to fight another day.” A broad smile spread across Brude’s face. “It is a good plan if we lose the battle, which all think we will win. It also means you, and,” he shifted his gaze to Ciniatha cradling the now sleeping Boudicius in her arms, “the baby, and my mother will be safe no matter what may come.” His gaze fell on Tanwen once more. “We need to do this. I will tell Calach right away. We will send forth men to ready the village to move the women and children into it just before the grand battle.” As Tanwen rose, so did Brude. She lifted up a pitcher from the cupboard, and poured them a full cup of mead. Sulwen had explained that a druidess cannot control what a chief will do, but the gods will still help her do what is right for the people. And so it was. She had done her part. The noble Caledonii would not be annihilated like her grandmother’s or her mother’s tribes. It was good. Tanwen lifted her cup toward Brude and raised it high. “To the gods.” Swiftly, she downed the heady, honeyed drink. Ciniatha stepped up to them with Boudicius in her arms. “Tanwen, I applaud your plan. I want to go with you two when you to speak with Calach.” “So be it.” Brude grinned. “Let us go.” He wrapped his arm around Tanwen’s shoulder as they walked with his mother and son to the chief’s wheelhouse, where they discussed the plan with his father. **** Lossio and Ciniatha, clutching a bawling Boudicius, waved at Tanwen and Brude from the last family wagon to roll out of the Caledonii village. Brude had just spotted Tanwen, standing in the road, waving at the baby. He ran up to her, yelling, “Tanwen, why are you not in that wagon?” He waved his arms. “Go with them.” She glanced down the road, the family wagon was now out of sight. “It is gone now, husband. You knew I would not leave you or the tribe.” He let out a loud sigh of vexation. “Tanwen, this is wrong. I 159

Cornelia Amiri told you to take Boudicius to the hidden village with the other women and children.” “He is safe and in the care of your mother and Lossio.” She tossed her head back and placed her hands on her hips. “Yes, I have been told often enough of the plan, but the gods spoke to me. They want me here.” He threw up his hands. “Why do the gods never agree with me, but always with you?” “For I am the druid and do not question the gods.” She shook her finger at him. “It bodes ill, especially before battle.” “I knew I shouldn’t have married a druidess.” His lips thinned with anger. “In truth, do you mean to go to war? You so recently gave birth, and you are a druid not a warrior. I will not have my son lose both a mother and a father. One of us should have stayed with him.” “If I do not go to the battlefield, you will die. I must tell you of my dream from the gods.” His erratic heartbeat began to slow. “Tell me. I need to know.” “There were three dreams exactly alike, each one night apart. In the first two, I wasn’t with you, and you perished in them both. In the third, it was exactly the same, but I was on the field with you, and you survived. The gods are not only telling me how to save you, they are asking me to do it. If I ignore them, you will die in this battle. I must go. In the dream, you and I survive. I know you will live through the battle, as it is you who will continue to lead the warriors against Rome. For in all three dreams, Calach dies.” “But you are a druidess not a warrior. You should not go. Why would the gods ask this of you?” “I must be there,” Tanwen firmly said. “I am not afraid to die.” “Even if you were not my husband, even if I didn’t love you, if I hated you, I still could not let you die. The gods have now revealed to me, you are the warrior chief who will keep the Romans from subduing the northern tribes. You must live. You are the reason Boudica sent me here. Have you so easily forgotten? You cannot be selfish. You must honor your 160

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ ancestors, your tribe, and your land. You must live.” “So you want me only for my destiny?” “At first it was so, but I have come to love you. And I will not have you leave me a widow and our son fatherless. So you cannot die. I will curse you for all time if you do.” “I ken how you feel druidess, for I could barely continue to live if anything happened to you on the morrow, when we head into the Graupius Mountains.”

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Chapter Seventeen Tanwen and Brude woke before dawn. He stood, wearing nothing but the gold torque around his neck, as he placed a conical bronze helmet on his head, and Tanwen set a feathered headdress on hers. He grabbed his iron spear, his long sword, and his shield. Tanwen wrapped a bull hide cloak over her red tunic and plaid skirt. She stood before him, gazing intensely at every line and feature of his face and body, even taking in every curve of the blue tattoos covering his bare skin, etching and embedding them into her memory. If the gods were not with them this day, she wanted to remember every detail of him for the rest of her life. She had to. He was the only man she would ever love—the father of her first born child. Brude tilted his head down and pressed his lips to hers, covering her mouth. She might never again feel the heat of his lips, the delicious sensation of his mouth on hers. She savored every moment of his firm, wet lips pressing against hers. When the lingering kiss finally came to an end, it left Tanwen’s lips still burning. “Nothing shall happen to either of us,” he whispered. “In truth, I am sure of it.” She flashed the broadest smile she could as a voice in her head reminded the gods once more that they better watch over Brude. With his arm draped over her, they walked to the center of the village, crowded with Caledonii heading for battle. He guided Tanwen over to his chariot as Huctia harnessed two roan ponies to it. Brude leapt up onto the platform of the light Celtic chariot 162

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ and reached out to his hand to help Tanwen climb aboard. Standing on the floorboards of the chariot, she gazed at the two Celtic ponies as they nickered softly. Putting a large hand on Tanwen’s waist, Brude drew her to him. She leaned in even closer to him. As her hands roamed up his smooth, bare back, the muscles and tiny whorls of hair on his chest pressed against her bull hide war cloak. He brought his mouth to hers. His lips were full and warm. The heated kiss set her heart hammering. For a magical moment, she knew nothing about Agricola or war. She lost herself in his kiss. When their lips parted, she gazed deeply into his lush, brown eyes. “Fear not for me. I will be busy with rituals. Don’t spare a moment to look at or think about what I’m doing.” “And you listen to me for once. If anything happens to me, you fight on. You save yourself and leave me behind.” He pierced her with his gaze, as if pondering whether she would do as he asked. “I mean it,” he said in a firmer tone. Huctia leapt onto the chariot with them. “I will drive for you Brude, while you throw spears and while you,” she grinned at Tanwen, “call upon the gods to save us all.” “I am glad you are here.” Brude patted Huctia on the back. A throng of warriors, with blue tattoos adorning their gleaming, leek-oiled bodies, filled the road behind the chariots. Calach, leading this mix of northern tribes, spread his feet in a warrior stance as he stood aplomb in the chariot in front of Brude’s. With a slap of the reins Calach yelled, “To high land, to the Graupius Mountain to fight the Roman dogs.” Holding the chariot reins, Huctia followed Calach out of the Caledonii village, heading to the distant ridge of the blue tone mountain range to battle Agricola’s legions. The vast Pictish army of northern tribes, who put aside ancient grudges and tribal rivalries to unite under the war leader, Calach, snaked its way down winding dirt roads to the rhythmic beat of the bodhran war drum. Tanwen gripped the side of the chariot with both hands, bracing against the rough ride. In the pouch at her waist, she had bits of rowan wood, flint, and hemp rope for knot tying, and other supplies for her druidry. She would heap spells upon the 163

Cornelia Amiri Romans and fight them in this manor, giving the Picts an edge to sway the battle, though she knew there would be heavy Pict losses this day. She gulped and shut her eyes for a moment, pushing aside her doubts and fears. The mountains that had once loomed before them now appeared green rather than blue and seemed larger as they drew nearer. Huctia whipped the reins down. Following the chief, she drove the chariot onto the rock-strewn heather-covered moor. Clumps of trees were scattered here and there. The ponies snorted as she drew them to a halt on the battlefield at the foot of the mountains. Steep slopes rose above them on all sides. Calach barked his commands, and the woad-painted warriors scurried into tiers, in a horseshoe formation on the slopes, while he and the others in chariots, as well as those on horse, took their places on the moor and yelled out war cries as they waited for the Romans to advance. Standing on the chariot platform next to Tanwen, Brude cupped her chin, peered into her eyes, and softly but firmly said, “Stay in the chariot, duck down, and keep the shield over your head.” She leaned her head forward and planted a fluttery kiss on his full lips. Her mouth tingled. “Fear not. I have no plans to fight Romans at your side. I will be busy with rituals.” He wound his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “I should not worry, but how can I not? I cannot bear the thought of any harm coming to you.” She wrapped her arms around him and shook her head. “I cannot be a distraction to you. I am here to keep you alive. Through my dreams, the gods have foretold that I must be at your side this day. Let the gods watch over me.” “How can I not think about you?” “By concentrating on and beating the Romans.” She smiled at him and then shifted her gaze to Huctia. “You take care, as well.” “Worry not for me, druidess. I do not plan to die this day.” Huctia grinned. The ground shook as the Romans, gripping large red shields, marched in uniform rhythm onto the rubble strewn moor. The 164

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Romans and Picts, chariots and horses now filling the battlefield, were as numerous as the stalks of heather blooming there. The air rang with the high-pitched reverberating blare of the long carnyx trumpets. Brude let out a fierce Caledonii war cry. At Calach’s orders, the warriors on the moor launched their spears, which flew hard at the Romans, piercing and killing many of them. With perfect precision, the Romans reared their arms back and let loose a hail of javelins, flying over the Picts’ heads. Tanwen and Brude’s arms fell to their sides as they ducked down. Huctia gripped the reins tight. As the onslaught of javelins subsided, Brude drew in a deep breath. “It is naught. Our greater numbers and the steep slopes give us an advantage.” “We have other advantages, as well.” Tanwen drew pieces of rowan wood from her leather pouch and lit them with a flint. “What are you doing?” Huctia asked. “Conjuring battle mist with the magic of rowan smoke to cover the battlefield, so as the Romans charge, they cannot see our true numbers. It will confuse them, and they will be vulnerable to our attack.” Tanwen stood and held her arms out to the side. “I call forth the in-between. Neither sky nor water, druid mist, I summon to you.” She raised her arms over her head. “Spread around me, beneath me, above me.” She brought her hand over her heart. “I acknowledge the mist.” Standing on the wood platform of the chariot with her arms spread, she turned around three times. “Manawydan fab Llyr, Lord of the Mist, I seek the mist. I invoke your power. Keep our warriors from harm, by the stealth of the mist. I acknowledge the shroud of the mist that covers the battlefield, the mist that protects our warriors.” The white fog enveloped her, and spread out from the moor to the slopes of the mountain. “Manawydan fab Llyr, keep us safe in the mist.” Brude spun around in the thick fog. “You have called down the druid mist. It’s incredible.” The thick mist covered the ground, and Tanwen couldn’t see further than the length of three horses in front of her. “I told you I needed to come with you.” “And you are here. But hold that shield tightly over you.” 165

Cornelia Amiri The din of war cries filled the air. Though she couldn’t see them well, by the thundering noise of marching hobnail boots pounding the ground, Tanwen knew the legions moved toward them. “Here they come.” Huctia drove the chariot down the moor, toward the Romans. Tanwen clutched the shield as they rode into the bloody battle. Huctia whipped the reins downward, driving the ponies as fast as she could. Tanwen clutched the side of the chariot with one hand and held the long shield in front of her with the other. The druid mist had thinned, and Tanwen could see before her now. As Brude stood in a battle stance on the flat platform, brandishing his iron spear, the two muscular ponies galloped forward, goaded by Huctia. Two of Brude’s war dogs—large, shaggy wolfhounds—ran beside them, growling fiercely and hungry to dig their large teeth into Roman flesh. The chariot sped forward to the line of Roman soldiers running toward them. As they rolled across the moor, Brude threw his spear and impaled a Roman horseman. Tanwen crouched down, picked up another spear from the floorboard, and handed it to him. Romans dropped to the ground, impaled by his spears. He picked up his long sword and swung it at the Romans as Huctia drove the chariot back and forth across the blood-soaked moor. Bare-headed Pictish warriors, with jagged dark blue lines and circular patterns on their faces and bare chests, and with hair spiked with lime wash—like a hedgehog’s pelt—rushed the Roman force. Agricola’s reserve cavalry wheeled and struck the rear of the Caledonians on the moor. Huctia had to drive the chariot up the slope as the Roman force pushed all the Picts up hill. The Romans moved in, stabbing Picts with their short swords. Tanwen could barely see their faces: just helmets, shields, and short blades. They all looked the same, all moved the same. The Romans fought like a machine rather than individual warriors. The coppery smell of blood filled the air. The two chariot ponies neighed loudly as warriors and soldiers, locked in hand-to-hand combat, began to push against them. Huctia yelled out, “I can’t move forward.” 166

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Brude fought from the chariot, jabbing the Romans with his long sword. Tanwen squatted down on the chariot platform, holding the long narrow shield over her. She pulled out a wad of hemp rope and laid it on the floorboard, so there were three points: north, west, and east and two ends pointing south. She drew the ends up and over the east point and pulled that over to the left, so it faced the west. She pulled the north point over and down, then tucked it under. Bringing the west point over to the right, she pulled it through. She drew the ends of the rope to tighten the knot. Tanwen blew upon the magical Celtic knot with the words of a curse upon her breath. “This day, the Romans shall pay. Agricola shall leave this land. Legions shall perish this day, by the spears of Pict war bands.” She tossed the tied knot to the earth to emit its power to magically curse Agricola. Tanwen looked up above as the Caledonian army on the slopes climbed down, rushing the Romans and charging their flank. Tanwen gasped as Agricola’s four squadrons of reserves counter-charged. Her heart hammered as her stomach flipped over. Tanwen gazed around. The summer grass, so green now, looked scarlet, drenched with blood. Being high summer, she streamed with sweat. It plastered her long hair against her bull hide cloak, but traditionally it had to be worn into battle. The Picts held their shields tight as they ran with spears and swords held outward. The tattoos on their legs and arms were splattered with blood. Bravely, Calach’s men fought on, filled with battle lust. But Tanwen watched in terror as the Picts long, slashing swords hindered them in the tight melee. Without having the room for an arched, hacking swing, the Romans smashed the Picts in the face with their heavy shield bosses and pushed them back. Brude’s chariot rocked to and fro, like a ship at sea, from the push of all the people. As the screams of the dying encircled them, Tanwen realized the chariot just got in the way on this steep slope. When a path cleared and Huctia moved forward, the chariot’s wheels rolled over fresh corpses. Brude leapt over the side of the chariot, and swinging his long sword fervently, he slew as many Romans as he could. As the soldiers pushed them 167

Cornelia Amiri back even more, Brude didn’t have room to wield his long sword. A Roman bashed Brude’s head with a shield boss. Tanwen screamed as Brude dropped to the ground. She couldn’t breathe. Tanwen trembled uncontrollably. Dead. No, it cannot be. Gods no. Still in the chariot, holding a shield over her, Tanwen grabbed one of Brude’s spears and threw it. It pierced the Roman, penetrating the chain mail. It protruded from his chest. Gushing blood, he fell to the ground. Tanwen leapt from the chariot and flew to Brude, chanting an invisibly spell so she could help her husband. She dropped to her knees at his side. Her fingers trembled as she swept them across his scalp, feeling for the wound. His head was drenched with blood, yet not overly so, which filled her with relief. Then she gasped as she realized his breath had stopped. Her body quivered, and she began to sway as if she’d soon pass out. Fighting her emotions, she gained the calmness she needed to save her husband. “You are not going to die on me. Do you hear me?” She leaned down, covering his lips with hers. She breathed into his mouth, hoping the rush of oxygen would revive him. Tears streamed down her eyes and fell onto his pale cheeks. “Not now. You can’t pass through the oaken door. Boudicius needs you. I need you. We have a lifetime of happiness before us.” She kept checking him between breaths. Hoping. Suddenly his eyelids flicked open. Tanwen screamed with joy. “Brude, are you all right?” “What happened?” She choked back her sobs. “You have an injury to your head from a Roman shield ramming into it. Can you walk?” “Yes.” “Get up, very slowly.” She placed his shoulder on hers and helped him rise to a standing position. Tanwen chanted the spell for Huctia and called out to her. As she leapt from the chariot and ran over to them, she was invisible to the Romans. Tanwen continued the chant as she and Huctia helped Brude walk toward the woods. “I am a blur, make those who look not see me. I am a shadow, nothing more, unseen, unheard, unknown. I pass by my enemies, unnoticed.” 168

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ Tanwen saw that all around them, tattooed warriors ran for the shelter of the woods. “Even though the moor and mountains reek of blood and the scarlet ground is covered with the dead, many are fleeing. Most of us have survived.” Between groans, Brude agreed, “Yes, it is good.” “The Romans will give chase and try to capture or kill us,” Huctia said. “They will not find us. Once I get into the forest and can concentrate, I’ll surround the woods with druid mist to protect everyone that escaped.” With Brude having to lean on both Tanwen and Huctia, they moved at a slow but steady pace. Tanwen sighed with relief when they entered the sanctuary of the wild woods. “The forest will hide us all.” She called forth the mist. The thick, vapory shroud spread around the woods, concealing it and all the Picts who hid there from Roman eyes. Tanwen heard voices she recognized in the mist. “Gethin, Drest, Talorcan. We are here.” “Tanwen, you are safe,” Gethin called out. “Yes, Brude and Huctia are with me.” The warriors moved close enough so Tanwen could see them. All six of them cheered at having found each other. Drest’s expression grew solemn as he gazed into Brude’s eyes. “We have bad news,” he said in a soft, sad tone. “What is it?” Brude asked. Gethin looked tenderly at the chief’s son. “We saw Calach fall. He is dead.” “You are chief, now,” Talorcan added. She leaned her head toward Brude, still holding him up with Huctia’s help. “I am sorry, Brude.” “He died fighting the Romans. It is a good death.” They all nodded in agreement. Tanwen drew in a deep breath. “There is something that must be said.” She gazed deep into Brude’s eyes. “There will still have to be the bull dream. But my ancestor would not have sent me here if the gods hadn’t already known you would be the next chief of the great Caledonii tribe. I will conduct the bull dream when we get to the village, but Talorcan is right. You will be the 169

Cornelia Amiri new chief. I already know your image is the one I will see in the bull dream. That will validate your claim as chief of the Caledonii.” “As chief, I say no more pitched battles against Rome. Only well planned raids.” “Thank the gods.” Tanwen rolled her eyes. Being stronger, Drest and Talorcan took hers and Huctia’s place in supporting Brude as he walked. “Tanwen, how will I tell my mother?” “As the tribe’s druid, I shall tell her. But I think she knows. His spirit may have already appeared to her. I am sure it is so.” “I will miss him.” A tear slid down Brude’s cheek. “We all will,” Tanwen said as they traveled on to their new village where Ciniatha and Boudicius awaited them. **** Tanwen sat on a pallet, leaning her back against the wall of the wheelhouse, breast-feeding Boudicius—a task one of the other mothers of the tribe had fulfilled in her absence. Brude shot up from his seat beside her as Laca entered the room. “What word do you have?” “I rode into the fort and told them I escaped captivity during the battle. We celebrated my return.” He flashed Tanwen a wide grin. “I told them I was to be sacrificed by a mad druidess.” “I shall remember that,” she teased. “The Roman commander berated the scouts for not catching any Picts. But with all the villages deserted, they feel they have run off the few left.” He placed one hand on his hip. “You see, the commanders have lied to the emperor and senate back in Rome. They are calling the battle a great victory, claiming they wiped out the Caledonii and killed thousands of Celts. They think the few—they’re saying few—who survived, ran off to Hibernia.” “Wiped out our tribe and those of us left fled to Erinn.” Brude let out a chuckle. “They think that, do they?” “So they don’t even know the thousands they are claiming are dead are still here and planning raids against them.” As the baby let her nipple drop from his mouth, Tanwen wiped the 170

Druid Bride ~The Druidess & the Warrior~ drool off his chin. Laca bobbed his head. “They do not wish to know.” “I am sure it is so.” Tanwen laid the baby down on the pallet at her side and pushed her exposed breast back through the slit of her tunic, so she was fully clothed once more. “But I saved the best news for last.” Laca flashed a wide smile at them. “Tell us.” Tanwen leaned forward. “On the heels of this massive Roman victory,” the Roman said in a sarcastic tone, “Governor Agricola has been recalled to Rome. The man left on a ship today. It seems they have need of him there.” “Agricola is gone?” Tanwen stood and wrapped her arms around Laca in a friendly, happy hug. “That is good news.” Brude shrugged. “They will send another, but the next one will not defeat us anymore than Agricola. We will fight by raids only.” Tanwen released Laca from her embrace and spun around to Brude. She pulled him into her arms. “Agricola is gone. The Celtic knot worked.” Brude held her snuggly. “Yes, and we will do our best to kill the next governor they send.” “I look forward to it.” Tanwen looked into her husband’s liquid brown, smiling eyes. She couldn’t tear her gaze away. “I just rode in, so I will have a meal and a bath. I will speak to you later.” Laca turned and walked out of the wheelhouse, leaving the couple to their privacy. “Druidess, are you going to brew up some spells for the new governor?” His eyes held both a glint of humor and the vivid gleam of passion. She met his smoldering gaze eye to eye as she pulled her tunic dress off, then tossed it onto the floor. “Let us brew up something else, right now.”

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Cornelia Amiri

About the Author When Cornelia Amiri was five years old, she saw Walt Disney's The Sword and the Stone and has been interested in Celtic history and mythology ever since. In addition to her charming yarn with Eternal Press, A Fine Cauldron of Fish, she has over a dozen published works including novels, articles, columns and short stories. She lives in Houston, Texas with her family: a son, a granddaughter, and a cat. Please visit her websites at… http://www.myspace.com/CelticRomanceQueen and… http://www.CelticRomanceQueen.com Or eMail her at… [email protected]

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Available now from Eternal Press

A Fine Cauldron of Fish by Cornelia Amiri It’s summer on the Isle of Man and Andrew is looking for hot girls and good times. So when he meets the dreamy and seductive Margaid, he thinks he’s hit the jackpot. There are only a couple of minor problems: Margaid lives in a cave under the sea, is invisible, and thinks that only Andrew’s blood can save her from turning into a kelpie! But hey, whoever said love was perfect!?

Before Margaid could answer, the guy shook his head at Andrew. “It’s okay. You can keep my shirt. Although I don’t know how you’re holding it when your arm’s about four inches away from it, but hey, I’m sure I simply had too much to drink. Keep it, that’s fine.” “What? No, I don’t want your shirt. Margaid, well she thought I wanted it, but-” “No, don’t let him go.” Margaid shook her red head. “You do want his shirt. And you need his pants, too.” Before Andrew knew what was happening, she shoved the shirt into his arms. Then she turned back to the quaking man and grabbed hold of his waist. “Oh, no, Margaid, don’t do it.” The moment Andrew yelled out, he knew she wasn’t going to listen. He watched in utter horror as she unsnapped the poor man’s jeans, yanked down his 173

Cornelia Amiri zipper, and slid his pants all the way to his ankles. Damn, I’m glad he’s wearing underwear. Black boxers with writing all over them. What does that say? Andrew read aloud, “B is for big.”

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Available now from Eternal Press

Queen of Kings by Cornelia Amiri Macha of the Red Braids exudes the essence of female power. Defying and fighting two kings, she takes her father’s place on the throne. With one goal in mind, she uses magic, battles, disguises, and skills of seduction to take the crown as sole ruler. She is the only woman listed as a High King of Ireland. She builds the famed kingdom of Emain Macha, marking off the borders with the pin of her treasured cloak brooch. Even still, a Champion from the wilds of Connaught throws the powerful battle queen off guard when he comes to claim her heart. Has Macha met her match in Nath of Connaught? Will he pass the three trials she has set before him? When the rays of the sun touch the rich earth, they create the lush peaceful green pasture. She needed him, the sun for her earth. They completed each other. They belonged together: dark and light, earth and sun, Nath and Macha. Lasair knew it, and druids were never wrong. He looked up, and her gaze followed his. The pearl moon gleamed, smooth and perfect against the clear ebony sky, which twinkled with countless stars. “Dark, sparkling, vast and enchanting,” Nath said. “Yes, the night sky is lovely.” “I did not mean the sky, my queen.” 175