Boadicea's Legacy Read online

  Os sighed, trying to get comfortable in the cramped space. Each position he was in, he found himself breathing in Ela’s wildflower scent. Or he was brushing her leg with his, or his arm touched her shoulder—there was just no getting away from her.

  Maybe telling her war stories would keep his mind off of her sweet pink lips.

  Or her generous mouth surrendering to the onslaught of his heated kiss.

  He touched the healed wound on his forehead and wondered if she’d bewitched him thoroughly—and if that was the truth, then why, please God, couldn’t he give in to her spell?

  Honor.

  He’d promised her father that she would come back safe. The same as when she’d left, complete with her virginity intact.

  He cleared his throat, his voice gruff. “Battles aren’t romantic drivel. Not like the tales that are so popular in court right now.”

  Her expressive green eyes waited for him to tell something better. The rain dripped against their tent. He relented.

  “But aye, some battles are filled with courageous men. Men of valor. Honor. I’ll tell you something that they don’t write about in court.”

  “Yea?” She leaned forward, her uncovered head a mass of curling red hair. A curtain that would cover them both if he … nay.

  “It doesn’t matter how strong or brave a man is. There is always the specter of death riding pinion into battle with him. Minstrels don’t sing about it, and men don’t talk about it because there’s naught you can do to change it. I’ve known men to take a few minutes for prayers before battle, just as I’ve known men who charged into the fray without a thought to death, as if to acknowledge death was to let it in.”

  “You say prayers, I would bet Henry on it.”

  Henry chortled from his place on Ela’s lap.

  “I don’t want Henry, thank you.” He eyed the weasel-polecat with disgust. “But you’re right. I prayed. It brought me comfort to speak to God before possibly meeting Him.”

  “Was that a joke? From Osbert the Serious?” She reached over and poked his chest.

  He smiled. “I’ve not had many reasons to jest. Unlike you, my lady Ela, who finds something amusing in everything.”

  “Better to laugh than cry, my Gram always said.”

  “Sir Percy wouldn’t agree. Actually, he wouldn’t approve of tears either.”

  She sat back, tilting her head to the side. “How sad.”

  “No. Sir Percy saved my life. I owe him much.”

  “Now this sounds like an interesting story. Much better than death. Did he take you after your family died?”

  Os hadn’t had someone interested in his life history—ever. Uncomfortable, he shrugged. “My family was dead. I lived by my wits for less than a year on the streets, down by the docks in Yarmouth. I tried to be a sailor, but the sea made me sick.”

  He rubbed his belly as Ela laughed softly. “Poor boy.”

  “Well, I stole what I could, but I was no good as a thief.”

  “Even starving, you felt guilty taking bread? Oh, Osbert.” Ela clucked her teeth.

  “I didn’t have the stealth needed to snatch a hot eel pie when the vendor had his back turned. Soon they all knew that I was desperate, and that made me a target for bullies. One night I lay down beneath the dock on the sand and dreamed that I would never wake up. But when I did, it was because Sir Percy had found me.”

  Ela stayed quiet, just listening. It was nice, Os thought.

  “He asked me if I was hungry, and I could only nod. I hadn’t spoken in so long a time, I was afraid I’d forgotten how. But he was kind. Fair. And he saw in me a chance to save an innocent soul. He had much he regretted from his youth, I think.”

  Ela leaned forward and hugged him tight before sitting back on her heels. Her green eyes brimmed with tears. For him? For Sir Percy?

  “For both of you,” she said, as if reading his thoughts again. “What things he might have done surely will be forgiven. You are an honorable man, one to be proud of, and he raised you. Where is he now?”

  “Dead.” Osbert scratched his chin. “I saw to it that he was buried with dignity in the churchyard at St. George’s Church, inside Norwich’s city gates. I’ll show you, if you like.”

  “I’d like that, very much.”

  It was quiet for a while as they sat listening to the rain against the makeshift tent. Evening fell, and the last of the light faded away.

  “I think we may have to spend the night here.” Os hated to break the comfortable silence, but he couldn’t bear to dwell on the death of his family anymore, and in the quiet, his mind wandered to his mother and brothers. He should have saved them all, even his father, but he’d been selfish, so sure that he was right. “You should sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

  “I’m not tired,” Ela said. “You sleep, and I’ll take the first watch.”

  Os smiled in the dark. “You are unlike any woman I’ve ever met. You must have caused your parents many headaches.”

  She made a snuffling noise, as if trying to hide her laugh. It was growing on him, the way she gave in to her emotions in a way he never could.

  “Headaches? I am the perfect daughter. So long as you don’t mind your daughters exceptionally tall, with great flexibility, phenomenal eyesight, and yes, the ability to see people’s auras. Aye, ‘tis perfect they call me,” she chuckled. “Or didn’t you say that the villagers thought me fey? Silly peasants. I’m too tall to be a fairy.”

  “What is an aura exactly? Is it a person’s spirit? Why can’t you see mine?” What if he didn’t have a spirit? What if I haven’t been forgiven for surviving when the rest of my family died?

  “I don’t know,” she said. He heard her coo to Henry, and he wondered if she was going to change the subject. She didn’t. “I see a person’s … energy, I suppose. For example, when we met Hilda, she had a beautiful aura. Warm and rosy, and I knew that she would be compassionate and kind. Sal, she was a bustling bright yellow. Her son was a muted yellow. Hard workers, both of them.”

  “What color is your aura?”

  He heard her fussing with her hair, and his fingers itched to touch the red strands. “Silver.” She paused. “When I heal, I also see colors. My sister Celestia is the same.”

  “She is the oldest, aye?”

  “Yes. According to the family legend, only one healer is supposed to be born in each generation. That healer is supposed to be tall, red-haired, and green-eyed. Celestia is short and blond, and she has one green eye and one blue. She married her knight, Nicholas, and they’ve got a few children now. They have a keep, in the north, by the Scottish border. Galiana is so beautiful that she makes grown men cry. Her baby girls will no doubt do the same as they grow up.”

  “But she can’t heal?”

  “Nay, she has no healing power—but she has other gifts. Sometimes when she holds something, she can see details about the object or the object’s owner.” She hesitated, and he wondered what she wasn’t telling him.

  “And then there is you.” A trio of witches. God help him.

  “Don’t forget the twins! Ed and Ned. They are grand warriors, eager to make a name for themselves.”

  “And you?” He waited with growing impatience.

  “I am the puzzle in the family. Tall, red-haired, green-eyed, and with the ability to heal and see auras.” Her deep sigh reached his heart. But unlike her, he would no more reach across to offer a hug than he would willingly turn into a frog. “I shouldn’t be able to see colors, and heal, and be intuitive. Especially since I am thirdborn. I should have been … normal.”

  “Mayhap that is a good thing?” If you were born a witch, why not be the most powerful witch in the family?

  “‘Tis just that I am different than the legend in so many ways. I am plagued by nightmares. My grandmother Evianne said she’d never heard of such a thing either, and she knew everything about our history. If she was alive, she could help you find Boadicea’s spear for the earl.”

  “I don’t underst
and why you are upset that you also got these … extra gifts.” He stumbled over the word she used.

  “Because obviously Boadicea’s curse is just getting stronger. Soon, she will have us all caught in her love spell, and none of our family will have the freedom to choose whom they marry. And you know what is bad about that? I worry that, like me, others after me will be willing to give up their abilities rather than give up a life with children. Not everybody falls in love. And if we wed without it, we lose our gifts. Is that fair, I ask you?”

  Uncertain, he made a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat.

  “Just so,” she said. “It isn’t fair. Our gifts will fade back into time, and there will come a line of women who won’t know what they might have had. ‘Tis shameful, but neither Andraste or Boadicea is listening to my plea.”

  He didn’t want to offend her, not when she believed everything so … enthusiastically. “Would it be so bad, not being able to see people’s auras? You don’t see mine, and that’s not terrible, is it?”

  Ela huffed. “I would hate to think that you thought my abilities were expendable. Losing them would make me as hobbled as poor Henry with his three legs. Would I survive? Aye. I am a strong woman. Would I laugh? St. Agnes help me, I would try. But it would be very, very hard.”

  He was struck mute by the pain in her voice and by her acceptance of her fate, if she wagered on love and lost. Os found that they had more in common than he ever would have thought. He buried his emotions, and she laughed hers away. “I did not mean to sound condescending.”

  The feel of her fingertips against his face startled him. “What are you doing?”

  “Stay still. I am trying to see if I can ease the frown lines between your brows. You worry too much. You must have a constant headache.” Her touch found his jaw, and he clenched it tight before he moaned with pleasure.

  Her hands were slightly warm and welcome in the chilled air. The rain had dropped the temperature, and though they were somewhat dry within their cozy cave, it was still cool.

  Then her fingers traveled up his cheekbones, across the line of his nose. She gently massaged the space between his brows, and the last of the tension disappeared.

  He fully expected the feel of her lips, so when she kissed him, he welcomed it. Joined just at the mouth, they lightly explored the texture and taste of one another. She pressed harder, wanting more, and he pulled back. “Nay.”

  “‘Tis just a kiss,” she whispered.

  “It is not, and you know it, my lady Ela. Between you and I, there is no such thing as just a kiss.”

  She gave him another sample of her mouth. “I suppose not.”

  “I promised your father that I would bring you back untouched.”

  Her sigh was so huge that it shook the tent. “My father understands the dilemma I am in. If I choose to take a lover, then so be it.”

  “A lover?” He coughed into his hand, uncomfortable. “I would not be a means to an end.”

  “Why not?” She caressed his shoulders, her touch tempting.

  “My honor demands that I protect your honor, even if you don’t want it.”

  “My virginity does not equal my honor. I told you this.”

  It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, but for her own good, he pushed her away. “Would your father agree? Or would he demand a marriage that I can’t, in good conscience, offer?”

  Her sharp intake of breath caught him by surprise. Had he hurt her with his words? He thought back over what he’d said. “As you already made clear, I have no money and no land. And you are the daughter of a lord.”

  “As if I would ever marry you!” He heard the hurt in her voice but didn’t understand it. “Be honest, Osbert. It’s because you’re worried in your warrior’s heart that I might snap my fingers and turn you into a mushroom.” Then she made a great show of curling up to rest.

  He reminded himself that she was her most viciously amusing when she was cornered and feeling uncertain, but it didn’t help him sleep. He thought he may have just said something to cause her to hate him. He didn’t know what it was.

  Ela wished that she could tear her own heart from her chest and toss it out to the rain. She’d douse the damnable spark Os caused and end the hurt he managed to inflict without even knowing he did it.

  Was she wanton or immoral for wanting to kiss him? Her entire being cried out to be held in his arms. The tiniest flame of interest kept growing despite his displays of controlled temper and his annoying honor. Fate was the cruelest joker of all to put him in her path just when she’d made a bargain to give up her gifts. I could love him.

  Her eyes drooped, and she gave in to the lull of sleep, hoping that she wouldn’t be sent in to fight the nightly battle of Boadicea against a Roman named Claudius.

  Since she’d been a little girl, her head had been filled with images of Boadicea riding into battle, adorned with gold and silver. She drove a two-wheeled chariot—a mighty figure filled with rage.

  In the dreams, she rode up in the front with her mother, while her sister rode a white horse next to the chariot.

  The dreams never changed, and Boadicea always died at the Roman’s hand.

  Chapter

  Nine

  Are you still angry this morn? I only meant to protect you.” Os looked so earnest that she turned away from him before she threw herself at his feet. “From my lustful, youthful desires. Yes, I thank you. Why would I be at all embarrassed or angry about that?” Ela quickly plaited her hair into five manageable braids, then wound them around her head like a crown. She used the edge of her wet veil to wash her face and scrub the overnight gunk from her teeth. “I would give anything for some mint leaves and warm wine. And fresh bread with butter.” She rubbed her empty belly. “And cream.”

  “Fish pies from Norwich Market, so hot the sauce burns your tongue at the first bite. Then apple cider and something sweet for dessert from the corner stall. Now I’m hungry too.” Os sighed, looking around at the green, wet ditch. “We’ve nothing to eat, and chances are slim that we will find anything before noon.”

  Ela lifted Bartholomew’s hoof, picking at the river pebble caught in the shoe. “At least we will be able to ride, wherever we’re going. And maybe the rain will have scared away Thomas de Havel’s men, if fortune is smiling on us …”

  Os quickly shook out his wet cloak and dismantled the branches of their tent. “That was very smart, to drag those from the trees by the river.”

  Ela looked up, surprised. A compliment without a mocking thrust behind it? “Thank you. Sometimes I get hunches … I’ve learned to follow them.”

  He ruffled the last of the dampness from his hair. “There you go, talking like that again.”

  “You get hunches—intuition, that nagging sense that something isn’t right—don’t you?” She saw from the way his expression closed that he knew exactly what she was talking about. “It doesn’t make you a witch.”

  “Men can’t be witches.”

  “Right. Your Sir Percy said that women were the root of all evil. I’ll thank you to remember what sex Thomas de Havel is, and then tell me again who is the more evil, me, or him?”

  Seeing that he wouldn’t answer, she decided to leave without him. He’d catch up, but in the meantime, she wouldn’t have to look at him and wish that things were different. She started walking up the slippery slope of the ditch, falling back every few steps. Finally, she made the top of the hill, where she sucked in a shocked breath.

  Ela turned to wave at Os, a smile on her face. “There’s a village, and a chimney is smoking, which has to mean there is food.”

  Never mind the fact that we slept in the rain and cold when there were perfectly good houses just over the hill. We could have been dry and with other people. If she thought about it, she’d be sad that the last night they’d spent alone hadn’t been in love’s embrace. From here on, they would surely find other travelers on their way to Norwich.

  He raced up the slope, Bartholomew
following, breathing smoky plumes into the chilled morning air. The look on his face was priceless as he took in the tranquil scene below. He crossed himself and mumbled a quick “thanks.” “I don’t recognize the town. I was hoping to find one I knew by now.”

  “There’s the river—could that be the River Tas Hilda said to find?”

  He seemed to study it, rubbing his chin. “Mayhap.” He turned to her and spread his arms, a grin on his handsome face. “Shall we go find out for sure, my lady Ela?”

  Her traitorous heart leapt, and she accepted his proffered hand. “Do you think they’ll have ham and eggs?”

  They slid down the hill and walked through a field until they came to the half gate surrounding the village. Nobody stood guard, and they walked right in. Os looked out over the quiet streets. “I don’t see a manor, or keep, to mark a nobleman’s residence. I say we find the chapel first. Mayhap the priest will share his bread.”

  Ela wiggled her toes, her half boots heavy with mud. “I hardly look like a lady—what if they send us away?”

  Os peered at her, and she felt the flush run up her neck to her cheeks as he studied her in the morning light. “You’ll do.” Then he looked down at her feet. “You’ve holes in your boots.”

  “Humph. When I was stolen from my chamber, I should have bade my captors stop so I could change into shoes more suited for traipsing across the countryside.” She crossed her arms, wondering if he would attack her torn dress next.

  He surprised her by laughing. “I’m no better, my lady. My cloak is sodden and mudstained, my breeches are stiff with dried dirt, and I’m sure I smell like a combination of Henry and Bartholomew. I could cover you in my wet cloak and whisk you through town just to reach the road on the other side. We’ll talk to nobody. I would protect your reputation at all costs.”

  “Even if it cost you food on an empty belly?” The spark in her heart brightened, curse it all.

  “My first priority is you, my lady.”

  He was so honorable that she exhaled and shook her head. “You know what I think about my reputation. It was vanity speaking, and nothing else. Upon occasion, I do like to be pretty.” She sighed, shrugged, and lifted her head. “Now you know yet another bad character trait about me. I wish you had one, Os, so that we’d be even.”