'You don't have to scrape it off. It rinses with water.'
'How does the dirt come off, then?'
'With the soap and the water, in a trinity.'
She looked at the brown bar dubiously. 'Then why hasn't Rome adopted it?'
'You live in a primitive world, lady.' Now he was teasing her.
'What else?' she demanded. She liked presents!
'This is from Arden.' He unfolded what seemed like a shimmering curtain of water, and she gasped. It was a tunic of emerald green that would reach to her calves, made out of silk as thick and fine as anything available in the markets of Rome. Such a prize was worth its weight in gold, and only the richest could afford it. 'It comes from somewhere beyond your empire, as you know. Caravans carried it thousands of miles. It's surprisingly tough and warm.'
'How smooth it feels!'
'He said it would be a salve for your bruises.'
She held it against herself. 'So soft, in so hard a place.'
'Is it really so hard, Valeria?' He handed her a lock of hair that was bound with a twist of grass. 'This is from the clan, cut from the mane of the horse you rode to the hunt. It's a promise to find you another.'
She was flattered, and surprised. 'I hope I can take better care of the next one.'
'It's obvious you have a love of horses. Like a Morrigan.'
That name, again. 'And your own present, priest?'
'My knowledge.' He untied a bundle of herbs. 'The forest balances all things, and is thus eternal. Each danger is countered by a remedy. All that you and Hool need to recover, lady, is in the wood.' He began adding flakes from his packages to the heating water. 'You're both young and strong, but these drugs will speed the healing. We'll bring the broth to him when it's ready.'
A scented steam began to arise. 'How do you know which plant to pick?'
'It's lore that dates to the dawn of time. Our elders teach our acolytes. We don't put things down on dead tablets; we carry them in our hearts and sing the truth like birds. Each generation memorizes anew.' He gave her a sip of the tea.
'Generations of druids?'
'Yes. Memory is our job, as well as healing and ceremony.'
'And sacrifice.'
'Any wise man gives back to the world a token of what he receives. Arden showed me the cones you brought.'
'My stone pine? Where are they?'
'He burned them to Dagda shortly before he captured you.'
The idea chilled her. Had her own offering been turned against her? It seemed a blasphemous thing for Arden to have done. 'And now you're calling your people to war.'
Kalin shook his head. 'War is coming, but not at our call. The proper sign hasn't arrived yet. All we druids have done is give the oak's strength to our warriors and remind them of ancient ways. They know your wall is an abomination against nature that must be swept aside. Whether your husband and his men will be swept aside with it is up to them, not us. We are tools of the gods.'
'Your gods.'
'Britannia's gods. Your Roman ones are half forgotten, your temples weed-grown, your beliefs changing as frequently as the hairstyle of the empress. Ours endure.'
She sipped, feeling the medicine ease through her bruised body. 'Yet for all your confidence you find it necessary to keep me, a woman, a helpless captive.'
He laughed. 'How helpless, boar-slayer? How captive, when the control of your little drawbridge is in your hands, not mine? It's not chains or cages that's keeping you here, and we both know it.'
'What, then?'
'The man who captured you, of course.'
'You mean Arden. That I'm his prisoner.'
'No. I mean he's yours. That you won't leave until you've taken his heart.'
After Kalin left, Valeria was tempted to flee again, just to prove the druid wrong. She didn't need to wait for cocky and carefree Arden Caratacus! He was thief, spy, traitor, killer, and barbarian, and the idea that she cared a bronze coin for him or his feelings was ridiculous. He'd abducted her! He'd threatened all her plans! All her dreams of home, career, children, and status had been overthrown by his ruthlessness! It was simply that she must use Arden as he was using her, trick Arden as he'd tricked her, so she could report his vulnerabilities.
But only when she had the spirit to go. Only when she'd learned enough. It still felt good to be in this isolated refuge, her choices simple, her life placid.
Arden came at sunset, the sky a soft rose against the enclosing hills and the lake molten glass. He was triumphant at having killed two ducks with his arrows. 'I shot them on the wing, breast and neck. The second one was a lucky hit. Here's wild carrots and bread from Tiranen, as well. And wine, stolen from Rome.'
So, her stomach growling, they prepared the simple meal together. While he cleaned the birds, she built up the fire and put on water for the carrots. Then she began roasting the fowl on a spit, their fat spattering to erupt in little spouts of flame. Arden stood close to help. He was like another wall, enclosing her.
As evening came, she lit a candle.
Her captor, or caretaker-she was no longer sure which-had brought his wine in a leather bag and showed how she could jet a stream into her mouth. Her laughter at the trick made the liquid splash her chin. The domesticity was so typical of the lower classes that her mother would be shocked, yet it left Valeria strangely content. They were alone in the wild and yet not alone, because they had each other. She had to remind herself not to trust him too much. He was still a barbarian. But he was also becoming a kind of friend, like Brisa.
She could hear and feel the silk whispering against her body and knew he could see its borders peeking from beneath her Gallic coat. He didn't mention it, however, and she was too shy to thank him.
'You can walk,' he commented instead.
'I can hobble.'
'Savia suspects me of torturing you. Tomorrow I'll bring my horse, and you can ride behind me back to Tiranen. There's a meeting of the clans I've got to go to, and you're strong enough now to finish your recovery there.'
She was surprised at her own disappointment. She liked the quiet of the crannog. She liked being alone with Arden outside the crowded and noisy hill fort. But certainly her place was back where she could be found and rescued, wasn't it? 'Planning another abduction?'
He didn't rise to her provocation. 'There's rumor of trouble.'
'What kind of trouble?'
'None that concerns you, yet.'
'You haven't heard from my husband?' She was annoyed he wouldn't confide in her and couldn't resist asking it.
'I told you he won't move against us.'
'Marcus isn't afraid of you.' She insisted on it without knowing why.
'But he's afraid for you, Valeria, and because of that he's afraid for himself. As long as you stay alive, he retains his office. If you die, his future is in peril. By capturing you, we've captured him.'
The thought depressed her. 'You pick on a woman to defeat a man?'
'What kind of man is so easily defeated?'
She had nothing to say to that.
'Is it really so bad, my clan and my crannog?' he persisted.
'It's not my home.'
'What if it was?'
Here was his weakness, and it gave her an opportunity to sting him. 'You know I could never belong here. Never belong to you.' There. She'd said it.
'Celtic women belong to no man. And yet you do belong here, among the free. It relaxes you, I can see it. I know we don't have your fine things, but we do have great spirit. We have each other.'
