Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(68)
Time stopped. Breaths panted. Pulses raced.
We simply clung to each other, actions speaking in wordless beauty our desire: we never wanted to let go.
Reunited in body and spirit, my heart ached as it rejoiced. I pressed my lips to his ear. Not another minute would be wasted on my twisted journey. With no guarantee of a tomorrow, whispered words tumbled from my lips sent from the depths of my soul.
“I love you, Velloc.”
My words were spoken in English, but he knew. Heavy emotion misted around us through our hearts, binding our souls. The small phrase culminated our experience with meaning so vast, it stretched to the ends of the glittering night sky.
Commotion behind Velloc prompted him to drop me. His hands shot up as an afterthought, grabbing my shoulders so I didn’t land on my ass. Animal calls from the tribes fired out, one after another. Velloc tugged my arm once then released it, running off. I quickly fastened my pants and bolted after him, a waning gibbous moon casting plenty of silvery light to guide my way.
Every movement Velloc made, I copied. We traveled in the shadows of trees, darting from trunk to trunk. A gathering of hundreds of men from dozens of tribes rippled under the cover of night. I hugged into Velloc’s side, slipping my hand in his. He grasped it firmly, squeezing.
Most of the men had stripped their bodies, baring inked symbols on their skin in armored protection by their gods. Many, like Velloc, had brass or golden torques around their necks.
Velloc dropped his skins and fur at the base of the tree behind me. He lifted his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks gently. “Stay here, Isobel. Find a place to hide. Our return will be quick.” Velloc said the words in hushed tones, sealing his promise with a passionate kiss.
I nodded, agreeing. Before my next blink, he vanished, and everyone disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER Twenty-four
The field around me, littered with molted skins off the backs of all the tribesmen, hadn’t been completely abandoned. Talorcan, my former guide, and two men from other tribes remained. They all stalked after their counterparts to watch. In the darkest part of the night, the Romans were about to get a very unwelcomed awakening.
I grinned. The archaeological historian in me didn’t want to sit out on all the fun either. The protective company seemed like a heaven-sent favor as we followed to observe history.
We snuck up the rise of a hill and all became clear. Down the opposing slope, our tribesmen crept closer to their prey by hiding behind trees and scrub. My elevation afforded a panoramic, moonlit view.
An entire Roman legion camped in small groups along the other side of a North Sea inlet. Flickering lights illuminated their supply ship anchored offshore. The second sighting of Roman soldiers blew my now-habitually blown mind. Their bold exposure in the wide open stated the confidence they had. I smiled. Only fools boast before an unknown enemy, and they had no idea their adversary followed no rules of warfare.
We had a commanding vantage point of the unfolding scene. My fingers gripped the alligatored bark of a pine tree as I peered around its wide trunk. Three Roman soldiers scouted the fringes of their encampment, one squinting toward our location. My fingers instinctively flew to the blade strapped to my thigh. The hard wooden handle grazed the palm of my hand, soothing my anxiety.
A hawk’s cry marked the start of the raid. Subtle movements occurred at the corner points and sides of the nearest encampment as our tribesmen seized upon unguarded fronts.
Like water spilling over a cliff, a silent river of men descended, incapacitated, and pirated. One soldier had his throat slit. Another was stabbed from behind. A spear flew through the air, piercing an unarmored chest. Every tent was entered and exited without incident. A single Roman let loose a shout seconds before being silenced with two daggers to his lungs. Several soldiers turned heel and ran, only to be chased down by their Pict attackers. The entire scuffle ended before it began.
Neighboring fires marked the location of the rest of the Roman legion. I searched for a sign of retaliation, but I saw no reaction. No alarm had been sounded. The space between camps must have appeared smaller than actual size. The Roman’s loss of men and weapons wouldn’t be discovered until later, morning perhaps.
The action slowed as Picts scoured the soldiers’ bodies and belongings for loot. A few Picts led dozens of plundered horses into our forested protection.
Images whirled in my head. My memory banks imprinted a beautiful firsthand account of an undocumented event. Too distant to see or smell any of the bloodshed, the violence left me unfazed. Were it not for the cold breeze feathering across my arms and the scent of smoke from the fires, I would’ve thought I’d watched a well-choreographed movie scene.
All of a sudden, a dark shadow crossed my vision. I gasped as hard arms clamped around me from behind, pinning my hands to my thighs. The man in front stepped closer, and the stench from their unwashed bodies made me gag. A large, blond-bearded man lifted my ponytail and sniffed it, holding it between filthy fingers.
“Ahhh, look vhat vhe found: a fehr, golden-haired beauty dressed like zhe zavages. Are you zheir prisoner?” He spoke English in a thick, Germanic accent.
No, master-of-the-obvious. I’m yours. The man held his mouth inches away, suffocating me with his putrid breath. He crushed his offensive mouth on mine in a disgusting, bruising kiss. I bit down hard on his lip.
“Bitch! You’re vild like all zhe heazhen Caledonians. Let’s zee just how vild you ahr.” He tore at the cloth covering my breasts.