Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) by Amy Jarecki

Author:Amy Jarecki
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, azw3
Publisher: Turquoise Morning Press
Published: 2014-12-15T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

There wasn’t much left of the two-hundred-year-old wooden wall. What Titus could make out were craggy charred remains that sprung up across the hilly lea, mostly covered by twisting green vines and briers. Colin led him to an erect Pictish stone standing about eight feet tall. On the top was carved a sign like the Celtic designs on the faces of the Picts, this one looking like a seabeast and dagger. Under it was a Z-rod over a shield, and the carving beneath depicted the story of battle.

The Gale pointed to the giant standing rock. “This Pictish stone marks the edge of Gododdin.”

Titus tugged on the lead he had tied to his saddle and pulled Tessie beside Petronius. He hoped returning Elspeth’s horse would help soften the rift between them. He dismounted and ran his fingers along the etched battle scene in the rock. Judging by the worn edges, the stone may have stood for a millennium or more. A race that will not be conquered.

Stepping beside him, Colin tapped his arm and pointed up the nearby hill.

Titus passed the reins to Colin. His hand instinctively grasped the hilt of his sword as every muscle in his body made ready for battle. Picts lined the hill clad in iron breastplates and helmets. In the center was an imposing warrior, larger than the others, who sat atop a black stallion and held a sword in his hand. Titus panned the crest of the hill and estimated fifty warriors, some with arrows trained on his heart.

The large Pict warrior rode his mount forward, followed by another. Titus chose not to draw his weapon and wiped his sweaty palms on his doublet. As the Pict approached, Titus eyed the Celtic tattoo swirling blue on his cheek. It entwined down the man’s neck and under the laces of his linen shirt. At ten paces, the Pict’s blue eyes cut through him with an air of command.

This must be King Taran, son of…whomever.

The king stopped his mount and sheathed his sword. “Ye’re wise to leave yer weapon in its scabbard.” He jumped down from his horse and removed his helmet. A mop of fiery red hair fell to his shoulders. “I’m Taran, son of Brude, chieftain of this land.” A giant among men, he could have been nearly a head taller than Titus.

The other man also dismounted. He stood eye to eye with Titus, but had leaner muscle and bone. “Taran is King of the Picts, the fiercest race in all of Britannia.” He too removed his helmet, revealing the Celtic patterns upon his face.

Taran gestured toward the other man. “This is Greum, son of Ewen and brother of Elspeth.”

Titus raised his eyebrows with a slight bow. “I am Titus Augusts Romulus, Primus Pilus Centurion at your service.” He turned to Colin and gestured toward Tessie. “We recovered the lady’s horse, and I have brought it for her.”

Taran nodded. “Many thanks. I ken she has sorely missed the mare.”

Titus’s gaze strayed to an archer. Icy bumps rose across his skin.

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