a boy and a girl. She hadn’t wanted to become his wife, but he had raped her before her father and servants in the atrium of her villa, making her further refusal impossible.
She was an odd woman, given to airs, and other than her lands, she had no value he could see, but for one thing: He had never in his life had such an avaricious, hot bedmate. Whereas Harimann and Perahta were complaisant, Antonia was eager, and had the instincts of a skilled whore. He tolerated her for that alone. Now, however, he was beginning to wonder if he had not made a bad bargain of it after all. Were her abilities in their bed worth the trouble she was obviously about to cause him?
Where Antonia’s villa had once stood in its pristine glory, there were now ruins. Nearby, a new hall had been raised. About it was a wall of stone. They entered through a pair of open gates, the doors of which had been fashioned from the old bronze doors of the villa.
“Your men are welcome in my hall,” Ragnar Strongspear said.
“You have given me your pledge for our safety,” Wulf replied. “I will leave them outside but for two to show my good faith. Corio, and Winefrith, you will come with us.”
“Yes, my lord!” the two men chorused almost as one, and Ragnar Strongspear was further impressed. Wulf’s men were all obviously quite loyal, and not only were there Saxons among them, but Celts as well.
They entered a large aisled hall. There were several fire pits, but the ventilation was poor and it was slightly smoky. Two large, handsome women with long blond braids, little children about their feet, sat weaving and talking together.
“Antonia! Come to me at once!” Ragnar Strongspear called loudly.
“I am here, my lord,” came the reply, and she glided forward, a false smile of welcome upon her face. She hated him and everything he stood for.
“Do you know these people, Antonia?” he demanded of her.
Antonia’s eyes swung first to Cailin and then to Wulf. Her hand flew to her breast and she paled. Her heart began to increase in its tempo until she thought it would fly from her chest. She couldn’t seem to breathe, and she gaped like a fish out of water. She had never in her life been so filled with fear, for before her was her greatest nightmare come to life. How had they survived? But it did not matter. They had survived her revenge, and had now obviously returned to take theirs. She stepped back with a shriek.
“Ohh, villainess!” Cailin cried, surprising the men as she leapt forward at Antonia. “You never thought to see me again in this life, did you? But here I am, Antonia Porcius, alive, and strong! Now, where is my child? I want my child; I know you have my baby!”
“I do not know what you are talking about,” Antonia quavered.
“You are lying, Antonia,” Wulf said, and his blue eyes were bright with his anger. “Lying as you lied to me when you told me that Cailin was dead in childbirth of a difficult birth, of a son who tore her apart and then died, too. You lied when you told me you cremated their remains. I found my wife in Byzantium by merest chance, preparing to wed another man, damn you! Do you know how very much I want to kill you right now? Do you know all the misery you have caused us? And once again you have tried to steal our lands, Antonia Porcius. You will not succeed now, just as you did not succeed before!”
“Did I hurt you, Wulf?” Antonia suddenly flared. “Did the knowledge that Cailin was dead cause you unbearable pain? I am glad if it did. I am glad! Now you know the pain you caused me when you killed my beloved Quintus! I wanted you to suffer! And I wanted Cailin to suffer as well. If she had not returned from her grave that first time, you would not have killed my husband, and I should not have lost my second son! All my misery is due to the two of you, and now here you are again to cause me heartache. A pox upon you! I hate you both!”
“Give me my child, you bitch!” Cailin cried out angrily.
“What child?” Antonia said with false sweetness. “You had no child, Cailin Drusus. The child died at birth.”