quest for the grail? She couldn’t take that chance.
Owein shook his head and sighed, seeming to force himself from his bleak memories. “ ’Tis sorry I am if I frightened ye.”
Clara sat up and attempted a smile. “Think nothing of it.” After a brief silence, she added, “It’s morning. We’d best go.”
“We have time yet.” His eyes did not waver from her face. The blue of his irises appeared almost black. “ ’Tis best if we wait for the morning sun to soften the ice on the paths. Meanwhile, ’tis warm enough in this shelter for even a pampered Roman lass.” His voice grew husky. “I could warm ye even more, if ye wish.”
Clara stiffened. “I don’t wish it.”
He chuckled. “Ye do. Or at least your body does. I was nay so deeply caught in sleep that I didna feel the welcome between your thighs.”
Her cheeks burned with shame. “You’re mistaken if you think I welcomed your attentions. I … I was caught in my own dream. My eagerness was meant for another.”
He raised his brows. “Your blacksmith?”
Clara grasped at the suggestion. “Exactly so. It was Marcus Aquila I dreamed of.”
Owein’s amusement abruptly vanished. “Marcus Aquila. Commander Lucius Aquila’s son?”
“Yes,” Clara said, startled. “How did you know?”
His expression was grim. “I once encountered Lucius Aquila in battle.”
“Oh. Well. Lucius Aquila is no longer in the Legions. He’s a farmer, and he has a Celt wife. She’s the healer who visited my father.”
“Rhiannon.” Owein had gone so still, Clara wondered if he breathed.
“Yes. Do you know her?”
“I did.” His tone clearly indicated the matter was closed. He levered his large body into a crouch and ducked out the door.
Clara stared after him. Owein had met Lucius Aquila in battle? Perhaps he harbored a grudge against him. Had she endangered Marcus’s family by making their whereabouts known? She rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled.
She left the hut and ventured into a thick copse to take care of her personal needs, after which she scrubbed her face and hands vigorously with a handful of snow. Owein shattered the thin coating of ice on a stream and filled his waterskin.
They broke their fast with more strips of dried venison. Clara tore off a piece with her front teeth and chewed until her jaw ached. She would have had less trouble gnawing her satchel’s leather strap.
Owein, apparently, had teeth made of stone, for he devoured his portion easily. To her relief, the shadow that had passed over him at the mention of Lucius Aquila had lifted. He watched her eat, the amusement returning to his eyes.
“ ’Tis not the soft fare ye are accustomed to, I am guessing.”
Clara swallowed a mouthful of what tasted like burnt wood shavings. “It’s fine.” She took a swig from the water skin, wishing it held wine. She grimaced, then scowled when Owein’s amusement deepened.
“I suppose a merchant’s daughter spends her life within easy reach of every luxury,” he said.
Clara studied her clasped hands. “I suppose that’s true.”
“No wonder ye have such little sense.”
Her head jerked up. “I have sense!”
“Oh, aye. Sensible Roman lasses often wander the hills in winter seeking outlawed Druids.”
“I had no choice about that,” Clara said quietly. “Not with my father lying ill.”
“The danger was too great.”
“I had to find you. I’m sorry I disturbed your home, but—”
“ ’Twas nay much of a home, lass, in case ye hadn’t noticed.” He sighed. “But I was content there, for a time.”
She hesitated. “Until the Second Legion came?”
“Aye.” Bitter hatred crept into his voice. “Until Gracchus’s men arrived.”
“I … I’ve heard Commander Gracchus is respected by Romans and Celts alike in Isca. He’s known as a hard man, but a fair one. I … I also heard that the raid on the hills was ordered by the governor in Londinium. Perhaps … perhaps Commander Gracchus regretted what he had to do.”
“A fine notion, lass, but one I canna credit. Ye may not have noticed, safe in your merchant father’s house, but to the Legions Celts are no more than beasts. Best killed, or at the least herded to the city and fenced.”
“Many Celts in Isca are free. In the city, they have comforts they could only have dreamed of in the mountains.”
“Glass cups and deep cushions. Aye, a fine trade for the home of one’s fathers.” He shook his head in disgust. “Comfort. It leads only to weakness.”
“Romans are not weak.”
“Are ye so sure? Aye, ye have armies and fortresses. Fine weapons. Standing together, surrounded by walls, ye are