you. I’ll be on my way as soon as I might.” She drew a breath and met his gaze. “What have you done with my clothes?”
He gestured to a heap on the floor. “They are wet.”
“And my satchel?” she said in alarm. “Did you …”
“Your wee bundle is there as well,” he said, eyeing her. “Nay, I didna paw through it.”
She blushed. “I didn’t mean …” But she had meant it, and his expression told her that he knew. He was no fool, this barbarian. The silence lengthened between them, growing thick and heavy until she could bear it no longer.
“I lost my way,” she said. “It was stupid of me, I know, but the trail I was following ended, and then the storm began …” She drew a breath. “I’m seeking a wise man. A Druid.”
At the Celt’s scowl, she clutched the blanket more firmly to her breasts. “I was told he lived in this valley. Do you know of him? If you show me the path to his door, I’ll be gone as soon as my clothes are dry.”
He raised his brows. “Ye’ll nay be going far, lass. Not chilled as ye are. Your feet willna bear even your slight weight, not for a day, at least.”
As if to underscore his assessment, a shiver overtook her. Her body was ice cold, as if a winter storm still raged inside. She barely felt the fire, though beads of sweat stood out on her companion’s forehead. The musk of his perspiration reached her nostrils. It was an intimate smell, one that caused her to shift away.
“The old Druid,” she persisted. “He’s a Seer. He can find things that are lost or stolen. Surely you know of him. Does he live nearby?”
To her surprise, the Celt stood abruptly and gave her his back. “There be few Druids left alive,” he said without turning. “Your army has done a fine job of putting them to the sword.”
Clara stared at the back of his head. Again he spoke the truth and again she had no answer. But she had no choice—she had to gain his cooperation. She had to find the Seer, and it was likely this man could lead her to him.
“I mean the Wise One no harm,” she persisted. “Nor will I tell a soul of his hiding place.”
“Ye are Roman,” he said, as if that were an answer.
“Yes, of course,” she replied to his broad shoulders.
Words began tumbling from her lips, as they always did when her blood pounded in her ears. “But I have no reason to alert the authorities. Just the opposite. I was directed to the Seer by an old Celt sla—friend,” she amended hastily. “He told me the Wise One’s heart is kind and true. I’m in sore need of his magic.” She inhaled. “Please. Will you take me to him?”
The Celt was silent for several long heartbeats. Finally, he turned, eyeing her, clearly deciding whether she was worth the trouble of an honest answer. She resisted the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.
At last he spoke. “And who is this friend—” he said the word harshly, as if spitting out the uglier term she’d almost used—“ … who told ye tales of a Druid?”
“A Celt elder. An old man who lived in these hills, before …”
Her voice trailed off in the face of the Celt’s scowl. She wondered, not for the first time, if she’d lost her wits completely to embark on this wild quest, even with Aiden’s encouragement. A knot of fear tightened in her stomach. But then she thought of Father huddled in his sickbed.
She stiffened her spine. “He lived in these hills before he came to dwell in the city.”
“Before Sempronius Gracchus and the Second Legion enslaved the last of the free Celts, ye mean.”
Clara fought to control her expression as the Celt spat out her father’s name. “Yes,” she said.
“Where are your companions?” Venom laced his tone. “A wealthy woman such as ye would travel with an escort. Were there soldiers? Did ye lose them in the storm?”
“I came alone.”
The Celt’s piercing blue gaze bored into her. “If that be true, then ye are surely mad.”
Her fingers twisted the edge of the fur blanket. “No doubt you’re right. But I had no choice. Please. If you know the Wise One, take me to him.”
A veil dropped over his eyes, blanking their expression.
She went still. “You know where he is.”
He hesitated, and she thought perhaps he would deny it. But a moment