He regarded me while pressing his hands on his horse, swinging his agile body onto its back. I mounted Malibu, and we rode a good distance, carefully working our way across and around fast-flowing tributaries, distancing ourselves from the subjects of our spying. Finally, he replied.
“They are the Smertae,” he said.
“Are the Smertae our friend or enemy?” I asked.
“They are sometimes friend, sometimes enemy. The others that rode past us this morning were Cornavii. The number of horses and men of Smertae are down by more than half.”
That meant their men were gone too. “Did they fight in a battle?”
He shook his head. “Not here. I’ve been tracking the Smertae. They’ve traveled in our same direction. Soon, we’ll meet up with them all.”
“Including Velloc?” I asked.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes. Velloc will be there.”
Rather than pepper him with questions on how he knew everyone would be there, or what he expected to find when we arrived, I let the discussion settle. The man of little conversation had offered more information in one exchange than on our whole journey thus far.
The tribal names rang an academic bell. Ptolemy’s ancient and begrudged map—thanks to the Roman geographer torquing the top half of Scotland onto its ear—had listed them all. Hearing the names gave greater meaning to our northerly location.
“Talorcan, what is our tribe called?”
“Caereni,” he said.
Caereni. Mental gears fell into place right as he spoke the word. The sheep people—herders.
As silence wrapped around us like a comfortable blanket, my stomach growled. Brilliant Isobel hadn’t thought to pack food. At least we’d found abundant clean water sources, enabling me to save my filled waterskin for emergency use.
We journeyed across rocky mountainous terrain, around tributaries and streams, and through dense and sparse forests. Gloaming dusted the clouded sky in hues of gray and midnight blue as Talorcan led us up a steep rise. The air chilled as we dismounted to survey the landscape from the top of the ridge.
When we reached the crest, the magnitude of what we saw ahead robbed me of my next breath. A massive invading army pressed through the southeastern Highlands, its metal scales undulating like a dragon stretching from head to tail before its next meal. Soldiers made camp across the land as far as my eye could see . . . numbering in the tens of thousands.
The unfolding historical event gave me my first solid time stamp for the period. The Roman army had marched into the Highlands in the later part of the first century, with true military campaigns happening from around AD 80 to 84. The Roman governor Agricola’s battle occurred around AD 83 or 84. What scarred the expanse of ground ahead had to be his army or a close predecessor. Tacitus, the venerated historian for the Romans, had called Picts . . . Caledonians.
A hand on my wrist yanked me from my awestruck historical reflection back into the reality. Talorcan led us with haste back to the horses. We rode them as hard as the difficult terrain would allow, skirting exposure along the ridge, picking our way down to the shelter of wooded areas between the legions of soldiers and our recent overlook.
Darkness fully fell by the time we reached a more dense cover of trees. The shroud of thick foliage brought forth an entirely new adventure. Varied animal calls that cried and howled into the night in random intervals became a tribal roll call. I identified ours for the first time when Talorcan replied to a shout-out.
In the span of a few slow breaths, shadows materialized from the night, surrounding us. I recognized the men from our tribe but remained on horseback, scanning their faces, searching for Velloc.
Our gazes locked at the same moment. By the time I slid from my horse, I landed within his hard embrace. We stood there for an eternity, tightening our hold and gently releasing, inhaling each other. Velloc gripped me against his chest, our heartbeats falling into sync.
Talorcan tethered the horses. In hushed tones, he regaled the tribesmen with all we’d seen along our travels. The quiet chatter faded with the men into the night, leaving me alone with Velloc.
He pulled back, tilted his head, and crashed into my lips with a hard, possessive kiss. Our hungry mouths fought for supremacy. His hands roamed across my back, around my hips, and up my chest, tugging at fabric until his callused fingers touched my skin. I cried out softly when he pinched my nipple, my hand dropping to the heavy bulge in his leather pants. Nimble fingers tore through the laces, releasing his hardened shaft. I caught it in my hand, stroking once from base to tip. He growled low against my neck.
Velloc backed me into a tree, pinning me. The fur hanging from my shoulders protected my back from the rough bark. He ran his hands down my thighs, squatting slowly as he pulled the deerskin pants to my ankles.
I couldn’t see anything . . . but felt everything.
Hot breath fogged the sensitive skin at the juncture between my thighs. A single lick made me gasp. His lips and tongue assaulted the throbbing nerve center, sucking hard. My hand flew over my mouth to muffle a scream I couldn’t harness. He growled, vibrations inciting a riot against the tender flesh, and I moaned as a deep ache filled my depths.
Velloc shot up and pressed into me, stepping inside my bound ankles. Firm hands gripped under my thighs, lifting my hips. I clamped my legs around his waist, and in a fluid movement, he impaled me. I bit down on my lip, drawing coppery-tasting blood as I silenced a scream.
Deliberate thrusts met curving hips. Every movement pulled him ever deeper inside. The primal coupling fired my arousal toward total meltdown as a devastating ache consumed me. I moaned, hovering over the brink, each slight movement taunting a climax just out of reach.
Velloc’s hands gripped my ass, pulling me hard into his forceful plunge. I hissed at the intensity. Ache turned nearly unbearable until a single spasm lit me up—causing my loud gasp—then detonated, exploding through every nerve ending. My body jerked forward, and I threw my face into the fur on his shoulder, burying my scream.
He staked his claim, driving harder, while erotic pulses spiraled through me, firing hotter. My every exhalation came with a low moan in utter pleasure. I gripped his shoulders as he hardened and swelled further. He gasped, his body going rigid. On a low growl he gave a final thrust, his release overtaking him. He slowly dropped his face into the crook of my neck.
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.