Most of the men had stripped their bodies, baring inked symbols on their skin in armored protection by their gods. Many, like Velloc, had brass or golden torques around their necks.
Velloc dropped his skins and fur at the base of the tree behind me. He lifted his hands to my face, cupping my cheeks gently. “Stay here, Isobel. Find a place to hide. Our return will be quick.” Velloc said the words in hushed tones, sealing his promise with a passionate kiss.
I nodded, agreeing. Before my next blink, he vanished, and everyone disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER Twenty-four
The field around me, littered with molted skins off the backs of all the tribesmen, hadn’t been completely abandoned. Talorcan, my former guide, and two men from other tribes remained. They all stalked after their counterparts to watch. In the darkest part of the night, the Romans were about to get a very unwelcomed awakening.
I grinned. The archaeological historian in me didn’t want to sit out on all the fun either. The protective company seemed like a heaven-sent favor as we followed to observe history.
We snuck up the rise of a hill and all became clear. Down the opposing slope, our tribesmen crept closer to their prey by hiding behind trees and scrub. My elevation afforded a panoramic, moonlit view.
An entire Roman legion camped in small groups along the other side of a North Sea inlet. Flickering lights illuminated their supply ship anchored offshore. The second sighting of Roman soldiers blew my now-habitually blown mind. Their bold exposure in the wide open stated the confidence they had. I smiled. Only fools boast before an unknown enemy, and they had no idea their adversary followed no rules of warfare.
We had a commanding vantage point of the unfolding scene. My fingers gripped the alligatored bark of a pine tree as I peered around its wide trunk. Three Roman soldiers scouted the fringes of their encampment, one squinting toward our location. My fingers instinctively flew to the blade strapped to my thigh. The hard wooden handle grazed the palm of my hand, soothing my anxiety.
A hawk’s cry marked the start of the raid. Subtle movements occurred at the corner points and sides of the nearest encampment as our tribesmen seized upon unguarded fronts.
Like water spilling over a cliff, a silent river of men descended, incapacitated, and pirated. One soldier had his throat slit. Another was stabbed from behind. A spear flew through the air, piercing an unarmored chest. Every tent was entered and exited without incident. A single Roman let loose a shout seconds before being silenced with two daggers to his lungs. Several soldiers turned heel and ran, only to be chased down by their Pict attackers. The entire scuffle ended before it began.
Neighboring fires marked the location of the rest of the Roman legion. I searched for a sign of retaliation, but I saw no reaction. No alarm had been sounded. The space between camps must have appeared smaller than actual size. The Roman’s loss of men and weapons wouldn’t be discovered until later, morning perhaps.
The action slowed as Picts scoured the soldiers’ bodies and belongings for loot. A few Picts led dozens of plundered horses into our forested protection.
Images whirled in my head. My memory banks imprinted a beautiful firsthand account of an undocumented event. Too distant to see or smell any of the bloodshed, the violence left me unfazed. Were it not for the cold breeze feathering across my arms and the scent of smoke from the fires, I would’ve thought I’d watched a well-choreographed movie scene.
All of a sudden, a dark shadow crossed my vision. I gasped as hard arms clamped around me from behind, pinning my hands to my thighs. The man in front stepped closer, and the stench from their unwashed bodies made me gag. A large, blond-bearded man lifted my ponytail and sniffed it, holding it between filthy fingers.
“Ahhh, look vhat vhe found: a fehr, golden-haired beauty dressed like zhe zavages. Are you zheir prisoner?” He spoke English in a thick, Germanic accent.
No, master-of-the-obvious. I’m yours. The man held his mouth inches away, suffocating me with his putrid breath. He crushed his offensive mouth on mine in a disgusting, bruising kiss. I bit down hard on his lip.
“Bitch! You’re vild like all zhe heazhen Caledonians. Let’s zee just how vild you ahr.” He tore at the cloth covering my breasts.
I spit on his face, struggling in the vice-grip hold of his friend. My jailor shifted his hands up my arms, thinking it gained him more control over his prisoner. With my hands unbound, I gripped the handle of the short sword strapped to my thigh. I unsheathed and plunged the blade into the thigh of the man behind me. He screamed, releasing his hold.
I pulled the weapon out, reached up, and slashed forward. My forceful side arc met flesh, ripping through the midsection of the soldier below the lone armor over his chest.
A foot swept my ankle from behind, and I toppled sideways to the ground. My attacker jumped on me, his hand clamping onto my wrist, his body pinning me down. His weight shifted over my chest, pressing the air from my lungs, making me work for every cubic inch of oxygen.
With crushing force, his hand squeezed my wrist until blinding pain forced me to drop the sword. Colored dots spotted my vision while he wedged my legs apart, his hips snaking his body between them. A hard erection pressed into my groin. The brute drew his weight off, brought a hand down, and yanked my pants down to mid thigh.
As he fumbled with the front of his clothing, my freed lungs gasped for air, firing more oxygen to my brain to think. No amount of wriggling bought me enough leeway to reach the discarded blade or the ax strapped to my ankle. With my legs pinned and his weighted leverage, I couldn’t even bring a knee to his groin. I bucked and squirmed, trying to gain breathing space any way I could, until a pressure at my entrance stopped me, fearing any more movement would only further his cause, not mine.
I sucked in a lungful of air and ripped out a piercing scream. My attacker went rigid. He gasped and fell forward. A wooden spear protruded from his back at a low, sideways angle. Dead weight collapsed onto my chest, knocking the wind out of me. Again.
The body was dragged off, and strong arms lifted me from the ground. I stared into Velloc’s wide, wild eyes. He banded his arms around me, hugging me so hard I found it difficult to breathe for the third time. Though, nothing in the world, not even the need for oxygen, would’ve had me push his loving protection away.
Velloc released me. His quick, thorough hands skimmed my body, moving clothing aside, confirming I hadn’t been harmed. He pulled my pants up and fastened them. Suddenly exhausted, I rested my forehead on his broad chest, encased in his protective hold, just breathing.
His finger lifted my chin, forcing me to look up into eyes shadowed by deeply furrowed brows. “Isobel, did he . . . did they . . .”
My heavy blinks moistened eyes dry from a shock-filled stupor. I shook my head.
On a slow exhalation, I pressed trembling hands into Velloc’s lower back, clinging to him. Disturbing, gruesome images tortured my mind like a broken record, the scene replaying against my will. I’d killed a man—disemboweled him. Another died on me. The repulsive, metallic scent of blood mixed with other putrid odors assaulted my nostrils.
I spun around, gripping Velloc’s forearm, pulling us away from the stench of death. With deep breaths, I sucked in every cool, fresh lungful of air possible. He ran a hand up my arm, spreading his comforting touch across my shoulders. His quiet strength held me together like the binding of a book.
Without warning, I doubled over, dry heaving over a patch of barren ground at the base of a tree. My empty stomach clenched in protest. Velloc’s hands rubbed up and down the length of my back, his voice murmuring soothing, unintelligible words. After a few minutes, I stood again, leaning into his side, feeling a yellowed shade of green.