Forbidden Pleasures Page 4

  She searched his face as he lifted his weight and lay down facing her. He imagined a life with her, home, children—but in the next moment reality snuffed out the idea. What right had he to ruin her life, to make her a widow for a man who only knew battle? He stared at her, not knowing what to say, instead brushing her red hair from her pale shoulder.

  “My name is Alyson.” She hesitated as though debating her next words. “I have no need of promises, milord, that can be broken,” she said, backing cautiously from his bed. She searched the floor and found her gown, quickly tossing it over her head.

  “A woman like you deserves more,” he said, though he felt nauseous in thinking he was not the man to offer her what she deserved.

  “You are kind to say such things, milord.” She pushed her feet into her slippers.

  “Wait,” he called quietly. “When can I see you again?”

  The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the hallway. Torin sat up, drawing the sheet over his midsection. They both stay frozen, waiting for the person or persons to pass, when a voice, distinctive and cruel, sounded on the other side of the door.

  “Hold the light higher, I need to see so I won’t stumble, you fool.”

  Alyson hurried outside to the gardens and Torin leapt to follow in an attempt to stop her, but she’d already disappeared into the darkness. He turned, seeing a bright light illuminate his room, and met the glittering eyes of Tulia, and behind her a cowering servant holding her torch. Her startled gaze at seeing him naked drifted lower, and her expression turned to glee.

  “My apologies, milord. I came only to see that you have everything you…need.”

  What Torin needed had just escaped out the garden gate. “I was preparing for bed.” He reached down, grabbed his tunic and drew it over him, covering his hips.

  “Please do not let me detain you. Perhaps I can offer my help in settling you in for the night?”

  She came to him, her gait like that of a tiger in heat, and pushed at his chest, causing him to stumble and land on the bed. Torin began to rise and she placed her foot in his crotch.

  “I imagine it has been some time since you’ve had the pleasure of a beautiful woman.” She held her arms out as the servant scurried to sconce the torch and aid in removing the dozens of gold bracelets on her arms.

  Torin cleared his throat as he debated how to put off this woman, niece of his gracious host. “I must confess, good lady, though you are indeed beautiful, the reason I left the celebration early was because I was feeling ill. I think it is exhaustion from my long journey.”

  She paused, her arms outstretched as she was being undressed of her adornments. Her expression was not a happy one. “Do you reject my offer, milord?”

  Torin sat up, easing her away so he could stand. “Your offer, given at any other time, Tulia, would be an intriguing one. I am sorry.”

  She paused a moment more, but Torin knew he’d given her every option to keep her pride intact. She clapped once and the servant gathered her discarded bangles and grabbed the torch.

  “Then, we shall resume our discussion when you are feeling better, milord. You won’t forget?” She kissed his cheek and a nauseating wave of heavy perfume whirled around him, masking her true scent as much as her kind façade.

  He bowed to her and waited until she’d departed before he rushed out into the garden, searching to see if she’d remained, hidden in the shadows. But despite his wishes, she was gone.

  The bright white luminescent moon caught his attention and he stood transfixed at his gargantuan size.

  There is a magic deep inside you.

  Torin dropped to his knees by the small pool in the garden, scooping handfuls of cool water over his face and neck. His mind was a haze, filled with thoughts again of needing her. Perhaps she was a druid witch and she had cast this spell on him, blinding him to all else. He looked up at the moon, trying to shake the strange pull of something inside of him. Then again there was the explanation of an exhausting trip and countless strategies of the best way to outsmart the bloodthirsty Saxon lord. That was why he was summoned to the general’s villa, not to consort with one of the servant girls, no matter how bewitchingly beautiful.

  Destiny is patient. If the wrong path is taken, she will allow you to walk it until eventually it intersects with the path you should be on.

  Was she part of that destiny or simply a diversion from the right path? He had to find a way to see her again. And this time, not swayed by her beauty or magic, find out more what these gods of hers knew about his future. His body in a state of desperate need, Torin thought of the red-haired beauty with beautiful green eyes, fearing that she had already captured his heart.

  Chapter Three

  Alyson’s cheeks burned with the memory of his head between her thighs. He was careful with her, that she’d not expected. She thought that as a Roman warrior he would be rough, taking more thought to his pleasure than of hers. She’d often over the years heard of Rome’s lavishness and decadence. Prone to acquiring wealth and bathing in their riches, it was rumored, though by those who had seen it firsthand, that no Roman, male or female, was denied whatever they desired—no pleasure, no treasures, no kingdom. Romans believed it was theirs for the taking. That’s how the Roman-Britannia culture evolved. From the time when they took over Britannia from the Celts, integrating their ways into that of the ancient Celts. They took their children and trained them to be great Roman warriors. Many died in battle, others—like Torin and Dryston—having served their time and duty, now returned to find Britannia at the mercy of another horde of warriors, bent on keeping Britannia for their own.

  As much as Alyson fought the comparisons, the truth was that her people were again in danger of losing all that was once theirs. True, it was that eventually Rome rebuilt the cities destroyed and created ports and transportation systems, and even married the native peoples. It seemed though that the intent of this particular Saxon army was to eradicate Britannia of every remaining Celt. She could not see the Roman soldier in the same light as the stories she’d heard and Alyson had to be careful of losing her heart too readily to his handsome looks and gentle ways.

  She busied herself with cleaning the dining hall from the cena that had gone well into the night. She wondered whether Tulia had stayed with him, appeasing him in bed, with her beautiful body. Alyson looked at her nails, yellow from scrubbing the laundry, and her dried and cracked skin. What man, other than one used to hard labor of the field, would be interested in her? It was but a trick of the moonlight and no doubt the wine that had driven him to lusting for her in the way he had. With that resolved in her mind, she hoped that he would not remember at all last evening and, once finished here, she would be able to sneak away home, far enough away from the villa that she could try to forget his touch.

  “The general has asked that you perform tonight with your reading of hands.” The head servant stopped her as she entered the kitchen. She grappled with the stack of bowls in her hands. Alyson wanted to refuse, but to do so would alert that she was not comfortable serving the general’s guests and that might raise more questions. Further, the gods had urged her to speak with the Roman directly, not in front of a room full of people. Tulia would no doubt be at her father’s side, watching the handsome guest like a hawk, and to interfere with Tulia’s quest would be foolish to say the least. Still, her master had bid her presence in using her skills as entertainment and there was little she could do but comply. “Yes, milord.” She bent her knees slightly, offering him homage as she balanced the dishes and continued to the washtub, imploring the gods to give her wisdom in her readings.

  Hours later, Alyson hid behind a potted palm tree, checking the seating arrangement of the male guests, who were propped casually on their sides. A trio of musicians provided a peaceful backdrop to their meal. There was less frivolity and more discussion this evening. Her bored expression giving away her state, Tulia popped grapes into her mouth and tossed one or two teasingly at Commander Torin.
Alyson hoped that with the discussion taking a turn toward more serious matters, Tulia would be asked to leave and so, too, the entertainment, meaning that she, too, may yet be freed of her master’s request.

  She watched as Tulia took great glee in taunting the new servant girl this evening, snatching the wine pitcher from her and, though it was forbidden for women to partake in drinking wine, she made sure the object of her lust’s goblet was never dry. Tulia’s’ presence was important, of that Alyson was not naive. The influence she had on her father could prove to be a benefit to the militia being created to face the Saxon. She’d overheard Tulia and her uncle in heated conversations, discussing the matter. Tulia would often offer her father’s opinion to her uncle, stating that the wise men of Rome viewed Britannia as insignificant. Moreover, his brother’s insistence to help the Britannia people against the Saxon was a waste of good Roman ingenuity and blood.

  “Bring me the reader,” General Ambrosius ordered to the servant waiting at his side. The master clapped his hands twice and Alyson pushed forward, her eyes focused on her feet.

  “This one comes from a long line of seers. Her druid mother and two generations before her were all skilled in being able to read palms and perform other tasks of the magical ancient arts. She has been very loyal, as has her family. I trust what she says, implicitly. Who shall go first?” General Ambrosius stated.

  Alyson, not familiar with being praised, kept her gaze cast down, her pride intact, and prayed that she would not have to reveal more than one of them wanted to hear. The room was silent and she dared not look up. Already she sensed the Roman’s penetrating eyes on her.

  “I will see what the good woman has in store.” The other Roman soldier spoke. Alyson turned to look at him and caught his soft, gray-green eyes glittering with mischief. He sat upright and patted the place next to him. His smile was friendly and Alyson could see he was fearless of heart. She knelt at his side, her body acting as a divining rod, trembling at the few inches of table that divided her from her secret lover. She accepted his comrade’s hand, trying to control the shaking of her own. Alyson focused dutifully, concentrating her thoughts on this man and pushing away the torrid thoughts of the other in her yearning spirit. She studied his hand carefully, assessing his life, and what the fates had in store for him.

  “Do you need to know my name?” he asked.

  She liked the sound of his voice. There was a calm authority in it and she sensed he was loyal to the man he called his commander. Alyson looked up, meeting his kind gaze. An immediate vision stopped her from answering as she stared at him, the sequence of immense passion turning to gut-wrenching pain playing through her head. She blinked, averting her eyes from his, sorting her thoughts back to the present, not fully aware yet what the vision meant.

  “It is Dryston.” He smiled, but curiosity flickered in his light green eyes.

  Alyson nodded. “Yes, I can see you have a strong lifeline. This is good. But it is not without challenge.” She closed her eyes, letting his energy flow through her, trying to understand the vision better. But the images were misty, undefined, meaning the gods did not want this man to understand fully what was ahead for him.

  “Well, that’s been proven enough times, hasn’t it, Torin?” the amiable man said, looking across at his comrade.

  Torin. Alyson moistened her lips, nearly repeating her lover’s name out loud.

  “It appears you are on a journey. The way is not an easy one.”

  The room grew silent as did the man whose hand she held. It seemed she now had his full attention.

  “What else do you see?” he asked.

  Alyson swallowed and leaned in close, running her fingertip along the deep crease of his palm representing his fate. “The fate shows that you are used to being in control, but these lines that intersect, indicating that you will or may yet have to relinquish that control and surrender your interests to that of another.”

  The man known as Dryston, already having had a copious amount of wine, chuckled quietly. He leaned in close, the scent of sweet wine wafting past her nose.

  “I am not certain that I like this reading, good woman, though it is not a result of unbelief in your skills. My own mother practiced the ancient magic.”

  Alyson looked across the table and met Torin’s steady gaze. Perhaps this was where his magic was derived. But if Dryston admitted to this in his upbringing, then why wouldn’t Torin?

  “Perhaps you would care to do my hand next?” Torin asked, lifting the corner of his tempting mouth in a smug grin. He was teasing her, of course, about the night before, when speaking to him became a matter of irrepressible lust. She’d debated what happened until the sun peeked through the window of her room. As much as she could pretend it meant little, the truth was that she’d never felt what she did for Torin.

  Alyson glanced at her mistress, seeing a cloud of fury pass over her expression.

  “I wish for my reading to be next. Why is it that you have possessed this skill and never once offered the use of it for my enjoyment? There have been times I would have welcomed the amusement in this dreadfully barren place.” Tulia’s smile was as deadly as her heart. Alyson stood dutifully and knelt before her mistress.

  Tulia’s skin was pale, perfumed with lavender and herbs, and her flesh glimmered with a fine dusting of ground quartz powder. Alyson had treated Tulia’s firm body more than once since her arrival, slathering it with earthen clay masks, followed by massages with precious oils until it glowed with seductive luster. Her nails were trimmed perfectly, polished and well buffed. She wore opulent jewels, blue as a twilight sunset, and several strands of gold braid with a matching stone that lay in the valley between her ample breasts. When she leaned forward, as she had often, for benefit of the males in the room, the jewel would disappear and she would smile as she dug it from its hiding place.

  Beside her, Alyson was aware of every tear, every worn place on her old gown, the dirt caked beneath her nails from cleaning. Determined, however, to maintain her pride, Alyson took Tulia’s hand and studied it. She frowned, spreading her palm wide so as not to mistake what she thought she saw.

  “Ouch, fool!” Tulia’s hand came down hard across Alyson’s cheek, knocking her to the side. Alyson held her hand to her face, not caring that she’d been slapped, and hoping that she would be dismissed in lieu of having to reveal the truth of what she saw.

  “The striking of a servant is not necessary. These are people who have been very good, very loyal to me, Tulia,” the general scolded his niece. Her cold gaze turned to her uncle and the thought to refute him crossed her face as sure as the sun rose. Instead she smiled, and pretended to regain her composure, holding out her palm to Alyson.

  “Please finish.”

  Alyson knew that in the privacy of her quarters, Tulia would be sure to exact her revenge for the reprimand on Alyson’s bare back. In hope of quelling her anger, Alyson took her mistress’s hand and bowed before her. “My apologies, milady. I could not read well the lines in your hand. Your skin is so smooth and supple.” She kept her eyes lowered as she spoke, knowing how it would appeal to Tulia’s superiority over her. “Tell me what I may do to please you, milady.”

  Tulia was silent. “You may finish my reading. I want to hear what the fates say.” She smiled coyly, her gaze flickering to the bevy of handsome men seated around the table, their attention directed solely on her.

  Alyson cleared her throat. Not once in her entire life had she uttered an untruth, but she was about to and she asked the gods not to punish her for doing so. She picked up Tulia’s hand, stroking her palm to first soothe away the tension she sensed. She then laid her palm against her mistress’s, uttering a silent spell—one that would help Tulia to accept her fate when it was her time to do so. “Your journey will not be easy. An obstacle that I cannot determine at this time awaits you and you will have to defeat it in order to continue.”

  Her brows pressed together in frustration and she yanked her hand from Alyso
n. “No, tell me who my future husband will be. What do the fates have to say about that?”

  Alyson shook her head. “My sight does not allow me to see such details. There is no way for me to answer your question.”

  “Then what possible good is there in these trivial readings?” she huffed, her lower lip pouting with a frown.

  Her uncle patted her hand. “When you return to Rome, your mother and father will have dozens of suitors lined up asking for your hand.”

  Tulia’s face blushed as she leaned over and kissed her uncle’s cheek. “You flatter me, uncle, but I suspect you are right. There are any number of fine-looking, well-to-do men in Rome, are there not?” Her gaze skipped over the handsome dinner guests. “Until then, I suppose I will have to make due.” She looked down at Alyson, impatience stamped on her beautiful face. “Is there anything else worth noting?” she demanded.

  “No, milady, your uncle speaks the truth.” True it was if Tulia did make it back to Rome, she would no doubt have several suitors to choose from—the key factor being that she managed to return to Rome. Tulia jerked her hand from Alyson and nodded to dismiss her.

  “And what about my reading?” Torin sat up and held out his palm. “Will you not do my reading as well?”

  There was a glint in his dark eyes, challenging her. Alyson stood to face him, catching her foot on the edge of her gown, sending her toward the floor. He caught her around the waist, his eyes showing his concern as he helped her to her feet. Her face burned with embarrassment. Better to feign weariness than to admit to being clumsy. His hands rested on her hips.

  “My apologies, milord, milady.” Alyson looked at the faces staring at her. “My head is feeling light. I beg to be relieved of my duties, master. At least until I am well enough to return.”