Deep Magic (26 page)

Heart heavy, he carried the young mother’s slight body through the maze of carts. She weighed next to nothing. Malnourished and still ill from the delivery of her child, she’d lapsed into unconsciousness soon after Marcus had bought her, as if she’d been waiting for a safe haven in which to close her eyes.

Her chestnut hair was tinged with auburn, but her tiny son’s hair was as dark as Marcus’s own. “It’s a miracle she lived through the birthing,” he muttered to Lucius.

“Yes.” Lucius peered down at the bundle in his arms. “Though this babe is so thin and quiet, I wonder if he will survive.”

Marcus had wondered the same thing. Perhaps he should have passed over these two wretched souls in favor of two who might have lived. But when he’d seen the woman’s eyes—a vivid green, filled with lost hope—he’d not been able to pass her by.

He turned up the aisle leading to their cart. Breena was already seated in the vehicle while Gwen paced between the rows. When she saw him, she halted. Her eyes were haunted. He thought he knew why. Governor Julius Severus had arrived unexpectedly from Londinium two days before. The market was abuzz with gossip; Severus had not been pleased to find Legate Strabo away from the fortress. Swift riders were sent to summon him, and the legate had just ridden into town. Had Gwen seen him? Marcus thought she must have.

But if Gwen meant to speak of Strabo, her intention abruptly changed when she saw the woman in his arms. “Oh, Marcus! She is so ill!”

“I’m not sure she will live.”

Gwen touched the woman’s flushed cheek. “She’s hot.”

“Childbed fever, no doubt.” He nodded toward his father.

Gwen’s gaze shot to Lucius, her eyes widening as she realized what he held. “Her babe lives?”

“Yes. The slaver knew how much I wanted them, and raised his price accordingly.” He grimaced. “No one but me would have made such a poor bargain.”

“I’m very glad that ye did,” Gwen said softly. Her eyes did not waver from the babe. She lifted the infant from Lucius’s arms, drawing back the swaddling rags from his face.

The child was strangely silent. His eyes were the same vivid green as his mother’s. Gwen gazed down at the babe, and at the mother, and for a long time said nothing. Then she lifted her head.

“The Great Mother must have led ye to this child,” she said in a low voice. “His aura is very strong. He is touched by magic. As is his mother.”

Marcus exhaled. More magic. He could not seem to get away from it.

That evening, Gwen helped Breena settle the ailing mother in a small servants’ hut that often served as an infirmary. The woman regained consciousness briefly, moaning for her son. Gwen eased the baby into his mother’s arms, but the woman held the infant only long enough to press a kiss to his brow.

The babe did not utter a sound. His mother’s hand fell from his bottom, and Gwen caught the child before he wriggled to the ground. She handed the tiny lad to one of the female field workers, who had offered to put the child to breast with her own infant.

Breena bathed the woman’s face with a damp cloth. Rhiannon had brewed a potion of willow bark, but Lucius had forbidden her to visit the sickroom. Rhiannon acceded to her husband’s order grudgingly.

Gwen watched Breena and Mab tend the unconscious woman. Rhiannon’s draught had done the patient some good; her fever no longer raged so hot, and her slumber was peaceful.

“I think she will live,” Breena told Gwen.

“I hope ye are right,” Gwen replied. The woman showed signs of having been beaten, but her aura was strong and steady. Green, the color of the earth. The babe’s aura held all the colors of the rainbow, as was often the case with children. It was impossible to know what his talent would be. But it would be strong, of that much Gwen was certain.

“You look ready to drop,” Breena told Gwen. “You had a fright, encountering Legate Strabo in the road as you did. Go to bed. Alma will look after the woman during the night. I doubt she’ll awaken, in any case.”

Gwen
was
sorely fatigued, but she knew she would not rest tonight. She and Marcus had to complete Exchalybur. By this time tomorrow, she meant to be well on her way to Avalon.

She nodded and slipped out the door. As she walked up the orchard path to the main house, voices drifted toward her, and Gwen’s steps slowed. Rhiannon and Marcus stood on the rear terrace of the farmhouse, talking and looking out over the herb garden. As Gwen neared, Rhiannon reached up and touched her stepson’s jaw.

“Ye have sore need of a razor, Marcus.”

“And
you
have need of rest. I don’t want my new brother or sister coming early, as Breena did.”

Rhiannon’s hand went to her stomach. “Dinna worry. I am tired, aye, but the babe is fine.”

“You shouldn’t take chances.”

“Nor will I. But I am not as frail as your father seems to think, despite my age. Lucius will gain another son, and you will get a brother.”

Marcus grinned. “It’s a boy, then? Are you sure?”

“Aye, I believe so.”

A note of humor crept into Marcus’s voice. “Father will be happy for a second chance at a son who loves philosophy and rhetoric.”

Rhiannon chuckled. “Lucius already has a daughter so enamored. And a son who is a fine artist and a sensitive soul. Whatever this new babe’s inclinations, your father will accept them without murmur.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Marcus’s arm went around Rhiannon’s shoulders. He placed a kiss on top of her head. Marcus’s love for his stepmother was palpable, as was Rhiannon’s love for the son she had not birthed. Gwen found herself blinking back tears.

“Thank ye for being who ye are, Marcus,” Rhiannon said. “And for saving that woman and her babe.”

“I could hardly leave them to die.” He paused. “Gwen says they are touched by magic.”

“Truly?” Rhiannon sighed. “Then they will go to Avalon, no doubt.”

“If Avalon is safe, yes. If not …” He sighed and turned to the darkness of the gardens, leaning his forearm on the stone railing.

Rhiannon touched his arm. “Do not worry so. The Druids’ Light is strong. They will prevail.”

“I wish I had your faith. But I—”

Marcus’s words went unsaid as Lucius emerged from the house with swift steps.

“Rhiannon. What are you doing out here? You should be off your feet.”

Rhiannon smiled and stepped toward her husband. “I am coming, Lucius. There is no need to scold.”

Lucius fitted Rhiannon to his side, his arm curved about her shoulders. “I will not have you taxing yourself,” he admonished as he escorted her down the path to the house. “You will come to bed now, and stay there until morning.”

“Aye?” Rhiannon laughed and drew her husband’s head down to whisper in his ear.

“Yes, certainly, if that’s what it takes to keep you there,” Lucius said with a grin much like the one Marcus gave Gwen just before he kissed her. Gwen dashed a tear from her eye as the couple disappeared into the house.

Marcus shifted his stance and looked directly at Gwen. “Hiding in the shadows?”

With a wry smile, Gwen moved into the moonlight. “I did not wish to intrude on your talk with Rhiannon.”

“Eavesdropping is not intruding, I suppose,” Marcus said mildly. He held out his hand. Gwen went to him readily. He enfolded her in his arms. His kiss was tender and unhurried, as if he’d been kissing her that way for years and would continue for years to come. The casual familiarity of it stole her breath, and once again, Gwen found herself fighting back tears.

She felt Marcus’s gaze on her as she blinked them away. “We are so close to the house. Someone might see—”

“I do not care. I’m not ashamed of wanting you.”

But she was ashamed of wanting
him.
Because of Avalon. Because of Trevor. She didn’t say it, but the unspoken words hung in the air between them. Marcus’s hand had been on her waist; now it fell away.

She cleared her throat. “Rhiannon is not too weary?”

“Father will see that she rests.” He descended the terrace steps, taking the path that led to the smithy. Gwen fell into step beside him.

“ ’Tis fortunate you found the slave woman before it was too late. So many women die bearing children.”

“Rhiannon’s mother did, when Owein was born,” Marcus said. “My own mother as well. The child died with her.”

“I did not know that. How old were you?”

“Nine years. I came to Britain with my father soon after.”

“Was your mother very different from Rhiannon?” Gwen asked.

“As day is from night. Mother loved new clothes and parties. She and I lived in Rome, and we hardly ever left the city. She never accompanied Father to any of his posts.” He paused. “The child she died giving birth to was not his.”

“Truly?” Gwen was stunned. “I cannot believe it! No sane woman would reject Lucius for another man.”

“Apparently, Mother did not find it difficult, as Father was rarely home. Even when he was, they didn’t deal well together. But that is hardly surprising, I suppose, given the fact that they did not choose each other. Their marriage was contracted by their parents.”

He sent her a meaningful glance—one she chose to ignore. They walked on for a moment in silence, and then Gwen asked, “Did you know your mother had taken a lover?”

“That’s an odd question.”

“I’m sorry. Perhaps I should not have asked—”

“I don’t mind telling you,” Marcus interrupted. “The truth is, I didn’t know.” He gave a rueful laugh. “I was a rather thickheaded child, and whoever the man was, he did not visit our house. I thought the babe was Father’s, even though he’d been away for more than a year when the infant came.”

“Ye jest.”

Marcus snorted. “I’m sorry to tell you that I do not. Even at the advanced age of nine, I knew little about carnal relations.” He touched her, his hand coming to rest on her lower back as he guided her over a protruding root on the path.

“My mother—her name was Tamar—she also had a lover.” The words tumbled from Gwen’s lips before she’d even realized she’d said them. She stopped on the path, aghast. She’d never spoken of it since Mama’s death. Not even with Rhys.

Marcus’s astonishment was evident. “And you knew this? But you were only seven years old.”

“Rhys and I … we saw Mama … coupling with the man. At night. She left our hut when she thought everyone was asleep. Rhys and I followed her to a hidden spot near the river.”

Marcus let out an oath. “Who was he?”

“A Roman soldier. A centurion. We’d seen him before, at Mama’s market stall.”

“Did they know you’d seen them?”

“No. We snuck away immediately. By the time Mama returned to our hut, we were under our blankets, feigning sleep. But I think … I think my father knew. They argued often, and sometimes … sometimes he beat her. She had bruises the day after Rhys and I saw her lying with the soldier. The very next day, Uncle Padrig found Father dead.”

“The centurion killed him?”

“We suspected he did, but we never knew for certain. Not long after, the centurion’s anger turned toward Mama. He killed her.”

“Why?”

“I think he must have asked her to run away with him, and she would not. At least, that is what Rhys and I heard Mared tell Padrig. Grandfather gave no explanation at all, and Rhys and I knew better than to ask. We buried Mama and left Isca the same day.”

“You went to Avalon.”

“Aye. And none of them—Cyric, Padrig, or Mared—ever spoke of Mama’s death again, except to say that the Lady teaches us to forgive those who wrong us.”

They’d arrived at the smithy door. “These memories aren’t the only thing bothering you tonight,” Marcus said. “Rhiannon told me of your encounter with Strabo—”

An icy finger moved down Gwen’s spine. “He recognized me.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “The sooner I leave here, the better. If we work through the night, the sword will be completed by morning. I’ll leave then. Strabo’s return to Isca may prove to be a boon. I will be able to set new protections around Avalon while the governor distracts him here.”

“And once the sacred isle is safely hidden, will you marry the man your grandfather has chosen for you?”

She drew a breath. “Aye. I will marry Trevor. He is a good man. He says he loves me.”

“He could not love you half as much as I,” Marcus said, causing Gwen’s heart to lurch. He had never before offered such blunt words of love. “And you do not love him. Will you go from my bed to his? Will you tell him to whom you gave your maidenhood?” His tone turned bitter. “Or will you lie and say that you are untouched?”

She winced. “Do not make this harder for me than it already is, Marcus. If I were free, I would stay here with you gladly. But I am not. ’Tis my duty to become Guardian of Avalon. To marry as Cyric asks. Even if it were not, there is the wolf—”

“I am not afraid of the wolf. And I do not care for your grandfather’s machinations.” He all but kicked open the smithy door. “I’ll take you to Avalon, Gwen. When we get there, I want you to give Exchalybur to Rhys and return home with me.”

“Marcus, ye cannot accompany me to Avalon! A Roman with no magic is not welcome—”

“I am well aware of that,” he said grimly, “but I’ll see you safely there, regardless. I mean to make you understand you need not sacrifice your life to an old man’s whims. Clara and Owein will ensure the Lady’s line remains unbroken. Rhys will become Avalon’s Guardian, and wield Exchalybur in its defense.”

Gwen swallowed. She could hardly tell Marcus Rhys would not touch Exchalybur once he realized Deep Magic lived at its core. “I cannot do that, Marcus. There is … more to this than ye know.”

He dragged a hand over his hair, making the ends stick up. “What is it, then? Tell me and I’ll find a way around it. I don’t want to be without you, Gwen. I love you.”

Her chest squeezed so tightly, her next breath caused a streak of pain. “Do not ask me to explain, Marcus. Just trust me when I say I cannot leave the protection of Avalon to Rhys.”

He studied her for a long time, his eyes shadowed by night and emotion. “I will not accept that, Gwen.”

She did not answer.

At last he sighed and entered the smithy. “I’ll complete my work on the sword before morning,” he said as he lit the lamps. “But this discussion isn’t over, Gwen. Not at all.”