Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
By the gods, his muscle-sculpted body… Sorcha’s mouth went dry. Her heartbeat kicked higher—not to mention the response from the rest of her body. She gazed into his pleading brown-black eyes and sensed her logical intellect submerging in their dark abyss.
Stupid! He’s your prisoner. A Roman. His people killed Arthmael.
Sorcha snapped her mouth closed and shook her head. Then turned on her heel and walked away.
Fast.
Only an idiot would be attracted to a Roman hostage. And that mustn’t be her. She must not allow her inappropriate response to the Roman to hold sway.
Sorcha headed toward Garamaros. “Bring the manacles for Lucius,” she called.
He delved into his wagon for them, then approached her, the chain hanging from his hand. She still could not look this man… her father, in the eye. Instead she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “He needs your help.”
Garamaros’s gaze tracked her gesture to the naked Roman, then sped back to her face with a speculative look before he walked toward Lucius.
She flicked another glance at Lucius’s muscled body.
Muscle honed from a warrior’s life—broad shoulders and solid arms, his chest covered with a sprinkling of dark hair that stopped before a ridged stomach and tapered waist. His skin was a warm color all over, as though he spent a lot of time naked under the burning sun.
Impressive.
Disturbing.
Tempting.
Dangerous.
Sorcha pulled her eyes away from the Roman and hurried toward the clifftop house, wishing she hadn’t given in to temptation to gawk again. The image of him naked was now too clear in her memory.
They were in extreme danger from attack from whoever had killed the Durotriges people here, including her betrothed, who she had found dead inside his roundhouse. His cold body, with shield and sword still clenched in his hands, lay where he’d fallen defending its occupants.
Her stomach had contracted at the sight. Poor Oglach. Multiple wounds slashed and mutilated his muscled body and attested to the number of attackers he had fought. Behind him were the bodies of his family members.
Bile had surged from Sorcha stomach, sending her sprinting outside to empty it onto the ground.
And with that efflux went any hope of retaining a vestige of her planned life.
Nausea rose in her again at the memory. With Oglach’s demise, the security and purpose their marriage had promised had evaporated.
Instead, the future stretched ahead, an inky blackness, like a moonless, starless night. Hollowness invaded not just her body, but also her inner being.
What now?
She sucked in a breath, raised her chin and straightened her spine.
Now she must forge a new path. Should they return to Dun Cam, try to find another refuge, or remain here?
She favored remaining at this distant outpost far from the Roman army, but until they repaired the hillfort, their only hope of survival was fleeing over the cliff onto the beach below.
That would mean carrying very little. And what lay beyond the beach and the terrain they would have to cross was unknown.
This option did little to ease Sorcha’s worry.
It was time to search for an escape route, while there was enough light.
Sorcha scrambled onto the sandstone boulders. Their hard edges bit through the soles of her leather boots. When she had almost climbed to the top, she popped her head up to look over the apex.
Below her, a high cliff stretched down to a rocky beach revealed by the low tide. Gulls wheeled and squawked above. The onshore breeze salted her tongue as she panted from her climb. She welcomed the pungent smell of rotting seaweed to drive the stench of death from her nose.
Sorcha’s gaze swept northeast, to the mouth of a great river that flowed into the sea past the marshy lowlands they had skirted on their journey here.
That empty space segregated the lands of the Durotriges from the Dobunni people to the north.
The water glistened under the rays of the sun that dipped towards the horizon in the west.
She stood at the highest point. Exhilaration surged through her, forcing out the dread that had settled in her from all the worry and death. On a normal day she would want to throw up her arms and shout with wonder and joy.
Not today.
Out of the corner of her eyes, Sorcha saw something move below. She squinted at the spot.
There it was again, a flicker of movement at the bottom of the cliff.
Her body tensed. She strained to catch sight of the movement again.
“What you see?” Lucius’s deep voice rumbled directly behind her.
Sorcha jumped and pressed a hand over her pounding heart. “Something moved.”
“Where?”
His vocabulary is growing if he understands me. Sorcha pointed.
Lucius’s gaze followed the direction of her gesture.
It happened again. A flash of color not of the beach or cliff face. Now there was no mistaking what had caused it—a small child dressed in blue-and-yellow plaid dashed into view on the sand below.
“There! Survivors.” Sorcha clambered on the rock.
Lucius grasped her arm, halting her progress. “Wait!”
Sorcha struggled to disengage his hold on her, but he gripped tighter, pulling her back towards his body. Even with his wrists bound, his strength was formidable.
“I need to find them. We can help them.”
“Durotriges?” His tone didn’t indicate surprise, just suspicion.
“Who else would they be?”
His brow furrowed. “Get Garamaros. Brothers. Weapons.”
Sorcha stopped struggling against his hold. She didn’t want to admit it, but Lucius was right. Instead, she glared at him, jerked her arm free, and headed for the ground. He followed her down.
Sorcha’s feet hit grass, and she hurried to their encampment. Within minutes she returned, accompanied by Garamaros and three of her brothers, all armed. Lucius smiled at the sight of them and his shoulders relaxed.
She refused to be glad that her actions pleased him.
Garamaros spoke with Lucius. Some of what they said was incomprehensible to her, but she was learning… and she definitely understood his gesture for them to ascend the rocks. At the top, Sorcha pointed to the place she had seen movement.
They followed the faint path down the cliff face to the beach below.
Deserted, except for a wide-bottomed boat, of the type used for fishing and trading.
Sorcha looked around hopefully. If there were Durotriges survivors from the attack, she for one would greet them warmly. They could explain what had happened and assist in preparing for any renewed hostility.
Lucius spoke to Garamaros, who nodded in reply. “Spread out and search for anything that might be an entry to a cave,” Garamaros ordered.
Garamaros paced westward with Maonos, Drustan, and Osgaros, while Sorcha headed in the opposite direction, toward the place that seemed to align with the movement she had seen. Lucius hesitated a moment and turned to follow her.
Hah! Did he think she needed his protection?
She scanned the cliff face. Where could they be concealed? There was no overhang under which they could hide. She kept walking.
Lucius whistled through his teeth, a sound that she wouldn’t have heard above the slosh and suck of the sea if he hadn’t been so close behind her. She turned to him. He pointed at a narrow fissure in the cliff face that must fill with water at high tide.
That couldn’t hide anyone. She frowned at him and shook her head, ready to move on.
He took a step towards the place and signaled that she should follow him. She didn’t move. He didn’t stop.
He looked about to push through the gap in the cliff. He wasn’t going in there alone. How would she ever get him out if he decided to make a stand against them?
“No!” Sorcha hurried across the flotsam left by the receding tide, her feet sliding on slippery kelp.
He halted, waiting for her arrival.
“We need the others,” Sorcha said. She turned to find them headed in their direction. She beckoned them closer and pointed to the fissure.
“We need to assure them we are Durotriges and will not harm them. I’ll offer them assistance and ask them to come out. Agreed?”
Garamaros and her brothers nodded. Lucius looked confused until Garamaros translated for him. He indicated that they should all draw their swords.
Sorcha hoped they wouldn’t be needed. Was it only women and children? Or were there men who could assist them in defending the fort?
They armed themselves, and Garamaros dipped his chin to indicate Sorcha should proceed with her plan. She cast her gaze around the group and swallowed past her constricted throat.
So much rode on the outcome of this encounter. They would have extra mouths to feed and protect, or extra fighting men.
Sorcha took a deep breath and stepped up to the fissure. “Greetings! I am Sorcha, daughter of Arthmael, king of the Durotriges. We come in peace. Show yourselves.”
They waited. She gripped her sword and strained to hear an answer above the sounds of the beach. The sun was sinking lower in the sky. Darkness would come soon, and they still had to ascend the cliff path.
“Let us help you,” she called.
“How do I know I can trust you? Is that a Roman with you?” An older man’s wavering voice carried to them. “I heard that the Romans were threatening all the duns on the south coast.”
“You can trust us or die on this deserted beach,” Lucius muttered.
“Shhh!” Sorcha ordered, not understanding his words, just his scathing tone. “You may trust me, old man. I am Sorcha, who was to marry Oglach, your chieftain. We left Mai Dun with my youngest brothers before the Roman siege.”
No answer came back.
“Who attacked the settlement?” she asked.
“The Dumnone. At dawn yesterday.”
As Sorcha feared; their neighbors were the threat. They must tackle that problem once she could convince these survivors to return to the settlement. “What is your name?”
“I am Arawynos.”
“Let us help you,” Sorcha pleaded.
After a long pause came his answer. “Step back. I will come out.”
They shuffled away from the opening. Lucius loitered behind Sorcha’s shoulder. She huffed. She didn’t need his protection.