A leather flask hung at his side. He pulled the strap over his head and held it out to me. “It is only wine, but it may warm you—”
I managed a smile, and turned to rummage in my saddlebags. “And I have here a little bread and cheese and dried fruit that my sisters packed for me.”
“Then we will feast.” Constantius seated himself on the other side of the fire and smiled.
It transformed his face, and I felt a rush of heat that seared my flesh like fire. Wordless, I held out the loaf of bread, and he took it from my hand. I had heard once that in the hill country, to share a meal, a fire and a bed made a marriage. We had the first two already, and for the first time in my life I felt the temptation to deny my vows.
When my fingers brushed his, he had trembled. My extended senses knew that at a level below thought, he was responding to my nearness. My Druid escorts were outside somewhere. They would not disturb us unless I screamed. It would take very little, a step in the Roman’s direction, a shiver as if I was cold and needed his arms to warm me. A man and a woman, alone together—our bodies would do the rest without direction.
But what of our souls?
To come to him without honour would destroy that other thing, sweeter even than the desire that heated my body: the potential that I sensed between us. And so, although I felt like a starving woman pushing food away, I edged back, drawing ugliness around me like a tattered cloak, the reverse of the glamour a priestess knows how to wear.
Constantius shook his head a little, cast a frowning glance at me and looked away. “Do you live nearby?” he asked politely.
“I dwell with my sisters on the edge of the marshes,” I answered truthfully, “near the isle where the Christian monks have their sanctuary.”
“The isle of Inis Witrin? I have heard of it—”
“We can come to my home tomorrow before the sun is high,” I said. “I would be grateful for your escort—”
“Of course. The men who oversee my family’s holdings would rather I had never come here—they will not care if I miss a day or more,” he added bitterly.
“How did you come to riding the back roads of Britannia? You seem a man of authority,” I asked with real curiosity.
“Not to mention family connections.” There was an edge to the bitterness now. “My grandmother was sister to the Emperor Claudius. I wanted to make my own way by ability, not patronage. But since my great-uncle tried to seize the Imperium, and failed, I will settle for simply staying alive. The new Emperor has good reason to distrust men of my family.”
He shrugged and took a pull from the wineskin. “My mother’s family has investments here in Britannia—an import company in Eburacum, and an interest in the lead mines, and it seemed a good time to send an agent to check on them. At the moment, the Gallic Empire is safer for me than Rome.”
“But will not Tetricus and… what is his name, Marius, consider you a danger?”
Constantius shook his head and laughed. “It is Victorina Augusta who really rules. They call her the Mother of the Camps, you know, but she has little attention to spare for Britannia. So long as she gets a share of the profits, they will leave me alone. Emperors may come and go, but business makes the world go round!”
“You do not sound very happy about it,” I observed. “I would not have guessed you for a merchant.”
For a moment that grey gaze held my own. “And what did you think I was?”
“An army man,” I answered, for thus, in vision I had seen him.
“Until a few months ago that was so.” His face darkened. “I was born at an army post in Dacia. It is all I know, all I ever wanted to be.”
“Are you so eager for battle?” I asked curiously. He did not seem bloodthirsty, but how could I know?