Chapter 13
Despite the joy of newly understanding each other, they did not couple again for a week. Marcus’ memory might be incomplete, but his body recalled the experience well enough—as did Gwen’s, he knew. So for the first week of May, they used the bed only for sleeping—and the fact that Gwen continued to sleep in his bed when they both knew sex would be postponed a while made Marcus dizzy with affection.
In addition, the sweet kisses in private moments continued, and Marcus even dared to offer the same, no longer held back by the fear of overstepping.
When they did come together again, it was entirely mutual, with no hesitation—and as slow and tantalizing as the ritual night had been rough and wild. They seemed to test each other’s bodies—how softly could they touch, and still elicit pleasure? How slowly could they rock against each other, and still eventually find climax? How long could they bear their own excitement, before they must seek release?
Gwen’s body shook as Marcus sank into him with agonizing patience. Marcus braced over him, filling his senses with Gwen, memorizing every moment, every whisper, every touch. Gwen’s eyes were gentle, and hazy with bliss, and Marcus wanted this forever. He wanted this man and his sweetness and his inner strength and his lovely eyes; he wanted to satisfy him and give him happiness as long as he lived.
He truly was enchanted, and it was bliss.
~•~
With the arrival of summer, the Roman campaigns began anew. Before the end of May, Marcus’ superior arrived in Segontium, leading half a legion toward new battlefronts against the Ordovices. Marcus was busy every day showing their progress in Segontium. He reported on the areas he’d successfully subjugated, the fortifications they’d built, and the state of the Britons’ agriculture and hunting—all vital to the army’s plans. Messages had been inconsistent through the winter, due to the sad excuses for roads here on the edge of the Roman world. His commander had news to give him as well—the conquest of Britannia was continuing, with more successes than setbacks.
And, there was other news.
“I would have liked to bring you for this next move against the Ordovices,” the commander sighed, “or, failing that, I could have kept you here. The progress of Segontium is a credit to your command.”
“You honor me.”
“Caesar does you a much greater honor. You are recalled to Rome.”
Marcus blinked. “Recalled?”
“Yes, recalled.” He spoke as though it were obvious. “You are well-born, and have served a term as legate. You are an obvious candidate for a governorship.”
“My…term as legate has been so short, though.” Governorship? He could be sent anywhere in the Empire for that!
“True. Perhaps your family has sought a favor—or someone seeks their good will by promoting you. I would have promoted you regardless, due to your service. This is simply a different means to the same end.”
Not the same end. Field promotion meant remaining here; a trip back to Rome meant that was by no means guaranteed.
But there was no arguing with Caesar’s summons.
“We’ll need you here for the next month. Claudius will require a number of details from you as he prepares the next phase for control of this region. But we will be sure to send you home before this barbaric land begins to turn cold again.”
Home.
He was…to be envied, Marcus realized, distantly. He was highly favored. He would see civilized lands again, and his family, and his…wife. He might never again set foot on this distant, heathen shore.
I must speak with him.
~•~
Entertaining the visiting centurions kept him late every night, and this night was no exception. Anwen and Tacita were abed. The first night, Gwen had waited up for him so that someone should be awake to attend him upon his return. But Marcus hated to treat Gwen like a servant and insisted that he not wait up. So tonight, Gwen was asleep in their—their—bed when he arrived.
He tried to be quiet, but he’d found Gwen often slept lightly…when Marcus had not exhausted him first. He heard Gwen’s breathing change as he entered the room, and when Marcus slipped into bed, Gwen shifted toward him. An arm groping blindly in the dark somehow easily found his chest and pulled him close. He murmured something in his tongue—“Cariad. Yno rydych chi.” Then he sighed. Marcus sank down beside him and wrapped his arms around him and hesitated. He felt almost ill, desperate to talk to Gwen, but he didn’t wish to wake him so late. He should try to wait for morning…
Gwen drew in a slow breath and released it with an inquisitive sound. His hand stroked over Marcus’ bare chest. “Beth sy’n bod?” he mumbled, then lifted his head. Marcus felt his hand move downward. Without any hesitation, Gwen touched his cock, but then he stilled. His voice, still a little sleepy, asked, “Not happy?” as his hand moved back up. This time, he touched Marcus’ neck, pressing into the pulse as if checking. Then the touch gentled. Gwen pushed himself up. “Marcus, is fear?”
He sat up as well. He could barely see Gwen by the light of the fire’s embers. “No, I…no danger, Gwen. We are safe.”
Gwen yawned. “Marcus think much? Blood beat fast, but not for sex.”
“I…need to speak with you.” He might as well admit it now. Gwen was already awake.
A hum, and a barely seen nod, and Gwen rose to go stir the fire. Marcus watched his silhouette with a terrible yearning. Gwen wore nothing to bed, but he seemed better able to tolerate the chill than Marcus. The spring days were warmer, but the nights were still cool, and Marcus brought a heavy blanket with him as he rose from the bed.
As Gwen stood from the fire, Marcus wrapped his arms and the blanket around him and pulled him close. Gwen’s skin against the front of his body calmed him, a little—the intimate touch that had become natural between them, even without the intent to couple. Gwen touched his arm where it crossed his chest. “What is talk, Marcus?”
He drew in a deep breath and spoke, slowly, eyes on the fire, mouth just above Gwen’s ear. “Gwen…I am…summoned to go back to Rome. I have…orders to return to Rome, and after that…in future…I do not know where I will go.” He pulled Gwen around to face him, feeling terribly unsteady without Gwen’s gaze to strengthen him. The blue eyes met his—patient. Listening. “Gwen…I ask…I want you to go with me. To Rome. To, to stay with me.”
With a sigh, Gwen shut his eyes for a moment. He seemed…strangely calm. “Marcus go to Rome…must?”
“Yes. Must. Gwen…come with me?”
Blue eyes opened upon him again. “Gwen stay here, Britannia. Must. I not go to Rome.”
His stomach churned with ice. “But…why?” He tried to keep his hands steady on Gwen’s shoulders. “You do not want to go?”
Sad eyes, a hand on his face. “What Gwen want not important, Marcus.”
“No, it is!” he insisted. “What you want is very important to me.”
But Gwen shook his head. “Understand important to Marcus. My thanks. But Gwen not leave Britannia. Want not matter. I am druid. Gods here. Other gods in Rome, not of Gwen. Druid must stay in land of gods.”
Marcus’ throat felt tight. “Gwen…after I go, I may never return here.”
A nod. “Obey orders.”
“Yes.” His grip tightened, just a little. “Gwen, if you will not go with me, I may never see you again.”
For a long moment, Gwen’s eyes searched his face. Then, “Marcus is sad.”
He swallowed, trying to find his voice. “Yes.” How can I not be, if you leave me? When I love you enough to even consider…
For a moment, he thought Gwen would ask. His gaze was searching, his eyes were filled with thought, and Marcus knew how clever this man could be. He might have an answer, a way they could vanish together into the wild lands…
“Marcus…must go?”
Oh, how he wanted to say no.
But then what? What would he do for the rest of his life? And what could he offer Gwen? He’d be entirely dependent on Gwen to find them some place beyond the reach of the Empire, and then what? Hope the people there would welcome a druid and the strange, foreign-looking man with him who couldn’t speak a word they understood? Marcus was useless as a farmer; his skill in hunting wasn’t anything remarkable either. He was a Roman soldier, a centurion. A commander of armies.
And he was in love with a druid, and now he could no longer have both.
He shut his eyes. His voice was but a whisper. “Yes. Must go.”
He felt Gwen lean into his arms and opened his eyes, but Gwen had pressed close, and Marcus could not see his face. He felt his breath against his collarbone, Gwen’s head on his shoulder. “I am…sad.” And it rang clear in his voice—genuine sorrow. “I understand. But…sad.”
Only then did it begin to become real to him.
Gods…I’m leaving him here. This is the end. If the Empire chooses any other post for me—and there were thousands, all across the known world—I really will never see him again.
He held Gwen tighter. “I…I promise to…make certain you are safe here, after I go.” He tried to focus. Claudius has his own valet—Gwen wouldn’t be wanted as a personal servant. He could recommend Claudius keep Gwen in his post as steward to the legate. Someone who could be consulted, an intermediary with the Britons. Then again… What if they discover what he is? Perhaps he should secret Gwen away among the people. Far away from the Roman rulers, who would execute him if they happened to discover what he was. “Anwen too,” he added. “I will…find some safe place for you both. No one will hurt you after I…” Am gone. He felt sick.
Suddenly, Gwen hugged him tight. Then he leaned back and looked up into Marcus’ eyes. His hands braced on Marcus’ neck, and Gwen held him firmly, and just as firmly spoke. “Marcus is good. Gwen understand. No fear, Marcus. Gwen and Anwen safe.” Then he gentled, slightly. “Marcus is strong. Strong to fight, strong over fear—strong over sadness. Will be favor of army with Marcus. Will be joy in work. Will be after sadness, many years good. Marcus obey gods of Romans, will be much favor.” His blue eyes were clear and peaceful again, and Marcus felt like he was breathing in the certainty Gwen carried. “Marcus—go to Rome.” The last was softly spoken, yet with no tremor in voice or hands. And Marcus realized his own tension had eased.
This is why I love you so.
He wanted to say it, clearly. He didn’t know if Gwen had learned the word love, but if he was clear enough, one question to Tacita tomorrow and he would know.
And then Marcus would be gone, leaving Gwen with a useless confession—the feelings of a man who would no longer be a part of his life.
So instead, he said only, “My thanks,” a whisper with deep feeling. He had no words sufficient to convey how precious Gwen was to him. “Gwyn-chlee-yew…”
A surprised smile broke over Gwen’s face. “Gwynllyw,” he corrected gently.
“Gwynchleeyw.”
Merriment sparkled in Gwen’s eyes. “Marcus is better. Improve.”
He thought of when they met, how Gwen couldn’t speak a single word of Latin, how the exchange of names was the first thing to pass between them. Now Gwen could communicate in Latin, and Marcus still couldn’t properly say Gwen’s name.
“I’ll get it right someday,” he promised, and Gwen just nodded, smiling fondly.
~•~
“And this is…Gwenelyew, my valet, who also serves me as a steward. He has proven to be an invaluable asset in dealing with the Britons.”
Claudius barely glanced at him as Gwen bowed. “Indeed. I have a steward. And the scholars speak the barbarian tongue well enough.”
“True,” Marcus offered, “but the barbarians see our scholars as agents of oppression. It has been helpful, in my governing, to have someone they perceive as an ally functioning in an intermediary capacity. He seems to have a talent for diplomacy.”
This earned a slightly more considering glance. “Diplomacy? One of these creatures? Where did you find him?”
Marcus tried not to seem evasive. “He’s from Deceangli lands, one of many captives. He was an outsider here at first, but as he served me he also seemed to gain favor with the Britons here. He has been instrumental in keeping the people here from attempting any revolt.”
The commander added his voice to comment, “Segontium is our most successfully established fortress, so far. Whatever has brought you success here should not be wasted.”
Claudius nodded. “As you say, sir. I will consider keeping the…native man for consultation.”
~•~
Gwen’s fingernails bit into his back, leaving long scratches as Marcus pulled him up off the bed, driving deeper into his body. Gwen shuddered on his prick, muffling his moans against Marcus’ shoulder. More thrusting, and he felt teeth on the hard curve of muscle. He tried to slow down, but Gwen was writhing to take him to the root, and their skin slapped together wetly, a mess of sweat and fluids.
When Gwen’s grasp slipped down to Marcus’ buttocks, he lost all hope of curbing his pace, of making this last. Gwen gripped him tight, pulling him in hard, and Marcus thrust and thrust and then came, emptying himself deep inside Gwen.
The lightest stroke brought Gwen off right after him, semen scattering over both their stomachs.
“Gwynellyew…Gwynellyew…”
“Gwynllyw”—murmured vacantly, hands stroking over his body. Lips lifted to touch his mouth, panting, kissing, whispering, “Marcus.”
~•~
“This house,” Marcus ordered. The Roman taskmaster and the Briton builder looked on, obedient, not particularly interested. Just doing their jobs. “Have it finished within the week.”
The Briton spoke through a translator. “He says, sire, it can be under a roof with solid doors in that time, but outfitting will be nearly naught. The materials are simply not available this month to…”
Marcus sighed and waved him to silence. “Tell him to do the best he can. The occupant can handle some of the details himself, in time. I want it livable immediately, however.”
“Aye, sir.”
It was a small house—one of many being built to accommodate the Romans and their staff. It was close to the central hall, but discreetly away from the street. Probably the reason it hadn’t been finished yet.
It only had one room, but there was little he could do about that. He had stated that he needed a house for a minor government official and his “sister.” No matter. He wouldn’t be here to share this home with Gwen, so he wouldn’t need a private room anymore. And family always shared living space—Marcus would trust that the bond between Gwen and Anwen would remain fatherly.
Although… If I am never to return, he might as well marry her. His jealousy should have no bearing on Gwen’s happiness from the other side of the world.
~•~
Fingers combed roughly through his hair, then tightened into two fists. The light sting across his scalp made Marcus moan. The moan reverberated through Gwen’s prick and made him gasp, bucking up eagerly into Marcus’ mouth.
He didn’t care. Marcus was nearly suffocating himself on Gwen’s shaft, fisting his own cock in fitful bursts in between touching every inch of Gwen that he could reach. Eventually he stopped even tending to himself; he just rutted his hips against the furs on the bed and let his hands adore Gwen’s chest, stomach, thighs, buttocks. He fondled his testes and his pale nipples, and when Gwen’s hands smoothed down over his face and cradled his cheeks, Marcus bobbed his head even faster, closing his eyes and drowning in the taste of Gwen and trying to pretend he didn’t know Gwen was looking at him with such tenderness and desire.
When Gwen spilled his seed, Marcus swallowed every drop, shakily pulling himself to his own climax and groaning through it. Then Gwen’s body went soft, and Marcus buried his face against Gwen’s stomach, panting…
Eyes squeezed shut, shut, locking the stinging away.
He kissed sweaty skin, and soothing fingers ran through his hair, and Gwen was murmuring in his strange tongue. Once, Marcus had thought the language sounded threatening; now, the idea of never again hearing Gwen’s speech, with its cadences and its throaty depth…
“Gwynellyw.”
He got a breathless chuckle for a response. Still not right, then. Marcus looked up, caught Gwen’s hand, and pulled it to his lips. “Say it for me. Your name. Say it again.”
“Gwynllyw. Gwynllyw. Gwynllyw.” Marcus breathed the name along with him, mouth pressed to his palm. Gwen’s smile faded. “Gwynllyw, Gwynllyw…” He swallowed, and his blue eyes suddenly seemed watery, his fingers tracing Marcus’ features—the bridge of his nose. He whispered, “Marcus.”
And Marcus squeezed his eyes shut and kissed his way back down Gwen’s body.
~•~
The night before Marcus left, they coupled until they could no longer become erect for it, and then they kissed and held each other until they did not so much fall asleep as lose consciousness.
And never had Marcus woken to such a black dawn.
He was to travel with the legion southward, and then lead a smaller unit to the east to join a campaign that needed some reinforcement. When he reached the southern shore, he’d cross back into Gaul and travel more traditionally on Roman roads through Roman lands. He had to rise and begin this journey, but his heart ached and his arms would not release his druid.
Gwen kissed him and murmured, “Marcus will be safe. Journey safe.” He didn’t know if it was a blessing, an admonition, or a reassurance. And he knew he shouldn’t, but Marcus couldn’t stop himself from asking.
“Gwen… Gwynellyew. Must stay?”
Gwen pressed his face into Marcus’ chest and didn’t respond. Marcus supposed that was fair enough. He’d already given his answer.
“Be careful of the Romans, Gwen,” he said. “Do not trust Claudius. Do not trust anyone. Let them rely on you, need your advice, but do not give them any reason to wonder about you.”
“I understand.”
“And be careful of the Britons,” he added. “They are simple people. They could betray you in a weak moment. Do not give them your trust simply because they look up to you.”
“I understand, Marcus. Druid is secret. Gwen will be safe, will be keep Anwen safe.”
I don’t care about the girl, he thought, and then chastised himself for such cruelty. Of course Anwen mattered—Gwen cared for her. Marcus should be glad that Gwen would not be all alone, without any allies. And if he married her, he would have a loyal companion from whom he would not be forced to keep such a great secret.
Marcus nearly spoke of it—his better side told him that he should give Gwen and Anwen his blessing, in this parting. It would be nobler to think of their happiness above his own jealousy. But his better side was not very strong today, it seemed, and Marcus did not want to hear what Gwen would answer. He did not think he could bear any confirmation that Gwen would marry once he was gone.
So he held silent on the subject, and buried his pain, and dressed in full armor, and kissed Gwen one last time behind the closed bedroom door, and tried one last time to say his name. And Gwen smiled, but Marcus thought it was only because he didn’t want to say that he still had it wrong.
And then Marcus rode out with the army under the warm summer sun, and he did not let himself look back.