Chapter 14
Marcus spent two full years in Rome. With the months spent in travel and the delays of seasons, it was two months shy of three full years before he saw the walls of Segontium again.
He went home. He saw his family. He met his daughter, who had been born after he left, and also met the boy his baby son had become. His son talked incessantly and reminded him of Tacita, and he missed his disorganized little household in the cold, uncivilized north.
His service was honored upon his return, and he quickly saw a chance, should he pursue it, to become a senator and remain in Rome. His wife clearly hoped he would, but she also knew him well enough that she was not surprised by his lack of interest in such a position. She was disappointed, but Marcus saw to it that she was pregnant again as soon as he could manage it—within a few months of his return—and that eased her disappointment. And Marcus tried and tried to take pleasure in his soft and lovely wife, as he once had, but he ached for a lean and sturdy body under him instead, and for a deep voice and the scratch of a beard and the strange sounds of unknown words gasped in pleasure…
Soon, his wife learned that he was seeking an appointment to a governorship in Britannia, and that was not a matter another child could compensate for. She had faith that Marcus could secure a governorship, but she clearly wished it to be much closer to civilization. She expected to go with him this time, and she did not like the prospect of the wild lands on the edge of the world.
After their second son was born, they discussed the matter. It was decided that as long as Marcus might possibly take such a posting, they would not have more children, because his wife would prefer to remain in Rome. Such a divorce was not uncommon or necessarily undesirable, but she would naturally remarry, and it would be meaningless to create more heirs to a marriage if it were soon destined to end.
So Marcus quit his wife’s bed, and he never returned there. He assumed she had a lover; she probably expected him to take one as well. He could have—there was an acrobat who performed at several banquets he attended, a particularly beautiful young man who seemed very keen on being taken in by a well-born patron. But Marcus could not summon much desire for him, even after a year in Rome, and he remained alone with his memories of Gwen.
And he tried not to wonder if Gwen was married yet, or if he ever thought of Marcus, or missed him at all.
A governorship was not easy to obtain—an undesirable one was easier, but such a specific posting made the matter delicate again. Still, in time word came that Segontium was plagued with more problems than it had been under Marcus’ short term, and the area was facing dangerous renewed aggression from the Ordovices as they sought to retake their land. The position seemed ripe for a change of leadership.
There were politics to play, however. Marcus noted the divorce of a certain well-connected senator, who had some troubles with his wife’s family. As a man, he was still in his prime; as a senator, he was well-off and respected. Marcus began to invite him frequently to his home for banquets and entertainment, and he let his wife’s charm and beauty do the rest. He made certain they were alone often enough, and in the end he didn’t even have to mention that he and his wife had plans to separate—if he should be posted in Britannia. The senator took an unexplained interest in his career, and thanks to his many powerful connections, Marcus finally gained the governorship and was sent back to Britannia. He and his wife separated amicably—she, already openly preparing her marriage to their senator friend—and Marcus bid his family farewell.
Not even parting from his parents and siblings and children could sadden him, however. He’d spent every day and night longing for that far-off, wild land…and the man he desperately wanted to see again. The warm sun of his homeland didn’t reach his heart; the beauty of the sea paled in comparison to Gwen’s eyes; and the comforts and entertainments of civilization no longer pleased him. Every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the scent of wood smoke and peat, and sweat and animal hides through the long winter nights.
It was late winter when he made for the north again, chasing the rising of spring. But the season mired the roads the further north he went, and he was forced to lengthen his journey with frequent stops and detours. He had a letter from Segontium while he was stuck in Gaul thanks to a late snow—apparently a much-delayed letter congratulating him on his appointment and declaring that Segontium anticipated the arrival of her new governor. It was signed by Claudius, with the addendum, “Gaius Laelius sends his greetings.” Several other names were mentioned, most of whom Marcus recognized, but not all of them, and not this Gaius Laelius.
He wrote a response, but considering the weather and the state of Britannia in general, there was no way to know if the letter would arrive ahead of Marcus or after him.
In May, he crossed the channel and reached Britannia’s shores, but it took another month to travel through the unstable western regions of the island.
Then—there it was. Larger than he remembered, and prettier, with the colors of early summer all around. Marcus was traveling with a unit escorting goods to the fortress, and they had sent word ahead of the governor’s arrival. The city’s leadership gathered at the gate, dressed formally to welcome him.
Marcus had not even dismounted his horse when his sweeping gaze caught sight of him.
He wasn’t certain, for a moment—in looks, it was not the Gwen he remembered. But somehow, Marcus recognized him and knew. He stood further back in the gathering, and he was not the only fair-skinned person present—the only one in a toga, perhaps, signifying some level of rank. Marcus wanted to run to him and embrace him like a foolish boy.
Instead, he saluted Claudius, who welcomed him to Segontium and began to present the other leading Romans to their new governor. Marcus went mechanically through the greetings. He felt as though his head was full of gossamer, his stomach full of ice, his heart racing with hope, his mind trying to strike down those hopes in preparation for disappointment. And then Claudius waved toward Gwen, who stepped forward and bowed.
“And I think you know Gaius Laelius; he was originally a member of your staff, if I am not mistaken. And this centurion…”
Blue eyes met his, only for a moment, and the smile in them banished all Marcus’ fears.
He tried to attend to the rest of the introductions, but his gaze kept skipping back toward Gwen. It was terribly difficult not to grin like a madman. He was there, just there, so close! He looked entirely different, and still entirely beautiful to Marcus. His hair was cropped short and his face shaved, in Roman style. He looked graceful and strong in the toga, as Marcus had always thought he would. He cut a very suitable Roman figure, though he stood out with his blond hair and blue eyes and fair skin—exotic, indeed. Marcus didn’t even wonder if Gwen had suitors; there was no doubt of it. He would have felt violently jealous over the idea, but…
Blue eyes smiling.
There was no need to fear, no cause to be jealous. There was only the unbearable wait, the nonsense he had to tolerate before he could speak to Gwen alone.
~•~
Marcus had a rather grand house all prepared for his arrival, and personal staff befitting the governor—who was the arm of Caesar for this province. Claudius left him there to rest for a few hours and refresh himself before the feast that night. His servants had a bath prepared to wash the mud of the roads away, and a toga to change into. They stood ready to help him out of his armor, with early summer fruit and wine to refresh him.
And Marcus sent them all away, too distracted to even notice their baffled expressions.
He paced, and he waited, and he prayed to any god listening that Gwen would come to him, for he didn’t know where to go to find Gwen, and he didn’t think he could endure the wait another hour.
The door opened—without a knock—and Marcus turned, already beaming. No one else would dare enter uninvited.
Gwen dropped the bolt behind him and met Marcus’ embrace without hesitation. They clasped each other close in a breathless kiss, and when they broke apart Marcus gasped, “Gwynllyw!”
Gwen’s smile broke into open laughter. “Triumph at last!” he declared, his deep voice the most beautiful music to Marcus’ ears, his words still touched with an accent. “How, in Rome, do you improve so?”
“By saying it every night and morning, and hearing it in every dream.” Then he kissed Gwen again, passionately, and just as passionately was kissed in return.
It was many minutes before they paused long enough to speak again.
“I did learn better the use of razors,” Gwen stated, looking a little sheepish. Marcus brushed his smooth jaw and kissed his cheek.
“And Latin,” he agreed. “You speak it well, now.”
Gwen hummed. “That was necessary. The legate did have little ear for me at first. Until my speech was better and his city much in strife, he little heeded a Briton’s advice.” Marcus’ expression darkened, and Gwen added quickly, “Better it is now, and matters improve of late.” Then he raised a hand to Marcus’ face. “They improve in great measure, indeed,” he purred, and Marcus kissed him again.
“Gwynllyw,” he murmured in a moment of pause, “I beg you, ease my mind and tell me you have no wife nor lover.”
But Gwen only snorted a laugh at him. “Indeed I have a lover. He has today returned from Rome after years of absence, and he is still muddy from the road.”
Marcus swallowed, his heart swelling until he thought it must soon burst. “I would have accepted it, if you had another to—”
“Yes, I know.” Gwen shook his head fondly. “What Gwen want, I remember. Let me help you with this.”
Just like that, he began to unbuckle the straps and remove Marcus’ armor. Marcus let him, but felt suddenly shy as the undressing exposed his body. Gwen’s hands slowed, wandering, his eyes following his touch.
“Gan y duwiau,” Gwen breathed. “I near did forget you were such a man.”
“Gwynllyw…” he moaned, and Gwen hurriedly nodded.
“Yes, to bathe can wait.” He kissed Marcus’ roughly, tugging at his belt. Marcus unwrapped Gwen’s toga, and Gwen hastily shed the tunic underneath. He pulled Marcus forward, and they tumbled onto the bed together.
There wasn’t really time for a full coupling, but there was time enough to touch each other, to kiss and caress and sate a few long-endured yearnings. Gwen took hold of him, stroking eagerly, and Marcus touched Gwen’s prick in return, almost reverent for a moment, before desire overcame him. Then he rolled on top of Gwen and aligned their erections, and Gwen wrapped his hand around both and moaned, pumping them together as Marcus thrust against him with short, quick strokes.
It had been so long since Marcus had felt a touch other than his own, and both of them were so eager—it was clear they would not last. But for as long as he could endure it, Marcus kissed Gwen and fondled his body and felt the throbbing heat of his prick pressed against Marcus’ own shaft. Blue eyes hazy with lust gazed at him, Gwen’s beautiful voice catching in the middle of moans as the ridges of their cocks caught each other with sharp little bursts of pleasure.
Gwen writhed, pressing his body up against Marcus, moaning. “Rwy’n ofni…I am without practice, ahh! I cannot endure…”
“Nor can I,” he panted, hastening his thrusts.
“Ohhh…spill your semen upon me, nnh! I want it on my skin…!”
Marcus blushed, surely. Still explicit, he thought—with love, with joy, with dizzying lust. Then he surrendered to his climax, moaning, “Gwynllyw!” as he came. Gwen followed quickly after, the two of them making quite a mess between them, most of it pooled on Gwen’s stomach.
Then they were kissing again, Gwen’s hand caressing Marcus’ stomach, smearing what seed had managed to land on him.
“Mmh,” Gwen murmured against Marcus’ insistent lips, “now, I think you will bathe, yes?” His eyes opened, sparkling at him. “Perhaps if I join you?”
“In that case, I certainly will,” he answered, and pulled Gwen up with him.
The wooden tub was not big enough for two grown men, but they managed to fit, with Gwen sitting on Marcus’ lap. The water was no longer hot, but it was still warm, and Gwen lay back against his chest, his head on Marcus’ shoulder, and Marcus held him and slowly rubbed his body, washing away their seed. “We never shared bathing before,” Gwen remarked with a smile.
“Mm.” Then, Marcus took a deep breath and spoke what he had longed to say years ago. “Gwynllyw…I love you.”
In answer, Gwen giggled at him. “I know.” His hand found Marcus’ and laced fingers together.
Marcus felt a little foolish. “You knew?”
“How should I not know?” He grinned. “After I did learn you were not under the power of a spell gone wrong, I had a guess. Thereafter, I did know your behavior was your own. And you were uncommon devoted and trusting, even trust to do a magic ritual for my sake.” He chuckled, a hand coming up to Marcus’ face. “Or perhaps to keep me for your own?” Head turned, he brushed Marcus’ jaw with his lips.
Marcus wasn’t sure if he was happy or embarrassed. “That…is more than a little true. I apologize…”
Gwen snorted, laughing again. “Ah, nothing changes!” He shuffled in the water, twisting a little until he was turned to the side, across Marcus’ lap. Marcus laid his arm along the rim of the tub, and Gwen grinned and leaned back on it. Marcus could no longer hold him as close, but he could look at Gwen much more—certainly not unwelcome.
“That ritual…”
“Galanhaf?”
Marcus nodded. “I have been gone, and I wondered if you still…”
A soft smile. “I am a druid, Marcus. Nothing changes. I will serve the gods always.”
His old jealousy twisted in his stomach, no matter how Marcus tried to rationalize it away. He had no right, after all—he had lain with his wife in the interim; he should not demand chastity from Gwen. They both had their obligations. Still… “Who…did you find to do the ritual?”
“Anwen does the Galanhaf ritual now,” he answered simply…then he smiled. “With her husband.”
The momentary spike of jealousy faded in brief confusion. “But you are not…”
“I am not, no.” Gwen’s eyes were far too knowing. “Anwen is married, and I prepare the Galanhaf magic for them, and they make the ritual, as tradition. Anwen cannot do the magic—I did never teach her. But she and her husband are well able to fuck…” Marcus choked. Gwen grinned. “…So they do.”
Marcus must have been making a terribly obvious face, for Gwen chuckled and kissed him. “You will sicken less when you see what now that skinny child is become. She is a woman even Romans respect, and some do fear her. Also, she is mother of two sons, so I think sex is known to her.”
“She was always very devoted to you.”
Gwen shuffled again, now straddling Marcus’ lap, arms draping around his neck. “Yes, she was. Unto the time I did tell her that I loved only you and would have no other. Then went she out and found the finest man in the city to wed.”
But Marcus wasn’t listening to the end of that.
“Do you?” His eyes stung, but he was so terribly happy. “I…hardly dare believe it.”
Gwen looked at him as if he had said something mad. “Marcus—how should I remain indifferent to a man so desirable, and so devoted to me? Rather, I know not how you did come to want me. What hath a common captive, who cannot even speak to you, that you should woo him?”
The answer was readily on his lips. “The most beautiful eyes I have ever seen,” Marcus murmured. Gwen blinked them, but Marcus was far from done. “And courage, that faced a would-be executioner without cowering. And gentleness, even for your enemy. And never will I forget that you sought to release me from some magic spell, believing that I would kill you if you succeeded. You strengthened me and aided me in small ways and great, and I could live a thousand years and never tire of the sound of your laugh.”
Gwen’s expression was stunned. It took him a moment to swallow and blink and manage to reply, “Well. It is…good you tell me this now. If you did tell me before you left, I would not have let you go.”
“Could you have stopped me?” Marcus asked, genuinely curious.
But Gwen only smirked. “Perhaps.”
“Well…if I ever talk of leaving again—stop me.” He pulled Gwen closer. “I never want to part from you.”
A soft smile. “I saw a dream, on the last full moon night—the moon opens to us the days to come. And in my dream I stood on a high hilltop, and I looked far out to the sea, which is the flow of time to the end of all days…and you were there with me. And I think I knew that it would always be so.” Then he kissed Marcus, and it was the sweetest kiss yet, and then he smiled and pulled Marcus up as he stood. “Now come. We must dress you for your feast, my lord!”
Gwen stepped from the tub and moved to fetch their clothes, but Marcus caught him by the waist and pulled him close again for another hungry kiss. He caressed the naked man in his arms, uncaring about the time…until Gwen laughed aloud right into his kiss.
“Your fingers are water-wrinkled!”