Special Illustrated Editions The Druid Chronicles Complete Series EBOOKS

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Sample of FORBIDDEN

Carys tried to block his question from her mind, but in a cascading flood, the images poured through.
Cold terror gripped her, ice shivering through her veins, as she recalled the fate of a Druid who had been caught spying for one of the savage Briton kings.
Nine years ago, the eleven-year-old Carys had only recently entered the sacred fold, but that didn’t prevent her from bearing witness to the traitor’s doom.
Spiritual isolation from the immortals would have been punishment enough for any Druid, but an example had to be made. As the sun sank behind the hills at the end of that blood-soaked day, the severed head of the ritualistically mutilated Druid was sent to her worthless lover.
But I’m not a spy. Such a fate could never be hers. And yet the fear of being denied communion with her beloved Cerridwen twisted her soul.
“Answer me.” His command was low. When had he stepped toward her? Carys struggled to keep her emotions contained, the terror of that long-ago day and the turmoil she always felt whenever the Roman was near.
She dragged in a deep breath, but instead of clearing her head with the fresh scents of the sacred glade, her lungs filled with the masculine essence of raw sexuality.
“What they might do to me is nothing to what they would do if they believed I was your captive.” It was true. A captive Druid was inconceivable. If rescue failed, the Druids would go to war, and blood would drench the valleys.
And her blood would be first.
“Do you think I fear a few barbarous Celts?” His tone was faintly mocking, but the hint of a smile touched his lips.
“No.” Carys wondered if her Roman feared anything. “I fear.”
His smile faded. A wood warbler’s haunting song shivered on the warm breeze. She saw his jaw tighten and eyes narrow. “It would never be my intention to harm your kin, my lady.”
She understood what he was telling her. “I know.” If attacked, he would protect himself. She couldn’t blame him for that.
But he didn’t know her kin were the spiritual core of this land and its people, the ones who had eluded his soldiers since their invasion of Cymru. If he knew that, his intention would be far more deadly toward her.
The roughened pad of his forefinger grazed across the top of her breast, halting her thoughts and stalling her breath. His finger delved into her cleavage, and all the while his eyes remained locked with hers.
“I accept your terms, my lady.” His finger slowly slid from her warm embrace, leaving her strangely chilled and bereft. And then his words settled in her mind, illuminating the darkness, and eradicating the lingering tendrils of terror.
Speech was beyond her capabilities. Instead, she extended her right hand, and with only the merest hesitation, her Roman took it in his large, firm grasp. He raised her hand to his lips, without bowing his head toward her, and brushed a kiss across her fingers.
“You will meet me here later?” It was more demand than request, but she nodded her acceptance. How could she do otherwise? Her mighty Roman warrior had agreed to her terms.
Over her captured hand, his eyes smoldered. “There’s one question you haven’t asked of me, lady.” She heard the challenge in his tone, as if the fact somehow irked him.
She tried to calm her racing pulses and incoherent thoughts. There was a question she hadn’t asked, because she hadn’t thought he would respond.
“Would you tell me if I did?” Her voice was breathless.
“You’d have to ask me first. Then you’d find out.”
She darted the tip of her tongue over dry lips and saw the way his eyes followed the movement before once again locking with hers. “What is your name, Roman?”
The breath stilled in her chest as she awaited his reply. A part of her was convinced he wouldn’t reveal such a personal detail, simply because she refused to share hers. But another part of her, the illogical part, wanted to know his name. Wanted to savor it on her lips, wrap it around her mind and hold it close within her heart.
His mouth twisted into an enchanting lopsided smile, and for one shimmering moment Carys forgot he was a Roman, the enemy of her people, and saw only a man who had haunted every moment of her life for the last three moons. A man she feared could, too easily, haunt the remainder of her existence if she wasn’t careful.
“Tiberius.” He kissed one knuckle. “Valerius.” Kissed a second knuckle. “Maximus.” He turned her hand and drifted his lips across her open palm.
“Tiberius.” The foreign name sounded strange on her tongue. He smiled once again, released her hand, and stepped back.
“Close friends call me Maximus, my lady.”
And what did his lovers call him?
The thought slithered through her mind. Strange, for until this moment she hadn’t considered he might have other lovers back at the settlement that she’d been told now surrounded the Roman fortification.
And the thought grazed her senses, wounded her soul. Even though she knew she had no right to be so injured. What the Roman did—what Maximus did—when he wasn’t with her was none of her affair.
“Then I shall call you Maximus.” She saw his eyes darken as she said his name, and banished her troublesome concerns. She would please Maximus so thoroughly this eve that he wouldn’t wish to have any other woman but her.
“And I shall call you”—he paused for a telling heartbeat— “my lady.” And his firm, sensual lips twitched, as if he tried to prevent a smile.
“Yes.” She was his lady. She would always be his lady, even after their paths diverged. But she wouldn’t think of that. Not now. Not when she had other, far more fascinating things to consider. Such as discovering before tonight the secrets of satisfying a man so thoroughly he would rather fry his eyes in boiling oil than look with lust upon another woman.
“Meet me here at sunset.”
Again it was a demand. From a man used to having his word accepted without question. But what did she have to question? She wanted this as much as he did. And sunset was the time she would have suggested herself.
Had he thought to ask.
“Very well.”
Beneath her leather-clad feet the earth stirred, and discordant vibrations shivered through her soul. Maximus’ soldiers grew impatient by his absence.
She couldn’t explain how she knew such things, or why the wise Cerridwen had chosen her as her acolyte. She knew only that the two were intrinsically connected, and to ignore the signs of the earth was to ignore her beloved goddess herself.
With a soft sigh she bent to retrieve Maximus’ helmet. It was heavier than she expected. She brushed her fingers through the proud plumage before handing it to him.
“My lady.” He inclined his head in thanks as he took his helmet. “Until tonight.” He paused and gave her a searching look, as if trying to see inside her mind and find her secrets. “Keep safe.” And then he turned and marched back into the shaded woods.
* * *
Aeron bowed before the ancient Druid in the small oak grove at the outer edge of the sacred spiral’s protective perimeter. As always, he hoped she couldn’t see into his heart and discover the bubbling resentment that festered. But she never had before. He was a master of deception, and this Druid had no reason to suspect him of anything less than absolute devotion.
“Aeron.” She held out her wrinkled hand, and he took it and kissed the fragile skin, even as his senses recoiled from the touch of her skeletal fingers. “My dearest child. Come, sit with me, and tell me what you see.”
He sat beside her on the moss-covered log that once, long ago, had been a mighty oak. It reminded him how all great things could fall, no matter how powerful or revered.
The old woman by his side was the most powerful and revered Druid in all Cymru. But her time was coming to an end. Aeron had seen her demise in a terrifying vision while still a child, a vision of such lucidity it had ensured his rapid elevation within the spiritual ranks.
Yet even at the age of eight he had known better than to divulge the bloodied climax of that vision. The line between savior and murderer would have been too blurred to distinguish.
“Druantia.” He extricated his fingers from her possessive hold under the pretext of clasping both hands around his hazel rod. “The situation beyond the sacred spiral grows more precarious by the day. Soon the invaders will have subdued all of Cymru in a fountain of blood.”
Druantia didn’t answer and Aeron shot her a surreptitious glance from the corner of his eye. She often didn’t answer directly, a trait he found irritating when directed at him. He was no lowly acolyte. Nor even a highly respected Druid of distinction. His place in the hierarchy was second only to hers. As such, he deserved more respect from her.
He deserved more respect from Carys.
Her name scorched through his brain, temporarily obliterating the grove from his sight. Fucking Carys with her hypnotic eyes, hair spun from sunlight and impossibly independent nature.
It was intolerable how she continued to refuse him. Blood pounded against his temples, threatening his outward composure, and his hands gripped the holy hazel rod with compressed rage.
He knew that soon she would submit. His visions foretold such sweet victory, and in such visceral detail, his cock thickened with anticipation even now.
“And yet we will survive, Aeron.” Druantia’s voice, as fragile as a decaying autumn leaf, invaded his personal world.
Curse the hag for still clinging to this life. By rights he should possess her coveted position, for his power deserved nothing less.
Just as he deserved Carys. And I will possess both.
“We will always prevail.” He bowed his head. Yes. They would prevail, for he would never allow their beliefs to die at the hands of the heathen invaders. But they would survive on his terms. And there was no place in his new world for decrepit old women and their ancient goddesses.
“And yet Carys still denies you.”
Aeron ground his teeth together. Only Druantia would dare throw that in his face. “She’s still too young to know her own mind.”
“On the contrary, my dearest child.” Druantia’s voice scraped along his raw nerve endings. “Carys knows her own mind very well. Don’t become disheartened, Aeron. The time will come when she sees you for what you truly are.”
Her one and only master. The words drummed through his brain, pounded along his arteries and throbbed along the length of his erection. It took all of his considerable willpower to remain unmoving on the mossy log, when every particle wanted to roar his frustration to the heavens.
“I trust you’re right, Druantia,” he said instead, bestowing a gracious smile as he imagined how easy it would be to snap her neck like the dried twig it was.
Druantia stared at him from her age-glazed eyes. Eyes that always sent shivers of revulsion skittering along his spine. “The Morrigan is never wrong, my child,” she said softly. “She sees Carys is our future. And who better to share that future than you, Aeron? It is written in the stars. So shall it be.”
Aeron only just prevented a sneer from escaping. He saw the future. And the Morrigan was no part of it.
“I’m humbled the great goddess feels I am worthy.” The words choked him, but Druantia didn’t appear to notice. “Can she bestow advice as to how I might win Carys back to my bed?”
Druantia considered him in silence, and he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Not that he needed advice from this bitch or her redundant goddess. Carys would be his because that was his desire. And when that time came, whether she submitted willingly or not was entirely up to her, but it made no difference to him.
And then Druantia spoke. “Bring us fresh moon blood from Carys’ next cycle. This must be collected by your own hand, Aeron, to prevent any contamination from another.”
Interest flared. The image of sequestering Carys’ blood aroused him and caused his shaft to thicken and balls to ache.
“I understand.” Yet he had no intention of attempting any such thing. He had no need of the Morrigan’s help in this or any other matter. He took Druantia’s hand and bestowed another fleeting kiss. “Thank you, Great Queen.”
* * *
It was late afternoon before Carys made her daily visit to Druantia. The wise Cerridwen had not been forthcoming as to how Carys could ensnare her Roman’s continued interest, but Carys knew that wasn’t a bad omen. It was simply because Cerridwen wasn’t overly interested in sexual liaisons.
Besides, it wasn’t hard to bring the conversation around to sex with her fellow Druids. Sex was a topic they all discussed frequently, and in great detail. It was simply that before today, Carys hadn’t been especially interested in the specifics.
“Carys.” Druantia rose from her moss-covered log and held out her arms. Carys embraced her great-grandmother’s sister, secretly sorrowing at the Druid’s fragility. She sometimes feared the faintest breeze might splinter her slight physical form. “My sweetest girl. Still you put yourself in danger for your people.” Pride laced the old lady’s tone.
Carys helped Druantia resume her seat upon the log before sitting in her usual place at her feet.
“There isn’t much danger. Cerridwen protects me, as she has always protected me.”
Druantia began to unwind the ties binding Carys’ hair. “Alas, child. There is always danger. Only here within the spiral are we truly protected from the invaders.”
Carys gave an impatient sigh. “But what good are we here, Druantia? How can we help our people if we aren’t with them?” She turned as Druantia began to gently tug her fingers through her still-damp hair. Hair she had washed with scented flowers for the pleasure of her Roman.
She shivered and thrust the thought aside. She couldn’t think of Maximus now. Not when she was in the presence of Druantia, and in the sacred grove of the Morrigan herself. She forced her mind back to the present. “How much longer do we have to hide?”
Druantia continued to unplait her hair. Normally Carys found the ritual soothing. But this afternoon she couldn’t be soothed. Because all she could see was an endless existence stretching before her, where she could never be allowed the true freedom her soul craved.
“Darkness is descending.” Druantia’s voice was hushed with sorrow. “Everything we cherish is on the cusp of oblivion. How else can we protect our ways, Carys, except by shielding them from the Romans?”
Carys turned to stare at the great Druid. “But for how long?”
Maximus hadn’t derided her religion. Why couldn’t it be possible for the Druids to educate the Romans into the light? Was that truly such an impossible dream? That they might, someday, live in harmony with each other?
Druantia sighed, a soft, wistful sound that sank into Carys’ soul and ached with everything they had lost. “I fear for us, Carys,” she said, and Carys held her hand, tracing her fingers across the delicate skin that barely covered the veins beneath. She didn’t want the great Druid to fear. Because if she did, what hope remained for them all? “I fear what will happen once I continue with my journey.”
“There are still many steps for you to take before that happens.” Carys couldn’t imagine Druantia no longer being in the physical world. Didn’t want to imagine it.
Druantia shook her head, and confusion creased her face. “My grandmother, your own foremother, Carys, had eyes the color of the sky and the earth. Just as you do. The great Morrigan chose her as her acolyte at the age of ten.”
Carys knew that, had heard the family histories many times. But Druantia liked to tell her stories, and so she said nothing.
“The eve you were conceived, the Morrigan herself came to me.”
Carys’ breath stilled in her breast as shock ricocheted through her senses. This she hadn’t heard before. Was her mother aware? Yet she knew she wasn’t, for there were no secrets between them. Was anyone aware? Visions were not generally kept from those to whom they pertained. And unless she was deeply mistaken, this vision of Druantia’s had a great deal to do with her.
Druantia stroked her drying hair. “She told me the child would have eyes from the sky and the earth. And that you would one day be the light in the darkness, the one who led us into the new future.”
Shivers coursed over her arms, made the hair on her scalp rise. Even the wood warblers ceased their distinctive trilling, and the ensuing eerie silence screamed through her mind.
“But I’m not a leader, Druantia. I’m a healer.” Surely that isn’t the reason why the Morrigan has never honored me with her presence? Because she was a healer?
Druantia peered at her through her clouded vision. “I knew, in my heart, the Morrigan had chosen you for her acolyte from the moment of your conception. Our goddess is not one to give up what is rightfully hers. And yet upon your birth she allowed Cerridwen to claim you.” Druantia’s brow puckered. “Why? You were destined to lead our people, Carys. Why did the Morrigan turn from you?”