Free Celtic Maid (Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series Book 2) by Amy Jarecki Page A

while he appraised the woman. “My, you have found a jewel amongst the savages.”
    Titus wanted to slam his fist into that sneer as Theodosius’s leering eyes raked across Elspeth’s body when she leaned forward to pour the wine, but he clenched and stretched open his fist to dissuade his irritation. “Elspeth has become quite handy in a short time.”
    “Oh?”
    She flashed a disapproving glance his way, and Titus shifted in his seat. “Yes, it turns out the woman is adept with weapons and is an expert archer.”
    Theodosius reached out and grasped a bit of Elspeth’s skirt, rubbing the silk between his fingers and peeking under the folds. “I dare say that is not the limit of her talents.”
    As soon as he dropped the cloth, Elspeth skittered away.
    Titus crossed his arms. “She will give a demonstration of archery to open the games.”
    They watched her exit, and Dulcitius chuckled. “Titus, you dog. You took no time finding a lovely wench to warm your bed.”
    Titus reached for his goblet. “Still thinking with your cock, I see.”
    “You are not bedding that?” Dulcitius leered, waggling his eyebrows. “What? Do you prefer ass over quim?”
    Titus’s stomach clenched as prickles of heat spread across the back of his neck.
    Theodosius cleared his throat. “Enough about the wench. We’ve more important matters to discuss.” He looked at Titus. “Dulcitius has brought some impressive contenders. I do hope you are ready.”
    Titus ran a finger around the rim of his goblet. “I have not had much time to prepare, my lord.”
    “I sent the missive giving you ample time. Surely you’ve found a number of expendable huntsmen among your prisoners.”
    “We took no prisoners.”
    Dulcitius smirked, admiring his fingernails. “Most unfortunate.”
    ****
    The journey from York to Vindolanda had taxed Dulcitius’s patience. The count was nothing but a bore—though a necessary bore.
    Relieved for a moment’s leave from the miserable count, Dulcitius reclined with a tankard of mead and eyed one of the whores across the brothel. A one-room roundhouse, it had been appointed with shrouds of colorful cloth hanging from the rafters that partially hid narrow beds from view. In the center sat an array of rickety round tables. “At least the bordello is well staffed.”
    His optio , Paulus, belched. “I doubt Titus had a hand in that.”
    “Baa.” Dulcitius tipped his tankard back, his eyes shifting to a soldier rutting a wench on the bench across from them, her skirts shoved up around her hips. The sight of the girl’s creamy skin made his erection strain against his subligar . He lowered his hand and adjusted himself. “Titus is soft. He’d rather spend his nights polishing his armor than in the arms of a woman.”
    A toothless wench with a rat’s mop of hair sidled up to their table with a pitcher. “I can scratch that bulging itch under yer tunic, m’lord.”
    “Remove your ugly arse from my face.” Dulcitius narrowed his eyes and glanced toward Paulus. “There is some quim not worth the effort.”
    His optio chuckled. “Yes, but there are finer morsels yet unclaimed.” He leaned in. “And what of your opinion of the games tomorrow? Will Titus prove a formidable opponent?”
    “Titus is as ready to face our gladiators as the women in this brothel are virgins. I fear it will be a dull day indeed, though it will keep Theodosius amused.”
    “And you will rise in his favor.”
    “Yes.” Dulcitius smiled, catching the eye of a tart baring her breasts at him. “That is what matters.”
    “When you win, Theodosius will name you Dux Britanniarum .”
    “Theodosius will take his time, but we will ensure the office comes to me, and I will show Rome my father’s name must be remembered with honor.”
    “ You shall be honored, sir.”
    “And I will see to it that you are rewarded for your loyalty.”
    Dulcitius drained the mead from his tankard and slammed it on the table. “I do believe my cock is