Free Defy the Eagle by Lynn Bartlett Page A

well your name," Jilana hissed. "That shriveled priest told me. You are no brave soldier, Briton; you are a murderer who slays innocents in their beds! A true man faces his enemy squarely but you hide in darkness and revel in the slaughter of women and children."
    Caddaric's eyes darkened. "Do you still court death so eagerly? You are a greater fool than I had thought. Worse still, you are a danger—not only to me but to every Iceni."
    "A threat!" Jilana laughed incredulously. Then, a venomous expression on her face, she added, "Aye, I am a threat, Briton, for given the opportunity I will kill you and yours as carelessly as you dispatched all those I held dear. This I vow."
    Her words held the ring of truth and an icy finger touched Caddaric's spine. He was, above all else, a soldier, a veteran soldier of not inconsiderable experience, and he was possessed of the soldier's intuition which told him that the most dangerous enemy was the one to whom you showed mercy and then took into your own camp. Caddaric released Jilana's arm, drew his dagger from its sheath, and slowly pointed it at Jilana's breast.
    Jilana's heart lurched painfully against her ribs and then she sighed softly. The gods had heard her prayers. Jilana drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. "A clean stroke I beg you, Caddaric."
    For what seemed an eternity Caddaric gazed at the delicate face so close to his own. Fascinated, he watched the point in Jilana's throat where her pulse beat, even while he steeled his arm to drive the dagger into her heart. Caddaric was no stranger to death, yet he found his hand refused to obey his commands when it came to this woman, she was his enemy; she had sworn vengeance against him—and she was his destiny. No matter what his soldier's instinct told him, Caddaric could not kill Jilana. He gave a snort of disgust over his own weakness, Caddaric sheathed his dagger and watched as the violet eyes fluttered open and filled with dismay.
    "Why?" Jilana asked pitifully. "Why?"
    "Your life is not mine to take." Caddaric pivoted away from Jilana and crossed the room to reclaim his sword. When he spoke again his voice was oddly strained. "Queen Boadicea has commanded that you be given to the warrior who captures Catus Decianus. You and the Procurator are the reason for the assemblage at the palace, Jilana."
    "But the Procurator—" Jilana started to protest.
    "Be silent," Caddaric ordered curtly. His failure to find Catus Decianus during the past bloody hours weighed heavily upon Caddaric. Soon he would be forced to
    turn this woman over to another man. What then would become of his destiny?
    "Where are you going?" Jilana asked when Caddaric opened the door.
    "To bathe," Caddaric replied shortly. "We shall leave for the palace when I return. Prepare yourself."
    Fear and sorrow threatened to overwhelm Jilana the moment the door closed behind the Briton and she brushed at the tears which flooded her eyes. Denied an honorable death, she was to be made a slave to whatever man lied and claimed credit for capturing Catus Deci-anus. The Procurator had escaped the massacre—Jilana clearly remembered Lucius saying the Procurator had left for Londinium—so how could a warrior offer proof of what was impossible? Jilana swallowed the lump in her throat and gathered her fragmented thoughts. She was alive—and terribly alone. Her fellow Romans were undoubtedly dead, or, with luck, had been able to flee. Jilana was isolated from all which was familiar and surrounded by those who hated what she represented. But she would not treat the Iceni to the spectacle of a broken, whimpering Roman, Jilana resolved. She would meet her fate with as much pride and dignity as Boadicea herself had shown.
    To that end, Jilana stripped off her soiled toga and cleansed herself as best she could with only a ewer of water, a basin, and a piece of soft linen. The water was cold, but Jilana ignored her protesting flesh and, placing the basin on the floor, she stepped