Free Defy the Eagle by Lynn Bartlett Page B

into it and poured the last of the clean water over her shoulders. Shivering, Jilana hastily toweled herself dry and arrayed herself in the finest toga her chest held. The snowy material fell in graceful folds from her shoulders to her ankles and was edged at the hem with interlocking green rectangles, the color of her father's house. Her father's house. Tears started once again to Jilana's eyes and she shook her head violently. She would weep later, when there was no possibility of some barbarian intruding upon her grief. Trembling inwardly, Jilana seated herself at her dressing table, unbound her hair and carefully removed the strand of pearls from the red-gold curls. Methodically, Jilana drew a brush through her waist-length hair until the heavy mass crackled with a life of its own and then she struggled to braid the willful tresses and wrap them around her head. The result was disastrous, as Jilana saw when she looked into the polished metal of her hand mirror. The braids were helplessly lopsided. Jilana pulled the combs from her hair and untwisted the braids. She must try again.
    The door flew open and, with a gasp of dismay, Jilana turned to watch Caddaric stalk into the bedchamber. He spared Jilana a brief glance before crossing the room to deposit what appeared to be a roll of clothing into his own chest. Still clutching her brush, Jilana rose and eyed the Briton uncertainly as he strapped his baldric over his shoulder. At least he was clean now, Jilana noted. The soiled tunic had been replaced by a fresh garment and his short hair glistened with droplets of water.
    By the gods but she is lovely, Caddaric thought as he adjusted the baldric. Visions of his dream sprang to mind and the need to take Jilana, to make her his, overpowered all else and without conscious thought Caddaric crossed the room to stand in front of Jilana. "Witch," he murmured.
    Jilana swallowed convulsively at the word and stood breathless as Caddaric's large hand twisted through her hair. He has taken leave of his senses, Jilana thought wildly, for she could think of no other reason for the madness dancing in the dark blue eyes. Undoubtedly Caddaric meant to violate her, to punish her for the crime of being Roman. Caddaric's lips touched her own, but instead of meeting with violence Jilana discovered an unexpected gentleness in the Briton's kiss. A strange lassitude crept through Jilana's veins, and when Caddaric deftly parted her lips for his questing tongue she made no protest. Reality spiraled away from Caddaric as he circled Jilana's waist with his free arm and crushed her against his chest. Though Jilana gave no response, neither did she resist and with a growing urgency Caddaric devoured the sweetness of her mouth.
    Wave upon wave of pleasure surged over Jilana and for a time she forgot that Caddaric was her sworn enemy. A longing she had not known existed surfaced in Jilana—a longing which filled her with a sweet ache and left her weak and breathless when Caddaric at last released her. How she yearned to lean against him once more! To know the pressure of his lips against her own, to run her fingers through the damp brown hair. Even the jagged wound upon his left cheek did not repel her for— Jilana's thoughts ground to a stop and a mortified blush spread across her face. What was she thinking? This man was not Lucius, nor even a Roman. He was a Briton, murderer of her family! A sob caught in Jilana's throat. She wrenched herself away from Caddaric and ran to the far side of the room where she pressed herself against the wall and regarded him through wide, bewildered eyes.
    Sanity returned to Caddaric as he gazed sadly at the forlorn yet undeniably enchanting figure Jilana presented, and he cursed himself for his actions. She was his destiny—if Caddaric had doubted Clywd's prophecy before he did so no longer, not after having held Jilana in his arms. The knowledge that he would soon surrender Jilana to another now clawed at his vitals