To Love Again - Bertrice Small [24]
Cailin sat on the bench behind her grandmother and gently propped the older woman up. “What is she drinking?” she asked, noting that Brenna sipped the reddish liquid almost eagerly.
“It is cattle’s blood,” Ceara answered. “It is nourishing, and will help Brenna to rebuild her own blood.” Ceara held back a smile at Cailin’s look of distaste. At least the girl hadn’t fainted.
“Ceara!” A deep voice thundered. “What is going on? Is what Maeve tells me true?”
Cailin looked up. A tall man with snow-white hair and matching twin mustaches had entered the hall. He was garbed in a dark green wool tunic embroidered with gold threads at the neck and sleeves. Around his neck was the most magnificent gold torque, worked with green enamel, that Cailin had ever seen. He strode directly up to the bench where Brenna lay and looked down.
“Hail, Berikos,” Brenna said mockingly.
“So, you are back,” Berikos said grimly. “To what do we owe this honor, Brenna? I thought never to see you again.”
“Nor I you. You have grown old, Berikos,” Brenna said. “I should not be here at all were it not for Cailin. I would have died in the forest safe in Nodens’ care rather than come to you, were it not for our grandchild. I am here for her, Berikos, not for myself.”
“We have no grandchild in common,” he answered.
“Berikos!” Ceara’s voice was sharp. “Do not persist in your stubborn folly over this matter. Kyna is dead.”
A sharp look of sorrow swept over the old man’s face and then was gone. “How?” he demanded, his voice impersonal, the pain forced back to where none could see it.
“Last night,” Brenna began, “I went with Cailin to the Beltane fire, but I grew tired and returned home early. In the atrium of the villa I stumbled over the dead body of our son-in-law, Gaius Drusus. I ran to Kyna’s bedchamber. She was dead upon her bed, ravaged and beaten to death. I never even felt the blow that felled me. When I regained my senses, I saw the bodies of Gaius and our two grandsons, Titus and Flavius, near me. The murderers were waiting for Cailin.”
“Quintus Drusus!” Cailin cried, her face as white as milk.
“Aye, child, your voice within did not fail you.” Brenna looked to Berikos and continued her horrific tale.
“What of your vaunted Roman magistrate at Corinium?” Berikos asked her scathingly when she had finished. “Is there no longer any Roman justice?”
“The chief magistrate in Corinium is Quintus Drusus’s father-in-law,” Brenna said. “What chance would Cailin have against him?”
“What is it you want of me, then, Brenna?”
“I want your protection, Berikos, though it galls me to ask it. I want your protection for Cailin, and for me. The slaves were still away from the villa when all of this happened. No one knows that we two alone have survived, nor must they ever know. Cailin is your granddaughter, and you cannot refuse me this request. I do not know if I will survive this attack. I am wounded, and my lungs yet ache with the smoke I inhaled. It took all my strength to bring Cailin here to you.”
Berikos was grimly silent.
“You will both have the protection of the tribe,” Ceara said finally. When her husband glared at her, she said, “Brenna is still your wife, Berikos; the mother of your only daughter. Cailin is your granddaughter. Blood! You cannot refuse them shelter or protection under our laws, or have you forgotten those laws in your ancient lust for Brigit?”
“I will accept your hospitality only as long as my grandmother lives,” Cailin said angrily. “When she has passed through the door of Death into the next life, I will make my own way in the world. I do not know you, Berikos of the Dobunni, and I do not need you.”
A small winterly smile touched the corners of the old man’s lips. With cold blue eyes he observed Cailin seriously for the first time since he had entered the hall. “Brave words, little mongrel bitch,” he said, “but I wonder how well your soft Roman ways have prepared you for survival in this hard world.