wife. The mother dotes on him, Manius writes, but she is willing to let him go because here in Britain he will be a respected man with lands of his own.”
“And what if Cailin does not like him, Gaius?” Kyna Benigna demanded. “You have not considered that, have you? Will not your cousins in Rome be offended if you send their son back home to them after they have sent him here to us with such high hopes?”
“Certainly Cailin will like him,” Gaius insisted, with perhaps a bit more assurance than he was feeling.
“I will not allow you to force her to the marriage bed if she is not content to make this match,” Kyna Benigna said fiercely; and Gaius Drusus Corinium was reminded suddenly of why he had fallen in love with this daughter of a hill country Dobunni chieftain, instead of another girl from a Romano-British family. Kyna was every bit as strong as she was beautiful, and their daughter was like her.
“If she truly cannot be happy with him, Kyna,” he promised, “I will not force Cailin. You know I adore her. If Quintus displeases her, I will give the boy some land, and I will find him a proper wife. He will still be far better off than if he had remained in Rome with his family. Are you satisfied now?” He smiled at her.
“I am,” she murmured, the sound more like a cat’s purr.
He has the most winning smile, she thought, remembering the first time she had seen him. She had been fourteen, Cailin’s age. He had come to her father’s village with his father to barter for the fine brooches her people made. She had fallen in love then and there. She quickly learned he was a childless widower, and seemingly in no hurry to remarry. His father, however, was quite desperate that he do so.
Gaius Drusus Corinium was the last of a long line of a family of Roman Britons. His elder brother, Flavius, had died in Gaul with the legions when he was eighteen. His sister, Drusilla, had perished in childbirth at sixteen. His first wife had died after half a dozen miscarriages.
Kyna, the daughter of Berikos, knew she had found the only man with whom she could be happy. Shamelessly she set about to entrap him.
To her surprise, it took little effort. Gaius Drusus Corinium was as hot-blooded as the Celtic girl herself. His proper first wife had bored him. So had all the eligible women and girls who had attempted to entice him after Albinia’s tragic death. Once Kyna had gotten him to notice her, he could scarce take his eyes from her. She was as slender as a sapling, but her high, full young breasts spoke of delights he dared not even contemplate. She mocked him silently with her sapphire-blue eyes and a toss of her long red hair, flirting mischievously with him until he could bear no more. He wanted her as he had never wanted anything in his life, and so he told his father.
Kyna was beautiful, strong, healthy, and intelligent. Her blood mixed with theirs could but strengthen their family. Titus Drusus Corinium was as relieved as he was delighted.
Berikos, chieftain of the hill Dobunni, was not. “We have never mixed our blood with that of the Romans, as so many other tribes have,” he said grimly. “I will barter with you, Titus Drusus Corinium, but I will not give your son my daughter for a wife.” His blue eyes were as cold as stone.
“I am every bit as much a Briton as you are,” Titus told him indignantly. “My family have lived in this land for three centuries. Our blood has been mixed with that of the Catuvellauni, the Iceni, even as your family has mixed its blood with those and other tribes.”
“But never with the Romans,” came the stubborn reply.
“The legions are long gone, Berikos. We live as one people now. Let my son, Gaius, have your daughter Kyna to wife. She wants him every bit as much as he wants her.”
“Is this so?” Berikos demanded of his daughter, his long mustache quivering furiously. This was the child of his heart. Her betrayal of their proud heritage was painful.
“It is,” she answered defiantly. “I will have Gaius Drusus Corinium for my husband, and no other.”
“Very well,” Berikos replied angrily, “but know that if you take this man for your mate, you do so without my blessing. I will never look upon your face again.