“What are you doing here so early?” Cadan asked from behind her.
She jumped, startled out of her trance. She hadn’t seen him since this morning in the library. They’d circled each other the last three days. He, probably wary that she’d jump him again, and she, scared of falling for him when she knew there was more that he wasn’t telling her. He’d kissed her twice now. He wanted her, yet he kept pushing her away. Maybe it was because of university rules, as he’d said. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was hiding something.
“I’m looking at that sword,” she said.
She pointed up at a blade high on the wall. It was in a cluster of the oldest weapons in the room. Its dented and scratched iron blade spoke of the lives it must have taken, though the hilt, with its swirling scrollwork, was still in fairly good condition. More than that, the decoration could be used to date the weapon.
“I recognize that sword,” she said. “I know I do. Where is it from?”
***
Dare he tell her the truth? It was a distinctive blade; it wouldn’t take her long to catch him if he lied. And after the lie about Verulamium, Cadan couldn’t risk another. Yet, the idea of telling another lie made his stomach turn. He told himself he was doing it to protect her, that she wasn’t ready to face Boudica’s challenges. But it still made him ill to lie to her repeatedly.
“It’s a sword from southern Britain.” He settled on truth and hoped she wouldn’t make the connection.
“Can I hold it?” Her voice was quiet, thoughtful.
Nay. “Aye.”
He strode over and reached up, carefully drawing the old sword away from the wall. It was a typical Celtic sword from Boudica’s homeland, one that she would have seen her men use on the battlefield. Her blade had been different, suited to her size and status, but this simple implement told tales of her past life as well.
He placed it gently in her palm, and she gasped slightly when it touched her skin. Her fingers closed tightly around the hilt.
“It’s familiar,” she said, awe in her voice as she slowly twirled a figure eight in the air. “I recognize this type of sword.”
“This type of blade was used for a long stretch of time.”
“Yes, but not as long as the stretch of time I’ve been researching. A few hundred years, no more.”
“More or less.”
“What’s the date on it?” Her gaze was clear and penetrating as she looked at him.
Gods, what should he say? Telling her could lead her closer to her identity, but the sword was so distinctive that twenty minutes with a weapons book and she’d know. If she ferreted out the truth, she’d never trust him again. Hell, she barely trusted him as it was.
“No’ sure, exactly.” It slipped off his tongue. Coward.
She arched an eyebrow. “Really? I have a hard time believing that. Everything in here is organized by type, and from the looks of the styles and conditions of the weapons, by date as well.”
Damn it. He glanced hastily up at the wall as if to check for a date. If he lied now, she’d know he was up to something. “Ah, around one hundred AD, give or take a century.”
She looked up at him sharply. “One hundred AD?”
He jerked his head in assent.
She flipped the sword and turned it around on him until the blade pressed into his stomach. He froze. If she wanted to pierce him, fine. It wouldn’t kill him, and maybe he deserved it. For lying—or hell, for telling the truth and putting her that much closer.
“You’re going to take me to Verulamium. I know it’s important, and you’re going to take me.”
“Nay, I’m no’.”
She pushed the blade harder, glancing down at it apprehensively before glaring back up at him. It didn’t break the skin, but it was close.
“You are, or I swear to God I’m going by myself.”
“And how would do that?”
“Steal your car. Call your boss. Walk out the front door and hope for the best. I’d figure it out.”
She was bluffing. That was it. But her eyes gleamed with a slightly crazed, desperate look. He shifted uncomfortably. The lassie was trouble. “You would no’.”
“Try me. I’m not going to sit around here while you hide things from me. And don’t think I’m not aware that’s what you’re doing. That’s twice you’ve refused to take me, and twice I’ve found something that points me in the direction of the first century AD. I’d bet tenure on the fact that I was a Celt, but there were a hell of a lot of Celts. I want to know why I’m drawn to a Roman fort.”
“Well, you weren’t Roman.”
“Don’t try to distract me. Why are you keeping things from me? Are you on my side or not?”
He’d have been angry that she questioned his loyalty if he wasn’t already burning with the deceit. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”