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boorish Roman attitude had burst forth a few moments later, proving that her mind had been right all along. A warrior like me shall never allow herself wobbly knees at the sight of a tyrant in sheep’s clothing—or, in his case, in a god’s body. Greum was right. Romans could not be trusted, least of all a highborn officer like Titus.
    Elspeth combed out Tessie’s tail with long strokes.
    Why must he be so handsome? She had expected an ill-tempered officer who beat her, made her sleep with the pigs, someone she could hate. But Titus? Last night had been the first time he’d even raised his voice. Instead of acting like a spoiled child with too much power, like most Romans did, he exuded masculinity from head to toe. In her observation, he showed compassion for his soldiers and admiration for work well done. The legionaries worked hard to gain his approval because they loved him, not because they feared his wrath. Or perhaps they do fear him, but I do not. He shall see where raising his voice will get him, the miserable spawn of Rome.
    Her brushing slowed and she caressed her mare’s smooth sorrel coat. “Ah, Tessie. What are we to do? I wish the Romans had never ventured back across the channel.” She chuckled. “Then we’d just be fighting the Gales, Saxons and Attacotti. But this whole spy business has me twisted in knots. I hate living a lie.”
    With a nicker, the horse stomped her right front as if in agreement. Elspeth threw her arms around Tessie’s neck and breathed in the heady scent of horse and hay. How tempting it was to stay in the barn and hide for the few weeks that Titus would be away. However, remaining idle would not help her return to Dunpelder any faster, and she could never ride for home a failure. The information she was providing to the Picts was necessary for the protection of the entire clan. If Titus could bring her into his confidence, her people could avoid Roman infiltration into Pictland. King Taran had trusted her, and she would see out her duty no matter how much Titus tied her in knots. And when she returned, they would erect a Pictish stone to recognize her efforts. She would be a true warrior, not just a woman, not just the sister of the king’s most trusted man. She would be her own person, and more importantly, she would make her own choices. She’d have her pick of any Pict warrior she wanted. She would choose her husband. Not Greum.
    Elspeth saddled up and rode to an outcropping of stones, shaded by a massive oak. There she would be concealed from the Roman road but would still be able to hear Titus pass with his men. This should keep her from being spotted, but she hated lying in wait like a thief. Blast Titus anyway. If he’d allowed me to ride with him, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. Men think they’re so enormously important.
    When the cohort rode past, she held back until they were out of sight. Elspeth followed their tracks, ensuring she remained hidden by the shadows—a feat not easily accomplished when they traversed the hills rolling with grasses and sparse with trees.
    The soldiers meandered, stopping at each milecastle along the wall. Always hidden, Elspeth watched Titus dismount and inspect the grounds outside each fortress, pointing his discipline stick as he conferred with the fort’s officer.
    Spying proved tedious work. If she didn’t die of boredom once they passed through the gates and were concealed behind the walls, she certainly grew stiff from sitting a motionless saddle. The only thing she could do was to reflect on the past week.
    Titus hadn’t yet taken her into his confidence on sensitive issues, but earning his trust would take time—something she abhorred but knew was necessary. A good spy must learn patience.
    The centurion had surprised her in so many ways. Aye, he was fiercely loyal to Rome, but as a Roman subject, he didn’t possess the cruel streak she’d seen from most of his race—heathens with little regard for human