I named him Lucan.
The name had come to me the moment I looked into his impossibly blue eyes, when he opened them again, framed by a halo of soft golden hair. He was only a day old, so small and fragile in my arms, yet the name still felt right somehow, simply enough for such a tiny life but strong enough to carry him through the years ahead.
Lucan, son of Gwrgenau.
He was already asleep by the time the wet nurse placed him back into my care, his tiny fingers curled loosely against Marcus's cloak. A smile found its way onto my lips despite everything that has happened.
He had arrived too early, too small. Yet there was already something stubborn about him. Even Livia had laughed softly, remarking that he protested every examination with fierce determination, crying until he got exactly what he wanted.
I couldn't help smiling through my tears, because somehow, I had no doubt that he had inherited that from his father.
"There you are," Marcus murmured as he approached, his arm slipping gently around my waist while his thumb brushed away the tears clinging to my cheeks. "Crying again."
There was no teasing in his voice, only quiet affection.
"What has he done this time?"
A soft laugh escaped me.
"Nothing," I said, shaking my head as I looked down at Lucan sleeping peacefully against my chest. "Nothing except being utterly perfect."
Marcus smiled to himself, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against my temple before his gaze settled on the tiny bundle in my arms.
For a long moment, he was simply watching us.
Then he let out a quiet breath.
"I have to admit..." he said softly, "watching you with him has made me rather impatient."
I glanced up at him.
"For what?"
His hand rested lightly over mine, where it cradled Lucan.
"For the day I see you holding our own child," he said as his smile softened. "I have always imagined that you would make a wonderful mother."
His eyes found mine again.
"But seeing it..." He shook his head with a quiet laugh. "It is far more beautiful than anything I had imagined."
A smile tugging at my lips. "Funny you should say that."
Marcus looked at me curiously. "And what, precisely, do you mean by that?"
I took a slow breath, suddenly feeling far more nervous than I had expected.
"I have been feeling...different."
His brows drew together.
"I thought it was simply exhaustion after everything that's happened." I glanced down briefly before meeting his eyes again. "Livia examined me this morning."
The words caught in my throat, then I smiled.
"I'm carrying your child."
For a heartbeat, Marcus simply stared at me, like he had forgotten how to breathe.
"Are you certain?"
I laughed softly through the tears threatening to return.
"Yes," I breathed, nodding. "Livia certainly is."
He cupped my face so suddenly that Lucan stirred in my arms. A grin spreading across his face unlike any I had ever seen before. Boyish, unguarded and utterly overwhelmed.
He kissed me softly, then rested his forehead against mine, laughing quietly under his breath. "The gods have seen fit to favor me, after all this time."
His hand drifted instinctively to my stomach, scarcely daring to touch it. "You are carrying our child, Elena..."
The words sounded almost reverent, then his smile faded.
Only slightly, but I felt it before I saw it.
"Marcus?" I asked, watching him blink, forcing himself back to the present. "What's wrong?"
He sighed quietly.
"The road to Rome is long," he said, his hand remaining over my stomach. "Days of travel. Rough roads. Autumn storms."
His gaze searched mine. "I do not know how safe it will be for you now."
My arms tightened instinctively around the sleeping infant before I carried him to the small wooden cradle beside our bed.
I had insisted he remain in our tent.
And perhaps it was selfish, but I simply wanted him close enough to see him whenever I opened my eyes. To soothe him whenever he cried. To breathe in the faint scent of milk that still clung to his soft golden hair.
Ever since his mother died, and Gen only hours later, I had found myself carrying a guilt I could never quite explain. If it hadn't been for me, Lucan would still have both his parents.
He was the last thing Gen had left me. This small, fragile piece of him that remained in this child. I had loved him in my own way, despite everything, and this felt like the only way I could still do right by his memory.
Carefully, I laid him down and rested a hand against the edge of his cradle, rocking it gently until his tiny face relaxed once more.
I could feel Marcus's eyes on me.
"When do we leave?" I asked quietly.
"At first light," he answered without hesitation. "Rome grows more impatient with every passing day. The longer I delay, the greater the danger becomes, for us both."
I nodded in understanding.
It had only been a few since the battle. Only a few days since we had buried Gen beneath the hills he had spent his life defending.
The grief still lingered in these lands, as did the uncertainty of who would take over his lands while his son grew.
My eyes drifted back to Lucan, part of me wanting to take him with us. To raise him as though he were our own. But deep down, I knew I couldn't.
This was his home, these forests and these hills.
These people.
Whatever else history demanded of him, Lucan was his father's son before he was anything else. Taking him to Rome would not simply change his future. It would take away the one inheritance Gen had died believing he would leave behind.
And I couldn't bring myself to do that.
I felt Marcus coming to stand beside me.
For awhile, neither of us spoke.
He rested one hand lightly against the cradle, watching Lucan sleep with the same quiet expression he reserved for moments when he was thinking several steps ahead.
"He will inherit."
I turned to look at him, watching his gaze remaining on the child.
"I will see to it personally."
My brows knitted together. "Marcus..."
He finally looked at me.
"His father died as lord of these lands." His voice was calm, measured. "No Roman governor, no neighboring chieftain and no opportunistic noble will strip that birthright from his son while I still draw breath."
He reached into the cradle, letting one finger curl around Lucan's tiny hand.
"I will send word to Rome before we leave. His inheritance will be recognized. Documents will be drawn. Witnesses gathered." His eyes lifted to mine. "The Emperor himself may dislike the arrangement, but even he understands the value of a stable Britannia."
I stared at him. "You would do that...for the son of your enemy?"
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Despite his misgivings, he did lead me to you. If I hadn't nearly died on that battlefield, I might never have found you." He took a deep breath. "I am also doing it for a child who bears no blame for the choices of his father."
He paused.
"And because it is what you would have wanted," he added, slipping an arm around my waist, drawing me gently against his side.
Emotion tightened my throat, I was at lost for words.
"One day," he continued quietly, "when Lucan is old enough to understand, he will know who his father was."
His gaze drifting down to the sleeping infant. "And he will know that his father died defending the land he loved."
There was no bitterness in his voice, not even triumph.
Only respect.
I rested my head against my husband's shoulder.
"Thank you," I whispered, even when the words felt impossibly small beside everything he had just promised.
His lips found my temple.
"There is no need to thank me, wife," he murmured softly, his hand settling over mine where it rested on the cradle. "We look after our own."