Czytaj książkę: «Gladiator Heart»
When lady Valeria Augusta Marianus is captured by the savage Pict army, she is fearful of her treatment by their renowned and fearless commander. His enemy is the Roman Empire and she is the Emperor’s niece, but Tristan Caileanach is nothing like the wild beast she imagined. Instead his ruggedly handsome face and toned body make her long to be held in his powerful arms… And her traitorous body can only resist the heat of this fierce warrior’s touch for so long…
One night in Tristan’s bed is all it takes for Valeria to give him her innocence and her heart. Yet she knows they have no future together—not when his hatred for all things Roman runs so deep. But when the Roman army descends on the camp and Tristan is enslaved and forced to be a gladiator, facing death every day, suddenly their roles are reversed. Now all Valeria wants is to give him back his freedom, but Tristan’s only chance is to win it in the arena…
Gladiator Heart
Alyssa Morgan
www.CarinaUK.com
ALYSSA MORGAN is a native of Minnesota, but has also lived in Hawaii and Utah, and now resides in Los Angeles. She has worked as a waitress, a bartender, a file clerk, and a licensed financial adviser, and many of her experiences have added to her true passion: writing romance. When she’s not slaving away over her latest work or devouring a novel by one of her favorite authors, you can find her giving in to her shopping problem, sunning herself at the beach, enjoying a leisurely Sunday brunch, or spending time with her friends and family.
I have to thank all the early readers for their encouragement. Without you, this story probably wouldn’t have seen the light of day. I’d also like to thank all those at Carina UK who decided to take a chance on me and for helping me bring out the best in my work. Lastly, thanks to Tristan and Valeria for sharing their love story with me, and now, with you.
To my mom, who loves a timeless romance as much as I do.
Contents
Cover
Blurb
Title Page
Author Bio
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Endpages
Copyright
A Legend…
It is in times of darkness that legends are born. When the world has fallen under the rule of evil men, the people pray to the Gods to send them a hero. Sometimes the Gods choose to answer those prayers.
In the ancient city of Rome, from the bloodshed of the arena, gladiators were born. The purpose of these fighters was to impress people with the might and force of the Great Empire and to instill fear in the hearts of the enemy. The gladiators brought not only sport to the games of the arena, but also glory and power. They fought bravely and died well, and quickly became champions of the people. Men wanted to be them. Young women swooned at the thought of their physical strength and prowess. Even children idolized them, drawing their images on walls throughout the city.
Most of the gladiators were slaves, prisoners of war or condemned offenders. Their lives were worth little more than half a denarius. But it was the people, and not their ruler, who decided whether a gladiator had demonstrated sufficient spirit and courage to obtain his emancipation. The people could choose to grant a gladiator freedom, just as they could call for his execution on the spot.
If they were good, the gladiators became heroes. This is the tale of such a hero. A warrior delivered to the people by the Gods, in answer to their loyal and heartfelt prayers.
Chapter One
Caledonia
Winter 317 A.D.
Valeria Augusta Marianus, a valued daughter of Rome, knew she was going to die.
She stumbled lost and barefoot through the fresh layer of snow that blanketed the land in white starkness. Above her, the naked boughs of the trees hung heavy and low with their icy burden. The clash of the earlier battle had long since quieted and an unsettling calm filled the air.
Having been born with a poor sense of direction, Valeria didn’t know if she was headed towards her home in the south, or further into the enemy’s territory to the north. It didn’t really matter where she was, because with no warm clothes and no shelter in sight, she would soon freeze to death, unless the wolves got to her first. At least she didn’t have to worry about finding food. She would be dead long before starvation could take her.
An icy wind rattled through the trees and ripped through the scant material of her tunic, chilling her all the way to her bones. Her teeth chattered, her hands and face were chapped raw from the cold, and her feet were frozen like blocks of ice. Perhaps she should make her grave in the very spot where she stood. Simply lie down, close her eyes, and wait for death to take her. Or maybe she should pray to the Gods for a miracle.
Sinking to her knees in the wet snow, she knew her efforts would be futile. The Gods had never listened to her. Had they cared to cast an interested ear to her plight she wouldn’t be here now, lost and alone in a foreign land.
The sound of approachingriders thundered in the distance, snapping her out of her thoughts. The heavy beat of hooves pounded as steadily against the ground as her heart beat against her chest. Only enemy or friend could be descending on her, and she prayed it would be the latter, while in her mind she knew that would be impossible. Any friend she had in this stark northern territory was dead.
The barbarians of these unconquered lands had attacked the Roman fort at the wall in the dead of night, killing anything and everything in their bloody path. Being in the midst of a violent battle was not something Valeria had envisioned when she’d decided to come to the fort to see her uncle, and in her flight to escape death, she must have run further than she thought, and now the darkness was finally catching up to her.
Rufus had warned her against coming here. A member of the Praetorian Guard and her sworn protector, he had pleaded with her not to travel to the wall where her uncle, the Emperor Constantine, held the northern Roman border. In her desperation, she had sworn that if Rufus didn’t bring her to her uncle, she’d make the dangerous journey alone. He knew she was stubborn enough to do it, and she’d been left with no choice. With the Emperor on the front, his son Crispus had been left in charge as Caesar of Rome, and blessed with the sole responsibility of appointing her a husband before she was too old to marry.
It was insulting to think her fate was in the hands of a mere child. Though he might match her in age at ten and nine years, he was a spoiled, self-indulgent brat who hid in the shadow of his great father’s robes. What did he know of life? Of love?
Afraid her uncle was losing his mind, Valeria wanted to see him in person and beg him to come up with some other fate for her. She couldn’t bear the thought that he would trade her so easily to a stranger of his son’s choosing, like nothing more than property. He’d cared for her as a child, did he no longer care for her now?
Valeria’s sudden arrival at the fort came as no surprise to her uncle, only served to upset him, but he hadn’t had enough time to chastise her before the battle began and the Picts laid siege to the only reminder of home she had in their harsh, unforgiving lands.
Yes, death was coming swiftly for her. She rose to her feet, numb with cold, prepared to meet it straight on, head held high and proud like any good Roman. She would not die a coward.
As the thundering hooves grew louder, three riders appeared in the distance, wearing the fur pelts of animals. They had long hair and blue markings painted on their faces and on the flanks of their mighty, galloping horses. The Woad. Hell unleashed was charging straight for her, and suddenly fear made her tremble. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to run. But to where? To what? All hope for her was lost.
Valeria fought the biting cold, even as it slowly weakened her, and waited while the enemy riders came upon her. They circled her on horseback, looking down at her, while their horses panted and snorted, their hot, labored breath hanging in the air like misty vapors.
“What shall we do with her?” The rider with hair as black as midnight and eyes even darker spoke to the other men.
The language they spoke was foreign, but Valeria understood every word. She’d treated and healed enough of these men as prisoners of Rome before they were thrown into the arena to die. Some had taken the time to teach her their tongue, she suspected more out of the need to feel human before they met a horrible end than to educate her. Whatever the reason for the education, she was grateful for it now.
“Roman slut!” The man with a yellow beard and a long braid down his back spat on the ground at her feet. “She deserves no mercy from us.” He lifted his spear aloft, preparing to strike.
“Go easy, Angus.” The third man rested a hand on his arm to stay him. He was younger than the other two, and his long, coppery red hair hung loose about his shoulders. There was a gentle confidence to his rugged manner, something that suggested he was capable of kindness.
Valeria looked at him in gratitude for intervening on her behalf, hoping to find an ally, but his eyes narrowed with calculating malice. “We must take her to the Commander. He’ll want to find out if she knows anything.”
“Hah!” The blond one called Angus bellowed. “What does a woman know, especially a Roman one?”
“I’m sure she’s as good at warming a bed as any wench,” the dark rider said, his gaze roaming over her shivering, frozen form.
The three men continued to circle her on horseback, their watchful stares becoming heated and purposeful. Valeria braced herself for an attack, even knowing she had no way of fighting them. She lacked the strength to compete with these men. Men who had every reason to hate her.
She was a Roman.
The northern tribes hated the Romans.
For centuries, Rome sought to stretch Her wings over all the lands, conquering those people who inhabited them and forcing them to bend under Her Supreme Will. Those who didn’t submit were slaughtered, and their names only echoed on the wind before that last part of them also fell silent and forgotten.
Valeria would be just as easily forgotten. These men would taunt her, beat her, certainly rape her, and leave her here to die if they didn’t kill her in their furious attempts. No one would ever find her. But she would not beg for a mercy they didn’t have. If the Gods weren’t listening to her, neither would these fearsome warriors.
The men reared their horses to a halt and dismounted, now circling her on foot, coming dangerously close. The dark one reached out and lifted a lock of her long, blonde hair in his hand, running it through his fingers before letting it fall back into place over her shoulder. The bearded man, Angus, dared to step closer to her. His fresh scent filled her senses and, despite the cold, his big body radiated warmth and the promise of a cloak to shield her from the chill.
Valeria took a fearful step back from him. She would not fall into the enemy’s arms no matter how tempting the option might seem. She’d rather freeze to death than find out what they intended for her.
“A rather tempting creature, wouldn’t you say?” Angus raked his gaze over her body, lingering on the swell of her breasts beneath the sheer linen tunic.
“No doubt their women are beautiful,” the dark one agreed. “But venomous as snakes.”
“We set out in search of a trophy,” Angus said, boldly stepping closer to her. “Let’s hope she’ll be as pleasing to the bed as she is to the eye.”
A silent understanding was exchanged between the men, and then the dark one seized her by the arm, pulling her roughly against him.
“You’ll come with us,” he said in her language.
Valeria didn’t have time to be frightened like she was supposed to because she was momentarily stunned at hearing him speak to her. From behind her, a woolen cloth was pulled over her head, blocking out the world and leaving her in darkness. There was the sound of leather creaking as the men mounted their horses, and then she was dragged up by one of them, stretched face down over his lap.
With a nudge to their horses, the riders once again tore off through the frozen forest with thundering hooves, and Valeria as their captured prize. What end was in store for her, only the Gods knew.
The Pict army made camp deep in the safety of the forest. Their nighttime attack on the Roman fort had taken the enemy by surprise, but still the Emperor Constantine had managed to escape. Any remaining survivors of the battle had been captured, and those who couldn’t be ransomed to Rome would be sold or traded as slaves to the neighboring tribes. If they survived that long.
The destruction of the fort at the wall sent a firm message to Rome from the people they sought to wipe off the face of the Earth.
They would not be taken. They would not be enslaved. They were born free men, and they would die as free men.
Tristan Caileanach was the commander of this great army, and because he was a good leader, the men were loyal and would fight for him to the death. Now he made his usual rounds among the tents, making certain his men were securing the camp and treating any of their wounded. Large fires burned bright and warm, cooking meat from deer, rabbit and wild boar, if one could be found. The horses had been watered and rested at the far end of the camp. Overall, the feeling was one of contentment, and the men glowed with the victory of their recent battle. They slugged down honeyed ale and caroused boisterously while they compared weapons and counted their kills.
This far into winter, the day was a cold one, and Tristan felt the need to head back to the comforts of his tent. He grew weary from a war he feared would never end. Rome kept on coming, and the Picts kept on fighting them back. Would there be a day when they could live in peace once again? A day when they could tend their lands and raise their children without fear of having everything they worked for destroyed by the greed of one Empire?
Tristan was headed to his tent when Angus, his second-in-command and his most-trusted friend, came through the camp, walking towards him with long, purposeful strides. He wore a fur pelt draped over his wide shoulders and his tawny hair was as always gathered in a braid that hung down his back. His golden beard had gotten so long Tristan was thinking of suggesting he trim the length.
“Surely the Gods have blessed you.” Angus stabbed his legionary spear into the frozen ground and went down on one knee before Tristan. “I am honored to go to war with you on this day, and on any other day.”
Tristan was equally honored to have this noble warrior at his side. They had known each other ever since they were young lads, and as they grew up together they went from playing warrior games with rocks and wooden sticks, to fighting real games with weapons of steel and fire. They had quickly come to learn that in these games of men, when one went down, he stayed down.
Forever.
Tristan guarded his friend’s back with the same loyal devotion Angus employed inguarding his.
“Where have you been all morning?” he wondered of his friend, motioning with his hand for him to stop all this posturing about and get to his feet.
“I’ve been out riding.” Angus rose up, and a slight, knowing twinkle gleamed in his icy blue eyes. “I’ve got something for you.”
Tristan knew that look boded some form of mischief. Intrigued, he decided to play along and see what Angus was up to. “Show me what you have, my friend.”
When they reached Tristan’s tent, Angus held aside the heavy fur pelt covering the doorway and let him enter first. It didn’t take his eyes long to adjust to the dim interior and focus on the woman seated on the ground in the corner. She was clothed in only a light linen tunic, and her arms were tied behind her and secured to one of the wooden tent posts. Her long blonde hair was a matted mass of curls. She turned her head to look at him as he came inside.
Even dirty and disheveled, her beauty was overwhelming. She had a delicate face with a slender, dainty nose. Her eyes were a deep, deep blue and reminded him of a calm, summer sea. Her sooty dark lashes swept across high cheekbones that flushed with the same shade of pink as her lips. Full, luscious lips made just for a man’s kiss. Beneath her tunic he could see the outline of her body and the suggestion of soft, ripe curves and long, supple legs.
A violent shudder racked through him and he felt a familiar stirring in his loins. He went tense all over, his desire riding him as if he’d never had a woman before. He wanted her.
“We found her in the forest,” Angus said. “Thought she might amuse you.”
At Tristan’s impatient look, Angus ducked out of the tent and draped the fur pelt back over the door. Tristan glanced briefly at the woman, afraid her beauty had been an illusion, a bewitching trick played by the low light, but no, he still had a very beautiful woman in his tent. He removed his furs and tossed them over a chair by the table next to the warming fire. He rolled the sleeves of his tunic back to his elbows and began to wash in the basin on the stand, splashing cold water over his face a few times to remove the grime and dirt and blood.
As he dried himself with a towel, his gaze drifted to the woman like it had been pulled there. He admired how she kept a proud, rigid profile despite the fact that she sat tied to a tent post. He dried his hands and tossed the towel on the table.
“What’s your name?” he asked in her native language, knowing she’d not understand his.
She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him or to answer him.
Angered by her show of insolence, Tristan raised his voice. “Did you not hear me?”
Valeria heard him just fine. His deep voice was smooth, but insistent, and he spoke her language fluently. Could all of these savages speak it?
“You just killed two legions of my countrymen.” She laced her tone with all the venom she could muster. “I have nothing to say to you.”
She turned her head aside and faced the leather wall of the tent, afraid to look at him. The quick glimpse she’d gotten in the dim lighting had set her heart racing. The man was tall and strong and handsome. The feelings he stirred up in her were not things she should feel for her enemy. An enemy who could easily kill her.
He came over to where she sat and squatted down, bringing his face level with hers. “Will you not tell me your name?”
Valeria dared to look at him. His auburn hair hung straight and long around his shoulders, and his rugged, handsome face was covered by a trim, brassy beard. He couldn’t be too many years older than she. Her gaze drifted to his firm, sensual lips.
Why did she find the brutish savage so handsome?
“What care do you have for names?” She lifted her gaze and boldly met his stare. “You’re a savage.”
His grey eyes darkened as he held her gaze. Though there was a youthful, almost boyish glint in his eyes, he exuded potent masculinity, making her quite aware of her own gentle femininity. Her stomach twisted into nervous knots and her pulse quickened. Was this fear she was feeling, or something else?
“I have to guess you’re of patrician rank” he said, his voice low and smooth. His penetrating gaze roamed over her face and hair. “The sheer arrogance in your tone is enough to make any slave cower, but I am not a slave.”
Valeria turned away from him again to stare at the side of the tent. She was amazed by how well he was able to read her. What could this barbarian possibly know of Rome or people of her class?
Giving a heavy sigh, he rose and walked back to the table. He picked at some of the meat on the platter and took a long swallow from his flagon of ale, staring at her over the rim. She guessed he was the leader of this army, for he held himself with the same arrogant airs he accused her of having.
Angus came back into the tent, letting in a rush of cold air. Valeria shivered, but the bone-deep chill in her body had succumbed to the warmth the tent provided.
“There’s a prisoner giving us some trouble,” Angus said.
The man set down his flagon of ale, never taking his eyes from Valeria. “Wait for me outside.”
He stared harshly at her, and this time she didn’t turn away from him. She’d assumed he’d killed every last person at the fort. The idea that he’d taken prisoners never occurred to her. Picts weren’t known to leave their enemies alive, they had no dignity, but she sensed this man did.
“You Romans are nothing but trouble,” he griped.
“And you’re nothing but a killer!” she shot back at him with a bravery she didn’t quite feel.
His expression hardened with fury. He charged over to her and once again came down in front of her. “What is your name?”
Valeria pulled her knees to her chest to put some semblance of a barrier between them. She knew little of this great warrior and feared what the man might do when angered, so she decided it wise to answer him. “Valeria.”
“Are you afraid, Valeria?”
She held his gaze for a moment, studying him. “Should I be?”
“I’ve witnessed many men in your situation who were willing to trade anything for their lives.”
“What do you want?” She braced herself for his answer. The anticipation was grinding away at her nerves.
“I want what all men want,” he replied. “To live as I choose.”
She was left with nothing else to say. His answer was honest and straightforward, and not at all what she expected to hear from a barbarian savage.
“Give me no trouble and you’ll have no reason to fear me.” His dark gaze swept over her once more, gentling a degree. “You’re the only Roman I’ve been so generous with.”
He stood, towering above her on the ground, then picked up one of his furs before sweeping out of the tent and leaving her alone, tied to the wooden post. She knew it was only a matter of time before he killed her.
Chapter Two
Tristan followed Angus through the camp to the tent where the prisoners were being held. A clamor of loud voices and commotion came from inside. He entered the tent, and three of his men were sent crashing into him, almost knocking him to the ground. He kept his feet and demanded, “What the devil is going on in here?”
Among the prisoners huddled together, a large man with a shaved head had broken his bonds and wasn’t letting anyone get near him. He’d been stripped of his armor and weapons and wore only a coarse, brown tunic, but he still looked like a mighty warrior. A mighty, angry warrior. He towered over most of the men and his arms and legs were thick and solid like tree trunks, bulging with muscles. His eyes blazed with hatred as he looked at Tristan.
“You are the leader?” he asked in Tristan’s language.
“Yes.” Tristan nodded. “What’s the trouble here?” His men were under strict orders not to harm or harass the prisoners.
“Let the girl go.” It was more like a warning than a demand.
Tristan hadn’t expected this. How did the man know of Valeria? Was this her brother? Her husband? It didn’t matter. She was his prisoner and he’d do as he pleased with her.
“What girl is that?” He met the man’s trenchant stare without flinching.
“You know damn well the girl I speak of!” the man bellowed in a rage, causing those close to him to step back in alarm. “Your men talk of her.” The muscles in his thick neck strained and his face reddened. “How many times have you violated her already?”
Tristan admired the spirit of this warrior. Strong, loyal, and courageous. If he wasn’t a Roman, Tristan might ask him to join his army. “Why do you concern yourself with the girl?”
“I’m sworn to protect her,” he grated through clenched teeth. “Be sure, any man here who touches her will know my wrath.” His expression was thunderous as he stood there, tall and seething with fury.
“What can you do about it?” Tristan laughed, and some of his men joined in with him. “You’re a prisoner, soon to be sold into slavery, if you can survive the cold. Save your vengeance for a more worthy battle.”
The man lowered his bald head and plowed through the barrier of soldiers, growling like a feral beast as he charged straight for Tristan. The tent erupted in chaos as the other prisoners cheered him on, while the soldiers tried to hold him back. Tristan drew the broadsword from the sheath at his waist, ready to meet the attack, but Angus and Talorc stepped in front of him, swords at the ready.
“Stand down!” Angus shouted, prepared to fell the great warrior if necessary.
The man didn’t stop his charge. “I’ll take all of you to hell with me!”
“You will stand down now!” Tristan raged in a deep voice that rang clear and full of authority. “Or I will see to it that the girl suffers. I’ll have my men show her a thing or two about Pict hospitality.”
The threat was good because the man halted his attack. His expression remained forbidding as he stared at Tristan. “Take pleasure from this moment, for the next time we meet, I will not hesitate to kill you.”
It was obvious the man cared for his charge, so how had she gotten separated from him? What had the woman been doing this far north in the first place? There was much Tristan wanted to know about his unwilling guest.
“Secure the prisoner.” He barked the order, then left and headed back to his tent.
He intended to get more from Valeria than her name this time.
The coarse rope of her bonds chafed painfully every time she moved, leaving her skin damaged and raw. Valeria was going to go crazy if she had to stay tied up for much longer. She was hungry and tired. Her muscles were cramped and sore. Trying to work her hands free had only caused the ropes to go tighter and had planted a splinter from the wooden post into her palm.
When would her captor return? His hard, handsome face still lingered in her mind. He’d told her she had no reason to fear him, but he was a Pict general and she was a patricianlady of Rome. They were sworn enemies. She would be a fool to expect any kindness from him.
The only solace she took was from the warmth of his tent. If she wasn’t tied up she’d be quite comfortable. The warming fire in the far corner was vented by an open flap in the ceiling. A chair and three stools circled the wooden table that was laden with a platter of food, flagons of ale, a burning oil lamp and maps spread open with stones anchoring their corners. On a smaller stand rested the washing basin and a towel. Across the tent was a large sleeping platform piled high with warm furs.
A strange, suffocating feeling washed over her as she wondered if she would watch the general sleep beneath those furs from where she was tied up, or if she would be forced to sleep in the bed with him. She feared she wouldn’t have to wait too much longer until he made his intentions known where she was concerned. It wasn’t really all that hard for her mind to put together.
As if he sensed she was thinking about him, the general came striding into the tent. He spared her a quick glance before heading to the table. He pulled off his fur pelt and tossed it over one of the stools, then washed his hands in the basin before he ate some of the meat on the platter and washed it down with a chug of ale.
Valeria’s empty stomach churned with hunger. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten something, or even had a drink of water.
“You’re hungry,” he observed, seeing the way she was watching him. He crossed the small distance to crouch down in front of her. “Answer some questions, and I’ll let you eat.”
Valeria huffed indignantly. “Even if I did know anything that might be of use to you, I wouldn’t tell you.” She kicked up her chin in defiance. She could tell him the Roman army’s entire battle plan and he’d still probably kill her.
Sudden anger lit his grey eyes. “Your stubbornness will only add to your discomfort.” He rose and went back over to the table.
He tugged his tunic free from the waist of his leather breeches and pulled it off over his head, then draped it over the back of the chair. A different feeling pulled at her gut as she looked at his powerful set of shoulders and the hard muscles of his broad chest and arms. Though lean and athletic, she could see the harnessed power of his great strength. There was a reason this man led an army.
A surge of excitement rippled through her, making her pulse quicken. He was undeniably handsome, a man in his prime, and though there was something wild and raw about him, he also seemed to be somewhat educated and civilized. It would be easy for her to hate him if he was a dumb brute. Sensing there was more to this man, Valeria was intrigued.
When he wet a cloth in the basin and began washing himself, his muscles bunching and flexing as he dragged it across the wide expanse of his chest, her body grew heavy and warm, aching for something she couldn’t name or define. His chest and arms were dusted with a light smattering of silky auburn hair, and another patch covered his stomach and disappeared beneath the waist of his breeches.
Valeria had seen men naked to the waist before, but none had awakened this strange desire she had for her captor. She continued to watch him as he washed, letting her mind wander while he moved the cloth over his body. What would it feel like to be pressed close to him? To feel his skin against hers?To actually touch all those hard muscles? Surprised by her thoughts, she tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry.
He turned and caught her staring at him, and a confident smile spread across his lips. “Perhaps you’d like to help me wash?” he suggested.
A heated blush rushed to her cheeks and she quickly turned away, feeling ashamed. He was her enemy. She should be thinking of a way to escape him with her life, not about touching him. These feelings were too confusing.
“I could use a good slave,” he said. “Not many Roman women make it this far north.”
She cast him a hostile glare, narrowing her eyes. “I’m no slave.”
“You are now.” His twisted smile was cold and without humor. “I’ll think of ways for you to serve me.”
Her temper flared. Were her hands not tied behind her back she’d find something to throw at him. If he thought she’d bend to his will, he was sorely mistaken. “I’ll never serve you.”
He came towards her, moving with swift strides, and crouched down in front of her. Valeria tried to keep her gaze focused on his grey eyes, but having him so close, his body hard and bare, she couldn’t help but let her gaze wander over his masculine form, appreciating every inch.
“Choice is a luxury you no longer have.” The ire in his tone was barely harnessed. “I have no patience for the spoiled, selfish whims of a fickle young woman. You’re far from home, little Roman, and you should be thanking me, not opposing me.”
“Thanking you?” she retorted in cold sarcasm. “For what?”
His attack on the fort had caused her to flee on foot, without time to get her boots and a warm cloak. She’d almost frozen to death in the forest. She was hungry and thirsty, and her arms were going numb from being tied up for so long.
“I could have thrown you to my men,” he casually informed her. “Let them take their pleasure of you. I doubt any of them have tasted Roman quality before.” He frowned, knitting his brows together. His stern stare drilled into her.
Irritated by his mocking tone, she let her mouth run away with her. “Your generous hospitality is much appreciated. I’ll be sure to look back with fondness on the barbarian who was able to restrain himself and keep me from his men.”
“I’m no barbarian.” A muscle ticked along his jaw as his rage surfaced. “Address me with respect, lady, or I will give you over to my men.”
Valeria took heed of his threat. It would be best not to push him, given the murderous glare in his eyes. “I have no knowledge of you, lord. How am I to address you then?”
“I am Tristan Caileanach, commander of the three armies of the north,” he offered proudly. “But hearing how sweet the title of lord sounds coming from your lips, you may address me as such.” His expression softened with his sinful smile.
An unwelcome surge of excitement flooded her. Tristan was such a bold name. A perfect name for the strength and virility the man crouched before her possessed.
“Very well.” She cleared her throat, pretending not to be affected by the strange feelings he aroused in her. “What will you have me do, lord?”
Tristan went tense with desire. He certainly wanted to ravage her body, but her simple question also had him thinking of all the ways he’d like to humiliate her. She’d probably abused a good number of slaves in her lifetime. It might do her some good to see what it felt like to be treated so disdainfully.
His eager gaze devoured her with a slow calmness, travelling over her pale, blonde hair, her full, pink lips and the round curve of her breasts beneath her tunic. The fabric was light and sheer and he could see the dark shadows of her nipples as they peaked under his ardent stare.
He could easily overpower this woman and have her as many times in as many ways as he wanted. If he left her tied up, he could lift her tunic and bury himself deep between her legs with no struggle at all. His shaft pulsed, growing hard against his breeches as he imagined the feel of her slick warmth surrounding him, the softness of her body pinned beneath him.
The fact that he hadn’t tried to seduce her yet came as a startling surprise. It would be an easy thing for him to do. Women meant nothing to him outside of using their bodies to fulfill a need, and he was well-practiced in convincing them to give him what he wanted and leaving before they got attached.
After losing his wife years ago in an attack by the Romans, he vowed never to love again. The pain of losing such a thing was too great to bear, and as the leader of an army, he had no time for women and the problems that went along with them. He slaked his lust when it was necessary, and it was rare for him to enjoy the same woman for more than one night, but he was afraid it would not be so with Valeria. Something about her was different and he couldn’t decide what. Her gentle beauty certainly stimulated his desire, but when she opened her mouth, she spoke with such arrogance and spite that he wasn’t sure if he should fuck her, or fight her.
Battling the dichotomy of his feelings was exhausting, and just the kind of thing he tried to avoid where women were concerned. He stared into her deep blue eyes, wondering what he should do with her. A woman was the last thing he needed. He should simply turn her loose and let the men have her, but the idea of her with another man practically incited him to a frenzy of possessive rage. She was his prize, and though he’d like to take her to his bed, he knew she’d fight him, and he didn’t want this beautiful woman fighting. He’d much rather have her pliant and willing.
He reached into his boot and drew out his short-handled dagger. Valeria regarded him watchfully, her body stiffening as he leaned in close to her. He reached behind her, and with a smooth swipe of the sharp blade he cut her bonds free. Her body relaxed on a relieved sigh and she brought her hands in front of her and massaged the bruises around her wrists.
He rose to his feet and went back to the table. His men had supplied him with the best cuts of meat, along with some boiled potatoes and carrots. There was more than enough food to be shared with the dainty little Roman.
“You may eat if you’re hungry.” He indicated an empty seat at the table with a wave of his hand and took a long swallow from his flagon of ale.
He could have some of the spiced wine they’d taken from the fort brought for her if she preferred it, then he immediately banished the thought. He would do nothing to make the woman comfortable. Her days of lounging around, eating olives and drinking wine, were over. Life in the north could be cold and harsh, and she’d learn to find pleasure in much simpler things. Like vegetables and fresh water.
She was unsteady on her feet at first, but she made it to the table and seated herself on one of the stools. Tristan pushed the silver platter of food towards her, then tossed some ale out of a flagon and filled it with fresh water from the pitcher. He set it in front of her and continued to sip from his own cup as he watched her with curiosity.
Vulnerable as she was, there was also a strength to her. A depth of courage not many possessed. She held herself with confidence and ease, and her eyes, ever watchful, glistened with the knowledge of some secret known only to her. She ate with practiced manners, taking small, unhurried bites, though she must be half-starved. It only served to remind him of how different her world was from his and how he shouldn’t be entertaining tender thoughts about her. She was a Roman. Her people had killed his parents, his three brothers, his wife and their unborn child. They had destroyed his homeland and enslaved those who survived. He could show a Roman no mercy. Not this one, not at any time, not for any reason. Ever.
Valeria didn’t notice Tristan watching her, his malevolent stare darkening as she devoured the meat and vegetables as fast as her graceful manners would allow. She had a voracious appetite and feared she might finish off the entire platter of food. Every few bites she forced herself to drink some of the water and take a deep breath before tearing into the food again. Soon, the hollow pit in her stomach was satisfied and she was able to wish for other things, like a comb for her hair, or a hot bath. Perhaps some warm, clean clothes and some leather boots or sandals. Anything to cover her feet.
“What were you doing at the fort?” Tristan’s deep voice sliced through the silence in the tent.
Valeria raised a worried gaze to meet his grey eyes, which were stony with anger. She had better answer his questions, considering he was giving her shelter, and now food and water. If he asked anything that might compromise Rome, she’d lie to him. “I was there to see my uncle.”
“Who is your uncle?”
What would he do to her if he knew she was the Emperor’s niece? She might be illegitimate, conceived from an illicit affair, but he still claimed her as family.
“His name is Rufus Paulinas.” She gave the name of her dear protector, sworn to watch over her since the day she was born. He was probably dead so he wouldn’t begrudge her the use of his name to keep up her ruse.
“This uncle approved of you travelling to enemy territory?” Tristan appeared outraged by the idea.
“The wall is not enemy territory,” she argued. “It’s well-guarded and perfectly safe.”
Tristan placed his hand on the table and leaned towards her. “Your current predicament would prove otherwise.”
Valeria was caught in his penetrating gaze, unable to look away from him. He was right. Had the wall been safe, she’d still be there, clean and warm and…safe. It appeared Rome didn’t have as strong a hold on the wall as her people were led to believe.
“I wonder why you would travel so far to see your uncle.” Tristan leaned closer to her, so close she could feel his warm breath on her face.
“I missed him.” Her voice was barely a whisper and she stirred uneasily.
His eyes searched hers. Did he have some way of knowing she was lying? The smile he gave her was wide and friendly, flashing his even, white teeth, and she relaxed under his scrutinizing stare, believing he bought the lie.
“You’re going to have to do better than that if you expect to fool me.” He thrust his flagon of ale down on the table and went over to the fire, where he added more kindling to the small orange blaze.
Valeria swallowed hard, trying not to let her fear show. Tristan wasn’t going to let her go without giving him the truth, and that was something she could never give him.
Chapter Three
The water was cold and clear and it enlivened her senses. Valeria submerged the cloth in the basin of fresh water Tristan had brought for her, rinsed it, and then wrung it out before swiping it over her neck and chest. Bumps of gooseflesh rose on her skin and she shivered from the cold. It was a small price to pay in order to be clean. Never again would she take a lazy, warm bath for granted.
Tristan had instructed her to wash and then he’d left her alone in the tent. She immediately took the opportunity to get a look at what was on the other side of the door, and retreated back inside when she was met with a look of disgust from Angus. She didn’t know if he stood guard to keep her in, or to keep others out. Valeria may not like him, but she felt safer with him there.
She kept her tunic on while she washed, focusing on her face and neck, her hands and arms, and lastly her feet. The water was brown and murky when she finished and her skin raw from being scrubbed and polished. After raking her fingers through some of the tangles in her hair, she was slowly returning to herself.
The minutes dragged on, feeling like hours, and still Tristan didn’t return. She poked around in his tent searching for personal items or anything that might hint atthe kind of man he was. She found nothing, only a few changes of clothes and his warm furs. The maps spread open on the table gave no hints as to strategy or where his other armies might be camped. Not that she’d be getting out of here alive to tell anyone, and if she did, who would she tell? Her uncle was most likely dead, and any new leader wouldn’t listen to her. The only value she had as a woman was to make a strong alliance through marriage and give her husband strong, healthy children who would carry on his lineage.
Valeria plopped down on one of the stools at the table. The idea of such a boring, tedious existence did not sit well with her. She was a patrician with noble blood in her veins and had been bred and pampered as such, but she’d also been allowed a great measure of freedom in her life. Her mother died giving birth to her, and knowing nothing of her father, she’d been taken in by her uncle and raised mostly by the household servants. Her family was more concerned with their political aspirations and accumulating wealth than her comings and goings. Half the time they forgot she even existed.
More depressed than she was before, she checked the three flagons on the table for something to drink. Not water. She wanted something stronger. Tristan’s cup held some ale and she took a long, gulping swallow.
Valeria didn’t mind being alone. She’d gotten so used to being ignored that she found the recent interest in obtaining a husband for her rather insulting. Who were these people to dictate her life? They didn’t know anything about her. Begging for her uncle’s compassion and understanding would be the only way to save herself from a life of misery and servitude.
She took another heavy swallow of ale, finishing the drink this time. Her belch was hardly ladylike and she laughed as she imagined what a husband would think of such crude behavior. Would she be beaten? Publicly flogged and thrown into the arena with the Gladiators? She burst into a hysterical fit of laughter, while at the same time troubled tears burned her eyes. Maybe she was losing her mind. And maybe the Gods had answered her prayers after all by sending Tristan. He was one way to escape her awful fate.
Hearing Valeria’s laughter, Tristan barged into his tent, ready to kill Angus for leaving his post and seeking out her company. He was surprised to find her seated alone at the table, laughing, with tears running down her clean face. Her wild mane of blonde curls had been somewhat tamed and her beauty was even more evident with the layer of dirt removed.
“What amuses you so?” he demanded, still angry with her for trying to deceive him when he’d questioned her earlier.
She sobered, ceasing her laughter and looking up at him from under her dark lashes. “Nothing.”
“Were you not just laughing?”
“No.” Her chin trembled as if she was about to cry, but she held back her tears.
Gods!
The woman was exasperating. Tristan marched over to the table and picked up his flagon of ale, not prepared to find it empty.
“Did you drink this?” He turned it over and a single drop splashed on the wooden surface of the table.
“Yes.” She smiled up at him, seeming pleased with herself.
Well, at least she’d told him the truth. Perhaps the ale would help loosen her tongue. “Tell me why you were at the wall.”
Valeria groaned and rested her head in her hands. “I already told you.”
“I don’t believe your story.” Did she really mean to keep up with her lies? Had she been there to deliver a message from Rome? They often used women as unsuspecting spies.
“Is it so strange that I’d want to see my uncle?” She lifted her head from her hands and looked at him. “He wasn’t coming back to Rome anytime soon.”
Tristan crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her carefully, watching for any sign that she was lying to him. “There must have been a good reason for you to put yourself in danger.”
“Aren’t you getting tired of asking me the same questions?”
“Not until you tell me the truth.”
“You want the truth?” She gave a deflated sigh. “I travelled to the fort to beg my uncle to change his mind about forcing me to marry.”
Tristan bellowed a laugh. Her new lie was even less believable. “It’s been my experience that all women want to marry. You’d do better telling me the real reason.”
“That is the real reason,” she insisted. “I have no wish to be wed to a stranger who cares nothing for me. I am not property to be traded and sold.”
“Slavery is the only currency Rome knows,” he said. “You’d best get used to it.”
The Gods knew Tristan had already treated this woman better than the Romans treated their slaves. He was sure she was of patrician stock, and she’d have a hard time convincing him that life was so bad for her.
“How does what you’re doing differ from what Rome does?” Her blue eyes sparkled in challenge. “You attacked the fort, killed most of the men and will kill the prisoners you took, or sell them as slaves.”
Tristan stared harshly at her. He didn’t have to explain his actions to her, but was she really so ignorant? “We are fighting to keep what is rightfully ours and has been since the dawn of time. When Rome marches upon our lands, kills our families and burns our homes and crops, we’re left with no choice but to retaliate. We’ve been forced into this battle, and therein lies the difference.”
Comprehension dawned in her eyes, but she remained silent. A woman like Valeria wasn’t familiar with the ways of war. The attack at the fort had to be the closest she’d ever come to a battle. Roman women were kept safe and sheltered, far from the front lines, while his people fought for their lives, every man, woman and child. He should wring her pretty little neck for that injustice alone.
“You don’t have to fight,” she argued. “If you just went along with Rome surely they would—”
“We will never bow before them!” He slammed his fist down on the table, causing the empty flagons to topple over. “We are free men.”
Startled, Valeria shrank back from him. How little she knew of men and war. The one thing she could understand was the desire to be free. She’d been seeking the same thing before ending up a prisoner in the enemy’s camp.
What a fool she was.
She would never know freedom the way a man did. If she escaped Tristan, or by some miracle he let her go, she would have to return home. Where else would she go? Rome was the only life she knew. And she hated it more than anything in this moment. Sometimes she wondered if she had been born into the wrong life, in the wrong place, with the wrong people.
Tristan grabbed her roughly by the arm and jerked her off the stool and onto her feet. “We’ve done enough talking for the day.” He led her towards the sleeping pallet.
Valeria’s entire body went rigid with fear. Dread lodged in her gut and she struggled to breathe. What would he do to her?
Tristan practically had to drag her across the tent because she dug in her heels, trying to stop him. When they reached the pallet he shoved her down to the ground. She kept her eyes cast to the floor. She didn’t have the courage to look at him. She didn’t want to see the wild lust burning in his eyes.
He caught her by surprise when he tossed two fur pelts from the pallet on the ground beside her. Now she did look up at him, and the only thing burning in his eyes was anger.
“Those should be enough to keep you warm through the night,” he bit out.
Valeria absently stroked her hand over the soft brown fur as Tristan went to the other side of the tent and tossed aside a stack of furs that had been resting on top of a trunk. He threw open the lid and rustled around inside. With a metallic, clanking noise he produced a pair of iron shackles and came back over to her.
She panicked when he went down on his knees and closed his strong hand around her ankle.” What are you doing?”
He pulled her leg across his lap. “I’m making sure you don’t decide to wander off.” He secured one of the cold, heavy shackles around her ankle. He clamped the other shackle to the end of the pallet’s frame, tugging on it a few times to be certain it would hold.
“How am I to sleep with this?” She shook her leg, wincing as the heavy chains rattled and the cold iron bit into her tender skin.
“You’ll manage,” he said, giving her a wicked smile. “Sweet dreams, little Roman.”
He dressed in a fresh tunic over by the table and pulled on one of his furs before he left her alone in the tent. Valeria wasn’t sure what to make of Tristan. It was obvious that she angered him and that he hated her simply for being Roman, but she didn’t think he would hurt her. He would have done it by now if he wanted to. So far, he’d established the pattern of leaving his tent when she upset his temper.
She got to her feet and tested the shackles herself. The chain was short and didn’t allow much room for movement. It was a strange feeling being kept like this. To have no control over when you were fed, how you were clothed, or even when you could relieve yourself.
Valeria made a makeshift bed on the ground, arranging the two furs he’d given her to lieon, then she boldly pulled a third from his bed to cover herself with. She curled up beneath the fur and supposed she’d better get used to being a slave. After this disgraceful experience, she was certain marriage would be no problem at all. She might actually welcome the torture.
Tristan breathed in the crisp night air as he moved through the darkened camp to find Angus. He was too wound up to sleep. Valeria’s stubborn resistance incited his temper to the point of rage, while at the same time her softness and beauty stirred a tremendous lust in him, and between the two warring emotions he was afraid of losing control.
She was a Roman!
He shouldn’t give a damn about losing control around her or not. She could live or die and it wouldn’t make any difference to him. Instead of keeping her warm and secure in his tent, he should chain her out in the snow and let her freeze. He’d bet she’d be willing to do anything he asked after one night.
But he knew he wouldn’t do that to her. If he was smart, he’d keep her chained with the rest of the prisoners. She’d be out of his tent and among her countrymen, where she had a fierce protector willing to kill anyone who would do her harm.
No, he didn’t like that idea either.
What he really wanted to do was drown his thoughts in a barrel of ale, and then go back to his tent and lose himself in the warm comforts of Valeria’s body. The only thing stopping him was knowing she wouldn’t accept him, and he wanted her to accept him with open arms. A Roman.
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