Gladiator Heart

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.”