Gladiator Heart

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.

What was wrong with him?

Rome, and everything in it, was the enemy.

Tristan came upon the tent Angus, Talorc and Conall shared. They always made camp at the back, near the horses. The three men were seated around a blazing fire, chugging on ale and laughing and jesting with each other.

“Every time you tell that story, the woman’s tits get bigger,” Talorc grunted, running a hand through his dark hair.

“They were huge!” Angus held his hands out in front of his chest to illustrate his point. “I almost died from suffocation.”

Conall, a younger lad who had joined the army last summer, listened to Angus in rapt fascination. He spent most of his time trailing after the two warriors, but had yet to learn that Angus had a propensity for embellishing his tales of war and women.

“Knowing Angus,” Talorc said, “he wouldn’t have stopped until he blew his wad, or he really did suffocate.”

“Take this bit of wisdom, lad.” Angus swayed drunkenly and pointed a beefy finger at Conall. “Tupping a woman can be very dangerous.”

Their hearty laughter soared, then drifted away when Tristan strode up to the fire and took a seat on one of the empty logs.

“Commander.” Angus jumped to his feet, coming to attention by crossing his right arm over his chest in a salute.

Talorc and Conall dropped their mugs of ale on the ground and assumed the same stance.

“Be at ease.” Tristan waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal. “I come to share your company.”

The three men resumed their perches around the fire and regarded him with baffled stares.

“We thought you already had company.” Angus grinned widely and waggled his yellow brows.

“You should be buried balls deep in that wench we found,” Talorc continued. “Not sitting out here with us.”

“Unless you’ve ridden her so hard she can’t take anymore,” Angus added, giving an artful grin as he sipped from his mug.

“Enough!” Tristan roared, tension grinding in his jaw. “Get me some ale. The damn woman drank every last drop in my tent.”

What else did she do in there when he was gone? At least she couldn’t get into any trouble shackled to his bed. He hoped.

Talorc shoved at Conall and the young lad went over to one of the barrels to fill a mug for Tristan.

“Does she not please you?” Angus wondered.

Tristan liked his women fair-haired and gentle. Coming across the woman in the forest this morning had been like receiving a sign directly from the Gods and Angus had been excited to give such a prize to Tristan. His friend and commander needed to relieve some pressure, or he was going to crumble under the strain of his position. He led the strongest army in the north, and a strong army needed a strong leader. He’d been without a woman for a long time. Maybe too long.

“I don’t know what to do with her.” Tristan sighed.

Conall handed him a mug of ale, which he gladly accepted, nodding his head in thanks. He took a deep swallow of the honeyed brew and stared into the leaping flames of the fire.

“What do you mean you don’t know what to do with her?” Talorc snorted. “A piece as fine as that should keep you going all night.”

“I’ll be happy to take her off your hands,” Angus offered.

“You won’t touch her,” Tristan warned, keeping his tone relatively civil in spite of his anger. The only thing he knew when it came to Valeria was that he didn’t want her with another man. Not until he’d slaked his desires with her body first.

“Have you lost your vigor?” Conall asked suddenly.

“Gods, lad!” Angus burst out. “Are you mad?”

Talorc smacked Conall on the back of the head.

“Oww.” Conall rubbed a hand over his wild, red hair. “I was only trying to help.”

Tristan clenched his jaw tighter, staring at him in annoyance. “No, I have not lost my vigor.”

If anything, his vigor had mounted to an untenable level.

Angus choked out an amused laugh.” Then what’s the problem?”

“She’s like no other woman I’ve met.” Tristan scrubbed a hand over his beard.

A part of him believed it was also possible that because she was unmarried, she was still a virgin. But she also had a softness and an innocence about her, and he wouldn’t feel right forcing himself upon her. She’d called him a barbarian and a savage, and raping the woman would only prove her right. Besides, Tristan didn’t need to take a woman by force. Most times they opened to him willingly.

“Of course she’s not what you’re used to,” Angus pointed out. “She’s Roman.”

“I’m very aware of that fact,” he snapped. “But it’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” Talorc eyed him with suspicion.

Tristan lifted the mug to his lips. “I don’t know.” He threw back a long swallow, finishing his drink.

“Maybe you have lost your vigor, my friend,” Angus teased. “You’d best put the Roman in her place before she makes a mess of your head.”

“Yes,” Tristan agreed, his mind falling into a daze as he stared into the flames of the flickering fire. “Yes, I should.”

Valeria would not get the best of him. She was one woman, helpless, alone, and far from home. He would figure out how to break her determined will, how to seduce her passion and coax it forth, and then he would show her some Pict hospitality of his own.

Chapter Four

Tristan came to his bed late into the night. Valeria burrowed under her fur blanket, pretending to be asleep. She heard him banging around and the sound of his sword clanging against the table. She cracked her eyes open and peeked at him through her lashes.

He worked at stripping out of his clothes and carelessly dropped each item on the ground. He stumbled, unsteady on his feet, and she guessed he was drunk on ale because Tristan was not a clumsy oaf. She now had an answer to what he’d been doing all night. When he unfastened his breeches and dropped them around his ankles, her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn’t make herself look away.

She fully opened her eyes, staring brazenly at his naked body, and the sight of pale skin stretched over his hard muscles, the light dusting of hair that covered him, and the evidence of his manhood hanging between his legs brought on a strange, inexplicable yearning she wasn’t prepared to feel. He turned from her, fumbling around to extinguish the oil lamp before she could look her fill.

The impressive sight he made in the flesh was like nothing she could have imagined. She knew she should be terrified, having been exposed to such indecency, but curiosity pestered her well into the night, even after she heard him softly snoring. There were so many things she didn’t know of life and she had a feeling Tristan was going to give her a proper education before he was through with her. She shivered and pulled the fur over her head, trying to will her mind to quiet so she could fall asleep. In truth she was exhausted, and she’d need her rest to deal with whatever tortures tomorrow would bring.

At last her eyes grew heavy, but sleep did not come easy to her. Dreams filled with blood and the screams of the dying had her tossing fitfully, drifting between slumber and wakefulness.

The tent was well lit with high ceilings and lavish furnishings. Billowing curtains of red silk waved back and forth in the breeze, swirling around couches and a low table covered with an abundance of food and wine.

Her uncle stood across from her, his armor polished and shiny and his weapons strapped over his chest and around his waist. His golden hair had grown longer while battling on the front lines and his beard had grown in so it now covered his face. The expression in his hollow blue eyes looked haunted as he communicated his disappointment regarding her arrival at the fort.

Valeria hung her head in shame, knowing he would not hear her case in his agitated state. The war seemed to be aging him, hardening him, until she barely recognized him anymore. She was dismissed to her own tent to rest and eat, and soon after the screams started.

She ran from her tent in alarm out into the cold night, wearing only her tunic, and the sight before her made her blood run cold. Chaos. Terror. Wild barbarians with painted faces, looking like animals dressed in the furs they wore, butchered the Roman soldiers, cutting them down in the night. She looked desperately for someone she recognized, but no face was familiar to her.

One of the barbarians noticed her and charged towards her, weapon raised in the air, ready to land a fatal blow. Valeria ran. She had no time to find her uncle. No time to look for Rufus. She ran from the fort like the devil was at her heels, never looking back, never stopping. Only when she could run no more did she fall to her knees in the snow to pray to the Gods.

They laughed at her. Their beautiful, flawless faces twisted and contorted as they mocked her. Valeria covered her ears and begged them to stop. They only laughed louder. She clawed at her hair and screamed in frustration, trying to drown out the sound of their ridicule.

Finally the darkness took mercy on her, and the dreams were no more.

The sounds of the camp stirring to life the next morning woke her, and she was surprised to find herself alone. Where had Tristan gone? Why did she care? She should be grateful for the blessed respite. Her dreams had left her muddled and disoriented and it took her a few moments to remember where exactly she was.

Gods, had she only been here for one day? Time dragged slowly in this place. She’d started on this journey weeks ago, it was the longest she’d been away from home, and though she missed it, some part of her didn’t want to go back.

What was happening to her? Only one day with the enemy and she was questioning her loyalty, her life, everything. Was it possible to change your fate? To thwart the will of the Gods and forge your own path?

The bright rays of the early morning sunlight poured into the tent when Tristan entered. He looked tidy, wearing fresh clothes and a fur draped over his shoulders, and his clean scent filled the small space. His long, auburn hair glistened with droplets of water. He was even more stunningly handsome than ever, and in her dazed, dreamy state she wanted this man. He was powerful and captivating, and she was helpless to resist his vital allure. Enemy or not, she wanted nothing more in her life right now than for him to kiss her. She fantasized about it. She feared it. She was both attracted and repelled by her feelings for him.

“Do you plan to sleep all day?” he rasped in a gruff voice. “Morning has nearly gone.”

Valeria stamped down the sudden dangerous craving she had for him and lifted her leg from under the fur. “I cannot get far with this.” She shook her leg so the chain rattled.

“As I prefer.” His bright smile was absolutely devastating. “I think shackles suit you.”

Her shock yielded quickly to fury. “I think you’re far more suited for them than I.”

“Yet you are the one wearing them.”

A horrible thought struck her. Her nerves tensed. If he intended to keep her chained as a prisoner, it would be impossible to escape. Why was she even thinking escape was an option? She had nowhere to escape to, and with no shoes or warm clothes, she wouldn’t get far. Any spark of hope she had left was extinguished.

Tristan saw the defeat in her eyes, but he couldn’t take pleasure in his conquest. Valeria was too beautiful to look as sad as she did. Lying in a pile of furs, still soft and warm from sleep, he had to fight every urge demanding he join her beneath those furs and bury his aching shaft deep inside her.

He shifted his weight, his erection growing uncomfortably hard, straining against the front of his breeches. He’d taken a long, cold bath in the river this morning and had taken himself in hand a few times to alleviate his desire, but all of that was for naught as Valeria sat up and her tunic fell over one of her shoulders, revealing more of her smooth, ivory skin.

Gods, why was this woman so tempting?

Perhaps he should force himself on her. Let her think him a barbarian so she’d look at him with hatred instead of the interest he saw flaring in her blue eyes.

One thing he was certain of, she was getting too comfortable in this tent. “I assume you have needs to attend to.”

Her cheeks flamed red and she gave a demure nod of her head. Tristan took the key for her shackles from his leather boot and went down beside her to remove the clasp from her ankle.

“Get up,” he ordered.

He went to the trunk in the corner and fished around inside until he found a red legionary cloak and a pair of leather boots which would probably be too big for her, but they would cover her feet and keep her warm in the snow.

“Put these on.” He thrust the items at her.

She readily obeyed, draping the cloak over her shoulders and pulling the boots on. When she’d finished, she looked at him in expectation.

“Come with me.” He led her out of his tent.

She hurried to keep up with the brisk pace he set as he led her through the outskirts of the camp, headed towards the river.

“What are we doing here?” she asked when they reached the frozen banks next to the water.

“You can bathe and wash your tunic.” He folded his arms and reclined against a tree to wait. “And take care of any other needs you may have.”

She eyed him warily. “Are you going to watch me?”

“Do you think I’d leave you here alone?” He wasn’t taking the chance she might try to run. Yes, he was going to watch her. All of her.

“Will you not turn your back and give me some privacy?” Her eyes pleaded with him.

“You no longer have any privacy,” he informed her coolly. “Not from me.”

“I have no need to bathe.”

“You will wash,” he ordered. “You’re filthy.”

She narrowed her eyes in anger. “I can’t wash the Roman off.”

“No,” he admitted. That she could never do. “But you can scrub the dirt from your hair and clothes.”

She resigned herself to her fate and shrugged off the red cloak and stepped out of the boots, gathering the items in her hands before she threw them at him with an angry huff. He caught the cloak in a clumsy grasp and let the boots fall to the ground.

She quickly turned away before he could react and waded into the shallow water. “It’s freezing!”

“Then you’d best be quick about it,” he barked and gathered up her boots. “I have more important things to do.”

She cast him a hostile glare over her shoulder before sinking down into the water, submerging herself fully. She came up sputtering and shivering. “Gods!”

Tristan stared at the wet tunic clinging to the curves of her body, the flare of her round hips and her high, full breasts with their nipples peaking under the wet cloth. Looking at her was torture, and he finally turned away, more for his benefit than to give her a measure of modesty. If he saw her naked, he feared he’d be powerless against the sinister, lustful urges she inspired in him.

He kept a watchful eye on their surroundings to be sure no one would come upon them while Valeria bathed and splashed around in the water. Every muscle in his body was tense with need and desire and he ground his jaw tightly. He reminded himself she was a Roman who deserved nothing more than pain and humiliation at his hands. Only the nagging hardness in his breeches disagreed.

“I’m finished,” she said from behind him.

Tristan turned to see her dripping wet, shivering beneath her clean, but soaked, tunic with her long golden hair hanging loosely about her shoulders and down her back. The vision of her body was clearly visible beneath her wet clothing. She looked like some forest nymph or water sprite sent to tempt him with her enchanting beauty.

“You cannot wear wet clothes,” he said tersely. “You’ll freeze.”

“I’m well used to that by now.”

“Take it off.”

She blushed and brought one of her hands up to draw the neck of her tunic tighter. “I will not.”

“Do as I said,” he ordered, raising his voice to quell her argument.

“Will you bring me back through your camp naked?” she snapped, narrowing her eyes.

She might as well be dressed as she was. “Cover yourself with this.” He tossed the cloak to her.

“I’m to return wearing only this?”

“Would you prefer to return naked?”

“I will be underneath that. It would be easy for any man to take it from me.”

“No one will touch you,” he assured her. Not unless they wanted to challenge him. “Keep it closed around you. I’ll bring you directly to my tent where you can let your wet clothes dry by the fire.” He tossed the boots at her feet, then turned his back to her.

Gods, what was he doing? Hadn’t he shown this woman enough kindness? He should march her into the camp naked and dripping wet. He should make her suffer for all he had suffered, but the rational part of him knew she had not been personally responsible for the horrors Rome had inflicted on him.

When she had the cloak pulled tightly around her and the boots on, with her wet tunic draped over her arm, he led her back into the camp. They were met with curious glances from the men, all of which he ignored. Talk of her presence had spread after the incident in the prisoners’ tent, but not many had seen Valeria. Tristan could see the effect her beauty had on the men and hurried to stash her safely in his tent and away from their appreciative stares. Women in camp were always bad luck, and this one doubly so.

Bathed and fed, and resting before the warm fire with her drying clothes, Valeria wondered if she was still dreaming. When would she awaken to the true horrors of her situation? She kept waiting for Tristan to make his move, to turn cold on her, but he seemed to be battling inner demons of his own and maintained a polite distance. It was too confusing.

She combed out her hair with her fingers as it dried, able to get rid of most of the tangles, and then she wove it into a loose braid to keep it neat and orderly. Tristan took his midday meal as she did this, then told her to stay in the tent while he came and went, tending to issues with his men and the camp. They hardly spoke to one another, and rather than feel nervous, she felt strangely comfortable.

She took the opportunity to dress during one of his brief absences now that her tunic was dry. With the boots, though a bit large for her, and the red cloak, she was warmer than she’d been in days. She worried things were going too easy for her, like she was drifting languidly in the calm that came before the storm. She and Tristan could not keep up this delicate dance for much longer. One of them would have to make a move. If she let it be Tristan, he would win.