Gladiator Heart (11 page)

“How should I know?” She gave a flippant shrug of her shoulder.

The man stiffened at her show of disrespect. “Because I’m told you were kept as his prisoner.”

She stared back at the man in defiance. “We didn’t do much talking.”

The man, who Tristan now assumed was the general, looked scoldingly at Rufus. “Can you get any more out of her?”

“She said she knows nothing, and I believe her.” Rufus had no idea why he was lying for Valeria.

He’d seen Tristan speak to her in their language, and he’d also seen the wild, desperate look in her eyes and heard the pleading tone in her voice when she’d begged him not to kill the barbarian. She also swore the man hadn’t harmed her, yet she wore a smart bruise on her soft cheek. For some reason, Valeria was protecting the Pict, and Rufus wanted to figure out why. There would be plenty of time for the Legatus to question him on the journey to Rome.

The general gave Tristan a sharp, appraising look. “Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

A volley of curses came to Tristan’s mind, but he held his tongue.

“Gaius! Maximus!” The general addressed the two soldiers who had whipped him and dragged him through the forest. “Take him outside and give him a lesson in obedience. Then put him with the others.”

Valeria sprang to her feet. “Is that really necessary?”

The general stood and turned a cold look on her. “Do not question my methods, lady. This is a war and I’m in charge here. I admit it’s an unfortunate situation you find yourself in, but I’ll soon have you returned home to the safety of your family and you’ll never be bothered with such awful horrors again.”

The two soldiers dragged Tristan outside and tied his hands to a wooden post surrounded by a puddle of blood on the ground. How many of his men had suffered here before him?

His fur pelt and tunic were ripped away, baring his back to the cold. Just as the rays of the early morning sun peaked over the tops of the trees, the first lash of the whip stung across his back. He was certain they would draw blood from him before they were through, and he would not utter a single sound. Even if it killed him.

Valeria cringed every time she heard the crack of the whip. She didn’t need to look outside to know what they were doing to Tristan. In fact, it would be better if she didn’t, because she was liable to tackle the two soldiers to the ground, tear the whip from their hands and turn it on them herself.

In her mind, she wasn’t sure who the real savages were.

“Is there no information you can give us?” The Legatus continued to question her. “You were this man’s prisoner for days. Was there nothing you learned from him?”

Valeria wanted to laugh, she was so near hysterics. She’d learned a few things she could share with this ugly, hateful man. “Filthy pig, rotten bastard. Son of a dirty whore,” she murmured in Tristan’s language. She meant every curse as the crack of the whip continued outside.

See how the Legatus liked that.

Enraged, the Legatus clenched his jaw, glaring furiously at her. “You’d do well to mind your tongue, lady. I am not above delivering you a good lashing as well.”

“Do not forget who she belongs to.” Rufus came to her defense. “The Emperor will not take any punishment inflicted upon his only niece lightly.”

The Legatus stared at her with spite in his dark eyes, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to go against the Emperor. “Then I guess we are at an impasse. Ready yourselves for travel. We head for Rome in the next hour.”

Rufus took her by the arm and led her through the slash Tristan had made in the back of the tent. He brought her to a stop just outside. “Why do you antagonize the Legatus?” He shook her, as if trying to get some sense into her. “Are you mad?”

Yes, she was mad!

The cracking of the whip was louder out here, echoing through the trees in the forest, and Valeria couldn’t stand how powerless she was to stop Tristan’s abuse. Gods, give her a sword and a horse and she’d free him before the others had a chance to stop her. She wasn’t totally helpless in that aspect. Rufus had taught her well over the years. She was at least familiar with different types of weapons and she could ride a horse astride as well as any man, in some cases better.

Valeria made a promise in that moment. To Tristan, to the Gods, and to herself. She would free him. No matter what. She would find a way to return to Tristan all he had lost to Rome.

The group that set off for Rome that morning was merely a fraction of the army that stayed behind in the north to continue waging war on the Picts and the other tribes. All the officers in their party were given a horse for the journey, as was Rufus. The everyday soldiers would make the journey on foot—they were used to long marches—and the prisoners were shackled together in a long line, naked to the waist and barefoot.

There were three wagons led by horses to carry the supplies, one of which Valeria was being forced to ride in because of her delicate nature as a lady. She didn’t feel delicate. Far from it. The need for violence burned so brightly inside her it was a wonder she could remain seated and keep her thoughts to herself.

She’d gotten a glimpse of Tristan when the wagon passed the line of slaves at the rear of their party. His back was a bloodied mess, the flesh stripped from his body by the cruel lashing he’d received. He should be the one riding in the wagon. His body needed rest to heal, not to be marched over rough terrain in heavy chains.

If Valeria had her way, she’d be tending him and treating his wounds. She recognized many of the plants and herbs in the forest and could easily make a healing salve for his skin. The first time she’d suggested it to the Legatus, he’d laughed, amused by her request. The second time she’d been less polite in making her request and he’d ordered her to stay in the wagon until they stopped to make camp for the night.

Valeria wasn’t much for being ordered around. Something had changed in her and she was no longer content to let others dictate her life. Brutus Dias might be the Legatus, and he might be in command of their party, but she was the Emperor’s niece and would use her position to push the man to his limits if she had to. Were Lucia here, the clever woman would already have the Legatus under her thumb and she’d be seeing to the wounded freely, both soldier and slave, making fast friends with everyone.

Valeria admired the woman who had raised her. Lucia was the greatest healer in Rome, and she’d started teaching Valeria the arts of healing and medicine from the time she was old enough to walk. She thought back to the sunny afternoons she’d spend trailing after Lucia through the forest to gather herbs, learning their names and uses, and later, as she got older, how to make the medicines and remedies. The happy memories of the woman who had essentially become her mother made her smile. They also gave her an idea.

Lucia was an emancipated woman, earning her freedom after her husband was killed in the war. She’d left the Emperor’s service, and she was partly responsible for instilling a sense of daring and independence in Valeria. She thought,
what would Lucia do at a time like this?
It wouldn’t be much longer until Tristan’s wounds became infected and he fell ill. They needed to be treated.

Valeria jumped down from the seat of the wagon, ignoring the look of surprise from the young soldier driving it along, and left the road to head into the forest.

“Where are you going, lady?” Gaius Cato rode up beside her on his strong, black horse.

The soldier was quite handsome, and Valeria was sure he caught the attention of many women wherever he went with his curly blond hair and his intelligent green eyes, but his hand had been the one to wield the whip so brutally on Tristan, and she didn’t like him at all.

“I require a moment of privacy,” she answered, hoping to get rid of him.

“Then I shall have the detail stop to wait for you.” He turned his horse to leave.

“That won’t be necessary.” She kept her tone imperious and resumed walking into the forest. “I’ll have no trouble catching up.”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go off alone.”

The condescension in his voice proved his show of courtesy was not meant to be polite, but to exercise the power he had over her as a man and a soldier.

Valeria wheeled around to face him. “While I appreciate your gallantry, I do not need an entire detail of men to stop their travels while I attend to my needs. I am a grown woman and perfectly able to take care of myself.”

“You are a difficult woman, Valeria,” Gaius pointed out.

After years of fighting, Gaius would return to Rome, and on his way home he’d found the perfect woman travelling with an army of men. Valeria was not only beautiful, but spirited, and she aroused his interest, among other things.

He walked his horse back over to her and rested his arm on the pommel of his saddle as he leaned down. “I imagine you’ll have to be broken like a wild horse, but once brought to heel, what a perfect wife you would make.”

One of her perfectly arched brows rose in amused contempt and her mouth fell open in shock. Gaius chuckled, pleased with himself. What a conquest this lovely creature would make.

“Don’t look so offended, my dear.” He gave her one of his easy, charming smiles that the ladies usually responded to. “A man should be lucky to claim you as his wife.”

“No man will be doing so on this journey.” Rufus came riding up beside him wearing a harsh expression, frowning, his brows drawn in a sharp line. “Shouldn’t you be with your men?”

Gaius knew when he was being dismissed and, knowing he had plenty of time to court her, he flashed Valeria another one of his proud smiles before riding off. She was going to make the perfect wife.

Valeria let out the breath she’d been holding once Gaius was gone. It was good for her Rufus had gotten rid of him so easily or she might have slapped his arrogant face. Gaius might look the perfect gentleman on the outside, but she sensed he had a dark, cruel heart.

“Where are you wandering off to?” Rufus gave her a small, knowing smile.

“To gather a few herbs, that’s all. I won’t be long.”

“Are you ill?” His expression pinched with worry. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I need to make a salve for Tristan’s back. His wounds are going to start festering.”

Rufus jumped down from his horse. “Have you lost your mind?” He grabbed her by the arm. “You’d do well to steer clear of that man. The Legatus already suspects you lied to him. Why do you care for this northerner?”

Valeria could never tell Rufus the truth. She couldn’t tell anyone. “I am a healer, and it goes against everything I’ve been taught to let a person suffer when I have the power to ease their pain.”

“Lucia has made quite a lady out of you.” Rufus snorted a sarcastic laugh. “How do you expect to please a husband when you’re constantly finding ways to do as you will?”

“I don’t expect to please a husband.” Valeria shrugged off his hold on her arm and ventured into the forest to collect the herbs she needed.

She was through trying to please others. She’d spent her whole life trying to be the kind of person they expected her to be, and it hadn’t made any difference. This life was hers. It might be the only one she was given, and it was time to start living it on her terms.

Tristan knew he wasn’t asleep because he could feel the miserable, burning pain in his body. It could be he was dead, or that he’d simply imagined he heard the voice of an angel.

“Tristan,” she whispered again, this time resting a soft hand on his forehead.

He shivered. Her skin was so cool against his.

“Tristan,” she called to him. Her voice grew louder, like it was getting closer, bringing him back from the brink of death.

It even hurt to open his eyes, but he had to look at this angel who had come to save him. Valeria was the last person he wanted to see, and hardly an angel.

“You’ve started a fever,” she said, pressing her hands to his face.

Tristan somehow found the strength to push her away. He didn’t need kindness from a Roman. “Leave me.”

“I’m here to help you.” She punched him in the arm, none too gently. “Roll onto your side so I can clean your wounds.”

Tristan refused to move. What did she hope to accomplish by helping him? Placing a firm hand on his hip, she rolled him over onto his side. He groaned, and the agonizing pain lashed through him like he’d been struck with the sharp whip again.

“Gods.” She breathed out a curse. “You’re a mess.”

“I don’t want your help,” he growled. “Get away from me.”

He’d be a fool to think she actually cared.

“You may not want my help, Tristan Caileanach, but you need it. Would you rather I let you die?”

“Why don’t you?”

“You know why,” she replied softly.

He so wanted to believe it was true.

Cool water splashed over his back and he jerked in pain, though it also soothed his wounds. When she poured more water over his skin, the dryness in his mouth sought to be quenched and he turned over to wrestle the skin of water out of her hand. He tipped it to his mouth and fed his thirst with greedy swallows.

“That water is for cleansing your wounds.” She tried to take the skin from him, but he pushed her hand away.

He’d been half-dragged across his lands for hours with no rest and nothing to quench his thirst. His back could wait until he drank his fill.

“Do they not give you any water to drink?” she wondered.

“What do you expect?” He handed the skin back to her. “Only the strongest will survive to see Rome, and then we’ll be thrown into the arena to die for your amusement.” It was a dreadful fate the soldiers had taunted them with all day.

“Not for my amusement,” she argued, that familiar defiant tone in her voice. “None of this amuses me, Tristan. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Her words sounded honest, and he decided to stop fighting. She’d come here to help him, and some small voice in his head told him to let her.

“Do what you came for.” He angled his back so she could reach his wounds.

She gently washed him with the rest of the water and dabbed at his wounds with a dry cloth. Then she began to lather some sticky substance on him that stung like mad before it began to cool and soothe his burning wounds. Any fight left in him was drained and he felt a peace only Valeria’s touch could bring.