Gladiator Heart (3 page)

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.

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.