Gladiator Heart (6 page)

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.

With shoes and warm clothes, escape was once again an option for her. If she were to take warm furs, some food, and some form of weapon, she might have a chance of surviving long enough to find help.

But how would she get away? Tristan didn’t stay gone for long, and he always posted a guard at the door. She would have to find another exit. Then she would follow the river until she came to safety. She had never been one to let others rule her life, and she wasn’t about to start now. Valeria gathered her courage and prayed the Gods would aid her escape.

The evening had settled into a merry revelry. The men in the camp sang and laughed while roasting meat from the game they’d hunted down in the forest earlier in the day. Tristan had left Valeria in the tent to join his men, without putting her in shackles, telling her he’d return soon with food and drink.

She’d already packed and hidden the leftover food from her earlier meal, letting Tristan think she’d eaten it all. Now she took the bundle from behind the trunk where she’d stashed it, along with a small dagger she’d found in the trunk when she’d searched it during one of Tristan’s absences. She selected a fur that was heavy enough to keep her warm, but not so heavy it would weigh her down. She strapped the dagger just below her knee with a piece of the rope that had once been her bonds and slipped into her boots. It was time to make her escape.

She’d found a loose opening in the tent behind the table and spent some time throughout the day peering outside, observing the activity on that side of the camp. Only a few tents stood between her and freedom. Some soldiers had been around during the day, but now all the activity was on the other side of the camp and her path was clear.

Valeria tried to calm her beating heart, afraid it might leap right out of her chest. Escape was the only choice available to her. If she stayed, Tristan would eventually force her to serve him, or make good on his threats and turn her over to his men. She could end up dead. There was no other choice.

Excitement spiked through her veins, lending her the right amount of courage to take that first step and crawl out from under the tent. The cold winter air was the only thing that greeted her as she got to her feet. She pulled the fur over her head, keeping her braid tucked beneath her tunic, and felt she would be warm enough to make this journey.

Getting out of the camp was so easy that she paused behind the last tent in case someone was coming after her and she just hadn’t noticed. Unable to believe her good luck, she continued to make her way to the river, moving deeper into the darkness. The light from the fires in the camp faded more with each step she took. She wanted to scream with joy, but she knew she wasn’t safe yet. How long before Tristan found she was gone and came after her?

Would he come after her? She hadn’t taken anything of value from him and he didn’t know her true identity. It was obvious she was an unwelcome burden for him. He should be glad to be rid of her. She wouldn’t get over-confident though. She would make her escape as if he would come, and wouldn’t relax until it was obvious that he wasn’t following her.

She came alongside the river and the flames of torches flickered up ahead. Men’s voices carried through the night air and she stumbled upon the small group without even realizing it. There was no mistaking they were Tristan’s men. She immediately turned and started walking away from them, deciding she’d cross the river further down and double back if she had to. She’d studied Tristan’s maps enough to know that the river led to the wall in the south and she was quite certain his camp was on the west side of the river, so she’d have to pass his entire camp to be heading in the right direction.

“Hey, who’s there?” one of the men shouted after her. “Is that you, Daric?”

Valeria forced herselfto keep moving forward and tried to ignore them. There was a chance they were speaking to someone else and hadn’t noticed her.

“Ho, you there!” The shouts grew louder.

Heavy footsteps pounded after her in pursuit and she broke into a panicked run, the snow crunching beneath her boots. She couldn’t fight these soldiers, so she’d have to outrun them.

It became obvious that wouldn’t happen when she stepped out of one of her boots, stumbling as she almost lost her footing. A strong arm locked around her waist and lifted her off the ground. Valeria screamed and kicked, sending the other boot flying off as she dropped her bundle of food. The man swung her around and set her on her feet so she faced four other men. Her warm fur was stripped away and tossed to the ground.

“What have we here?” The man behind her grasped the long rope of her braid and gave it a firm tug, jerking her head back.

“Looks like a fine piece of woman.” One of the other men walked up to her and ripped the legionary cloak away, leaving her in only the thin tunic.

Valeria shivered from the cold, then from fear. She saw in these men’s eyes the things Tristan hadn’t done to her that they would.

“Looks like you could use some warming up.” The man dragged his leering gaze over her, then snatched her by the arm. He forced his mouth down over hers and his foul, stinking breath sickened her.

Valeria slapped him away. “Don’t touch me!”

The men laughed and she knew there was no way she could escape them, but she would fight. The man forced her to the cold, hard ground, bruising her as he climbed on top of her, while the other men now shouted with encouragement, circling around them. He tugged at her tunic, lifting it, and she struggled to reach down and free the dagger tied to her leg.

“Hold still,” he said, one of his hands fumbling with his breeches. “I’ll give you something you’ll really like.”

Valeria’s fingers brushed the handle of the dagger, but the man’s movements above her kept her from reaching down all the way to grasp it. When he pulled back to force her legs open, she was able to sit up and close her hand around the handle.

She brought the weapon up and slashed the sharp blade across the man’s cheek, then held the tip pressed to his throat. Blood trickled forth from that wound as well.

“You will unhand me.” This time she spoke the words in his language.

The man’s eyes widened with surprise. “You cut me! The bitch cut me!” Anger darkened his eyes and he caught Valeria’s wrist, struggling to disarm her.

“Get off me!” She screamed in pain as he twisted her hand, forcing her to drop the dagger.

“Now you’ll pay.” The man fought her kicking legs and drew her tunic up to her waist. “Hold her down.”

Her hands were held pinned to the ground above her head, effectively immobilizing her. Valeria didn’t give up. She screamed and kicked and struggled. A few times she bit at her attackers, but that only earned her the back of a hand cracking across her face that brought blurry spots to her vision. When the man lowered himself over her body, she screamed even louder, cursing him in his own language while she fought even harder, but tears burned her eyes because she knew it would do no good.

Suddenly the man’s weight was gone. Cold air breezed over her and her hands were released. She looked up in shock to see Tristan beating the men back from her, then he scooped her off the ground and swept her into his arms.

He didn’t speak or look at her as he swiftly carried her back to his tent. She could feel his body tense and harden with rage and knew he would punish her for trying to escape, but she was so grateful that he’d found her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his chest, trying to fight back her tears. Escape would not be easy.

Tristan was so enraged with Valeria he had to throw her away from him onto the bed before he squeezed the life right out of her. She scrambled to sit up and backed herself against the wall of the tent, bracing her hands on either side of her as she dared to meet his angry stare.

He didn’t know where to start with her. It was apparent she was rattled from the attack by his men, but she’d fought them with all her might, swearing profusely at them. In his language. Yet another thing she’d kept hidden from him.

“You speak my language well,” he snarled, now forgoing the use of the proper Latin the Romans spoke. “You will only speak to me in my language from now on.”

“And if I refuse?”

“We won’t speak.”

She watched him with fear glistening in her eyes as he paced the tent, trying to figure out what he should do with her. He had to punish her for trying to escape. He couldn’t go easy on her any longer. She had no respect for him because he hadn’t demanded any from her. He would show her what it meant to disobey him.

“I suppose you think you’re brave.” He tossed off his fur and went over to her. He took her chin between his fingers and lifted her to face him so he could inspect the bleeding cut on her cheek. “It took courage to fight against my men.”

She stared back at him in cold defiance. “Even a slave has enough courage to fight for her life.”

Tristan was not prepared for this woman, with her strong will and her sly, artful ways. Why couldn’t the Gods have sent him a simple, manageable woman who would appreciate his protection and bend easily to his will? Instead, they’d chosen to send him the most spirited woman he’d ever met. One who would never trust him, nor welcome him as a man.

Why did he want her to?

Completely frustrated, he walked across the tent, filled the basin with fresh water from the pitcher, and took that and a clean towel back over to her. He set the basin beside her and wet the towel, then gently began to dab at the bruised cut on her cheek. His man had hit her so hard he’d broken the skin.

Valeria pulled back from him. Displeased, he grabbed her face in his hand and held her still while he cleansed the wound. She jerked free of his hold, slapping his hands away, refusing to let him touch her. Ready to hit her himself, he stood and threw the towel into the basin, splashing water up at her.

When he crossed the tent and knelt beside the fire to add more kindling to the dying flames, she wet the towel herself and dabbed at the wound. She kept her eyes down and wouldn’t meet the glances he sent over his shoulder. Completely at a loss for what to do next, he sat beside her on the bed. She stopped washing and nervously wrung the towel in her hands.

She finally looked up at him. “What are you going to do with me?”

Tristan gave a heavy sigh and scrubbed a hand over his beard. He should beat her, starve her, torture her—Gods knew he wanted to. It’s what her people would do to him. He shouldn’t have trusted her enough to let her roam freely about his tent, instead of chained to his bed.

“I don’t know what to do with you.” His answer was too honest, even for him.

“What makes you different from other men?” Her question was directed more to herself than to him, as if she was striving to figure out some secret about him.

“Am I so different?”

He didn’t think so. Tristan was like any man, with the same needs, the same desires, and the same instincts. Why should she think him different from any other?

She turned her troubled eyes to him. “You must be, otherwise I wouldn’t feel…”

When she didn’t finish, he asked, “You wouldn’t feel what?”

She shook her head and looked down at her hands twisting in her lap. That she wouldn’t tell him what she’d been about to say had his temper flaring. What game was she playing now?

“Do you mock me?” He clenched his jaw, suppressing his growing rage.

“No,” she rushed out, flipping her startled gaze to him. “That’s not what I—”

Tristan pulled her to her feet, spilling the water basin on the ground. She dropped the towel as he dragged her to the foot of the bed. “I’ve had enough of your Roman tricks.”

He wrestled her to the ground, and she struggled with the little amount of fight she had left in her, but he got the shackle closed around her ankle. He rested on top of her for a moment, indulging in the feel of her soft curves pressed against him. He breathed in the sweet scent of her hair, let the softness of it tickle his nose. He went instantly hard. If he didn’t get up, he was going to take her and nothing would stop him from doing it.

He left her chained to his bed and spent hours walking around the camp alone. It was ridiculous for him to behave like this, for him to avoid going back to his tent because of a mere woman. But he knew if he went back in his agitated state he was either going to wring her slender little neck, or throw her down and have his way with her.

Valeria was just a prisoner. A Roman. She meant absolutely nothing to him.

Lying to himself wasn’t going to change the fact that he did care about her, and he didn’t want to fight his feelings any longer. Her beautiful face haunted his every waking moment, and taunted him in dreams. If he didn’t do something about this burning desire, this insatiable need he’d developed for her, he was absolutely going to lose his mind.

Valeria remained awake, waiting for Tristan to return. Why couldn’t she tell him she admired him? Because she wasn’t supposed to admire him. He was keeping her prisoner, shackled to the foot of his bed.