Gladiator Heart (9 page)

But he took his time with her. He circled his hands over her gorgeous breasts, tracing their fullness before he plucked at her pink, swollen nipples, rolling them between his fingers. Valeria threw her head back and arched into his touch, her legs spreading eagerly for him. He sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, caressing and teasing it with his tongue, while he moved his hand between her legs to stroke the soft folds of flesh already damp with her arousal.

Her heavy, panting breaths became gasps and moans as he moved his fingers over the sensitive bud hidden at her center, and then, unable to resist any longer, he lowered his head between her legs and slid his tongue over her until she was crying out from the way he pleasured her.

“Oh, Tristan,” she moaned his name over and over, tossing her head around on the furs and digging her hands into his hair.

Her cries grew more desperate, pleading with him, and he gave her no mercy. He didn’t stop until she arched off the bed, her climax leaving her quivering and trembling.

“Your hatred arouses my passion.” He planted kisses on the insides of her quaking thighs and tickled her sensitive skin with the soft whiskers of his beard. “In fact, I might think you don’t hate me at all.”

Valeria didn’t hate him. She couldn’t. It was impossible when he touched her so tenderly, so masterfully, like she wasn’t his hated prisoner but his treasured lover.

“I tried to hate you, the Gods know I did,” she admitted with defeat. “But I cannot.”

Tristan stripped out of his breeches, and then stretched out on top of her, imprisoning her beneath his weight, flesh against flesh, with the soft hairs covering his body rasping against her breasts. He entered her quickly, sliding deep, but he took her slow and easy.

His hands glided over her breasts as he nuzzled her neck with light kisses, then they came to rest at her hips, holding her firmly in place while he drove himself into her hard and deep and long.Valeria writhed helplessly beneath him as he carried her to the heights of pleasure, flooding her entire body with desire, and a moan of ecstasy slipped through her lips.

He buried his face against her neck, his panting breath hot on her skin, his grunts and groans loud in her ear, his fingers digging into her hips, gripping her tightly. He plunged deeper, his thrusts more powerful, making her cry out from the exquisite pleasure he could give her. The raw slickness and power of his lovemaking brought her swiftly to her peak, and she cried out as she came apart on a bright flash of heat, the pleasure shattering her completely.

Tristan sought his own splendid release right after Valeria came apart beneath him. He heaved over her, bucking his hips hard as he thrust deeper, and when at last he lost control, he let go, and his shaft pulsed with the most intense pleasure he’d ever experienced as his seed spilled forth in a wild explosion.

Each time he took Valeria was more pleasurable than the last, and he feared he’d never know something like this without her. He could never let her go, and suddenly wished he’d never met her so he wouldn’t burn with such agonizing desire.

Tristan’s weight pressed down on her and he fought to slow his rapid breaths. Valeria could feel his heart hammering against his chest just as wildly as hers. Their bodies were moist with the sweat of their lovemaking and the scent of sex surrounded them. Only a short time ago she’d been aching for her home, and she felt guilty and ashamed now that Tristan had replaced that ache with one of another kind. One that had nothing to do with thoughts of her home and her family.

He rolled onto his back and pulled her with him, seeming content to merely hold her. She knew she shouldn’t find comfort in his arms, that she shouldn’t be having feelings for him, but when the heart wanted, the mind could only follow helplessly along.

“When do you want me to put you with the other prisoners?”

His question shocked her. It had been the last thing on her mind.

“I don’t know.” She beat back her betraying emotions and fought the tears that threatened to come. “I think I could stay in this tent with you forever and be happy.”

She didn’t realize her words, though spoken in a language mostly foreign to her, held so much truth. It frightened her to feel this way. The man had kept her chained to his bed and instead of wanting to run at her first chance for freedom, she wanted nothing more than to stay with him. But she knew as well as he that nothing good could come of this thing that had started between them. Sooner or later reality would come crashing down on them and separate them from each other forever. It was the only thing she could count on.

Tristan watched Valeria as she slept soundly in his arms. In her peaceful state she had the face of an angel. Or a beautiful goddess. Her lashes swept down across her cheekbones and her soft, rosy lips were parted slightly, letting her gentle breaths breeze across his chest. One of her arms was draped loosely around his neck and their legs were twined together. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift into a light sleep, feeling contented for the first time in a long time. He wanted to hold onto Valeria for longer, to have more time with her, but dawn was approaching and the end of their time together was near.

He never expected it would come sooner.

The camp outside erupted in disorder and turmoil, startling him out of his peaceful drifting. Screams and shouts broke through the quiet, the cries of men and horses echoed all around, and then the familiar sound of weapons clashing took over.

They were being attacked. No doubt by the Romans.

Tristan flew from the bed, his heart racing, anticipation pumping through his veins. The familiar feel of battle had him wide awake, grounding him back in his body and in his right frame of mind. Valeria’s eyes fluttered open and she looked at him in confusion as he hurried into his clothes and strapped on his weapons.

“Stay here,” he ordered, and headed to the door.

She sat up on her knees, her eyes stark and full of fear. “What’s happening?”

Tristan paused at the door. “I’m going to find out.”

He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t, or he might never leave her.

“Please, don’t leave me, Tristan.” The panic was evident in her tone and she hurried to pull on her tunic.

He didn’t have time to pacify a woman’s fears with a battle raging outside. “I must, but you’ll be safe here.”

Seeing how beautiful she was, he muttered a curse. Then, casting his good judgment aside for an instant, he walked over and grabbed her up in his arms, drawing her close for what might be their last kiss. It was fierce and desperate, much like their joining had been. Gods, he didn’t want to let this woman go, but she wasn’t the reason he was here. War was the only thing driving him. The only calling that made sense in his life.

He tore his mouth away from hers, panting heavily as he stared into her shining blue eyes. “Don’t leave this tent.”

“But what if something happens to you?” She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him.

His body stiffened in shock. He tried to convince himself that she only held onto him out of fear, but he felt a kind of peace he’d never known before in her arms. It was time for him to let Valeria go.

“Nothing will happen to me.” He pried her hands from around his neck and set her back from him. “Promise you’ll stay inside.”

“Will you come back?” A glazed look of despair began to spread over her face, like she was finally realizing what he had known all along.

They were never meant to be.

“If I am able, I’ll come back.” It scared him how easily he’d answered, and how much he meant what he’d said. If they got far enough away from Rome and war maybe there could be a chance for them. Yet what would Valeria have without Rome, and he without war?

“What if you don’t?” Her voice was a broken whisper.

Tristan didn’t want to think about it. If a man went into battle with any doubts in his mind he was already at a disadvantage. Courage won battles, not fear. He’d made it this far and he had no intentions of losing. If for whatever reason he didn’t come back, Valeria would be in safe hands with the Romans. She belonged with them. And he belonged outside with his men.

“Take care of yourself, little Roman.” He left to meet his fate.

Valeria collapsed back to the bed. How had she not seen something like this coming? Tristan was at war. At war with Rome, with life, maybe even with himself. Their time together, though brief, had been passionate and intense, even sensual at times, and he’d left her with nothing more than to ‘take care’?

Being with Tristan had changed her. She’d gone from girl to woman in only a few short days. There was a possibility she would never see Tristan again, so she was not going to sit here and feel sorry for herself. As a woman, she had to take her destiny into her own hands. No matter what her feelings for Tristan, she didn’t need a man to make her whole.

The battle raged outside, intensifying. Valeria recognized the same sounds from that terrifying night at the fort.
Death
. It all sounded the same. She hurried up from the bed and searched through the trunk in the corner. She found another pair of shackles and some rope. Nothing she could use. She needed shoes and a weapon. Some warm clothes.

There were plenty of furs in the tent and she pulled one over her shoulders. Did she sit here and wait? She had no idea who Tristan fought. They might not be Roman but some other enemy. If she left and Tristan did happen to return for her, well—what then? Would he find her? Would he want to find her? If she waited and he didn’t return, could she live with the idea that he might not want her? Did it matter to her either way?

It shouldn’t. But it did.

An older man with short dark hair and a clean-shaven face came crashing into the tent. He was dressed in a red legionary cloak and golden armor.

A Roman.

She should be relieved to see him, she was saved, but she couldn’t deny the spark of disappointment that it wasn’t Tristan coming for her.

The soldier curled his lip with an ugly sneer as he assessed her from head to toe. “I didn’t know the Picts liked to travel with their whores.” He took a menacing step towards her.

Valeria was outraged that he’d speak to her with such contempt, but it was impossible for him to know who she was. Wearing the fur made her look just like the other northerners in this camp.

“I’m no Pict whore,” she lashed at him in perfect Latin, lifting her chin. “I am Valeria Augusta Marianus, niece to the Emperor Constantine and cousin to the Caesar of Rome.”

The soldier halted and stared at her, a look of complete surprise on his face. “Forgive me, lady.” He gave a reverent bow of his head. “We heard of your disappearance but assumed you were dead.”

“As you can see, I’m not,” she said in a curt voice. How lucky she was to be able to say it.

“Wait here.” The soldier bolted out of the tent.

Gods!

Wait here. Was that all she could do? Wait for Tristan or the Romans? Who would come first? What if they came at the same time? What side would she choose?

Valeria paced the tent, her impatience growing with every agonizing second that passed. Finally, she heard harsh voices arguing outside, and then Rufus burst through the door and came charging into the tent.

“Thank the Gods you’re all right!” His gaze roamed over her with scrutiny, inspecting her bedraggled appearance, stopping on her bruised cheek.

The sight of his shaved head and his giant body had Valeria close to tears, she was so grateful to see him. “I was afraid you were dead.”

“I’m hard to kill.” He wore armor with the Roman standard imprinted on it and carried a heavy sword.

Rufus felt whole with a weapon in his hand and wielded the sword as if it were an extension of his arm. He’d been in the army for so long that fighting came naturally to him, like breathing.

Valeria, on the other hand, was a gentle girl and had no place in the middle of a battle. Though stubborn and strong-willed, she’d been sheltered from the real horrors of the world. Rufus took great pride in being responsible for keeping her from harm. He feared he’d failed her this time. He never should have let her come here. What had that dirty Pict general done to her?

“Has my uncle come with more troops?” she wondered with hope shining in her pretty eyes.

Poor Valeria. She was constantly trying to win the Emperor’s affections, but the man spent all his time and energy on his son. He wanted his niece to marry so he no longer had to be responsible for her, and Rufus didn’t have it in him to tell her the truth.

“He is not here, but he sent three legions in his stead,” Rufus informed her. “We’ve taken the camp and all survivors will be brought to Rome as slaves.”

Valeria’s throat seemed to close up and she felt a nauseating pit of despair in her stomach. Tristan would either be killed, or he’d become a slave. It didn’t feel right. She might not know him very well outside of their lovemaking, but he deserved a better fate than that.

“And we are to return to Rome as well?” she asked, already knowing, and simultaneously dreading, the answer.

Where else would they go?

“Yes, Domina.” Rufus gave her appearance another disapproving glance. “I’ll get you some proper clothes. I have men outside so it’s safe for you to stay in here.”

Valeria was alone again, waiting. In a way she was glad to be returning home where it was warm and dry. She’d see her friends again, and Lucia, the woman who was like her mother. Had she remained with Tristan he would have traded her as a slave. Instead, he was to be the slave. She should feel a great sense of triumph. He’d kept her prisoner and seduced her into his bed, and she had a feeling if she’d refused his advances he would have forced his affections on her. He was nothing but a brute and a bully.

And that was a lie to make her feel better, because she’d rather be with him right now more than any other person in the world. Despite his sometimes horrible treatment of her, she had feelings for him. Real, true feelings, that in this moment were tearing her in two.

The sound of a fight erupted outside the tent. Valeria’s mind was a crazy mixture of hope and fear as swords clashed and rioted. Someone dared to challenge the men Rufus had posted at the door. She knew it was Tristan even before he came crashing into the tent. Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded when she saw him standing there, his auburn hair long and wild, a heavy sword in each hand, covered with blood.