When lady Valeria Augusta Marianus is captured by the savage Pict army, she is fearful of her treatment by their renowned and fearless commander. His enemy is the Roman Empire and she is the Emperor’s niece, but Tristan Caileanach is nothing like the wild beast she imagined. Instead his ruggedly handsome face and toned body make her long to be held in his powerful arms… And her traitorous body can only resist the heat of this fierce warrior’s touch for so long…

One night in Tristan’s bed is all it takes for Valeria to give him her innocence and her heart. Yet she knows they have no future together—not when his hatred for all things Roman runs so deep. But when the Roman army descends on the camp and Tristan is enslaved and forced to be a gladiator, facing death every day, suddenly their roles are reversed. Now all Valeria wants is to give him back his freedom, but Tristan’s only chance is to win it in the arena…

Gladiator Heart
Alyssa Morgan

www.CarinaUK.com

ALYSSA MORGAN is a native of Minnesota, but has also lived in Hawaii and Utah, and now resides in Los Angeles. She has worked as a waitress, a bartender, a file clerk, and a licensed financial adviser, and many of her experiences have added to her true passion: writing romance. When she’s not slaving away over her latest work or devouring a novel by one of her favorite authors, you can find her giving in to her shopping problem, sunning herself at the beach, enjoying a leisurely Sunday brunch, or spending time with her friends and family.

I have to thank all the early readers for their encouragement. Without you, this story probably wouldn’t have seen the light of day. I’d also like to thank all those at Carina UK who decided to take a chance on me and for helping me bring out the best in my work. Lastly, thanks to Tristan and Valeria for sharing their love story with me, and now, with you.

To my mom, who loves a timeless romance as much as I do.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Endpages

Copyright

A Legend…

It is in times of darkness that legends are born. When the world has fallen under the rule of evil men, the people pray to the Gods to send them a hero. Sometimes the Gods choose to answer those prayers.

In the ancient city of Rome, from the bloodshed of the arena, gladiators were born. The purpose of these fighters was to impress people with the might and force of the Great Empire and to instill fear in the hearts of the enemy. The gladiators brought not only sport to the games of the arena, but also glory and power. They fought bravely and died well, and quickly became champions of the people. Men wanted to be them. Young women swooned at the thought of their physical strength and prowess. Even children idolized them, drawing their images on walls throughout the city.

Most of the gladiators were slaves, prisoners of war or condemned offenders. Their lives were worth little more than half a denarius. But it was the people, and not their ruler, who decided whether a gladiator had demonstrated sufficient spirit and courage to obtain his emancipation. The people could choose to grant a gladiator freedom, just as they could call for his execution on the spot.

If they were good, the gladiators became heroes. This is the tale of such a hero. A warrior delivered to the people by the Gods, in answer to their loyal and heartfelt prayers.

Chapter One

Caledonia

Winter 317 A.D.

Valeria Augusta Marianus, a valued daughter of Rome, knew she was going to die.

She stumbled lost and barefoot through the fresh layer of snow that blanketed the land in white starkness. Above her, the naked boughs of the trees hung heavy and low with their icy burden. The clash of the earlier battle had long since quieted and an unsettling calm filled the air.

Having been born with a poor sense of direction, Valeria didn’t know if she was headed towards her home in the south, or further into the enemy’s territory to the north. It didn’t really matter where she was, because with no warm clothes and no shelter in sight, she would soon freeze to death, unless the wolves got to her first. At least she didn’t have to worry about finding food. She would be dead long before starvation could take her.

An icy wind rattled through the trees and ripped through the scant material of her tunic, chilling her all the way to her bones. Her teeth chattered, her hands and face were chapped raw from the cold, and her feet were frozen like blocks of ice. Perhaps she should make her grave in the very spot where she stood. Simply lie down, close her eyes, and wait for death to take her. Or maybe she should pray to the Gods for a miracle.

Sinking to her knees in the wet snow, she knew her efforts would be futile. The Gods had never listened to her. Had they cared to cast an interested ear to her plight she wouldn’t be here now, lost and alone in a foreign land.

The sound of approachingriders thundered in the distance, snapping her out of her thoughts. The heavy beat of hooves pounded as steadily against the ground as her heart beat against her chest. Only enemy or friend could be descending on her, and she prayed it would be the latter, while in her mind she knew that would be impossible. Any friend she had in this stark northern territory was dead.

The barbarians of these unconquered lands had attacked the Roman fort at the wall in the dead of night, killing anything and everything in their bloody path. Being in the midst of a violent battle was not something Valeria had envisioned when she’d decided to come to the fort to see her uncle, and in her flight to escape death, she must have run further than she thought, and now the darkness was finally catching up to her.

Rufus had warned her against coming here. A member of the Praetorian Guard and her sworn protector, he had pleaded with her not to travel to the wall where her uncle, the Emperor Constantine, held the northern Roman border. In her desperation, she had sworn that if Rufus didn’t bring her to her uncle, she’d make the dangerous journey alone. He knew she was stubborn enough to do it, and she’d been left with no choice. With the Emperor on the front, his son Crispus had been left in charge as Caesar of Rome, and blessed with the sole responsibility of appointing her a husband before she was too old to marry.

It was insulting to think her fate was in the hands of a mere child. Though he might match her in age at ten and nine years, he was a spoiled, self-indulgent brat who hid in the shadow of his great father’s robes. What did he know of life? Of love?

Afraid her uncle was losing his mind, Valeria wanted to see him in person and beg him to come up with some other fate for her. She couldn’t bear the thought that he would trade her so easily to a stranger of his son’s choosing, like nothing more than property. He’d cared for her as a child, did he no longer care for her now?

Valeria’s sudden arrival at the fort came as no surprise to her uncle, only served to upset him, but he hadn’t had enough time to chastise her before the battle began and the Picts laid siege to the only reminder of home she had in their harsh, unforgiving lands.

Yes, death was coming swiftly for her. She rose to her feet, numb with cold, prepared to meet it straight on, head held high and proud like any good Roman. She would not die a coward.

As the thundering hooves grew louder, three riders appeared in the distance, wearing the fur pelts of animals. They had long hair and blue markings painted on their faces and on the flanks of their mighty, galloping horses. The Woad. Hell unleashed was charging straight for her, and suddenly fear made her tremble. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to run. But to where? To what? All hope for her was lost.

Valeria fought the biting cold, even as it slowly weakened her, and waited while the enemy riders came upon her. They circled her on horseback, looking down at her, while their horses panted and snorted, their hot, labored breath hanging in the air like misty vapors.

“What shall we do with her?” The rider with hair as black as midnight and eyes even darker spoke to the other men.

The language they spoke was foreign, but Valeria understood every word. She’d treated and healed enough of these men as prisoners of Rome before they were thrown into the arena to die. Some had taken the time to teach her their tongue, she suspected more out of the need to feel human before they met a horrible end than to educate her. Whatever the reason for the education, she was grateful for it now.

“Roman slut!” The man with a yellow beard and a long braid down his back spat on the ground at her feet. “She deserves no mercy from us.” He lifted his spear aloft, preparing to strike.

“Go easy, Angus.” The third man rested a hand on his arm to stay him. He was younger than the other two, and his long, coppery red hair hung loose about his shoulders. There was a gentle confidence to his rugged manner, something that suggested he was capable of kindness.

Valeria looked at him in gratitude for intervening on her behalf, hoping to find an ally, but his eyes narrowed with calculating malice. “We must take her to the Commander. He’ll want to find out if she knows anything.”

“Hah!” The blond one called Angus bellowed. “What does a woman know, especially a Roman one?”

“I’m sure she’s as good at warming a bed as any wench,” the dark rider said, his gaze roaming over her shivering, frozen form.

The three men continued to circle her on horseback, their watchful stares becoming heated and purposeful. Valeria braced herself for an attack, even knowing she had no way of fighting them. She lacked the strength to compete with these men. Men who had every reason to hate her.

She was a Roman.

The northern tribes hated the Romans.

For centuries, Rome sought to stretch Her wings over all the lands, conquering those people who inhabited them and forcing them to bend under Her Supreme Will. Those who didn’t submit were slaughtered, and their names only echoed on the wind before that last part of them also fell silent and forgotten.

Valeria would be just as easily forgotten. These men would taunt her, beat her, certainly rape her, and leave her here to die if they didn’t kill her in their furious attempts. No one would ever find her. But she would not beg for a mercy they didn’t have. If the Gods weren’t listening to her, neither would these fearsome warriors.

The men reared their horses to a halt and dismounted, now circling her on foot, coming dangerously close. The dark one reached out and lifted a lock of her long, blonde hair in his hand, running it through his fingers before letting it fall back into place over her shoulder. The bearded man, Angus, dared to step closer to her. His fresh scent filled her senses and, despite the cold, his big body radiated warmth and the promise of a cloak to shield her from the chill.

Valeria took a fearful step back from him. She would not fall into the enemy’s arms no matter how tempting the option might seem. She’d rather freeze to death than find out what they intended for her.

“A rather tempting creature, wouldn’t you say?” Angus raked his gaze over her body, lingering on the swell of her breasts beneath the sheer linen tunic.

“No doubt their women are beautiful,” the dark one agreed. “But venomous as snakes.”

“We set out in search of a trophy,” Angus said, boldly stepping closer to her. “Let’s hope she’ll be as pleasing to the bed as she is to the eye.”

A silent understanding was exchanged between the men, and then the dark one seized her by the arm, pulling her roughly against him.

“You’ll come with us,” he said in her language.

Valeria didn’t have time to be frightened like she was supposed to because she was momentarily stunned at hearing him speak to her. From behind her, a woolen cloth was pulled over her head, blocking out the world and leaving her in darkness. There was the sound of leather creaking as the men mounted their horses, and then she was dragged up by one of them, stretched face down over his lap.

With a nudge to their horses, the riders once again tore off through the frozen forest with thundering hooves, and Valeria as their captured prize. What end was in store for her, only the Gods knew.

The Pict army made camp deep in the safety of the forest. Their nighttime attack on the Roman fort had taken the enemy by surprise, but still the Emperor Constantine had managed to escape. Any remaining survivors of the battle had been captured, and those who couldn’t be ransomed to Rome would be sold or traded as slaves to the neighboring tribes. If they survived that long.

The destruction of the fort at the wall sent a firm message to Rome from the people they sought to wipe off the face of the Earth.

They would not be taken. They would not be enslaved. They were born free men, and they would die as free men.

Tristan Caileanach was the commander of this great army, and because he was a good leader, the men were loyal and would fight for him to the death. Now he made his usual rounds among the tents, making certain his men were securing the camp and treating any of their wounded. Large fires burned bright and warm, cooking meat from deer, rabbit and wild boar, if one could be found. The horses had been watered and rested at the far end of the camp. Overall, the feeling was one of contentment, and the men glowed with the victory of their recent battle. They slugged down honeyed ale and caroused boisterously while they compared weapons and counted their kills.

This far into winter, the day was a cold one, and Tristan felt the need to head back to the comforts of his tent. He grew weary from a war he feared would never end. Rome kept on coming, and the Picts kept on fighting them back. Would there be a day when they could live in peace once again? A day when they could tend their lands and raise their children without fear of having everything they worked for destroyed by the greed of one Empire?

Tristan was headed to his tent when Angus, his second-in-command and his most-trusted friend, came through the camp, walking towards him with long, purposeful strides. He wore a fur pelt draped over his wide shoulders and his tawny hair was as always gathered in a braid that hung down his back. His golden beard had gotten so long Tristan was thinking of suggesting he trim the length.

“Surely the Gods have blessed you.” Angus stabbed his legionary spear into the frozen ground and went down on one knee before Tristan. “I am honored to go to war with you on this day, and on any other day.”

Tristan was equally honored to have this noble warrior at his side. They had known each other ever since they were young lads, and as they grew up together they went from playing warrior games with rocks and wooden sticks, to fighting real games with weapons of steel and fire. They had quickly come to learn that in these games of men, when one went down, he stayed down.

Forever.

Tristan guarded his friend’s back with the same loyal devotion Angus employed inguarding his.

“Where have you been all morning?” he wondered of his friend, motioning with his hand for him to stop all this posturing about and get to his feet.

“I’ve been out riding.” Angus rose up, and a slight, knowing twinkle gleamed in his icy blue eyes. “I’ve got something for you.”

Tristan knew that look boded some form of mischief. Intrigued, he decided to play along and see what Angus was up to. “Show me what you have, my friend.”

When they reached Tristan’s tent, Angus held aside the heavy fur pelt covering the doorway and let him enter first. It didn’t take his eyes long to adjust to the dim interior and focus on the woman seated on the ground in the corner. She was clothed in only a light linen tunic, and her arms were tied behind her and secured to one of the wooden tent posts. Her long blonde hair was a matted mass of curls. She turned her head to look at him as he came inside.

Even dirty and disheveled, her beauty was overwhelming. She had a delicate face with a slender, dainty nose. Her eyes were a deep, deep blue and reminded him of a calm, summer sea. Her sooty dark lashes swept across high cheekbones that flushed with the same shade of pink as her lips. Full, luscious lips made just for a man’s kiss. Beneath her tunic he could see the outline of her body and the suggestion of soft, ripe curves and long, supple legs.

A violent shudder racked through him and he felt a familiar stirring in his loins. He went tense all over, his desire riding him as if he’d never had a woman before. He wanted her.

“We found her in the forest,” Angus said. “Thought she might amuse you.”

At Tristan’s impatient look, Angus ducked out of the tent and draped the fur pelt back over the door. Tristan glanced briefly at the woman, afraid her beauty had been an illusion, a bewitching trick played by the low light, but no, he still had a very beautiful woman in his tent. He removed his furs and tossed them over a chair by the table next to the warming fire. He rolled the sleeves of his tunic back to his elbows and began to wash in the basin on the stand, splashing cold water over his face a few times to remove the grime and dirt and blood.

As he dried himself with a towel, his gaze drifted to the woman like it had been pulled there. He admired how she kept a proud, rigid profile despite the fact that she sat tied to a tent post. He dried his hands and tossed the towel on the table.

“What’s your name?” he asked in her native language, knowing she’d not understand his.

She stared straight ahead, refusing to look at him or to answer him.

Angered by her show of insolence, Tristan raised his voice. “Did you not hear me?”

Valeria heard him just fine. His deep voice was smooth, but insistent, and he spoke her language fluently. Could all of these savages speak it?

“You just killed two legions of my countrymen.” She laced her tone with all the venom she could muster. “I have nothing to say to you.”

She turned her head aside and faced the leather wall of the tent, afraid to look at him. The quick glimpse she’d gotten in the dim lighting had set her heart racing. The man was tall and strong and handsome. The feelings he stirred up in her were not things she should feel for her enemy. An enemy who could easily kill her.

He came over to where she sat and squatted down, bringing his face level with hers. “Will you not tell me your name?”

Valeria dared to look at him. His auburn hair hung straight and long around his shoulders, and his rugged, handsome face was covered by a trim, brassy beard. He couldn’t be too many years older than she. Her gaze drifted to his firm, sensual lips.

Why did she find the brutish savage so handsome?

“What care do you have for names?” She lifted her gaze and boldly met his stare. “You’re a savage.”

His grey eyes darkened as he held her gaze. Though there was a youthful, almost boyish glint in his eyes, he exuded potent masculinity, making her quite aware of her own gentle femininity. Her stomach twisted into nervous knots and her pulse quickened. Was this fear she was feeling, or something else?

“I have to guess you’re of patrician rank” he said, his voice low and smooth. His penetrating gaze roamed over her face and hair. “The sheer arrogance in your tone is enough to make any slave cower, but I am not a slave.”

Valeria turned away from him again to stare at the side of the tent. She was amazed by how well he was able to read her. What could this barbarian possibly know of Rome or people of her class?

Giving a heavy sigh, he rose and walked back to the table. He picked at some of the meat on the platter and took a long swallow from his flagon of ale, staring at her over the rim. She guessed he was the leader of this army, for he held himself with the same arrogant airs he accused her of having.

Angus came back into the tent, letting in a rush of cold air. Valeria shivered, but the bone-deep chill in her body had succumbed to the warmth the tent provided.

“There’s a prisoner giving us some trouble,” Angus said.

The man set down his flagon of ale, never taking his eyes from Valeria. “Wait for me outside.”

He stared harshly at her, and this time she didn’t turn away from him. She’d assumed he’d killed every last person at the fort. The idea that he’d taken prisoners never occurred to her. Picts weren’t known to leave their enemies alive, they had no dignity, but she sensed this man did.

“You Romans are nothing but trouble,” he griped.

“And you’re nothing but a killer!” she shot back at him with a bravery she didn’t quite feel.

His expression hardened with fury. He charged over to her and once again came down in front of her. “What is your name?”

Valeria pulled her knees to her chest to put some semblance of a barrier between them. She knew little of this great warrior and feared what the man might do when angered, so she decided it wise to answer him. “Valeria.”

“Are you afraid, Valeria?”

She held his gaze for a moment, studying him. “Should I be?”

“I’ve witnessed many men in your situation who were willing to trade anything for their lives.”

“What do you want?” She braced herself for his answer. The anticipation was grinding away at her nerves.

“I want what all men want,” he replied. “To live as I choose.”

She was left with nothing else to say. His answer was honest and straightforward, and not at all what she expected to hear from a barbarian savage.

“Give me no trouble and you’ll have no reason to fear me.” His dark gaze swept over her once more, gentling a degree. “You’re the only Roman I’ve been so generous with.”

He stood, towering above her on the ground, then picked up one of his furs before sweeping out of the tent and leaving her alone, tied to the wooden post. She knew it was only a matter of time before he killed her.

Chapter Two

Tristan followed Angus through the camp to the tent where the prisoners were being held. A clamor of loud voices and commotion came from inside. He entered the tent, and three of his men were sent crashing into him, almost knocking him to the ground. He kept his feet and demanded, “What the devil is going on in here?”

Among the prisoners huddled together, a large man with a shaved head had broken his bonds and wasn’t letting anyone get near him. He’d been stripped of his armor and weapons and wore only a coarse, brown tunic, but he still looked like a mighty warrior. A mighty, angry warrior. He towered over most of the men and his arms and legs were thick and solid like tree trunks, bulging with muscles. His eyes blazed with hatred as he looked at Tristan.

“You are the leader?” he asked in Tristan’s language.

“Yes.” Tristan nodded. “What’s the trouble here?” His men were under strict orders not to harm or harass the prisoners.

“Let the girl go.” It was more like a warning than a demand.

Tristan hadn’t expected this. How did the man know of Valeria? Was this her brother? Her husband? It didn’t matter. She was his prisoner and he’d do as he pleased with her.

“What girl is that?” He met the man’s trenchant stare without flinching.

“You know damn well the girl I speak of!” the man bellowed in a rage, causing those close to him to step back in alarm. “Your men talk of her.” The muscles in his thick neck strained and his face reddened. “How many times have you violated her already?”

Tristan admired the spirit of this warrior. Strong, loyal, and courageous. If he wasn’t a Roman, Tristan might ask him to join his army. “Why do you concern yourself with the girl?”

“I’m sworn to protect her,” he grated through clenched teeth. “Be sure, any man here who touches her will know my wrath.” His expression was thunderous as he stood there, tall and seething with fury.

“What can you do about it?” Tristan laughed, and some of his men joined in with him. “You’re a prisoner, soon to be sold into slavery, if you can survive the cold. Save your vengeance for a more worthy battle.”

The man lowered his bald head and plowed through the barrier of soldiers, growling like a feral beast as he charged straight for Tristan. The tent erupted in chaos as the other prisoners cheered him on, while the soldiers tried to hold him back. Tristan drew the broadsword from the sheath at his waist, ready to meet the attack, but Angus and Talorc stepped in front of him, swords at the ready.

“Stand down!” Angus shouted, prepared to fell the great warrior if necessary.

The man didn’t stop his charge. “I’ll take all of you to hell with me!”

“You will stand down now!” Tristan raged in a deep voice that rang clear and full of authority. “Or I will see to it that the girl suffers. I’ll have my men show her a thing or two about Pict hospitality.”

The threat was good because the man halted his attack. His expression remained forbidding as he stared at Tristan. “Take pleasure from this moment, for the next time we meet, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

It was obvious the man cared for his charge, so how had she gotten separated from him? What had the woman been doing this far north in the first place? There was much Tristan wanted to know about his unwilling guest.

“Secure the prisoner.” He barked the order, then left and headed back to his tent.

He intended to get more from Valeria than her name this time.

The coarse rope of her bonds chafed painfully every time she moved, leaving her skin damaged and raw. Valeria was going to go crazy if she had to stay tied up for much longer. She was hungry and tired. Her muscles were cramped and sore. Trying to work her hands free had only caused the ropes to go tighter and had planted a splinter from the wooden post into her palm.

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.

Chapter Three

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.

Tristan had instructed her to wash and then he’d left her alone in the tent. She immediately took the opportunity to get a look at what was on the other side of the door, and retreated back inside when she was met with a look of disgust from Angus. She didn’t know if he stood guard to keep her in, or to keep others out. Valeria may not like him, but she felt safer with him there.

She kept her tunic on while she washed, focusing on her face and neck, her hands and arms, and lastly her feet. The water was brown and murky when she finished and her skin raw from being scrubbed and polished. After raking her fingers through some of the tangles in her hair, she was slowly returning to herself.

The minutes dragged on, feeling like hours, and still Tristan didn’t return. She poked around in his tent searching for personal items or anything that might hint atthe kind of man he was. She found nothing, only a few changes of clothes and his warm furs. The maps spread open on the table gave no hints as to strategy or where his other armies might be camped. Not that she’d be getting out of here alive to tell anyone, and if she did, who would she tell? Her uncle was most likely dead, and any new leader wouldn’t listen to her. The only value she had as a woman was to make a strong alliance through marriage and give her husband strong, healthy children who would carry on his lineage.

Valeria plopped down on one of the stools at the table. The idea of such a boring, tedious existence did not sit well with her. She was a patrician with noble blood in her veins and had been bred and pampered as such, but she’d also been allowed a great measure of freedom in her life. Her mother died giving birth to her, and knowing nothing of her father, she’d been taken in by her uncle and raised mostly by the household servants. Her family was more concerned with their political aspirations and accumulating wealth than her comings and goings. Half the time they forgot she even existed.

More depressed than she was before, she checked the three flagons on the table for something to drink. Not water. She wanted something stronger. Tristan’s cup held some ale and she took a long, gulping swallow.

Valeria didn’t mind being alone. She’d gotten so used to being ignored that she found the recent interest in obtaining a husband for her rather insulting. Who were these people to dictate her life? They didn’t know anything about her. Begging for her uncle’s compassion and understanding would be the only way to save herself from a life of misery and servitude.

She took another heavy swallow of ale, finishing the drink this time. Her belch was hardly ladylike and she laughed as she imagined what a husband would think of such crude behavior. Would she be beaten? Publicly flogged and thrown into the arena with the Gladiators? She burst into a hysterical fit of laughter, while at the same time troubled tears burned her eyes. Maybe she was losing her mind. And maybe the Gods had answered her prayers after all by sending Tristan. He was one way to escape her awful fate.

Hearing Valeria’s laughter, Tristan barged into his tent, ready to kill Angus for leaving his post and seeking out her company. He was surprised to find her seated alone at the table, laughing, with tears running down her clean face. Her wild mane of blonde curls had been somewhat tamed and her beauty was even more evident with the layer of dirt removed.

“What amuses you so?” he demanded, still angry with her for trying to deceive him when he’d questioned her earlier.

She sobered, ceasing her laughter and looking up at him from under her dark lashes. “Nothing.”

“Were you not just laughing?”

“No.” Her chin trembled as if she was about to cry, but she held back her tears.

Gods!

The woman was exasperating. Tristan marched over to the table and picked up his flagon of ale, not prepared to find it empty.

“Did you drink this?” He turned it over and a single drop splashed on the wooden surface of the table.

“Yes.” She smiled up at him, seeming pleased with herself.

Well, at least she’d told him the truth. Perhaps the ale would help loosen her tongue. “Tell me why you were at the wall.”

Valeria groaned and rested her head in her hands. “I already told you.”

“I don’t believe your story.” Did she really mean to keep up with her lies? Had she been there to deliver a message from Rome? They often used women as unsuspecting spies.

“Is it so strange that I’d want to see my uncle?” She lifted her head from her hands and looked at him. “He wasn’t coming back to Rome anytime soon.”

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her carefully, watching for any sign that she was lying to him. “There must have been a good reason for you to put yourself in danger.”

“Aren’t you getting tired of asking me the same questions?”

“Not until you tell me the truth.”

“You want the truth?” She gave a deflated sigh. “I travelled to the fort to beg my uncle to change his mind about forcing me to marry.”

Tristan bellowed a laugh. Her new lie was even less believable. “It’s been my experience that all women want to marry. You’d do better telling me the real reason.”

“That is the real reason,” she insisted. “I have no wish to be wed to a stranger who cares nothing for me. I am not property to be traded and sold.”

“Slavery is the only currency Rome knows,” he said. “You’d best get used to it.”

The Gods knew Tristan had already treated this woman better than the Romans treated their slaves. He was sure she was of patrician stock, and she’d have a hard time convincing him that life was so bad for her.

“How does what you’re doing differ from what Rome does?” Her blue eyes sparkled in challenge. “You attacked the fort, killed most of the men and will kill the prisoners you took, or sell them as slaves.”

Tristan stared harshly at her. He didn’t have to explain his actions to her, but was she really so ignorant? “We are fighting to keep what is rightfully ours and has been since the dawn of time. When Rome marches upon our lands, kills our families and burns our homes and crops, we’re left with no choice but to retaliate. We’ve been forced into this battle, and therein lies the difference.”

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.

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.

Chapter Five

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.

He could have done worse to her, like let those men rape her, or rape her himself, but he hadn’t. Tristan was different from other men. She’d known there was something special about him from the very beginning.

What was she supposed to do? Everything inside of her rebelled at the idea of letting him make her a slave. He wouldn’t let her go, and they couldn’t exactly become friends. Valeria didn’t belong here, in a war camp with her enemy, shackled in his tent. Something would have to be done with her. She could either let Tristan decide what it would be, or she could keep trying to escape and hope she was eventually successful.

Tristan came back into the tent, bringing a gust of cold night air with him. He ripped off his fur and flung it to the ground. He didn’t look at her as he stormed over to the bed and removed the sword from his waist, laying it next to the bed. He sat and pulled his boots off, then drew his tunic over his head and tossed it to the ground.

Valeria watched his every movement from where she rested on her pile of furs on the ground. The tense silence hanging in the air had her fidgety and nervous.

“Tomorrow I’ll move you with the rest of the prisoners,” he finally said without looking at her. “We’ll be trading for supplies in the next day or two.”

Valeria shot up from the furs to look at him in disbelief. “I’m to be traded with the other prisoners?” Now she’d really done it. She never should have tried to escape.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said. “What did you think would happen?”

She couldn’t stop the tears that ran down her face. What a fool she was to think this man was any different from the barbarians he led into battle. She hated him.

He shot her a cold look, his brows furrowed. “Don’t waste your tears on me.”

“I hate you!” she cried.

In the quickest of movements he was over to her and pulling her to her feet, curling one of his muscular arms around her waist and drawing her upward along his body so they were eye to eye, their noses almost touching. “I’d expect no more from you.”

“Let me go,” Valeria railed at him, letting her sobs come freely as she pounded her fists against the solid muscles of his chest.

He circled his strong arms around her, holding her tight against his hard body with one hand at her back and the other at her waist so she couldn’t move to strike him. The heat of his skin warmed her through the thin material of her tunic and her breasts ached as they smashed against his hard chest. His musky, manly scent swirled around her and she breathed it in even deeper, not certain why she liked the way he smelled. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet his, and stilled as his grey eyes stared back at her. He held her even tighter, pulling her closer.

She couldn’t say what it was or when it happened, but something formed between them. Desire, warm and palpable, drew them closer and closer, until his lips were almost brushing hers. Valeria took a shallow breath and let her body soften in his strong hold, sagging against him. The thin, angry line of his lips parted and then he closed his mouth over hers.

Heat raced through her as his lips slid against hers, kissing her with hungry impatience. She’d expected to dislike his kiss, and instead found a burning temptation. She eagerly returned his kisses, opening her mouth for him when he slipped his tongue inside and bracing her hands on his shoulders to pull herself closer to his hard body. He forced her back down to the bed beneath his heavy weight, but her shackles tightened and stopped him from getting her right where he wanted her.

He was quick to retrieve the key from his boot and she watched him as he removed her chains, panting heavily to catch her breath. He slid back up her body and stretched out over her, pushing her all the way back on the bed beneath his heavy weight. He settled his hips between her legs and began grinding himself against her while taking her mouth in another sweeping kiss that left her dizzy.

Why did it feel so good to have Tristan touch her this way? She didn’t know what he was making her feel, and it was confusing, frightening. Completely surrounded by his body, his warmth, his scent, she was in the enemy’s arms, and she wanted even more of him. Did she desire him out of fear, hoping he might change his mind about what to do with her, or was there something else making her want this man?

It was desire, plain and simple, and it was impossible for Valeria to deny her feelings any longer. But could she really surrender to Tristan’s taking of her? She’d never been intimate with a man. She knew how it worked, that a man entered a woman’s body, but she’d never been brave enough to explore such relations. It could be that none had ever sparked the flames of her passion as Tristan did, and she wanted to explore these new sensations she was feeling. His passionate assault was like nothing she’d ever experienced and it might be her only chance to know something this consuming. Tristan was taking her on a voyage into the unknown, and she eagerly thirsted for the special knowledge that only this man, who was her enemy, could give her.

He continued to kiss her, his lips hard and searching, his wet tongue tracing her lips. Valeria parted her lips and he slipped his tongue inside, eagerly exploring her mouth. His kisses turned more intense, more devouring, and waves of pleasure surged through her, making it easy to forget she was a Roman and Tristan was a northerner. Driven by her own rising passion, she found the courage to return his plundering kisses, imitating his actions and getting a quick study in the art of kissing.

His hand slid under her tunic and caressed the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. A warm, needy ache blossomed in her center. With every teasing brush of his fingers he came closer and closer to touching the secret flesh between her legs. Tristan was going to make love to her and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Did she want to stop him? Would he stop if she wanted him to? All the modesty Rome had spent years ingraining into her person made her think of how shameful it would be to allow him to do this, but she liked his touch, had never felt anything more perfect, and there couldn’t be anything shameful in that.

His searing lips left her mouth and traced gentle kisses along her neck, his hot breath on her skin making her entire body shiver with pleasure. His beard was soft and tickled her as his mouth moved down to close over the crook of her shoulder. She shuddered, her needy body responding to his heated touch. He pushed her tunic up higher, over her hips, revealing her stomach, then finally her breasts were bared to him.

When his big, warm hands closed over the mounds and squeezed them gently, the pleasure his touch created brought a soft moan from her, and then his mouth was there, hot and wet, licking at one of her nipples and drawing it into his mouth to suck on it. Valeria arched her back, the thrill of his touch sending a flood of pleasure flowing through her. When he closed his mouth over her other nipple, she moaned his name, her hands grasping at the furs beneath her. He took his time there, suckling eagerly and tugging on her with his mouth until she thought her body would come apart from itself.Never in her life had she imagined a thing like this would feel so magical.

“Beautiful, Valeria,” he murmured around a mouthful of her flesh.

Hearing him speak in his own language, his deep voice husky with desire, was the most erotic thing she had ever experienced.

He ran his hands over her hips and up along her sides to lift her tunic over her head, then his mouth came down over hers as he tossed the garment aside, leaving his grasping hands free to caress her, arousing her as he stroked her breasts, her stomach, and then around to cup her backside. He lifted her off the furs and pulled her hips against his, grinding the rock-hard bulge in his breeches against her center.

Valeria tamped down her fear and tried not to panic, but she didn’t know what she was supposed to do, or how she was supposed to touch him. All of this was so new to her, the feel of a man’s rough hands on her body, the stirring of desire caused by his touch. Tristan must have sensed her anxiety because he stopped and looked down into her eyes.

“You don’t have to be afraid with me.” He cupped her face in his hand, holding her still while he brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “I won’t hurt you.”

He roamed over her body with his mouth and hands, coaxing the slowly building pleasure from her in waves. Growing adventurous herself, she explored his strong body with her hands, sweeping over his smooth skin and the rippling muscles in his chest, stomach and arms. Then she got more daring and embraced him, pressing her breasts against his chest, the soft hairs brushing her skin as she ran her hands up and down the length of his back. The barrier of his breeches stopped her from exploring further, but he quickly accommodated her by stripping them off.

His mouth found hers once more and his kiss was urgent, his lips firm and devouring. He led her hand between their bodies and down to touch him. Surprised by her own daring, she closed her hand around the hot, steel-hard length standing up from his hips. His shaft pulsed and grew harder and longer in her hand. The blatantly sexual response went far beyond her meager understanding of what was about to happen. Fear made her freeze, made it hard for her to swallow.

Gods, what was he going to do to her?

His hand moved between her legs to stroke the soft folds of flesh at her center, then his fingers delved into her, searching for something, and bringing a quivering cry from her when he found it. He smoothed his finger over her most sensitive spot in slow, lazy circles. Valeria clasped desperately at his shoulders as she tingled beneath his touch and a sweet pleasure spread through her every nerve ending. When he thrust a finger inside her, she sucked in a startled breath. He stroked it through her juices, making her wetter as he brought her to a height of pleasure she’d never known before. She wasn’t sure if she could take anymore. She wanted him to stop, she needed him to keep on going. A helpless whimper escaped her.

He bent his head to her ear. “Do you want me?” His voice was gruff, filled with tension.

“Yes,” Valeria answered, not sure what she was asking for, only knowing that she wanted to be released from this sweet torture, and Tristan was the only one who could do it.

He lowered his body over hers and spread her legs open with his knees so he could push his hard length into her. He was big in size and stretched her to the point of pain as he slid deeper. She curled her fingers around his arms, digging her nails into the taut muscles. She didn’t think she could take all of him. It was impossible.

“It may hurt at first,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I know of no other way to make the first time any less painful.”

“You’re too big,” she complained, squirming to relieve some of the pressure between her legs. “I want you to stop.”

“No, no stopping,” he said, his eyes burning with determination. “Trust me, little Roman.”

He went deeper and deeper, filling her with his hard thickness, and though there was pain, she still felt a tingling of pleasure and thought she might be able to stand it. Above her, she felt his body tense, his hips drew back, and then he slammed into her with a sharp thrust, planting himself deep. Valeria cried out in shock from the severe swiftness of his burning entry into her virgin passage and dug her nails harder into his skin.

“The worst of it is over.” His rich, sensual voice calmed her as he paused briefly. He smoothed her hair back from her face and wiped at her tears with his thumb.

When he did begin to move, it was with slow, gentle thrusts reaching deeper inside her. A myriad of sensations racked her body. Pain. Pleasure. Ecstasy. Fear. She couldn’t focus on just one as he stroked back and forth. He kissed her as he moved within her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as he thrust himself between her thighs, and she thought she would die from the rapture of it. The stretching pain faded once she allowed herself to relax into his rhythm, and soon the pain was replaced by a growing, aching need that started deep inside and spread out to the rest of her body, sending the most satisfying sensations rippling through her.

Those feelings increased as did the pace of his movements, and she brought her arms around his waist and held to him. She moved her hips with his, seeking to obtain some glorious finish she didn’t yet understand, but wanted to reach. The closer she came to attaining it, the less she was able to quiet her cries of passion. She dared to look up at Tristan as he moved over her and saw how his brows were drawn in severe concentration, how his jaw was clenched tight and his head thrown back. He bucked harder, faster, steadily driving himself into her until she finally reached her highest peak and something inside her burst, flooding her with the most exquisite splendor. Bliss, sharp and hot, lanced through her veins, and above her, he gave a final, deep thrust, his body shuddering from his own pleasure, his hard shaft pulsing inside her.

Valeria didn’t want to move, didn’t want to do anything but feel what magic this man had worked with her body. They both breathed heavily as they lay locked in each other’s arms. The sharp edges of bliss began to fade and the racing of her heart slowed. Not once had she imagined her journey into the north would lead to this. Tristan had awakened a secret passion in her that she never knew existed, and because of him, she would never be the same.

Chapter Six

Morning dawned as it inevitably must, and Tristan couldn’t stop touching Valeria. Her hot, tight body clasped him as he drove himself harder and deeper into her. He was now familiar with every inch of her and knew she could take him like this, rough and wild. She’d discovered her own hidden passions through the long night they’d shared as well.

Her soft little moans and cries of pleasure excited him and he bucked his hips faster, thrusting powerfully into her body again and again until she clung to him, grasping at his shoulders and crying out as she reached a shuddering climax. Tristan came hard and long, the muscles in his body trembling as the most intense, unbelievable pleasure exploded from him. Giving a hoarse, strangled shout, he released himself deep inside her.

He held himself suspended above her, his arms trembling, feeling like they’d give out at any moment. He collapsed back on the bed, out of breath. “What have you done to me, little Roman?”

He pulled Valeria to him and held her tightly. It was strange how right she felt in his arms. She nestled into the crook of his arm and rested her head on his chest.

“Are all men as enthusiastic as you?”

Tristan frowned. He’d always had a healthy appetite when it came to women, but nothing like this want, this desire, this need for Valeria. As soon as he finished taking her, his body started the slow build all over again, like it couldn’t stand to remain separated from her. He’d spent the entire night easing his lust between her legs and didn’t feel he’d ever be satisfied.

“Not all men,” he teased. “I’m different, remember?”

Valeria traced her finger in little circles over his chest. “It could be you’ve simply been without a woman for so long you had to get your fill before tossing me in with the other prisoners.”

Tristan cringed with guilt. Both he and Valeria knew their night together could go no further. There was no future for them, a Pict and a Roman. They found themselves in an unusual situation, and given they were attracted to each other, they were simply making the best of their time. That’s what he’d told her as he made love to her all night, and she’d agreed between her cries of pleasure.

“I think we should get up and eat something,” he said, “or I just might keep you in bed all day.”

He picked up her tunic from the ground and handed it off to her, then he pulled on his breeches and his boots. He should shackle her if he was going to leave his tent. She’d tried escaping once, and just because she’d spent the night in his bed, it didn’t mean she wouldn’t try again. Nothing had changed since last night. Tristan would still trade her like the rest of the prisoners if he couldn’t first ransom her to Rome.

Valeria was dressed now, lying back on the furs and watching him, her blue eyes lazy and calm. There was the hint of a smile on her lips.

Maybe one more time…

No! He had things to take care of, things he had to do. He’d been in this tent with her for too long. He stood and grabbed her by the ankle so he could pull her to the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing?” She sat up in a rush, trying to kick her leg out of his hold.

“I can’t have you escaping again.” He locked the shackle around her ankle, and then finished dressing in his tunic and a warm fur.

“I wasn’t even thinking of it,” she insisted, tugging at her chains.

Tristan picked up his sword from the ground next to the bed and strapped it around his waist. “I don’t want to have to worry about you while I’m not here to watch you.”

“Please don’t do this to me, Tristan.” She turned sad eyes up to him.

He steeled his will and headed to the door. “I’ll bring you something to eat,” he said, then left the tent.

The morning was bright and clear and the camp was already a busy flurry of activity with men cooking over fires while others cleaned and readied their weapons. The scouting party he’d sent out had still not returned and he had to consider the fact they might have met up with the Romans and weren’t coming back.

As he moved through the camp looking for Angus, he could feel the restlessness coming from the men. Their battle was far from over and they didn’t want to be caught unawares.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Angus fell into step beside him, a wide grin on his face.

“I hadn’t noticed,” Tristan grumbled.

Valeria’s beauty rivaled any winter morning and he wanted nothing more than to return to his tent and pass the day with her. She was a distraction he didn’t need. The lives of these men were in his hands and he had a responsibility to do right by them. He couldn’t let Valeria get in the way of his duty.

“I thought I’d find you in a better mood after spending the night enjoying your prize,” Angus said. “Did she put up much of a fight?”

Tristan stopped walking to glare at his friend. “Any word from the scouts?”

“None.” Angus shook his head. “They should return soon.”

“If they don’t, we’ve got trouble.” Tristan considered what his next move should be. There was a good chance the Romans would be coming after them to retaliate for the attack on the wall. A very good chance.

“The men are content to wait and fight on their own ground.”

“No.” Tristan clenched his jaw. “We’ll wait one more day. If the scouts don’t return, we’ll break camp at first light.”

“What of the prisoners?” Angus rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, shifting his attention to their tent off in the distance.

“Ready them for travel. We’ll head to Gaul and trade them for supplies.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll go hunting for more Romans.”

Angus saluted him with his arm over his chest, and then went to spread word among the men of their plans. Tristan would have one more night to enjoy Valeria, and then he would send her off on the next leg of her journey in the north. The sooner he got rid of her, the sooner he could forget she ever existed.

How could he do this? Tristan still intended to keep her shackled. After the night they’d shared, Valeria expected better treatment from him, but he didn’t trust her. She couldn’t blame him really, since she hadn’t given up on her thoughts of escape, although it was only a distant nagging in her mind this morning.

She needed a better plan. Her last attempt had failed miserably and could not be repeated. Leaving Tristan wasn’t going to be so simple. He was stronger and smarter than her when it came to things like this, and if she did manage to escape, she’d never see him again. Would never feel his body heavy atop hers or hear his deep voice in her ear saying bold, wicked things to her.

A shiver of excitement warmed her as she lay curled up on her pile of furs on the ground. Never had she expected joining with a man would be so pleasurable, but then, she’d never met a man like Tristan. One look from him made her heart race, her stomach flutter and her head spin.

She rolled onto her side, propped her elbow up and rested her chin in her hand, trying to suppress her delighted smile. The delicious aching in her limbs fondly reminded her that Tristan had left no part of her untouched. He’d tasted her with his tongue, pleasured her with his fingers and impaled her with his manhood. Over and over.

Gods help her, she wished he’d come back to his tent and do it all again. Was she wrong to feel this way? Anyone else looking at her situation could say he’d raped her, that he’d forced her, but deep down she knew the truth. She’d wanted him. She let him take her, and the way he’d pleasured her made it all too confusing.

Valeria didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to think that he might trade her for supplies or weapons. Letting Tristan go wouldn’t be easy for her to do now, and she was afraid he’d cast her off without feeling a thing.

Did she really mean that little to him?

She spent what felt like the longest day of her life shackled to the bed in Tristan’s tent. He came back once with food and water and released her so she could eat and wash. He watched her intently the whole time with a dark, unreadable expression. She sensed he was feeling just as confused by what had happened as she was.

She left her tunic on while she bathed, no longer feeling comfortable being naked in front of him. Finding traces of blood on the insides of her thighs was mildly embarrassing, but she turned her back to Tristan and washed the last evidence of her virginity away. She could worry about the trouble that would bring her later.

They spoke little to each other, and as soon as she’d finished with the food, he shackled her and left his tent.

With nothing else to do, Valeria finally slept. This time in her dreams she saw her escape.

She left Tristan sleeping in his bed and found the tent where the prisoners were being held. The guard posted outside had fallen asleep and she was able to free the men, and among them she discovered Rufus.

She thanked the Gods for such a blessing, yet still they laughed at her. When she asked why they mocked her, no answer came. Angry, she demanded they speak to her. Hadn’t she been loyal to them? Wasn’t she deserving of their compassion?

The most beautiful woman, with flowing black hair and sapphire-blue eyes, came forward, her long white robes floating around her. She smiled warmly at Valeria, like a mother might smile at her petulant child. “You know not of your future, my child, but one day you will have real need of our help. One day you will send us a prayer true from your heart, and that is the one we will answer.”

Valeria awoke with a surprised gasp, covered in sweat, and stared unblinking at the ceiling of the tent. She’d always had vivid dreams from the time she was a small girl. Usually they meant nothing, and sometimes they left her distracted or confused for a short time, but this dream felt so real, the details so tangible that she believed the Gods had chosen to speak to her. Not that what they’d said made any sense. How could there be something more important to pray to them about than the preservation of her own life?

Going over the rest of her dream, the part where she’d found Rufus with the other prisoners might have been a sign. Maybe her protector wasn’t dead but only a short distance from her. Suddenly she felt a little homesick. She wanted one of those big, giant hugs Rufus was so good at giving. The ones that could chase away everything bad and make her feel safe.

Now she was ready to leave Tristan. She wanted to be with the other prisoners. Her own people. She wanted to find Rufus and go home and never come to the north again.

Tears welled in her eyes and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. Crying would get her nowhere. Rufus would tell her to stay strong and to always be ready. She tugged on the shackle secured to the pallet’s frame and pulled on the chain, but it was no use. The only way she was getting free was if Tristan let her go.

He chose that moment to sweep into the tent, surprising her. She gave him a guilty look as she sat back on her furs. There was no use trying to hide what she’d been doing when he came in.

“Do you tire of your chains?” His eyes burned with fury. “Here I thought you just might be starting to get comfortable.”

Valeria leapt to her feet. “I’ll never be comfortable chained like an animal!” She felt a sudden rush of courage and stood her ground. “I want to get out of here. I want you to put me with the other prisoners where I belong. I hate it here, and I hate you.” It was too late to take the words back, so she swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and boldly met his gaze.

A shadow of anger swept across his face as he stared back at her, not moving a single muscle. Then he threw off his fur and tore his tunic off over his head. He unfastened his sword and slammed it down on the table before pulling off his boots and tossing them into a corner.

He stalked up to her and gripped his arm firmly around her waist, pulling her up against him, raising her up on her toes and staring down at her. Her breath caught in her throat as she braced her hands against his bare chest and looked up into his stormy grey eyes. With his free hand he clasped the back of her head and held her in place so he could bring his mouth down over hers.

The delicate flutter in her stomach tickled, her heart raced wildly. This was the effect Tristan had on her. His kisses were so powerful and seductive. Her mind argued with her to resist, to turn away, but her body refused. Her feelings for him had nothing to do with reason and she threw her arms around his neck, balancing on the tips of her toes to return his fevered kisses. All her thoughts of being homesick dissolved as he held her in his arms.

He released her and crouched down to remove the shackle from her ankle. When he rose up, he turned her away from him and loosened her hair from her braid. “Do you really hate me so?”

Valeria leaned back against him as he ran his fingers through the length of her hair with gentle strokes.

“Yes.” She closed her eyes and let her body go loose, let the tension drain from her. “Are you only going to release me when you wish to take me to your bed?”

He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and hugged her back to his chest while he pressed light kisses along her neck. “I don’t have to worry about you escaping when you’re pinned beneath me, and I’m buried deep inside you.”

He pulled aside the neck of her tunic and trailed his lips over her shoulder. A delicious shiver went racing through her. She feared what might happen if she gave in to Tristan again, but she couldn’t resist the incredible pull he had on her. She spun around to face him, and this time she pressed her mouth to his, boldly kissing him with all the heat and passion he’d awakened in her.

Tristan claimed her mouth, taking over the hungry kiss, and when she parted her lips to open her mouth to him, he gently inserted his tongue to meet hers. A fury of desire consumed him as Valeria’s kiss turned desperate and enthusiastic, like she couldn’t get enough of him. He swallowed her breathless pants as she pressed the curves of her body suggestively against him, grinding her hips into his.

Her passionate touch stirred his strong desire and he buried his hands in her hair to tilt her head back so he could plunge his tongue deeper into her mouth and fully taste her. She moaned, showing her pleasure, encouraging him to explore further. Tristan moved his hands over her body, cupping and squeezing her full breasts through her tunic, wanting to put his mouth there. He slid his hands down her back and gripped her round backside, pulling her tight against him so she could feel the aching hardness in his breeches and know what she did to him.

He had little control over his lust with Valeria in his arms and he grabbed at her tunic and swiftly lifted it off over her head. The dim light from the lamp outlined the luscious curves of her body and glowed off her smooth skin. Unable to wait, he tumbled her back on the bed beneath him. He couldn’t remember a woman feeling better or more right under him than Valeria did. His impatience to have her had the fire in his loins raging out of control.

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.

Chapter Seven

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.

Tristan wasn’t sure what possessed him to return to his tent for Valeria. He was in the midst of a war and a woman would only slow him down. What was he doing? Only a complete idiot would risk his life for a woman he barely knew. He hadn’t even expected to find her, but here she stood, staring at him with wide, surprised eyes.

“What are you doing here?” She looked as baffled and astonished as he felt.

“We’ve fallen to the Romans.” The words tasted foul on his tongue. Rome’s tactics of war were no longer superior for he and his men had learned their enemy’s ways quickly. In this battle they’d simply been outnumbered.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said. “You have to hurry. You have to go.”

“I said I’d come back.” Of all the things he’d be leaving behind, Valeria was something that couldn’t be replaced. Gods help him, he wanted more time with her.

“It’s too late—”

“It’s not too late.” He sheathed one of his swords and held his hand out to her. “We can get out, but we must do it now.”

She hesitated and glanced at his offered hand. Why wouldn’t she take it?

“I can’t go with you, Tristan.”

“Why not?” A tic worked along his jaw and he glowered at her. “You begged me not to leave earlier.”

Had he been wrong to come back for her? Had she only pretended to have feelings for him, lying to him as she’d lied about her reason for coming to the north, or the fact that she spoke his language?

Tristan should have known better. He should have left her and never looked back. There was good reason why he guarded his heart, but he’d felt something different with Valeria, something special, so he’d let her in, and she proved to be just as cold and uncaring as a woman could be. And a Roman on top of it. He’d never make the mistake again.

“You didn’t mean it, did you?” He barely suppressed his rage at her betrayal. “You hoped I’d be killed or that I wouldn’t come back.”

“No!” She shook her head in denial. “I was desperate to have you return.”

“This could be a trap you’ve carefully laid,” he continued to accuse her. “I’ll bet there are more men waiting outside for you to simply give the word.”

“Please, Tristan, listen to me when I say you must go. More men will be coming and I hate to think what they’d do if they found you here.” The sad, pleading look in her eyes was almost enough to convince him she was telling the truth.

In any case, he had to get out of there, and he would still take Valeria with him. He’d make her regret her lies and deceit, and do to her what he should have done from the beginning. Reaching out, he grabbed her by the wrist and jerked her close so he could toss her over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” She kicked her legs and pounded her fists against his back as she lay draped over him.

Tristan tightened his hold around her legs to stop her kicking and slashed his sword down the back wall of the tent so he could leave with less chance of being noticed. The forest was close, and once he got there, he could disappear.

“Halt, northern swine!” a deep voice bellowed out behind him.

Tristan turned and saw Valeria’s fearsome protector, covered in Roman armor and heavily armed with weapons. It was time to find out just how loyal the soldier was. Tristan ducked out of the tent and raced towards the forest with Valeria flopping over his shoulder. He tossed away the extra sword in his hand to lighten his load.

“Dammit, Tristan.” She beat at his back with her tiny fists. “Rufus will kill you.”

“Let him catch me first.” He continued with sure strides towards the welcoming depths of the green forest.

“Put me down.” She reared up from his shoulder and twisted about. “Just put me down and get out of here.”

“I recommend you do as the lady asks,” a deep voice said in his own language from behind him.

Tristan spun around to face Rufus, with Valeria hanging over his shoulder, muttering foul curses at him. The woman certainly had spirit.

“Let her go,” Rufus ordered. “She’s innocent in this, or was, before you got a hold of her.”

Tristan felt a sudden shame for what he’d done to Valeria, knowingly taking her virginity and not caring what the consequences might be for either of them. He’d been so blind to his lust he hadn’t given the future much thought.

He gently lowered her to her feet, savoring the feel of her soft body against him as she slid down, inhaling the sweet, feminine scent that clung to her golden hair. He didn’t want to let go of her.

“Come to me.” Rufus extended his hand to Valeria.

Tristan was shocked to see her hesitate, one of her hands still desperately clinging to his arm. She didn’t move to take the hand that was offered.

“Valeria!” Rufus raged at her. “Come away from him.”

She gave Tristan a defeated glance, her eyes wet with the start of tears, and stepped out of his arms and over to her fierce protector. He felt the loss of her warmth like a punch to his gut. He hadn’t been prepared to have feelings for her and he was having a hard time dealing with them. But deal with them he must. He’d push Valeria so far from his mind that he’d forget she ever existed.

“How do you want to die, Pict scum?” Rufus aimed his heavy sword at him.

Tristan tore off his fur pelt and tossed it to the ground, then drew his own sword from the sheath at his waist. “Not quietly, if that’s what you had in mind.”

“Rufus, stop this.” Valeria stood in front of him, blocking him so he couldn’t attack. She would not let him kill Tristan.

“Get out of my way.” Rufus tried to shove her behind him.

Valeria fought him, and her bare feet slipped around in the snow. She didn’t even feel the cold, only the frantic need to protect Tristan from a sure death.

“I mean it, Domina.” Rufus stared down at her, his brown eyes boring into hers, his mouth set into a severe line. “Move out of the way.”

He shoved her harder this time and sent her flying to her back on the ground. She lay still for a moment, unable to believe he’d gotten so rough with her. It wasn’t like Rufus to treat her in such a bad manner.

“Is that the only way you can handle a woman?” Tristan asked in a mocking tone, provoking Rufus to a fight. “By knocking her around?”

Rufus chuckled a deep, booming laugh. “You’re one to talk. Forcing yourself on innocent young women hardly makes you heroic.”

The two men stared each other down, their swords held at the ready. Rufus attacked first. He lunged forward and slashed his sharp blade, but Tristan blocked the blow and propelled him back.

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