The Warrior's Bride Prize

‘Is something amusing?’

She froze at the glacial tone of his voice, half-opening her mouth to protest before she realised he was speaking to Tullus.

‘No, sir.’ Her escort jumped to attention, visibly startled.

‘Then perhaps you can explain to me why you’re laughing?’

‘I...’ Tullus spluttered ineffectively. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘Are you?’ The Centurion’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘If I had time, I’d make sure of that fact. You’re lucky I don’t. Now get your men ready. We’re leaving.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Livia felt the corners of her mouth tug upwards as her escort scuttled away like a frightened rabbit. He wouldn’t be telling that to Tarquinius! She’d never seen him respond to orders so quickly.

‘Your men are insolent.’ The Centurion turned back to face her and her smile faded at once.

‘They’re not my men. They’re my brother’s.’

‘All the more reason for them to treat you with respect.’

She gave a murmur of assent, unable to frame an answer to that. Tullus simply took his cue from Tarquinius. He knew exactly how much respect her half-brother would expect him to show, as well as how much he could get away with.

‘We’ll march for another hour and then rest.’ The Centurion—what had he called himself again? Varro?—surveyed the woodland on either side of them suspiciously. ‘If that’s convenient to you, of course?’

She blinked, surprised to be consulted. ‘Yes, if you think that it’s best.’

‘I do. Now allow me to escort you back to your carriage.’

She didn’t move, regarding him warily instead. His eyes were actually green, she noticed, but of such a dark shade they seemed to blend into the wintery foliage around them. She had no idea what he thought of her, but she had the distinct feeling that if she went back to the carriage then she’d only spend the rest of the journey fearing the worst, reliving the scene of her humiliation over and over in her head. Whereas if she stayed...well, hopefully then she might find some way of salvaging her dignity, not to mention of overcoming this strange physical effect he seemed to be having on her. What did Aesop’s tale say, something about familiarity breeding contempt? She only hoped that was true.

Besides, even if he wasn’t her new husband—a thought that, to her renewed shame, did nothing to relieve the fluttering sensation in her stomach—perhaps he could tell her something about the man she was going to marry. Apart from his name, all she knew about Lucius Scaevola was that he came from a senatorial family in Rome and was heavily in debt to her brother. Since those debts had most likely been accrued drinking and gambling in one of Tarquinius’s establishments, neither fact was particularly reassuring, and she didn’t want to spend the next few hours cooped up in a carriage, her nerves stretched even tighter than before. Julia would be safe with Porcia and surely her skittish maid must have realised they weren’t under attack by now.

‘I’d prefer to walk for a while.’

One eyebrow lifted at the same time as the furrow in his brow deepened. ‘We march at a fast pace, lady.’

‘Then I’ll march, too.’ She felt determined not to be thwarted. ‘I have two legs as your soldiers do and no armour to weigh me down.’

His gaze dropped at the mention of her legs, lingering briefly before he pulled his helmet back on with a jerk.

‘Pulex!’ His shout was so loud and yet so seemingly effortless that she took a surprised step backwards.

‘Yes, sir?’ a voice from somewhere within the mass of legionaries answered.

‘Lead from the front. I’ll march at the rear.’

‘Yes, sir!’

Livia heaved a breath of relief, taking up a position beside him as the column of soldiers all turned around at once, moving in unison as if they were one and not many individuals. Then she looked down at her feet, belatedly wondering if she were making another mistake, after all. Her thin sandals were completely impractical for marching over hard cobbles and as for her pristine white stola... She threw a surreptitious glance towards her companion and then tugged the hem up around her calves, hoisting it out of the dirt.

‘Have you changed your mind, lady?’

She whipped her head up in chagrin. She hadn’t thought that he was looking at her—he wasn’t even looking at her now, staring straight ahead as if he were keen to inspect the tops of his soldiers’ helmets—and yet apparently he still knew what she was doing. She had the distinct feeling he didn’t miss anything.

‘Not at all.’

‘As you wish.’

She narrowed her eyes at his insouciant tone, then had to start the march at a near run as the column started forward abruptly.

‘I thought that centurions usually rode?’ She looked around for a horse, increasing the length of her stride to match his.

‘Some do, some don’t, but I never ask my men to do anything I wouldn’t do.’

‘Like march in full armour on a warm day?’ She wondered how heavy each man’s equipment was. ‘It doesn’t look very comfortable.’

‘If there’s one thing the Roman army’s good at, lady, it’s marching.’ There was a hint of amusement in his voice. ‘As for the armour, it’s something a soldier gets used to. If we were attacked, we’d be glad of it.’

If they were attacked? She felt a flutter of panic, Porcia’s earlier words echoing in her ears. Was such a thing really possible, then?

‘I thought the frontier was peaceful again?’ She tried to keep the nervous tremor out of her voice.

‘It is, for the most part, but it’s still wise to be cautious.’ He glanced downwards, as if detecting the fear behind her words. ‘You’re safe with us, lady.’

‘Yes...thank you.’

She threw a swift glance over her shoulder at the carriage. Now that she’d insisted on walking, she wished that she hadn’t. She wanted to be near her daughter instead, holding her safe in her arms. The thought of Julia being in danger made her feel physically sick. More than that, it made her furious, too. Tarquinius had assured her that it was perfectly safe this side of the wall and she’d been fool enough to believe him. As if she didn’t know that almost every word out of his mouth was a lie! But how could he? She’d never deceived herself into believing that her half-brother cared a fig for her happiness, but she’d assumed he might at least want to keep her and his niece alive. Now it seemed even that much was beyond him! All he cared about was money and social advancement—allying himself to people who might prove useful to him. In his eyes, she and Julia were nothing more than commodities to be traded. Roman or not, they were little more than slaves.

She clamped a hand to her throat, as if there were actually a shackle there that she couldn’t unfasten, determined to ask her questions of this disconcerting Centurion and get back to the carriage and her daughter as quickly as possible.

‘Is the pace too fast, lady?’ He was looking down at her again, she noticed suddenly. If she wasn’t mistaken, he even looked faintly concerned.

‘No.’

She dropped her hand to her side. The pace was too fast, forcing her to take two steps for every one of his, but at least it distracted her from her anger at Tarquinius. Besides, she still had questions to ask...

‘I was just wondering who sent you to meet us. Was it Lucius Scaevola?’

He twisted his face to the front again, the muscles in his neck and jaw bunching visibly before he answered.

‘No, lady. Fabius Augustus Nerva, the Legionary Legate at Coria, sent me.’

‘Oh.’ Even though she’d sent her message directly to her new husband... ‘Then is Lucius Scaevola away on some kind of mission, perhaps?’

‘None that I know of.’

‘Is he unwell?’

The few heartbeats it took for him to answer told her the truth before he did.

‘No, lady.’

‘Oh.’

She felt the last vestige of hope crumble away. If Lucius Scaevola wasn’t away or unwell, then it seemed he had no desire to come and meet her himself. The thought was depressing even if not unexpected... Well, she’d wanted to know what he thought of their union and now she did. Apparently he was just as enthusiastic about it as she was.

But at least she was there, she thought with a renewed burst of anger. She was the one who’d come all this way, doing her duty to her family, which in her case meant following Tarquinius’s orders. Scaevola might at least have come to greet her. Just when she’d thought she couldn’t be any more humiliated! Only now that she’d made herself a hole, she seemed unable to stop digging...

‘What is he like?’

‘Lady?’ The tone of the Centurion’s voice conveyed a distinct reluctance to answer.

‘Scaevola. We never had a chance to meet in Lindum. I’d like to know what kind of a man he is.’

The jaw muscles tightened again. ‘I can’t say.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’

She surprised herself with the question. She was being too insistent, too demanding, but her nerves were stretched almost to breaking point and she couldn’t seem to help herself. She didn’t care what this Centurion thought of her now. His very reluctance to answer was alarming. Surely he could tell her something. Anything! Even Scaevola’s hair colour would be a start.

‘It’s not my place to answer, lady. He’s a senior officer, a tribune.’

‘A tribune?’

She stopped so abruptly that he was a few paces ahead before he noticed. She’d assumed that her new husband must be a man of rank for Tarquinius to want an alliance, but Tribunes outranked every Centurion in the army. Only the Legate ranked above them.

‘But I thought he’d only just joined the army?’

‘He has.’ If she wasn’t mistaken, his lip curled slightly. ‘But he has good family connections. Men like that don’t enter in the ranks. Or fight much either.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

She put a hand to her head, thoughts whirling. Not just a tribune, but a senatorial one, too? Such a man was more than a few steps above her on the social scale, more like a whole ladder away. The debt to her half-brother must be huge indeed for him to accept her as a bride, but what exactly did Tarquinius want from him? What was her half-brother planning?

She twisted her face to one side, vividly aware of the Centurion’s stern gaze. They’d climbed out of the woodland while they’d been talking on to a plateau overlooking the rugged moorland to the north. The landscape in this part of the country was noticeably wilder than the flatter marshlands around Lindum, with jagged crags and rocky outcrops dotting a spartan terrain that seemed particularly suited to the man beside her.

On any other day she might have admired it. Today she felt as if a black cloud had passed over the sun, obscuring any warmth or beauty and making her feel powerless and vulnerable, like one of the reedy-looking trees clutching the sides of those same rocky outcrops, holding on for dear life in a wind-battered world that offered no respite. She’d as good as voiced her fears about her future husband out loud and this Centurion’s answers had only confirmed the worst. As grateful as she was for his honesty, she didn’t think her spirits could sink any lower.

‘Perhaps I ought to go back to the carriage after all.’ She felt a sudden, overpowering urge to get away from him.

‘Very well.’ He hesitated briefly before continuing. ‘He’s young, lady. He has a lot to learn, that’s all.’

She bit her lip, fighting the impulse to laugh. Not a demure, ladylike laugh, but a hysterical, high-pitched scream of a laugh, one that would vent all her rage and frustration and probably convince him that she was mad, too. He was trying to placate her, she could tell, using the same tone she’d been using all this time to reassure Porcia, but there was nothing reassuring about it.

A lot to learn... What could that mean except that she was going to marry a boy after all? How would a boy react when he saw her? In marital terms, she was ten years past her prime. More important, how would he react to Julia? She only hoped that Tarquinius had told him about her in advance, though surely he had... If nothing else, surely he would have mentioned her daughter?

She gave a curt nod, not trusting herself to speak as she turned and made her way hastily back to the carriage. She didn’t want to look at him any longer—him or any other man. All she wanted was to be left alone, to be a widow and mother, to find a place to belong and to raise her daughter in peace. Was that so much to ask?

Yes.

She knew the answer because Tarquinius had made it clear to her before she’d left Lindum. No matter what kind of man was waiting for her in Coria, she had to go ahead with the marriage. She had no freedom, no money and no choice. She had to do what her half-brother ordered or he’d cast her and Julia off from his protection for ever. She was heading for the northernmost frontier of the Roman Empire, to the very border with her mother’s homeland—one of the many facts she was specifically forbidden to mention—to the place she’d spent her whole life wanting to see and now dreaded the sight of. There was no turning back and nowhere else to go. Worse than that, there wasn’t the slightest hope of escape.

Chapter Three

What kind of man was Lucius Scaevola?

Marius waited until the woman had climbed back inside her carriage before storming to the front of the column, stamping his hobnailed boots so violently that it looked as if he were trying to hammer the cobbled road to pieces.

What kind of a man was he?

What the hell kind of question was that? What could he say of a nineteen-year-old wastrel who hadn’t even had the decency to come and greet his new bride himself? He knew what he ought to have said, what he was expected to say of a senior officer, but honour had prevented him from lying and now he had the uncomfortable suspicion that he’d only made her feel ten times more anxious than she clearly already was.

‘Anything to report?’ He fell into step beside Pulex, glaring ferociously.

‘No, sir.’ His Optio did a double take at the sight of him. ‘Something the matter, sir?’

‘No.’ He forced his jaw to relax. After all, his bad temper had nothing to do with his second-in-command. ‘Have you seen any signs of unrest? Anything out of the ordinary?’

‘Nothing, sir.’ Pulex shook his head. ‘Do you really think there’s something to worry about?’

‘I don’t know.’

Marius rubbed a hand across his forehead, trying to ease the band of tension that seemed to have settled there ever since the woman had mistaken him for her new husband. Such a trivial mistake shouldn’t have bothered him, especially since it had been addressed and dealt with. There was certainly no need to still be thinking about it when there were bigger, far bigger, matters at hand.

A Caledonian rebellion, for a start.

Not that anyone believed him. Quite the opposite—most of the Roman officers in Coria thought he was being alarmist, but then they treated the local Briton tribes with contempt and dismissed any rumours that came from them. Now that Septimius Severus had been declared Emperor and the bulk of the British garrison had returned from fighting in Gaul, most simply assumed that the threat from the northern tribes had gone and the wall was invincible again.

Marius wasn’t so sure. He’d been sent back to Britannia earlier than most, three years before when a distracted Rome had started to take the threat to its northern borders seriously again. He knew what the tribes were capable of, knew that the wall had been breached on more than one occasion, with mile-castles burned down and even a few forts destroyed. The idea of a lasting peace was still fragile. During the past decade the tribes had not only learned that Rome wasn’t infallible, but they’d discovered exactly where its weaknesses lay—and there were still sections of the wall that needed repair and reinforcements.

‘All we can do is stay alert.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Pulex gestured towards the carriage. ‘What was all that about?’

The band around Marius’s head tightened again. ‘She wanted to talk about Scaevola. She’s worried about meeting him.’

‘She ought to be. You have to pity the woman.’

Marius made a non-committal sound, fixing his gaze on the horizon with a scowl. Pity wasn’t exactly the emotion he’d been feeling, though he supposed it was one among many. On the whole, however, his mind, not to mention his body, had been governed by a far different emotion, one that was still making him feel too hot beneath his mail shirt and armour.

To say that he’d been caught by surprise was an understatement. He hadn’t wanted to be there in the first place, regarding the whole mission as a waste of both time and resources, but he’d expected a girl, not a woman, and especially not one who was quite so stunningly beautiful, albeit not in a conventional or fashionable way. Her face was too round, her forehead too wide, her nose and cheeks dotted with clusters of tiny brown freckles, but there was something mesmerising about her none the less, an inner radiance accompanied by an air of sadness that gave her face a deeper beauty than that of any other woman he’d ever come across. She’d seemed strong and yet vulnerable at the same time, the proud tilt of her head putting him in mind of an empress, a woman he might feel honoured to serve. His first thought upon seeing her was that Scaevola was the luckiest dog this side of the Tiber.

As for her hair... He’d seen red hair before, of course, though nothing quite so resplendent. If he didn’t know better he would have thought she was Caledonian. Trailing over a bosom that had raised his temperature by a few more painful degrees, it had looked like some kind of lustrous dawn-kissed waterfall, rippling with amber lights. He’d been acutely aware of her womanly figure, too, all the curves and contours barely disguised by a tight-fitting, silken stola, though he’d tried his hardest not to look, losing himself in the depths of her luminous blue-green eyes instead while he’d tried to pull himself back together. Surely no more than a minute could have passed while he’d simply stood and stared, though it had been long enough for her to come to a mistaken assumption about his identity.

What on earth had caused her to jump to such a ludicrous conclusion? Annoyance warred with self-recrimination. She might have asked who he was before simply assuming! But then it had been an easy mistake, especially for someone who didn’t know anything about her betrothed, as she clearly didn’t. And of course she’d assumed that the man who’d come to greet her, not to mention one who’d stared at her quite so openly, was the man she was going to marry! It had been a natural misunderstanding, though one that might have been avoided if only he’d introduced himself sooner. If only he hadn’t been rendered temporarily speechless at the sight of her. Now he wasn’t sure who he was angrier with, himself or Scaevola, but it was no wonder she’d looked so flushed and self-conscious. He could hardly have behaved any more inappropriately!

Perhaps that explained why he’d felt unable to refuse when she’d asked to march alongside him. Granting such a request was against protocol, not to mention his own better judgement, but he’d agreed anyway, distracted by the mention of her legs and the realisation that he wanted, very much, to see them. When she’d tugged her stola up around her calves he’d felt an almost overpowering urge to glance downwards. Besides, he’d been impressed by the fact that she hadn’t simply run away after her mistake. Embarrassed though she’d been, she’d stayed anyway, asking her questions about Scaevola with an air of quiet determination. Clearly she was no shy and retiring Roman maiden, even if he’d been unable to give her the answers she’d wanted. Even his attempt at consolation had failed. Damn it all, he knew how to address a whole cohort of soldiers, to send men into battle when necessary, but he’d been unable to offer comfort to one woman!

He quickened the marching pace, muttering a series of increasingly vehement denunciations against Lucius Scaevola under his breath. He was the one who ought to have come to greet her—she was his bride, after all! Albeit an unwanted one, if the look on that good-for-nothing’s face as they’d passed on the steps of the Legate’s villa that morning had been anything to go by. Nerva himself had looked none too pleased either when Marius entered his office a few moments later, his usually phlegmatic expression tense and agitated, as if he’d just been arguing.

‘You summoned me, sir?’ Briefly, he’d wondered if he ought to have waited outside, but Nerva had beckoned him forward with a wave.

‘Ah, Marius, a man of sense at last! Come in, I need your help. That boy is taking years off my life.’

‘Whatever you need, sir.’

‘What I need is a drink.’ Nerva had poured two cupfuls of wine and then given him a shrewd look. ‘You’ll have gathered by now that Scaevola wasn’t posted here by accident. His father is an acquaintance in the Senate and he asked for a favour.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Marius had nodded discreetly. He’d already guessed as much. It wasn’t uncommon for rich sons to be made Tribunes in the army, doing a few years of military service before joining the Senate, though Nerva’s tone made it sound as if, in this case, it had been more of a punishment.

‘His father wanted Scaevola out of Rome and out of trouble for a while.’ Nerva had dropped into the chair behind his desk with a sigh. ‘Only trouble found him before he ever reached us, it seems. You might recall that he was late arriving? Well, it appears that he broke his journey in Lindum for a week or so, tallying up a considerable gambling debt in the local taverns. Fortunately for him, the entire debt was bought up by the tavern owner. Unfortunately for him, he still couldn’t pay.’

‘Surely Scaevola’s family can afford it, sir?’

‘I get the impression that his father thinks he’s already paid more than enough. I’ll send a message to Rome, but it won’t get there in time.’

‘In time for what, sir?’

Nerva’s expression had darkened. ‘It would appear that the tavern owner is a cleverer man than our Lucius. He’s an important man in Lindum, too, one of its wealthiest citizens with political ambitions to boot. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s after a brother-in-law in the Senate.’

‘A brother-in-law?’

‘Quite.’ Nerva had tossed back the last of his wine with a flourish. ‘The tavern owner offered his sister as a bride in exchange for discharge of the debt and Scaevola agreed, though needless to say he’s not happy about it. In any case, the woman’s on her way here now. A messenger arrived last night. She ought to be arriving today.’

‘But Scaevola arrived a month ago. Why didn’t he mention it before?’

‘Doubtless he thought that out of sight was out of mind, but if you’re asking me to explain what goes on in his head then I can’t. He’s a disgrace to the army and to Rome. It’s absurd that a man like that can be a tribune while you—’ Nerva had stopped mid-sentence. ‘Forgive me, Marius, that was tactless of me.’

‘It’s only the truth, sir.’ He’d pulled his shoulders back purposively. ‘My father’s dishonour is mine, too. It’s only right that I pay for it.’

‘You’ve already done more than enough. If it were up to me, you’d be a senior centurion by now. There’s not a finer soldier in the whole Roman army.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Which is why I’m trusting you to go and meet the woman. We need to do the right thing, but Scaevola is too reckless. Unless he finds another way to clear the debt then she’s his only way out of trouble, but I can’t trust him not to do something stupid. Meet her on the road, bring her here and then we’ll see if we can’t find a way to resolve this situation...’

So that was what he was doing there, Marius thought bitterly, marching his men through Carvetti territory—friendly territory, at least—in order to clear up another man’s mess. It had seemed an easy enough mission at first, but now his peace of mind was shattered and not simply because she was arguably the most desirable woman he’d ever laid eyes on. The worst of it was that she was clearly anxious, too, and with good reason. He wouldn’t wish a spiteful, mean-spirited youth like Scaevola on any woman, let alone her... The very thought brought him to a standstill.