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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.
