The Roman's Revenge

CAROLINE STORER

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2015

Copyright © Caroline Storer 2015

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Cover design by HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd

Caroline Storer asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © July 2015 ISBN: 9780007568864

Version 2015-09-11

Thanks so much to my lovely editor Charlotte Ledger for all her help and support in getting this book ready.

I would also like to thank all the readers who left fabulous comments on my debut book "The Roman" and who asked when the next book is out…this book is for you.

And finally…to Colin, my fabulous husband who always encourages and supports me.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

EPILOGUE

Also by Caroline Storer …

Caroline Storer

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

CHAPTER 1

Ostia – Port of Rome, Italy – June AD 80

“Magia, calm yourself, please. You will make yourself ill.”

“Ill? Of course I am ill, I am sick to the stomach. How could he do this to us? He can’t make me go. I refuse to go. I won’t go I tell you. He can kill me, I don’t care.”

Livia worried her bottom lip, her insides churning with tension as she realised Magia was on the verge of hysteria, and had been ever since they had boarded the ship just over an hour ago. Although she had tried to calm her, nothing seemed to help, and it was fast proving a futile exercise, as every time she said something it just seemed to make her tire-woman even more agitated.

In a fit of panic she cast her eyes around the deck, trying to find someone who might be able to help. But there was no one. Everybody was far too busy loading up, and preparing the mighty trireme for its long journey to Alexandria. A journey she, and Magia, had only found out that morning they would both be making. Breaking her gaze away from the busy scene before her, she tried once more to calm the old woman.

Lifting her hand, she placed it on Magia’s arm in a gesture of comfort, and lowered her voice, as if she were talking to a young child, and not a woman old enough to be her grandmother. “Magia, please try to understand if there was anything, anything, I could have done to stop this, then I would have. But Flavius decreed it, and I had no choice. You, of all people should be able to understand that. Now let us go down to our cabin and rest awhile. It has been a long, tiring day.”

If anything, the words seemed to inflame Magia even further, and she slapped Livia’s hand away, her eyes wild with rage. Under normal circumstances, Magia, a slave, would have been flogged for striking her mistress; but Livia realised these weren’t normal circumstances, so she chose to ignore the outburst. But as she stood there feeling utterly helpless, she wished with all her heart she could do something about the mess the two of them found themselves in.

Metellus could see the old woman was clearly upset and angry about something, as she gesticulated and shouted at the young woman who was on the receiving end of her tirade. And the young woman seemed powerless to do anything about it, if the anxious expression on her face was anything to go by.

He couldn’t make out what the woman was saying, the noise from the dock side, as well as on board the trireme was deafening as the ship was loaded for its imminent departure. But he was intrigued nonetheless, and he moved away from the stack of wooden crates which partially obscured him, and leaned against one of the wooden masts on the open deck. Crossing his arms over his muscular chest, he deliberately relaxed his stance, made his face expressionless and watched the exchange between the two women.

He knew who they were of course. News of the arrival of the beautiful patrician, and her tire-woman, had spread around the ship like wild-fire. The fact she was also the daughter of a Senator – although he didn’t know which one yet – had heightened the gossip even more; and as he watched them, he couldn’t help but wonder why on earth she was on her way to Alexandria. The gossip had been remarkably lacking on that score!

As he watched her, he had to acknowledge the sailors hadn’t exaggerated her beauty. She was indeed one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and he felt his body harden in response. She was enough to steal any man’s breath away with her pale skin, clear and unblemished and unadorned by the powders and paints so often favoured by the rich women of Rome. His eyes were drawn to the rich mahogany of her hair which was a perfect foil for her wide spaced hazel eyes.

His gaze moved over her small straight nose, down to the fullness of her lips. Lips so tempting, he had to fight the urge to walk over to her and taste their sweetness, regardless of the older woman standing there shouting at her.

Reluctantly he tore his gaze from her face, and took his fill of her tall slim body, the thick silk of her stola unable to disguise the fullness of her breasts, and the irrational thought of how well they would fit together flashed into his mind as temptation clawed at him like a hungry beast. Something inside him jolted into life, feelings long supressed came to the fore, and he had the powerful urge to go over to her and kiss her anguish away. He imagined her without clothing. Naked. Writhing beneath him, her back arched in wanton abandonment, the ultimate in temptation, and he felt desire slam into him – hard.

As he watched her take the brunt of her tire-woman’s verbal attack her small white teeth worried her lower lip, and a frown appeared, a frown which momentarily spoilt the perfection of her heart shaped face. She stiffened, her back ramrod straight as she listened to the older woman, shaking her head at something the woman was saying, and Metellus’s eyes were drawn once more to the thickness of her hair, swept upwards off her face, so the abundant waves swung backwards and forwards across the slimness of her back. He wanted to wrap his hands in its thickness, test the weight of it, pull her forward and…

Metellus shook his head, annoyed with himself, and his wayward thoughts. There was no place for a woman like her in his life. Not yet anyway. Not until he’d had the revenge he had sought, and planned, for years now. Fifteen long years in fact, ever since his father had been arrested and taken away in the dead of night by Nero’s Praetorian Guard. And as he remembered that fateful night, his hand lifted subconsciously, rubbing the thin scar which marred his left cheek.

He’d been nine years old when he had been awoken by the shouting and screaming coming from inside the main part of their villa. Running out of his bedroom, into the atrium, he saw his father being clamped in irons by four burly soldiers. Furious, he’d charged at them, demanding his father’s release, but his strength had been futile against the sheer strength and number of the guards surrounding his father. Instead, he’d been thrown across the room like a rabid dog, where he’d hit his face against a sharp edge of one of the many marble statutes that lined the atrium. He’d been knocked unconscious, and the only thing he had to show for his attempt at trying to save his father was the scar.

A loud scream jolted Metellus out of his dark thoughts, and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw the old woman rush past him, her hand holding her cheek, a red mark clearly visible. It was obvious the patrician had slapped her, and bemused, his eyes swivelled from the tire-woman who was running towards the open hatch, and the sanctuary of the cabins below, back to where the younger woman stood.

He saw the glaze of shock in her eyes, as she stood there unmoving, until she finally blinked and refocused on the present. It was only then that her magnificent hazel eyes focused on him, seeing him for the first time as he stared at her.

Their eyes locked, the force of her gaze as powerful as a punch in the stomach, and for several long moments they looked at each other. He lowered his eyes to her mouth, saw the trembling of her bottom lip, and had to fight the urge to stride over and kiss her senseless. There was something about this woman that pulled at him, tested his resolve and demanded that he do something…anything…

Instead he raised an enquiring eyebrow. It had the desired result, when he saw hot colour suffuse her cheeks as she realised he had seen everything that had happened between her, and her tire-woman. Her eyelids fluttered, before she looked away, but not before he saw disbelief cloud her expression, as if she couldn’t quite take in what had just happened between them.

But then, as if she couldn’t control herself, her eyes once more sought his, as if she were unable, unwilling, to look away. She blinked several times, before her gaze lowered, taking in his tall muscular build, weighing him up as if he were a slave to be bought in the local market. When she realised what she was doing, her eyes snapped back to his, and this time she was bold enough to meet his gaze face on, her expression challenging.

Metellus took the challenge she offered, and stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Immediately he saw the boldness of her gaze disappear, to be replaced by uncertainty, fear even, her face losing all colour as she stiffened.

“May I be of assistance? Your slave seems…troubled,” he said, unable to keep the mocking tone out of his voice, as he came to stand next to her, so close, that her delicate scent, the slightest hint of roses, and something else, teased his nostrils and he felt his body harden once more. He watched, as hot colour once again surged into her face, and her magnificent eyes fell from his.

“No. No thank you. She will be fine once we set sail,” the woman said, her words stiff, brittle, refusing to meet his gaze. Then she turned her back on him, effectively dismissing him.

Metellus grunted to himself. What had he expected? True to form the woman had dismissed him out of hand. But he didn’t expect anything different. A patrician wouldn’t have looked twice at him, dressed as he was in a coarse, threadbare tunic of dark green. He would be beneath the likes of her. Spoilt, and feted, daughters of Senators did not mingle with men who worked on-board a ship.

Metellus frowned. Although he knew her to be the daughter of a Senator, equally she could also be married. An irrational burst of jealousy hit him as he contemplated the thought of her with another man. Annoyed with himself, and his fanciful musings, Metellus stiffened, and with one last look at the woman’s rigid back he walked away.

Livia gripped the wooden railings, staring sightlessly down at the busy dockside, her stomach clenching in anguish before she closed her eyes in mortification. Was he still watching her? She dare not turn around for fear of encountering his mocking gaze once again. Go away, she wanted to shout. Leave me be. Can’t you see I want to be left alone? To lick my wounds in peace.

The day had been an unremitting nightmare so far; and after Magia’s hysterical outburst a few minutes ago, the fact that a complete stranger had seen her slap her, had been the final straw.

Livia shivered as a gust of wind blew in off the sea. She wasn’t exactly pleased about being here either. If she had been told yesterday, that the gods had decreed she would have to board a ship at Ostia harbour, and set sail to Alexandria to marry a man she loathed, she would have thought they were jesting.

But the gods hadn’t been jesting. She really was here waiting for the trireme to set sail for the Egyptian city, and she was on her way to marry a man she had once threatened to kill if he laid his fat, sweaty hands on her person ever again.

She bit back tears which were in imminent danger of falling. She had to be strong – for both of them. There was no point in her becoming hysterical like Magia. But she couldn’t blame her tire-woman; the poor woman was elderly, and fully deserved to live out her days in relative peace in Rome, not find herself on the way to an unknown city, and an unknown land, halfway across the Empire. But like Livia, she had been given no choice. Livia’s brother – her half-brother actually – Flavius had seen to that - again!

This was the second time Flavius had meddled in her life, had effectively sold her to the highest bidder. The first time had been nearly four years ago when Livia had just turned sixteen. Flavius had been instrumental in persuading their father that a marriage between her, and the elderly Senator Faustus Grattus Galvus, would increase their father’s standing in the Senate. Livia, being a woman with no worth apart from her body, had had no choice, no matter how much she had protested at the time, and within a week she had found herself married to a man old enough to be her grandfather.

She shuddered, blocking out that period of her life which had made her so unhappy. And now, it was as if history were repeating itself, but instead of being a young girl of sixteen, she was a widow of twenty, on her way to marry another rich and powerful man for no other reason than to increase the political standing of the Drusii in the cutthroat arena of the Senate. Flavius, having reached the age of twenty-eight had recently been appointed quaestor, and was doing everything in his power to work his way up to gaining a place in the Senate, knowing full well that competition for the coveted seats was fierce. If it meant marrying his sister off to the highest bidder then so be it…

Naïvely, she had thought that her second marriage could have been a love match, someone she could have chosen rather than the men of her family, but that had been a foolish dream; a dream which would never have been allowed to happen as she well knew now.

She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about what lay ahead. Opening her eyes, she spent a few more minutes staring sightlessly ahead, until she risked turning to where the man had been watching her. Thankfully, he had gone, and the breath she hadn’t even realised she had been holding, hissed out of her lungs in relief.

The stranger had unsettled her. Not because he had seen her slap Magia. It had been the only way she could stop the older woman from becoming so hysterical, that she was fast becoming a danger to herself. No, it had been the mocking expression in his grey eyes as he watched her, judged her, and found her wanting, that had grated on her already stretched nerves. Maybe, if he knew what she had endured today, he might not have judged her so badly.

But if she were also honest with herself, he had also unsettled her in the only way a man could. Never in all her twenty years had one man made such an impact on her in such a short space of time, and she wondered who he was.

Slave? No, not a slave, for a slave wouldn’t have been so bold as to approach her; and a slave definitely wouldn’t have looked at her with desire in his eyes as he had done…and he wouldn’t have looked at her as if he’d wanted to devour her.

No definitely not a slave. She didn’t even think he was liberti either. Again a freedman wouldn’t have been as bold as he’d been, she was sure of that. That only left merchant or sailor. She favoured sailor, as his threadbare tunic and powerful body were evidence of a life of hard work, whereas merchants tended to be rich older men, content to let others do the hard work.

Livia shivered as she remembered the few brief moments their eyes had met, and the words he’d spoken to her. His voice had been a low husky rasp which had sent tremors of desire through her. She had never felt such an attraction to a man before. It had been visceral and instantaneous and she had been acutely aware of the height and power of his body.

And although he was big, he carried muscle rather than excess flesh, and he carried it well.

Very well indeed. She could see the many hours spent working on the ship had honed his body to the peak of physical perfection, if the width of his shoulders were anything to go by. His skin was a deep golden bronze, testimony to his work outside. His hair, a deep dark brown, almost black like a raven’s wing, had lifted with the breeze which blew in off the sea, and Livia had wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through it and feel the strength of him as she pulled him into her arms…

She had to acknowledge he was one of the most physically perfect specimens of manhood she’d ever seen. He even rivalled the gladiators she had seen perform in Rome’s arenas.

Mesmerised by his physical beauty, her eyes had been drawn to the one thing that marred his perfection – a scar which ran across his left cheek up into the hairline of his dark brown hair. But even the scar didn’t detract from the handsomeness of his face, rather it added to it, giving him a hardened, tough look which made her heart beat faster. Temptation had clawed at her, a powerful urge, that made her want to step forward and reach out her hand to stroke the hard planes of his face, to feel the strength of his body for herself.

But she hadn’t of course. Dutiful daughters, and half-sisters, of one of Rome’s most powerful families didn’t do rebellious things like that. To do so would be to ruin her, and her family’s reputations. And the reputation, and standing of the Drusii amongst Rome’s elite, was the one thing which had been drummed into Livia from the moment she had been born.

So she shook her fanciful thoughts away. Thinking about handsome men, and how their bodies would feel against hers as they kissed her, was the thinking of young, foolish girls. And Livia was anything but foolish. Livia was practical, and dutiful, which was why she was on-board this ship, and on her way to marry someone she detested.

But for a moment she could dream couldn’t she?

CHAPTER 2

The door to her cabin flew open with such a loud crash as it slammed against the wooden wall, it caused Livia to jump in shock. Trembling with fear, she lowered her hands; hands which had been clamped over her ears in the vain hope of drowning out the noise of the storm that had been raging for hours now, and the even more pitiful screams of the slaves trapped in the galley below.

She was about to get up from where she had sat huddled on her bunk to close the door, when eyes widened, and her breath hitched in something approaching fear, as she met the shadowed silhouette of the mocking stranger she had seen on her first day on board the ship three days ago.

Only this time, there was no trace of mockery on his partially shadowed face as he stood there.

Water streamed down his face, and his wet hair was plastered to his skull. His jaw was clenched so tightly, Livia could see a nerve pulsing there. His muscular chest rose and fell with exertion, the force of the storm raging outside obviously so fierce, he’d used every ounce of his strength to make his way to her cabin.

Once again Livia’s impression of him was of raw hard power, all broad shoulders and bulging biceps. His soaking wet tunic clung and moulded every muscle and sinew of his massive body, and she could even see the delineations of the slabs of hard muscle of his stomach through the thin material. Instantly she became aware of his potent masculinity.

As he stood silhouetted in the doorway of her cabin, filling the space with his height and breadth, Livia stared at him, unable to break eye contact, as if she were some small forest animal awaiting its fate at the hands of a much larger beast. She stiffened when he stepped into the cabin, his bulk shrinking the space with the full force of his presence.

Finally, she was able to see his eyes for the first time as he stepped in from the relative darkness behind him, and Livia couldn’t stop the tremor that shook her when she met his piercing gaze. A gaze, she noticed, which bored into hers with no emotion whatsoever evident in their grey depths.

His face was an inscrutable mask, and she realised with a jolt, he seemed to be fighting his own internal battle, as if he were somehow questioning his own reasoning as to why he was here in her cabin.

“Come with me. It is your only chance of staying alive,” he finally said, his voice rough as he stepped further into the cabin. He held his hand out towards her, the gesture forceful, demanding her attention, his open palm commanding a response from her.

Livia hesitated, unsure what to do as she weighed up his words. Her reluctance to go with him must have annoyed him, because she saw his lips flatten in irritation, and anger blazed in his grey eyes at her perceived resistance.

“If you do not come with me you will drown. Now give me your hand. Up on deck you will have a far better chance of survival.”

“But what about Magia? I…I can’t leave without Magia,” Livia pleaded, her eyes going to where her tire-woman lay comatose on the other bunk.

She saw him frown, before he looked away from her to where the old woman lay on her bunk bed.

“What ails her?” He demanded, his words clipped, harsh.

“She has been suffering with the sea sickness. She has been so very ill and I have been looking after her. When…when the storm started she fainted and I cannot rouse her.”

The man’s frown deepened, and the nerve twitching along his jaw line pulsed harder as he gritted his jaw, making the scar on his left cheek stand out even more before his eyes once more impaled hers. “I can’t take you both,” he bit out, “I need all my strength to fight the storm.”

“But I can’t leave without her! Please, I beg you. Help her,” Livia pleaded. She couldn’t leave Magia. The poor woman had been petrified from the first moment she had set foot on the trireme, and had been a virtual recluse in their cabin ever since. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she had suffered from such terrible sea sickness Livia had spent the whole time on board the ship tending to her. She couldn’t leave her; her conscience just wouldn’t let her.

The man stood staring down at her, before he nodded abruptly, “Come up on deck with me first, and I will return for her,” he said, his voice demanding, as he stared at her with a dark brooding look on his face.

Livia looked up into his harsh face for a long moment. Realising she had to trust him to return for Magia, she nodded in acquiescence and uncurled her body. As she stood up, she placed her left hand on the cabin wall to steady herself. The ship was rolling so much, she was in serious danger of falling flat on her face.

“Give me your hand.”

Livia looked up in surprise, but seeing the closed look on his face she didn’t protest, and she held out her other hand. She was immediately aware of the smallness of her hand being enveloped in his much larger one, felt a jolt of awareness shudder through her when the flesh of her hand met the flesh of his. And even though his hand was as wet as the rest of him, the heat emanating from his skin where it touched hers was enough to make her look up at him in wonder.

He didn’t seem to be affected by her touch, as all she saw on his face was bland indifference. But then all thoughts of his touch disappeared, and her breath escaped on a gasp when he pulled her forward so she came within touching distance of his large body.

“W…what are you doing?” She squeaked, trying to pull her hand out of his firm grip, when she saw he was trying to wrap some rope around her waist with his free hand.

He yanked her hand back, and trapped it in his strong grip, carrying on with his task, his face grim. “I’m tying the rope around your waist so you don’t get washed overboard. Now be still woman.”

His rough command halted her movements, and she watching in stunned fascination as he tied the rope first around her waist, and then around his own, and Livia couldn’t help noticing how the rope cut into the tunic he wore, emphasising once more the sheer strength of his body.

“No matter what happens on deck, stay as close to me as you possibly can.”

Lost for words, all Livia could do was nod her head, but she wasn’t even sure if he had seen her gesture, as he had already turned to walk out of the cabin.

A series of lightning flashes illuminated the lower deck as Livia followed in his wake, before he started to climb the wooden steps leading up to the top deck of the ship. Livia squealed in shock when a deluge of icy cold water crashed down through the open hatch, soaking them both. Shivering with cold, and trepidation, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing the right thing. Did she really have a better chance of survival up on the top deck, there at the full mercy of the raging storm? Rather hysterically, she realised, she didn’t have much choice about it as she was irrevocably joined to the man by a thick rope.

As they climbed up the slippery steps, Livia heard the huge timbers of the ship creak all around them as the vessel fought against the forces of nature. The noise was so frightening, it was as if the ship were screaming its own protest about being battered by the storm.

Once she reached the top rung of the ladder, a hand was thrust down towards her. “Take my hand, and don’t let go, or you will be washed overboard.”

She placed her hand in his, the smallness of hers lost once more in the strength of his, as she allowed herself to be pulled up onto the deck of the heaving ship. Once she was standing on the deck she was unprepared for the force of the wind as it tore through the thin silk of her gown, the lashing rain saturating the fabric so it moulded against the slimness of her body, hampering her movements. Icy tentacles of cold speared her, and her teeth started chattering. She turned to where the man stood, his free arm holding onto one of the wooden masts as he used every ounce of his strength to stop them both being swept overboard.

He pulled her roughly into his body, so they stood fused to each other as he used the thickness of the mast as a makeshift shelter. Shock coursed through her as she realised how close they were, breast to breast, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. If it had been any other situation she’d found herself in, she would have been mortified at the intimacy of their embrace.

But this was survival. Pure and simple.

Deep in her heart, even though she didn’t want to acknowledge it, she knew he had lied to her. There was no way he would be able to go back and fetch Magia. The sheer ferocity of the storm would make it a suicide mission, and if she was brutally honest with herself she didn’t want him to release her. She knew her only hope of survival lay with him. Tied to him – literally.

As the howling winds screamed above their heads, the storm raging all around them, Livia burrowed deeper into the solid strength of the man who held her. She had never been so frightened in all her life as wave, after wave, of ice cold water crashed over them time and time again, battering them both with its intensity and ferocity.

“If we get washed overboard, you must kick out as hard as you can. If you don’t, you will drown. Do you understand?”

Livia heard his words shouted above the cacophony of noise which swirled around them, as the storm lifted the huge ship higher into the night sky before a great swell rolled in once again from the dark depths of the ocean.

“Yes!” She shouted, just before another deluge of icy water washed over her, choking her, salty water filling her mouth and nose, threatening to suck the very life out of her lungs.

The crest of the wave passed beneath them, and the massive ship dropped like a stone, and water once again cascaded down the length of the deck. Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, another massive wave tore through the ship, and this time the stranger’s strength wasn’t enough to protect them as they were washed along the length of the ship, powerless and totally at the mercy of the mighty storm.

Livia screamed with terror as they were tossed into the air like leaves blown about by the wind. For a moment she felt free as she flew through the air, but the feeling came to an abrupt end when she fell into the freezing cold sea, salt water once again filling her mouth, rushing down into her already tortured lungs.

She felt herself being pulled up, against the force of the water, and then she remembered she was still tied to the man. The rope tightened as he pulled her towards him, his arm wrapping around her waist as he lifted her above the crashing waves, enabling her to draw in a vital breath of air. For a moment she felt safe in his arms, but it didn’t last long as another wave washed over them.

“Kick!”

The order permeated her frightened subconscious, and she did as he ordered, trying her best to kick as hard as she could, even though the fabric of her silk gown clung to her, hampering the movement of her legs.

She didn’t know how long they stayed in the water, both of them kicking frantically against the massive waves. The blackness of the night overwhelmed her, and she wondered if she would die tonight wrapped in the arms of a total stranger. A man whose name she didn’t even know! And with that thought, she felt the urge to laugh, as a feeling of hysteria consumed her. But when a dark shape shot out of the ocean and hit her, striking her on the temple, she mercifully felt herself slipping into blessed darkness.

It was the groans which woke her. A slow, painful, awakening, she did her utmost to fight, the pounding in her head so severe, she never wanted to open her eyes again. She didn’t want to wake up; didn’t want to face the all-consuming fear she had felt when she had been thrown into the icy waters of the ocean. She wanted to sleep forever, safe in the cocoon of her dreams-

“Shh. Lie still or you will injure yourself.” The whispered words soothed her fear, as they permeated her foggy mind. Comprehension dawned, when she realised the moans she had heard, were in actual fact her own.

She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelashes seemed to be stuck together, and she felt a moments panic at the thought of never being able to see again. Then, as if she had somehow managed to communicate her distress, she felt cool water trickle over her face washing away the salty residue. She flicked out her tongue, eager for the cool water to assuage her dry throat moaning again, this time in relief.

“Quiet now. Can you open your eyes for me?”

She recognised the voice as being the man who’d taken her from the cabin. Opening her eyes she blinked at the brightness which assaulted her pupils. It was several moments before she was able to focus on the shadow of a man next to her. She couldn’t see any of his features as the fierceness of the sun above her cast his profile into shadow. For several seconds she lay there letting her eyes adjust to the brightness, until she was able to make out his features.

He was leaning over her, a frown of concern on his face, and instinctively Livia raised a trembling hand up to his face, tracing a finger across the thin line of his scar. She saw the pupils of his eyes dilate at her feather light caress, saw the grey of his eyes darken at her touch.

“What is your name?” She heard the huskiness in the tone of her voice and swallowed hard, winching at the soreness in her throat. It felt as if she had swallowed a cup of metal shards. Then she saw him frown, obviously taken aback by her question, before he leaned back on his haunches, the movement causing her hand to drop away and fall back down onto the ground.

For several long moments he looked down at her, and Livia wondered whether he was going to ignore her question, but then he replied, “Metellus. My name is Metellus.”

Livia smiled slightly, and closed her eyes once more, turning her head away from the searing brightness of the sun. “Metellus,” she whispered. “Thank you. Thank you for saving me.”

CHAPTER 3

The next time Livia woke, her headache was still there, but not as painful as before.

Again the intensity of the bright sunlight caused her to blink, and for a few minutes she had to let her eyes adjust to the brightness. As she lay there, she could see she was sheltered under the shade of a tree whose leaves danced above her in the slight breeze.

She was content to watch the branches sway high above her head for a moment, sunlight bouncing off the leaves in bright bursts of colour, their movement’s hypnotic. She didn’t know what type of trees they were, as they were nothing like the pruned ornamental ones which grew in the peristylium and atrium of her family home.

Thinking of her life back in Rome caused tears to clog her throat. Not because she missed it, but because she knew without a shadow of doubt that Magia was dead. She swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that fell. She lifted her hand and wiped away the dampness, but the small movement was enough to cause a blinding pain to crash through her head, and she gasped out loud.

For a long moment she closed her eyes once more, and lay still, letting the pain subside, content to listen to the wind blow through the branches of the trees overhead, before she stretched her hand out, encountering the softness of wool under her fingers. The fabric protected her skin from the abrasiveness of the sand beneath, and she felt a warm glow flow through her at the kindness of the person who had taken the time to shield her from the elements.

After a few more moments of rest, she forced her eyes to open once more. This time the pain wasn’t so brutal, and she moved her head, until she was able to look around her.

She was in some sort of makeshift camp, high up on the shoreline, to her right she saw the beginnings of a large forest. Draped over the branches of some of the trees she saw several red woollen cloaks drying in the breeze. She recalled seeing the cloaks being worn by a small unit of soldiers who had boarded the ship the same time as she and Magia had. They, like her, had been on-route to Alexandria. Livia shivered, wondering where the men were, and whether they had survived the storm.

Supressing her dark thoughts, she turned her face to the left and saw three wooden barrels lined up next to each other, acting as a makeshift table on which some wooden utensils had been placed: several bowls, spoons and a comb. Next to the barrels there were two small wooden chests, their lids open but she couldn’t see what was inside them. Her eyes were drawn to several swords propped up against one of the barrels, their metal blades glinting in the sun. Again she recognised the swords as belonging to the soldiers who had been aboard the ship. Their presence reassured her somehow, as they seemed to offer protection against an uncertain future.

Apart from that, there was nothing else, and her gaze shifted beyond the camp, taking in the long sandy beach which seemed to stretch for miles and miles in both directions from where she lay.

In any other situation she would have relished the chance to be on such a beautiful beach, taking in the iridescent blue of the sea and sky around her. But this was different. Could they – she didn’t know how many of course – be the only ones inhabiting this vast expanse of emptiness? If they were, then they would have a difficult time surviving. An uninhabited island meant only one thing – there would be no water.

Metellus! Instantly her brain assimilated the fact that he wasn’t here, and a panic filled her, and heedless of the pain in her head, she shot upwards into a sitting position, fighting back the nausea threatening to engulf her, as her eyes scanned the vast stretches of sand before her.

Where was he? She lifted a trembling hand to her forehead, shocked to feel sweat pouring off her brow, and as she moved her fingers trying to sooth the pain in her head she felt a large lump. It was obvious she was still suffering from the effects of whatever had knocked her out, and she should really lie back down and rest, but her mind was racing.

What if Metellus was injured? Dead even. And, ignoring everything her brain was screaming at her to lay still and rest, instead she sat up, forcing herself up on her knees. The world spun for a moment, and she took a deep calming breath before she stood up. Her legs trembled with the exertion, threatening to buckle under her as she took a tentative step forward. But determination, and an inbuilt desire to survive, propelled her forward. She stumbled, and had to reach out a hand to hold onto one of the wooden barrels to prevent herself falling, before she felt stable enough to try again.

She had to find him. She needed to find him, as a feeling of dread came over her at the thought of being the only person alive on the island. Looking down towards the shoreline, at the vast expanse of sandy beach, she could see he hadn’t walked on it as there were no footprints in the sand. That left only one other option – he must have gone into the forest behind her. Turning, she fought the nausea welling up inside her, and walked towards the relative darkness of the forest in front of her.

Metellus paused to wipe the torrent of sweat off his brow, his chest heaving with exertion. For a few moments he stood unmoving, his head bowed, before he lifted up his makeshift wooden spade and continued digging. The “spade” was the same piece of wood which had crashed out of the darkness on the night of the storm, and had knocked Livia out. It was also the same piece of wood which had saved their lives as it had afforded them the much needed buoyancy to stay afloat during the raging storm on that fateful night.

But now, it was being put to a more practical task, helping Metellus dig the holes he needed to bury the dead bodies. Dead bodies, which had been washed up on the shore in ever increasing numbers over the past five days since he had been attending to Livia…

For a moment he hesitated in his digging, leaning his forearms on the plank of wood, as he remembered how close to death she had been. The bump on her head had been the size of a duck egg, and he wondered if she would ever wake up from the unconscious state she had fallen into.

The days had seemed endless as he’d tended to her, wiping away the fever which had consumed her, and when this morning, she had awoken and asked him his name he had felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It was a turning point he hoped, one which would mean they could leave this part of the island and try to find food and water. As each day passed, their small reserve of fresh water diminished, and now there was only a quarter of a barrel of water left. But at least they had some water, and he had thanked the gods when the one barrel had been washed ashore intact.

Because of Livia’s incapacity, he hadn’t been able to explore any further than the periphery of the forest, as he couldn’t leave her alone just in case she woke up to find him gone. But the time was approaching when they would have to leave, and Metellus had even considered making a wooden sleigh of some sort so he could drag her along.

But, with the gods on his side, he prayed he wouldn’t have to resort to that just yet; the lump on her temple had decreased substantially and he was praying she would soon be well enough to walk. Hopefully, with one more day of rest, they might be able to leave.

A grim look came over his face. Before he could return to Livia, and their makeshift camp, he needed to get this grave dug and bury the two bodies which had been washed ashore that morning. So with a renewed sense of urgency, he carried on digging the grave, and once he had finished burying the men, he offered a prayer to Pluto the god of the underworld, and headed back to the camp.

But his steps faltered when he saw the empty space on the red woollen cloak he’d used as a bed for Livia. Frowning in frustration, he glanced down the wide expanse of beach, but there was no sign of her. That left only the forest, and his fists clenched in anger, when he realised how much danger she had put herself into.

He threw the plank of wood onto the ground with a muttered curse; and with a grim expression on his face he charged into the undergrowth.

Livia realised she had made a monumental mistake going into the forest. For a start she hadn’t a clue where she was going, and secondly, she may well now be lost, although she was sure the beach was behind her - somewhere.

She’d lost track of how long she had been here – perhaps no more than an hour – but it was soon becoming the longest hour of her life. She realised she had no choice but to abandon her search for Metellus and try to find the beach, and their camp. So she stopped walking and turned round to make her way back.

A sudden gust of wind came in off the sea, causing the trees behind her to sway and groan as if in protest. The noise was eerie as it blew through the trees, and Livia shivered in fright, afraid of the forest, and what could be lurking deep within its dark depths. She immediately thought of wolves. Would the island have wolves? Again she shivered, and then, as if she wasn’t already scared enough, a disembodied voice came from behind her causing her to squeal in fright.

“What in the name of Hades do you think you’re doing, woman?”

“Metellus!” Relief flooded through her, and Livia spun around, but not before a sudden wave of dizziness came over her causing her to stumble. She would have fallen into a tree trunk if it hadn’t been for Metellus reaching out and catching her, and Livia couldn’t help the shudder of awareness that assailed her when she felt the warmth of his hands on her arms. He was so near, she could feel his breath on the side of her neck, and heat curled in the pit of her stomach, as warmth spread through her whole body. She became aware of his strength, his raw power, a power which seemed to overwhelm her, causing her heart to pound, as much as the pounding in her head.

She had never been aware of a man as much as this one in her whole life, and for some reason it unsettled her, unnerved her, and with a blush of mortification she straightened and pushed him away.

“I am well now. Thank you,” she said, trying to control herself, before she saw Metellus frown down at her and his hands dropped away as he took a step backwards, breaking the contact between them.

“I asked what you were doing in the forest, Livia.”

Stiffening at the harshness of his voice, she looked him square in the face, her tone cool, “I was looking for you, I…I thought you may be hurt or something.” Her words trailed off when she saw him raise an eyebrow in disbelief; and now she’d said the words aloud, she realised how stupid they sounded. Here he was, the most physically perfect specimen of manhood she had ever seen, and one who looked none the worse for wear after their ordeal, and she was concerned about him!

She realised she must look, and appear such a fool, but thankfully he didn’t say any more on the subject.

Instead he said, “The camp is back this way. Shall we?” Not waiting for an answer he took her arm and guided her back through the dense forest, and back to their temporary home.

For a few minutes they walked in silence, their pace slow, so Livia didn’t exert herself too much. Trying to break the tense silence between them she asked, “Where had you been before…before you found me?”

For a long time he didn’t answer her, and she wondered if he had heard her question. She glanced up at him, about to repeat her question but the words died in her throat when she saw the dark brooding look on his stern face. He was staring down at her, watching her with an intensity that was unsettling.

“I was burying the dead,” he answered eventually.

“Who?” She whispered, stopping dead in her tracks, her breathing laboured as his words sank in. Her hand reached up to her throat in trepidation. “Magia?”

He shook his head, his mouth twisting, “No, not Magia. Some of the sailors, and soldiers who had been on-board.”

She turned away from him, lest he see her tears, as she thought of her tire-woman. Poor Magia. How she had hated every moment she had been on-board the ship. If Livia could go back in time she would have; if only to persuade her brother to leave Magia behind. She should have protested harder, insisted the older woman remain in Rome, but Flavius had been adamant. She was to accompany Livia and nothing would dissuade him. And even though she had tried so desperately to get him to change his mind it still didn’t stop the powerful upwelling of guilt assailing her none the less. For several minutes she said nothing, just carried on walking thinking of Magia.

But realising she had to be strong - this island demanded it - she wiped away the salty tears, and when she had composed herself, she asked, “Are there any other survivors?”

She saw the shake of his head, and her stomach dropped. Swallowing hard she whispered, “How…how many men have you buried?”

“Thirty so far. They have, unfortunately, been washed up on the shore these past five days.”

Livia gasped, her eyes widening, “Thirty! Oh those poor men.” Then the full implication of his words sank in, “We’ve been here five days?” At his slight nod she turned to stare with sightless eyes out towards the sea, as they had now come to the edge of the forest and she could see their camp in the distance. She whispered, almost to herself, “I hadn’t realised I had been so ill.”

Then the ramifications of what he just told her slammed into her, and a wave of heat suffused her whole body. If she had been ill for five days then he must have tended to all her needs. A shiver went through her as she realised what that involved. He’d been responsible for seeing to all her bodily functions. The thought of him touching her, washing her, tending to her was too much to bear, and she closed her eyes for a few seconds as she tried to deal with the enormity of what had happened to her since the shipwreck.

When she had composed herself to some degree, she risked opening her eyes and relief replaced embarrassment. Metellus had left her standing there, and was walking towards the camp. Whether walking away from her was a deliberate action on his part she wasn’t sure, but she was relieved that he’d given her a few minutes to compose herself, and thankfully he’d said nothing about tending to her for the past five days.

It was only later as she sat on her woollen cloak, sipping a much needed bowl of water, that Livia realised Metellus knew her name. She frowned, trying to remember if she had told him who she was, but after several moments of quick thinking she was convinced she hadn’t. She lowered her bowl to the sandy ground, and glanced over to where he sat leaning against a fallen tree trunk, one knee bent, his arm draped over it in an attitude of maleness that seemed unique to him somehow.

“How do you know my name?” She asked hesitantly.

“I asked the captain who you were,” he said, looking across at her with a closed expression on his face, his grey eyes giving nothing away. “You are Livia Drusus. Daughter of Senator Augustus Drusus. Sister to Flavius Augustus-”

“Half-sister in actual fact.” Livia said interrupting him, her chin lifting in defiance as she heard the scorn in his voice. “You know my family?”

She saw Metellus hesitate, his eyes narrowing, before he answered her question, “All of Rome knows of your family.”

Again Livia heard the veiled sarcasm in his voice but said nothing, keeping her thoughts to herself for the moment.

“The mighty Senator Drusus’s reputation goes before him. How is he by the way?”

Again the sarcasm, and Livia stiffened before she answered, her tone curt, “He has been ill recently-” She stopped short, realising her mistake, when she saw Metellus frown as he seized on that piece of information like a lion pouncing in the arena.

“Ill? I have heard nothing. What ails him?” He demanded, his body stiffening as he stared intently at her.

Livia shrugged, knowing she had been caught out. She had been sworn to secrecy by Flavius to say nothing about her father’s illness; and now here, hundreds of miles from Rome, on a deserted island she had given the secret away! She released a deep sigh, and finally answered his question, “He has had a seizure of sorts. The whole of the left hand side of his body is paralysed.”

Metellus’s eyes narrowed further, as he assimilated her words, and an ominous silence fell between the two of them. She wondered what he was thinking, but his face was a tight, closed, mask giving nothing away, and she couldn’t help the shiver of unease which coursed through her. Why was he so interested in her family? It made no sense…

“Your brother-” he paused, a small smile twisting the corner of his mouth, before he continued, “Or rather your half-brother, is I presume, taking over your father’s business interests?”

Livia hesitated, unsure whether to answer his question. She could plead ignorance of her brother’s affairs, but the way in which he was watching her, with an intensity that was frightening, made her tell the truth. She nodded slowly, “Yes.”

Her one word answer made his mouth twist in derision, “I thought so,” he said more to himself than her.

Livia stiffened, “You seem to know a lot about my family. Have you been to our villa to do business with my father and brother?” She asked, knowing in an instant, that if she had seen him at their villa, she would have definitely remembered him!

“Visit your villa?” Metellus barked, his grey eyes boring into hers, “The affluent, and extremely well connected Drusii consorting with the likes of me? I don’t think so, Livia.”

The words were meant to hurt, to put each of them firmly in their social places, and they were was not lost on her.

Livia knew her father, and now, most probably her brother, had more enemies than friends; as everything they did, and had done over the years, had been for political, and financial gain.

And for what? So her father could lay on a bed paralysed, unable to walk and talk? Dribbling like a baby as he was fed by the slaves. Had it been worth the hatred he had accrued for himself over the years? And now, her half-brother was treading the same path, emulating their father, as he too became obsessed in his quest to become one of Rome’s elite, to become one day, one of the most powerful and influential Senators of Rome.

And as the only female offspring from her father’s loins, she had been nothing but a pawn to be used and bartered in the political arena. It had been that way ever since she had come into womanhood, and why she had been on her way to Alexandria, to an arranged marriage with a man she detested.

Then, as if he had the power to read her thoughts, Metellus interrupted them by asking, “So why were you on the ship? Have you displeased your family so much they were compelled to send you half way across the Empire?”

Livia stiffened even more, and she looked up into his closed face, his fathomless grey eyes as cold as a dark winter’s night as he watched her. For some reason a sense of foreboding came over her, making her feel vulnerable, and she lifted her chin, unwilling to tell him her reason for going to Alexandria. “Is it any concern of yours?” She asked, the words acting as a shield to protect her fragile ego.

She saw his eyes narrow, “Not really. You are right. You are no concern of mine.” Then he stood up and walked away, dismissing her.

CHAPTER 4

At his words Livia sat up, feeling cut to the bone, dismissed like she always had been by the men of her family. Piqued by his blatant disregard for her, she snapped, “Well, if I am no concern of yours, why did you rescue me in the first place? You should have left me to drown, along with all the others.”

Her words had the desired effect, as he stopped mid-stride and turned to face her once again, his eyes hooded as he stared down at her for a long moment. Then he smiled - a wolf’s smile – and the knife Livia hadn’t been aware of him holding, tapped against his thigh.

“A good question. One I’m not sure if I have an answer for,” he shrugged, before his eyes narrowing and he said, “Maybe you aroused my curiosity? Maybe it was greed? The promise of a fat reward if I saved the precious daughter of one of Rome’s finest perhaps? Let’s hope your brother has enough money to pay me. My price is very high as he – and you – will find out.”

Livia gasped as a sharp pain pierced right through her. Is that all she really meant to him? Monetary gain?

Pain, was replaced by anger, and in her iciest tone she said, “And what will you do if he refuses to pay anything for me? Take me back out to sea and drown me? You have made a big mistake if you think my father, and brother, care one jot about me.”

And with those final words, she stood up and walked over to the farthest part of their makeshift camp. She sat down on the hot sand, her knees bent as she stared out to sea, wishing she were anywhere else but here, on a deserted island, with a man who detested everything about her, and her family.

As Metellus watched her walk away, he cursed himself. He had gone too far he realised, but there was no going back. She didn’t know it of course, but he had blatantly lied to her. He hadn’t saved her for any monetary reward. Far from it – he was richer than them by far.

It was common knowledge that the Drusii fortune had been virtually wiped out last year, when Mount Vesuvius had erupted, destroying all their vast areas of farm land in, and around, Pompeii and Herculaneum. Land, which had once been used to grow grapes for wine, and olives for the much coveted olive oil, and which now laid buried beneath tons of solidified lava and mud. The eruption had even destroyed the two small ships they had moored in the port area of Pompeii which were used to convey their goods to Rome. And if there was no money coming into the Drusii coffers it would mean they were at risk of failing to meet the 100,000 denarii threshold that Senators were obliged to have in order to keep their seats in the Senate.

And because Senators were barred from trading in commerce, such as shipping, the Drusii wealth had been their land. And apart from a small farm near the port of Brundisium, Metellus knew that most of their land holdings had been lost when Vesuvius had erupted.

Metellus’s mouth tightened, as he wondered if the eruption had contributed to Livia’s father’s sudden decline in health. It would seem to be the logical answer.

It would also explain why Flavius had been so active in recent months, taking over most of his father’s business affairs. Business affairs that had included borrowing vast sums of money from merchants and the moneylenders of Rome.

It was obvious they had fallen on hard times since the eruption. Metellus also knew Flavius, in an attempt to swell the family’s coffers, had taken to gambling. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t very good at it, and he wondered if Livia knew of this latest development as she sat there in her tattered silk gown? He very much doubted it.

So, to answer the question she had thrown at him. He hadn’t rescued her for a monetary reward. He had in fact rescued her for two reasons.

The first reason was easy enough to answer. Revenge.

Metellus’s jaw tightened as he remembered the exact moment he’d found out who she was, when the captain, two days into the voyage, had told him Livia was the daughter of Senator Augustus Drusus. Metellus had taken that bit of news like a blow to the stomach, so much so he’d had to restrain himself from barging into her cabin and demanding if the captain spoke the truth.

Instead, he had held back his shock and anger, and had thought long and hard about how he could use Livia to exact revenge against her father. Livia’s father, who, through his lies and innuendo’s had spread rumours throughout Rome which had implicated Metellus’s father in a conspiracy to murder Nero. That his father was innocent was immaterial. The damage had been done. The Emperor Nero, already on the verge of madness, had believed outright the information provided by a high ranking Senator. Metellus’s father, a low ranking merchant – albeit a rich one – had no chance of pleading his innocence. Within two days of his arrest, he had been tried, found guilty of treason, and executed.

And now, fifteen years later it was as if the gods had handed him the very tool for his revenge on a golden platter. Here, on an uninhabited island, he had at his mercy the daughter of his sworn enemy.

Metellus’s mouth twisted as he contemplated the second reason for rescuing Livia. In short, he’d rescued her because he wanted her. He had from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her, and the desire for revenge had battled with his desire to possess her body.

Sexual hunger kicked him in the gut with the force of a wild horse. He wanted her with a primitive force which refused to go away. She was pure temptation with her wide hazel eyes, her full mouth that begged to be kissed, and a body made for his enjoyment.

He should feel hatred for her, but instead he felt desire.

Angry with himself for allowing his emotions to rule his head, he cursed under his breath. He needed to be stronger, fight the feelings he felt for Livia, feelings which were threatening to overtake his rational thoughts. He hadn’t come this far to allow it all to filter through his fingers like a handful of sand. Livia Drusus was the daughter of his sworn enemy, and therefore fair game in his planned revenge.

Metellus sighed, his eyes staring out at the expanse of blue sea in front of him. There was just one major flaw in his so called plan for revenge. He had no idea whatsoever how it was going to happen. He just knew it had to…

It was the reason he’d been feeling so unsettled ever since he’d found out who she was. And it had been the excuse he had used to persuade himself to burst into her cabin and on the night of the storm and rescue her.

He hadn’t wanted her to die; he’d wanted her to survive so she could be the conduit in perusing his plans for revenge against her family. But as the storm had raged around them, his plans for revenge had been suspended. Because it had then become a matter of survival – pure and simple. Life or death.

And the gods had decreed they should live. They had been given a second change, and he’d vowed to himself he would leave this island, and return to Rome, and fulfil his desire for revenge against the Drusii. And nothing was going to stop him…

“We are going to have to leave here soon.”

Livia looked away from the tranquil scene in front of her, and turned to where Metellus stood behind her. It had been several hours since she’d last seen him, and she had been sitting on her makeshift bed watching the ebb and flow of the waves as they lapped along the shoreline. Lifting her eyes to meet his, she saw he was watching her with hooded eyes once again, his face giving nothing away.

“Why? Aren’t we safe here?” She kept her voice neutral, not wanting to inflame his, or her anger, again.

Metellus’s mouth thinned, “We are safe yes, but we have virtually no food supplies left, not to mention we are in danger of running out of water.”

It was obvious she had managed to say the wrong thing again, and she felt hot colour steal over her face, “But how can you be sure there is food and water anywhere else on this island?”

“I can’t. But it is a gamble we have to take if we are to survive.”

When she said nothing more he carried on, “We will break camp in the morning.” He then walked over to one of the wooden chests, and took out some black twisted strips.

“Here,” he said, handing over one of the strips. “Eat.”

Livia took what he handed to her, a frown of confusion on her face, for some reason loathe to take the offensive looking substance off him. Wrinkling her nose she asked, “What is it?”

“Salted meat.”

Her face screwed up with displeasure, but before she could say anything more Metellus bit out, “I realise that it is not what you are used too. But we are not at one of your father’s elaborate banquets now. You haven’t eaten for days. So do you eat it, or do I have to force it down your throat?”

Livia bristled at his sarcastic tone, and her small jaw clamped shut. Reaching out her hand she snatched the salted beef out of his hand, biting a small piece off, her mouth twisting at the sour taste of it, but she refused to look away from him, her eyes defiant. His, she noticed, were still unreadable as he watched her.

“When you’ve finished, you will need to sleep, as we will be leaving early in the morning.”

Effecting a mocking salute at him, she retorted, “Yes sir!”

Livia realised she’d gone one step too far, when he strode across to her and grabbed her hand, pulling her upwards so she fell against him. Hard. He then sat down on one of the barrels, and Livia couldn’t stop the yelp of surprise as she tumbled full length onto his lap, instantly aware of her softness colliding with the hardness of his body.

“This is no joke, Livia,” he snapped. “This is survival, yours and mine. If you don’t want to live, then stay here, but I am leaving tomorrow. But if you decide to come with me, you will have to carry your fair share of equipment. I will not tolerate any feminine antics from you. Do you understand?”

Livia nodded, refusing to answer him, but her nod of acquiescence was enough to appease Metellus, as his face softened and he continued speaking, “If I tell you to do something, you will do it. This place is not going to lift up its hands in supplication and make things easier for you, just because you are the daughter of a Roman Senator. We have to be constantly on our guard. It’s going to be tough, and we may not survive anyway. Do you understand?”

For some reason, Livia felt like crying, hurt by his words, but she bit her lip. Was she that selfish? That shallow?

Not wanting him to see her tears, she turned away, trying to pull her hand out of his grip. But he didn’t let go, and if anything his grip tightened, giving Livia no choice but to look up at him.

“Do you understand?” He repeated, his tone demanding an answer.

“Yes.” She whispered, trying once again to break free.

But still he refused to let go of her hand, and she looked up at him, his inscrutable gaze once again bearing down on her. For several long seconds their eyes battled with each other, until hers widened in alarm when she saw his head lower, as inch, by slow inch, his mouth came closer until it met the softness of hers.

“Oh!” She gasped, her eyes closing, as his firm lips pressed against hers. It was a kiss like no other. And when his free hand lifted to cup the soft skin of her jaw, he exerted enough pressure she had no choice but to open her mouth. She sighed as his mouth took hers, with a hunger which frightened her with its intensity.

It was everything she’d ever imagined a kiss would be, and her heart soared, her other hand lifting and gripping his broad shoulder. The movement bought her closer to his body, and her softness moulded to the hardness of his. It reminded her of the time aboard the ship when they had been as close as they were now. Then it had been about survival, but now it was about pleasure. Their pleasure.

She felt an unfamiliar, but powerful pull of attraction for this man as his tongue demanded entrance to the softness of her mouth, and she acquiesced, allowing it to enter, to mate with hers, unable to stop her low moan of desire. Never in all her life had she been kissed with such passion, and she opened her mouth wider, glorying in the pleasure his mouth and tongue was bringing her, and as the kiss deepened in its intensity, this time it was his moan of desire she heard.

His hand loosened its hold on hers, and settled on the full curve of her hip, pulling her forward. She clung to him, as if she’d somehow lost the ability to stand, feeling every hard plane of his body imprinted against hers.

Her breasts pressed against his chest, her stomach moulded the hardness of his lower groin, making her painfully aware of his erection. Heat pooled in her lower belly, causing a melting sensation to flood through her when his hands slid further around her back moving downwards to cup the softness of her buttocks.

She didn’t know how long the kiss lasted - a minute, an hour, eternity - but she only became aware of its ending when Metellus pulled away, and her hands; hands which had somehow entwined themselves in the crisp dark hair at the nape of his neck, fell away.

“Oh!” She said again, whether from disappointment, or shock, she couldn’t say, and she blinked, trying to adjust to the present as she watched him move away, his bearing now stiff and rigid.

“That shouldn’t have happened. Rest assured madam, it won’t again.”

The words were harsh, guttural, insulting even, and before Livia could say anything, Metellus strode off towards the seashore.

She stared after him, a frown of frustration creasing her brow as she worried her lower lip, aware it throbbed from the force of his kiss. She knew, if she were able to see them, they would be kiss ravaged, red, full, wet and glistening. As she stood there watching him walk away from her – again – she had to bite back the urge to shout after him; to demand he return and explain what had just happened between them.

But she didn’t. Instead, she watched as he walked away from her wondering how on earth she was going to cope for the next few days – weeks even. Cope, not only with his ever changing moods, but rather worryingly with the growing desire she felt for him. This stranger who had rescued her, a man whom she knew nothing about, but with every instinct she possessed screaming at her, telling her that he seemed to know an awful lot about her, and her family. And what he did know, he didn’t like, or trust, one bit.

CHAPTER 5

Dawn couldn’t come soon enough, Livia thought, as she lay there watching the black night turn to a dusty pink, bringing with it another day.

A new day in which they would head out, and try and survive the unknown perils inflicted on them by this remote island. She turned, and bit back a small groan as her muscles protested in anger at the hardness of the sand beneath her thin cloak.

She’d hardly slept at all last night, tossing and turning, trying to find a comfortable position, lying there, hour after hour listening to the alien sound of another person sleeping next to her. It had guaranteed a sleepless night. Metellus, on the other hand had slept the whole night through if his deep, even breathing was any indication!

“Are you awake?”

His words startled her, and her eyes swivelled to where he lay on his makeshift bed. She couldn’t see his features, because he still lay on his back. How on earth did he know she was awake? Was the man cursed with some sort of magical powers? She was tempted to ignore him, but she remembered his orders yesterday, about their survival, and how she had to obey his commands, so she thought better of it. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Good. Let’s get started. I want to break camp and head off as soon as possible.”

And with those brief words, he rose, and started packing their meagre possessions away. Livia sighed. Today was going to be a long day. A very long day indeed.

Several hours later, Livia was wishing she had stayed abed as she took one more agonising step forward. Every muscle in her body screamed out in protest and she lifted a shaking hand to wipe the sweat off her face. They had been walking for the best part of the morning, and she didn’t know if she could take another step. Her head pounded, as she desperately fought back a wave of nausea.

“Metellus! Could…could I beg a little water please?” Those were the first words which had been spoken between them since they had arisen and broken camp. Metellus had been remarkable tight lipped since they had set off. No doubt he was still regretting kissing her yesterday…

Thankfully he stopped walking, and glanced across at her. His countenance was stiff and unyielding and Livia couldn’t help but notice that he looked more like a soldier than someone who toiled aboard a ship. He was wearing one of the red cloaks, obviously to protect his skin against the blistering sun. Strapped to his waist was one of the soldiers’ swords, and his bare muscled arms glinted with sweat from his exertions. Livia shivered at the masculine image he portrayed, as he stood watching her. He looked ready for battle rather than walking across endless miles of sand…

But when he saw her face he frowned, and dropped the makeshift sleigh he’d been dragging behind him, and walked over to her. With gentle fingers he lifted her chin. Something shifted in his eyes as he frowned down at her. “Are you ill?” he asked, his voice uncharacte‌ristically soft.

“No not ill, just-” The words ended abruptly, when she fell forward, dropping the cloaks and some utensils she had been carrying, before everything went blank.

With lightning reflexes Metellus lunged forward, reaching for Livia just in time, so she fell into his arms and not onto the hot sand. He wrapped his arms around her. She felt so slight, so fragile, her bones as delicate as a bird he’d once held in the palm of his hand. Her arms flopped down by the side of her body, and Metellus lifted her higher so he now held her against the hard wall of his chest.

With an unconscious movement he dropped his chin until it rested on the top of her head, the gesture one of protection as he tried to ignore the press of breasts against the hardness of his muscles. But their fullness tempted him, so soft, like a plump cushion that he wanted to lay his head on and savour the sweetness of them with his mouth and tongue-

“Hades!” He cursed, annoyed with himself for once again falling under the spell of attraction he felt for this woman.

He lowered her to the ground, his movements gentle, and once he was certain she was a comfortable as possible he looked up at the sky. The sun was at its zenith, and they had been walking during the hottest part of day. What had possessed him to allow her to walk for so long in the heat? It was obvious she wasn’t strong enough to cope with the gruelling pace he had set since early that morning.

He had to get her out of the sun; so once again he lifted her into his arms, and walked back up the shoreline so she could at least benefit from the shade of the trees. Once he had lowered her onto the sparse grass which grew there, he ran back down to where he had left their supplies.

He untied the barrel of water from the makeshift sleigh of branches he’d made, his fingers fumbling with the leather strips which had been used to secure it; strips he’d taken from the sandals of the dead soldiers he’d had to bury. As he worked at the knots he cursed himself once more. He had been so preoccupied with trying to find out whether or not there was any life on the island, he had dismissed Livia out of hand.

And if he was honest with himself, he had deliberately blocked her out of his subconscious, trying to forget how good she had felt in his arms last night when he had kissed her. It was a kiss he had wanted to forget, and he had to some extent, but it had been at her expense!

Once he had the barrel upright, he opened the lid and reached for the small wooden bowl floating inside. Scooping out some of the precious water, ignoring the fact they had so little left, he walked back up to where Livia lay. She was still unconscious, her breathing rapid and shallow and he dropped to his knees. With shaking hands, he once again trickled water into her mouth, like he had done on the five days previous when she had lain unconscious.

The coolness of the water trickling down her throat was like ambrosia from the Gods and Livia flicked out her tongue, tasting the sweetness of it, desperate for more.

“Not too much, or you will make yourself ill.”

At Metellus’s whispered words, Livia opened her eyes and saw him kneeling over her. Concern was etched on his face, reflected in the darkened grey of his eyes.

“What…what happened?” She asked, aware of the huskiness of her voice as it rasped past her dry throat.

“You fainted.”

“Oh.”

“It was my fault. I should have realised you were still too weak to walk so far.”

“Oh.”

Metellus lips quirked, “Is that all you can say?”

Livia watched in fascination as a small dimple appeared on the right hand side of his face, and she was aware her mouth had opened in shock. Had he really just smiled down at her? She must indeed be ill! But before she could say anything to his last question, Metellus stood up and went over to where a small sapling grew. She watched as he stripped off several long branches, aware of his muscles rippling and bunching with the effort it took, until he came back to her, holding the branches up above his head like a slave carrying an ostrich feather parasol.

She realised what he was intending, and a warm glow flowed through her. His kindness was rather surprising, considering all that had happened between them so far.

“Thank you. The shade will help. You are most kind.”

Her words were met with a bark of harsh laughter and she saw his face close. Once again she’d managed to say the wrong thing.

“’Kind’ is not a word often used when describing me, Livia Drusus. You had best remember that.”

Livia stiffened at the sarcastic tone, and turned away from him. There was no reasoning with the man, “Yes. How stupid of me to forget,” she snapped, and made to stand up, not wanting to give him any excuse for her delaying them.

“Don’t move,” he ordered, “We will stay here for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, when you are rested, we will set off and try to make a full day of it.” Then he turned, and walked back down to where he had left their supplies.

Livia leaned back down on the grass and closed her eyes, willing the gods to send a ship to rescue her. Now!

Once again, Livia woke up early, and this time, before Metellus could ask whether she was awake or not, she got up. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Metellus was still asleep. She saw with a start, that the woollen cloak he was using as a blanket had slipped down to his waist, revealing the broadness of his naked chest, and his naked body.

Totally naked body she realised, her eyes widening, when she spotted his thin woollen tunic lying next to him. Her mouth went dry at the sheer beauty of his body as her eyes tracked the vast expanse of his chest, the hard muscles bronzed to a dark golden brown; muscles so well delineated, Livia had the urge to run her hands over them to see if they were as warm, and as hard to the touch as they appeared.

Once again she couldn’t help but acknowledge how handsome he was. It was a shame his tongue wasn’t as pleasing as his body. And as she thought of his tongue, and remembered the kiss they had shared, her eyes lifted to his face…and met his inscrutable gaze once more.

Hades he was awake! Awake and watching her, his face expressionless, closed. Livia’s stomach dropped as if someone had just punched her – hard – and she pulled in her lower lip in consternation, annoyed with herself for having been caught staring at him again. She looked away and walked over to where the water barrel stood. Taking a small cup of water she sipped from it slowly, ignoring the trembling of her hands.

As she drank the water, taking an inordinate amount of time in doing so, she heard him get up, and the slight sounds of fabric rustling as he put on his tunic caused her to shiver in longing. Breathing in deep, she tried to shake away the mental image she had at the thought of the fabric of his tunic sliding over his naked body. She had just about managed to do so when she felt his presence behind her. She stiffened, battling the urge to turn to face him, to bury her head in the strength of his chest. He was so close, tension radiated between them as she felt the warmth of his breath on the exposed part of her neck.

“Could you pour me some as well?”

“Yes.” Her voice, she noticed sourly, sounded like a squeaking mouse, and she felt heat crawl up her body. Why did this man make her feel so self-conscious? She was a woman of Rome, a widow even, not some simpering girl in the first flush of youth! With shaking fingers she poured out some water before thrusting out her hand, waiting for him to take the wooden cup. She quivered when his fingers touched hers, and she pulled away, her movements abrupt before she stepped away from him, breaking the tension which seemed to be there every time he came within touching distance. She walked back to where she had slept, picked up her red cloak and folded it with jerky movements before doing the same with Metellus’s.

She really had to control her emotions more when she was around him. She was fast becoming a liability to herself. Hadn’t Metellus made his feelings plain enough yesterday? She would do well to heed his warning…

Thankfully, the rest of the day passed without mishap. She was able to keep pace with Metellus this time, partly due to the shade provided by the branches of the tree he’d cut down for her, and which he’d tied to the makeshift sleigh so it draped over her as she walked; and partly due to the fact he’d slowed the pace down considerably.

Livia didn’t know how much ground they covered that day, but it must have been many miles. She noticed that the terrain up ahead had changed, the sandy beach coming to an end in about another half a mile or so to be replaced by a rocky coast line.

“Does the change in terrain mean anything?” She asked, when they had stopped for the day, and made camp.

Metellus frowned, staring at the rocky outcrop ahead of them. “I don’t know. But I pray to the gods it will mean we can soon find some food and water.”

“Do you know where we are? The island, I mean…”

Metellus shook his head. “Not really. The storm was so fierce, the ship could have been blown anywhere. But, if I were to hazard a guess, I think we may be on one of the Greek islands. But like I said, I’m not sure.”

“Have you been to any of the Greek islands before?”

Metellus grunted, and shook his head, “No. I’m just a humble merchant that’s all. This would have been my first trip. I recently took over the family business from my uncle. We sell wine to Africa and then import papyrus paper back to Rome. This was my inaugural voyage. Not a good start was it?”

Livia lifted her eyebrows in surprise. She hadn’t thought him to be a merchant. Rather, when she had seen him on the deck that first time, she had convinced herself he was just one of the sailors.

“Looks can be deceiving, Livia.”

She blushed, when she realised he had read her thoughts – again. She shrugged, a small smile playing on her mouth. “Yes, I realise that. But like you say, looks can be deceiving.”

That evening a companionable silence fell between them, as they ate their small ration of dried beef. As Livia chewed on a small piece of meat, she couldn’t help but remember the food back home at her father’s villa, and for the first time in days she felt real hunger, and her stomach growled out in protest. Loudly.

So loudly, that Metellus looked across from her and smiled, “Me too. I’m so hungry I could eat anything.”

Livia laughed and smiled across at him. “I must remember to recommend this to my father’s cook when I get back home,” she said, lifting up the piece of dried meat.

Her words had the effect of a splash of cold water, when she saw the smile leave Metellus’s face.

“Ah, yes. Your father. The great Senator Drusus. How could I forget?”

Livia’s face drained of all colour at the harshness of his words, and she watched him get up and walk away from her, breaking the easy companionship which had been there moments ago.

What on earth had her father done to cause his displeasure? It was obvious there was bad feeling between the two of them, but for the life of her she couldn’t think what. She was desperate to find out, but she knew with a certainty Metellus wouldn’t tell her what it was. It was best to keep her thoughts to herself. For a while at least. Now was not the time to challenge him about the past. She was wise enough to know that.

CHAPTER 6

“What is it? A fort?”

Metellus didn’t look away from the awesome sight before them, but shook his head at Livia’s questions. “I’m not sure,” he said slowly, “If it is a fort, it’s one I’ve never seen the likes of before. For a start it’s only got one wall,” he said nodding to the wooden structure – complete with parapet walls and a watchtower - which acted as some sort of barrier. It was about ten feet high and had a massive door in it. But as a defence it was worthless, because it was only one sided. The rest of the settlement was open, and he could see a myriad of huts and buildings behind it. He also saw people rushing about, shouting at each other. And if he was correct, they were shouting about them!

He knew they had been seen, as heads had popped up on the parapet wall with regular frequency only to disappear back down quickly. He could hear them shouting in Greek, which made his earlier comment about them being on one of the many small Greek islands probably correct.

Although his stomach had clenched when he had first seen the fort, he had also been relieved. Relieved, that at last there was the firm possibility of their survival now. A fort, or whatever it was, must have food and water. All he needed to do was convince whoever lived in there that they posed no danger to them, and the only way to do that was to go and speak with them.

Turning to Livia, he said, “I want you to stay here. Don’t leave this spot until I come back.” Then he took off the red cloak and handed it to Livia before unstrapping the sword and passing it over to her.

“Shouldn’t…shouldn’t you take the sword?” she whispered, “For protection…they might be hostile.”

Metellus shook his head. “I don’t want to inflame their anger by turning up dressed like a Roman soldier. It might send out the wrong message.”

Seeing her mouth open, in what he knew was going to be a protest, he lifted a finger and placed it on her lips, his eyes pleading, “No arguing, Livia. Please.”

Livia’s mouth snapped shut, and he saw the flare of surprise widen her expressive eyes. She said nothing as she stared up at him, and he nodded his head before turning away from her and walking towards the fort.

“Metellus!”

He turned his head to look back at her, his eyes questioning, as he watched in surprised fascination, colour stain her cheeks as if she had somehow regretted shouting after him. Then, before he could ask her what was wrong, she whispered, “Be careful.”

Livia felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment, as Metellus stared at her from unblinking eyes. In an instant she regretted her words, and she stiffened expecting him to say something derogatory.

Instead he said nothing, but he did give a slight nod before he turned and carried on walking towards the fort. Livia dragged in a ragged breath, her stomach quivering as her gaze fixed on the broad expanse of his back as he walked away. Hades, the man made her say, and do things, she never thought capable of.

And all because he had kissed her. Her life in Rome had been so ordered. So boring. She had kept a tight rein on her emotions for years, and did so because it acted as a shield against the struggle of her life. A life dictated by the orders and whims of her father, and her brother, ever since she had been born.

And now? Now it seemed different, as if her struggle for survival, and the feelings she had for Metellus were compelling her to fight for what she wanted. Freedom. Freedom to be the person she really was. And being shipwrecked on this island had finally given her what she had wanted. Here, she was her own person. Able to think, and do, what she pleased, as if she were a bird that had been released from its gilded cage.

But could one kiss really mean anything? It had for her, of that there was no doubt. But as for Metellus, she knew he’d regretted it – it was why he’d kept his distance ever since.

Sighing, she shook her fanciful musings away and concentrated on the present.

As she watched Metellus approach the door to the fort, she couldn’t help but wonder who would choose to live on such an island and why. The three days they’d spent travelling had revealed nothing spectacular about the island at all. Just endless sand, trees, and now rocks.

Her thoughts were cut short when she saw Metellus stop abruptly as he approached the gate. It was obvious he had been ordered to stop by whoever had spoken out of the small spy-hole which had been opened in the wooden door. She tilted her head, trying to make out the words being exchanged between Metellus, and the unseen person behind the door.

She realised she was too far away to hear anything, but then she saw Metellus nod, before he turned his head and looked towards some hills located to the rear of the fort. Livia looked over to the hills as well, squinting against the bright sunlight reflecting off the rocks, trying to make out what he was looking at. But she couldn’t see anything, only the vast expanse of barren rock.

For several more minutes she watched as Metellus communicated with the unseen person, nodding every now and again, until he eventually turned and walked back towards her, his face grim. Livia’s stomach dropped when she saw the dark expression on his face. It didn’t bode well for them, if the look on his face was anything to go by, and she had to quell the anxiety which assailed her when he approached her once more. “Will they give us shelter in the fort?”

“No-”

“But why?” She exclaimed interrupting him, her voice rising with hysteria, unable to grasp the fact they might die here, right in front of them. She felt tears well up in her eyes at the injustice of it all, “We are no threat to them.”

Metellus sighed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck, the deep lines of fatigue etched on his face making him appear older. “Aye, you are right. We are not a threat. But they are.”

Livia frowned in confusion, but before she could ask what he meant, Metellus continued, his voice calm, collected, “It is a leper colony, Livia. They have set up the colony as a way of trying to live a normal life amongst themselves, and away from a society which shuns them as unclean. One of the lepers is the son of a rich Greek merchant, and he has paid for this colony to be built.”

Livia gasped, her eyes snapping back to the fort, as a feeling of compassion came over her. “There are many inside?” She whispered, after a long silence had fallen between them.

Metellus nodded. “Yes, a virtual community. All ages apparently.” Like hers, his voice was soft, as he answered her question, as if he too, couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing.

“Oh those poor people – to be trapped here for all eternity.”

After a few moments of silence she once again turned back to face Metellus. He was staring down at her with a brooding expression in his eyes, and she froze, unable to look away. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw his head lower towards her and her belly clenched with a sudden longing. She wanted him to kiss her, wanted to feel the coolness of his lips against hers once more. And, as if he could read her mind, she saw his grey eyes blaze into life like molten metal as they burned into hers. The air around them felt charged, like it did before a lightning storm and Livia knew he wanted her. Desired her as much as she desired him.

But he also hated her, she knew that the instant he stopped moving closer to her, a hairsbreadth from touching her lips. She watched as he fought the internal battle he waged with himself, and she had to fight the urge to lift her hand and pull him closer so he had no choice but to kiss her.

But she didn’t. Because she knew that she, and her family were his enemy, and that was enough to stop him in his tracts. And when she saw the blaze of desire leave his eyes she knew she had lost him. His head jerked back as if she’d slapped him, before he broke eye contact with her and bent down and retrieve one of the sacks holding their supplies.

“They have been kind to us, though,” he said, his voice firm, in control once more as he looked back to the leper colony avoiding eye contact with her. “We are promised shelter, food and water. There is a cave in the hills behind the fort. It is for the crew of the ship that comes with their supplies. It is kept well stocked in case the ship cannot set sail for some reason. There is a well nearby, and the elder of the colony will provide us with some food. We are to come back later this evening for our supplies.”

Livia took in all he was saying, but her brain registered the most important fact, and she asked, her voice full of hope, “A ship? When will it arrive? Will we be able to leave on it?”

“Umm. You are very astute Livia Drusus,” Metellus said, a small smile pulling at his lips. “There will indeed be a ship arriving, in about three weeks’ time, or even earlier by all accounts. All we need to do is tolerate each other until then, and with luck on our side we will be rescued soon. The leader of the colony will speak to the captain when the ship arrives, telling him we are shipwreck survivors. We need to stay away from the colony so the captain will have no cause to refuse us safe passage.”

Three weeks! How on earth was she going to survive being in such close proximity to Metellus for three whole weeks? He, she noticed with a twist of her full mouth, was preparing a fire in a stone fire pit outside the cave entrance without a care in the world, and didn’t seem too bothered by the fact they were going to be in each other’s company for such a long time.

She, on the other hand, was a mass of seething emotions. She couldn’t seem to forget his kiss, the touch of his fingers on her skin, or the way he seemed to look at her as if he could reach inside her very being and touch her innermost emotions. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she didn’t seem to be able to control herself when it came to touching, or wanting him either.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Could she control her desire for him, until the ship arrived? She hoped so, for her own sanity, and she offered a silent prayer to Cupid, the god of desire, that she would be able to. Now was not the time to remember his kisses. She needed to be strong, to focus on their survival, and what the future might bring for her, now she wasn’t going to Alexandria. So with a renewed sense of determination, she turned away from Metellus and entered the small cave, to start unpacking their supplies.

As she entered the cave, she gave a small gasp of relief. Metellus was right. The cave had been furnished with all the basics needed for a short stay. There were several wooden cots for sleeping, complete with straw mattresses. With the cloaks they had used for blankets, Livia was sure the sleeping arrangements would be more than adequate, and a lot better than what they had been putting up with in recent days. There was even a small table and some chairs, as well as several pots for cooking. The well, Livia had noticed earlier, was only a short walk away, and she had to control her eagerness to wash away the accumulated grime of the past seven days.

She looked down at the dirty silk of her tattered gown, and smiled ruefully. Her friend, Portia, would faint at the sight of it she was sure, not to mention the state of her hair and broken nails! Portia had never, as far as Livia knew, ever set foot out of her villa without every curl on her head perfectly coiffured, and every gown clean and wrinkle free. She had often admonished Livia on her carefree attitude to her toilet, but Livia was unconcerned about spending hours getting ready to go to the baths, or the Forum, just so they could impress the men they passed on the way.

But, as she lifted a hand to her scalp, and felt the sand and salt encrusted in her hair, she wondered how Portia would have coped these past days without her much coveted creature comforts. Livia’s smiled deepened, as she conceded to herself, that right now even she would part with her last sesterce to be able to wash her hair!

“Is this all for us?”

“It would appear so. They said they would leave supplies for us – and here they are,” Metellus said, picking up one of the wooden crates which had been stacked some distance away from the gate.

Livia looked up at the wooden barricade, and although she couldn’t see anyone she was sure they were watching them. “Thank you all so much. You are most kind,” she said, shouting up the hillside towards the closed gate. She hoped they could hear her; as she wanted to thank them personally for their kindness.

When she looked away from the fort she saw Metellus looking at her with an odd expression on his face, “What is wrong?” she asked.

Metellus shook his head, “Nothing,” he said breaking eye contact with her, before walking back to the cave with two large wooden crates loaded in his arms.

As he made his way up the steep hill, Livia watched his broad back in front of her. His refusal to answer her, made her angry. It was obvious he was surprised she had shouted out her thanks to the lepers; but she was grateful. She wasn’t the spoiled daughter of a rich Senator as he seemed to think; she did have some compassion for the poor people stuck here on this island for their whole lives; and she was grateful for all their kindness as it meant their survival.

Metellus entered the cave, a frown of annoyance on his brow. Every time he thought he had Livia Drusus summed up, she did something to confound him! This time was no different. This time it had been her shouting her thanks to the lepers.

Ah, yes. Livia Drusus was a contradiction he hadn’t expected. A woman who had gotten under his skin from the first moment he had seen her on board the ship. Metellus shook his head, determined to forget Livia for a few minutes. Concentrating on the task ahead of him, he lowered the crates he’d been carrying onto the floor. A quick look inside revealed bread, flour, olives, dates, fruit, and cheese; and there was enough to last at least a week, maybe even more. He had to concede, the lepers had been very generous indeed.

A slight noise behind him heralded Livia’s arrival, and he watched her from the corner of his eye as she lowered the box she carried onto the floor next to his. In silence she unpacked its contents, several wooden plates, some spoons and a terracotta jug of milk.

“Shall I prepare some food while you go and get the other two crates?” She asked a few moments later, breaking the silence between them.

Metellus’s eyebrows shot up in surprise once again. Again, she had shocked him with her offer of help, and he was just about to answer when she placed her hands on her hips in a gesture of defiance as he realised he had overstepped the mark and had been caught out.

“You once said not to judge a person by their looks. However, you seem to have done exactly that where I am concerned! I am not so ignorant of people, or situations, even if I am the daughter of a Senator.”

Metellus smiled inwardly at the anger bristling out of her. She reminded him of a small kitten he had once owned that used to spit and fight him. Lifting his hand in surrender he said, “Put your claws away, Livia. I apologise. Yes, some food would be nice. We will eat like the gods tonight.” He bowed, a slight movement from the hips, before he made his way to the cave entrance. But then he stopped, turned and walked back to where she stood. He lifted her chin, taking in the slight widening of her pupils, before his head lowered to hers.

“Do you forgive me?” he whispered, staring at her mouth in fascination. Full and soft he wanted to taste it. Now. The subtle scent of her was like a fever in his blood and it lured him in. He dropped his head, and found her mouth, his kiss a whisper across her lips, as he teased the fullness of hers, absorbing the warmth of her. He felt her shiver in his arms, and it was all the inducement he needed to deepen the kiss. He moulded his lips to hers, his tongue demanding entry to the sweetness of her mouth, and felt a moment of triumph when he heard her gasp, before she opened her mouth and allowed his tongue to plunder the softness within.

He tasted, teased, took what he wanted, what he needed from her, as his hand loosened its hold on her chin, to trail over the pulsing beat at the base of her throat, before it skimmed downwards over the sides of her ribcage, over the soft curves of her waist, until it splayed over her hips allowing him to pull her compliant body into his, so her softness met with the hardness of his arousal.

“Livia. Beautiful, beautiful, Livia,” he whispered against the fullness of her mouth once he had finished kissing her and began to trail his mouth downwards. They fit so well together as if they were made for each other-

Reality returned with the force of a tidal wave, and he stopped, as he tried to quell the myriad of sensations he was feeling for her. With obvious reluctance he pulled away from her, putting some much needed distance between them, aware of his chest rising and falling with exertion as if he’d run for miles. He had to supress the urge to pull her back into his arms, when he saw the twinge of disappointment flit across her face. Instead, he turned, and stalked out of the cave as if the fires of Hades were licking at his heels.

Jupiter’s blood! He’d done it again. Kissed her, touched her, when for the past day he had expressly told himself to keep his hands off her. She was too much of a temptation, and he wondered how on earth he was going to stay away from her for the duration of their enforced stay on the island. If the past few days were anything to go by, it was going to be an uphill struggle!

She seemed to inflame his senses every time he looked at her. He wanted to take her, to make her his. Slip his hands up beneath the length of her silk gown and caress the smooth skin of her thighs. Higher, until he brushed the dampness of her inner core, until he slipped his finger into the heat of her, and watch as she came apart in his arms.

He cursed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d never felt anything for the women he’d taken before. He only gave of himself physically. He was incapable of feeling anything more. He didn’t allow any woman to breach the defences he’d erected so many years ago. It was what he demanded of himself. Because to allow any other emotion, apart from revenge to dominate his feelings was anathema to him.

Until now. He felt anger and frustration build up inside him. His feelings for Livia frightened him. She was pushing him beyond his endurance. And he didn’t like it. At all.

So what was he going to do about it? For a moment he stopped walking as the question raged through him. If he was honest with himself he didn’t know. Staying away from her was going to be hard – considering their cramped living quarters.

But he would just have to, for the sake of his sanity. All he needed to do was remember whose daughter she was. And with that grim thought, he lifted a hand to the left hand side of his face, felt the thin, uneven, raised surface of the scar tissue, and carried on back to the fort to retrieve the last of their supplies.

CHAPTER 7

Considering he had only given himself a stern talking to yesterday evening about his feelings for Livia, they disappeared in an instant at the sight which greeted him when he arrived back at the cave later the next morning.

His body hardened as lust slammed through him. Livia kneeling over a bucket, her head bent over it, her hair falling forward as she scooped water over the long strands. She had slipped her gown off her shoulders so it rested rather precariously, he saw, on the fullness of her breasts. Breasts, that were full and ripe, and quivered with her movements as she lifted her hands and rinsed out her hair.

It was such an intimate act, he felt guilty watching her, like a youth caught up in the first flush of desire, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was mesmerising. She was the embodiment of every male fantasy. Beautiful, cultured, a living breathing goddess. And one which was driving him mad with longing.

He swallowed hard, as he stared at her in mute fascination, as he fought the urge to go over to her. She seemed to be taking an awful long time to wash her hair. It was obvious she was enjoying the moment, relishing the act of cleaning her hair, and Metellus couldn’t blame her. They hadn’t washed in clean water since the night of the storm, and it was obvious she was making up for lost time.

He didn’t know how long he stood there watching her, and it was only when she flung her head back, the water spraying into the air like a spring shower, that he started, swallowing a lump of raw emotion when he saw her smile with unbridled joy at doing so. He realised, in amazement, he’d never seen her smile before. And he realised he liked it. It lit up her face, made him want to go over to her and skim his fingers over the fullness of her mouth, to tease the full bottom lip with his teeth and delve his tongue into the sweetness within.

But the illusion was shattered when she opened her eyes and saw him standing there watching her. In an instant her smile disappeared, and he saw her stiffen as she watched him, wariness evident in the hazel depths of her eyes. For some inexplicable reason Metellus mourned the loss of her happiness, and he couldn’t help feeling annoyed with himself that he had spoiled her fun. Tension flowed between them, but not before he saw her swallow and turn bright red, trying to readjust her gown. He could see her fingers were trembling and she wasn’t doing a very good job at securing it. Perhaps he could-

“I…I thought you had gone hunting, would be away for hours…I didn’t-” She said interrupting his wicked thoughts. She stopped speaking, her head nodding at the trap he held in his hand, communicating what she was trying to say to him. The trap had been provided with their supplies, as Metellus had been told there were plenty of rabbits on the island, having been introduced by the lepers to provide a plentiful source of meat.

“I did,” he said lifting his other hand which had been hidden behind his back, holding aloft two dead rabbits. “Eukrete, the Elder of the colony was right, there are so many rabbits on this island that we won’t go short on meat.” Metellus stopped talking, when he realised he was babbling, and an uneasy silence fell between the two of them. He never babbled. Not in all the twenty four years he had lived on this earth. Well not until today…

And why? The answer was in front of him. A woman so beautiful, she took his breath away, knelt before him, her wet gown clinging to her breasts. Breasts, he could see, which were in immediate danger of popping out of the front of her gown.

“Err. Your gown,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat as he felt colour suffuse his face. It was an experience he hadn’t felt for many a year, not since he had been a callow youth.

He saw Livia look down, then back up at him, her mouth forming a small “O” of surprise, before she turned away from him and readjusted her gown.

Realising she needed some privacy, he turned away and walked into the cave. Once inside he exhaled with a heavy breath. By the gods, life was going to be hard in the next few weeks until the ship arrived. He smiled at the irony of his words as he felt the fullness of his hard arousal demanding release. But there was nothing he could do about it, not if he didn’t want to lose his sanity. Turning, he went to sit on one of the wooden chairs and started on the unpleasant task of skinning, and gutting, the rabbits. The chore should at least take his mind off Livia’s vivid presence.

Well he hoped it would.

“That was delicious. Thank you.”

The words were the first to be spoken since the hair washing incident earlier that morning. Metellus looked up to see Livia sucking the residue of the roasted rabbit off her fingers as she smiled her thanks across at him. Once again he felt heat pool in his stomach at her smile. He couldn’t help but think it was rather unsettling that with only a smile in his direction, she seemed to have so much power over his emotions.

It seemed everything she did enticed him. The way she looked at him, smiled at him, the way she flicked her hair, the gesture of her hands, the small clicking noises she made with her mouth when she was deep in thought. Everything! Every nuance of her being made him want her so much, and it would be so easy to pick her up and throw her on the bed, seduce her until she begged for him never to stop. He wanted to make love to her until his lust was stated, and he could rid himself of his feelings for her.

Feeling vulnerable, and annoyed, with both himself, and her, he grunted a response to her compliment saying nothing. It was best to keep things neutral between them. There was no way he could become involved with her, no matter how many times his body screamed at him to do so.

Livia looked up into Metellus’s closed face, and bit back the words she was going to say in support of his cooking skills.

For some reason he looked to be in a foul mood, and not sure why, she kept quiet. As quiet as she had been, since he had seen her washing her hair earlier.

It wasn’t her fault he had returned early. And, she was entitled to wash her hair, she thought angrily. Not understanding him at all, she stood up and took her plate outside to where a wooden bucket was being utilised as a makeshift bowl for washing. Scrubbing away at the grime gave her a vent for the frustration she was feeling towards him, and the situation she found herself in.

She just prayed something would happen to take her mind off him, as the constant physical attraction she felt for him was driving her mad.

Mad with desire. Wanting him, needing him. Feelings she had never experienced in her whole life. And never would, if she were to marry Sextus Calpurnius Pullus.

Just thinking about Pullus made her shiver, not with desire like she felt for Metellus, but with revulsion, and dread. The thought of Pullus as her husband, touching her, making love to her, effectively his chattel, filled her with such horror she couldn’t help her sob of anguish. And what, if as the result of making love to her she should become pregnant? Her own mother had died giving birth to her. What if she were die too? Who would look after the child-?

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