Daughter of a slave...

...wedded to the warrior!

Livia Valeria is furious when she’s ruthlessly gambled away by her intended bridegroom. Luckily, it’s tall, muscled and darkly handsome Roman centurion Marius Varro who wins her as his bride! She must hide her Caledonian roots, but when Marius faces a barbarian rebellion at Hadrian’s Wall, Livia must make a choice: her heritage or the husband she’s falling for...

“A breath-takingly pure and beautiful tale and this story really shows just what a fine and articulated writer Ms Fletcher is … Just perfect!”

—Chicks, Rogues and Scandals on Captain Amberton’s Inherited Bride

“Fletcher takes fans on another gratifying journey through the gothic Yorkshire landscape, this time with a couple forced to wed under dire consequences.”

—RT Book Reviews on Captain Amberton’s Inherited Bride

JENNI FLETCHER was born in the north of Scotland and now lives in Yorkshire, with her husband and two children. She wanted to be a writer as a child, but got distracted by reading instead, finally getting past her first paragraph thirty years later. She’s had more jobs than she can remember, but has finally found one she loves. She can be contacted on Twitter @JenniAuthor or via her Facebook Author page.

Also by Jenni Fletcher

Married to Her Enemy

The Convenient Felstone Marriage

Besieged and Betrothed

Captain Amberton’s Inherited Bride

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Warrior’s Bride Prize

Jenni Fletcher

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07413-1

THE WARRIOR’S BRIDE PRIZE

© 2018 Jenni Fletcher

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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For Helen & David

Also a big thank-you to RomanArmyTalk.com, as well as the staff at the Roman Army Museum and Chester’s Roman Fort on Hadrian’s Wall for answering my many questions so patiently.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Historical Note

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Extract

About the Publisher

Historical Note

One of the best but hardest things about writing a story set in the Roman era is that although we’re constantly learning more about this fascinating period, there’s still a lot that we don’t know. While this allows for greater imaginative freedom, it can also be frustrating when dealing with real-life events, such as the Caledonian rebellion of AD 197.

What we do know is that Hadrian’s Wall was built after the Roman Emperor’s visit to Britain in AD 122. Comprising forts, mile-castles, ditches and turrets, it stretched for eighty Roman miles—seventy-three modern miles—from Wallsend on the north-east coast of England to Bowness-on-Solway on the west, and took fifteen thousand soldiers six years to complete.

It had several purposes, functioning as a frontier, a military bulwark and a customs barrier, although the Romans also made several forays into the area they called Caledonia—now Scotland—even building another shorter fortification, the Antonine Wall, between the Firth of Forth and the Firth of Clyde, though this was abandoned after only twenty years in AD 163.

In spite of these efforts, the northern tribes were never completely subdued or brought under the Pax Romana and there were numerous uprisings throughout the second century AD. Matters came to a head in AD 182, when the then Governor of Britain, Clodius Albinus, proclaimed himself Emperor of the Roman Empire and took a large part of the British garrison to Gaul, where he was eventually defeated by his rival Septimius Severus.

Despite a significant bribe to maintain the peace, the Maetae tribe north of Hadrian’s Wall took advantage of the Romans’ absence by launching a series of raids and destroying large parts of the fortifications.

In AD 197 the new Emperor Severus sent commissioners north to rebuild the wall and re-establish control—although archaeological evidence shows continued fighting around this period. The exact sequence of events is unclear, but the Sixth Victorious Legion was based in York—the Roman city of Eboracum—at this time, and the Emperor himself finally came to Britain to suppress the uprising in AD 208.

Hadrian’s Wall wasn’t abandoned by the Roman Empire until the early fifth century. Consequently, although we know that there was a Caledonian rebellion, and it affected the real forts of Coria—Corbridge—and Cilurnum—Chesters—which feature in this story, all the specific incidents and characters are fictionalised.

I’ve tried to keep place names accurate—Lindum is Lincoln—but to avoid confusion I’ve referred to the collective northern tribes simply as Caledonians, although there was an actual Caledonii tribe in central Scotland, in addition to the Maetae, Picts and Selgovae, to name just a few.

As the heroine’s hair colour is an important aspect of the story, it’s also worth noting that several Roman sources, including Tacitus’s Agricola, describe the northern tribes as having red hair.

Chapter One
North Britannia, AD 197

‘Halt!’

Livia woke with a gasp, startled back to her senses by the shout. With a lurch, the carriage rolled to a standstill, jolting her forward on the bench at the same moment as she heard a dull clanking of armour and a heavy thud outside, like dozens of feet all stamping the ground at once.

Quickly, she pulled herself upright, tightening her arms around the four-year-old girl asleep in her lap. To her amazement, their unscheduled halt hadn’t disturbed her, though Livia had the ominous feeling that something was about to.

‘What’s happening? Are we under attack?’

Porcia, her maidservant sitting opposite, sounded on the verge of hysteria. Despite the presence of an armed escort, the girl had been a bundle of nerves ever since leaving Lindum a month ago. Perhaps with good reason, Livia thought grimly. Her own anxieties had been gathering in strength the closer they travelled to Coria, though for very different reasons.

And now this! Whatever this was... She felt a shiver of fear, as if an icy claw had pierced its way through her chest and was clutching her heart, making her feel cold all over.

‘I don’t think so.’ She leaned over, trying to see out of the carriage window, but whatever was happening was taking place at the head of their small procession. ‘I don’t hear any fighting.’

‘What if it’s Caledonians?’

‘They’re on the other side of the wall. This side is under the Pax Romana, remember?’

‘Barely.’ Porcia’s bottom lip trembled. ‘They say only savages live this far north.’

‘Who say so?’

‘Civilised people. Romans...like us.’

‘Like us.’ Livia repeated the words sceptically. ‘Well then, it must be true.’

Not that now was the time to be debating the merits of Roman society with her maidservant, she admonished herself, though somehow the words themselves gave her courage, forcing the claw to relax its grip slightly. If civilised Roman society said that she ought to be afraid then she’d be more than happy to prove civilisation wrong.

In any case, there were still no sounds of combat, no clamour of weapons or shouting. If they were really under attack from Caledonians or outlaws, surely they’d know it by now?

‘Stay here. I’ll go and see what’s happening.’ She slid herself out from beneath the sleeping child. ‘Take care of Julia for me.’

‘Shouldn’t we wake her...just in case?’

‘No.’

Livia shook her head emphatically, bending over to press a kiss into the spiral curls of the little girl’s hair. It was every bit as wild and untamed as hers had been at that age, as well as the same shade of blazing copper red, a legacy from her own mother that she wished Julia might have avoided.

If only her daughter could have had dark hair like Julius, she thought regretfully. If only Julia could have looked anything at all like him, then mother and daughter might never have been in their current perilous situation. Julia might have been a rich heiress and she an independent widow, safe from her brother—half-brother, she corrected herself—Tarquinius and his scheming. Strange how great a difference something as trivial as hair colour could have on a person’s life...

She straightened up again, dismissing the thought as unhelpful. Now wasn’t the time for regrets. Now she had bigger problems to worry about and she had to be brave for her daughter as well as her terrified maid.

‘There’s nothing to worry about, I’m sure of it.’

She squeezed Porcia’s hand reassuringly and then climbed down from the carriage, glad to be out of the confined space for a while, no matter what the circumstances. It was more comfortable than horseback, better for Julia, too, but her muscles were still cramped and stiff from so much prolonged inactivity. Cautiously, she looked around, searching for some sign of an enemy attack, but there was none. On the contrary, it was hard to imagine a more peaceful, springlike scene than the one before her. The sun was high in a cloudless sky and shining for the first time in days, warming the air and giving the woodland road along which they were travelling a fresh, almost sparkling appearance. The trees on either side were starting to bud, too, if not yet bloom, and the birds within chirruping loudly, as if to celebrate the fact that the long, hard winter was finally coming to an end.

It was a whole different world to the makeshift camp they’d left, shivering and cold that morning, as if some enchantment had fallen over the carriage during her brief nap, turning the hours into weeks. But then time seemed to have been working differently during the seemingly endless days of their journey north. Hardly surprising when they were travelling as far from Rome as they could possibly go, following the great road beyond Eboracum to the very limits of the Empire and the great wall built less than a century before by the Emperor Hadrian—a massive eighty-mile structure stretching from one side of the country to the other.

Despite the relentless pace of their journey, however, there’d been days when she’d had the uneasy feeling they might be travelling for ever, trapped in some never-ending loop. Then again, there’d been days when she’d hoped that they might never arrive in Coria, one of the northernmost settlements of the frontier. Being sent to marry a stranger of her half-brother’s choosing wasn’t an experience she’d relished the first time. It certainly hadn’t been one that she’d wanted to repeat, yet now it was happening all over again, barely two months after Julius’s funeral, as if her past were repeating itself in the present and she was powerless to do anything to stop it.

How many more times would Tarquinius use her as a bargaining tool? she wondered. How many more times must she be humiliated? Bad enough that he had so much power over her life, but now he was controlling Julia’s, too. Her only hope was that her new husband might prove a different kind of man to Julius. If not, then it was surely only a matter of time before her second marriage turned just as sour as her first... If he did prove to be different, however, then there was still hope. If he turned out to be good and honourable, then perhaps she could talk to him, perhaps even tell him the whole truth about herself before Tarquinius got a chance to interfere.

Of course, that was supposing they survived their current danger and made it to Coria in the first place. Not that it sounded very dangerous, she reassured herself, heading around the front of the carriage in search of Tullus, the leader of the small band of men entrusted with delivering her safely to her new husband. She could already hear his voice at the front of her escort, talking calmly enough—in Latin, too, which was another good sign—though oddly without his usual bravado.

She caught sight of his back at last and then stopped, rooted to the spot in amazement at the view before her. The road was blocked by tens upon tens of Roman soldiers, a whole century of them by the look of it, all standing in perfect formation and dressed in full military regalia, shields and spears at the ready, as if they were marching into battle. They looked even more impressive and imposing than the ones she’d seen on parade in Lindum, their burnished shoulder plates and polished helms gleaming like molten gold in the spring sunshine. And there at the front, wearing a transversely plumed helmet that immediately signalled him out as a Centurion, stood their leader, the man—surely it had to be him—that she’d come to marry.

‘Oh!’

She didn’t intend to utter the exclamation aloud, but it came out anyway, too loud in the silence that greeted her arrival, and the Centurion’s gaze shifted towards her, sweeping briefly over the long folds of her stola before their eyes met and held. For a few moments he didn’t move. Then he inclined his head, courteously enough, though his gaze never left hers. His eyes were dark, she noticed, like pools of black tar, deep and mysterious and compelling, though the expression in them looked strangely arrested.

‘Livia Valeria?’ He broke the silence at last.

‘Yes.’

This time her voice sounded too quiet as she forced her feet to move forward again. She couldn’t think of a single other thing to say either. How was she supposed to greet the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with? A simple Ave seemed insufficient.

‘I trust that you’ve had a good journey, lady?’

‘Yes,’ she repeated, wincing inwardly at the repetition. ‘At least, as good as we might have hoped for in springtime.’

He glanced up at the sky. ‘The weather’s been milder than usual.’

‘Ye—True.’

She corrected herself just in time, tucking her red curls back behind her ears self-consciously. In her haste to discover what was happening outside, she’d left her palla behind in the carriage, leaving her hair uncovered. Now she felt uncomfortably exposed, wishing she’d brought a shawl to cover her stola as well. The silken fabric felt too thin and flimsy in front of so many men, but then she’d dressed to impress her new husband, just as Tarquinius had instructed her to...

As awkward as their first encounter felt, however, at least this got it over with quickly. It wasn’t exactly the way or the place that she’d expected to meet him, on a woodland road in the middle of nowhere, but perhaps it was as good as any. She’d sent a rider ahead with news of their imminent arrival the day before, though she hadn’t expected any response. Having never met him in person—Tarquinius not having considered a meeting necessary prior to their marriage—she’d had no idea what he thought of their union, but surely this had to be a good sign, his coming to greet her with an honour guard of soldiers.

‘Are we close to the wall?’ She asked the first question that sprang into her mind.

‘About ten miles away.’

‘So close? Then we should be there before nightfall.’

‘Even sooner. It’s barely half a day’s march from here, lady. We’ll get you there for dinner.’

‘Thank you.’

She smiled nervously and he reached up to remove his helmet, revealing a head of light brown hair, close-cropped like most soldiers’, above a ruggedly handsome face, with prominent cheekbones, a slightly crooked nose that looked as if it must have been broken at some point and a resolute-looking jaw. Judging by the ingrained frown lines between his brows, he didn’t smile very often, but taken as a whole his face was stern, not cruel, as if whatever burden he carried—and she had the sudden conviction that he carried something—was his alone.

He wasn’t as young as she’d feared he might be either. Tarquinius had said that he was newly enrolled in the army, but the man before her looked both older and more experienced, closer to her own age of twenty-four than that of a raw recruit. The realisation was both a relief and a fresh source of anxiety. After marriage to a man almost three times her age, the last thing she’d wanted was to go to the other extreme and marry a boy—something this soldier most definitely wasn’t—though there was something powerfully disconcerting about him, too.

There was his sheer size, to begin with. Even without his helmet he was as tall as the next tallest of his men, with broad shoulders and, she couldn’t help but notice, an almost equally wide torso. Then there was his overtly military appearance. His long blue cloak, trimmed with a yellow band and fastened at the front with a bronze fibula, was swept back over his shoulders, revealing a contoured breastplate and metal greaves over a pair of form-fitting braccae that only emphasised his muscular thighs. He’d placed his oval shield to one side, but he was still holding a spear, allowing her a glimpse of hefty forearms decorated with bronze armillae, decorations for valour, as well as an intricate silver scabbard on the left side of his belt, paired by a dangerous-looking dagger and three-foot-long vitis on the right.

She curled her fingers into her palms, beset by a confusing blend of emotions. Ironically, now that she’d discovered they weren’t in any danger, she felt as though she were under a different kind of attack. Her legs felt as weak and tremulous as if she’d just run a race and she felt too hot all over, as if it were the middle of summer and not a mild spring day. Julius had never made her feel this way, not even at the start of their marriage, as if her abdomen were full of tiny, fluttering butterflies, each of them beating their wings in unison. She’d never been so keenly physically aware of another person. Could this Centurion tell? Was it obvious?

It felt obvious, as if her body’s shameful reaction were writ clear on her face for everyone to see, but at least he was her betrothed, the man she’d come to marry. That was her one consolation. If he’d been anyone else, she might surely have died of shame on the spot.

‘I’m honoured to meet you, Lucius Scaevola.’ She addressed him by name at last. ‘We’re grateful for your escort.’

Chapter Two

The Centurion didn’t answer at first, his only reaction being a slight tightening of his jaw muscles, and Livia felt a hot pink flush spread up over her cheeks and into her hairline until surely the skin beneath clashed with her curls. Had she displeased him by speaking? Staring into those deep, dark eyes, she had no idea what he was thinking, but surely she hadn’t said anything so shocking?

‘Pardon, lady—’ his stern features became even sterner than before ‘—but my name is Marius Varro, Second Centurion of the Fourth Cohort of the Sixth Legion. I’m here to escort you and your men the rest of the way to Coria.’

‘Varro?’

Her voice seemed to have abandoned her again, emerging as a stricken whisper while she stared at him in dismay. His name was Varro? For some inexplicable reason, it hadn’t occurred to her that he might not be her future husband. She’d simply assumed that he’d be the man who’d come to greet her—and then once she’d seen him she hadn’t thought to question his identity at all. Perhaps because she hadn’t wanted to.

She closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. As it turned out, it wasn’t actually possible to die from shame and mortification, or disappointment for that matter, though continuing to talk to him at that moment seemed just as terrible.

‘You mean...’ somehow she forced her eyelids open ‘...you’re not Lucius Scaevola?’

‘No, lady.’ His tone was brisk now, as if he were trying to dispel her embarrassment. ‘He’s waiting for you in Coria.’

‘Oh... I see.’

She stiffened at the sound of Tullus smirking beside her, obviously enjoying the scene. No doubt he’d enjoy telling Tarquinius about it, too, at some later date. They could both laugh at her together... She felt her insides plummet, the ball of tension she’d carried all the way from Lindum curling up like a fist in her belly. But what was one more humiliation, after all? Where men were concerned, she’d already experienced so many. She ought to be immune to the feeling by now, though having this Centurion be a witness to it made her feel even worse somehow.

‘Is something amusing?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, sir.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’d prefer to walk for a while.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes, sir!’

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

‘Have you changed your mind, lady?’

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

‘Not at all.’

‘As you wish.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes...thank you.’

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

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

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

‘No.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘None that I know of.’

‘Is he unwell?’

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

‘No, lady.’

‘Oh.’

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

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

‘What is he like?’

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

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

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

‘Can’t or won’t?’

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

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

‘A tribune?’

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

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

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

‘No, I suppose not.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

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

Chapter Three

What kind of man was Lucius Scaevola?

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

What kind of a man was he?

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

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

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

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

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

‘I don’t know.’

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

A Caledonian rebellion, for a start.

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

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

‘All we can do is stay alert.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Whatever you need, sir.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘In time for what, sir?’

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

‘A brother-in-law?’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Thank you, sir.’

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

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

‘We’ll stop here for a while.’ He raised a hand, bringing the column to a halt. ‘Tell the men to get something to eat.’

‘Already, sir?’ Pulex looked faintly surprised. ‘Shall I send out some scouts?’

‘No.’ He frowned at his own order. Usually that would be the first thing he’d do, but today his priorities seemed to have shifted. ‘Post sentries, but keep the men here as protection.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He waited for Pulex to walk away before turning his attention back to the carriage. Scaevola’s bride was already climbing down, accompanied by a girl of around fifteen with waist-length black hair, a winsome face and the expression of a startled deer—a slave or a maid most likely. Seconds later, another smaller figure followed them, a child with flaming red hair around a face that looked strikingly familiar, an almost identical miniature of the one he’d seen earlier. He felt a jolt of surprise, his feet moving before he’d even ordered them to.

Nerva hadn’t mentioned anything about a child.

‘Centurion?’ The woman regarded him steadily as he approached. She seemed to have recovered from her earlier distress, though there was a distinct wariness in her manner now.

‘Lady.’ He was irritated by how stern his voice sounded, but he needed an explanation at least.

‘This is my maidservant, Porcia...’ she gestured to the black-haired girl before placing her hands firmly on the child’s shoulders ‘...and this is my daughter, Julia.’

‘Daughter?’

‘Yes.’ Her gaze flickered slightly. ‘Is that a problem, Centurion?’

He didn’t answer for a few moments. Was it a problem? Not for him, but Scaevola was another matter. Was this something else the fool hadn’t bothered to tell Nerva or didn’t he know himself? Marius had the discomforting suspicion that it was more likely the latter. He wouldn’t be pleased, that much was certain... He was still considering what to say when he noticed the girl’s frightened expression.

‘It’s not a problem at all, lady.’ He crouched down, bringing his face level with the child’s. ‘I just wasn’t aware that we had such an important guest travelling with us. Pardon my neglect. Are you enjoying the journey?’

‘No.’ The girl pressed her cheek against her mother’s skirt. ‘It’s too long.’

‘It is.’ He nodded in agreement. ‘When I first came to Britannia I thought the road north would never end, but it’s a great honour to come here. Not many Romans ever get to see the great wall. Even our new Emperor hasn’t yet. You’re very lucky.’

The girl smiled shyly and then leaned forward, studying his face with a serious expression. ‘Are you my new father?’

‘Me?’ The words almost made him tumble backwards in surprise. Apparently both mother and daughter had a knack for asking difficult questions. ‘No, my name’s Marius.’

‘I’m Julia.’

‘That’s pretty. You know our new Empress has the same name. Should I call you Empress, too?’

She giggled and he inclined his head with a feeling of satisfaction. At least he’d made someone feel better. ‘But now you need to stretch your legs and eat. We have tack biscuits and dried bacon.’

‘Perhaps I can offer something else?’

The woman sounded different all of a sudden and he looked up, surprised to find that she was smiling as well. It made her look even more alluring and his sense of satisfaction increased tenfold.

‘We have olives and bread, baked fresh in Vindomora yesterday.’

‘That sounds delicious.’ He stood up to face her again. ‘I haven’t had olives for a month.’

‘Then we’d be happy to share, wouldn’t we, Julia?’

The girl nodded and skipped happily away, following the maidservant around the back of the carriage.

‘You have a good manner with children.’ The woman was still smiling at him. ‘Do you have many of your own?’

‘None.’ He stifled a bark of laughter at the very suggestion. ‘But I like children. They see the world in a different way to adults.’

‘Maybe in a better way.’ Her face clouded for a moment and then cleared again as Porcia and Julia came back with a basket, spreading a blanket over the ground beside them. ‘Will you join us?’

Marius threw a quick glance over his shoulder towards his legionaries. There would be comments later if he sat down to eat with a woman. Not in his hearing, perhaps, but it didn’t take long for gossip to spread round a camp. He wasn’t known for being sociable at the best of times, especially with women. But surely there was no harm in a short respite...

‘I won’t ask any more awkward questions, I promise.’

The obvious embarrassment in her voice decided him. Clearly she thought it was her earlier behaviour making him hesitate and he felt the strange need to reassure her.

‘Then I’d be glad to, lady.’

‘Livia.’ She sat down on the blanket, curling her legs up beside her and tucking her stola beneath. ‘Mother of the Empress Julia.’

‘Livia,’ he repeated. He liked the name, not to mention the way her tongue flicked to the front of her mouth as she pronounced it. ‘Then you may call me Marius.’

Her lips curved again and he crouched down on his haunches beside her. That seemed a reasonable compromise. He wasn’t sitting down, not exactly, and if anyone asked—not that anyone beside Pulex would dare—he could say that they’d simply been discussing the journey.

‘She seems like a good child.’ He gestured towards the girl, leaping and dancing around the moorland now like an animal newly released from a cage.

‘She is.’

‘How old?’

‘Four years last autumn.’

‘You’re a widow?’

‘As opposed to?’ Her smile vanished and he winced at his own tactlessness.

‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to imply anything else.’

She gave him a long look and then shrugged. ‘It’s all right. At my age I suppose I could just as easily have been divorced.’

He lifted an eyebrow at the words. A lady didn’t usually mention her age, let alone the possibility of divorce. The laws around marriage had been tightened considerably over recent years, so that a man could no longer readily divorce his wife unless he could prove adultery, but for some reason he didn’t want to think about that.

‘Have you been widowed long?’

‘Two months.’

‘Only two?’

He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice. If Scaevola had arrived in Coria a month ago and the betrothal had been arranged before he’d left Lindum then it meant that her brother must have betrothed her within weeks of her husband’s death.

‘Only two.’ She repeated the words quietly, though with a distinct edge of bitterness.

He frowned at the implication. Bad enough that she was being sent to marry Scaevola, but to betroth her while she was still in mourning... He felt a flicker of anger towards the unseen brother. What kind of man would do such a thing?

‘You looked surprised when you saw Julia.’ She sounded anxious this time. ‘Weren’t you expecting her?’

He hesitated briefly and then shook his head. So much for not asking awkward questions...

‘No, but I only received my orders this morning. Perhaps it was simply an oversight.’

‘It wasn’t.’ She clasped her hands together in her lap with an air of conviction. ‘My brother must not have mentioned her.’

‘I understand it was your brother who arranged the betrothal.’ He wondered what on earth was compelling him to pursue the subject.

‘Yes.’ She gave a bleak-sounding laugh. ‘He knows an opportunity when he sees one. But I suppose there’s no turning back now...’

He felt an obscure sense of discomfort. The wistful note in her voice made the words sound like a question, as if she were actually asking him to let her turn back, to let her escape.

Escape? The word entered his head unexpectedly, increasing his sense of unease, though he resented its meaning. He wasn’t her captor and Coria wasn’t a prison. He was only following his orders, escorting her to a new life with a new husband, that was all. There was no coercion or force on his part. If anything, he was protecting her. There was certainly no need for him to feel guilty, even if something about her made him feel strangely defensive.

‘Is that what you want, to turn back?’ He asked the question before he could think better of it and saw her eyes widen with a look of surprise.

‘Yes...no... I don’t know.’ She looked and sounded genuinely torn. ‘That is, I want to see the wall. I’ve always wanted to see it, ever since I was a little girl...but not like this.’ She clamped her lips together as if she were trying to stop herself from saying something else and then couldn’t resist, her blue-green eyes blazing with sparks of defiance as the words seemed to burst out of her. ‘As for Lucius Scaevola, I wish he’d never come to Lindum. I wish he’d never set foot inside my brother’s tavern. Most of all, I wish I’d never heard his name!’

Chapter Four

‘We’re almost there, lady.’

Livia pulled back the window curtain at the sound of Marius’s voice. He was walking beside the carriage, looking no different to the way he had earlier, as if the day’s march had been nothing more than a light stroll. His uniform still looked pristine, without so much as a speck of dust on it. How was that possible?

‘You mean Coria?’

‘Take a look.’

He gestured ahead and she craned her head out of the window, surprised to see that they were already entering the outskirts of a small town. There were shops and stalls and taverns as well as several stone villas, more than she would have expected at such a remote outpost.

‘Most visitors from the south are surprised.’ Marius gave her a knowing look. ‘But not everyone here is a legionary.’

‘But I thought it was a fortress?’

‘It is. Over there.’ He pointed down the street towards a tall stone palisade fronted by two massive watchtowers. ‘This is just the vicus, the town that’s grown up around it.’

‘What about the great wall? Is it behind the fort?’

‘No, lady, we’re still two miles from the wall. Coria is a base for the Sixth Legion, four cohorts of it anyway. The forts along the wall are manned by auxiliaries.’

‘Auxiliaries?’ She didn’t understand the distinction. ‘What are those?’

‘Soldiers who aren’t citizens.’

‘You mean they aren’t Roman?’ She looked at him in surprise. ‘Then why do they man the wall? Why fight for Rome?’

‘To gain their citizenship—’ he gave her a strange look as if the answer ought to be obvious ‘—once they’ve served their twenty-five years like the rest of us.’

‘So they do all the hard work while you sit back here?’

‘Not exactly.’ His expression slipped into a frown. ‘The legion was sent back from Gaul by Emperor Severus to restore those parts of the wall damaged by the northern invasion a few years ago. That means hundreds of men doing building work and providing military support where necessary. Believe me, none of us gets to sit back and do nothing.’

‘Oh...no, I suppose not.’

She bit her tongue, already regretting the words. It had been an insulting, not to mention revealing, thing to have said, and she didn’t want to offend him—or to provoke his suspicions either. After his earlier kindness to Julia she owed him better than that and criticising the Empire wasn’t an intelligent thing to do under any circumstances. The way she’d denounced Scaevola earlier had been incriminating enough, but she hadn’t been able to contain her anger at her own sense of powerlessness any longer. Still, if Marius repeated the words... Not that she thought he would. As stern as he seemed, there was something inherently trustworthy about him, or at least she thought there was. Then again, she’d been wrong about a man she’d trusted before.

‘I’m sorry.’ She adopted what she hoped was a suitably apologetic expression. ‘I’m just disappointed. I’d hoped I might get to see it today.’

That was true. Despite everything, she was still excited by the thought of catching her first glimpse of the wall and the land beyond it.

‘Indeed.’ He still sounded offended.

‘Can you see it from Coria?’

‘No, the landscape’s too hilly.’

‘Then do you think I might be allowed to visit?’

He gave her a sidelong look, as if surprised by her interest. ‘I think that might be up to your husband, lady.’

She grimaced, unwilling to talk about what her new husband would or would not let her do. After her earlier mistake, she felt more nervous than ever about meeting him. Loath as she was to admit it, she had the disturbing suspicion that no other man could possibly measure up to the one she’d thought that he was...

A soldier in one of the watchtowers called out a greeting as they entered the gateway and she pulled her head back inside the carriage, smiling at Porcia, though to her surprise, the girl didn’t look happy.

‘What’s the matter? We’ve arrived safely at last.’

‘Yes, but...’ Her maid leaned forward, as if she were afraid of being overheard. ‘What about you? What if it all happens again?’

What if...? She felt a ripple of panic start in her chest and begin to spread outwards, coursing through her veins like poison. There was no point in pretending that she didn’t understand Porcia’s meaning. She’d been thinking the same thing ever since they’d left Lindum, desperately hoping that Tarquinius was only marrying her off to be rid of her this time, without any ulterior motive. Now that she knew who her intended was, however, she had to admit that seemed unlikely. No doubt her brother had big plans for Lucius Scaevola in the future. And if he didn’t comply then Tarquinius would have no qualms about blackmailing him as well... Another ripple of panic spread outwards... And since her new husband wouldn’t be able to vent his anger on anyone else, it would all fall on her again, just as it had with Julius.

What if it did all happen again?

She shook her head helplessly. So much depended on her new husband’s character, on him being willing or able to stand up to Tarquinius. Both her and Julia’s futures depended on it.

Nervously, she peered out of the window again. They were inside the fort now, rolling down the Via Praetoria between storerooms, barracks and granaries towards the Via Principalis and what looked like the military headquarters, a huge stone building with a column-framed courtyard at the front.

‘Are we here, Mama?’

Julia lifted her head from the bench, yawning, as they turned away from the headquarters and rolled to a halt in front of a large villa.

‘Yes, love.’ She wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, pulling her close. ‘We’re here.’

‘Is this our house?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘This is the Legionary Legate’s house,’ Marius interjected, already opening the carriage door. ‘My orders were to escort you here.’

‘Then I thank you for your escort, Centurion.’

She spoke formally as she took his proffered hand and stepped down, trying to ignore the way her breath caught and then quickened as their fingers touched. Standing so close, her nostrils filled with his scent of leather and sandalwood, she felt as though all her insides were performing a series of unwonted contortions. She could sense his body heat, too, radiating through his mail shirt, though perhaps that was just her own blood heating in response to his proximity. Every part of her skin seemed to be tingling, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, as if his hands were moving all over her body and not merely grasping her fingers.

She swallowed as her heart seemed to sink and do somersaults at the same time. She’d spent her time in the carriage trying to convince herself that her earlier reaction to him had all been a mistake, a reaction to the tension of the past few days, and yet holding his hand now, the feeling seemed ten times as strong, as if denial had only magnified her body’s response. If it were nerves, then it didn’t feel like any nerves she recognised. It felt strangely, shockingly, inappropriately pleasurable. How could it still when she knew that he wasn’t the man she’d come to marry?

She peeked up at him, but he was staring straight ahead at the villa, as if he felt no reaction to her at all. Perhaps he didn’t. It was hard to imagine such a powerful emotion being entirely one-sided, but judging by the severity of his expression, it clearly was. Which was a good thing, she told herself. If he felt the same then it would only make things more awkward and her earlier mistake had been bad enough.

She drew her fingers away, pulling her palla over her head as he turned to lift Julia down from the carriage, making a small bow as he did so, as if she truly were an empress. She smiled at her daughter’s delighted reaction. Even if she never saw him again, which she supposed was quite likely given the size of the fort, she’d remember him for that kindness. The rest of it she would try to forget, not just for her sake, but for that of her new husband. No good could come of dwelling on what-might-have-beens, on what her future might have been if Marius Varro had been the man she’d come to marry.

They started up the steps of the villa together, Julia in the middle like a shield keeping them apart. It made Livia no less physically aware of him, but at least it made the cause of her flushed cheeks less obvious. Now if she could just keep her daughter between them while she bade him farewell...

No sooner had the thought entered her head than the little girl tripped, sprawling forward on to the hard granite steps. Instinctively, she sprang forward to catch her, only to find Marius there at the same time, so that they both caught an elbow and lifted her up before she could hurt herself. Livia threw him a grateful look, but he only nodded sternly, waiting for her to move ahead before dropping unobtrusively to one side, though staying close enough to reach them, she noticed, in case Julia stumbled again. For some reason, his presence there made her feel better, as if he were protecting them both.

‘Ah, Livia Valeria.’ An aristocratic-looking man dressed in a pristine white toga decorated with a purple band appeared in the villa doorway, bowing his head in greeting. ‘I’m Fabius Augustus Nerva, Legate Legionary of the Sixth Victorious Legion. Welcome to Coria.’

‘Thank you. I’m glad to be here.’ She bent her own head in response. As intimidating as the man looked, she was relieved to find that his expression was welcoming. ‘This is my daughter, Julia.’

She gestured behind her, better prepared this time for the look of surprise that immediately crossed his features. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting a child either.

‘I see.’ Whatever his private thoughts, he recovered himself quickly. ‘Well, we’re always looking for new recruits. Have you come to join the legion, young lady?’

‘Marius says I’m an empress,’ Julia answered seriously.

‘Marius said that?’ The Legate’s eyebrows shot upwards as he threw a swift, questioning look at his Centurion. ‘Well, in that case I await your commands, but first you’d better come inside. My wife has arranged some refreshments after your long journey. You, too, Marius.’

He stepped aside, letting her precede him through the vestibulum and into the atrium beyond. It was a large, airy room with a painting of a garden on one wall and an intricate mosaic of two tigers wrestling on the floor, their claws and teeth bared in ferocious combat. Livia bent her head to study it, so impressed by the intricacy of the design that it took her a few moments to notice the pair of sandalled feet standing at the opposite edge.

‘Oh!’

She exclaimed in alarm, pressing one hand to her chest as she met the critical stare of another, younger man watching her with arms clasped behind his back. Tall and coldly handsome, he looked to be around twenty years of age with short blond hair, piercing blue eyes and an air of arrogant hauteur that seemed to ooze out of every pore. She didn’t need an introduction to know who he was.

‘Ah, Lucius.’ Nerva gave a strained-looking smile. ‘May I present Livia Valeria, your new bride.’

‘I’m honoured to meet you, Lucius Scaevola.’ She felt vividly aware of the contrast with the first time she’d said those words. They were expected of her, but this time she didn’t feel even the tiniest flicker of attraction. Neither, apparently, did he as his gaze flitted over and then past her.

‘She’s older than I expected.’

He spoke in a tone of contempt to Nerva, as if speaking to her directly was beneath his dignity, and she felt the last of her hopes flitter away, replaced by dismay and indignation. Even if she was a few years past the expected age for a bride, he ought not to mention it aloud as if she had neither ears nor feelings.

‘Who is that?’ His gaze homed in on Julia suddenly, his voice turning high-pitched and horrified.

‘That is my daughter.’ She took a step to one side, blocking his view. ‘Julia.’

‘Is this some kind of joke?’ Scaevola drew in a hiss of breath, seeming to rear backwards and upwards at the same time, like a cornered snake rising up on its coils. ‘A daughter? I wasn’t told anything about a child!’

He whirled away from her towards Nerva. ‘Surely I can’t be expected to take on another man’s whelp? It’s preposterous. Just look at her hair! She looks like a Caledonian! A filthy barbarian!’

Livia felt the blood drain from her face, the ball of tension in her chest tightening so fiercely she actually felt winded. She couldn’t speak, only stare, stunned into silence by the insult. Red hair had been fashionable in Rome for a time, years before when the sight of tribespeople from the north had been a novelty, but now it was hardly unique. There were plenty of red-headed citizens scattered throughout the Empire, though she’d heard that some Romans still regarded it as a sign of barbarism. Not that she’d ever heard such prejudices expressed quite so blatantly nor so vehemently before. Even Julius had only looked his disapproval, but then he’d liked her hair at first. He’d called it her crowning glory before he’d turned it into yet another reason to hate her.

A faint sobbing sound emanating from behind her skirts forced self-pity aside and she curled her hands into fists as a rush of maternal fury overcame shock. Insulting her was one thing. Insulting her daughter was a different matter entirely!

‘We’re Roman.’ She pulled her palla back from her head, unveiling her own copper-red curls. If Julia was going to be condemned for her hair colour, then they’d be condemned together. ‘Just like you.’

‘How dare you!’ His expression managed to convey both outrage and horror. ‘You’re nothing like me!’

‘And we deserve your respect!’ She tossed her head deliberately so that the long tresses spilled over her shoulders, speaking with a disdain equal to his own. No matter what else, she wasn’t going to let Julia see her behave with anything other than dignity.

Scaevola’s eyes narrowed to venomous slits before he turned back towards Nerva. ‘How could I ever take a pair like that back to Rome? It’s unthinkable! I’d be the laughing stock of the Senate.’

‘Lucius.’ Nerva’s voice held a warning note, though the younger man seemed not to notice.

‘I won’t do it. I’d rather marry a—’

‘Sir!’

Livia spun around, as startled as everyone else by Marius’s interruption. Despite Nerva’s invitation to join them, he’d kept to one side of the atrium, half-hidden in the shadows, though she’d remained acutely aware of his presence. Even without looking she could somehow sense his proximity. If he’d left, she had a feeling she would have known it.

She hadn’t counted on his coming to her aid, however, and yet that seemed to be exactly what he was doing. He actually looked angry, she noticed with surprise, his jaw a rigidly set line as he eyeballed the other man, though as a centurion he surely had no right to interrupt a tribune. She didn’t know much about the Roman army, but she knew that hierarchy was everything. Judging by the way that Scaevola’s mouth was hanging open, gaping like a landed fish, he could hardly believe it either.

She held her breath, not knowing whether to feel grateful or concerned. As much as she appreciated Marius’s defending her, she didn’t want him to be punished for it. She had enough to worry about already.

‘Centurion?’ Nerva was the first to recover from his surprise.

‘Forgive my interruption, sir.’ Marius sounded as if he were speaking through clenched teeth. ‘But I believe our guests are tired after their journey.’

‘Of course.’ To her amazement, instead of issuing a reprimand, Nerva agreed with him. ‘We can discuss this another time. Don’t you agree, Lucius?’

The Tribune didn’t get a chance to answer as a kindly-looking matron emerged through one of the archways at that moment, her genial smile instantly defusing the tension.

‘Ah, you must be Livia.’ The woman came forward at once, hands outstretched. ‘I wondered what was keeping you all out here. I’m so delighted to meet you.’

‘This is my wife, Hermenia.’ Nerva looked visibly relieved by her arrival. ‘She’ll show you to your room. Under the circumstances, we thought it might be best if you stayed here as our guest for a few days. Until matters are settled.’

‘If they’re settled...’ Lucius sounded faintly rebellious.

‘Thank you.’ Livia clasped the woman’s hands gratefully, feeling as if she’d just been offered a raft in the middle of a storm-tossed ocean. At that moment anything was better than spending any more time with her intended. Not that running away and hiding was going to solve anything, but it would be a welcome respite.

Then she reached an arm behind her, drawing her daughter out from her hiding place. ‘We’d be happy to, wouldn’t we, Julia?’

The older woman’s eyes fell on the girl and a look of understanding swept across her features, followed by a genuine-looking smile.

‘Then come with me.’ She held a hand out to Julia at the same time as she cast a vaguely threatening look towards Scaevola. ‘You can have something to eat and then we’ll find you a nice cosy bed.’

‘Thank you.’ Livia glanced towards Nerva. ‘I appreciate your hospitality.’

‘Think nothing of it. We’ll speak properly tomorrow.’ He sounded sombre. ‘When you’re feeling refreshed.’

‘Yes.’

She didn’t know how else to answer, her gaze darting past him towards Lucius and then Marius. Standing on different sides of the room, the two men looked like complete opposites. She knew what one of them thought of her—he’d made his opinion abundantly obvious—but as for the other...

Marius’s expression was stern again, even sterner than it had been on their journey. His anger seemed to have faded and yet there was an air of danger about him, as if he’d only restrained, not overcome, his temper. Even so, she couldn’t help but wish that she’d guessed the identity of her new husband correctly the first time. Instead he’d been the one to come to her rescue against her real intended, a man who appeared to be even more loathsome than Julius. She hadn’t thought it possible that her second husband could be any worse than her first, but apparently it was.

She dropped her gaze at the thought and fled.

Chapter Five

‘I won’t do it!’ Scaevola’s eyes glittered with anger as he stormed up and down the atrium.

‘You made an agreement with her brother.’ Nerva’s usual unruffled demeanour was severely ruffled. ‘If you refuse to go through with the marriage then he’ll have grounds against you.’

‘Better that than dishonour my family.’

‘You’re the one who’s brought dishonour on your family!’ Nerva’s tone was distinctly unsympathetic. ‘Drinking and gambling and who knows what else. Your father would be appalled.’

‘He still wouldn’t want me to marry a barbarian!’

Marius gritted his teeth at the insult. The combined effort of biting his tongue and restraining his temper was becoming more and more difficult, but unless he wanted to end up demoted, or worse, it was also necessary. His earlier interruption had been bad enough. Arguing with a superior officer was strictly forbidden, even when the officer in question had nothing superior about him. He wasn’t exactly sure what had come over him, except that the callous way Scaevola had insulted Livia and her daughter had enraged him to the point that he would gladly have given a year’s pay for the chance to beat the living daylights out of him.

In all honesty, he still would. It was bad enough that Livia was going to marry such a man—the very thought of which made him inordinately, inappropriately furious—but from what she’d told him earlier, she was still in mourning for her first husband. What kind of brother would force his sister to marry again while she was grieving? What kind of man would even concoct such a scheme, debt or no debt? Everything about it felt wrong.

‘If you’re so worried about your family honour, why don’t you ask your father to pay the debt?’ Nerva fixed Scaevola with a hard stare.

‘Because he would refuse.’ The Tribune’s eyes dropped to his sandals. ‘He already told me there’d be no more money before I left Rome.’

‘Then as I see it, you’ve no choice. I suggest that you either apologise to your new bride and hope that she forgives you or prepare to stand trial.’

‘Her brother wouldn’t dare to accuse me of anything!’ Scaevola blustered. ‘He knows who I am.’

‘I’m sure he does, but do you know who he is?’ Nerva held up a hand before the youth could answer. ‘He’s a powerful man in Lindum and you’re a long way from Rome. Your family name won’t protect you this far away. Now I suggest that you take the night to consider your choices. Try staying sober for once.’

Lucius gave an angry snort, his handsome features contorting with malice as he turned and almost walked into Marius. ‘As for you, Centurion, you had no right interrupting me earlier.’

‘You’re absolutely right, sir.’ Marius folded his arms pointedly. ‘I didn’t.’

‘Insolent dog! I ought to have you whipped.’

‘If there’s any whipping to be done then it will be on my authority, not yours!’ The last vestiges of Nerva’s self-control seemed to snap. ‘You deserved to be interrupted. Don’t ever insult a lady in my presence again, do you understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now get out. I’m sick of the sight of you.’

Marius lifted his chin, meeting Scaevola’s glare with a hard look of his own as the latter stormed out of the room.

‘I apologise, sir.’ He unfolded his arms again as he turned to face his commander.

‘For which part?’ Nerva gave him a barbed look. ‘The interruption or the insolence afterwards? He’s right—you ought to be disciplined.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I ought to have you whipped.’

‘Whatever you think best, sir.’

The Legate held his gaze for a long moment before waving a hand dismissively. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’d rather have Scaevola whipped, no matter what his father might say, but what on earth possessed you? I’ve never seen you behave that way to a senior officer before.’

Marius shrugged his shoulders non-committally. He’d never concealed anything from Nerva before, but he could hardly tell him the truth, that he’d resented the other man’s treatment of Livia. Or that, even now, he could hardly stop thinking about her. Even though she’d left, he could still picture every detail of her face: her patchwork of freckles, her sharply curved brows and, most of all, those luminous eyes fringed with dark lashes so long they seemed to caress her rounded cheeks.

When she’d pulled her palla back, proudly unveiling the mass of her burnished red curls, he’d found himself half-wanting to cheer, half to bury his face in them. The way she’d stood up to Scaevola had made him want to bury himself in other places, too, not that he ought to think about that. He ought not to think about those places at all. Even if he couldn’t seem to help himself. The way that she’d looked and acted had been nothing short of spectacular. He’d never desired a woman more in his life.

He cleared his throat at the thought. ‘Scaevola just seems to bring out the worst in me, sir.’

‘He does in all of us. We’ll be lucky if the fool doesn’t start a mutiny. Half the legionaries already want to stab him in the back, or so I’ve heard.’

‘I couldn’t comment, sir.’

‘No, of course not.’ Nerva gave him a penetrating look. ‘Although I do expect you to inform me if the situation deteriorates any further.’

‘I will, sir.’

‘Good. Now tell me about the woman.’ Nerva gestured for Marius to follow him into the villa, leading the way past the colonnaded courtyard to his office. ‘Not exactly a blushing young bride, is she?’

‘No, sir.’ The words made him strangely defensive. ‘I suppose not.’

‘You’ve had a chance to speak with her. What do you think?’

‘I don’t dislike her, sir.’

He didn’t trust himself to say any more. None of his thoughts were exactly appropriate for sharing. Admittedly, she wasn’t young, in marital terms anyway, and she certainly hadn’t been blushing that evening. She’d looked more like a ghost when Lucius had insulted her. And he definitely didn’t dislike her.

‘And there’s a child...’ Nerva closed his office door behind them. ‘Well, Scaevola’s right about one thing. His father will be furious when he finds out.’

‘Couldn’t you lend Scaevola the money, sir?’ It was an indelicate question, but one Marius felt compelled to ask for her sake.

‘I’ve thought about it.’ Nerva threw a quick glance at the doorway. ‘But it’s a considerable amount and, between you and me, his father’s a hard enough man to get money out of in person. From this distance, I’d be lucky to see so much as a denarius again. No, the boy’s made his own bed. He’ll just have to lie in it.’

‘What about her, sir?’ The mention of bed made Marius’s temper rise again.

‘What do you mean?’ Nerva’s brow furrowed. ‘She’s here willingly, isn’t she?’

‘I don’t think she had much choice in the matter. And even if she did, she might have changed her mind after meeting him.’

‘Who could blame her? But she’s come too far to change her mind now and the last thing I need is her brother turning up with a grievance.’

‘What if—?’

‘No.’ The Legate put up a hand to forestall him. ‘This is Scaevola’s problem, not ours. We’re supposed to be soldiers, not marriage brokers.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Marius straightened his spine at the reminder. That was true. He’d been about to suggest that he escort her back to Lindum and speak with her brother himself, but Nerva was right. It was none of his business. Just as the way Scaevola spoke to her was none of his business. Now that he’d delivered her safely to Coria, she had nothing to do with him, no matter how attractive he found her or how much he didn’t dislike her. He was a soldier first and foremost and he had more important concerns than one woman.

‘Have there been any signs of activity over the wall, sir?’

Nerva arched an eyebrow. ‘Still worrying?’

‘The local tribes are certain that trouble’s brewing. I spoke to some Carvetti farmers on the march this morning. They said they haven’t had sight or sound of anyone from north of the wall for weeks. It’s too quiet.’

‘Quiet is good.’

‘With respect, sir, not if it’s the calm before the storm. With your permission, I’d like to take a patrol north tomorrow.’

‘No.’ Nerva shook his head firmly. ‘Give your men a chance to rest. They work harder than any other century in the legion.’

‘Then let me go, sir.’

‘On your own? It’s far too dangerous.’

‘I could ride to some of the other forts to see if they’ve noticed anything suspicious.’

That was a reasonable request surely. Then he’d be doing his duty and putting some distance between him and Livia at the same time—something which seemed of vital importance suddenly. If he couldn’t keep her out of his mind, then he could keep her out of sight instead.

‘All right.’ Nerva sounded exasperated. ‘I don’t suppose you’ll let the matter drop otherwise, though I very much doubt that the northern tribes will rebel again now we’re back up to fighting strength.’

Marius sighed inwardly. For all his many good points, Nerva was still a Roman through and through. That anyone would dare to challenge Rome’s authority was still a mystery to him. Now that the Legion was back to full force, albeit with half of it still based in Eboracum, he simply assumed that the rebellions of the past few years were over.

‘Believe me, sir, nothing would make me happier than being proved wrong, but I still think we need to investigate.’

‘As long as you’re not looking for problems that don’t exist.’ Nerva gave him a meaningful look. ‘I know you still feel the need to prove yourself.’

He tensed immediately. ‘That has nothing to do with it, sir.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Now go and get some rest.’

‘Yes, sir.’ He paused. ‘What about my punishment, sir?’

‘I think a reprimand ought to be sufficient for now, but don’t let it happen again. Scaevola’s a fool, but he has powerful connections. They might not lend him any money, but they have influence and they enjoy using it.’

Marius didn’t doubt the last part. Powerful men always did—and they’d enjoy nothing more than destroying the son of a disgraced mutineer.

‘I’ll keep away from Scaevola, sir.’

‘Good. Because if you want to be a senior centurion some day then it would be wise not to make an enemy of him.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Marius turned and strode out of the office, unable to shake the feeling that he already had.

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