Forbidden to the Gladiator

by Greta Gilbert

  Cal had discovered the structure the previous day. It was not large: perhaps three dozen persons might have once worshipped in its simple hall, which retained all three of its interior walls. The temple’s columns had not fared as well—only half remained intact, but they were enough to hold up most of the roof, creating a kind of sacred cavern perched at the edge of a lovely river canyon.

  ‘Trajan?’ Arria muttered as she hurried up the stairs. Thankfully, Trajan responded to her call. His plaintive yelp echoed from inside the temple and Cal watched Arria hurry after the noise.

  Cal could not have picked a better moment for Arria to behold the space, for the sun burst out from between the clouds and shone down through the collapsed ceiling on to the bed Cal had fashioned in the temple’s centre. Trajan stood tethered just beside the pillowy mound. He wagged his tail and barked, as if welcoming her.

  ‘What is this?’ Arria exclaimed. She rushed towards the centre of the temple, stepping among the stones and small grasses growing up between the cracks in the ancient floor.

  It had taken Cal all morning to assemble the bed. He had first gathered the tallest grasses he could find—so many that the resulting pile had resembled a tower of hay. Around the soft mast he had piled dozens of heavy stones, then covered the mound with a deer hide he had been softening for weeks. Atop the soft white hide he had lain a bouquet of flowers; beside it, he had tethered the dog.

  Arria bent to her knees and released Trajan from his tether, giving him a loving nuzzle, then stood and stared at the bed for a long while, as if trying to solve the riddle of it.

  ‘Hello, my darling,’ said Cal. She jumped at the sound of his voice, then turned and stifled a shriek. He was walking—no, running—towards her and she towards him. When they met, their bodies crashed together and he embraced her so tightly he feared for her very bones.

  When she finally spoke, her voice was choked. ‘I thought I lost you for ever.’

  * * *

  Her heart was exploding, her skin melting. Her fingers? They were bursting into flame. It was him, really him. His clean, warm skin, his stirring scent, his husky, resonant voice, filling the temple with its music. She could barely contain her joy, but she had to try. This was simply too good to be real.

  Think, Arria.

  For a moment, she was staring up at her would-be suitor, waiting for him to break her heart. ‘How did you find us?’

  ‘I have been with you all the while. I needed to know that you were safe.’

  Ah, there it is, she thought, feeling the weight of truth settle upon her. He has followed me in order to ensure my safety. He has acted out of his sense of duty, that is all.

  She pulled herself from his arms and stepped back. ‘You are an honourable man,’ she said carefully. ‘My family owes you a debt.’

  ‘You saved me from death,’ he said. ‘It is I who owes you a debt.’

  She glanced at the bed, slowly piecing together his intentions. He wished to give her the gift of pleasure in reciprocation for her bravery. How very kind of him.

  ‘Please consider your debt paid,’ she said. He had already declared where his real heart lay: with his wife, where it always had been. She did not want his charity—to share all of his body but none of his heart. She would rather live the rest of her life in a desert than taste a single drop of his pity upon her tongue. She pasted a friendly smile on her face. ‘You do not need to worry. I understand.’

  ‘Understand?’

  ‘About your wife.’

  ‘My wife?’

  ‘That you love her, that nobody will ever take her place.’

  ‘But someone already has,’ said Cal.

  * * *

  He closed the space she had placed between them and pushed an errant curl behind her ear.

  He wanted to remember her like this. Just like this. Staring at him in that cascade of golden sunlight, her cheeks flushed, her long braid a column of carved onyx. He wanted this memory and a thousand others, too. He wanted to fill the rest of his days with this woman.

  ‘But...what you said to my brother...’

  ‘I spoke in anger. I spoke without thought.’

  ‘I do not wish to take your wife’s place.’

  ‘You cannot, for I have put her memory to rest in a small corner of my heart. Whereas your memory...’ He gazed into her eyes. ‘Your memory haunts me at every hour of the day. It colours my thoughts, controls my limbs and keeps my heart beating. Arria, you are all I want.’

  A sheen of tears curtained her eyes. ‘Trajan was not in trouble after all, I see.’ She peered shyly at the dog, who had taken a seat at her feet.

  ‘Trajan was not in trouble, but I fear that I have been since I met you.’ He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He took her hands in his. ‘I have been waiting for you for so long, Arria. I do not think I can last another day.’

  She squeezed his hands. ‘I am so happy—’

  But he did not let her finish.

  He pressed his lips upon hers and was feeling sorry, so very sorry for interrupting her, but not nearly sorry enough to stop. He was a free man and he wished to kiss the woman he loved. Really kiss her.

  He coaxed her mouth open and covered it with his lips, and his longing seemed to explode beneath his skin. He shuddered, pressing harder, feeling the sweet pressure of her response, which only made him shudder more.

  How many miles had he walked imagining this moment? How many mountains climbed and streams forded, picturing her lips locked with his? Too damned many. Now, finally, the moment was here, and he could hardly breathe for wanting her.

  He slid his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, and she gave no resistance as he took her lower lip in his and sucked, savouring her taste. He slid his tongue past her lips and let it languish, basking in his desire for her.

  Her body folded into his. Her breasts pressed beneath the flanks of his chest like twin pillows. He slid his hand on to her buttocks and squeezed, then plunged his tongue into her mouth.

  Dark rivers of Hades, she was not supposed to taste this good, or feel this good, or be this good. She arched up into him, pushing her body more firmly against his. In seconds she had met his tongue with hers and a maddening, erotic swordplay had begun.

  They kissed with growing abandon, their tongues twining, their hot breaths mingling, their lust raging. They tasted and teased, biting and sucking, delighting in every second, as if these were their last moments on earth. Or, perhaps, he thought suddenly, their first.

  Cal stopped to catch his breath. He gazed down at her. ‘I feared that I would never be able to get you alone.’

  ‘I feared that you did not wish to get me alone,’ she said.

  The sunlight blanketed her face and it occurred to him that he had never seen her more clearly. Her big, brown eyes, wide with wonder, her shapely lips, crimson and chafed, her round cheeks and proud nose, the bold set of her gaze, how it seemed to be daring him.

  Where had she come from, this raven-haired goddess? It was as if she had been sent to him with a message: that all his grave vows and dark certainties were but puffs of cloud in an endless sky.

  ‘You rescued me from my death,’ he said.

  ‘I believe it was you who rescued me from my death,’ she said.

  He found a tendril of her hair and curled it around his thumb. ‘Perhaps we saved each other, fy nghariad.’

  ‘What does that mean, fy nghariad?’

  ‘It means my love.’

  ‘My love?’

  ‘I love you, Arria.’

  She blinked and two tears cut twin paths down her cheeks. ‘I confess that I never thought I would ever hear anyone say that.’

  He stroked his finger against her skin, wiping them. ‘I thought you knew. I have loved you for so long. From the moment you cursed me.’ He straightened himself before her. ‘A
nd now I cannot wait any longer for you. I give you my heart, Arria. Will you have it?’

  She cocked her head and he saw her flush as the gravitas of his question overcame her. She straightened her shoulders. ‘Of course I will have it,’ she said, ‘for I love you, too.’

  He gathered the strip of hide with which he had tethered Trajan. ‘Then take my hand.’

  He took her hand in his and wrapped it with the hide, binding their hands together. ‘Arria, you have not only rescued me from death, you have shown me what it means to live. I wish to be with you for all my days, to make myself worthy of you. I wish to show you all the colours of my love.’

  Arria stared at their bound hands, then placed her own hand atop them. ‘Cal, when I was invisible, you saw me. When I was helpless, you defended me. When I was hopeless, you inspired me. You tried to give your life to save mine. I wish to be with you for all my days so that I may pay homage to your beautiful heart.’

  They kissed—a long, slow, tender kiss that seemed to say everything their loving words could not.

  When finally they pulled apart, they gazed into each other’s eyes, and it was as if the chord that bound their hands together rose up and wrapped slowly about their arms, pulling them close enough for their hearts to meet, then winding about their heads so that their heads merged together, bound by the same knowing. It was Cal who broke the silence. ‘We are married.’

  Arria grinned. ‘I believe that we are, though Roman tradition requires ten witnesses.’

  Cal laughed. ‘Fortunately Caledonii tradition requires only one.’

  Arria glanced at Trajan, who was now balled in slumber at her feet.

  ‘He will do,’ said Cal.

  ‘Do you think my brother will accept us?’

  ‘He does not really have a choice. Especially if—’ He took her hand and led her towards the bed. Her eyes glittered with excitement.

  ‘Especially if...?’

  Just the thought of her desire made him dizzy with lust. ‘There is a certain debt I owe you. I do intend to pay it. Wife.’

  ‘Well, I suppose we have a task ahead of us, then. Husband.’ She ran her finger lightly down the length of his arm, then cocked her head in a kind of dare.

  ‘You drive me mad when you do that.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Tilt your head like that, fy nghariad.’

  ‘And you drive me mad when you do that.’

  ‘When I do what?’

  She smiled, her cheeks reddening. She turned her attention to the bed. ‘What beautiful flowers you have gathered,’ she said. ‘Gratitude.’

  She would not evade his question so easily. ‘When I do what, hardd gwraig? I must know.’

  ‘That,’ she said. Now the crimson was making fast progress down her neck. What could he possibly have done to have such an effect on her? More importantly, how could he do it again?

  ‘I am begging you, fy nghalon. Tell me.’

  ‘When you do that. When you speak in your tongue. It makes me feel...it makes me feel...’

  Chapter Thirty

  Oh, gods, what had she done? She had tried to avoid the admission. She had done her best to change the subject, to distract him from the truth inside her heart, but he had coaxed it from her like a snake from a basket.

  He smiled at her wickedly now and she knew that the torture was about to begin. ‘It makes you wild when I speak in my mother tongue. Is that it, fy hyfryd?’

  Her skin began to itch. ‘Rydw i dy eisiau di,’ he said. Hot, unbearable yearning churned within her. ‘Nawr.’

  By the gods, she was doomed. ‘Have mercy on me, please,’ she begged.

  He shook his head deviously and she could sense his wicked mind at work. He untied their hands and reached for the bunch of flowers, which he lifted to her nose. She closed her eyes and, as she breathed in their otherworldly scent, she felt a husky whisper in her ear. ‘Mor dda.’

  Oh, no. It was too much. The words themselves were kisses—tiny, deeply erotic kisses that made her heart ache with yearning. If he said any more of them, she just might combust. As it was, she wanted to tear off both their tunics.

  Fortunately, he was of the same mind. He tossed the bunch of flowers to the floor, then lifted her tunic over her head and undid her breast band. He did the same with his own tunic and then they were standing together, the sunlight pouring down on to their naked figures.

  He wrapped his arms around her and she delighted in the feeling of his skin against hers. He held her for a long while, cradling her head against his chest and stroking her hair.

  ‘May I undo your braid, Arria?’

  She almost laughed. ‘If you wish to brave such an endeavour, I will not stop you.’ He gave a grateful smile, then pulled off her hair tie and glided his finger through her curly locks.

  ‘Will you shake it for me?’ he asked.

  ‘Now I see that you are truly mad.’

  ‘I have been wanting to untie that braid since the night we met.’

  ‘Well, in that case...’ She stepped backwards and shook out her hair. Her curls opened up and surrounded her head in a great twisting riot. She expected to see him grimace, but his expression was full of wonder.

  ‘By the gods, you are beautiful,’ he said.

  She touched a round lock. ‘This? Beautiful?’

  ‘Yes, that. You.’ His eyes slid down her naked chest. ‘Beautiful.’

  She gave him a doubting look. ‘I think I would rather be bald than have this unruly nest atop my head.’ She gazed at his shiny head. ‘May I?’

  He nodded and she moved her hands over the smooth surface of his head and said a prayer of gratitude, for it was as if she were touching a sacred object.

  She did not wish to stop touching him, so she traced his thick eyebrows, then made a path down his cheeks and across his jaw. She let one of her fingers whisper across the contours of his lips.

  When she moved to withdraw the digit, he closed his own lips around it and sucked softly, and a hot giggle bubbled out of her.

  ‘Give me another kiss,’ he demanded. He slid his fingers sensually into her hair and cradled her neck, then pressed his lips against hers.

  This was wondrous. This was bliss. There was something so natural about kissing him. It was like eating or breathing. A foregone conclusion. The will of the Fates.

  ‘You taste like heaven,’ he said.

  She glanced down. He was already fully aroused. His desire had emerged from beneath his loincloth. Still, she was not afraid. Experimentally, she pressed her stomach against his, trapping the huge pillar of flesh between them and rubbing her naked breasts against his chest. He gave a gratifying groan.

  She stepped backwards in surprise. Was the beast so easily tamed? She smiled, but he did not return her grin. Instead he gave her a dangerous look. ‘Take me in hand,’ he said. He gripped her hand and pressed it against his fullness.

  She could do nothing but obey as he guided her down the enormity of him.

  ‘Now it is you who must have mercy on me,’ he growled.

  She began to stroke him, slowly at first, then with an increasing boldness. He was so very hard, yet his skin was soft and pliant. He groaned with pleasure as she gradually increased her speed. ‘Do you know what you are doing to me?’

  She did know. Or at least, she had an idea. When they had last lain together, he had rubbed his desire against her body until he was overcome with pleasure. She had thought of that moment so often afterwards that it had become something like a prayer inside her mind, or a beautifully painted fresco.

  Though it was not piety that she felt when she thought of it. It was an odd kind of hunger—the kind that began not in the belly, but further down. Now that she was coaxing him towards his peak of pleasure once again, she was feeling that hunger again, too. It was growing inside her, like her own
secret beast. It wanted to be fed.

  He reached to the knot at her stomach and tugged it undone, then pulled her loincloth free.

  She felt her body stiffen as his finger slipped into her hot folds. His breaths were raspy and short. ‘I want you, Arria.’ Sparks of sensation snapped and popped inside her, and she closed her eyes as his thick finger pushed slowly deeper. ‘And you want me,’ he said. ‘I can feel that you do.’

  ‘You can?’

  He growled his assent and something seemed to squeeze deep in her core. It pulsed through her body, spreading the hunger. She stopped stroking him, the hunger growing so acute that she could do nothing but close her eyes. ‘I can feel it,’ he said.

  He eased her down on to the soft bed and she settled herself on her back, yearning to feel the weight of him atop her. Instead she felt his warm lips on her stomach, kissing a path downwards.

  Whenever she thought of the last time he had kissed that part of her, she became so restless that she could not concentrate on her work. Now there was no work—unless she counted the effort she was making to keep herself from going mad with yearning.

  Then she felt his tongue slip beneath her folds.

  Sweet merciful Artemis.

  There was nothing to imagine now. There was only the soft wet forbidden sensation of his tongue making slow swirls inside her.

  She slid her fingers on to his head, caressing it in rhythm with his tongue’s soft movements. Her hips began to move of their own volition. His tongue continued its relentless mission, probing deeper until she was writhing against it with a lust so profound she had to cry out.

  She felt as if she were perched on some terrible precipice and that any minute she might go tumbling off it into oblivion. ‘Cal, please,’ she begged, unsure of what exactly she needed, but knowing that whatever it was, he alone could give it.

  He lifted his head from between her legs and swept over the top of her, bracing himself on his knees so that he straddled her waist without touching it, his obelisk of flesh suspended in the air above her stomach. ‘Take me in hand,’ he commanded once again and when she obeyed he moved downward, until she could feel the tip of him grazing against her soft curls.