Unforgettable Heroes II Boxed Set

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  Polly blinked. “What?”

  “We will have to erase your memory.”

  There was a lot in her life she’d like to forget, Polly realized, but there was a lot she wanted, needed, to remember. To not remember Catcher and how he came into her life. To forget her remaining family and the friends who were even now unaware of who and what she’d been. To forget the kindness of those who stood by her as she recovered. To forget who she was. That was just asking too much.

  Was it even possible?

  “Sir?”

  Paskle burst out laughing. “Gotcha!”

  Polly shook her head. “What?”

  “Gotcha!”

  Uncertain, Polly frowned at him. “Did you just make a joke, sir?”

  Paskle laughed. “I am human, Chapman.”

  “No, sir. I don’t believe you are. I would have noticed.”

  His smile faltered as shrewdness entered his eyes. “Of course, Stevens can’t be relieved of his duties yet. We need him.” At her surprised expression he nodded. “Oh, yes, Chapman. We know all about your personal relationship with our agent.”

  “I can help him, sir. Wherever he goes, I can go, too. I can help him. We love each other.”

  Paskle’s brows rose as his fingers drummed the desk. “Love? You want me to release the best assassin and the best healer I have because you are in love?”

  Polly knew she was fighting a losing battle. “Yes, sir. I do.”

  “Well then.”

  “Sir?”

  He smiled. “Good for you, Chapman. It’s about time.”

  “Sir?”

  “Call me Paskle. You don’t work for me anymore. And give my best to Stevens. He already came in and cleared your way out. All we needed to know was that you were in control. You have too many skills and too much knowledge. We couldn’t release you until we knew you wouldn’t crack and reveal things better left covered up.” He leveled a look at her. “Of course, if we ever hear that you or Stevens revealed anything to do with this agency, we will have to kill you.”

  Polly smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  He stood and held out his hand. “Good luck to you both.”

  “Thank you, sir.” She shook his hand, her steps light as she headed for the door.

  “Chapman?”

  She turned back. “Sir?”

  “You might want to consider running for sheriff of your little town when you get home.”

  “No, sir. Our law enforcement is just fine as it is.” She flashed him a smile. “Though I might just run for dog catcher.” She chuckled to herself as her former boss’s laughter followed her out into the hall.

  EPILOGUE

  Polly snuggled against Catcher’s side as they sipped margaritas. The sunset was always spectacular from the cabin’s balcony, but this night was the best yet. Or so it seemed. Of course, she thought with a smile, she was seeing life through rose colored glasses these days. She and Catcher were married and the new owners of this gorgeous mountainside chalet. They had the cutest little yappy dog she had ever seen. And they were trying, with incredible regularity, to start that family they wanted.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  Polly lifted her smile to her husband’s lips. “You are finally free, too. The Agency has really let us both go. I guess until today I never thought it would really happen. And we are together, forever. My life is perfect.”

  Catcher nuzzled her neck. “Mine, too. Ready for bed?”

  She giggled and swatted him. “We just got out of bed.”

  He led her back through the French doors, kissing her neck, shoulders, and cheek before snagging her lips for a taste. “Exactly. But I think you could use a little more physical therapy.”

  THE END

  About Janet Eaves

  Raised a Navy brat, and the second of four children, Janet Eaves sometimes felt lost in the shuffle of daily life when she was young. Moved every couple of years, as is the life of a military child, and continually making then losing friends, was often more painful than learning to be alone.

  Her dolls became friends that moved with her, each having a purpose and place in her life. She created a history for each, a personality for each, and played with them in a different land, dealing with different situations on any given day. Over the early years this time of self-imposed fantasy developed and nurtured an imagination that stays active to this day.

  Run Baby Run was the first novel she ever read, and sparked a love of reading that soon became an obsession. Bodice Ripper jacketed books soon followed, the hero dashing, the heroine brave and beautiful, and just enough historic reality to make it easy to step into the past. Contemporary novels, both large and small soon led to paranormals that are to this day her favorite.

  Writing herself for years now, Janet rarely gets a chance to read very often, but still loves to find a good book and get lost in someone else’s fantasy for a while. But it isn’t long before the call to create pulls her away…

  A spark of thought, a line of dialogue, a scent, a scene, or even a sound is all it takes to begin what will later develop into a story just begging to be told.

  RESCUED BY THE CELTIC WARRIOR

  Honor~Loyalty~Duty~Freedom

  Roman Love ~ Pict Desire Series

  Amy Jarecki

  After arriving in Roman Britannia, Valeria is captured by savages. She prays the Romans will find her—but it’s Taran, a Pict warrior, who comes to Valeria’s rescue and ignites an unquenchable flame of passion that fills her soul.

  Highborn and privileged, Valeria has never known life outside her father’s Roman fortress. But when Hadrian’s Wall falls, Valeria’s world shatters.

  Ripped from her bed, she’s captured by savages. Terrified, she prays her betrothed will mount a rescue. But it is the enemy, a Pict with Celtic tattoos and hair of fire who wields his sword and fights for her freedom.

  When she seeks refuge in the warrior’s stronghold, the Picts eye her with distrust and force her to earn her keep as a commoner. But the longer Valeria remains, the more agonizing it becomes to conceal her burning love for the Celtic warrior.

  Chapter One

  In the year of our Lord 367, the Picts were the ruling force in Scotland. Untamable they were, and Emperor Hadrian had shut them out by building a wall across the northern frontier of Britannia. For two hundred years, the Romans were successful in keeping the savages at bay, until the entire border fell in the Barbarian Conspiracy.

  Britannia, the year of our Lord 367

  Unable to wait a moment longer, Valeria slid aside the wooden shutter and popped her head out the Roman carriage window. At last, the stone battlements of Fort Vindolanda loomed ahead. She laughed aloud and pointed, encouraging both Pia and Bishop Elusius to join in her excitement. “Can you see the immense fortress walls? I cannot believe we shall see Father after so many years.”

  Joyful anticipation leapt across her skin. As the carriage continued further, Valeria clapped a hand over her mouth and gasped. The scene before the heavy gates quashed her delight.

  Twenty paces away, four legionaries savagely wielded whips against a man in shackles, hunched over, arms wrapped around his head.

  “And we call our soldiers civilized?” Though she desperately wanted to enter Vindolanda and be reunited with her father, no Christian noblewoman would allow such demonstration of untoward brutality to pass. “Stop the carriage.” Valeria shoved aside her cloak and jerked down the latch before her companions could say a word. Unassisted, she leapt to the cobblestones.

  “Valeria,” Pia and the bishop chorused from the carriage, but she paid them no mind.

  She marched up to the soldiers, fists clenched. “In the name of Emperor Valentinian, stop.”

  The red horsehair crest on the soldier’s helmet shuddered when he whipped around and faced her, eyes fierce as a hawk. “And who the blazes are you?”

  “I—”

  He lunged forward and seized her wrist. Valeria fought to pull away but his fingers bore in
to her flesh.

  “Unhand her,” Bishop Elusius roared from behind.

  The soldier scowled. “This woman is meddling where she has no business.”

  The bishop’s white toga billowed in the wind as he strode toward them. “The lady is Valeria Fullofaudes, niece of Emperor Valentinian, daughter of our leader, the Dux Britanniarum himself.”

  The soldier’s grip immediately released. His stunned expression revealed his horror. “A-apologies, my lady.”

  Valeria glared. “One should think before striking out.” She rubbed her arm and smoothed her peplos gown. Pushing away her long black tresses, she turned to assess the prisoner.

  Her breath caught, followed by a stuttering of her heart.

  The man was enormous. He stood at least a head, possibly two, taller than his captors. His hair flickered with highlights of fire, and she feared her fingers might sear if she touched it. Valeria leaned forward to better inspect him. Catching the hint of spice as wild as the forest made something stir deep inside. Her eyes narrowed. On his right cheek, an intricate swirling Celtic tattoo of blue extended down his neck and under the laces of his quilted surcoat. Valeria’s fingers itched to touch it.

  Her stomach squeezed when his gaze met hers. Crystal clear, blue as the Mediterranean at its shallowest point, his eyes pierced through her heart like an arrow. He held her stare until a savage strike with a lash sent him stumbling forward.

  Valeria jumped in front of the soldier, shielding the prisoner from another blow. “Stop, I said.”

  “He’s headed for the gallows, this one.”

  Her gaze strayed to the auburn-haired man. He locked eyes with her again. For an instant, the soldiers, Elusius, everyone faded into oblivion. The prisoner bowed, his aqua pools of blue unwavering in unspoken thanks. Two soldiers latched onto his elbows and pulled him away. Helpless, she watched them lead him toward the gates.

  The bishop placed his hand on Valeria’s shoulder. “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”

  Valeria shot him a look. Her heart still thundered in her ears, but the tension eased at the holy man’s gentle expression.

  “We only need to ride through the gates and our journey will be complete at last,” he said.

  She blinked. Of course. Butterflies of excitement tickled her insides. “I cannot wait to see Father.” She looped her arm through his and allowed Bishop Elusius to assist her into the carriage. She took her seat beside Pia, her trusted slave.

  The bishop sat across from them. “ʼTis probably not the most ladylike thing to leap from a carriage and rush to a Pict’s rescue.”

  Valeria glanced through the window, but the soldiers had moved the prisoner out of sight. “That man is a Pict? A barbarian from beyond the realm?”

  “Yes, he bears the blue mark of his heritage. Our soldiers report that of all the barbarian tribes, they are the fiercest warriors in battle—worse than the Gaels. They’re the reason Emperor Hadrian chose to build the wall here. Picts reside to the north. Untamable, they are.” The bishop rested his palm atop Valeria’s hand. “You need to suppress the fire blazing behind your lovely raven eyes. Please sit back, my lady.”

  Valeria slipped her hand away and rubbed it. “How can people impart their convictions with no fire behind their motivation?” Knitting her brows, she reclined beside Pia’s matronly frame, clad in a slave’s veil and grey tunic. Valeria wondered what crime the savage Pict had committed. It had been over two hundred years since Hadrian had erected the wall across the northern frontier of Britannia and they were still untamable, unable to recognize the culture and sophistication of Rome?

  Moments later, the heavy gates of the fort creaked open. After having endured three months of travel from Rome to Northumberland, she would finally enter her father’s garrison, Vindolanda.

  She inched to the edge of her seat when the carriage rattled over the cobblestones. Craning her neck, she pointed at the principia, headquarters of Roman Britannia. “See, Pia? We will be with Father momentarily.”

  The slave patted Valeria’s arm. “Yes, child. I can hardly believe our adventure is nearly at an end.”

  “An end? Whatever do you mean? It has only just begun.” Valeria grinned at the careworn face of the beloved woman who doted on her every need since the day of her birth, eight and ten years ago.

  When the carriage rolled to a stop, Bishop Elusius lumbered down the stairs and offered Valeria his hand. She alighted from the uncomfortable wooden cart that had entrapped her like a tomb for the past three months. She giggled at the battle-weary face of her father, beaming as he raced down the steps, his impeccable leather and bronze uniform accenting his robust physique. General Argus Maximus Fullofaudes, Dux Britanniarum, spread his arms wide. Falling into his embrace, Valeria noted his curly locks had greyed in the three years of his absence.

  “How could this be my darling child? You have grown into a beautiful woman.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Valeria bit her bottom lip. It unnerved her how her father could make heat inflame her cheeks.

  “Let me have a good look at you.” He grasped her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. “You are as beautiful as your mother and still have her fathomless eyes, I see.”

  Valeria’s heart squeezed at the mention of Mama. “I miss her.”

  His pointer finger lifted her chin. “As do I, and now you are all I have left.”

  With strong arms, he drew her in. She closed her eyes and inhaled—leather and masculine sweat. Papa. Valeria was hit by a flood of memories of her father before he’d been called away and assigned to the far reaches of the Roman frontier. She hadn’t expected her tears to well. She cleared her throat and buried her face in his shoulder to hide them.

  “Bishop,” Argus said, pulling from Valeria’s grasp. “How was your journey?”

  “Long and arduous.” The holy man rubbed his backside. “These old bones will do well with a soft bed this night.”

  Valeria stepped forward. “We could all benefit from a week of nights upon a real bed.”

  “Ah yes, you must be exhausted. I’ll have Bacchus show you to your quarters. You can rest before supper.”

  Valeria nodded, but the scene from the courtyard needled at the back of her mind. “Papa, we saw a Pict bound in shackles. His hair was the color of fire.”

  The Dux frowned. “Ah yes, the oarsman.”

  “What crime did he commit to require an escort of four Roman soldiers bearing whips?”

  He pressed his hand to the small of her back and led her inside the immense oak double doors. “Desertion.”

  “Oh? He didn’t look like a soldier to me.”

  “He was assigned to the Navy. When his warship arrived in port, he broke his leg shackles and fled.”

  “Shackled to a ship?” She stopped mid stride. “He’s a slave?”

  Father waved his hand dismissively. “Why worry yourself with this nonsense? Once he appears before the magistrate, the man will hang. ʼTis a pity indeed. Rome can always use a back as strong as his, but a deserter has no place in the Empire.”

  ****

  Perched upon a vanity stool, Valeria stared dreamily into the looking glass. “Did you see his eyes?”

  “No. The only thing I saw was a roustabout receiving what he deserved.”

  Valeria knit her brows. She’d thought her servant, born into slavery, might have been a tad more sympathetic toward another slave. But Pia was fiercely loyal to the Fullofaudes family. Like a second mother, she had supported Valeria through the miserable death of her mother and the trudging journey to Vindolanda.

  “It bothers me. Those eyes were so young, but the pain in them reflected endless agony.” Since settling into her chamber, every time she blinked, Valeria saw the Pict. Her mind’s eye had noticed everything about him. His size combined with his tattoos made him appear dangerous, rugged. Yet his eyes stopped her breath. They told a tale of pain and something else she couldn’t quite put a finger on—something proud, almost regal.

  “How coul
d you ascertain anything in the fleeting moment you saw him?” Pia yanked a comb through Valeria’s unruly hair. “Sit still or you won’t be ready for supper and you’ll spend the night with nothing in your belly.”

  “I don’t think Papa would be that heartless, at least not on my first day.” Valeria sighed while she watched Pia twist her black tresses into a work of art. I will stop thinking about the Pict this instant.

  Using the hand mirror, she inspected the chamber behind her. She’d napped on a large bed shrouded by rose-colored silk curtains. Imported from the East, they would have cost her father a small fortune. The orange shutters on her window were parted and a sliver of light illuminated her wooden trunk fastened with brass buckles. The chest contained her worldly possessions, keepsakes that had mostly belonged to her mother. Even the looking glass she held in her hand had been her mother’s.

  Pia pulled a braid woven with a blue silk ribbon around her crown, allowing the hair in the back to cascade down past her waist. Valeria nodded approvingly. “I have no idea how you do it. Every time you turn my wild mop of locks into a masterpiece.”

  Pia chuckled. “I did the same for your mother.” She stood back and appraised Valeria’s hair. “I do believe you are even more beautiful, my dear.”

  “You must be touched in the head if you think so. I remember watching Mama dress and admiring her beauty. I could never hope to be half as pretty.” Valeria placed the looking glass on the dressing table and stood. “Now please tie my sandals. I’m starving.”

  Pia bent down as requested. Valeria preferred Pia above all others and only Pia had accompanied her on the journey from Rome.