The Warrior's Bride Prize

by Jenni Fletcher

  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 th
rew 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 h
e 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.