The Edge of Honor

by Minnette Meador

  Rheydyn closed her eyes and her face became soft in the flickering lamplight. Marius watched her rub her breasts against the cold metal and her nipples harden beneath the cloth. She danced in the moment with his silver lorica, lost in the pleasure of that first lover. A quiet sigh escaped her lips, and then she pulled away abruptly. She flashed guilty eyes at him from across the room with the faintest glimpse of ardor still burning within.

  She folded her arms against the swollen breasts to hide her moment of weakness and moved slowly toward him. “Delia caught us and sent the man away. She beat me for my indiscretion, scolding me for putting us both in danger. I was furious, hurt. How dare she dictate what I could or could not do? I was the daughter of King Prasutagus, not some silly child. Regretfully, I stomped out of the safety of our house to seek the young man. Like a fool, I went unescorted and unarmed.”

  Rheydyn pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand, absently toying with trophies as she passed with the other. “I found him in the market. He lavished attention on me. He even bought me an Arabian horse. When he invited me to his house to meet his father, I was thrilled.”

  Soft tears formed in her eyes.

  “Five leagues out of the city we were surrounded by a band of nomads. I was terrified. Fearing they would kill him, I threw myself in front of him.” Rheydyn stared at a small statue of Horus. “He laughed at me. ‘See what I have brought you,’ he said to the men. Boasting his conquest, he threw me to my knees before them.

  “I demanded they return me to my cousin. He stripped me naked in front of his men, tied my hands behind my back, and forced me to march behind the horses to their campsite. Once there, he made me wash, had me dress me in veils and jewels, and forced me to…” the tears broke and slithered down her cheeks. “To service him and his men throughout the night.

  “I fought them,” she said, leaning against the table and sending an accusatory glare his way. “I fought them with everything I had. They punished me for my disobedience, beating and then raping me repeatedly. The next morning, my gallant young man left me in the desert to die. Apparently I was too aggressive to make a good slave.”

  Rheydyn rubbed her arms vigorously and one sleeve came off a shoulder, exposing a soft expanse of creamy skin. Marius was finding it difficult to concentrate. Her strong scent was giving him a headache.

  “Delia found me, returned me to the town, and nursed me back to health. She never chided me for the decision I made, never once reminded me of the fool I was.” Rheydyn looked distractedly at the furthest wall and tilted her head. “She simply took care of me, loved me, held me through those nights of torture, the crippling guilt, the pain of my lost virginity.” Rheydyn moved around the desk and her scent made his eyes sting. “She listened while I screamed through the memories of those horrible men touching me. When we returned, she kept my secret. My parents and my people never discovered my indiscretions.”

  Tears formed rivers over her hot cheeks and, without warning, Rheydyn was on her knees, laying her head in his lap for comfort. He instinctively touched her hair and a rush of guilt burned a hole in his stomach. The spin in his head worsened suddenly and everything around him turned to a misty dream. Rheydyn was somehow straddling his lap, her arms around his neck. Her loose tunic was down her shoulders, exposing round perfect breasts, dark areolas, and basalt hard nipples. Marius could not move. Those deep blue eyes framed by the wild mane of red hair bore into his and the smell of her perfume permeated everything.

  Rheydyn crushed his lips with hers and moaned against his mouth. He found himself trapped in her kiss, the smell now his only sensation. Everything slipped away into a dark delirium for what seemed like an eternity. He fought his way through the confusion. With a great force of will, he yanked his head back to stare at her in disbelief, not knowing how long she had been there. “What are you…?” His ears were ringing.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see standing in the doorway, the tall, stern, incredulous form of his sister Antonia. In that instant, he was suddenly aware of what was happening. With a growl, he pushed the chair back and dropped Rheydyn as if she were on fire. Rheydyn fell to the ground awkwardly, but Marius only had eyes for his sister.

  “You fool,” Antonia hissed, the disbelief and fury building in her face. “What are you doing? Do you have any idea what this has done to Delia?”

  “Delia?” Marius’ head was pounding violently and he moved away from the chair to get his bearings, disregarding the woman at his feet. The room spun violently and he could not make it stop. He could taste Rheydyn in his mouth, could smell her on his clothes, his skin, and the scent was making him nauseous. How could I have done this?

  “Delia… she must not know… you must not tell her. Let me speak to her first,” he whispered, but Antonia was saying something he could not hear at first. “What are you saying?”

  “Idiot! She saw you through the window.” Antonia lifted an accusing arm to point to the open window facing the main road. “She was standing right there looking in when you—”

  “No.” Marius could not seem to make his brain to work its way through what was happening. “No… she could not have seen… something is wrong.”

  “You are damn right something is wrong,” Antonia hissed through her teeth. “Delia took off on horseback and left the fort heading west. Go after her, you fool, before it gets worse.”

  “Yes,” Marius said, unconsciously taking his sword and scabbard from its peg on the wall and trying to shake the confusion from his head. “Yes.”

  He stumbled out of the room shouting orders for his horse.

  When Marius was gone, Antonia put her hands on her hips and eyed the Briton for several seconds. Rheydyn straightened her disheveled clothing as she rose from the floor, and did not return the angry Roman’s stare.

  “This is why you came here, is it not?” Antonia asked.

  Rheydyn lifted her chin with an arrogant flare. “I do not know what you are inferring, but what occurred here I had nothing to do with. That man is an animal.”

  Antonia took two steps toward the woman and sniffed. “Interesting perfume you have on. A kind of jasmine from the Chin, if I am not mistaken. In fact, when my husband returns from his mission, I think we will see if he knows the affects of this particular scent. My guess is it is some kind of drug to dull the senses.”

  “Absurd. I am leaving.” Rheydyn turned toward the door only to have it suddenly filled with a very tall, very irate Evyn.

  Antonia pulled her cloak around her shoulders and nodded to the warrior. “See to it she is secured until Kuna returns. I think he will want to question her.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.” The smile dusting Evyn’s face was full of humor and death. Rheydyn’s lip trembled. Without ceremony, he grabbed her arm and dragged her from the room.

  The strong scent of the perfume stung Antonia’s eyes. She crossed to a window to pull back the heavy curtains to release the stench from the room. When she stepped out on the porch, Marius went rushing pass on a very agitated Brutus. A shiver of fear ran through Antonia’s heart watching her brother charge up the road toward the fortress gate. Something was terribly wrong and Antonia could not shake the feeling.

  The Edge of Honor

  Chapter VIII

  Delia’s heart pounded against her face, her neck, and her head. The small Briton horse was sluggish and thick between her thighs. Her throat closed until she could barely breathe. She was blind with anger, nauseous with betrayal, and could not focus on the rushing forest around her. All she could see in her limited vision was her husband in her cousin’s arms.

  Jealousy clouded every other emotion until blinding fury was all that remained. She would never forgive Marius for this.

  Her eyes fell to the rounded belly that contained his child and hot sobs contorted her face. Enfolding that swelling was the tartan cloak Marius had made her don two nights before. The tenderness of the gesture made the betrayal sharp, black, distinct, and sh
e could feel her heart break. Grief descended on her in great waves of sorrow.

  Sudden flashes of red and silver brought her back to reality. The colors seeped into her dazed mind and she had to blink to get her bearings. Pulling briskly on the reins to slow her horse, she entered a clearing. Voices separated themselves from the beat of the horse’s hooves. When the beast finally skittered to a stop, she focused on the twenty Roman soldiers that raced passed her and then turned their horses to surround her.

  Delia frowned at the leering men and turned her horse several times to search for an escape. There was none. A horse came out of the gloom of the forest carrying Quintius. He stopped a few paces from her and signaled his men to stay back. The fence of gladii resting in their hands sent a shiver of fear through Delia’s spine. It was a trap.

  “Your Majesty,” Quintius’ voice bounced mockingly off the tangle of trees surrounding them.

  Delia knew she was miles away from any protection, from her guards, from her scouts, alone in the woods with Quintius and his men. Her back stiffened. The warrior in her coursed through her body, taking over her responses. Her knuckles turned white against the reins.

  “Step aside and let me pass,” she stated with authority.

  Quintius chuckled in response. “Of course, Majesty.” His commanding voice seeped into her confidence and sent another chill through her. “In time. You have ventured into our patrol area and I am curious as to why you are here. Out for a ride, are we? Lost, perhaps?”

  “Tribune,” she replied, mustering as much aplomb as she could. “You will disband your men and let me go immediately, or I will report this to your superiors.”

  Quintius stood on his stirrups and shot a barely suppressed smirk at them. “I do not think they can hear you from here, Majesty.” A horrible light came into his eyes. “But we can test that theory. Get off your horse,” he ordered through his teeth.

  “No!” Delia dug her heels into the animal’s flesh and flicked the reins violently, charging toward the gathered men.

  Quintius moved quickly. He was nothing more than a blur next to her. In the next second, a heavy weight collided behind her. The horse dipped its hind legs at the impact of another body thrust upon him. Delia fell back, but two arms snaked out at her sides and wrapped themselves around the reins, controlling them with an expertise she had rarely seen. The horse settled and Quintius murmured a soft reassurance to the beast over her shoulder.

  Delia let go of the reins and tried to jump, but Quintius was too fast. He wrapped a large hand around her shoulders and pulled her against his chest, sending shooting sparks inside her skull.

  “If you want the child to live,” he whispered in her ear. “I suggest you cooperate. I have no wish to harm you. Now, dismount.”

  Delia knew there was nothing more she could do. Quintius jumped from the beast and tugged on her arm to get her down, keeping her from tumbling to the ground as she fell from the saddle. When she straightened, she yanked her arm out of his grasp and spat in his eye.

  Quintius struck her across the face, throwing her to the ground. She caught herself on her hands, but the jar of the impact wrenched her shoulders and made her womb constrict. Pulling aside the cloak, she sat back and rubbed her belly to ease the pain. Quintius stood over her, his mouth tight, his eyes blazing.

  “Do that again and you die,” he hissed, wiping the spittle from his eye. Then something flashed across his face and a slow smile replaced the anger. He cocked his head to the side. “What have we here?”

  He stooped down and Delia flinched, but he did not touch her. Instead, he pushed back her cloak and grabbed something from the inside pocket. A crimson piece of fabric materialized as he stood up.

  “No!” Delia cried.

  The mask of the liberatio was bright in his pale hand.

  “Well, well. Look what we have. A rebel and a traitor to the empire.” His smiled broadened. “I will see you crucified for this, Madame.”

  “You would not dare,” she hissed, scrambling to her feet. “I am the queen of the Corieltauvi.”

  “But not a citizen of Rome.” He glared down at her defiantly. “I could execute you on the spot for bearing the mask of the liberatio. However, I will give that satisfaction to my general. My men and I will take something else. Something I wanted the first moment I saw you.”

  Delia turned to run, but he was on her before she could get more than a few steps. He caught the cloak and pulled her back into his arms. She fought desperately and it took three men to subdue her.

  Held to her knees, her arms pulled painfully behind her, Quintius plunged both hands into her hair and untangled the braid in one quick movement. She tried to twist her head out of his hands, but he was too strong and forced her face up to glare into her eyes.

  “You will beg for the cross when I am done with you.”

  “Let her go!”

  The familiar voice shot across the gathered men and Delia closed her eyes. A wash of relief, grief, and hatred coursed through her body, the confused emotions rasping against her frayed nerves. The men let her go and she whirled around to see her husband sitting on a panting Brutus, a gladius poised in Marius’ right hand. He was alone.

  “The cloak is mine. The queen knows nothing about it.”

  Delia tried to fathom what he had said, but she was having problems focusing beyond her anger, her fear, and her pain.

  “What?” she whispered.

  Marius looked down at her and leaned against his horse’s neck. “Let her go. The cloak belongs to me.”

  Delia got to her feet and tried to approach her husband, but hands were holding her back. With a realization that shot through her like icy water, she knew what he meant to do. The image of him in Rheydyn’s arms, pressed to her lips, flashed through her head, making her stomach churn.

  Marius meant to sacrifice himself to save her.

  It was not the sacrifice that terrified her.

  In that moment, it was the uncertainty that she even cared.

  Marius flinched when he saw the pain in Delia’s face. To save her life, he had to ignore it. Nothing in his experience was harder for him to do.

  “Let her go,” he repeated, lifting his arms in surrender and dropping the tip of the gladius. Brutus threw his head back as if he disapproved.

  Quintius could barely hide his excitement. “You admit it. You admit you are the liberatio.”

  Marius smiled and raised his hands higher. “Let her go back to Hillfort. You may do with me what you like, but let her go first.”

  The tribune circled around a stunned Delia. “I have enough evidence to arrest you both. It would be satisfying to make you watch as we crucify her. Two traitors are better than one. I will be a hero in Rome.”

  “But a tyrant here. If you kill another queen, the uprisings will be bloody and brutal. Suetonius will not risk another rebellion. Rome would lose face to the world if they cannot quell a little province like Britannia. I offer you the prize you want. Arrest me and let her go. Otherwise, I fight and you could lose your reward.”

  Quintius gave him a derisive snort. “There are twenty of us.”

  “I might get lucky,” Marius replied with a shrug. “I have had worse odds.”

  The tribune lost his smile and sighed. “You will come with us willingly?”

  Marius nodded. “Yes.”

  “You will confess to your role in the rebellion?”

  Marius chose his words carefully. “Let her go and I will cooperate with you.” He twisted the gladius in his hand. “Do it now or there will be no more discussion.”

  Quintius looked from one to the other. “Very well. Let her go. Throw down your weapon.”

  Marius’ gut wrenched when the gladius dropped from his hand and he threw his leg over Brutus to dismount, his arms still at his sides.

  The tribune grabbed Delia’s hand and pulled her toward the animal. “Arrest him.”

  Several soldiers surrounded Marius, but he put up no resistance. They pulled his h
ands behind his back and pushed him to his knees, securing his wrists in iron manacles. Delia tried to run to him, but they dragged him to the other side of the clearing and Quintius lifted her onto Brutus’ back.

  Marius caught her eyes and searched her face. “I love you,” he whispered.

  Before she could respond, Quintius slapped the horse on the rump and sent him flying from the clearing, carrying Delia out of Marius’ life. He would probably never see her again.

  Without missing a beat, Quintius crossed to Marius and brought his fist across his jaw, sending him to the ground. The tribune picked him out of the duff, pushed him back to his knees, then kicked him in the belly. Marius struggled for a breath, the pain spiraling through him until he thought he would retch. He fell to the ground wheezing.

  Grabbing a handful of hair, Quintius lifted him and brought his face within inches of his own. “Do not think to be clever with me, traitor. By the gods, you will confess to everything before I am done with you. If you think your citizenship will garner you time, you are mistaken. You will admit to all your treasonous deeds long before we go to trial. To remove your head, I will swing the sword myself. I will use that pretty wife of yours, kill your little bastard, and burn her country to the ground when I am through.”

  He sent another fist across the already swelling face, but Marius withstood it and did not fall.

  Blood oozed from his mouth when he smiled. “I would pay good money to see you go against Delia and her people, you son of a bitch.” He spat in the tribune’s face.

  Quintius pulled his gladius and turned it in his hand. The tribune’s eyes hardened and he smashed the grip across the side of Marius’ head.

  Pain burst through Marius’ body as he hit the ground. Hands grabbed him from the forest floor and hauled him up on the back of a horse behind a soldier. Through his swelling eye, he watched Quintius mount his stallion and order the soldiers forward.