Given to the Gladiator: The Villa Bundle (Historical Interracial Erotica Bundle)

by Circe Ridley

  Doran was a quiet, towering man or worth and substance. Deep scars covered his muscled form, years of training and fighting having left their mark in a somewhat unflattering way. One arm was covered in heavy tattoos, illegible to most, but close to his heart. He had had an uneventful childhood, his father had died early as did the fathers of most younglings that time. Life was a cruel mistress, forcing him to learn the crooked, winding paths of it on his own, without a father’s guidance. Doran had joined an army set with the task of defending his home and after counted months of fighting, he had been captured as a slave and sold to the highest bidder.

  He had then travelled from house to house, doing menial labor and building, until he was spotted by Gaius Julius on one fateful day and bought for the ludus Julianicus. Since then, his life had been consumed by training and mastering weapons, of which he was most comfortable with the short sword. He lacked catlike grace or the speed of a gazelle, but he was a cunning fighter, who thought on his feet and did not fall into traps easily. The man was large and imposing and his size had won him more than one of his fights, but most of all it was his keen mind that had spared him for so long.

  Now, being pushed into the limelight, he had wondered a few times if it was all worth it. Would it not be easier being buried and with his ancestors, enjoying the fruits of an honest death? The attention and hysteria around him made him uncomfortable and wary. Gaius Julius bathed and oiled him, showing him off as if he was some prized oxen to be poked and prodded by curious admirers. Sometimes, he felt like just saying no to his master, denying him the enjoyment of parading him around, but one thing kept him back. It was Mira, the shy, caring handmaiden that had been allowed to him as his reward for bringing honor and fame to the house.

  He had never known love before and now that he had gotten a taste, it was difficult not to drown in it completely. Doran knew that the girl felt much the same, a truth so clear that it might have been etched in stone for how unyielding it was.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Mira had been floating on air for what seemed like a lifetime now. Each day started with bright sunshine peeking into the quiet courtyard and with the girl more than willing to meet whatever challenges the new morning would bring. It helped that so far, it had all been more than satisfactory. When she had first been promised to Doran as his prize, she had been completely horrified and paralyzed with fear. Little did she know that the man who scared her so would become such a fixture in her heart.

  After their first meeting, she had sensed that life for her had suddenly started making sense. She went about her daily tasks with more enthusiasm and energy than ever before, even though they were harder and more demanding than the chores she had had to perform as a handmaiden for the lady of the house. Mira scrubbed to gold stone floors, cleaned the baths, scrubbed dishes and tidied the yards without a word of discontentment, always a small song on her lips.

  Whenever possible, and it wasn’t nearly as often as her heart desired, she would steal off to meet Doran and to spend a few hours in his arms. Her former mistress, Aurelia Miranda, had taken pity on her breathless pleas and the truthful tears in her eyes when she had had asked for allowance to see the man again. What had started as something dirty and forced, had quickly blossomed into a beautiful flower that Mira sought to keep close to her bosom, away from harm and the leering eyes of other men. The love she had begun to feel was a young, emotional kind of affection, driven by girlish daydreams and gentle whispers between herself and the rugged gladiator.

  He often chuckled at the seemingly endless passion that he had been allowed to ignite in her, the girl’s emotions running far ahead of her head and her dreams soaring higher than the eagles. Doran had obviously never felt love in his life and to Mira, it seemed that her adoration was making the man worry the tiniest sliver. With the joys of passion and companionship, also came the downsides. Suddenly, it was not just herself that Mira had to worry about. Every trip that Doran was made to go on, every jousting match and training session left the young maiden in heaving tears and fits of hysteria, terrified that something or someone may cut down this bubbling desire and care for another person that she had so unexpectedly discovered in herself.

  She couldn’t be sure and he would not confirm or deny, but Mira had more than an inkling of a suspicion that Doran may feel the same about her. The olive-skinned beauty saw it in his eyes sometimes when he thought she was asleep on his chest or not paying attention. There was worry and anguish buried in his soul that he would not dare share with her. It spoke to her on a level that he was not quite aware of and the girl couldn’t fully comprehend, but she could certainly sense it. Rome was not a kind place for young love those days, especially between kept warriors and beautiful, nubile slaves, neither of whom was in control of their own destinies.

  It was not that Mira didn’t understand the situation she was in, her heart given to a man who could not fully accept it as it was not hers to give away. She belonged to the owner of the house, to Gaius Julius, and anything they were allowed to do was on his mercy. Mira was just a slave, one that was being kept for easy tasks as much as her fresh beauty, and Doran was considered to be a thoughtless brute, only fit to raise his sword at men of Gaius Julius’s choosing. Mira grasped all of it quite well. It was simply that she did not want to think of her unfortunate situation more than she had to. She was perfectly content with living in a fantasy for as long as she was allowed to.

  The girl imagined a small house on a hill, overlooking a pond and close to a thick forest, through which no man could come to do her or her chosen one any harm. She could see children running around giggling, bare feet kicking up sand and scampering over lush green grass. It was a beautiful dream, but one that would most likely have to stay as just the fiction of a yearning soul. Mira bit her lower lip slightly, scrubbing the tiles of the dining room floor. Every now and then, the realization of the impossibility of her love hit her like a lightning bolt from the skies, shaking her from her blissful revelries. It always felt like a punch in the gut.

  She leant down with a slow exhale, continuing the slow task of cleaning the grime, with her gray dress barely keeping her knees from scraping against the occasional sharp edges of the tiles. Rarely was a slave granted his freedom, even gladiators. It was the ultimate prize that the lanistas kept dangling above the heads of the proud fighters, like a juicy carrot for starving horses. Each of them had come from a different life, had been taken from their family and their homes. There wasn’t a single man in the arena that didn’t wish to push off the shackles and claim their freedom, to return to the life they had lost. Few ever managed it, though.

  Every now and then, a truly beloved gladiator would be allowed to walk off the bloodied sands as a freed man, the crowd clamoring for their release loudly enough to deserve some benevolent attention from the senators or other wise, trusted elders. They would give the man a paper, saying that his life was his own to control, and then it indeed would be in the warrior’s hands. It happened just often enough to not be an impossibility, but still, it was a grand improbability. The men knew it, but desperate souls were prone to do desperate things, so while they denied that they hoped the rare fate would befall them one day, it still resided deep in their core as the engine that kept them going.

  Mira had even less to hope for. House slaves were just sold when they were no longer pretty enough to keep around, until they were old enough to simply throw to the fire or were granted freedom when they were too feeble to serve any longer. The best she could hope for was a kind mistress and an indifferent master, to be allowed to live her days in relative comfort and peace. All in all, it didn’t make the perfect setting for a torrent love affair between herself and the silent gladiator, but yet it had taken seed none the less and she was powerless against it.

  She was allowed one night with him a week, after her chores were done and no one had any need for her any longer. Mira would usually skip to the baths, treat herself from her meager possession of scented oils, p
lait her hair and then dash to Doran. He would always greet her with open arms, that unreadable look on his face that only Mira could ascertain more emotions than sullen indifference from. She read his eyes, which were much more expressive than the man himself or anyone else knew. His deep dark eyes told her anything and everything she needed to know, sometimes even more. The two were perfectly content with simply spending time next to each other, speaking a few words or nothing at all.

  Of course, Mira’s most favorite part was when the great man took her, sending her young, sensitive body into a whirlwind of sensations and experiences. He was a delicate lover, a feature hidden under his gruff exterior. The man was very well endowed, the first night they had spent together still fresh in Mira’s mind in large part thanks to his impressive size. The fragile, untouched handmaiden had not believed that she could fit him all, but it had proven possible thanks to his patience and gentle touch. Since then, he had taught her things she had barely glimpsed before during serving wine at the orgies the mistress sometimes threw. So far, she had been spared from taking part in them, but she had a feeling that now that her flower had been plucked, her luck would soon change.

  Mira had just finished with a corner of the great room, when she heard a bit of a commotion in the courtyard. She rushed to one of the windows overlooking the yard, being mindful to stay in the shadows as to not be noticed. Gaius Julius was pacing back and forth in long, aggravated strides, and Doran stood calmly in the middle of the court. Two guards were hovering behind him, wary looks in their eyes. Mira’s heart skipped a beat, watching the master of the house be so clearly upset over something and it seemed to be pointed at the reserved gladiator, standing with his hands loosely at his sides.

  She could hear Gaius Julius mouth off a few strongly worded sentences, the meaning lost to Mira over the great distance, but the man’s discontent was obvious even from her vantage point. Doran looked to be taking the verbal bashing with his usual calmness, but a deep sense of worry brewed in Mira’s chest.

  What could he have done? Oh, Doran…she thought nervously, her hands wringing the damp hem of her dress, twisting the fabric in her fists. Mira bit her lip, her whole body tense as she watched the altercation. There was little change. Gaius Julius’s voice rose and fell along with his footsteps, the man seeming to become more agitated with each sharp turn he made on his heel. The guards looked uneasy and that, more than anything, made Mira’s stomach churn with a feeling of dread.

  He wouldn’t slay the Bringer of Sun, would he? Mira wondered with growing concern. Doran was beloved by the people now for bringing the blessed hand of the Gods upon Alexandria, but Mira knew as well as anyone that the will of the masses could be swayed easily by men of power like Gaius Julius and his newfound compatriots. If Doran were to truly do something unforgivable, then the lanista would not hesitate to have his head, even if it was at the stake of his fresh fortune and fame.

  The house had seen a sudden influx of riches since the fated match. Ragged carpets had been switched for oriental pieces of masterly crafted rugs. Mistress Aurelia Miranda, who usually wore fine clothes but only befitting to her meager status as the wife of a lesser known lanista, was now covered in gold, jewels and the finest of silks. The pottery was being replaced and the old furniture had been burned to make room for new items. Doran, the Bringer of Sun, had brought riches upon the house of Gaius Julius beyond its wildest dreams and for that, Mira hoped, he would be allowed more than perhaps he would have otherwise. She would have to trust that the master was a befittingly greedy man, but she had ample evidence to attest to that.

  Finally, Gaius Julius waved his hand dismissively and Doran turned about to walk to the gladiators’ quarters, followed closely by the guards. She tracked his steps with longing eyes until he was out of sight. Mira’s gaze fell on the lanista once more and her heart skipped a beat. The tall, blonde man was standing in the middle of the courtyard with his hands on his hips and his cheeks flushed with anger, staring right at her. There was a glint of danger and determination in his eyes and the barest of smirks had formed on his thin lips. Mira recoiled from the window and rushed to gather the things from the dining hall and disappear elsewhere.

  Gaius Julius had just found the only thing that he could use to truly hurt the stoic gladiator.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mira had spent the rest of the day trying to be out of sight and out of mind, but it had done her little good. She had been hidden away in the furthest recesses of the villa, cleaning the pottery, when she was finally found. Melia, mistress Aurelia Miranda’s body slave, had discovered her polishing an already spotless vase with fixed determination, and delivered the news that Mira had feared coming.

  “Master Gaius Julius wants you to be bathed and prepared. You will be shared at a small gathering today,” she had said, her tone neutral, but her eyes betraying worry.

  It was not uncommon for the servants to be used during one of the gatherings between the Romans, but usually there was ample warning beforehand. Some preparations took more than a simple bath and rubbing of oils, so the girls were given notice days beforehand. But Mira knew that this was no ordinary occasion, she didn’t need Melia’s trepidation to further fuel her own. She had nodded with a tinge of resignation, fighting back tears, and set down her work. They had made their way through the vast house in morbid silence, their sandals shuffling along the cold stone paved hallways to the baths.

  For the second time in her young life, Mira was washed and scented for the use of a man. Instead of the hint of excitement she had felt the time before, when she was being readied for Doran, she now had a lump of cold coal in the pit of her stomach. The servants who groomed and oiled her were equally as crestfallen. One of them had heard about what had happened in town and it promised nothing good for the olive-skinned maiden they were readying.

  Gaius Julius had, during a conversation with another lanista, in his usual lofty manner promised that Doran, the greatest gladiator in Alexandria and perhaps all of Rome, could easily crack the skull of any man on the street. His partner in conversation, a rivalling lanista by the name of Quintus Flavius, had of course light-heartedly demanded that the man show this great feat on one of his guards, which quickly escalated to a tense standoff between Gaius Julius and Doran when the gladiator refused. He had said that he would not harm a man he has not met in honest combat and he refused to budge, despite his lanista’s harsh threats and boiling anger.

  A lesser man would have been cut down right on the dirty pavement for such insubordination, but Gaius Julius had found it in himself to swallow the obvious insult at his pride and honor and turn it into a cheerful joke in front of the other lanista. The bringer of his wealth deserved a little more consideration, before being turned into an anonymous bloodied corpse. Anyone who had laid eyes on the event had to have known that it would not be the end of it, however.

  When the gladiator and the fuming lanista had arrived home, it had been Mira’s foolish eavesdropping that had led to the current situation. The lanista scarcely cared about the relationships between his warriors and servants as long as they didn’t interfere with his life or their performance. Met with a chance to hurt a man he couldn’t simply slay, he had no qualms about using any sensitive emotions against a disobedient slave. One would say that he was being rather forthcoming, even, by not having the man whipped and starved or killed.

  Mira’s hair was set in intricate plaits at the top of her head and allowed to flow in loose dark curls around her neck and back. Golden jewelry was draped across her neck and wrists, with pins set in her hair. She stared wordlessly at the brilliant gold and precious stones, having only been allowed to look at those items before when she helped the mistress put the likes of them on, but she had never worn a single piece. It seemed that Gaius Julius liked the women he bedded to be adorned and made up to their full potential, even if they were usually simple floor scrubbers or errant runners.

  Finally, Mira was ready, dressed in a fine red silk gown tha
t clasped on one shoulder with a golden leaf brooch. She looked at her reflection in the water of the baths, lush scents filling her nose and making her head spin. The woman who looked back at her was someone she did not know. Gone was the innocence and joy from her eyes, replaced by worry and fear. Her usual elegance of movement was hidden under rigid, stiff motions, her body as if bound by fright at both ankles and wrists. The two older women, who had been so comforting when she was prepared for Doran, had little to say to her that would lift her spirits as they walked her through the hallways.

  The corridors were lit with torches and candles, casting shadows across the stones. Mira glanced out of the window, the long winding path going past the courtyard. For the first time in months, the moon was getting swallowed by rolling clouds, an ominous storm front gathering. The delicate maiden swallowed dryly. The ways of the Gods were never clear, but in her heart she feared the worst. The Gods were not looking kindly upon the actions of Gaius Julius and Mira feared it would be her and her love that were set to suffer from the man’s arrogance and pride.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Mira was led into one of the smaller gathering rooms, lit softly with candles. The two women, who had stood by her side so steadfastly, led her at the door and disappeared into the looming night, leaving the girl to fend for herself. She stepped into the room, ready to face her fate, and her heart sank at the sight before her. A large bed was set up in the middle of it, with only the finest of sheets and pillows strewn atop it. There was a small table of wine and refreshments to one wall and two lofty chairs near it, seating Gaius Julius and the lanista that had been present in town, Quintus Fabius. All of this was expected, but Mira had not thought the lanista so cruel as to have Doran present for the shaming of his chosen one.